The Daddening
“Then the pegasus Royal Guard married the alicorn Princess, bringing peace to the kingdom. And everypony lived happily ever after.” Soarin closed the storybook, looked down at the little green pegasus colt, and smiled.
“The end,” Braeburn added, leaning down to kiss his son on the forehead.
Their son Dust Devil squirmed, snugly tucked beneath his blankets. “Papa! I’m too old for goodnight kisses!”
“But not too old for bedtime stories, huh, Dust?” Soarin ruffled his son’s orange mane.
Dust giggled. “N-no! Not that old, Daddy!”
“That’s what Ah thought. So, if yer still gettin’ bedtime stories, yer gonna get bedtime kisses too. Now, it’s time ta say goodnight.” With a smile, Braeburn kissed the colt’s cheek. Soarin did the same.
Though he groaned, Dust returned the pecks on his fathers’ cheeks, then hugged them. “Goodnight, Papa. Goodnight, Daddy.”
Chuckling, Soarin stood up and tucked the storybook beneath his wing. “Goodnight, Dust.” He joined Braeburn at the lightswitch by the door. “Yer the apple o’ ma pie, son.”
Dust giggled. “Papa…”
“But you’re also the apple of my eye,” Soarin added with a wink.
Dust snorted, then pulled the covers over his head.
“Sweet dreams, you li’l rascal,” Braeburn said as he flicked the switch, shrouding Dust’s room in darkness.
Dust yawned and rolled over as his parents left, closing the door behind them. He closed his eyes, wrapped his tiny wings around himself, and quickly drifted off to sleep.
~
“Dust! Wake up, bud!”
With a groan, Dust began to open his eyes, then slammed them back shut. Light prodded at his eyelids, as did a forehoof.
“Up and at ‘em, son. C’mon,” Soarin said.
“Nnn… okay....” Yawning, Dust rolled onto his back and pried his eyes open. He looked up into his father’s green eyes, matching his own, and smiled. “Morning, Daddy.”
“Morning, Dust.” Soarin stepped aside as Dust crawled out of bed and stretched. “Come get some breakfast. Your Papa and I have something to talk to you about.”
Dust paused mid-stretch. His stomach lurched. “S-something to talk about? Am I in trouble?”
Soarin shook his head. “We’ll talk about it downstairs, but don’t take too long. Your breakfast will get cold.” With that, he headed out the door, smiling back at Dust before exiting.
Heaving a sigh, Dust started to preen his wings. I hope they didn’t find out about what happened at Marigold’s house! How were we supposed to know those cupcakes were for her mom’s class? He quickly devised the perfect escape plan in case a grounding was on the table. I know! I’ll offer to bake a few to take to Marigold’s! Maybe that’ll help me get my cutiemark too!
Once he was done, Dust left his room for the bathroom on the second story of their little cabin. After he washed his face, brushed his teeth, and combed his mane, he bounded down the stairs. Sweet smells wafted from the kitchen and teased his nostrils—his Papa’s apple and cinnamon pancakes. Mouth watering, he made haste from the living room to the kitchen.
There, both his fathers sat at the table. While there were place settings for three, nopony was eating yet.
“Good morning!” Dust fluttered his wings as he climbed up and took his seat. “Hah! Made it!” He smiled at his fathers, then frowned at their stoic expressions. “What’s going on?”
Braeburn looked at Soarin, then at Dust. He tugged at his Stetson for a moment, then sighed. “Son, we all need ta talk.”
“Yeah, Daddy said that.” Dust tilted his head. “Talk ‘bout what?”
Seated beside Braeburn, Soarin played with the Wonderbolt goggles hanging around his neck and sighed in turn. “Dust, you know that we love you, right?”
Dust’s heart gave an erratic beat. Oh no! Marigold must’ve tattled! That…! “Y-yes, Daddy,” he answered, their stares becoming too much.
“We love ya no matter what,” Braeburn said. “No matter what happens. We’re a family.”
Dust nodded again. “Y-yes, Papa.”
The two stallions shared a glance for a moment. Then, Braeburn took off his Stetson, and Soarin removed the goggles from around his neck.
Dust gulped. They only do that when things are serious. Oh, Celestia, I am in trouble!
Braeburn cleared his throat. “Now—”
“I-I didn’t know those cupcakes were for Marigold’s mom’s class!” Dust blurted, leaning up on his forehooves. His eyes wide with panic, he raised a forehoof and declared, “Honest! W-we never woulda ate ‘em if we knew that!”
Another shared glance.
Then, Soarin raised a forehoof. “Settle down, son. This isn’t about any cupcakes.”
“Though,” Braeburn said, a smirk curling across his lips, “if you did eat too many cupcakes, we might have ta take ya ta the dentist. Maybe Ah should schedule an appointment fer tooth-hurty.”
Both stallions laughed.
Dust’s worried frown dissolved into a look of exasperation. He buried his face in his forehooves and groaned. “Papa!”
Soarin and Braeburn hoofbumped.
Dust groaned again.
“Alright, alright,” Braeburn said with a chuckle. His stern mask slipped back into place. “Though, Ah do want ya ta know that we both love ya no matter what happens.”
Soarin nodded, reaching across the table to pat his son’s mane. “No matter what.”
Dust removed his forehooves from his face. “I… I get that. But, Papa, Daddy, what does this have to do with anything?”
Both stallions looked away for a moment, their jaws clenching, before Braeburn spoke up.
“Well, Dust, it’s jus’...” He sighed. “It’s jus’... Well. Ah’ll jus’ be honest wit’ ya.” He spoke slowly, carefully, each word heavy and quiet. “Yer growin’ up, after all. So Ah’d best jus’ tell it like it is.
“Truth o’ the matter is, yer Daddy an’ Ah jus’ ain’t right fer each other anymore.”
In the span of a sentence, Dust’s world came crashing down around him. He looked up at his fathers in horror, his jaw dropping. Stories of other fillies and colts began to rush through his mind. All of them had undergone a d-i-v-o-r-c-e—that horrible word that he didn’t want to string together, because, now, it was happening to him and his family.
Tears sprung to his eyes. In that moment, Dust didn’t care about being a big colt, about being brave. “Wh-wh-what? D-does that mean you’re—?”
“Yes, son. We’re getting a di-horse,” Soarin said gravely.
While his father’s comment would normally make him groan, Dust could only let out a strangled sob.
Two chairs fell as two stallions sprung from them to his side. Four strong forelegs enveloped him a hug as he began to sob. Dust buried his head in both the golden and blue chest, dampening their fur with his tears. Murmurs of assurances of love flowed through his ears, both stallions tearing up a bit as well as they held him close.
When Dust finally pulled away, wiping at his reddened eyes, he was offered a tissue. He took it without thanks.
“I’m so sorry, bud.” Soarin stroked the colt’s mane. “It’s just not working out for your Papa and me. We love you very much, but sometimes parents don’t work out with each other, even if they love their foals.”
“I…” Dust hiccuped and dabbed the tissue at his eyes. “I-I-I kn-know. I-it’s happened to o-other foals a-at school.” At least I won’t be alone, he thought, a small comfort. He looked up into his Papa’s eyes. “A-are you really s-serious about this?”
Braeburn shook his head. “Naw, son.”
Dust started to smile. “R-really?”
“Nope. Ah’m Braeburn, not serious!”
Both stallions laughed.
Rather than returning to tears, Dust felt a tinge of irritation. Th-that’s not funny…!
“Alright, alright. No, unfortunately, son, we are serious.” Braeburn sighed again, hugging him tight. “We’ve tried other things, but it’s best that we do this. But we both love ya more than anythin’, an’ you’ll always be our li’l rascal.” A weak smile curved across his muzzle. “Daddy’s already agreed that he should move out—”
Sniffling, Dust looked up into his daddy’s eyes, and nearly started crying again.
“—But both o’ us are gonna be in yer lives as long as ya want us ta be. An’ we won’t be the only ponies in it.”
“You’ll still have your Gramma and Pop,” Soarin said, referring to his parents. “And Auntie Spitfire, and Auntie Fleetfoot, and everypony on your Papa’s side of the family, too.”
“That’s right!” Braeburn nuzzled Dust, who returned the gesture. “An’ you know who else is gonna be ‘round?”
Half-forcing a smile, Dust looked up at his fathers. “Who?”
“A circle.”
Dust scowled.
Laughing, Braeburn brought a forehoof to his chest. “Jus’ kiddin’. Anyway, Ah know this is real sudden, Dust, but we were wonderin’, if you were okay wit’ it, if ya wanted ta meet yer stepfathers today.”
“St-stepfathers?!” Dust balked. “A-a-already?!”
“Your Papa and I have been discussing this for a while,” Soarin said, laying a forehoof on Dust’s shoulder, “and we decided we wouldn’t be finalizing anything until we had a full support system ready for you. Including two more loving parents who would always be there for you.”
Dust was merely eight years old, but he wasn’t born yesterday. While his parents had done their best to shelter him from the reality of divorce up until this morning, they hadn’t stopped other foals at his school from sharing their stories. Dust knew from those stories that it often took years before either divorced parent found somepony special, much less had them already lined up. Something about it just felt… off, adding to the queasiness in his stomach.
Nevertheless, as he looked up into both sets of gentle smiles and caring eyes, up at the stallions who had raised him and loved him since he remembered, he found it hard to say no. Especially when it was his decision.
“Umm… O-okay,” he muttered.
Braeburn nuzzled him again. “That’s ma big guy.” He put his hat back on his head, while Soarin strapped his goggles back around his neck. Once they looked back to their normal states, he looked over at Soarin. “Alright, Soarin, if ya could…?”
“Huh?” Dust tilted his head again. Could what?
Soarin nodded, then whisked away out of the kitchen. Before Dust could ask another question, Soarin returned with two stallions in tow.
One was a brown Earth pony stallion with a black mane. This stallion wore a red bandana around his neck. The other was a black pegasus stallion with a light-blue, white-striped mane. He wore a pair of flight goggles around his neck, similar to Soarin’s. The Earth pony had a cutiemark of a small train, while the other’s was a stormcloud with a bolt of lightning.
Braeburn and the Earth pony wrapped their forehooves around each other’s shoulders, while Soarin did the same with the pegasus.
Th-they were waiting outside the whole time?! What?! Dust stared, wide-eyed, up at the four stallions. B-but—
“Dust, this is Promontory,” Braeburn said, giving the stallion beside him a nudge with his chin.
“Nice ta meet ya, Dust.” Promontory’s voice was deep and booming, thick with the same accent as Braeburn’s. Rather than offering a forehoof to the colt, he swept him up in a big, crushing hug.
“Nice… to meet… you… s-sir,” Dust managed between gasps, barely returning the engulfing hug.
Promontory laughed as he set Dust down. “‘Sir’? Hah! No thanks, Ah work fer a livin’! But ya can call me whatever ya like!”
Dust panted as he caught his breath. “O-okay…”
Soarin narrowed his eyes at Braeburn. “A little quick for bear hugs, don’t you think?”
With a smug grin, Braeburn said, “Well, Promontory is quite the bear. Ain’t ya?” He nudged and winked at the stallion, who grinned back.
Dust looked between the two. “Bear… wha…?”
“Nevermind, Dust. Anyway, this is Thunderlane,” Soarin prompted, nudging the pegasus beside him rather roughly.
Thunderlane flinched, but then stuck out his forehoof. “Great to meet you, little guy! You can call me whatever too, heh, heh.” His voice was more even in tone, but with a more jovial nature behind it, similar to Soarin’s.
“Hello, whatever two!” the other three stallions replied in unison, both couples hoofbumping each other.
Holding back an irritated growl, Dust shook this stallion’s forehoof as well. “Uhh, okay.” He sat down on his haunches and looked up at all four. “So,” he said after a moment, “you all are… um…”
“Go ahead, ask us anythin’,” Braeburn said, his chest puffing out. “Whatever it is, we’ll be honest an’ true wit’ you, Dust.”
Dust nodded. “Okay, Papa. Well, um… I guess…”
Soarin rustled his mane. “C’mon now, bud, don’t be shy!”
“Well, I—”
“Don’t be pushin’ him, Soarin,” Braeburn said with a click of his tongue. “It’s a lot fer a colt ta take in at once.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” Soarin raised both forehooves. “But he also needs to be open with us if—”
“Daddy—”
Soarin spun around and patted Dust’s head again. “Heh, sorry there, son. Go ahead. At your own pace,” he added, shooting a look towards the two Earth ponies.
Dust felt a surge of discomfort ripple through him as Papa and Promontory yet again glared at their counterparts.
“Um…” Dust cleared his throat and finished at last, “S-so, are all four of you… My dads now?”
Braeburn raised a forehoof, but Soarin cut in with, “Only if you want to think of us like that, son! It’ll be a while before ‘Lane and I get married—”
“Same wit’ Promo an’ me,” Braeburn muttered through clenched jaws.
“But if you would like to call him Dad or Pa, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Right, Lane?” Soarin said with a wink.
“Of course not!” Thunderlane brought a forehoof to his chest and grinned down at the colt. “I would be happy to be your dad, Dust. I’ll be the best dad I can be.”
“Wow.” The word rolled off Dust’s tongue before it registered. “That’s—”
“A li’l rushed, don’t ya think?” Braeburn stepped towards Soarin and Thunderlane, Promontory right by his side. “Ain’t even got the papers signed, an’ ya want ta do that, ‘Lane?”
Thunderlane shrugged. “Hey, if the kid wants—”
Promontory pointed a forehoof at him. “Kid’s right here, an’ his name is Dust.” He turned and smiled down at the colt. “Now, don’t ya worry, li’l stallion. We ain’t gonna fight in front o’ ya. We’re jus’ all a mite nervous, ya see, hehe.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Dust said, shrugging shyly. “I-I don’t need—”
“In fact, here’s somethin’ ta cheer ya up!” Promontory reached beneath his red bandana and pulled out a small, red toy train engine.
Dust’s eyes lit up. “Wow! I like trains!” His wings buzzed as he jumped up, grabbed the toy, and clutched it to his chest. “Thank you so much, Mister Promontory!”
Promontory laughed, his hearty bass echoing through the kitchen. He nuzzled Braeburn and grinned. “Ya hear that, Brae? He’s already takin’ a shinin’ ta me.”
Beside them, Soarin and Thunderlane glared daggers, their wings unfurling. “Oh yeah?” Soarin flicked his mane towards the other pegasus. “Well, ‘Lane, how about you tell Dust some of those jokes you’ve been working on?”
In mid-hop, Dust stopped and tilted his head at Thunderlane. “Jokes…?”
“Yup, got a ton of ‘em! Wanna hear some?” Thunderlane asked with a grin.
“Sure!” Dust nodded vigorously, any remaining discomfort fading away. A new toy AND jokes?! Daddy and Papa sure picked good stallions!
Thunderlane brought a forehoof to his muzzle and cleared his throat. “Alright! Here’s one… What did the Buffalo say to the Appleloosan?”
Dust paused, then shrugged. “I dunno, what?”
“‘Please speak up. You are a little horse.’”
Silence.
Dust thought for a moment, then groaned. Ohhhh… it’s those kind of jokes. “Oh, um… Heh, funny,” he said, feigning a chuckle.
Thunderlane’s muzzle flushed red as he looked at Soarin in wide-eyed confusion. Soarin laughed and turned to his son. “Wow, good one, ‘Lane! Want to hear some more, Dust?”
“Um, well…”
“Aw, that joke ain’t funny!” Both Braeburn and Promontory smirked. “C’mon, now, ’Lane, show us what ya got!”
Oh, no.
Clearing his throat again, Thunderlane struggled to regain his composure. “W-well, you’re right! I have a lot more where that came from!” With another grin towards Dust, he said, “Okay, let’s try another one! How do you make a tissue dance?”
Tissue? For blowing your nose? Dust bit his lip. “Umm…”
Thunderlane threw his forehooves up, beaming. “You put a little boogie in it! Haha, get it?”
Dust set his train engine down and tapped his chin. While Thunderlane was trying, his jokes were… awful. Even worse than the ones his fathers told him over dinner, which usually involved terrible puns he didn’t quite understand.
Yet, with four pairs of eyes on him in eager anticipation, Dust felt compelled to answer, “Uh, heh, yeah! G-good… Good one…”
Braeburn and Promontory snickered.
Thunderlane waved his forehooves. “Okay, okay!” He cleared his throat a third time, then sat back down on his haunches. “Now, as you might know, Dust, I work at the Weather Factory along with your Daddy—” he winked at Soarin—“but that wasn’t always my job.”
Silence.
Dust looked between the four. I guess I’m supposed to say something? “Uh… oh?”
“Yup! Before that, I worked at a calendar factory.” Thunderlane smirked. “They fired me when I took a couple days off!”
Both he and Soarin erupted into laughter, while Braeburn and Promontory gave him polite chuckles. Dust, however, wasn’t laughing.
What is going on? Is this like some sort of competition or something? He looked down at the toy train at his hooves. I… I like the train much better than these… “jokes”... But…
Thunderlane’s laughter was cut short as Promontory patted him with a rough, iron-shoed hoof. “Alright, alright, now it’s time fer some real Dad jokes.”
With a smug smile, Promontory squeezed between Soarin and Thunderlane and sat right before Dust. “So, two stallions walk inta a bar, right?”
Oh, not one of THESE jokes again! Dust plastered a smile. “Errr… Right.”
Promontory snorted. “Eeyup, two stallions walk inta a bar.” A beat. “The third one ducks!”
The two Earth ponies burst into peals of laughter. The three pegasi, however, barely managed chuckles—the two stallions facehoofing at the shoddy joke.
“Um…” As the two continued to laugh, Dust looked over at Soarin. “Daddy?”
“Yes, son?” Soarin asked over the laughter, shooting a frown their way.
“Are you… Are you all… trying to win me or something?”
Promontory and Braeburn stopped laughing.
“What do ya mean, ‘win ya,’ Dust?” Braeburn asked.
“Like…” Fidgeting, Dust looked back down at the toy, then up at his Papa. “It feels like you all are… trying to beat each other. Like, see who I love more.”
“Us?” Promontory brought a forehoof to his chest. “Naw! Son, we’re just—”
”Son?” Soarin rounded on the larger stallion. “Don’t you be using that yet, Promo! It’s too early for that!”
“It’s ‘Promontory,’” he said with a stomp of his forehoof, “an’ he’s takin’ a shinin’ ta me far quicker than yer colt!”
Soarin advanced on him, pressing his muzzle up against his. “What did you just call my ‘Lane?”
Braeburn stepped between them, waving his forehooves. “Easy, fellers! Easy!” The two stallions separated. “Ain’t right ta be fightin’ like this in front o’ the young’un.” He frowned down at Dust, who stared up at the three in fascination.
Soarin sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, Promontory, Braeburn. Dust.” He leaned down and lifted the colt’s chin. “You’re right, son. We are competing for your love, and it isn’t right. There’s no need to do that.”
Dust gave a happy sigh. “Thanks, Daddy. It really isn’t, because—”
“Because I have the ‘Number One Dad’ mug!”
Four sets of eyes snapped to the rear of the kitchen.
There, balanced on a strong, black wing for all to see, was the "#1 Dad" mug. Thunderlane grinned in penultimate triumph, his beaming smile wide and white as keys on a piano. He flicked the mug up with his wingtip and caught it in his forehoof.
“Mmmm,” Thunderlane said with a snicker, taking an imaginary drink from the empty mug, “tastes like victory.”
Braeburn stomped a forehoof. “You give that back right now, Thunderlane! Ya ain’t deservin’ o’ that there mug!”
“Yeah!” Promontory stomped along with him. “At least mah joke was funny, an’ he liked mah gift, too!”
Dust raised both forehooves. “Wait! Everypony, please—”
Thunderlane cackled. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you two come and—get it!”
The mug sailed through the air. Dust watched in horrified slow motion as the mug rolled lip-over-bottom towards his Daddy, only to be snatched by Promontory’s forehooves at the last second.
“Hah!” The towering stallion raised the mug high and whooped. “Now Ah’m the Number One Dad!”
What the hay?! “Mister Promontory! Please, why are—”
A strong breeze sliced in front of Dust. The colt cried out and fell to his rump. He looked up to see Daddy holding the mug now, his powerful wings creating gusts with each flap. “Hah yourself, Promo!” He stuck out his tongue. “Now I’m the rightful owner of the mug, and—”
The mug flew from Soarin’s grasp.
Braeburn, a lasso held between his teeth, roped the mug and yanked it onto his back. “Yee-haw! Sorry, but that ain’t gonna fly!!” Grinning, he added with a snort, “Serves ya right fer flyin’ in the house, Soarin!”
Dust stumbled to his hooves. “Papa, please!”
“Oh yeah?” Thunderlane swooped down and grabbed the mug off Braeburn’s back. “How’s that for your little rule?”
Promontory growled and pawed a forehoof at the floor, snorting hotly. With one swift motion, he undid the knot in his bandana. The red cloth fluttered to the floor. “Alright, gloves are comin’ off, flyboy! Now, you best bring that there mug right back down ta mah Braeburn, o’ Ah’ll kick yer flank straight ta the Badlands!”
Braeburn smacked one of his forehooves against the other. “That’s right! Between me an’ Promontory, we’re the Good, the Dad, an’ the Silly!”
“That pun is so weak, it should work at the calendar factory!” Thunderlane jeered and flew down low, dangling the mug above Promontory’s muzzle. “Come and try it, you big oafs!”
Waving his forehooves, Dust ran up between them. “Everypony, please, stop!”
His words fell on deaf ears.
Promontory reared up on his hindhooves and leapt, aiming straight for Thunderlane. Thunderlane’s eyes widened. He flinched within a second, but it was too late.
Promontory slammed into Thunderlane with all the momentum of a bullet train. The resulting velocity sent the pegasus spiraling from the air. He landed with a thud on the kitchen counter as the mug slipped from his forehooves.
With Earth pony dexterity, almost like magic, Promontory nabbed the mug before it hit the floor. “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehaw! Get along, li’l bird!” he whooped, smirking up at the downed pegasus on the counter.
“Don’t you talk to him that way!” Soarin yelled. He grabbed a chair and held it up high. “If anything, I deserve that mug, because I chair for Dust the most!”
The chair rocketed through the air, aimed like a javelin straight for Promontory. Promontory raised a forehoof to his eyes to defend himself, but was too late. The chair smacked against the stallion’s side and cracked in two, making him howl.
“Aaaaaaagh!” Promontory screamed, his eyes wild with rage as he stared back at Soarin. “So much for common chairity, huh?! Well, take this!” Springing to his hooves, he launched towards the smug pegasus.
“EVERYPONY! STOP!” Dust screamed at the top of his lungs.
Nopony listened.
What followed was a tornado of feathers and fur. Soarin tackled Promontory, who rolled and rolled across the linoleum. Soarin reached for the mug, only to have his forehoof knocked away by Braeburn. The stallion removed his vest and hat, then sprang towards his now ex-husband, who met him with full force. A flurry of punches and kicks ensued, both stallions screeching at each other in the melee.
“Promontory’s the Number One new Dad for Dust!”
“No, Thunderlane is!”
“Is not!”
“Is too!”
“Is not!”
“Yes, I am!” Thunderlane pounced into the pile.
Promontory shook out of his daze and joined in the fight. ”No, he ain’t!”
“Is so!”
“Ain’t not!”
“Is so!”
“Ain’t not!”
Throughout this terrifying blur of images, Dust watched, frozen in place. His tiny wings trembled, his weak limbs shook, and his cries of protest and fear died in his throat. All he could think about as the four stallions mauled each other over the "#1 Dad" mug was that, after today, he wouldn’t have a family anymore.
I can’t believe this is happening! he mentally screamed.
It’s the daddening! another voice screamed along with him inside his mind.
Daddening?
Dad-happening! You know! Like a dadgedy! A dad tragedy!
Dust started to cry. “Th-the dadgedy… It’s happening…”
It’s happening! The daddening! And there are no brakes on this train!
Dust looked down at the little toy train. “I-I’m scared,” he whispered, picking up the engine and hugging it to his chest. He closed his eyes.
Then, heard only silence.
Curious, Dust opened one eye.
The pile of stallions had come to a halt. They were frozen in mid-wrestle, all eight eyes staring into his. They opened their mouths and spoke in one unified, synchronized motion.
”Hi, scared,” they said, ”I’m Dad.”
~
”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
Dust Devil sat bolt upright, clutching his blankets. He gulped down lungfuls of air, heaping deep breaths, as hooves galloped through the hallway and towards his door.
Scrunching backwards against his headboard, Dust threw the covers over himself. “D-don’t come in! G-go away! I don’t care about your stupid mug!”
“Dust! Are ya alright?!”
“What’s going on?!”
The twin voices of his fathers rang out from beyond the door. Dust refused to answer, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, in hopes that his silence would send the monsters away.
To no avail.
The door burst open with a loud thud. Two sets of hooves rushed in, pounding against the floorboards. Dust’s sanctuary was stolen, the blanket yanked away. He covered his head with his forehooves and screamed.
“Dust! Dust! We’re here! It’s okay, bud! We’re here!”
“What’s wrong? Are ya hurt? Did somepony try ta break in?!”
Dust said nothing, keeping his eyes closed. He waited, listening for another set of voices.
So far, just Papa and Daddy… Not… Them too…
Two heavy forehooves rested on his shoulders. “C’mon now, son. What’s wrong? Lookit me.”
The bedsprings groaned as a full-grown stallion sat on the colt’s bed. “It’s okay, Dust. Whatever you were dreaming about, it’s not going to hurt you now. We’re here for you.”
... A dream?
With slow, cautious strain, Dust opened his eyes.
Before him were Braeburn and Soarin—the former sans his hat and vest—looking down at him with concerned frowns. Both had obviously just woken up, their eyelids still heavy with sleep, but neither daring to even yawn.
Finally, Dust whispered, “It was… a dream?”
Braeburn rubbed the colt’s shoulder. “It was jus’ a dream, Dust. Jus’ a li’l nightmare. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt ya.”
Soarin rubbed his other shoulder, then nuzzled his neck. “We’re never going to let anything hurt you, Dust. I promise.”
“Ah promise too.”
“So…” Dust looked between both stallions. “You’re… you’re not getting a divorce?”
Two sets of tired eyes widened. “Divorce? What makes you think that?”
“What put that inta yer mind, son?”
“It was…” Looking all around his room, Dust found no hiding shadows—no strangers lurking—nor any sign of the “#1 Dad” mug or the toy train engine. His shoulders slumped as he sighed with relief. “It was just a bad dream.” He looked up at his fathers. “I dreamed you were getting a divorce, and—”
Two sets of forelegs enveloped him in a tight hug.
His Papa laughed. “Aw, son, don’t ya worry ‘bout things like that! Yer Daddy an’ Ah love each other very much, an’ we have no plans ta ever separate. Ain’t that right, Soar?”
“That’s right, Brae,” his Daddy added, chuckling. “Nopony ever loves your Papa as much as I do, Dust, except you. And we’ll always be a family together.”
Dust nuzzled them both, then smiled as they pulled away. “That’s good. I don’t think I could take all the jokes if you did.”
Braeburn smirked. “Yeah, Ah mean—wait.” He blinked. “Jokes?”
Nightmare fading away into the moonlight, Dust yawned and settled back down into bed. As he pulled his covers up to his chin, he muttered, “Yeah… Dad jokes…”
Soarin raised an eyebrow. “Dad… jokes…?”
Both fathers looked down at their son for answers. Their only response was light snoring as the exhausted colt, now reassured, fell back into slumber.
The two shared a quiet laugh as they left his room, closing the door behind them.
“Well, I’m glad it was just some weird little nightmare,” Soarin whispered, leading the pair back to their bedroom.
“Me too. Ah really need ta get back ta bed,” Braeburn replied, yawning.
Soarin yawned in turn. “Mmm, yeah…”
“Although…” Braeburn let his forehoof linger on the door to their bedroom. “Ah jus’ wonder… What did he mean by ‘Dad jokes’?”
Soarin shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, you and I tell some jokes now and then, but they’re just normal jokes. You know, puns and stuff.”
Braeburn tapped his chin. “Yeah, an’ he seems ta like ‘em.”
Shrugging again, Soarin shook his head. “Ah well. All I know is if you and I ever stopped telling jokes, it would be a tragedy.”
Braeburn smirked. “Make that a dadgedy.”
Soarin snorted. “The daddening.”
A chuckle. “A dad end ta our marriage.”
Another chuckle. “It would sure give Dust a lot of daddage.”
Another snort. “Ah’m not sure he could dadandle it.”
“Wanna see how much father we can take these?”
“Ah’m dad sure o’ it!”
A shared laugh.
Then, when they had run out of puns for the moment, Braeburn and Soarin headed back into their bedroom and climbed into bed.
“Well, I’m tired. Dad tired,” Soarin said with a yawn.
Braeburn nuzzled him. “Howdy, Dad Tired. Ah’m Dad Braeburn.”
Soarin booped him on the nose and wrapped his wings around him. “Oh, hush.”
Once their laughter faded, they dreamed sweet dreams, full of pun and joy.
