Four o'clock in the morning, and Ponyville is still blanketed in quiet darkness, and everypony in town is asleep.
Pinkie Pie, snoring and drooling in a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor, won't be putting her first loaves in the oven just yet. Fluttershy's animals are safe for the night, and she sleeps with one ear constantly listening for trouble. Even Applejack, who won't be up for at least another half an hour, is still tucked up in bed at Sweet Apple Acres, Luna watching over her restful slumber.
A solitary light flickers in a high window of the Castle of Friendship, as Spike, half-asleep, gropes his way along the crystal-lined corridor, back from the bathroom to his bedroom. He can do this with his eyes closed, or at least mostly closed, like he's doing now; partly it's his years of practice learning the layout of the building, and partly his dragon senses adapting to what might as well be a deep and unlit cave, stopping him walking into a rocky wall.
He stops for a moment before he reaches his bedroom door.
Something is wrong.
The corridor isn't completely unlit, as it should be at this time of night.
She's fallen asleep at her desk again.
He rubs his eyes, as he always does, and starts to head down the hallway to the study.
It's been so many years now, and this same scene has followed Spike and Twilight, almost comforting in its familiarity, through each phase of their lives together.
Spike remembers being back at home in Canterlot, waking up in his crib to find no sign of Twilight, and eventually finding her at the family dinner table, face in one of her mom's books, dozing peacefully, her gentle snoring blowing one of the pages to and fro in the breeze.
He remembers looking up at her, so high in her chair, reaching up and tugging at Twilight's sleeping hoof, so hard to reach, he was so tiny and she seemed so big... He remembers the bleary-eyed filly looking down at him, confused, processing her thoughts until she remembered why there was a baby dragon in her kitchen. He remembers pointing and pulling and trying to make her understand she should go back to bed, that he didn't want to sleep alone, that she shouldn't be alone either.
He can't remember how many times he had to do that. What he does remember is that by the time he was big enough to climb onto Twilight's chair with her, it was no longer about him needing someone in the room with him. Or, no longer just about that. It was about making sure Twilight got a good night's sleep before another day of hard work.
He remembers their days in the dorms of Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. The guards slowly getting used to the baby dragon wandering the corridors at night, to fetch Twilight from the library. Spike slowly getting used to waking up and finding a candle burning itself out, coaxing Twilight back to bed before a pool of melted wax ruined her parchments and got stuck in her mane. His blushing as Twilight sang his praises to their parents, and his brother, every weekend, telling them she'd never make it without Spike by her side.
He remembers the day Twilight, newly graduated and under the guidance of the Princess herself, moved into her new home, the gleaming spire and high ceilings of the beautiful, airy, glass-and-steel library tower with its view of all Canterlot spread out beneath them. He remembers the sharp pang of concern he'd felt, the worry that this was where they'd finally part ways after their years together, before overhearing a conversation between Twilight and Princess Celestia between the piles of boxes.
"And you're sure you're going to be alright here? I mean, of course, I'm going to be just a few wingbeats away if you need me, but... there are no other ponies in this building! You might get... lonely."
"I'll be fine, Princess," Twilight had said, offhandedly. "Don't worry about me!"
"Still, I am concerned," said Celestia. "You've always had lots of other colts and fillies around you at the school, and yet I always feared your friendships with them were not quite what they could be. It's still not too late to make friends with them!"
"I won't be alone, Princess," said Twilight, and Spike would always remember what he overheard next, the glee in her voice, the happiness. "I wouldn't be so comfortable doing this, if I wasn't sure I'd have my number one assistant with me the whole time!"
My number one assistant, thought Spike, and the memory still made him smile even now.
His footsteps are silent on the tile as he cautiously, frictionlessly pushes open the well-oiled door to Princess Twilight's study, Spike having long since learned to walk using the pads of his feet, without clacking his claws on the polished floor and causing a noisy, reverberating echo, an echo that always reminded him of those first cold, lonely weeks in the castle, the days before Starlight moved in, before the constant bustle of guests and visitors, back when Twilight would actively avoid this place...
...this crazy, magically-grown place, a place that now felt so much like home he sometimes, much to his immediate regret, found himself forgetting they'd ever lived in the Golden Oak Library at all.
He remembers their first real night in Ponyville, after the chaos of the Summer Sun Celebration and the battle with Nightmare Moon, and how it had almost become part of his routine to wake up in the middle of the night and retrieve a snoozing Twilight, sometimes with ink on her face, from a big, comfy pile of scrolls on her desk. He remembered, with a smile, how he'd had to remind Twilight to cast a certain spell every night before he went to bed and left her to her studies, to make sure the combination of a sleepy unicorn, a naked flame and a building made out of wood didn't end in disaster.
It had seemed like their lives would never change, and Spike thought back to those years in the giant hollow tree as a simpler, easier time, before Twilight earned her wings, before the responsibility for a nation's safety was dumped on her shoulders... before their old lives were taken away.
He still missed the old place, of course; he still gave an involuntarily little smile whenever he saw the sunlight glinting off a medallion hanging from the gnarled old roots in the main hall, especially if he happened to look up and see a picture of him and Twilight together, a memory of their younger selves, happy in a tight, safe embrace.
But everypony, and everydragon, has to move on some time, he thinks. Nothing can ever stay exactly the same forever, however much he might have wanted it to. And it's somehow comforting to remember that for all its differences, this new place grew from a tree, too.
And look, he thinks to himself, as he softly approaches Twilight from behind, slumped forward in her chair, muzzle flat on the desk, shoulders gently heaving with calm, shallow breaths, a safely-enchanted candle burning weakly down to the wick. Maybe some things do stay the same.
"Hello, Spike," says Twilight, morosely, without looking up or turning around, and Spike stops dead in his tracks.
"You're up?" he asks, surprised. She's hardly ever awake when he finds her, and it's never a good sign when he does.
"Couldn't sleep," she says, still slumped on the desk, staring into space as Spike walks up to stand next to her. She's idly pawing at something with her hoof, something shiny, and it takes him a moment to work out what it is.
"That's mine, you know," says Spike, with a smirk. "If you're thinking of taking it away, like Shining Armor did, you'd better think again. I'm the Sibling Supreme." He smiles, hoping Twilight will join in, amused by the memory.
She doesn't join in.
"You, uh... thinking about what the Princesses told you?" asks Spike, tentatively.
Twilight nods, and looks up, though not towards him. Her eyes reflect the flickering candelight, and Spike sees there are tears in them. Her wings flare up a little, a sign he's come to recognize, and so he gingerly reaches out a claw, smooths her feathers down, and gently strokes her back between her wings until they start to fold themselves again.
"These are getting really big now," he comments, and then pauses, wondering if he's doing the right thing by calling attention to it.
"I should show Minuette," says Twilight, between sniffles, and for the first time he sees the beginnings of a smile.
"If we're gonna be in Canterlot more often, I guess you'll see more of her, and Moondancer, and the old gang, right?" says Spike.
"Will I have time to see any of my friends?" asks Twilight, sincerely worried. "I mean, I know I'm already a Princess, but... like Starlight says, I'm not a Princess Princess. What if I have to spend all day in meetings, and all night watching ponies' dreams, and I never get to be... me?"
She looks at Spike now, and he recognises she's looking for reassurance from her oldest, dearest friend. Her number one assistant, still assisting, even after all these years.
"You'll always be you," he says, taking her hoof in his claw, remembering when it seemed so massive he couldn't get his arms around her foreleg, let alone his fingers. "There's no power in Equestria that can stop Twilight Sparkle spending time with her friends, or keep her from her books."
"But... what if I have to move again?" she asks.
"Then we're gonna do this together," he replies, without missing a beat, and she pulls him into a hug, her mane as ticklish against his snout as ever, the scent of lavender and parchment instantly transporting him back to their family home.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she says, her voice muffled in the hug, and he pulls back slightly to look her in the eyes again.
"You didn't sign up for any of this, Twilight. Nopony could blame you for saying no. But... you didn't. You never do. That's what makes you special. You know that, right? That's why Celestia and Luna want you to do this. Nopony is expected to be able to handle this stuff, not even them. But if you were the kind of pony who was gonna say no... I don't think they'd ever ask you."
"...I just never know what crazy thing is going to happen next, Spike," says Twilight, biting her lip. "Every time I feel like we've got things covered, every time I feel like we're finally at home, it's like the rug just gets pulled out from underneath us again."
She looks at him, lip starting to wobble again, tears beginning to form. "What are we going to do?"
Spike thinks for a moment, and then puts a finger to her lips in a calming, shushing gesture, before he looks into her eyes, those same eyes that stared down at him when she was a filly.
"Maybe we're gonna move again. Maybe we'll be back in Canterlot Castle, huh? Like a... Like a kind of full circle thing. And you'll be all Twilight about everything, rushing around and panicking, and I'll put your books away again, and you'll take them all down and put them away right again, and then one night I'll find you asleep at the desk in your new library... and that's how I'll know you're OK."
Twilight wipes away a tear with her hoof, and leans over to cuddle Spike up in her forelegs some more. The hug is familiar, even automatic, after so many years, even if his wings feel strange in her embrace. Guess now I know how he feels, she thinks to herself, and allows herself a snorting little giggle amongst her tears.
She doesn't explain what made her laugh. He doesn't ask.
The candle flickers as the flame starts to gutter, and Spike leans over and snuffs it out between his clawed, fireproof fingers, the room now illuminated only by the bright, crisp moonlight.
"Come on now, Twilight," he says, lifting her up to her full height as he leads her by the hoof. "Let's get you to bed. This will all still be here in the morning."
He pauses, and looks up at her. "You always make sure of that."
She looks down at him, and smiles, before drawing him into another huge, tight, feathery hug.
"No, Spike," she whispers. "We do."
Author's Note
I couldn't sleep tonight, for whatever reason, I just couldn't shut my mind off. I got to thinking, well, Twilight probably has that problem a lot more than I do, especially with her upcoming elevation/promotion/ascension! But then again, I thought, Twilight always has Spike to come and get her, and give her a bit of a pep talk, and help her back to bed. Like he probably always has, their whole lives.
And I immediately got up, at 4am, and I wrote this.
I hope you like it.
