Get Nursed Back to Health by a Colt Together
Campfire smoke made with pine logs and moldy watermelons sprinkled with black pepper flooded into Sandbar’s nose.
He stepped into the dorm with a happy smile. In a way, it was a miracle that it was him that had to do this. He doubted, say, Gallus would be able to keep his bedside manner at the side of a poorly lit dorm sprinkled with chipped scales and flaky spots of dried changeling goo.
“How are my favorite girls?” he asked the air. A quick scan of the room told him that Ocellus was still lying on one of the beds.
And that was where she had been for the better part of the last week: motionless, on her side and indistinguishable from a corpse. It was worrying at first, but Sandbar found that if he simply looked hard enough, he’d see the slightest rise and fall in her ribs and he’d know that she was alive.
He looked to the other bed in the room, but failed to find the belligerent, stonescaled mess of orange and purple that he was looking for.
A growl from directly above prompted him to look up, his smile growing wider as he made eye contact with Smolder.
“Hey, Smolder!” he chirped.
“We’re not your favorites,” she rasped, voice sounding like it was filled to the brim with twenty-sided rocks. “What are you wearing?”
“You’re all my favorites, and I’m wearing a nurse outfit, but not a real nurse outfit, like the ones you see in Playcolt,” he said, stepping back and posing a little. “You like it? Professor Rarity helped me sew it. I just remembered I had it a few minutes ago so I threw it on.”
Smolder dropped from the ceiling, landing on all fours and staying like that. She eyed the pony critically for a moment.
“I want it,” she said.
“But it’s mine.”
“I want it,” she said again, a growl entering her voice. She crept forward, eyes glowing on and off as the fire in her belly began to—
Sandbar booped her, still smiling. Smolder backed away, heat rising to her face as she stood up on two legs.
“We’ve been over the whole molt hoarding thing already,” Sandbar reminded her gently. “If you really want, you can have it once today’s over and I’ve washed it. Would you like that?”
Smolder shook her head. “Dragons take,” she turned to the other bed in the room. “Right, Ocellus?”
Ocellus didn’t answer, but Sandbar gave her a second to speak anyway. He waited a few seconds before telling the dragon, “which is why I’ll keep it in my room, in my closet, and not set any alarms!”
“You don’t have alarms.”
“Then I guess it’ll be easy to take.”
Smolder’s eyes narrowed into a squint.
Sandbar smiled still, radiant and joyful. “So, everything okay? Need medicine, food, cuddles?”
She shook her head. “Ocellus doesn’t want to play scrabble. I think she’s sick.”
“You’re both sick. Molting, You’re both molting,” Sandbar reminded her. “Just stay in bed and keep watching her for me. You’re doing a very good job so far. Can you keep on doing that?”
“Fine.”
“Perfect,” he chirped, turning around and briskly walking out of the room. “I’ll be back later—don’t forget to ring your bell if you need anything!”
A swoosh of wings behind him told him that Smolder had returned to the ceiling as he tapped the spell linked to his brain, closing the door behind him as he left with nothing but his mind.
For a moment, the hallway was silent. Sandbar took the quiet as a sign to breathe. He took the cart in the middle of the hall and pulled it close to him, leaning against it as he scratched at his right ear. He could smell the food underneath the metal cover.
He was tired, and he was sleepy. He desperately needed a nap. But his friends needed him more, and he loved them, so he would be there.
Sandbar perked up. Silverstream was up next on his list.
It took less than a thirty seconds to get to his destination. The door opened for him with a thought—Headmare Twilight had cast a spell that linked his mind to each of his friend’s doors. “For ease of opening,” she had said. And it did make things a little easier.
His nose twitched, taking in the scent of medicine and burnt seaweed as he stepped gingerly into the hippogriff’s room.
The floor was littered with feathers and the occasional wet spot where Silverstream had thrown up in a bucket and some of it had spilled out. The covers were half drawn, letting enough light in so that he didn’t need to squint to see that the hippogriff was in bed, under the covers and sleeping softly.
She remained like that until his cart bumped against a stray corner, and the metallic crash made her stir.
“Sandbar?” she said groggily.
“Heyyyy,” he greeted her, walking to her side of the bed with the cart. “How are you?”
“Terrible. The color’s left this crude, impermanent world. The joy’s left, like blood from a cut too severe to stitch.”
“That doesn’t sound like the Silverstream I know and love,” he teased, climbing onto the bed and sitting in front of her. “I brought you something!”
“Is it cyanide, to speed up the process? Cyanide is an enzyme inhibitor, did you know that? It stops your body from being able to produce adenosine triphosphate, and that’s how it kills you. Isn’t that interesting? I love learning. I’m going to miss learning when this is all over.”
“Euthanization of a sapient creature by a student is against school rules, Silver. I brought you soup!”
“I don’t need it. I’m leaving the mortal coil soon enough. The Lady of the Sea will welcome me to her reefs and I’ll have a place by her side in the grand luminescence of her kingdom.”
“I’ll feed you!”
Silverstream groaned, but sat up anyway, letting Sandbar get the first good look at her face that he’d seen in a couple of days.
Dark circles had formed under her bloodshot, mucky eyes. Her feathers were matted and greasy. Her beak was incredibly dry. The sight of her made Sandbar shiver.
And then his paternal instincts kicked in.
He smiled at his friend. “You hungry?”
“Hunger is pain, and pain has become my new painless.”
“I made mountain corn and seaweed soup.”
“…Like at home?”
“Probably,” Sandbar said, leaning and bringing the cart closer. He lifted the metal cover off of the centre of it, revealing a still steaming bowl of light green soup. Immediately the smell of it overpowered any unpleasant scents in the room, and Sandbar found himself missing home, though this was a dish he had never had before in his life.
He took a spoon into his mouth and dipped it into the soup, pooling a nice amount for Silverstream and offering it to her.
She took the spoon from his lips and drank the portion she had been given, and for a good few seconds he saw the light return to her life.
“Did I get it right?” he asked, carefully passing her the bowl so she could sit it in her lap and drink.
“Yes,” said Silverstream. “Yeah. You really did.”
She said no more words, instead opting to eat voraciously, and without manners. Slurping filled the room and little splashes of soup threatened to stain Sandbar’s outfit and soak into his coat. Sandbar didn’t mind. It was the happiest he’d seen her in days, and he was glad to be a part of it.
Sandbar’s eyes opened.
Silverstream was asleep. The empty bowl of soup lay on the cart, and her claw was firmly gripping his hoof.
He glanced to the door. “How long was I out?”
Silverstream answered, to his surprise. “Five minutes. I figured you had the right idea. Maybe it’s best for me to embrace death with peace and relaxation.”
Sandbar removed his hoof from her claw and rubbed her palm gently. “You’re not going to die. I promise.”
“You say that…”
A clock somewhere inside Sandbar turned louder. He crawled closer to her and gave her a nuzzle that she didn’t have the strength to return.
“No nuzzles,” she muttered. “I’m smelly.”
“We’re all pretty smelly right now. You’re my favorite hippogriff.”
“I’m the only—“
”Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to lay your sleepy head,” he sang softly, stepping off the bed and backing away to the door. “Hush now, quiet now it’s time to go to bed.”
Silverstream gave him a flat stare before settling into her pillows. He left the room without any further protest.
“Who next?” he asked himself. “Yona next.”
He trotted briskly to her room, opened it and gingerly stepped in.
The place was completely devoid of light, courtesy of extra thick curtains that were brought in by Professor Rarity just before the entire faculty left for a friendship mission.
Yona had insisted on keeping her room as dark as possible, and had turned mildly aggressive at any attempts to disregard her feelings. Sandbar figured that he could learn echolocation within a day, but that hadn’t panned out.
He had to settle for wandering around and hoping he didn’t bump into anything.
“Yona?” he said.
“What?” said the yak, from somewhere to his left.
He headed towards her voice, managing to get a few metres before stepping on—
Well, he wasn’t sure what it was. It felt soft, and like there was a lot of little hairs on his hoof. Like stepping on a giant hairbrush, but with really loose hair. And it smelled like candlewax.
“Yona?” he said again, lifting his hoof.
“Yak right here,” she responded.
So he didn’t step on her just now. He chuckled softly in relief and came a little closer to where Yona’s voice had come from before sitting on the ground. “I think I stepped on something. Felt hairy. You don’t have your spider friends in here, do you?”
“No,” Yona said. “No one can see yak like this.”
“I’m sure you look fine, Yona.”
“Pony don’t understand. Yak coat is yak survival. Yak pride. Yak everything. Without thick, strong coat, yak nothing more than dirt,” she wailed. “Yak ugly!”
Sandbar cringed. Yona could get really loud when she was sad.
“I came to remind you to drink water,” he said. “Do you have water?”
“Yes…”
“Then do you need anything else?”
“No…”
“I’ll be back soon then, pretty yak.” Sandbar stood and attempted to walk out. He only managed to run into the wall twice before he remembered that his mind’s connection to the doors. A small ray of light pierced through the room as he opened it just a smidge, using the little sight he was afforded to sneak to the exit and get out.
Back in the hallway again, Sandbar rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck.
Peace. Quiet. He had everything under control.
He walked to and entered Gallus’s room, which was tidy save for the blue feathers littered throughout, and full of radiant daylight save for the weeping griffon in his bed cuddling a Princess Luna plushie.
“Gallus?” said Sandbar, rushing over and crawling into bed with the griffon. “What’s wrong, buddy?”
“I’m just—hhhh, I’m just so happy that I’m here and not in Griffonstone,” Gallus cried, turning around and burying himself in Sandbar’s chest. “I’m so glad that I have friends and creatures actually like me.”
Sandbar held Gallus close, petting the space in between the griffon’s wings. “I know. Don’t cry, Gally.”
“I—I can’t,” Gallus sobbed. Sandbar’s barrel was growing wetter by the second.
“I know,” he said.
“You—you were gone for so looooong.”
“It was ten minutes, Gally,” Sandbar said.
“I thought you were gone. Forever. I didn’t know what to do…”
“It’s okay, Gally. I’m here now.”
“Good.”
Slowly, Gallus’s grip loosened, going from possibly fatal to wonderfully possessive. Sandbar pressed his nose against the top of the griffon’s blackberry scented head and dared to relax.
This was one of the more pleasurable parts of taking care of everycreature—the dead moments where Sandbar could relax and cuddle with Gallus. It turned out that griffons were extremely emotional during molts, and while this normally manifested as anger in Griffonstone, being in an environment where no one was actively against his own personal interests had made Gallus exceptionally needy instead.
Sandbar didn’t mind, of course. It felt really nice to be needed.
And everycreature needed him right now. That’s what Headmare Twilight said to him before running off to the other side of Equestria. What Spike said, after learning that somehow, all of their molts and sheds had managed to synchronize, and that they had to be kept in a pseudo-quarantine until they were all done, in case they had contracted some strange sickness in their many trips to the Everfree Forest to hang out at the treehouse of friendship. Sandbar himself was fine, though. He hadn’t shown any signs of sickness whatsoever.
Everycreature needed him. He wouldn’t let them down.
There was a bell ringing. Anxiously. There were no bells in their wing of the dormitories, save for one.
Sandbar opened his eyes. He was in the same position that he had fallen asleep in: on his side, with Gallus hugging him close.
He attempted to disentangle himself. Gallus hugged him closer.
“Gallus?” he said.
“Don’t leave.”
“I have to, Gallus. Smolder needs me for something. What if Ocellus is in trouble?”
“Those losers are fine. I’m not.”
“You are fine,” Sandbar hushed, nipping at the griffon’s ear feathers. “I promise that you’re fine, and I’m gonna come back as soon as possible.”
“No.”
“Please?” he tried again.
Initially he was met with silence. Then he felt Gallus nod and release his grip.
Sandbar sprung to life, nearly hopping out of bed. He tried to get to the door as fast as possible without being suspicious—
Talons grabbed at his back legs when he was nearly there. He turned over his shoulder and gave Gallus a disappointed look; the kind that any mom could be proud of.
Gallus felt no shame, however. He looked back at him with wet, pleading eyes. Tears began to spill down his cheeks. “I changed my mind. I need you here.”
Sandbar’s heart hurt, but his mind was resolute. He shook his head. “I can’t do that, Gally.”
“I knew it. I knew you hated me. What, did the other griffons put you up to this? This some sort of long con to break my heart and leave me defenseless?”
“No,” said Sandbar, walking backwards and letting the griffon climb onto his back. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed.”
He carried them back to the low rumbles of Gallus’s purring. Gently he nudged the griffon off of him and helped him into the bed, and then he began to think of Professor Applejack.
Honestly, honesty was a hard subject to teach, but she always had a way of working fun things like rope-tying lessons into the curriculum, and the way that she so flawlessly interwove learning practical skills and the abstract made sure that Sandbar had barely forgotten one of her lectures since the second opening of the school of friendship.
Gallus was in the middle of saying something when his hooves went to work, stretching the blanket so it was taught and dextrously wrapping it around Gallus’s body. The griffon hadn’t had the chance to feel anything more than surprise before his talons and paws had been tied together, and then tied to one of the bedposts.
Sandbar’s hooves carried him to the door. His mind opened it and closed it as the harsh sound of ripped fabric thundered behind him. The door closed and locked with another thought, and then there was a thump against it. Gallus’s talons slammed against the door.
An eagle’s screech from behind the wood sent Sandbar running to Smolder’s room.
He burst in to see the dragon crouched over Ocellus’s bed, tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“She’s not breathing!”
“What?” He ran to the bed, Smolder making room for him to properly look at the changeling.
Her eyes still looked lifeless, but that was normal. Her chitin looked almost gravelly, but that was normal too. He leaned further in, looking for the slightest hint of movement.
He found none.
Sandbar bit his lip. Ocellus had, somehow, only written a single note before going into her molt. Apparently it had come much sooner than she had anticipated. Apparently her next molt was supposed to be in a year, possibly two, and she had already made plans to molt in the hive when that year came around.
She only had time to scribble down one piece of advice as a result, and Sandbar had been using it as gospel ever since.
Don’t touch me no matter what. I’ll be fine.
Sandbar checked for her breathing again, waiting as long as his eyes could stand it, but found nothing.
He sat up.
“She’s fine,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Smolder said.
“Yeah. Just don’t touch her. Remember when I said not to touch her?”
“I haven’t been!”
He turned and smiled at the dragon. “Then keep up the good work!”
Smolder bit her lip, eyeing him critically. “Are you sure?”
Sandbar nodded.
Her wide eyes became a glare. “Then get out already. You’re scaring her.”
“What?” he asked.
“Leave,” she growled, smoke rising from her nostrils.
Sandbar’s hoof left his chest too slow. He went to boop her, but missed as she had bobbed her head to the side. He was thankful that he drew his body away fast enough to dodge the incoming blast of fire that left her afterward.
“Smolder!” he scolded weakly, his pores widening and leaking sweat in the sudden heat.
“Get out of my cave!” she screamed. “Get away from my hoard!”
“Smolder, please!”
Sandbar received no vocal response. Smolder had taken to the air. His hooves threatened to trip over each other on his way to the door.
The sound of her firebreath lit up in his ears as he managed to get past the exit. A small lick of fire raced through the door before it closed, attaching itself to his tail. He sat down and twisted his upper body as much as he could, stomping on the singed green tips before the embers could turn into anything bigger.
Sandbar sighed. And then he heard the flute.
It was the second song that Silverstream had learned to play. A favorite of his, and Professor Fluttershy’s, surprisingly.
Sandbar mustered up his best smile as he breathed the lyrics to the song, trotting to Silverstream’s room.
“When you were here before—couldn’t look you in the eye…” He opened the door with minimal brainpower and walked in, looking to Silverstream’s bed.
The hippogriff lay there, focused on the music and keeping her embouchure perfect.
“Cause I’m a creep,” Sandbar sang. “I’m a weirdo—what the hay are you doing here? I don’t belong here.”
Silverstream’s song petered out after the tiny lick of the chorus. She looked to Sandbar with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. They were a mix of what his sister looked like when she was grounded, and what his mother had looked like at his grandfather’s funeral.
Sandbar’s smile grew smaller. He fought to keep it alive, beaming toothily for a second before settling into a tiny smirk. “I love Neighdiohead. I’m glad you learned that song.”
“It speaks to the darkness that will sure enough swallow me up. We all must return to the place where we were before we were. Eventually. The only thing that lasts is the very nature of things—the fact that they don’t last.”
“Did—did you need something, Silver?”
“Will you take one of my feathers from the ground and write something down for me? A letter for my family? I’ve been thinking of them a lot. It’s not right for a hippogriff to die so far from the sea.”
Sandbar ignored that remark and glanced down to where his hooves were. Crusty, greasy feathers were scattered across the floor like the perverse version of the aftermath of a Neighponese cherry blossom festival. He looked back up at his friend, smirk still frozen on his face. “Don’t you have quills at your desk?”
“They’ll know what a letter written by my own—“ she paused, and crawled to the end of her bed. Sandbar looked away as the wet sounds of her sickness hitting a metal bucket drowned any other thoughts that might have been forming in his head. He turned back as she sat up and continued talking as if nothing had happened. “—feathers looks and smells like. They’ll know that it was me, and that this is real.”
“Okay…” Sandbar picked up one of Silverstream’s feathers from the ground and took a seat at her desk, finding a fresh batch of paper sitting politely on it. “What did you want me to write?” he called, throwing his voice over his shoulder.
Silverstream coughed hoarsely, sounding like her lungs were being dragged through salt. Then she coughed again. “Address the letter to my parents—Sky Beak and Ocean Flow—and to my brother Terramar as well.”
“Mhm,” hummed Sandbar as he wrote. “Got it.”
“Now, let me gather my thoughts…” Silverstream said.
She took a long pause. Long enough that Sandbar nearly turned around to see if she had fallen asleep, but her croaking voice drifted through the room before he did.
“My dearest family: I write to you with abundant thoughts weighing heavily on my mind. It’s a beautiful day here in Ponyville, and I fear that it may be my last. It seems that I’ve caught some sort of illness of the worst sort, at some point in my travels.”
“You’re molting, Silverstream,” Sandbar said. “And because you’re molting, your immune system was messed up enough that you got sick, and you haven’t been sick on land it feels ten times as worse as it’s ever felt before.”
She ignored him. “I will spare you the details, but the illness has left me weak and tired. I fear that I may not be able to continue. I write to you with my last words, and with a last expression of the endless love I feel for each and every one of you. Father, Sky Beak, you have taught me everything I know about politics and power. It is thanks to you that I was able to quickly gain such a strong group of allies so quickly in this strange place. It was my hope that they would eventually give us benefit in the coming war, but alas, they have been the greatest companions I have ever known, and you were of the greatest help in that regard.”
“Wait, war? Why are you talking with an accent?”
“Mother. My dearest Ocean Flow. Even now I think of your gentle touch, and the warmth that the waters around you wash over any who draw near. Don’t waste your tears on my passing. There’s so much more for us now. Thank you for protecting me until I could see the world beyond the sea.
And Terramar. You’re still gay, and you’re bad at hide and seek. Please take a shower once in a while. I love you so much.”
Sandbar turned around, raising an eyebrow. “Are you done?”
“No, I still need to divvy out my life’s possessions.”
“What?”
“Each of my friends will receive one portion of my inherited money—that comes to somewhere around fifteen million bits each.”
“What?”
“My family, as is customary, has lease over my body in case I must be pulled from the depths by a magister and called to action. I will be kept in a sea sarcophagus at these coordinates—“
“Silverstream,” Sandbar interrupted. “You’re not dying. I didn’t write any of that down. You’re gonna be fine.”
The hippogriff chuckled weakly. “I’ve enjoyed your company, Sandbar. You’re a good stallion.”
Sandbar shook his head. He walked to her bathroom and took a glass off the sink, filling it with tap water before trotting to her beside and hoofing it to her. She swallowed it down in seconds.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Silverstream smiled, putting her claw on his cheek. He put his hoof over hers, smiling back.
“I’m going to die,” she said.
“Chill,” he said back. “Want more water?”
She thought for a moment. “I might rest.”
“You go do that, then. Goodnight, Silverstream.”
She turned over, pulling the covers over herself. Sandbar laughed to himself quietly before walking out.
He had barely made the first steps back to Gallus when he heard the blaring sound of a traditional yak war horn.
With a sigh he made his way to Yona’s dorm and entered, clopping around in the darkness.
“Yona?” he called wearily. “What’s up?”
“Yak ugly,” he heard.
“No,” he said. “Yak very nice. Yak special.”
“Pony lies. Yak terrible. Yak hair never growing back!” Yona wailed. “Yak going to throw yak off school roof!”
“Yona, don’t say that,” Sandbar said. “That’s not funny.”
“Yak serious!”
“It’s just shed, Yona. I’m sure it’s gonna grow back.”
“No Yak ever shed in Pony land. Yak hair need yak air to know to grow. Yak might stay like this forever.”
Sandbar sighed. “Yona, please. I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything, Sandbar. Just leave yak to die.”
He went to protest, but a better idea came into his head.
The picture of a lunchbox in his room entered his mind, and he smiled.
As far as Sandbar was concerned, Yona just needed to chill out. If he got her to do that, he could spend more time getting Smolder not to burn the place down, and cuddl—comforting Gallus. Silverstream was too weak to actually do anything anyway, and Yona breaking one of the doors down was a real danger.
He made up his mind, and smiled into the dark. “I’ll be right back, Yona. I have some brownies that’ll help you out.”
The office clock ticked robotically as Sandbar waited for a response.
Spike looked pretty bad. He was constantly scratching his neck, fidgeting in his seat, getting distracted and in the past seven minutes he hadn’t met Sandbar’s gaze for more than twenty seconds. It seemed that being named acting Headmare of the school was taking its toll on the dragon.
He still looked about fifty times better than any of Sandbar’s friends right now.
“Wait,” Spike said, looking up from his paperwork. “You gave her what?”
“We’re allowed to have clover in school,” chirped Sandbar. “I checked with Starlight before I brought my stash in!”
“Right, but has Yona ever had it before?”
Sandbar clicked his tongue. “Only once.”
“And how did that turn out?”
“She fell asleep.”
Spike tittered, looking down again to shuffle through his papers. “Okay, fine. That works. I’ve done the same thing in your horseshoes.”
Sandbar tilted his head. “I figured. You have to do this a lot, don’t you?”
Spike stopped his shuffling, glancing back up. “I guess...What did you want help with, again? I have about ten counts of vandalism in the school washrooms to investigate.”
Sandbar scratched the back of his head. “Smolder’s getting all fiery. I don’t think I can boop her into submission anymore. I was wondering if you could go in and see if she needed anything. I didn’t realize that dragon molts could be so aggressive. How much bigger is she even getting?”
“Ember’s talked about this with Twi. It’s something that dragons call a Screw You Molt, but thanks to Twilight it’s now known in the academic world as intermittent molting—Smolder’s not even growing much. This is one of five to ten molts before she gets to another important molt and gains another head or two, maybe more spikes or horns, extra wings if she’s lucky. Basically, she just gets really angry and greedy for a week or two before she finally turns to stone, and then she’ll be fine after that. Personally, I’m really not looking forward to it, but that’s dragon biology for you.”
“You know, I know I asked the question and all, but I totally just didn’t understand a single thing you said.” Sandbar smiled. “If you can help, do you wanna come back to the dorms with me?”
Spike’s eyes bounced from the papers in front of him, to Sandbar, to the clock, and back to Sandbar again. He nodded, hopping off of the chair that was twice his size. “Let’s go.”
The walk to the dorms was a short one. For all of Spike’s stress, he had somehow managed to keep the peace within the school better than Starlight and Twilight could on a regular basis. He was very much up to the task, and the peaceful quiet that he and Sandbar walked through before reaching the wing that the school’s non-pony students occupied was proof of that.
They entered the hall in the midst of a story.
“And then,” Spike said as the door closed behind them, “Pinkie Pie wouldn’t let herself lie down until I helped her bake all five hundred cupcakes! Good thing I had access to her secret party planning cave, or else I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Wow,” Sandbar whistled. “How’d you find the time to do that between helping Rainbow Dash brush up on her Wonderbolts history?”
“I just didn’t sleep!”
“Geez. I know that feeling.”
They stopped outside Smolder’s room, her door seeming like the entrance to a dark cave.
Sandbar, despite adoring both the creatures inside, fidgeted in place. He found himself not wanting to enter. He wanted to stay outside, talk to Spike more. Or maybe lie down! That would be nice, wouldn’t it? With a soft exhale of his nose, he realized that he really just wanted to—
He turned to Spike with an apologetic smile. “Will you head on in without me?”
Spike raised a brow. “Why?”
“I have to, uh, check on Gallus.”
“Uh huh,” Spike said, brow raising higher. “Gallus, who is just a little needy right now, as opposed to an actual danger to the school and everypony in it.”
Sandbar perked his ears up, looking hopeful.
“Yeah, no.” Spike deadpanned. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, he glanced back at the door to Gallus’s room. A small part of his heart throbbed, begging to protest. But Spike was right: he’d get cuddles later. When all of this was over, he’d finally get to lie down in a comfy bed, and he would get to sleep, and he would never wake up until he wanted to.
“Okay, lead the way,” he said.
They resumed their journey to Smolder’s room, reaching it in a few steps, but paused just outside of the door.
There was a weird scratching sound—like nails dragging across fabric. And a—
“SANDBAR,” Smolder roared from within, her voice nearly piercing through the wood of the door.
Spike tossed Sandbar a look before putting his claw on the doorknob, pushing the door open and promptly being hit with a blast of fire. His body was flicked through the air like a dart, soaring straight and hard until he crashed against the door to Silverstream’s room.
Sandbar barely had time to be horrified at Spike’s low groan and the large, ugly crack in the wood where his head landed before a firestorm of orange and purple flew out of the room and flew high above.
Smolder was grotesque. The physical look of her body was worse now—every third scale was swollen, red and throbbing. Her eyes were red and nearly bulging out of their sockets. She looked like something out of a horror sci-fi novel—growling and fleshy and heavily intent on causing harm.
“You lied,” she spat.
Sandbar whimpered. “W-What are you talking about?”
“Ocellus,” she said again, blinking her eyes. Tears trickled out of her eyes, and she immediately went about wiping them with her claws. “Diamonds on fire. My crown jewel. Ocellus…”
Sandbar took the opportunity to creep into her room. Smoke slithered through the air around him, in long, thin strips that reminded him of the time he found a pit of snakes at the beach. He looked around, not knowing what exactly he was searching for but eventually finding a gnarled, twisted up form on top of Ocellus’s bed.
Disbelief came like a wave, washing up on the shore of Sandbar’s mind and receding just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him only a numb confidence that Ocellus was dead.
He trudged closer to her, eyes taking in her twisted up body. Her front legs wrapped around her front torso and bent at ninety degree angles. Her hind legs were similarly broken.
He didn’t want to look at her face, but he had to.
He reached for her head, but tripped slightly over himself in his stupor.
His hoof came down hard, passing through Ocellus’s head with a sickening crnch.
Smolder’s horrified scream made him look up.
The dragon had her claws clamped over her mouth—wide, trembling eyes fixated on Sandbar’s hoof, and Ocellus’s crushed head.
“S-Smolder,” he said.
His answer was fire. A pillar of fire as thick as a cart wheel was wide erupted from Smolder’s enraged maw. Sandbar dropped to his belly, tucking in his head as he felt the air above him go from lukewarm to burning. He thanked his headmare in this thoughts for fireproofing the school walls with magic.
Embers bounced off the wall and hit the carpet, lighting it ablaze as they fell like rain upon it. Sandbar stomped the growing fire down with his front hooves desperately, managing to quickly put it out before leaping over Ocellus’s bed.
A smaller, more controlled ribbon of fire followed in his wake, striking the air where he was too little too late.
“Smolder!” he pleaded. He kept his eyes down at the floor. He could barely look at his friend, much less see—the brightness of her fire had taken a heavy toll on his sight.
He felt his coat standing on end. A primal, hardcoded recess of his mind sensed a predator. He shivered as he realized that she had turned to look at him.
“You lied,” she said once more.
“Calm down! She—I don’t know what happened! She said she’d be fine if we didn’t touch her!”
“But she’s not!” Smolder roared. “She’s…she’s—“
“Stop,” Sandbar said, screwing his eyes tight. “Please.”
“I’m going to burn you alive,” she growled quietly. “I hate you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I mean it!”
“You don’t!” Sandbar screamed at the top of his lungs. He had never been more aware of his breathing. There were cotton balls in his chest, and they threatened to suffocate him whenever he tried to inhale. “You don’t mean that. We’re friends, Smolder. Forever. I’m sorry I couldn’t help. That was my one job, and I couldn’t do it. You have every right to be mad at me, but please don’t hurt me.”
“I love you,” he said quietly. “I love all of you. I just wanted to help.”
Smolder took a deep breath in.
Sandbar waited for the flames, but they never came.
She stepped towards him.
Now, he thought to himself. She’s gonna do it now.
She didn’t. Smolder kept walking until she was right in front of him, but Sandbar didn’t dare open his eyes. He waited for her teeth to tear his neck open, her claws to wrap around his throat. They didn’t come. There was only the quiet and Smolder’s breathing.
Sandbar opened his eyes and looked into Smolder’s beautiful ocean blues. She was frowning.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”
“I should have gotten a second opinion on Ocellus,” he said.
“No.” She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to do that.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
Smolder leaned forward, pausing for a moment before wrapping her arms around him. Sandbar pressed himself back into the hug, pulling her tight against him, feeling her warmth soak into his scales like he was stepping into a tub of hot water.
The bathroom door opened. Smolder let him go to turn around.
Ocellus walked out. She was alive, and had a towel draped over her elytra. Her teal chitin was as vibrant as it had ever looked. There was an aura about her—an inner glow that spoke of health and beauty and it brought a smile to Sandbar’s face.
“Ocellus?” Smolder asked. Tears were streaming down her face.
“Hey there, hothead,” Ocellus said with a smile. “Long time no see.”
“Ocellus!” Smolder squeaked, maw widening slowly until every single one of her teeth was bared. She flew towards the changeling, laughing delightedly.
She stopped in her tracks just a couple of hooves away from the changeling, seeming to realize something was up. She was too late, though. Her scales glowed for a long, climactic second before her body was turned completely stone.
Ocellus looked unsurprised. She stepped forward, examining the dragon lovingly and petting one of her now grey cheeks before walking to Sandbar, hugging him for a brief moment before pulling away.
“I thought you were dead,” he said, swallowing. He could still hardly believe that she was in front of him. “This isn’t a trick, is it? You’re not a spell, or the Tree of Harmony helping us feel better by playing projections of you?”
She laughed. “I’m real, I promise.”
“But...“ Sandbar glanced to the corpse on her bed.
“Oh.” Ocellus put a hoof to her mouth. “I forgot to write about my exoskeleton, didn’t I?”
“Changelings have exoskeletons?”
“Yep! And we shed them when we grow too big. I only gained an inch with this molt, but that’s the way it goes.”
“So,” Sandbar said. “I did the right thing by leaving you alone?”
“You did the perfect thing,” Ocellus assured him with a nod of her head. “You did perfect, Sandbar.”
He laughed breathily, the words hitting him unexpectedly. “I—“
Glass broke from what sounded like Silverstream’s room. He glanced back, eyes wide.
Ocellus put her hoof on his shoulder. “Go. I can watch over Smolder. Looks like it’s taking her a while to get out of the stone.”
Sandbar nearly asked her to go instead of him. He wanted to.
He couldn’t, though.
“Thanks,” he said.
Ocellus nuzzled him before pushing him towards the door. “Go.”
Sandbar felt a brief twinge of jealousy for unicorns as he ran into Silverstream’s room, her door opening for him almost like it knew he was coming in. Was this what Twilight and Starlight felt like all the time? It was no wonder that they were some of the strongest unicorns in Equestria. He wouldn’t ever want to stop using magic if he had ever come to possess it.
Silverstream wasn’t in her room, and the window was broken.
There was little splatters of blood on the sill, drizzled amongst the broken glass.
Sandbar turned tail and ran. The dormitory hallway was a blurred by the stamping of his hooves on the ground. He had barely blinked before he was outside.
Above him, the sun glared down, garish and judging with its blinding light. He looked around frantically, swivelling his neck and hurriedly looking for any spots of pink in the foliage.
He saw Silverstream lying underneath the tree, red stripes blemishing her mottled grey and pink feathers.
“No no no no.” He shook his head and ran to her. “Silverstream!”
She was awake, thankfully. She was on her back, scarcely moving. She met the tree’s leaves up above with a blank, dead stare.
He lay on his stomach at her side, sniffing at her and looking over her feathers.
“You’re all cut up,” he whimpered. “Why’d you do that? Why’d you leave your room like that?”
“I wanted to die in the sunlight,” Silverstream answered.
He examined her cuts. They weren’t very deep, thank Celestia. He swallowed hard. “You’re not going to die.”
“I might.”
“Not on my watch,” Sandbar said. “I’ve got you.”
“Does anyone have anyone in the end?”
“Yes. I’ve got you. All of you. Until I drop.”
“Or until Yona does,” she said, looking past him.
“What?”
“She’s been trying to get out of her room, but she can’t. You haven’t been hearing her?”
Sandbar shook his head.
His mind fell apart immediately afterwards. The physical sensation was the most vivid to him—like four veins in his brain had turned to glass and shattered. His head fell. His chin slammed against the grass. He resisted the urge to throw up.
Silverstream was saying something. He couldn’t hear it. His mind was broken. He was broken. Something had broken. His mind was connected to the door.
Sandbar struggled to stand, panting loud. Yona had broken through the door to her room. She probably smashed through it, in true yak fashion.
“I—“ he coughed. “I need to find Yona, Silver.”
“I know,” Silverstream sighed, before retching for a few seconds. When she composed herself once more, she gave him a meaningful smile. “It was good to see you one last time, before I die.”
“You’re not dying,” Sandbar said, rubbing his sore, sore head. “You remember what we’re doing next week? We’re seeing—hhh—we’re seeing a movie. You’ve never seen a movie before, right? You’re gonna love it. You remind me of them, you know. Silverstream…silver screen. You’re gonna love it, I promise. Don’t leave me before then, okay?”
Silverstream looked at him, studying his face before breaking out into a laugh—a true laugh—the first that he’d heard from her in a week.
“I guess I can try,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said.
Sobbing entered his ears, faint and carried on the wind. Silverstream waved him off.
He turned and ran.
The pain in Sandbar’s head was growing worse. It numbed and swelled and calmed down and came back in strong, near-tangible waves. His right leg was falling asleep. Every time he put weight on it, cold needles shot into his muscles, ruthlessly piercing his tendons. As a result, he was limping. Hard.
He was climbing the stairs. For a second he forgot why. Then he remembered that it was for Yona.
Yak going to throw yak off school, she had said. He wasn’t going to let that happen.
He stopped, unable to move as he lowered his head enough so that his chin was touching the ground. His vision became blurry. The gray-purple of the stairs became a true gray.
Sandbar grit his teeth together. No, no, no. He wasn’t going to give up now. Not even if his brain was scrambled eggs and his legs were made of wet sand.
He breathed out. Hard. He kept climbing.
The door to the roof came soon after. He crashed through it, nearly falling on himself before he saw Yona half over the edge.
“Yona, no!” he yelled, reaching for her. His leg quivered in the air, almost as if a ghost were shaking his hoof. “Get away from the edge right now.”
“No,” Yona said.
She turned to look at him, and Sandbar had enough moments of clarity to truly see her for the first time since her shed had started.
The yak looked like a map, only if where there would be water there was bare skin, and where there would be cities and countries there were giant, distressed patches of scruffy fur. Tears pooled in Yona’s pretty green apple eyes, which were wider than normal, and frantic. She couldn’t look at him without looking somewhere else soon after, and somewhere else after that. She—
She was high, yes, but she was wired.
Sandbar’s head flared up with hot and cold in varying places, in varying degrees, and pain everywhere he could feel. He brought a hoof to his head, petting the space between his ears in a vain effort to distract himself.
He had given her the wrong brownies. The wrong strain. This was his fault.
“Yona,” he tried again. “Please don’t. It’s just a shed. It’s not worth dying over. I don’t want to lose you. Please.”
“What anypony say about dying?” Yona said. “Yak going back to Yakyakistan.”
“By jumping off of a school roof?”
“Yak going to land on a hot air balloon, hijack it, and go back to Yakyakistan. Two come this way soon.”
“That…that won’t work,” Sandbar said.
“It must,” Yona insisted, turning back to look at him. “This only way. Yona look disgraceful. Yona can’t be seen like this.”
“You look fine!”
“No!” Yona yelled, scaring him into scrambling back a few hoofsteps. She pointed one of her hooves at him, shaking almost as much as he was. “Sandbar gave me brownie to relax, but Yona didn’t! Couldn’t! Yona can’t sit still. Ideas keep coming to her. No one here for her. No one can take care of her.”
Sandbar whined softly, looking around, searching for something—for an answer that would somehow be anywhere but inside of himself.
His eye found the edge closest to him.
Sandbar ran to it, hauling half of himself off of, his front torso dangling over the vibrant green ground below. In the distance he saw a couple of stray balloons making their way to the school. He turned his head and looked at Yona, who was fully confused now.
He bit his lip hard enough to break the skin. Adrenaline sped through his veins like an angry swarm of parasprites.
“I’ll throw myself off and aim for the ground if you jump,” he warned her shakily.
“No!” she said.
“Yes!” he yelled. “I’ll do it! Don’t try me!”
“Why not?” The yak tried to step towards him, but wobbled in place before shaking her head and keeping still. “Yona disgusting. Yona—Yona just afterthought. Sandbar come to Yona out of obligation. Always. Yona a burden. Yona should just leave.”
He shook his head fervently, but no words came to his mind. He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell Yona that she wasn’t an afterthought—that he hadn’t been thinking of her last and that he had taken her shed seriously until now.
He couldn’t. He thought to say sorry, but sorry felt like such a weak, powerless word.
Right then, any other words felt just as pathetic.
“You’re right,” he said quietly, staring down at the fall. “I…I’m a bad friend. I’m—I don’t know. I shouldn’t have tried to take a shortcut with you. I should have spent more time with you. It just scares me, you know? It’s hard to know that the strongest girl I know just hates herself right now and I have no idea what to say. I don’t know what to do, Yona. I never have. I’m not good at this.”
A gust of wind passed as one of the hot air balloons flew by the school, a dark pink mare piloting it as a couple drank wine and ate cheese behind her. Sandbar shivered.
“When the faculty left us and I was the only creature who could take care of all of you, it felt good, you know? It felt like finally, there was something for me to do. I could be useful, and I could be needed. But then it got hard, and I got tired, and every time I was in the hallway a little bit of me would collapse because it was tired, but I shouldn’t have been tired, because I was healthy! Why should I be tired when all of you are feeling four times as worse? So I tried to be strong, Yona, but I couldn’t. Because I’m not.”
“I just wanted to help,” he said. Tears slid down his face like hot drops of oversteeped tea, burning his cheeks and making the skin underneath pucker up.
Sandbar was done. He—
He was pulled backwards, into a hug. He stared at the sky as he felt Yona’s legs wrap around his torso and squeeze.
“Yona sorry,” she said. An idle part of his mind noted that she smelled like a clover farm. It was surprisingly pleasant.
“Sandbar is loved and appreciated,” she whispered into his ear. “Friends love Sandbar for taking care of them.”
Sandbar opened his mouth, but only managed a small cry as more tears pooled in his eyes.
“Sandbar strong,” Yona said. “Strong pony. Best pony. Favorite pony.”
He tore himself out of the hug, turned around and tackled her into another one. He heard Yona laugh and hug him back, and for a long span of minutes, his entire world was his tears and her embrace. It wouldn’t be until afterwards that he realized how much he was shaking the entire time.
Silverstream groaned. Sandbar gave a little grunt of sympathy as he dropped her as gently as he could onto her bed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, talking into the air. Her cuts had been dressed rather quickly after he got his hooves on a first aid kit, thanks to Yona. She had thrown up a bunch while he was up on the roof with the yak, but she was actually starting to look better. Maybe she had gotten the sickness out—or most of it, at least.
He put a hoof on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I left.”
“Don’t be,” Silverstream said, scratching her neck. “Maybe I’ve been a little dramatic.”
Sandbar laughed, bending his head down to give her one last nuzzle before he tucked her in and strolled out of the room.
Sandbar limped through the door, nearly slipping on a couple of stray feathers as he made his way to Gallus’s bed.
The griffon was sound asleep, and looking better than ever. His ruffled, bare patches were regrowing new feathers. At some point he must have found the time to either shower or wash his face, because the crusty buildup of tears that lined his eyes previously was now gone, and he almost seemed to glow as he slumbered.
Sandbar was willing to admit that the light coming in from the windows and his own personal bias had a hoof with that description, though. He stood over Gallus, watching him sleep for an inexplicable amount of time before he leaned in to nuzzle the griffon’s cheek.
Gallus opened his eyes slowly. “Sandbar?”
“Hey, buddy. How are you?”
Gallus didn’t answer. He simply reached out for the pony with his talons.
Sandbar fell into them, dropping his bodyweight onto the griffon.
Blue feathers ruffled and scraped against the pillows as Sandbar felt himself be dragged onto the bed and adjusted into prime cuddling position—on his side, with the top of his head directly under Gallus’s chin, and his nose pressed tightly into Gallus’s neck.
Gallus smelled like strawberry cupcakes. Sandbar made a mental note to chastise him for stealing his shampoo.
“I missed you,” he said.
Claws pet the small of his back. I missed you too, they said.
“I’m tired,” he said again.
“Of course you are,” Gallus whispered. “You’ve been taking care of us for like a week straight. I don’t know how you’re not dead.”
Sandbar laughed. His head still hurt, and so did his liver for some reason, but that hardly seemed to matter now.
“I’m sleepy,” he mentioned, noticing his breathing slow down immensely.
“Then sleep, silly pony. Ocellus is awake. She can handle your nurse duties for now,” Gallus chuckled. “Though I’m not sure she’ll be down for wearing the outfit.”
The outfit, Sandbar thought. He had forgotten he was wearing it at all. Was that why Spike had looked at him weird when he entered the dragon’s office?
Oh no.
“Spike—“
“Is fine,” Gallus said.
“Good.” Sandbar nodded and nuzzled into the griffon’s chest. “You seem better.”
“I am, now that you’re here. Go to sleep.”
“Okay,” he murmured.
“Oh, wait, Sandbar?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.” Gallus purred affectionately, his talons stroking the back of Sandbar’s head. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Sandbar replied, just before sleep took him. “I was happy to do it.”
