FLY BEFORE YOU RUN
There was a storm scheduled, the mother of storms, the night that Rainbow Dash wandered through the dump end of town, between where the weeds grew wild and the Everfree Forest loomed black. It was her sixth day after arriving in Ponyville, the seventh after her birthday. She was eleven. She wasn’t afraid.
“You’re not afraid,” she told herself. “Y-you’re not afraid. You’re not afraid. You’re Rainbow Dash."
Who was afraid of storms anyway? Certainly not a fil – certainly not a mare with a lightning bolt for a cutie mark, that’s for sure.
Thunder boomed, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Rainbow whimpered. She wasn’t scared. She dashed through muddy streets beneath the streetlamps, and thank Celestia that Scootaloo’s house was already in sight.
To look at it was to see a picture book illustration come to life – but a book forgotten, with pages yellow and aged. It was a once-lovely cottage with sheets of ivy creeping up past the second floor windows. There were tiles missing from the roof, paint peeling from the walls. The garden was overgrown. And it was the last house before the forest. The streetlamps flickered as Rainbow hurried up to the porch to ring the bell.
Ding dong.
“Open up, open up, open up,” she said under her breath, doing a nervous dance and flinching at every rumble of thunder.
Muffled voices sounded through the doorway.
Hoofsteps.
More talking.
“C’monnn!” said Rainbow. “What’s the hold up?”
Just as she reached out to ring the doorbell once, twice, a dozen more times, the door opened, and there stood a large pegasus stallion with big cheerful eyes – cheer which vanished the moment he laid eyes on her. “You’re Rainbow Dash? You?!”
Rainbow gulped again. Then she bowed and swallowed her fear, because it was time to be awesome. “The one and only,” she said. “At your service.”
The stallion gawped at her. “But Cup Cake made you sound so much—”
“Older?”
There was a pause, in which Rainbow looked into the stallion’s disbelieving eyes. Just as he opened his mouth to speak—
“Something wrong, dearest?”
A pale green pegasus appeared in the doorway beside the stallion – it was she who had spoken. She wore a dress which even Rainbow caught herself marvelling: not because it was beautiful – though it was, the most beautiful dress in the world – but that it looked...
Radical!
Awesome!
Dark and purple was the dress, sleek and elegant, fit for a movie star in Ponywood. Diamonds sparkled in it, and sapphires, and emeralds! They had been stitched into the fabric in such a way that they resembled shooting stars.
The mare grinned at Rainbow Dash. “Ya like it?” she said. “Cool, huh?”
Rainbow tried to meet Scootaloo’s Mother with the blankest of blank looks. “Eh... I… I don’t care for frilly dress stuff. Totally not me. Waaay too girly.”
To her surprise, Scootaloo’s Mother giggled. As if revealing a treasured secret, she leant down and whispered in Rainbow’s ear, “I hear ya, kid.”
The heavens erupted. There was thunder like it was the end of the world, so loud that Rainbow felt it under her skin, and she leapt a foot in the air. “C-can I come in now?” she said, adding in a tiny voice, “Please don’t tell anypony I jumped...”
But Scootaloo’s Father was adamant: leaving Scootaloo, their little Scootaloo, in the care of a filly? No. No. No. He knew foals who were still foalsat who were older than Rainbow. It simply wouldn't do at all, leaving her in charge of their daughter.
Beneath her nerves, Rainbow felt a prickle of annoyance. Her, a foal? A foal? She was a mare, thank you very much, a mare. And if only he’d give her a chance to prove herself, then he’d realise that she was the most awesome mare this town had ever seen. Before she got a chance to say so, Scootaloo’s Mother said, “Honey, I get you’re nervous about this, but Cup Cake says Rainbow here did an awesome job lookin' after li'l Sweetie Belle the other day. And I think me and Rainbow understand each other.”
She winked, catching Rainbow off-guard – and she was right. The few minutes they’d known each other was more than enough time for Rainbow to know that this was one of the coolest mares she’d ever met in her life…
The rain redoubled, never so heavy that it couldn’t get heavier. At long last, Scootaloo’s father sighed, and stood back to let her in.
Yet...
Yet maybe it was the praise of Scootaloo’s Mother or else the ferocity of the storm, or some combination of the two. Something... shifted in Rainbow’s mind, a barrier that, until now, had held her fears and worries at bay. Sweetie Belle? Looking after Sweetie Belle had been nothing, no sweat at all. She had barely lifted a hoof, for the little unicorn had slept the whole evening and all through the night. And only because Cup Cake’s new shop happened to have a spare room above it – and that she and her mother happened to be old friends – had Rainbow been able to move out in the first place. It was only because father had lent her money had she been able to afford Miss C’s rent.
Sure you want to do this? her Father had said to her back in Cloudsdale. Sure you want to go through with it? ‘Cause if you are, then don’t forget that can come home any time you like, any time at all. Sooner rather than later. We’ll have your bed warm and ready…
“Rainbow, you alright? Ya look pale.”
Rainbow blinked. She was in the corridor, and Scootaloo’s Mother was giving her a funny look. “Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m just... I’m just cold, is all,” Rainbow stammered. “You know, what with the rain and all. Got a towel I can lend?”
Keep on running, filly. Run, run! Run fast enough they won’t notice that you can’t fly.
Scootaloo's Father muttered something about cufflinks and vanished down the corridor, leaving Scootaloo's Mother to lead Rainbow up the ricketiest little staircase imaginable. “Worried about the storm?” asked Scootaloo’s Mother. “Look, if you want us to stick back a while longer and help you take Scoots to Sugarcube Corner—”
Rainbow shook her head. “Nuh-uh, nooo way! I promised I’d foalsit for you and that’s just what I’m gonna do. Who’s scared of a li’l bitty storm?”
Other than yours truly, she thought as lightning flashed through the windows of the upstairs corridor. With another shake of her head, Rainbow shoved the worry from her mind, instead taking in the strange interior Scootaloo’s house, a house apparently decorated by blindfolded ponies working in the dark and being paid to use every colour of paint under the sun.
The carpet was bright red with green dots, and worn, and clashed horribly with the electric blue paint peeling from the walls. The ceiling was coloured midnight, complete with somepony’s attempt to paint the constellations – a pony who had gone their entire life without even a passing glimpse of the sky at night. Rainbow winced. (Ponies were always surprised to learn that her interest in astronomy was more than passing, but knowing the constellations was a must for flying in the dark).
“Err, no offense, but what’s up with—”
“The stars?” said Scootaloo’s Mother, noticing where Rainbow was looking. “Hah! We’ve only just moved here, we have nothing to do with ‘em, nothing I tell ya! Celestia knows what the guy before us was thinking.”
With that, she opened the door at the end of the corridor, and Rainbow entered the room to meet the rest of her evening.
Scootaloo was fast asleep in a crib and she was tiny, her coat fantastically orange, a ball of flame lit up beneath a ceiling full of the messiest stars imaginable. A dull nightlight lit up a shock of purple hair which matched perfectly her unkempt tail. But her wings were what caught Rainbow’s attention: puny, half-formed.
“Don’t let the wings fool ya,” Scootaloo’s Mother whispered. “Scoot’s here is my little trooper. She doesn’t need your pity.”
The words were sharp, harsh, quite unlike what she had grown to expect of this pony. Rainbow glanced at her. The mare smiled weakly; and how many times, Rainbow wondered, had she had to explain about her daughter these past few months? How many times had she heard that ponies were sorry, or that it would be O.K., or that her daughter, Celestia forbid, could still lead a normal life? For as bad as she felt for little Scootaloo, Rainbow realised that she felt ten times worse for her mother.
Scootaloo herself was smiling, beaming in her sleep. Her curious wings twitched. Her eyelids flickered, and she kicked her hind legs, and with her forelegs hugged a well-worn plush toy – a sandy coloured Pegasus pony with a mane many shades of grey, and who wore a green shirt and old fashioned explorer’s helmet.
“Ya moved here ‘cos of her, right?” whispered Rainbow, and the storm growled, and rain hammered at the windows.
“Cloudsdale born and raised,” replied Scootaloo’s Mother. Her tone made Rainbow feel uncomfortable, as though she was intruding on something private, something she wasn’t supposed to know about. “But it would’ve been cruel to make our little Scoots grow up in the clouds. That’s kind of the reason we’re going out tonight, actually. Our old friends happen to be passing through on the way to Canterlot. Haven’t seen ‘em in... what? Four months? Five? Whatever, it’s been a while. Hell, since movin’ here, I haven’t even flown.”
Without meaning to, Rainbow flared her wings, and her jaw dropped. “You haven't flown in how long?!”
“She’s worth it,” said Scootaloo’s Mother, and contained in her voice was such fierce pride and love that Rainbow caught herself thinking of home – not the spare room in the attic of Miss C’s sweet shop, but her real home, the one in Cloudsdale. “You think I get to wear this dress often? It’s the only nice one I have and I haven’t worn it in almost a year. But Scootaloo's worth it, worth it, worth it.”
Rainbow’s mouth quivered as Scootaloo’s Mother looked at her sleeping daughter, looked at her with pride unending and love enormous.
Focus. Rainbow was here to be the most awesome foalsitter ever, she needed to focus.
Downstairs, Scootaloo’s Mother gave her a last smile, then she and her husband unfurled a mighty umbrella and stepped out into the rain. Then the door was shut and Rainbow stood in the hallway, alone, before moving to the living room to stretch on the sofa.
It was getting darker. The lights flickered again.
Since movin’ here, I haven’t even flown...
Rainbow shuddered. “Stop it,” she told herself. “Stop thinking about it. Think about something awesome.”
But she couldn’t. All that came to her were a thousand worries, each more terrible than the last. She grimaced as she imagined her fears materializing into existence around her, flying around the room like bats, but demon bats, with eyes glowing red and with gnashing teeth. They swooped and swarmed, glared at her never blinking, never blinking, and there were so many that getting rid of them was impossible: so many different fears she had: the stress of trying to act older than she was; the worry that she wouldn’t be able to land her dream job on the weather team; the stark terror that other ponies wouldn’t think she was awesome, that would see right through her for the little phoney she was.
Run before you trot, fly before you run!
The lightning struck Ponyville like the arrival of a great and fearsome dragon: dust shook from the walls, the windows rattled. Rainbow Dash shot up and the lights flickered wildly.
“Nuh-uh, no, no,” she said, waving her hooves at the light. “Bad bulb! Naughty bulb! Don’t you dare, don’t even think about it!”
Pop.
With utter disregard for Rainbow’s plea, the bulb blew out of existence, followed almost immediately by the ones in the both the downstairs and upstairs corridors, and then by the one in the kitchen. She could hear them, a sickening melody.
Pop!
Pop!
Pop!
And then darkness.
Outside, the streetlamps had also blown out, meaning that Rainbow couldn’t so much as see her hooves in front of her face.
Was the weather team doing this on purpose? Did they know that here, on the edge of town between darkness on one side and pitch black on the other, was a mare-not-quite-a-mare terrified out of her wits?
“Only foals are scared of lightning," she told herself. "You’re a mare. You’re not afraid. You’re a mare.”
There in the darkness, the little filly cried such as she had never cried before: with hot tears streaming down her face; with cheeks burning and nostrils clogged, and with the taste of something bitter upon her tongue, something unknown – maybe her own tears. What she would have given to go to sleep and wake up in her parent’s bedroom! Right then, she would’ve given anything, even her wings, her precious wings which were her entire life and more.
The moment passed.
“Y-you’re too cool to get homesick. It’s just nerves, Dash, that’s all.”
She clutched a pillow, a foal alone in the night, lost: the only eleven year old not in school, the only eleven year old looking for a job to pay the rent, the only foal stupid enough to want to prove to others that she was… what?
Responsible?
That being the fastest flier in her grade meant that she had to be the fastest at everything, including moving out?
How she wished that she could tap her hooves and be wrapped in her father’s forelegs with a plate of hay fries waiting ready in the kitchen, their little kitchen, still cosy! Still warm from where the oven was left on throughout the winter!
Her bed was waiting, cosy and warm.
The trains ran at all times, didn’t they? There must have been at least one departing that night, an overnight express to Canterlot perhaps, or Manehatten, or Trottingham – somewhere where she’d find a direct airship back to Cloudsdale.It would be easy. Slip out from the house. Grab her purse from her bedside drawer back in Miss C’s attic. Money was running low but it would be enough. Maybe there would even be some left to buy a sandwich along the way.
Rainbow paced in a circle, her brow wrinkled in thought. Scootaloo would need to be taken care of, whether by dumping her on Miss C or else by shoving her in a pram and dropping her off at the restaurant her parents were currently dining in. Doing so would make her a sneak, of course, a wretch, a promise-breaker; but Cloudsdale was calling, and it's call couldn’t be ignored.
“A-anyway, you won’t see ‘em again, so who cares if you ruin their evening? What kind of place is Ponyville for a future Wonderbolt to live in?
"Do it, Rainbow, go home.
"Go now.
"Go.”
A fragile grin flashed over her face as everything became clear to her. All that remained to be done was to dump Scootaloo on somepony else and grab her money and run to the train station and run to Cloudsdale, run home, home, home!
The storm was louder in the corridor. Sheer weight of darkness seemed to heighten her other senses: the feel of the carpet against her hooves, rough and worn; the house smelled musty; the air tasted dank.
And above the riot of the rain, little Scootaloo brawled.
Rainbow crept along the upstairs corridor, treading cautiously in case she stepped on something in the dark – a discarded toy, a magazine, a book. When she reached Scootaloo’s room, she stopped again, forcing herself to take a deep breath.
She opened the door.
The foal wasn’t simply crying, she was far beyond that. The nightlight had blown. Rainbow remembered there had been a torch on the desk near the door – switching it on, she discovered the foal screaming, her face a perfect mask of despair and fright, and her eyes desperately searched for an escape from the prison of her crib. But no matter how hard she flapped her wings, Scootaloo was barely able to peer over the bars.
Rainbow dropped the torch. “Hay, shush, it’s alright!” she said, rushing over to comfort the foal; but Scootaloo wouldn’t let Rainbow touch her. Every time she reached out a hoof, the foal jerked her head back and cried louder than ever.
“Kid, what’s wrong? We’re inside, the storm’s not gonna hurt you.”
Rainbow allowed herself a triumphant smile when, for a moment, Scootaloo stopped crying. Only for a second. A moment later, she transformed back into a mess of tears, howling, and misery, and cried louder than ever.
“Scoots, shut up! Your mom’s not gonna be happy if she gets home and you’re crying! D’you get me? You don’t wanna upset your mom, do ya?”
Rainbow’s heart pounded; and in an instant, staring at the screaming infant in her crib, the full misery of Scootaloo’s pain was laid bare to her, the full extent of her terror there in the dark of the little bedroom in the dump end of town, between the nightmare of the forest and a dozen run down and empty houses on the other: for only desperate ponies would live in a place like this, parents who couldn’t afford anything better for their daughter. Parents who loved their daughter more than anyone else in the world. Parents who, in the midst of rain and gales and thunder and lightning, were nowhere to be found…
Every flash of lightning was the world exploding. Every rumble of thunder was the house collapsing. It was dark. Mom and dad were missing and a strange filly was yelling at her.
Abandon Scootaloo? Plain unthinkable.
She had a job to do.
She had a job.
Fly before you run.
“Shush,” Rainbow said again, though softly this time. At last, Scootaloo looked up, face caught halfway between terror and wonder, panic and curiosity at this strange new filly holding her in bright blue hooves. With care, Rainbow lifted a bemused Scootaloo out of the crib and then sat with her back against the wall, resting the foal on her lap. Sitting like this, with her wings pressed into her body and with her tail and hind legs at awkward angles, was brutally uncomfortable; yet for Scoots – and what a shock it was to realise – it was worth it.
“What’s with these tears, huh?” she whispered into Scootaloo’s ear. “Brave fillies don’t cry. They don’t let stupid storms bully ‘em into crying.”
Scootaloo hiccupped. Finally – thank Celestia! Thank every pony in the world! – she stopped crying, and this time for real.
The sound of rain dominated. Lightning flashed, thunder roared, wind battered the cottage, but Rainbow Dash wasn’t scared. She didn’t tremble. She didn’t jump, or unfurl her wings in fright or bite her lip. Instead, she clutched Scootaloo as tightly as possible and said, “It’s alright, Scoots. Your mom’s just gone out for the night. But I’m here for you.”
Foal and filly gazed at each other. Something changed – Rainbow felt it in the air and she felt in her hooves. What was it? A wild warmth in her chest, a sensation both huge and frightening, colossal! Yet for as large as the feeling was – and it filled the whole of her little body from the roots of her mane down to her tip of her tail – it was odd comforting, like sleeping beside the fireplace in the depths of winter as blizzards buried the world outside.
Scootaloo hiccupped again. Closing her eyes, the foal pressed her head against Rainbow’s chest.
The torch blinked, the torch buzzed. Then the light gave out plunging the two of them into darkness, a gloom broken by forks of lightning through the window; but more than lightning lit the room that night: there was magic. Rainbow gasped. Magic lit the ceiling, so potent that perhaps the real marvel was how she had never sensed it before now – sensed it in the prickle of hair on the back of her neck, in the beating of heart, the flow of her blood, the tingling of her skin. For whomever had painted the stars on the ceiling had infused their work with love, with magic, and so now the room was cloaked in darkness, the stars glowed more bright and brilliant than any night sky Rainbow had ever seen; and her previous annoyance at the painter vanished on the spot.
“Scoots,” Rainbow whispered. “Scoots, would you look at this…
“I’m going to tell you a secret,” Rainbow said to Scootaloo, eyes still transfixed upon the stars. “I’m not awesome. Not yet. But I will be, one day.”
More lightning. Rainbow hugged Scootaloo ever closer, and the longer she held her, the more her own worries faded into nothing. She wanted to clutch Scoots forever and ever, help her fly, teach her that there was no reason why, in time, she couldn’t soar; then – she wasn’t sure why – Rainbow thought of her own father tucking her into bed at night. He had used to sing her a lullaby. What had it gone like?
Rainbow caught herself glancing this way and that, for what she was about to do crossed the line from cool into lame, and then kept on zooming until the line couldn’t even be seen anymore; even so, she coughed to clear her throat. She breathed in, and began to sing.
“Hush now, quiet now,
It’s time to lay your sleepy head.
Hush now, quiet now,
It’s time to go to bed.”
In the light of a hundred stars shining, Rainbow made out a small smile on Scootaloo’s face. Then the stars shined brighter – for although neither pony could know it, the lights were fuelled by love, and for months and months the long domant magic had been building and building and building: Rainbow Dash, without realizing it, had finally been the one to free it.
“Drifting, um, off to sleep,
Leave the exciting day behind ya.
Drifting off to sleep,
So that (oh man, how did this go?),
So that the golden dreams may find ya!”
There was a buzzing. Suddenly, the nightlight flickered back into existence, and electric light streamed in through the open doorway from the corridor. The stars stopped glowing. Rainbow stared at the foal on her lap with her tiny wings fluttering in her sleep, her eyes closed and that little smile upon her face.
“You gonna fly one day, Scoots,” Rainbow said, quietly. “You’re gonna soar, and I’m gonna be right there watching.”
A while later, when the worst of the storm was over, wind and rain followed Scootaloo's parents into the house; but they also brought in cheer and laughter. And in Scootaloo’s bedroom they found their daughter asleep and peaceful upon Rainbow’s lap.
There was a pause. Scootaloo’s Mother faced her husband, who gave a little nod.
“Um, we were wondering,” asked the mare. “Fancy being our regular foalsitter? I’m not gonna lie, we can’t afford to pay ya all that much, but um... Scoots seems to like you and stuff—”
“Love you more like,” said her father.
They both smiled hopefully at Rainbow, whose stomach lurched, who for a moment remembered all that she had left behind in Cloudsdale, her home, her wonderful precious incredible home: the taste of hay fries, her bed, her warm and comfortable bed; the flying, the fresh city air; her father’s hugs, which let her know that was safe, all was well…
So quickly she could have made her way back home – that very night, possibly, depending on the train times! Which is why none were more surprised by Rainbow’s answer than Rainbow herself –though looking down at Scootaloo, what else could she have said? There was nothing. There was only one answer worth giving.
“When do I start?” she said.
