Scars in the Sky

Chapters

1 - Future Scars; Future Stars (prologue)
2 - Everlasting Scar
3 - (Un)Lucky Scars
4 - Left A Scar
5 - Behind Your Scars
6 - Scars Run Deep
7 - Wish on a Scar
8 - Saw Scars
9 - Up to the Scars
10 - Shining Scar
11 - To Have A Scar
12 - North Scar

1 - Future Scars; Future Stars (prologue)

It was nighttime in the land of Equestria. Luna’s moon shone bright, stars aglow and twinkling. The towns were still; ponies fast asleep. It could have been frozen in time, if not for the soft wingbeats from two lone pegasi, taking off from the edge of Cloudsdale. They were Wonderbolts, one a stallion, one a mare. Soarin and Rainbow Dash. Their blue coats lit up from the reflection of the moon. They were quiet, just beating their wings and flying together.

Rainbow stole a glance at her partner. He stared straight ahead, not even blinking. She let her gaze linger a moment, then turned back to the path. Today had been hard on both of them. Tomorrow would be harder.

“You wanna sit?” Rainbow gestured to nearby cloud. It was rather high up, with a beautiful view of the glimmering night sky.

“Sure.” Soarin angled his wings, landing gently on the soft surface. He felt the cloud shift as his marefriend settled in beside him. Their manes blew back with the gentle breeze. Their exhales made little clouds that vanished into nothingness within seconds. After a few moments of silence, Rainbow spoke again.

“Soar… are you okay?” She asked hesitantly, eyes darting around; not looking at the stallion.

“No, Dash, I’m not. Tomorrow’s going to come too soon. I can’t stand that you’re leaving.” Soarin briefly squeezed his eyes shut. This was a nightmare.

“I-I know, and it isn’t easy for me either.” Rainbow said. Her posture sagged, taking a rest from the strong front she had put up. She rubbed her neck with a blue hoof. “But I’ll be back before you know it.” Soarin flinched.

“Aren’t you scared?” He asked quietly. The cloud dipped and moved again as Dash shifted uncomfortably.

“No. Well, not really.” She answered, stretching out each wing, grimacing when she hit a sore spot. She took a wing in mouth and rearranged a misplaced feather.

“How can you not be scared? Dash, you’re going off to war tomorrow!” Soarin started, voice starting to rise. The tired lines under his eyes were much more prominent now, the results of many sleepless nights heading up to this one.

“Yeah, Soarin, I know. I haven’t forgotten.” She told him flatly, before he could continue. “Look, I know you don’t want me to go. But I’m going to be fine, okay?”

“Say you m-make it home. Are you telling me that you won’t be a bit traumatized? Have you even considered what’s going to happen out there?” Soarin protested. Different outcomes flashed through his mind, giving him a faint headache alongside the heartache.

“Yeah. I have.” Rainbow said simply. Perhaps if she had been her younger self, she would have made a snarky remark. A remark about how the great Rainbow Dash wouldn’t get ‘traumatized’ from something she could do, hooves down, on her own. But she was older now. She had gone through things. Seen things. Things that changed a pony.

“And it doesn’t bother you? So many things could happen…” Soarin trailed off. He cleared his throat.

“Well, sure it does.” Rainbow shrugged. “But that doesn’t change anything.” She scuffed a hoof in the silky layer of cloud, watching the space slowly fill up again. Soarin’s eyes glistened. “Aw, c’mon, Soar. Don’t go soft on me now. Hey. It’s going to be okay… Soarin? Are you okay?” Her tone tightened. Soarin looked away.

“I-I just don’t understand… why can’t you let me or even Spitfire go instead?” He whispered, voice cracking. “We both offered…”

“Blossomforth. Crafty Crate. Open Skies. Rainbow Dash…” The stallion in charge of drafting pegasi yelled into the open courtyard of Canterlot Castle. Thousands of pegasi were gathered, waiting in tension to see who would be drafted. The air rang with sobs, shrieks, and the announcer’s monotone. Time froze for the group of Wonderbolts standing in the back area right then. Soarin shot into the air, Spitfire grew visibly tense, and Rainbow’s wings stood straight up from surprise.

“What?!” Spitfire gasped.

“Oh no…” Misty Fly murmured, instinctively moving closer to her captain.

“Soarin, get it together.” Fleetfoot hissed. She grabbed her teammate by the tail and pulled him down.

“Dash?” Soarin looked the mare over. Her eyes were wide, wings twitching. She was silent. He grit his teeth and shook his head. “No. No! Sir!” Soarin yelled to the other stallion. He looked up blankly, pausing with the list of names. “I’ll go. Put my name on there and take Rainbow’s off.” He was in the air again, adrenaline keeping him up more than his trembling wings were.

“My apologies sir. The record is permanent. If you have any questions or concerns you will have to request an appointment to speak with the sun Princess herself. Next is Icy Rain, Meadow Flower…” His voice droned on again.

“No! Scratch Rainbow’s name off and put mine on instead.” Soarin yelled again. His tone was on the verge of hysteria. But this time the announcer didn’t even look up. Fleetfoot clamped down on his tail again, yanking him down hard.

“Soarin! Not. Helping!” She shot him a pointed glare.

“Dash?” Spitfire asked cautiously, approaching her.

“You guys don’t have to go for me.” Rainbow looked up, gently folding her wings. “I’ll do it.”

“It’d be best if none of the ‘Bolts had to go. But if one of us has to, I will. I’ll schedule an appointment with the Princess right now.” Spitfire was already spreading her own wings. She was seconds away from taking off when Rainbow spoke again.

“No, you won’t. Guys, stop this right now! This is ridiculous!” Rainbow raised her voice. “Soarin, get out of the sky. Spitfire, get back over here.” Soarin hesitated. “Soarin.” He dropped, letting Fleetfoot drape her wing over his quivering back.

“Rainbow-” Spitfire began, wings still ready to propel her into the air.

“No, Spitfire. Stop it. They picked me. They expect me to rise to the occasion, which I will do, and, frankly, I need you to do the same thing. Take a breath and chill.” Dash cut in.

“I know.” Rainbow told him quietly. She remembered that day well; the day that had started all this.

“Then why aren’t you scared?! We’re terrified here, all of us! Even Spitfire! And you’re sitting there telling me everything’s going to be just great when you come back!” Soarin yelled, emotions laced into his tone. “Can’t you see this isn’t a game?” Anger flashed across Rainbow’s features. She held up a hoof to stop him from continuing.

“No. No. Now you’re taking it too far. But okay! I might die out there! I said it! Are you happy now? I am very well aware of what will go on starting tomorrow. Extremely aware. I’m holding it together, because obviously you aren’t! And I’m sorry you’re all scared, I really am. But I will not let Equestria down now. I’ve accepted it and now it’s time for you to accept it.” Rainbow’s voice was hard. Soarin’s inhale caught in his throat. “I’m not very scared, Soarin, because this is what I’m meant to do. Be loyal to the ponies I love. And if they need me, by Celestia, you can bet I’ll do whatever I can to help. And if that means going out, well, at least I’ll have gone out doing my duty.” Soarin bowed his head, tucking his chin to his strong chest. Tears were falling freely now, dripping down his muzzle and onto the cloud. Rainbow’s heart gave a painful twinge despite herself.

“I need you here…” He whispered. He couldn’t imagine life without his best friend. Didn’t want to imagine life without his best friend.

“I’ll be back.” Rainbow said, voice turning softer. “I need you too.” She lifted a wing, laying in on her coltfriend and wrapping him in her embrace.

They sat in silence for a few long moments. The stars winked with light, flickering on and off, on and off. The moon cast a hazy white glow over the drifting clouds. Trees swayed lightly down below, the rustling sound carrying up to the sky. The caress of a breeze washed over the two pegasi, making them shiver the tiniest bit. Neither moved, despite any discomfort they could have been feeling. They needed this moment, and both knew it.

“What do you think it’s going to be like?” Soarin spoke after a while. His voice softer now, but clearer. His muzzle moved silently, as though searching for words. Rainbow let out a big sigh.

“I guess… I’m trying not to think about it. What will happen will happen, nothing any of us can do about it.” She raised her eyebrows when he tried to cut in. “But I know stuff will… happen… out there. And it’s probably gonna haunt me for years.”

“If you want to go pace, or… cry… I won’t think less of you, you know that, right?” Soarin asked. He shifted, moving his wing around Rainbow.

“First of all, Rainbow Dash doesn’t do crying. Second, I fly. I don’t pace, either.” She shot him a smirk. Rainbow quieted. “I’ve done a lot of flying, though.”

Another long, silent moment passed.

“Are you going to be okay?” Soarin asked, not lightly. Rainbow looked over.

“Yeah. I will be, I think.” She sighed. “We should head back.” Soarin’s eyes welled with tears. Wordlessly, he moved in close and spread his wings, wrapping his marefriend tight in his embrace.

“I’m proud of you.” He whispered. Tears ran down his muzzle, dropping onto the yellow part of Rainbow’s mane. A small, almost soundless sob escaped from the mare. She was trembling; fighting to keep a strong wall. “It’s going to be okay.” Soarin choked out. He felt a nod against his coat.

Rainbow took another deep breath. “Yeah. We’re gonna be fine.” She wiped a hoof across her face, reaching back to smooth back her forelock. “Hey, Soarin?” Her voice trembled a bit, breaking into a whisper. Soarin met her eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” This time it was a complete whisper. A small, whispered word full of feelings she’d never say out loud. And then, Soarin understood. The vulnerability. The hurt. The strength. He nodded. It would respond better than words.

After another pause, Rainbow stood, moving to the border of the cloud. She spread her wings, and tilted her head to Soarin. He managed a smile, and joined her in a similar position.

Then together, they took off into the night sky.

2 - Everlasting Scar

It was dark tonight. That was the first thing I noticed when I step off the large, covered hot air balloon. And it was silent. There weren’t any cheers for those of us who returned; the amount lost was just too great for that. The stallion in front of me steps out of line, greeted by a silently weeping mare. I watch as they embrace, pulling each other tight. I shift my pack, wince when it hits my sore wing. I was so tired. Every part of me was stiff and heavy.

Ponies were starting to come forward, searching for one of us. I had told Twilight and the others I didn’t want them here now. I didn’t want them seeing even a fraction of what my life had been like the past few months. I didn’t want to lose it when I saw them.

A light chatter picks up when more ponies are reunited with each other. The sounds of crying are audible. I keep my head down. I’d heard crying far too often these last few months.

“Rainbow Dash? Dash?” I hear faintly. No. He shouldn’t be here. I heard the yells again, closer this time. A sigh escapes, but I halt, waiting. They’ll see me eventually. Sure enough, familiar hoofsteps signal their arrival.

“Rainbow?” A more feminine voice asks, quietly. As though war had made me fragile. I square my shoulders, still don’t turn around.

“You aren’t supposed to be here.” I answer, tone flat. A hesitant beat before the hoofsteps come even closer. I almost laugh. Before I left, Spitfire would have marched right up to me. But now, silence.

“Dash?” The first voice speaks up tentatively. I exhale, sharply.

“Soarin.” I say in response. My voice wants to break; I can feel it. This was exactly why I didn’t want anypony here. Silence again. I was sure that by now, they were right up behind my tail. So. They’d already seen the first of many battle scars. The one that dipped from the top of my tail to my left hindquarter before crisscrossing over my back. The recent work of a knife.

“Here… let me take that.” Soarin steps closer, reaching for my bag. I tense, instinctively ready to fight.

“It’s fine.” My guarded position forces a hard edge into my voice.

“Okay.” He whispers, stepping away.

I start walking in the direction of my cloud house. If they want to come, they’ll come. After another pause, hoofsteps start up again, walking after me.

The roads of Ponyville are almost… foreign to me now. Though it was so late, light still spills out of brightly shuttered cottages. Ponies walk the streets. Delicate flower gardens give off such sweet scents, my eyes water. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m used to cries of war, and shell stained floors. The bitter smell of blood my nose had grown accustomed to.

The ponies shoot me glances, when I walk past. Some are of admiration. Some are of pity. Most of respect. Once upon a time, I might have bragged. But now… I was just too tired. I want to go home, and sleep. I want to get away from the pain, get away from the scars, and get away from the memories.

“Rainbow Dash! Wait up!” I hear a voice yell. No. No, no, no, please no. Not her. I keep walking, keep my head down. Very rapid hoofsteps race after me. The thuds came quick, like the loud blasts of magic from enemy teams.

“Rainbow Dash! I’msogladyou’rebackandImissedyousomuch *gasp*
andhowwasityouwon’tbelievewhatyoumissedherebutthatdoesn’tmatternowwhatmattersisthatyou’rebackandnowwecandostufftogetheragainandI’mjustsosogladyou’reback!” Scootaloo finishes with a gasp, skidding to a halt next to me. Maybe she expects me to stop and talk. I keep to my path, not even looking at her. “Rainbow Dash?” She jumps to her feet and trots after me. I feel her teeth grab my tail lightly and tug. Pain shoots through my dock, burning and familiar. The scar throbs.

“Leave me alone.” I mutter. The words make Scootaloo freeze.

“B-but Rainbow Dash! You’re finally back! Can we go do something? Maybe go for a fly?” She stammers.

“No, Scootaloo. I’d really appreciate if you just left me be.” I pull my patience together.

“A-are you okay?” Her voice is so innocent, and small. I give her a sideways glance.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” In truth, no, I guess I’m not. But I won’t tell her about what I’ve seen. I won’t tell her about why I’m not okay. She murmurs something I can’t quite understand. I still don’t turn toward her. The sight would scare her too much.

By now, we’ve reached the border of Ponyville. There aren’t as many ponies still out here. I can see my drifting cloud house above. I’ll have to fly up. I duck my head and gaze behind me. Spitfire and Soarin are both still flying low behind me. Spitfire is staring straight ahead, at everything and at nothing. Soarin’s jaw is clenched, gaze darting around, always looking; never settling.

“Thanks for coming this far. But I’m fine now. I’ll see you in the morning.” I shift uncomfortably. I’m not sure I can make it up to the cloud like I used to. I don’t need my captain and coltfriend seeing that. Seeing me like that.

“I’ll fly you up.” Soarin lands lightly and steps closer. Spitfire pauses, then briefly lays her wing over Soarin’s back. I can see her muzzle moving, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. Soarin nods and gives an attempt to smile.

“No… that’s okay. It’s fine.” I murmur.

“Dash. I will fly you up.” This time, he puts extra weight into the words. Fine then. If he wants to see what war did to my wings, that’s his choice. I tried to warn him.

Spitfire lets her eyes linger on mine for an extra moment. Then slowly, she beats her wings and takes off, ever so gracefully. She’s like a bird; like she’s meant to be in the air. She’s aggressive, sure, but so agile. I missed her.

“You coming?” Soarin calls. I look up. He’s hovering above me, looking down and waiting. I glance back at my wings. Start to unfold them. Several feathers are still misplaced, having never gotten a proper preening after the bandages were removed. On my left wing, a long scar trails from the edge and laces around and around.

“Y-yeah.” I manage. But now that day is coming back to me. My pulse starts to pick up. The loud blasts. Our unicorns firing off protection spells. They’re too far away; the spells won’t work. But the call’s coming – it’s time for the pegasi to go. The ice and snow is making it hard to fly; pelting against our wings. The red-hot glow of enemy unicorn magic. My wings snap back into their folded position. Tremors rush through my hooves. They’re starting to fire blasts at us. Blossomforth goes down. So does Crafty Crate. The yells are all around me, so loud and shrill. I’m so scared. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

“Rainbow?” Soarin’s voice cuts through my thoughts. My breaths are coming in gasps. Only now do I notice that I’d squeezed my eyes shut. I force them open to see Soarin standing next to me. He’s studying me. “What’s going on?”

3 - (Un)Lucky Scars

“N-nothing. I’m fine. Let’s go.” I drive the tremor out of my voice. I make to step forward, but Soarin’s wing flashes out in front of me, landing on my chest. He pushes back. I forgot how strong and fast he is.

“No. What was that?” He keeps his eyes on my face. Steady and there. My inhale catches. I turn away.

“Nothing. Let’s go.” My voice cracks when I say it. Neither of us move. It’s like I’m frozen in place. I can’t open my wings again. I don’t want to be in the air again. I have to open my wings again. I have to be in the air again.

My house is so close. I look up, scan the sky. The stars are shining bright today. Probably Luna’s contribution to our welcome back.

I remember the night before I left. I had been so fearless, so young and naïve. I should have worried. I should have been afraid. The stars were just as bright now as they were then.

Just have to fly up. Nothing big. Just be as fearless as I was that night. I glance at Soarin. His green eyes are still on me. I take a breath. Open my wings. The icy pinpricks of the arctic north stab me again. But I can’t lose it here, not again. It’s just the short distance up. I bite my tongue. Beat my wings. The faint crackle of magic. Burning pain. I can’t do it.

Hooves wrap around my shoulders. I flinch, out of instinct. Ponies touching me has never been a good thing – firmed further by the war. But Soarin’s grip is… different. Solid. Comforting. He won’t let me go.

Slowly, he lifts off, holding me close the entire time. The sky flashes by as we go up. I squeeze my eyes shut before the memories can start. His warm chest is up against my back, and I wait for him to brush against the scars, but he doesn’t. I can feel him there, but it never hurts.

And then we’re at my cloud house. I feel the closest thing to relief as I’ve felt in a while. Finally… home.

Soarin sets me down in front of my door. Maybe he expects me to say something; a thank you, or whatever. I won’t. I have to keep a strong wall, just for a bit longer. Can’t show weakness, can’t show weakness, can’t show weakness. Maybe he doesn’t expect me to say anything. He just moves to the door, enters the pin, and swings it open, standing by as to let me through.

Inside is dark, I can see from where I stand. There’s just enough light from the moon to illuminate the barely-open windows. Dark enough to send a chill of fear through my bones, but light enough that I can keep it at bay.

Stiffly, I walk past Soarin through the door.

“WELCOME HOME!” A loud, loud yell crashes through the air. The lights flick on in a flash of light. And not mere seconds later, a POP erupts, blasting Celestia-knows-what into the main room. The flashbacks start immediately.

There’s yells mixed with the blasts. But they’re both so loud, nopony can hear what exactly the yells mean. There, there the Captain is. He’s telling us to charge. Why is he telling us to charge? Oh, he’s yelling, yelling so loud. Where am I supposed to listen? Look? What am I supposed to do?

I don’t realize it until it happens. There’s a pony behind me. Not one of ours. This one’s cloaked so heavily in black, I can’t even tell if it’s a mare or stallion. It’s got a knife. Captain’s still yelling. I try to look, where is he? The snow is just too thick. So much ice, so much cold… it’s too thick. I can’t see an inch in front of me.

The first cut, on my hindquarter. Then another, cutting my tail off. I try to kick, but I can’t. What did they do to me? It must be some sort of spell… And then a cut to my wings. Metal, slicing through muscle and feather.

“R-Rainbow Dash?” I come to, to a voice I know well. A voice I had told I didn’t want here. But of course, Pinkie Pie just can’t ever listen. Can’t ever respect.

Everything feels wrong. My heart pounds hard, making my inhales and exhales come faster, and faster, and faster. My ears are ringing, from the sounds of magic blowing up, first distant, then nearer, and nearer, and nearer. And my heart is stone cold with fear. Multiple fears. The light is too bright; like the light right before getting blasted out of the air by a unicorn intent on taking a life. They’re going to see me. The scars knotting up around my back, ducking down around my hindquarter. The scars curling across the wings everypony once admired so. The scars not yet healed, burning a way across my face. The torn ear that still leaks blood. And most of all… me. I can’t let them see how broken I am inside. How many emotions are swirling up inside me.

That’s right. I see now, they’re all here. Applejack, standing over in the corner. Green eyes studying my motions. As though she knows me so well. Fluttershy, right next to Applejack. She’s trying not to stare at the marring in my face. Rarity’s here, eyes tuned to my flank. Judging me. Even Twilight showed, now beside Rarity. And then Pinkie. With an expression I’ve never seen on her. Disappointment, maybe? Surprise? Definitely not happiness.

Anger flares up inside me. How dare they show up in my home, when I deliberately told them, multiple times, that I did not want them here! How dare they pretend going to war and coming home alive was something great enough to be celebrated?!

“How. Dare. You.” I spit out, stalking closer to the five mares. I see the glances they exchange, glances they think I’m not sharp enough to pick up on. I see them, alright. “I tell you I don’t want you here. I tell you I want to be alone. And then when I get back after three years of war, instead of respecting what I told you before I left, you’re here, inside my house, giving me the exact opposite of what I want!” I’m yelling at them.

“D-Dashie?” Pinkie’s eyes fill with tears. She’s trembling, about to break down. She has no right.

“It’s Dash. Rainbow Dash.” I hiss at her. “And I want you all to leave. Now.” None of them move. Am I so easy to disrespect? “I said NOW!” I scream, lifting a hoof and crashing it down onto the floor. The shout faintly echoes through the house.

“C’mon, y’all. It’s what she wants.” Applejack tells them, quietly. Head down, hat drawn low. She moves to the door, gesturing all of them through. They’re all silent, avoid meeting my eyes. Fluttershy is the last to leave. She hesitates, and turns. Big blue eyes lift up to meet mine. So liquid, kind, genuine. Eyes I haven’t seen in years.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers. Holds my gaze just a second longer. Then squares back to the door, and follows the rest out.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Her words repeat over and over, mixing with the burning fear and memories. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

The tears come fast, before I even have a chance to stop them. Cascading out of me. Tears I didn’t allow myself to cry, even in my worst moments. I can’t stop now. They sting the scars, bringing even more physical pain. The internal pain is unbearable. I sit down onto the carpet, bury my face in my hooves.

That’s when familiar hooves appear, wrapping me in their embrace. He doesn’t say anything. Just holds me, as the tears flow, and flow, and flow.

4 - Left A Scar

That’s when familiar hooves appear, wrapping me in their embrace. He doesn’t say anything. Just holds me, as the tears flow, and flow, and flow.

When I open my eyes, the sun is shining brightly. It immediately hurts – I haven’t seen much of such a sun in a long time. As I adjust, I can see I’m not in the foyer anymore. Instead, I’m in an upstairs room - my bedroom.

I’m lying on my bed, I note. It’s… a strange feeling, to be on something so soft after years and years of sleeping in trenches on sometimes nothing more than a heap of dirt. I already feel restless, mere seconds after waking. Surely there’s something I have to train for; surely there’s something I have to win… or else.

As I start to get up, the stiffness returns. My wings ache so – particularly the left. The soles of my hooves are chapped and worn. When I go to step onto the floor, even such a cloud stings. I hold my inhale a moment, letting the pain settle.

Then I walk to the door, and step out into the hall. My Wonderbolt items greet me as the first thing I see, as I make my way along. Awards clutter the walls, always blue – the color of a champion. Photos where the whole team is sweat-streaked, but with such joy in laughing eyes. There’s the newspaper clippings, of when I broke this record, or that record. Even more photos. I reach out and tenderly stroke one of me flying, Soarin watching with obvious pride. It used to be my favorite, I remember. I think I still see why.

I shake my head. They were good times, but they’re old times. Now, I’m just a pegasus, broken from years of war born from hate and fighting.

“Dash?” A voice calls softly. Soarin. Has he been here all night? Did he think I couldn’t be trusted to be alone? I hear hoofsteps, trotting up the stairs. He should fly up. He should appreciate flying. I turn away from my walls when he appears at the top. I notice his mane isn’t as perfectly styled – several strands are loose. His coat is slightly disheveled, and his eyes look… raw. Had he been… crying? Because of me? I don’t want him to cry because of me. “How’d you sleep?” His tone is so gentle. The kind of tone I haven’t heard in so, so long.

I shrug, avoid meeting those piercing green eyes, so incredible. Somehow… I feel as though I’ll break down, drown, in that intelligent pool of green.

“Right.” He whispers, looking down. I hear him clear his throat, quietly, as though he doesn’t want me to hear. Part of me laughs so hard at that, every single time ponies do this. Everypony believes they can hide something from a war pony. They believe that we’re made ignorant, and, well, dumb from war. What they don’t realize is that it’s quite the opposite. A war pony picks up on everything. We read body language like a book. If anything, war makes us sharper. It just… comes at such a large price…

“Breakfast is on the table, if you want it…” Soarin’s voice trails off. I’m not hungry. My stomach feels as though I’ve eaten nothing but sharp, sharp rocks. But he looks so… hopeful. I think he needs me to come with him.

“Sure. Thanks.” I can do something for somepony else. Again.

A meeting was in progress in the elegant Castle of Friendship.

“R-Rainbow D-D-Dash didn’t l-like my PARTY!” Pinkie Pie sobbed. Fluttershy patiently handed her another tissue, gently rubbing her friend’s quivering back rhythmically. Then taking the newly drenched tissue and adding it to the growing pile.

“And did you glimpse the poor dear’s coat?” Rarity shuddered, pinching her eyes shut as though to wipe away all memory of the images.

“We have to do something to help her.” Twilight declared, tone firm. Her magic flicked through the pages of The Outsider’s Guide to War, How We Deal, War Minds, and The Truth about Emotions rapidly, eyes scanning each word carefully. She kept an ear turned toward the others, listening only half-heartedly.

“Y’all, maybe Dash just doesn’t want to be helped. Maybe she doesn’t need to be helped.” Applejack joined in, twiddling her hooves uncomfortably. She slouched against the wall, hat drawn low as to hide her eyes.

“Why would you say that?” Twilight scoffed. She didn’t look up from the books she was skimming.

“Well… she just got back from war. Who knows what ran through her mind when Pinkie’s cannon went off!” Applejack answered. “That was an attempt to ‘help’ and look how it ended!” Pinkie looked up, eyes wet and bottom lip trembling.

“I-I made her…” The party pony dropped to a tear-clogged whisper. “Sad?” When nopony answered, a fresh round of loud sobbing erupted. Fluttershy only sighed and passed over yet another fresh tissue.

“Well, think about it. Probably sounded some like what must’ve been out on the fields, aye?” Applejack pointed out, sitting up. This time Twilight looked up, even cutting her magic. Pinkie paused the waterworks, big eyes widening to bigger.

“Applejack! Y-You’re… right!” She gasped. “Oh no… my party did the exact opposite of what I wanted it to!” Fluttershy moved in closer, armed with a tissue. But Pinkie’s eyes narrowed, immediately void of any tears. “Not now, my little Flutters. Now…” A grim, determined smile spread across the pink mare. She pushed aside the pile of soggy tissues, jumping to her feet. “Now is the time… to make Rainbow… un-sad!”

With a very rapid propelling of her hind feet, Pinkie dashed off in a pink blur.

“That wasn’t mah point.” Applejack muttered.

I thought I could choke down something. But… after just one bite of Soarin’s rich apple pie… I just can’t. It’s too sweet; too rich. I don’t want to be rude, but all I can do is pick at it.

We stay in silence. Soarin’s eating, staring blankly at his plate. I cut the small slices into even smaller slices.

“You don’t like it?” He asks, gesturing to my own plate. I look away, taking a breath before I snap at him too. I have to keep it together. Have to keep it together, together, together.

“It’s good.” I say, simply. Which… is true. I would have devoured such a pie. Before I left for the war. Wordlessly, he pulls my plate toward him. With a small smile, he gets up and hooks a mug with his wing, filling it with water and then setting it to heat. Once it’s hot, he sets the rainbow-streaked mug down in front of me.

Before I have the chance to say anything, a very soft knocking sounds from the door.

5 - Behind Your Scars

Before I have the chance to say anything, a very soft knocking sounds from the door.

“I’ll get it.” Soarin says, already getting up. I stay where I am; track him with my eyes. I watch as he quickly reaches a hoof up to smooth down his mane. He clicks open the door, a practiced smile – Everything’s great here! How are you? – plastered on a weary face.

“I’m so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so SOR- Soarin?” The voice at the door starts out wailing, then switches to confused. Pinkie Pie. Of course. One disrespect after another, these days. How lovely. Her voice reminds me of an injured pony, left to die out on the battlefields. I’ve heard such ponies so often… when they’re so injured they don’t think straight… and switch tones within less than a beat. I’m vaguely aware of my ears flicking back and pinning down.

“Um… hey… Pinkie.” Soarin glances toward me, nervously. Like the glances soldiers exchanged as a possible last goodbye.

“Is Rainbow Dash home?” Now Pinkie’s switching to polite. I remember, she never approved of Soarin. He was always ‘too serious.’ The heat seeping through the edges of the mug is suddenly too hot, scalding my hooves. I push it farther away, and fold my hooves tight against my stomach. The small amount I ate suddenly doesn’t feel settled quite right.

“Um…” Soarin mutters. I notice he keeps his eyes trained forward, on Pinkie, instead of directly at me. My mind instinctively remembers training, where we were taught to stay on guard in the midst of such gazes. I have to force myself to remember Soarin having the same basic training, in HQ. He’s not a threat. He’s not a threat. He’s not a threat.

“Rainbow Dash! There you are!” Pinkie shoves Soarin aside, making a beeline for the table with large, springing jumps. She’s holding something in her hoof, something covered. Something unknown. Instantly, I stiffen. “O-Oh… right.” She straightens an imaginary tie, clearing her throat and then squaring her jaw. “Rainbow Dash, I’m-“ She sucks in air. “-I’m so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so SORRY!” Tears stream down her face as she finishes with a sob. Fake. So, so fake.

“Are you finished?” I ask, tone low. I keep my gaze straight in front of me, so only the corner of my eye can watch her motions. I won’t give her the prize of eye contact.

“Nope! I made you… this!” She exclaims, whipping the cover off the tin tray resting on her hoof. In the middle, there sits… something that slightly resembles a pie. My stomach turns over, from both the sight alone and the sickly sweet scent steaming off the… thing. “It’s a sweet potato pie, a rhubarb pie, a cream pie, a cheesecake, a Baumkuchen, a croquembouche, some punschkrapfen, a banoffee pie, a chiffon cake, some cremeschnitte, a prinzregententorte, a kransekake, an esterházy torte, and a spice cake all rolled and rolled up into one! Oh! And I topped it with a de-licious blend of lemon meringue buttercream frosting, ganache frosting, caramel, marzipan, strawberry cream cheese, Crème fraîche, powdered citrus glaze, and OF COURSE the best of all… Chantilly Cream!” She gives me a wide grin, eyes shining and proud. “So whaddaya think?”

I need her gone. I need her out of my house, and I don’t want to see her again.

“I think you should leave.” I mutter through clenched teeth.

“But, Rainbow Dash! I made you an Apology Pie!” She cries, shoving the pie even closer.

“Please. Leave.” I’m fighting to keep myself under control. I want to grab her by the mane and throw her as far as Tartarus. I want her out, out and far, far away. I can’t smell the… pie anymore, or hear that overly cheerful voice, or see so many colors anymore. It’s too much.

“You have to try my Apology Pie!” Determination creeps into her tone. She lifts her chin, narrowing her eyes down to slits. She lifts the tray and slides the pie right under my nose. I almost choke on the smell radiating out of it.

“You have to leave.” I can hear it; my own tone is full of a hard warning. A veteran’s hard warning. She doesn’t budge, glaring innocent eyes at me.

She asked for it. I push my cloud seat back, easily slipping to my feet. Even with war injuries, under pressure… I’m practiced enough that I can trust myself. The first gimmer of fear and uncertainty trickles into Pinkie’s eyes. I give her full eye contact now. Not the warm kind, that makes you feel loved and welcome. No, not the reward. I give her the icy kind, the kind that you gain naturally after years of war straighten you out.

“I asked you to leave.” I breathe, moving in so we’re chest-to-chest. All pain vanishes, clearing the way for the drive to win.

“D-Dash?” She whimpers. Her tone is high with fear, eyes wide and darting around. She’s looking for a possible exit, I’m sure. Not likely she’ll find one. I might not be trained as highly in hoof to hoof combat as in, say, knife fighting, but I do know how to fight. The distressed sheen in her eyes shows she knows it. Once upon a time, I might have backed off here and now, just to spare one of my friends the fear. Not anymore. Now, I just want her out.

An odd feeling washes over me. It’s a mix of the thrill of fighting, and the fear of fighting. Sounds, all the sounds… like the burning blasts fired into our direction. The groans of dying ponies, and grunts of the fighting. The freedom of being in control of your and only your body, and the restraint of what you’re about to do. The jittery feeling, rushing through my legs, at what might happen… I might die, I might die, I might die…

It’s pounding into my head, stamping everything. I might die, I might die, I might die, Sweet Celestia, I’m going to die.

Can’t think. Have to think. There’s three ponies swarming in on me, in total black. Enemy ponies, Dash… come on now… come on, Dash… think! Where’s the rest of the team? Why is there always so much snow, and so much ice? No… have to focus on here and now. Ponies… all around me. How do three ponies seem like so many? No. No time to think. Have to move, have to move, move, move.

I sweep the knife out from its sheath around my waist. I practiced so long, so hard. So different now. It’s not like practice at all. The first two start in. I can barely hold them off, I can’t hold them off longer. They have such complicated, quick moves… intent on killing me. There, cut one of them, right in the neck. He’s down for good. But there are more, always more. There’s a slice to my back, hitting a nerve, and barely staying away from my wing. The area goes numb, but I can tell I’m bleeding. Have to win soon or never. I won’t last much longer.

My knife locks against another. The other pony is strong – he reminds me a bit of Soarin. Not going to think of Soarin. Just win the fight. I throw my weight into the hoof, coming down and around with a number five strike, following it with a number three to the wing. The pegasus falters before plunging onto the snow in a spray of red.

The only one left is their partner. I can see the edges of a pitch black eye peeking out from his armor – I’m pretty sure it’s a He. Focus, Dash, have to focus. He lunges, coming in so fast, with quick slices I can’t possibly return. He slits open my left hoof. Thankfully it’s not my right. I can still fight. But then… there’s a cut to my stomach, long and gaping. Immediately, I feel sick. The cut is too big… my head feels awful. Can’t keep myself up anymore. My wings falter… no, no! Have to stay up… have to stay up… can’t stay up… I fall. I think I land on my side, or maybe it’s my head. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I can’t feel anything. I can feel everything.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die…

6 - Scars Run Deep

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die…

A very firm grasp suddenly squeezes my midsection. I’m aware of it, but I can barely feel it. All I can feel is the sticky blood gushing out of my stomach, dripping out of my hoof, splattering the floor. It’s everywhere. I can hear the screaming – I know it can’t be coming from me. I can’t breathe – there’s too much pain, too much hurting, and there’s a loud, loud, oh-so-loud roar in my ears.

A hoof on me. Holding me down. No, no! Somepony’s holding me captive; I can’t get out! Have to win, have to win, have to win. I grit my teeth, and lash out with my back hoof. I barely feel the impact as the bottom of my hoof slams into some part or another.

“Thanks for visiting, but I think…” A voice gasps out, from behind me. Close behind me. Too close. The tone is strained – my kick must have hit home.

“Y-yeah. Okay.” A different, softer voice answers.

Where are the screams? Where are the harsh cracks of enemy fire? Have to listen now. They might be waiting for me to drop my guard.

“Rainbow Dash… I hope you-” The second voice, which I now instantly identify as Pinkie’s, pauses. I hear her take an audible, short breath in. “I hope you feel better soon.”

I think my heart breaks a little more. I want to say something – maybe sorry – as Pinkie turns around. Her sagging pink tail swishes as she steps around a splatter of crust and color on the floor. She doesn’t look back as she steps out the door.

“Rainbow, that was not okay.” The hoof around my waist loosens. Soarin steps forward, almost warily. His eyes are lined with weariness, brow furrowed. His tone is quiet, serious. I open my mouth, to say something. But he holds his hoof up. A warning, I can tell. “I understand that you just came home. I understand that there must be memories. I understand how hard that is. And yes, maybe I don’t know what it was like. But that?” He pauses, stares me right in the eye. “That is not okay.”

I want to say something. Need to say something. I’ll come across as weak if I don’t. Nopony can see me weak. But… I can’t. I know he’s right. I tried to physically hurt one of my friends. And it was wrong.

“Dash. Do you understand?” He asks, eyes steadily prompting mine. My gaze drifts to the pie, now in pieces on the floor. To the tray, now with one edge curled up above the other. Slivers of silver scattered around it. There was even some splatters of red, on the chair I had sat on. Blood? What had just happened? What… had I done? “Dash. Look at me.” Numbly, I meet Soarin’s eyes. Right, right. He wants me to nod. I nod. “Good.”

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. For coming back so… ruined. For causing such a mess – both of the house, and of his heart. For holding him down here. For being the reason of those tired lines under his eyes, and the red linings that serve as clear evidence of tears shed. But I can’t say all that. I… can’t.

Soarin gives me a small smile. “C’mon. We should get you cleaned up.” He tilts his head, lifting a wing gently onto my back. The area twitches – it hurts more than last time.

I follow him to the wide downstairs restroom. It’s clean, with whitewashed clouds for walls. A faint lemon scent hits me as I step inside – it’s… sharp. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. It reminds me of the scent we used, back at the beginning of the war, to mask the bitter scent of blood seeping out from under the tent flaps.

My heart rises into my throat. I hesitate, halfway through the door. My eyes dart to the small device radiating the scent, then to Soarin, who’s rummaging through the cabinet. I’ve… already made it so difficult for him… I can stay strong for this. Yes, I confirm. Yes, I can.

“Here. Stand still a moment, yeah?” Soarin comes up beside me, a small jar wrapped in his wing. “And… don’t kick me again.” He keeps his tone light, but I can tell he’s only half joking.

One of his feathers brushes against my back, so lightly I almost wonder if it was accidental. It trails along, tracing in the direction of my coat, until it reaches one of the scars. This one weaves from my hip, all the way up to my back, before delicately swooping down and curving slightly around my wing. I immediately tense; my whole body goes rigid. The feather lifts, only to return seconds later. This time, I can feel some sort of liquid touch the scar. It’s cold; chilling, but not in a very bad way. Just unusual.

He coats the scar completely, then moves to my leg. Then… my wing. My left wing. Very gently, he unfolds it. Then almost drops it on the spot. Soarin – Wonderbolt stallion, not to be shaken by much, somepony who’s basically ‘been there and done that’ – couldn’t even stand the sight of such a messed-up wing. Is… that how bad it is? Really?

I want to snap my wings back, tight and folded, where nopony can see them. I want to get out of this clean room, with its lemony fresh scents and perfectly white walls. I want to hide, and erase Soarin’s memory of what he just saw.

“Rainbow.” He speaks, quietly. The tone is laden with thickness; with a certain heaviness. I turn toward him. His voice… never sounds like that.

He’s staring at my wing, eyes full and troubled. He lifts a hoof to his mouth, pressing hard. Oh, Celestia… this was such a mistake. He’ll never be able to look at me again, never ever.

“Y-You’re bleeding…” He whispers.

I don’t spin around and stare at my wing. I don’t shriek and yell once I see the sight. I don’t turn on my heel and sprint out of the room. I don’t do what normal ponies would do. Instead, I fold my wing neatly, practice assuring the scar isn’t bothered.

“No, Dash! We have to bandage that!” Soarin’s tone is slightly frantic, now. I turn, face him. I want to tell him I've fought in a war with injuries war worse than this. I want to tell him that this much blood doesn't bother me, that I have seen so much worse. But I don’t think he can hear it right now.

So, instead, I sigh and hold still. I can only watch as Soarin goes to grab a soft cloth and some bandaging – did he fill the cabinets, before I came home, for this very reason? – and then comes to my side. I can only watch as he carefully unfolds my wing again, as though he’s smoothing out a dried, dying flower petal, and then, with a tightly clenched jaw, cleans out where I guess it’s bleeding. And the entire time, I don’t say that it's not of any use. I don’t say that I’ll just shake the wrap off as soon as he’s not looking.

I can only watch as he tries and tries his hardest to fix a part of me. And I don’t say that no matter how hard he tries, the area will just bleed again… and again… and again.

7 - Wish on a Scar

I can only watch as he tries and tries his hardest to fix a part of me. And I don’t say that no matter how hard he tries, the area will just bleed again… and again… and again.

When Soarin finishes, I can tell he’s hurting. His ears are down, eyes very troubled. He gives me a wavering smile before turning away to set the rest of the bandaging down. A part of me looks down at him, with disgust. If he thinks this is bad, he should have seen the battlefields. Battlefields littered with the dead and dying, once-clean and sparkling snow soaked with blood, both fresh and old. Should have seen the paper-like wings of suffering ponies, some with clear gaps where the ammunition had struck them. The feathers blowing away from the dead, hurled far, far away by the icy arctic wind. But I think I understand. He wants to be alone. He wants to be without me.

That’s alright. I turn, start walking out of the room. I’m glad to be out of the sanitized room, with it’s lemon scents so powerful. I’m used to muddy trenches, and unfiltered water. So much… cleanness is overwhelming.

“Dash? Going for a fly?” Soarin calls after me. A fly. A fly?! Seriously?

“No.” I snap, tone cold. Of course I’m not going for a fly. Didn’t he just see my wings? And my heart? No, wait. I haven’t showed him my heart yet. But… he’s seen my wings. I… I can’t fly. Just can’t.

“Oh.” I can hear him whisper, realization probably dawning on him. “Dash, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine.” I cut him off, sharply. It is, everything is. Perfectly, completely… fine.

I turn up the stairs, and start walking to my bedroom. I keep my eyes straight ahead – I don’t want to, or need to, see the pictures from a time when my biggest care was being the best.

When I enter and lock my room door, the first thing I see is light. So much light. It streams through the windows, highlighting little specks of floating dust. It’s too bright. Too much like the light right before a cannon, or a unicorn, fires up and out at you. With quick, shallow breaths, I rush to the curtain and draw it tight.

The room is dark now. Not exactly pitch black, not like the attacks we performed under the cover of night. I can still see faint shadows. I can see if there’s anypony there – or in this case, that there’s not anypony there. I’m alone.

I limp to the bed, and start to sit down… but it’s too soft. I sink into the cloud at least an inch. So I move to the floor. It’s better. I curl my tail to the side; don’t even both to wince when the scar knitting across my dock pulses with pain. My legs hurt so, as I let myself drop into a sitting position. Everything hurts. Joints, ligaments, tendons… everything.

I don’t feel like I’m home, in my own house. I don’t feel better, after coming back ‘home’ from years of war. If anything, I feel worse. There’s memories, emotions, ponies, blood… all etched into my very soul, seeping through the cracked remains of my heart.

Yes. Fine. My heart hurts. I’ll never admit it out loud, but I can admit it to myself. I can admit I’m weak. I can admit that war broke me. I can admit that what I heard, what I saw, what I went through out there, got to me. And… I can admit I didn’t react like the tough mare everypony remembers. I didn’t react like I knew it all, could get over it all… no. I reacted like a mare I didn’t even know. I turned into a scared, weak filly, knowing her fate lay in the hooves of the big, black, mean monster called War.

I’m barely aware of the tears falling from my eyes. Or maybe, I’m all too aware. They stream down my face, and as much as I’m ashamed, I just can’t seem stop them. Don’t want to stop them, maybe. Or maybe, I just don’t care anymore. I’m just too tired to think, to do. There’s a weariness weighing me down, a certain weariness that doesn’t pass by every day. Maybe the tears are an attempt, an illusion, by my heart… to lift some. To filter out the worst parts of, well, grief.

I don’t know. I really don’t know.

I think of Death, now. It’s not unfamiliar. Blossomforth, a mare I had grown up with, died in our very first battle. I should know; I was right next to her. So many others did as well, dying during the fight for life. There were some that had to be left to die alone – because the rest of us had to move on, move to the next battle, to the next fight. And by the time we came back, all that was left was an unmoving body, some with splintered horns, others with dispersing wings. What never changed was the crimson-stained snow, the smell of Death and sickness, and the icy hail that beat down on us, replicating the tears we refused to shed. Death was in every one of those drops, in the growling thunder that made for the worst conditions, in every feather that drifted by, no doubt from some pegasus that had lost life, and in each of us. In each of the ponies that had fought through the war for Equestria – both in those that came out alive, and those that didn’t.

I wonder if the survivors had really survived. I certainly don’t feel alive. I feel just as dead as the ponies scattered all over snow once beautiful.

Is that appropriate? Do I get to feel like this? Should I be glad and appreciative of that I had come out in one piece? Should I be happy, that Soarin and I got to meet again? That Pinkie Pie cares enough to throw a Welcome Home party?

I don’t know, I don’t know.

I don’t know if I’m glad I came out ‘in one piece.’ I might still have my wings, and my legs, and my head, but my heart and soul? I don’t think they’re as put-together anymore. I don’t know if I’m happy about Soarin. It would make it so much easier, for both of us, if he wasn’t there anymore. Or maybe… if I wasn’t there anymore. And I most certainly don’t know if I’m happy about a stupid, stupid party.

Actually, I do know one thing. I’m not happy. Happiness is flying high in the sky, joined only by wind. Happiness is performing in front of thousands and thousands of ponies, all watching to see your next move. Happiness is being with a full heart. Just plain… being, with a heart that is forgiving, and kind, and loyal.

I can’t stay still anymore. I get up, and start to pace around the outer edge.

It feels like I’m trapped, trapped in a small, small cage. A cage that wraps around my legs, my wings, and pulls me back when I try to step forward. A cage that keeps me shut in tight, without any holes to breathe through. It keeps me inside, restless, and with all hope of freedom long gone.

My inhales are coming rapidly, now. Suddenly, the room is too dark. I move to the window, and part the curtain. It’s dark out. Have I been here for so long? Really? Ah well. Not like it actually matters.

I watch the night sky, for a little bit. It’s a navy blue, the kind of blue that represents both warmth and chill, hope and heaviness. The stars, dotted in a pattern only Luna knows, wink brightly, perhaps to remind of light in the dark? Perhaps to remind of a light that won’t come.

A brilliant flash streaks past the corner of my eye. A shooting star. This one is beautiful; so fragile, yet strong. It’s breathtaking – a moment of sheer nature.

And as silly as I know it is, I make a wish.

I wish I can be happy again.

8 - Saw Scars

And as silly as I know it is, I make a wish.

I wish I can be happy again.

“Hey, Dash?” I hear a hushed voice at my door. I jump, tensing down further into the bed instinctively. When in doubt, stay down. I inhale and hold it. My ears are straining to the door, trying to pick up any sort of reassurance that everything’s okay, that everything’s fine. The only thing I can hear is my heart, pounding into my chest.

“It’s… Soarin.” Oh… he wants an answer. I grunt. Have to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. “Can I come in?” I don’t reply. Breathe. Soarin eases the door open, stepping in slowly. I can see his large silhouette form a faint shadow outside the door. The whites of his eyes, glowing, move as he undoubtedly takes in the closed curtains, and the turned-off bedside lamp. I bet he’s thinking how unlike ‘me’ that is. ‘I’ would have had the curtains flung open wide, to try and see all the stars at the same time. To stay up as long as possible, reading foalish books that kept the real world at bay.

“What time is it?” I mutter. It can’t be much past midnight yet.

“Early.” He pauses. “Late. Whatever.” Something inside me remembers. Remembers what it feels like to want to laugh. But unlike years ago, when it was sweet, it’s a bitter feeling. I don’t deserve to laugh. I don’t want to laugh. I can’t laugh.

“What do you want?” I don’t necessarily want it to sound rude. I guess it does.

“Heard you earlier.” He whispers, coming up beside me. It feels… somewhat awkward to be laying down while he’s still standing. I turn onto my stomach and straighten into a sitting position. My wings and legs are trembling. Am I afraid? Or just tense? I’m just tense.

“And…” If he wants to drill into me, he doesn’t have to feel good doing it.

“And… I wanted to see if you were alright.” I hear his hooves shuffling. Is he uncomfortable? Nervous? Upset?

“I’m okay.” I sigh. It escapes before I can stop it – and immediately, the shrill warning whistles blow in my head. I just showed him my weakness! I just showed him I’m weak! I revealed something he could use against me! That’s exactly what the Captain had trained us not to do. “I’m okay.” I repeat, forcing the panic out. Can’t show him even more. Have to stay hidden. Can’t let the Captain down.

“Are you, though?” Soarin’s tone is sharp. With concern? Or is he annoyed? I look down, tracing my eyes methodically over the swirling patterns of cloud in my blanket. I was trained to be a good judge of character, or emotion… but I can’t figure this stallion out! I want to, no, need to know what he’s going to do next.

“Yeah.” I mutter, mostly to myself. That’s right. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.

“I don’t think so.” He says softly. I hear his hoofsteps walk closer, hesitantly. Then he’s sitting next to me, not two feet away. “You tried to attack Pinkie.” He states. I can feel his eyes on me, that crystal green that could reflect absolutely everything and absolutely nothing at the same time. I say nothing. “Dash… talk to me. You haven’t been yourself.” I look up, sharply.

“Myself. Myself? Soarin, would you be ‘yourself’ after going to war for years straight?” I hiss. He opens his mouth, about to say something. Probably something sweet, something kind to make me remember the good old days. I don’t want to hear it. I cut him off with my hoof. “You can yell at me for, yes, trying to attack Pinkie, one of my absolute best friends. You can grind into me for not appreciating that awesome party they threw. Hay, you can insult me all you like, but you do not get to act as though you know who I’m supposed to be. You do not get to act as though you know what happened out there.” I think I should be screaming. I think I shouldn’t be this angry. He’s just trying to help. But I’m not screaming; I’m spitting the words out. I am angry; he has no right to try and ‘help.’

“How can I help you?!” I flinch hard at the yell. He’s loud, so loud… and his voice is so harsh. He doesn’t sound like Soarin. He sounds like enemy ponies, screaming out battle cries. He sounds like the dying ponies, gasping out words never said in those sharp, failing voices. He sounds like war.

It sounds like war. It’s something that shouldn’t be something I’m thinking, because I’m supposed to be thinking about what’s coming. But I can’t think straight anymore.

“Think we’re gonna live?” The mare next to me mutters. She’s not talking to me, she’s not talking to herself. She’s talking to all the ponies in the military wagon.

“I hope so.” A stallion to her right answers. He’s obviously nervous – sweat is glistening down his heaving chest. I can hear something of a Trottingham accent lacing his words.

Suddenly, I hear the most horrifying screams I’ve ever heard. They chill my blood, making little tremors rush through my bones. The rag-covered wood wagon goes deathly still.

“Welcome to war!” A mare’s voice cackles. Terror floods my senses. I’m not prepared. I’m not ready. I shouldn’t be here. I’m a coward.

And then, I have less than a second to see the shadow. See the shadow before I feel it’s heavy weight crush down on us. I can’t even wonder what it is, why its here, what’s going to happen.

I only know I have to fight. Fight or die.

“Oh, Dash… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- Dash? Are you okay?” I feel something soft brush against my back. It’s too much. I cry out, letting loose a sound that almost sounds like… one of Fluttershy’s hurt animals. I’m trembling – the bed is vibrating from the shivers rippling out of me.

“S-Soarin…” I whisper. I feel sick; I can’t do this anymore. My stomach is turning over, and my head is spinning.

“I’m right here,” He whispers back. The bed shifts as he moves closer. His wing drops down onto my back, so gently it hurts.

I don’t want such a gentle touch to hurt; I don’t want a firm touch to hurt. I don’t want to have all these memories, the memories that keep filling my mind no matter what I do. I don’t want to hear the screams and silences of ponies dying over and over again.

I just want this to be over.

9 - Up to the Scars

I just want this to be over.

The next two weeks pass slowly. Or, quickly. I stay in my bedroom, coming out only when I have to. I like it, in my room. I can keep the curtains fastened tight, and the lamp turned to off. I can push the clouds around so there’s a little dent in my bed, a small spot where it isn’t so feathery soft. I can keep my door shut, latched with a chain. And I do. I don’t have to see Soarin’s eyes as they sweep over me, taking everything in, missing nothing. And I don’t have to hear anything outside of my own breathing, steady, reminding me I’m still alive. I don’t have to keep up in the outside world – I just have to keep up in my own.

The sun is rising slowly, today. What little can come through my heavy curtains casts small patterns of shadows on the ceiling. I’d trace them, but looking up hurts. Instead, I hug my knees close to my chest, face the door, and breathe.

It’s then that I hear a loud thump ring through the air. Immediately, my whole body flinches, then turns in on itself. I huddle down, wrapping my forehooves around my backhooves. Coward, coward, coward. Coward, coward, coward.

I strain my ears to the door, trying to hear over my thumping heart. A door, in the direction of Soarin’s room, squeaks open. Slow hoofbeats walk past my door and trot down the stairs. I want to yell out that he shouldn’t open the door, should keep himself safe, should check that everything’s alright before continuing, but my voice doesn’t work. Stay down! Stay silent! The front door opens with a click. I tense even more, ready, but… nothing happens. Only a quiet murmuring.

“It’s too early.” I hear Soarin mutter. Early? Who is he talking to? Is he planning something against me? Does he want to go? Is Pinkie back? Please, don’t let him leave… I-I need him.

“Unlike you, I’ve got a schedule to keep. ‘Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable.*’” Oh… I know that voice. What is Spitfire doing here?

“That’s unfair.” Soarin’s voice is strained. He’s holding something back, something bad.

“Relax. Is she up?” She. Me? She wants to see me? I don’t relax. She might want me to fly again, or get up and out, or even just take a walk. She doesn’t get to force me anymore. I know now I can fight better. If I’m ready. Ready at all times, ready at all times, ready at all times.

“I-I don’t know. She… barely comes out now.” Soarin drops to a lower tone, but I can hear. I can hear every word.

“Is she okay?” The Spitfire I know wouldn’t talk like that, in such a low tone. The Spitfire I know isn’t capable of a gentle voice, she isn’t capable of caring. I hear Soarin exhale, sharply. He’s not going to answer. He’s too good a pony to lie, and he’s too good a pony to keep something from Spitfire.

Hoofsteps start up again. Two sets this time, one faster and lighter than the other. I’m glad we didn’t get new carpets, before I left. I’m glad I can hear where they are. Now, they’re on the stairs, down the hall, in front of my door. It’s latched. They won’t get in unless I let them.

“Dash? You awake?” Soarin’s soft voice drifts through the door.

“What is it?” My tone is harsh. It’s the tone I used for war. The tone that warned off, and enticed a kill. I may have shown Soarin my weak side, but I won’t show it to Spitfire. She has too many connections. She has too many reasons to mock my scars, and flaunt them for everypony to see.

“Spitfire’s here.” He answers, a bit louder this time. I want to tell if he’s hurt, but I can’t. He’s too good at hiding.

“I know.” I bite. I hope she hears it. I hope she feels a sting. I hope she sees the new me.

“Can you open the door?” I have to hand it to him. Soarin doesn’t even seem to flinch at such a tone.

Instead of answering, I roll to my stomach, and slowly uncurl my legs. I’m stiff, and it hurts. Don’t show them weakness, don’t show them weakness, don’t show them weakness. Can’t show them weakness. Can’t let the Captain down. I step onto the floor, and take a quick look back. My wings are tight to me, feathers somewhat straight. The worst scar is covered. Good. I walk to the door, not relaxing as I unhook the chain and step back to open it.

“Hey… Dash.” Spitfire starts out strong, but even she has to hesitate. Even she has to pause, staring at my tail, my wings, my shoulder, my hip, now visible in the semi-light. My tail, whose once-vibrant rainbow had faded to mere hints of gray. My wings, who used to be groomed and relaxed, but were now clamped and tight. My shoulder, which still bled, never healing. My hip, where a long, ugly scar traced up and down, side to side, down and up.

“Spitfire.” I keep my eyes up, jaw hard. Looking down is a weakness. And I won’t show weakness.

“Anypony for breakfast?” Soarin cuts in, forcing a nervously cheerful laugh. Is he afraid I’ll try to attack again? I don’t think I will. I have more respect for Spitfire than I do for somepony like Pinkie. They turn away, heading for the table. I consider balking, but it wouldn’t make Soarin happy. If he has to stay with me, I can do this. Because it would make Soarin happy.

I walk after them, ignoring the pull of ripped-open and re-knit skin. I notice Spitfire falter, as she looks to the pictures on my walls. But she straightens, and says nothing.

At the table, Spitfire takes the extra seat, I take mine, and Soarin gets busy at the stove. I can’t tell with what, and frankly… I don’t care. I don’t want to eat anyway. Just here to make Soarin happy.

“So… how are you doing?” Spitfire’s clearly uncomfortable. I can tell she doesn’t know how to do this ‘thing.’

“I’m great.” I answer, sarcasm dripping through my tone. My wings hurt. I want to go back to my room, leave Spitfire and whatever she wants from me.

“Dash, stop. I want the truth, and I want it now.” This time, she surprises me. Her voice is low, lower than I’ve ever heard it. She’s not backing down; her eyes are up, narrowed just enough, and her back is straight. Her wings are perfect, folded loosely at her sides. She has her yellow hooves clasped together on the table, leaning over them slightly. She’s testing me. She’s testing boundaries, testing who’s the leader here. She didn’t use my full name, which shows she’s purposely not acting as though I’m in trouble. But her tone is… hard. A tone that’s there for a reason.

She scares me. Spitfire has a death grip on control, right now. She knows her wings are conditioned, polished, and sleek. She knows her tail is styled perfectly, and she knows she wears her scars well.

I swallow, hard. My eyes dart to Soarin, but he has his back turned. He won’t get me out of this. I… can trust everypony here, right? Nopony will let anything leave the room. I can feel safe here. I’m okay. Right?

“Dash… it’s okay.” Spitfire whispers, so, so gently. I barely even notice as she pushes her chair back, and steps closer to me. And wraps a yellow wing around my shoulders. I feel numb – I can’t feel the smooth feathers on my own. I can’t feel hurt anymore, I can’t feel free anymore. I can’t feel anything anymore. “Everything is okay.” There’s none of that harsh voice left. There’s only a tone so gentle it seems motherly.

“Spitfire.” Why is my voice so hoarse? I need to be tough, cover my weaknesses! I don’t want to feel like this. I want to be weak, for once. I want to – need to – let the Captain down.

“Dash.” She whispers back, tightening her wing. Why doesn’t it hurt? It should hurt, she’s right by the scar.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Soarin’s next to me now, murmuring it over and over again, in a low, soothing tone. Feathers brush against my blue fur, settling in front of Spitfire’s. I’m between the two of them, enveloped in the smells of clouds, mint, and wind. Enveloped in the deep rumbles of comfort words.

“I’m sorry,” I want to say it louder, but my throat is clogged with… tears. I can only manage a whisper, a heavy whisper. “I’m so sorry.” For what am I sorry for? Why am I apologizing? I don’t know, I just don’t know.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Spitfire murmurs, keeping such a soft, sweet tone. My shoulders start to shake, convulsing with pain, with tears, with memories, with the spirits of all those I killed. There was the stallion, who reminded me so of Soarin, then the mare, whom Twilight would have loved, then that other mare, that other stallion, and another stallion, and another mare, and one more stallion, and more, and more, and more. The tears are coming fast now. I want to stop them, but I can’t. I want to hold them in, but I can’t. I want to stay strong, stay strong, stay strong, stay strong… but I can’t.

“It’s okay.” Soarin’s whispering. “It’s okay, Dash. Really, it’s okay…” He doesn’t know. Not even Spitfire knows. They can’t set me free again.

“I’m sorry.” I cry, straining against the heaviness in my throat. I drop my head into my hooves; I can’t feel the tears stain my fur wet.

“It’s okay.” Spitfire’s voice is just so kind. So kind, so low, so tender. Both of them are saying the same thing, whispering it again and again.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Is it okay to show weakness, just this one time? Is it okay to let the Captain down, just this one time? It is okay to lower my eyes, relax my jaw, just this one time? Is it okay to let myself tremble, let myself cry, just this one time?

“It’s okay, Dash. It’s okay.” Spitfire murmurs. Her wing is steady on mine; it holds the same touch her voice does.

So I think. Maybe. Maybe it isn't. But maybe... maybe it is.

10 - Shining Scar

So I think. Maybe… just maybe… it is.

After Spitfire leaves, that day, things change. Not dramatically, hay no. But a little.

For one, Soarin and I eat breakfast together, these days. No, that’s not quite accurate. I can’t eat right, even a full two weeks after coming “home”. Pancakes are too big, a pie is too hot, and eggs are too much like… like… like seeing pieces of shredded skin. Something I’ve seen too often. I guess tea works. And Soarin’s been making shakes, but he won’t tell me what’s in them. They’re not bad, so I drink them. And it makes him happy, which… is good to see. Mostly, I just sit there, sipping my drink, while he eats something.

Today, I have a tea. Wildberry, if you’re wondering. Soarin has pancakes on his plate, already half-gone. From the smell, I think they’re blueberry. I don’t really care. He eats what he wants, and it’s none of my business.

We’ve been eating in silence, as always, each focused on our own meal. Yeah, things have changed. That doesn’t mean I’ve changed. Deal with it.

The day is looking to be like any other. After breakfast, Soarin will shower. I’ll go to my room, and watch the clouds drift by. Some fast, some slow. It’s reassuring. At least there’s something constant that I can count on. And the pegasi stay far away from this house. Far, far away. It’s good. It’s better to heal, before letting ponies see your wounds.

“Dash, we’re going Hearth’s Warming shopping today.” Soarin announces, tone… rather excited, actually. Immediately, I flinch, before I can even hear what he’s saying. I don’t want him excited. I’ll just let him down, I know, I know all too well.

And then I hear what he says.

“Sh-Shopping?” I repeat. I clench the mug tighter. The heat seeps through its sides, warming my hooves. It’s uncomfortable. So, I take my hooves off, and instead, fold them into my lap.

“Yep!” Soarin nods. I notice his eyes, then. He’s watching me, intently, but trying not to let me see it. He really wants this. An outing, just a colt with his marefriend? Or… or… something else.

Ah. At that, I think I get it. Of course! It’s a test. He wants me to pass, but he doesn’t know if I will.

That’s confusing? Let me spell it out.

Shopping will mean flying. If desired store is in Ponyville, we have to fly down. If desired store is in Cloudsdale, we have to fly up. Either way, it means flying. And if I can’t do it, then he’ll want to carry me wherever. To humiliate me. To show me who’s in charge. To throw it out there, that Rainbow Dash can’t fly!

“No.” I say it flatly. He doesn’t get to humiliate me, he doesn’t get to show me who’s in charge, and he doesn’t get to show everypony that Rainbow Dash can’t fly. Sorry. Not.

“Yes.” Soarin answers, calmly cutting off another square of pancake.

“No,” I answer, letting my tone grow harder; angrier. “I’m not going.” Think I sound like a filly, talking back? Maybe I do.

“Dash, you’ve hardly left the house – and neither have I,” Soarin looks up, right at me. He holds his hoof up, cutting me short before I can retort. “It isn’t healthy for a pony to stay inside so long. You need the fresh air, I need the fresh air, and we need the Hearth’s Warming gifts. And… and… I-I really want you to come with.”

Once upon a time, in a life where there was no war, no hurt, no training, I would have made a crack about Twilight, and how she could stay inside for all her immortal life. But, in this life, a life where there was too much war, too much hurt, too much training, I don’t make a crack about Twilight, and nothing about how she could stay inside for all of her immortal life. I say nothing.

Once upon a time, in a life where there was no dead ponies, everywhere one looked, in a life where there were no killers, no yells of combat, I would have jumped at the chance to spend a day with Soarin. After all, life as a Wonderbolt was busy. If we had a spare moment, why not spend it together? But, in this life, a life where dead ponies lay everywhere, in every corner, in a life with killers lurking wherever one was least expecting them, and yells of combat so long gone, yet forever emblazed into memory… I don’t jump at the change. I say nothing.

“Dash, c’mon,” He reaches across the table. His voice is gentle, coaxing, as though if he drops low enough, he’ll entice me into a trap. Does he want my hoof? My hoof is just fine, thank you very much. I don’t want to be touched right now, thank you very much. I want to leave, flee to my room, thank you very much. He takes his hoof back. I watch. “What if I told you that you don’t have to fly?”

“I won’t go.” I answer.

“Dash, please,” he whispers. Does he want me humiliated so badly? Does he want to flaunt my weaknesses so badly?

One should never trust. Know why?

Cause they always let you down, eventually.

“No,” I say, easing off my chair. I leave my tea where it is – Soarin can put it away. I am in charge, not him. He will not humiliate me, I could humiliate him. I cannot fly, and I will not fly. “No.” With that final, harsh word, I turn and leave. My hoofsteps echo across the kitchen, at least the first few. Then, of course, Soarin starts talking, this time, with a tone that almost comes across as worried.

“Dash, you okay?” He wants to come after me; it’s like he wants to give me a hug. I can tell, from his tone, from his posture, from his eyes. Yet, he won’t. He has respect for me – and… I guess I could give him that. But I won’t. He better have respect for me. In fact, I would very much like some fear out of him, at the moment.

“I. Am.” I bite. I don’t look back; don’t slow down. “Fine.”

I had hoped – had even thought – he understood. I had hoped, that if he didn’t, he’d at least try. I had hoped that he could be a friend, not a foe.

What had gone wrong? I… I had truly hoped I could trust him. I had hoped he wouldn’t try… something like this.

Was it my fault? I have to think, as I trot up the stairs. I just want to go to my room, and close the curtains. Curtains he had opened this morning, because we had both thought, early in the morning, after he woke me up – the first time he had had to, actually, because last night, I slept through, and didn’t wake from a nightmare – that today would be a good day. A day to overcome.

The first thing I do, upon entering my room, is close the curtains. Then, I run back to the door, make sure it’s latched tightly – both locks. I can’t have an intruder, I can’t have Soarin, try to come in.

The room’s dark now. Completely pitch-black. It’s comforting, in a way. But also… terrible. I’m on edge, I realize it only now. Right, right. Time to take inventory. If I’m in doubt, I must secure myself.

Hot? Yes. Cold? Yes. Trembling? Yes. Scared? Y-Yes. On guard: mentally? No. On guard: physically? No.

I’m not ready to fight. I’m not prepared to fight. I can’t fight.

I… I feel like screaming.

I feel like… like I did… then.

And then, the world disappears in a flash of light. Light, just like the great flicker of a unicorn’s horn as it casts a shot aimed to kill. The world disappears, and once again, I am lost in my mind.

I scream. My scream is like nothing I’ve ever heard before. It’s ripping out of me, so harsh I can feel it. I’m cutting through the air with my voice, slicing through the wind, and snow. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m so scared. Who have I become? Why am I here? Why am I screaming, and not doing anything? Oh, silly little Dashie! You’ve become an adult, that’s who! You’re here because you agreed to it! You’re not doing anything, because you can’t! See, Dashie? They’re surrounding you! All these ponies in black, does it scare you, that you can’t see their eyes? Only their teeth? Hmm… they look a little like a bat-pony’s, don’t you think? DASH! THINK! SNAP OUT OF IT! They’re coming closer now, do you see them circling? They’re swaying closer, creeping closer, until they pounce. You better be prepared for the pounce, you know it’s coming, you know it, Dashie… Oh Celestia. Oh Celestia. Oh Celestia. They can’t be doing this.

“No! No! No! NO!” I don’t know what I’m screaming. I know I’m finished. I don’t know what to do. I know they’re going to finish me. I don’t know why I’m still alive. I know they’re going to kill me.

I feel like a filly, yelling at the bullies, to just leave me alone.

Only this time, they’re not bullies. They’re monsters. Monsters, cloaked in black, with grim white smiles, and shining metal blades.

I feel like a filly, yelling at the bullies, and then they leave me alone.

Only this time, they’re monsters, and they don’t leave me alone. They’re coming in, with their chains, and their ropes, and their blades, and their fires, and their horrid grins.

“No! No! NO!” I can’t stop yelling. At the start of this war, I held it in. I bore it quietly, even when the others tore their voice apart. Now it’s my turn. Now my own voice is breaking, tearing apart, ripping up.

Somepony throws something. I can’t see it. They must have cast an invisibility spell on it.

I can’t see it, but I can feel it.

It must have been a knife. If not, something sharp. Something sharp, surely tainted with some drug. Benzodiazepines? That would be my best guess, but what would I know? I would know nothing; I’m too scared to think, I can’t think, I can’t think at all.

Actually, I remember one thing. It’s odd. But the one thing I remember is reading something, once upon a time, not too long ago. About being killed. I can’t remember when, or why, or even what exactly; I can’t think. The ponies are coming, oh Celestia, they’re pouncing NOW! Dash, you prepared?

No, I’m not. I’m not. I’m not. I need to fly, DASH! Yeah, right, open wings, shoot into the air, ready to fight and flee.

Rope. Chain. Fire. Grunts. Black. Red. Pain. Lots of pain. Lots and lots of pain.

Now I’m on the floor. It should be cold, there’s so much snow, I think. It should be soft, because of the snow – heya Dashie? Remember when you built snowponies with Soarin, was it last winter? Ah, that was a fun time, remember? Dashie, remember? Remember? – but it’s so hard. Hard like cement. Rocky like gravel. Hot like fire. Cold like snow.

I can’t move. There’s a heat rushing through me, rushing out of me. Blood. That’s what it is, I know. It’s sticking to my legs, my wings, my hips, my mane. Where am I bleeding? I have to stop the blood, otherwise I’ll die.

Right. It’s because I can’t. Now my wings are tied tight to me, with something that burns as much as walking straight into a fire. Maybe I am in a fire. That would explain the heat. But there’s no flames, none that I can see. Stupid Dash! They’ve blindfolded you, of course you can’t see.

You wanna know what it was, the one thing I remember? It’s pretty funny, actually.

It’s that most ponies, ponies that are getting killed, that is, die while screaming “no” over and over again.

I know, right?

Hilarious.

11 - To Have A Scar

I know, right?

Hilarious.

We didn’t go shopping. Good.

I spent the rest of the day in my room. So did Soarin. He shut his door quietly, after I heard him put the dishes away. And it didn’t click open since. I’ve… I’ve been listening, I’ll admit. We said not a word to each other for the entire day – I didn’t see him once. He’s hurt, I think. I should probably apologize – it would be the right thing to do. I won’t. If he really wants to ‘make up’, he can go do it himself.

Today doesn’t seem like it’ll be any better. It’s still early, though, so I guess things could look up. Doubt it. Things never look up, even if one wants it so desperately… they’d kill. I know. Bed is soft as always, only bearable in that little Dash-shaped hole right in the center. Curtains are tied tight as always, sealing the rising sun out, out, out. Room is dark as always, taunting me with… are they there? Aren’t they there?

I'm lying still, curled tight into myself, when my ears pick up on something. I curl even tighter, wrapping my hindhooves around my forehooves, and locking into place. My ears stand straight up, pointing to the door. Instinctively, I have to scan the area sound is coming from. From my door, down the hall just a little, by Soarin’s room. Now, just have to wait for the little squeal… there. Yes, Soarin’s coming out of his room. I can’t hear hoofsteps, but he’s clearly moving. Flying, I’m sure of it. Which means he didn’t sleep. It... he... he could never fly - he was too out of it - right after waking up.

Now, I hear Soarin pouring something – water, I believe – into his coffee machine. Now I'm certain he didn't sleep. Flying is one thing, one thing that, in the morning, is already impressive, but getting coffee started this quickly... isn't like every other day. But... I guess it's good to see his love for morning coffee clearly not diminishing. He... really loves morning coffee. I… I almost want to smile, before I can help it. Morning coffee always signaled the start of a new day – a new adventure.

“Morning, Dashie.” Soarin mutters, as I enter the kitchen. He had beat me to the shower, but probably could have used the extra minutes in bed. Eh, I don’t mind. The scent of… something is already floating around, so… at least breakfast will be ready soon.

“Somepony’s tired today!” I tease, coming up next to him. His scent, fresh from his earlier shower, washes over me. It’s clean, very clean. Soarin-clean. My-Soarin-clean. “Tired, and grumpy!” I poke him with my wing, right above his own.

“Shut up.” He grunts, evading away from my touch. But always, always, keeping his sleepy gaze on the coffee machine.

“I don’t think so…” I lilt, dancing after him. Yes, I’ll be difficult today… I feel good! Wonderbolt training has been great – Spitfire even has me doing the hard stuff now! Soarin and I are going strong – living together is working out really, really well. Twilight and the others are stopping by later – today is our day off, after all, and we’ll be having a picnic later. Life is awesome, right now. I’m a mare with an awesome life – I get to show it! He growls, low in his throat. I love that sound.

“You are so annoying, know that?” He spins around, to face me. See? He’d even turn away from his morning coffee, for me!

“I know!” I answer, giving him a sweet smile. Something in his eyes… something shifts. They go from a rough fire, to a liquid love. Like… okay. Smile was meant to be light, but… I’ll not pass up the chance to see my stallion’s eyes like that!

He double-steps forward, coming around behind me, faster than I can blink. Celestia, he’s so light on his feet… he’s perfect. I feel his forehooves land on my back, playfully trying to push me into the ground. “And I love it.” He murmurs, right into my ear. I squirm under him.

“Okay. Get off.” I duck, trying to maneuver my haunches out from under him. His hooves grip tighter. Aw… now he’s just being unfair.

“What’s the matter?” He nips my ear, making it twitch. “Can’t move?” His tone is playful, just like an overgrown colt at playtime.

“N-No,” I protest. He… he knows I could kick him off, whenever I want, right? I-I’m just… just choosing not to. “Y-You’re bigger.” I squirm again. But I like his weight. He’s there, real, and warm. I just won't admit that, of course.

Something rumbles in his throat again, maybe a little laugh?

The coffee whistles. He falters, instantly.

“Coffee’s calling!” his forehooves drop; he hits the ground running.

“Love ya, Soarin, you know that?” I call after him, shaking my head. But I grin. It’s impossible not to.

“Of course I do.” He answers, fondly. I glance up, in the exact moment he does. Our eyes meet, both smiling bright.

And I think: this is what home feels like.

I want to smile. But I can’t. This isn’t the past, and it never will be, ever again. That day, that moment, will never happen, ever again. Soarin’s mad, Soarin’s hurt; I’m mad, I’m hurt.

For the first time since coming back from war, I grab my cloud pillow. It’s kicked to the side, precariously on the verge of falling into the narrow crack between the bed and window. For the first time since coming back from war, I pull it over my head. Slowly. Carefully. I don’t want to rip open the scabs; tear open the scars. But I want to go through the motions of an unsure mare. Just… just because. It’s… it’s what a normal mare would do, and I guess I just… want to act like one. It’s not a crime. I’m allowed to be a mare.

It’s strange, to be under a pillow. Dark. Actually, it’s a little comforting. I might do this again, sometime. It’s like I’m lost in a world only I know. My hooves are out, ready, and I could fight. But right now... I don't have to. It's... well, strange.

A knock. Right on my door, I can tell immediately.

A few things happen. My body goes rigid, tensing, as though to harden into a shield. My ears swivel to the door, instantly starting to process the who’s, the what’s, the why’s. My heart starts to race – is there a possible threat?

And… it also starts to beat. What if it’s Soarin? Oh… please let it be Soarin…

“D-Dash?” A voice, tone almost timid, murmurs from the other side. I see the door lean just barely. Soarin’s on the other side, and he’s leaning his forehead against the door. He’s nervous. G-Good?

“Yeah.” It comes out curter that I thought it would. Okay… my instincts. Yes, it’s my instincts. They want me to be on guard. Dash, a simple memory can’t bring back weakness. I know, I know. See? My tone’s harsh.

“Can I come in?” Soarin’s voice cracks. I feel my heart. Dashie… can he come in? Please? My instincts respond, warning off danger. No, Dash. No. No. No. No letting ponies in. You can’t trust anypony. Never. Ever. But… I want him to come in. I want the happiness of that day, because it sure as hay felt better than this.

“Yeah.” I whisper. “Sure.”

Then, I stand up, joints quivering just slightly, move to my door, and unlatch it. Both locks.

And Soarin steps in.

12 - North Scar

And Soarin steps in.

“We need to talk,” he says, walking further into the room, and sits down on my bed, back stiff. The smile is gone – it’s gone from his eyes, his tone, and his lips.

I see what he did there. I see it, alright. Walking into the room without asking? Sitting down, instead of standing – specifically, sitting down on my bed? He wants to establish who’s the ‘boss’ here. Who’s in charge here.

It tugs my heart, the littlest bit. I just want to be okay, I just want us to be okay. But I don’t know if I can trust him yet. So. Right. Collection and composure are my friends. Discreetly, I straighten to my full height, lifting my chin, forcing an edge to my eyes. With this form comes instinct. Instinct tells me to clamp my wings tight. So I do. I don’t mind – it probably just adds to the image anyway. “So talk.” I spit it out, like a challenge. There we go, Dash. Get yourself back.

Soarin nods, nice and curt. He’s playing my game, or trying to. I see it. I see it all. “Come sit?” He tips his head to the space next to him, patting it gently, with a forehoof.

I hesitate – no, I pause. Hesitating is a weakness. It could get you killed. Pausing? Pausing shows thought. Cautiousness. Then, with a solid pace, I move to the bed, and hop up. But I scoot farther away; not in the space right next to him. Boundaries. Boundaries are good.

“Dash,” Soarin starts. His mouth opens, then closes, but no sound comes out. So, he didn’t have a speech prepared. I guess that’s good. He inhales, closing his eyes. He trusts me not to attack, then. Was it on purpose, to show that ‘trust’? Did he mean to show me trust, and… almost dare me to betray it? Or was it genuine? “I’m here for you, you know that?” He looks down; he’s not looking at me.

“Yeah.” I bite, almost sarcastically. Got to be strong. Stay strong.

“I’m serious,” Soarin answers, tone limp. “I want to help you, and I wish I could. But every time I try, you turn away. It’s like… it’s like you don’t want to be helped.”

I open my mouth, ready to stay something. But Soarin holds his hoof up, still not looking at me.

“Don’t deny it, Dash,” his tone drops, almost as though he had sighed. “You close up, whenever you start to open. And I get that you’ve only been home for, like, barely a month. You’re allowed to… be like this. But, Dashie, you don’t have to feel like this. You don’t have to hurt.” His tone drops to a liquid gentle, at the end. It’s a tone not many ponies get to hear. It’s his Soarin-tone, not his… not his co-captain-of-the-Wonderbolts-tone.

“My name’s not Dashie,” I whisper, voice cracking. No! No! You’re getting weak again, Dash, that’s not okay! I clear my throat. But… but Dashie… he still cares…

“Dashie’s in there,” Soarin’s voice drops as low as my own, cracking just as much. “I wish I could find her. More than anything.” He sounds… almost angry, now. At me? At himself? Aargh, I can do reading pony behavior, but I can’t do emotions.

“She wants to be found,” I whisper, tone so low, even I can only barely hear it. But as I say it, I realize… I realize that it’s true. Somewhat. Just a little.

Dashie was the mare who loved her friends. She loved her coltfriend, she loved her wings, and she loved the sky – they were the best things in her life. They were her life. She went to Wonderbolt training every morning, where she joked and laughed with her teammates. Her captain drove her into the ground, pushing her to the limit. And she loved every moment. Her life was good – she was living the life she always dreamed of.

Dash – Rainbow Dash – is a mare who went to war one day, and after three years, returned with too many terrible, terrible stories. She doesn’t know how to love, she doesn’t know how to be happy, and she doesn’t want to know the air, anymore. She is the reason her coltfriend took a leave from the Wonderbolts – which was his dream just as much as hers. Her captain – arguably the toughest mare in Equestria – doesn’t even dare raise her voice around this new mare.

“Would you let me find her?” Soarin speaks up again, after a silent, heavy moment. He sounds… almost timid. But, at the same time, he’s sure of himself. He’s asking me to trust him. He’s asking me to open up to him, to let him into the shell I locked tight.

I have to answer. Need to answer – he needs me to answer, I can tell. I don’t know what to say, though. I hate it. I can retort easily, around other ponies. I can easily make them fear me; make them respect me, with just a few harsh, perfectly-timed words.

But with Soarin? I can’t. He still knows the old half of me so well. And it’s helping him get to the new me. It scares me – I can’t hide from him. I want to, desperately, desperately want to, believe it’s comforting, just as much as it is terrifying. Here is somepony who cares enough to know me. Here is somepony who’s offering; giving himself, willingly, at that, to me.

“It’s okay, Dash,” Soarin whispers. I look up – I hadn’t realized I was looking down. Not a good sign, Dash. Get yourself back, and FAST! I bite my lip, hard. I taste copper. “Everything is okay.”

He touches me. Before I know what’s happening, his hoof is on my shoulder, just… just steady. Steady, and there, and strong. When I look even further up, I see the tears. He’s not quite crying – no, he’s far too graceful for that – but his eyes are wet. Wet, and dark. Dark, and… loving. He really cares.

“How do you know?” I answer. I don’t even bother trying to stay strong. He sees right through me anyway, as though I’m just a window – I should stop pretending he doesn’t.

Soarin doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves even closer, so he sits right next to me, facing the same direction I’m facing. But he does it hesitantly. He’s not so sure of himself anymore, I see. But I only think it dryly. I have no reason to use that hesitation right now.

And then his hoof is wrapped around my shoulders. Not suffocating me. Not grasping too tight. Not with hidden intentions. Not forcing me to return it. Just embracing me; just Soarin being Soarin.

I can smell the mint, and the clouds, and the winds. They’re plastered into him. They are him. I can feel how strong he really is, and how he’s literally holding back all that strength, that power, that energy. I can hear his breathing. It’s quiet, but catching. He’s holding back little cries. Because he’s Soarin, and Soarin rarely cries in front of ponies. I can see his pale coat, glistening from years of careful tending. I can see his dark mane; the gel is coming undone. A few tendrils of hair are starting to hang down, into his face. I might have made play with it, way back when. It would have been a cute moment.

I can still taste the blood, from biting into my lip.

Dashie, he’s right there. He’s here for you, why can’t you see that?

Dash. Snap. Out. Of. It. You can’t trust. It’s not safe.

But, Dashie… you want to. You want to be a mare again, don’t you?

No, Dash! You don’t! You might get yourself killed, just like-

Not important, Dashie. What’s important is the here, and the now. Nopony’s getting killed.

But-

All is well, Dashie. It’s okay. See? Even Soarin said so. It’s okay. All is well.

I hadn’t realized how tired I really am. But now, all the exhaustion rushes into me. I don’t think I could sit up if I tried. I go limp; muscles and joints just… collapsing. I lean into Soarin, and Soarin leans into me, his own shoulder tensing, to hold our combined weight.

And we just stay. In that position, together. We stay still.