Glimpses of the world return. Worried voices. A feeling of movement. Dark. Way too bright. Pink talking somewhere. Warmth. I come around enough to see an incoherent expanse of white, but it only makes sense when I finally wake up.

I’m in a hospital bed. The lights are off, but the moon shines through a window and illuminates the room in soft bluish white. There’s also red and yellow, the unicorn I saw when Daydream held my hoof. She sits on an elevated bedside pillow to my left, looking down at me. The only other thing in the room that isn’t white and sterile is—oh crap.

Her mangled bat-pegasus body lies on the floor to my other side, near the far wall. When I look back to her, the unicorn gives me a weak smile.

“Welcome back to my travelling office,” she says. I look over at her corpse again.

“What’s that doing here? Aren’t you dead?” I ask, shifting in bed to sit up and point at the remains. But if she is… “Wait, am I dead?”

“Dreamland is for the living, sweetie. If you were dead, it didn’t stick. It never—” Daydream comes to a sudden stop and grimaces. “Ugh, never does. Kind of like I forgot to not call you that for a moment. I’m sorry.”

“Then, what—what. That?”

“A memory you’re dreaming about. It’s not real, and it’s not really here. I’m really sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s fine, I guess. I’ve seen bodies before.”

Out of nowhere, Daydream pulls me into a gentle embrace that smells of warmth with a hint of magic. The way she holds me is irresistible, struggle is pointless, but… it’s kind of nice? There’s some kind of muffler on sensation, but at least it’s a good scent. When she lets go and levitates me back to the bed, though, her face is serious.

“Now, I’m a dream pony. I lived in waking for a while, but dreamland is my first home. I’ll be okay. But I’m also a contact-telepath. If I touch, say, your withers in waking, or if we’re in the same dream, then not only can I read some of your mind, I can’t stop.”

“You what?!” I squeak. But she’s not listening. I shut up.

“Relax, it’s been decades since I tried villainy again,” she says, waving a hoof as if to dismiss the idea. She’s evil?! “I’m here, knowing that I’ll have to experience your mind, because I want to help.

"And when you said it’s fine, and intended that you’re fine by extension, I know you didn’t lie to me. But somewhere—I can’t read that much memory at once—you learned a lie that when you’re hurt, that’s fine, so you’re fine, and I felt the echo of that lie when you told me, and you seem to actually think that you’re fine, like there’s some kind of wall between you and the hurt and fear you’re feeling literally right now!”

I slide-roll off the bed and retreat several steps—though without a door, I'm not sure where to go—as Daydream’s voice rises to just short of shouting, and she pauses for a deep breath and a sheepish smile while relaxing back into her cushion. She speaks again, in a more composed manner, before I can figure out anything to say.

“I’m sorry, you don’t deserve my yelling. Everything I’m seeing, such as how you’re preparing to run away as far and fast as possible if I start up again, is way beyond my expertise and maybe my temper too. I’d probably do more harm than good trying to get in there and fix things myself, but I’m going to get the attention of a friend,” she says. “Her name is Tree Hugger, and her approach is unusual but she really knows her stuff. Is that okay? I really think she’s the best pony to help you.”

“Is that a real question?” I ask. In this place, I can actually see the skeptical edge cutting the air beneath my words. “Or are you only telling me and trying to get my agreement to make it easier?”

“Well, normally, no, because that’s supposed to be an important part of being a kid or something, and it’s supposed to make the real choices more satisfying, I guess, and there’s a lot of ponies who like not having to worry about all that stuff anyway.” Daydream grimaces. “So I try to be the cool grown-up who runs the real choices candy store and slips the foals free samples when their parents aren’t looking.”

“So I do get a choice?” I say. But I already know the answer.

“Well, no. Not tonight. I’m really sorry, I do want to give that to you, but I know enough to see you need urgent care, and if I thought the ponies you’re living with were responsible, protective services would be moving you right now. In the human world I lived in, being in my position and not doing something effective, urgently, would make me a criminal. That’s not the kind of villain I ever want to be.

“But also—” her expression returns to that sheepish smile “—I was here for a while before you turned lucid, and I kind of already sent someone to meet and talk to you. Sorry. Go ahead and be mad at me. The two of you can talk it out if you’re still upset later.”

“I’m not really mad,” I say. Since Daydream is controlling herself, I make my body slump enough to sit down.

"I wish you knew otherwise,” Daydream says. She slides from her seat to the floor, plodding around the bed towards a door that appears from nowhere. “Anyway, it’s about time for both of us to go. I have a special somepony to look for and you have ordinary dreaming to get back to. Come on, I promise it’ll be fine. Eventually. With work.”

“Great,” I mutter.

Other dreams pass in a blur once I exit the office. When I open my eyes the only lingering memories of them are something about a stick fighting a teacup.

Two things hit my senses in quick succession. The first is how bitter cold it is, despite the covers, and how my body won’t stop trembling. The second is the whiteness and brownness of my surroundings—just like in dreamland, the colors are plain and clear.

I'm in a moonlit hospital room again, though this one already has a door. My belly wakes up with a roar as I struggle with board-stiff arms to rub at my eyes. A slight tug reveals an IV tube needled and taped to what used to be my left hand. Gross, but tracing the line of the tube and its trickle of pink back to the source is worse.

It's Mom Voice. Mom Voice is at the other end, and she's as still as Daydream. I freeze, eyes locked onto her corpse. But—no. She's breathing, subtle but steady. I sigh and lay my head back down. What to do? Just wait?

"Sweetie?" Mom Voice's gentle tone is still enough to snap me out of… something. My shivering has abated a little, though I’m still very cold, and the room is filled with faint pre-dawn light. Did I fall asleep?

"You are awake!" she cries. She pulls herself onto the edge of my bed to plant a kiss on my forehead. It's not as bad as it could have been, my grimace notwithstanding. When she pulls her muzzle back it’s to place her pricked hoof gently over mine, a more acceptable contact that radiates warmth like I dunked my arm in water that’s just shy of too hot. But her smile is weary.

“Um," I say. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" Mom Voice says. "Honey, you've been love-drained, chewed on by a dream parasite, and nearly frozen solid. That's just in the past few days! I'm okay, but I'm worried about you, sweetie. You're a little young for such experiences."

"Well, you just—nevermind." I glance again at the IV tube, then around the room. It's still dim and quiet. Whatever my eyes were looking for, it's not there. Yet. Mom Voice sighs.

"Maybe I worry too much." She shows a tight smile and gently squeezes my hoof. Hooves, how do they work? She withdraws her touch and continues. "But as much as has changed over the past few days, you're still my foal, and something bad happened to you. I'm going to worry until I see you healthy and happy again."

I open my mouth, but words don't come out. My eyes water—no. I shake my head and blink away the tears. Moms aren't supposed to say that, and the brief flash of warmth the words plant in my chest is nice, but no crying, at least not this time.

"I, um, I guess thanks." I give Mom Voice another look, and wonder what it would take to get her to give me a proper hug. It would help with the shivering. She lays a gentle hoof on my head for a moment.

Someone knocks at the door.

"Sweetie Belle?" The voice on the other side is low for a mare's, and has a light but distinctly Apple Clan sort of drawl. "Y'all mind if I come in?"

Mom Voice withdraws her hoof and shrugs. I’m not sure since when I know what the Apples sounded like, but there’s nothing actually wrong with it.

"Sure, I guess," I say. The door opens towards me, and a freaking lion pads into the room. It's not quite a lion, though. It has huge wings, its forelegs are replaced by the scaled and taloned legs of a bird of prey, and its white head is that of a weird, anthropomorphic eagle. The creature is huge, too, at least twice the size of Mom Voice. It’s not like the horrible apparition in the schoolhouse, though. That was more of a massive, living flesh-blob, and didn't wear eye shadow, matching soft-purple highlights, or a nurse's cap.

Mom Voice swiftly climbs onto the bed, turning about in a fluid motion that avoids yanking out the IV tube. She stands over and across me, ears laid all the way back and her head turned towards the intruder.

"Aw, heck," the beast says in that same feminine drawl. "Nobody mentioned y'all ain't seen a griffon."

"And you are?" asks Mom Voice, in a defensive tone that reminds me more of the woman her voice comes from. The griffon sits back on her haunches and becomes still, aside from her speaking and the occasional twitch of her tail.

"Tree Hugger, ma'am. A little bird said there's a filly here needing a cardiologist."

"I—I see." Mom Voice exhales heavily, and her body relaxes just a little. "I'm sorry, I was expecting somepony else. My name’s Cup Cake. This is my daughter, Sweetie Belle."

Unsure what else to do, I force my right arm to wave. The motion is slow and jerky with all the cold and resistance.

"Well, it's mighty fine to meet y'all," says Tree Hugger. She smiles and rises from her haunches to stroll up to the foot of my bed as Mom Voice steps back over to her pillow. The griffon’s size, aggressive forward-swept hair-feathers, and sharp beak are even more intimidating up close, but she seems oblivious. "I got asked to take over your treatment once you're out of intensive care. I like to know my ponies before I get responsibility for them, so I came right over when I heard you was awake."

“Hi.” What else can I say? This doesn’t sound great, but it’s not like there are choices.

The griffon tries to make small talk for a little bit, but I’m cold and can’t focus for how hungry I am, and Mom Voice is still on edge. Tree Hugger leaves shortly before somepony brings breakfast for Mom and I. I can’t keep it down, and end up on liquids and fortified pudding instead.

This just gets better and better.

Author's Note

Hey everyone, I'm sorry for the time this took. The past six months have been manageable, but still pretty tough to grow through.

I'm okay, though, probably more so than usual, and chapter 8 is already in the works.

Thanks for reading so far, and I hope to see you in the comments!

This chapter was generously sponsored by Canary in the Coal Mine via Patreon. Thank you so much for the motivation and support!