In Which We Get to the Heart of the Matter

Chapter written by anonpencil

Twilight surveys the library thoughtfully for a moment, then frowns. There’s dust on the shelves, dust on the spines of books, and dust damn near everywhere. This sort of poor workmanship is simply inexcusable, she tells herself. She’ll have to spend all day cleaning up what Spike has failed to do.

Speaking of Spike, where is the little slacker?

As if on cue, Twilight hears a soft cough from the entryway to the library. She looks to find her small assistant, cowering there, looking as embarrassed and useless as he always does. She frowns at him.

“There you are!” she says gruffly. “Where have you been, these shelves are absurdly dirty! How did you ever let it get this bad?”

Spike kicks the ground with one stubby claw, and steps timidly towards her without meeting her gaze.

“Um…Twilight?” he says softly.

She’s so caught up in cleaning everything that Spike has missed that she barely hears him. The levitating feather duster moves swiftly through the air, creating magical looking-puffs of dust that swarm the air around Spike. He coughs slightly, but she doesn’t seem to care.

“What?” she asks, sounding more annoyed than interested.

“Well…uh…I thought I’d remind you,” he stutters out. “That it’s time for you to refill my heartworm medication.”

Twilight stops mid motion and turns to Spike with a look of surprise and disgust.

“Really? You’re out of those already?”

“W-well it has been a year.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes before returning her attention to dusting her precious book collection. Spike waits for her to respond a moment, but she’s silent for long enough that he coughs again to get her attention. Partially to remind her that he’s there, partially because of the dust. She looks down at him again, as if she’s surprised he’s still there.

“Yes?”

“W-well…could we go get it refilled today?”

Another scoff of disdain.

“Look Spike, those are expensive. And do you really need to have them every single year?”

He winces with every word, and when she’s done, it looks as if he doesn’t know how to respond. He takes a minute to collect his thoughts before he at last musters up the nerve to speak.

“We’re actually supposed to do it once a month or so…”

“One a month!” she nearly shouts. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’m sure I can whip you up something magical instead.”

“Oh…today?”

Twilight stops and shoots him a look that makes him cower all the further. But then, almost deviously, she began to smile.

“Actually, Spike, my dear little helper,” she croons. “If you can dust the library, then I’ll make you a heart-worm spell. Sound fair?”

Spike brightens a little. Twilight is kind to him sometimes, usually when others are around, so no one suspects, so maybe this is her just trying to be nice in private for a change. He even begins to smile hopefully at the thought.

“Sure thing Twilight!” he says dutifully. “What part of the Library?”

With a beaming expression, Twilight grandly gestures to the full expanse of the library with one hoof.

“All of it!” she proclaims.

Spikes smile falls. The castle library is…enormous, to say the least! Surely, she can’t mean all of it! Not in one day, and there’s no way she’s holding his heartworm medication for ransom until he’s done…is there?”

“Y-you mean-” he starts to say, but Twilight interrupts him.

“That’s right! I mean all of it, in one day, and I’m holding your heartworm medication for ransom until you’re done, okay?”

Spike can feel every single one of his scales sag in defeat.

“But…that’ll take forever.”

“Well then you’d better get started!” Twilight says cheerily.

With that, she plops the feather duster down into his miserable outstretched claws and trots past him. She gives him one, final, glowing smile before she slams the massive castle door behind her. There’s a scrape and a click as the key turns, locking him inside. Spike shuts his tear-lined eyes and sighs, before turning his attention to the bookshelves to begin dusting. Like she says, he’d better get started now.

For a moment, Spike feels a pang of bitterness, of anger at the whole situation. The shelves stand over him, looming, judgmental of his own weakness, and he can feel every book staring down at him. Maybe if he’d just been more assertive. Maybe if he’d stressed the importance of the situation. Maybe if he’d offered to do that weird thing she likes with the area under her tail. Maybe then she’d have gotten him medication, or at least figured out a helpful spell. But no. He’s Spike, her sweet little helper. This is his life, and he’s going to accept it, he realizes it, even if the work is just killing him.

It’s only a matter of hours before Spike notices that his cough isn’t going away. Sure it might be the dust or…just maybe…could it be that…

No, there’s no way.

But then, a little while later, he feels a sudden pang of exhaustion, far greater than he’s felt before. Then comes dizziness, a lack of appetite, despite the fact that he hasn’t eaten all day. Then he feels as though his chest itself is swollen, bulging out past where his rib cage should be. By the time he brings his claw to his nose, then brings it away bloody, he knows for certain what’s going on.

With a cry of despair, Spike throws himself against the library door. He bangs and scrapes against the heavy surface for dear life, but it’s no use. Blood runs down his face, mixing with fearful tears.

“Twilight!” he screams. “Twilight, please let me out! I have to get my heart-worm medication! Before it’s too late!”

But it’s already too late. The mosquito bit him that morning, and without the medication, the larvae got into his bloodstream and made their way to his heart. He knows they’re there inside him now, reproducing, thriving on his unmedicated body. Spike curls up on the floor, feeling his eyes going hazy as a sudden pain in his chest thuds through him. The sound of his feeble coughs ring through the empty library as he twitches with a sudden, pained seizure.

“N-no…” he croaks out, gripping at his chest.

But there’s nothing he can do now. There’s nothing anyone can do.

The heartworms continue their cruel work, and in the next few minutes, Spike coughs his last, blood-tinged cough. Then lies still, dead in the dust he has so carelessly left on the library floor.

It takes a few days for Twilight to even notice that he’s gone.