It's No Wonder That You Feel So Strange

by shortskirtsandexplosions

Rating: everyone
Tags: Spike, Twilight Sparkle, Sad, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 2712

Spike has a moment of quiet contemplation while visiting Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns.

"Twilight, did I ever tell you the real reason why I returned Peewee to his nest?" Spike asked.

But Twilight Sparkle was asleep, so her apprentice saved the question for another day... a day that would never come.

Published 2015-12-11 18:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-12-11 18:00:02 UTC

Then

Yesterday afternoon...

"...and so, in theory..." Twilight Sparkle smiled, magically swirling a cup of punch in her telekinetic grasp. "If you merged the leylines of two harmonically charged crystalline diodes and placed them laterally along a strip of enchanted timberwolf twigs, you'll not only jump start the creature's reconstitution, but you will have also rid it entirely of its chaotic and beastly nature."

"Mmmm...!" Moondancer finished sipping her own drink and grinned, eyes wide behind her glasses. "In essence, a brand new form of magical timberwolf domestication!"

"Harmonic domestication," Twilight said, pointing with her wingfeathers. "There's a key difference, you see."

The unicorns surrounding her murmured and nodded in contemplation. A casual group of Canterlot students, scholars, and teachers stood in scattered bunches across the interior of an ampitheatrical classroom at the tail-end of a long scientific dissertation. Most of the crowd faced the alicorn of the evening as she stood beside a long refreshment table complete with floral arrangements and table cloth.

"Does this have something to do with the Tree of Harmony and the Everfree Forest?" Minuette asked, blinking. "After all, all known species of Timberwolves hail from there."

"I suppose you could say that I made most of my key observations within range of the Tree of Harmony and its roots," Twilight said with a nod. "As of right now, my theory on what makes the Everfree Forest so dangerous is that everything that grows there is imbued with harmony. However, it's unchecked harmony, which—rather paradoxically—takes on the traits and qualities of pure chaos."

"Ah!" Twinkleshine smiled. "Then that explains the basis of your Theory of Magical Uniformity."

"Exactly!" Twilight gestured with a hoof. "Look at Discord! He's a being of pure chaos! And yet he's reformed and embraced Harmony! How is that even possible? Wouldn't his essence resist doing anything to promote balance and order?"

"Well, from what I hear," voiced a stallion from the back of the group, "He's quite predictable with his buffoonery!"

The crowd chuckled good-heartedly at that.

Twilight giggled, rolled her eyes, then said, "What I'm trying to say is: Equestrian Science may indeed be making a mistake by separating chaos and harmony into separate classifications. I know it's a radical concept, but I'm aiming to propose that chaos and harmony are—in fact—two polarized ends of the same spindle of fabric, as t'were. It's taken a lot of time and research to get to such a point of theorization."

"And no doubt a lot of talent," Moondancer said, winking.

"Leave it to the Princess of Friendship to set the bar straight," Lyra Heartstrings said with a giggle. She munched on a muffin and hummed. "Mrmmmff... or should I say... Princess of Magic."

Twilight brushed one hoof against another, blushing slightly. "Well... it's j-just a theory, and though the Timberwolf domestication experiment is just one of many research projects that support my Uniformity Model, it's still a long way's from reaching an empirical conclusion."

"Wow, Twilight..." Twinkleshine giggled. "I have to admit. I didn't think I'd actually enjoy one of these... super sciencey seminars..."

The group chuckled.

"—but I'm having the time of my life!" Twinkleshine winked. "Better than any other reunion here at Celestia's School! That's for sure!"

"I have to agree with Twinkleshine," Lyra said. "This was a great presentation, through and through. They should announce your arrival much sooner in advance, Twilight!"

"Yes... well..." Twilight took a deep breath. "I couldn't have done it all by myself. Or the presentation for that matter!"

"Oh?"

"Why... the loyalest lab assistant in all of Equestria was with me each step of the way! He even thought up the Timberwolf Experiment!"

"No way..."

Twilight spun about. "Spike!"

The dragon whelp stood on the sidelines, gazing out a tall window along the far end of the classroom. A dull afternoon dwindled into orange shadow across the rooftops of Canterlot's educational district.

"Spiiiiiike."

Spike snapped out of it with a jolt. He spun about and dashed across the crowded classroom. "Here I am, Twilight! Sorry. I-I was just... uhhh... mentally planning how to pack for our train trip home tonight. Honest!"

Twilight giggled, resting a hoof on his scaley shoulder. "Would you relax?" She gestured at the other unicorns. "I was telling the other ponies here how you were the one who thought up the Timberwolf Experiment that we conducted a year ago!"

"Huh?" Spike blinked, then gasped. "Oh! Right!" He smiled proudly. "This one time, on the edge of the Everfree Forest, I totally sent a Timberwolf crashing to bits with a well-timed rock throw!" He waved a claw. "Eh... you shoulda been there. Real epic wood-chipping, if you know what I mean."

"Hehehe..." Twilight turned to smile at the others. "He saved my friend Applejack's life, too. What's more... we had plenty of Timberwolf pieces to study and observe. With a little bit of lab-work, we finally figured out how Timberwolves reconstitute themselves and—furthermore—how to domesticate them."

"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant." A mare from the crowd adjusted her bifocals and smiled. "Such resourcefulness! And coming from a beastly little creature, too!"

"Erm..." Spike wrung the end of his tail, grinning crookedly. "...thanks?"

"Spike's one in a million, alright," Twilight said. "He arranged the slides for my last five presentations." She waved at the table. "He's even responsible for the refreshments we're all enjoying right now!"

"Wow!" Minuette leaned in, ruffling the dragon's spines. "Lab assistant and caterer!"

"I knew I tasted rubies in my muffins," Twinkleshine said, winking.

The group had a good-natured laugh.

"Heh... rubies in muffins." Spike smirked, shaking his head. "I wouldn't do that to anypony. Although..." He rubbed his chin. "...that's not half-a-bad idea." His stomach almost instantly growled. "Erm..." He hugged himself, blushing slightly. "Whoops... heheh."

"Sounds like somedragon's worked up an appetite!" Twilight turned around. "You know what? You've been super extra helpful on this trip, Spike. I'd say you've more than earned yourself a break."

"Does that mean...?"

Twilight giggled. "I know where you wanna go. Better make it across town quick before Joe closes shop."

"Joe?" An old stallion asked with a perplexed blink.

"Doughnut Joe," Moondancer explained. "He has a famous shop on the other side of Canterlot. Well... famous among the youth, I suppose."

"Ohhhh..."

"Every year when we attend the seminar here, Spike likes nothing more than to scamper off and munch doughnuts to his heart's content." Twilight rolled her eyes. "Sometimes he's there for hours at a time. Heehee..."

"Sooooo..." Spike leaned in with a razor-sharp smile. "...I can go nuts now? Doughnuts?"

Twilight waved a hoof. "Go on, Spike. I'll clean up the classroom myself this time."

"Woohooo!" Spike waved a claw and scampered off, much to the chuckles of the older ponies. "Thanks a ton, Twilight!"

"Just be sure to meet me at the Train Station!" Twilight called across the classroom. "Eight o'clock sharp! We have some very, very important experiments to perform tomorrow afternoon!"

"I'll be there with sugar bells on!" Spike winked, grabbed the door, then ducked out. The voices of the scholarly seminar were cut off in an instant. The little dragon found himself jogging down an empty hallroom with checkerboard tile.

Spike ran and ran...

...until he reached a junction of corridors.

There, he slowed his pace to a crawl. His muscles went limp—as did the scales of his face. Any and all trace of a smile was gone, replaced by a tense expression as he looked in every which direction.

It was late in the day, hours after normal attendance at Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. The east wing had been opened solely for the sake of Twilight Sparkle's seminar. The rest of the school rooms and laboratories loomed empty, silent. Dim.

Spike knew his way around these halls like the back of his claw. It still didn't make what he was about to do any easier. Holding his breath, he snuck along a wall of doors and closets, making his way towards the center of the large building.

When he reached the main hallway, he did not head for the front entrance—but instead cut straight across, making for the west end of the facility. Here, a series of steps descended towards a sub-level that had been constructed to accommodate for the change in mountainous elevation outside the school.

Spike turned a corner. The halls here were dimmer than in the rest of the school. He expected this; he expected many things. Crouching low, the dragon whelp slithered north, took a left, then another right.

Hoofsteps.

Spike clenched his jagged teeth together. Holding his breath, he ducked behind a trash bin situated between a locker and a utility closet. Hooves clopped against cold floor tiles, and the dragon watched as an elder security guard shuffled past, his vest dangling with keys connected to his belt by a chain.

Spike waited... waited... then stuck his spined head out. The guard had made his way to the east end of the building.

The coast was clear.

Spike darted across the hallway, then descended another set of stairs. Slitted windows loomed across the walls of this wing, exposing a crimson sunset beyond the valleys of Equestria. The school hugged the very cliffsides of Canterlot Mountain, and a cold draft flew through the hallway from a location up ahead.

Spike sniffed the air. A dozen familiar smells haunted him at once. Dust. Brimstone. Melted frost and petrified hay.

His heart pounded with each crack and fissure his eyes counted in the walls of that corridor. The ceiling was starting the bow. The windows were fogged up from time and neglect. This part of the school was long overdue for refurbishment, but it never came. There was a reason for that. There was a reason for everything.

At last, Spike made one last turn. A pair of double doors stood dull and dead before him. In the penumbra of afternoon sunlight, he spotted a single glowing pulse. The double doors had a magical lock... the same magical lock from years previous. The security at Celestia's School never learned nearly as much as the students who attended there. Spike wasn't about to complain.

With a heavy heart—and an even heavier lump in his throat—Spike approached the lock. He took a deep breath... the same breath as every year before. Exhaling, he vomited a plume of green flame—then caught it in his scaly palm. After a quick and cautious glance over his shoulder, the dragon squinted at the glow, flexed his muscles, and then slapped the burning plume straight into the lock's keyhole. There was a rhythmic snap from deep within the mechanism, followed by a dull hum. That was how Spike knew that his flame had overwhelmed the faulty leylines of the magic lock. The doors could now swing freely, and he wasted no time in testing them.

Hinges creaked. Spike walked straight into a gust of high mountain wind. His eyes squinted, reflecting a crimson patchwork of light.

It wasn't a room. It was a slab of granite, carved from the inside out, with uneven craggy walls that belonged to a cave—not a school. The mouth was covered with a thick metal gate, and beyond that was pure atmosphere. A sun baked its way into the western horizon, kissing every forest and lake and stream of Equestria that stretched in between Canterlot and the vanishing point.

Spike strolled forward, slowly, with melancholic grace. His tiny claws scraped over the remnants of wooden carts, shelves, a broomstick or two. In the corner there loomed the rusted skeleton of a long-dormant incubator. And along the walls...

...along the walls were dozens upon dozens of tiny alcoves—shallow niches carved out of granite by claws indescribably larger than his own. He stared at them... always stared at them.

Breath after breath, step after step, Spike approached the many-many holes. All were empty, save for loose stalks of long-dried straw.

And shells. Purple fragments... so old and brittle that he dare not touch them. Instead, he gazed upon them. With eyeslits forlorn and green.

Another year. Another sigh. The ceremony grew less pretentious each time, even though he found himself staying there longer... and longer and longer.

Somewhere, there were voices. Laughing, giggling, neighing voices. Even when Spike lay at sleep at night, clamping his claws over his ears, he heard them. They were burned against the inner walls of his skull, whether he asked for it or not. Most of the voices were gentle, loving. But he couldn't find an appropriate way to respond. What would be the point? They would never understand the void that lingered at the end of every breath—his and theirs. Even he was at a loss to grasp it.

It was only here—and the scant few times he stole a visit to the lofty roost—that he came close to finding it. But it was always empty, year after year, like the holes he shuffled past, carved alcoves filled with nothing but the scattered remnants of purple fragments, growing thin and sparse as time and parasites dissolved the threadbare clues of yesterday away.

At last, he came upon a hole in the center of the rest. There was nothing here—nothing but dust.

It fit Spike perfectly. Or—at least—it once did.

This didn't stop him from crawling into it... from curling up into a little ball... from murmuring into the windblown corners of the place.

"I don't know where you all went," Spike murmured. "And I don't know who they gave you to. But..." His eyes clenched shut, not that it mattered. With enough time, dragon tears would only evaporate. "...if you ever wish to come back... I'll be here. Each year. Waiting." A shudder, and he hugged himself. The whelp's fire glands gradually heated up the alcove. Like a womb. "At some point, we all have to come back. At least once."

The sun set, its red veil sliding off the cold granite.

Spike huddled in the shadows, clinging to thoughts, all of them faceless.

"I just want to know why... why..." A sniffle, and he clenched his teeth tighter. "...why was I the last?"

There was no answer. He didn't expect any. He waited until starlight peeked through the metal grate, and then he made his way slowly to the Canterlot Train Depot with a smile and a bag of excuses.

Never

Right now...

Spike stood over the Princess' bed, staring at Twilight's sleeping figure in the moonlight.

"Twilight," he asked. "Did I ever tell you the real reason why I returned Peewee to his nest?"

Twilight had no answer. She continued sleeping peacefully.

Spike closed his eyes. He sighed.

"Sometimes..." He sniffled. "...the only way to truly love something is to make sure it never starts loving you back."

Twilight's left ear twitched... and then the right... and she was still again.

When Spike opened his eyes, they were brimming with tears. Nevertheless, he smiled. He could do no less when gazing at her. "I'll see you in the morning, Twilight. I'll help you get lots and lots of research done." He leaned in, nuzzling her like a horse would. "You can always count on me."

His scales were cold, and she stirred fitfully, but not for long. Soon, she was still again.

Spike returned to his bed on the floor like a good dragon. Morning took its sweet time.

Author's Note

Now

Now...

Spike rose from his bed. He had been awake for hours.

Moonlight shone through the tall glass windows that stretched high above the Princess' royal chambers. Twilight's figure stirred quietly beneath satin sheets, suspended in a deep sleep.

With quiet breaths, Spike stepped out of a bed befitting a pet and onto a cold crystalline floor. He crossed the distance between his bed and Twilight's. Silently, he climbed the hoofboard until he stood... lingering a few inches above the Princess' slumbering form. He remained there, contemplative and still, gazing at Twilight's fluttering eyelids.

At last, he spoke... whispered across her pillow.

"Twilight, did I ever tell you the real reason why I returned Peewee to his nest?" Spike asked.

Twilight didn't answer. With a shuddering breath, she curled tighter under the covers.

Spike closed his eyes. He sighed.