“He did it! Spider-Mane saved the day again!”
A raucous cheer erupted from the throng of ponies in the street below. It seemed like half of Manehatten had come to watch the epic battle. Chunks of nearby buildings lay on the ground far below, and countless windows had been shattered by their harrowing struggle high above the streets. Pegasi flew back and forth, whooping and hollering, dodging celebratory fireworks cast by a random unicorn.
A thick cocoon of webbing writhed and flailed against the side of the building. Muttering curses as he struggled, the evil Doctor Cloptopus sneered at the pint-sized hero. “Nrgh... Curse you, Spider-Mane!”
From his perch on the rooftop gargoyle, Spider-Mane smiled behind his mask. He was breathing hard from the prolonged battle, but it was all worth it to see his nemesis bound and helpless. “Sorry, Cloppy. Besides, this scheme was lame! I mean, robbing a bank? How cliche can you get?!”
A dreamy sigh came from the beautiful girl in his arms. “Oh, Spider-Mane, you’re so heroic and cool!” Mary Mane Watson’s purple eyes gleamed like diamonds as she gazed at the hero, her unruly purple mane flitting in the high winds and her tiny orange wings buzzing with excitement. “And your voice is so manly!”
Spider-Mane lifted his mask, just enough to free his muzzle and give his love a buck-toothed smile. “You know it, baby,” he said in a cool basso that rattled in Mary’s bones.
“Oh, Spidey...” She leaned her head up, eyes half-lidded in want.
The colt hero puckered his lips, eager to feel the pleasant warmth of hers.
“Spidey, I... I... BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!”
“Bweh?”
The ringing of the alarm reverberated around the walls of the tiny room. Posters of Wonderbolts in flight and comic book heroes were plastered everywhere, broken up by countless photographs. Even the sheets—currently spun up in a protective cocoon around the tiny form of a colt—were adorned by stitchings of rolls of film and camera lenses.
The sheet burrito trembled. A frail, skinny hoof poked out, fumbling around the nightstand before finally finding its mark and slamming down several times on the alarm clock, knocking it to the ground as it finally shut off.
All was still in the room, until the blanket ball rose up like a mummy brought to life. The sheets wriggled and tossed until a messy brown mane with an unrepentant cowlick managed to worm its way out. Featherweight blinked his bleary eyes for several long seconds, smacking his lips across his staggering buck teeth. He squirmed and freed his forelegs, giving a silent yawn as he stretched.
A loud metallic clang from downstairs made him jump slightly, but he smiled as it repeated. Dad must have been home, probably in the middle of his morning workout. Featherweight was never sure if he would be around when he awoke for school, so the muffled grunts were a most welcome sound.
Finally freeing himself fully from his tangled sheets—but leaving them in a crumpled heap on the bed, because why make it if he was just going to get back in tonight?—Featherweight took a moment to close the cracked window and fully draw the blinds, leaving the room shrouded in dark. He shuffled his way to the thick black blanket covering the far corner of his room and peeled back the curtain. He felt around for a moment, found the drawstring hanging from the ceiling and gave it a yank, bathing the stuffy enclosure in red light. The pungent stench of chemicals from the three bins on the shelf was pleasing to his nose, even if his dad hated the smell. Sure, having his own darkroom in his bedroom meant he had to keep the window cracked even in the dead of winter, but that was what comforters were for.
Taking up a pair of tongs, he stepped to the final bin and gently removed the developed photo, clamping it to the string running between the walls. The photo was a close-up of a ladybug crawling atop a posy. Squinting at it, he let out an annoyed breath. The new fixer solution was still too strong; the lines of definition were vague, and the foreground blended into the back. He wished he could buy a new mix, but he could already hear Dad’s voice.
“Bits don’t grow on trees, squirt.”
With another sigh, he clicked off the red light and exited the enclosed space, photograph in hoof. A brief flight to the top shelf on the far wall, and Featherweight opened his precious photo album. Inside, pictures of just about everything and everypony in Ponyville filled most of the book. His friends sometimes questioned why he took so many random pictures, but Featherweight just shrugged them off. Other ponies may not be able to see the beauty in things, but his keen eye saw it all. He flipped to the first empty page, and carefully eased the ladybug photo into place. He smiled, then placed the book in his saddlebag next to his prized camera.
Cinching the bags on his flank, Featherweight left the room, pausing only to open the blinds and crack the window before trotting to the bathroom. From below him, the grunts were growing more strained and the heavy clangs were more pronounced. Dad must have been nearing the end of his set. Featherweight’s ear flicked at the thought; he only shortened his morning routine when something was bothering him. Hopefully it had nothing to do with their plans for this weekend. Featherweight had been looking forward to their trip to Manehatten for almost a month.
Featherweight took a moment to evaluate himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Unlike his father, his gangly limbs and scrawny torso seemed to refuse to gain mass. Granted, he didn’t really try, but still, it’d be nice if at least some of Dad’s genes began to show themselves. Whatever. He rolled his eyes and returned to brushing, focusing more than he wished he had to on his massive front teeth. Pipsqueak always tried to tell him his teeth made him look “unique.” He’d settle for just normal any day.
Clang!
“C-come on...” came the voice from downstairs.
Featherweight smiled, mentally counting the bangs from beneath him
Clang!
Seventeen. He spat the excess toothpaste into the sink.
Clang!
Eighteen. He looked into the mirror and smiled under a knitted brow.
Clang!
Nineteen. He flexed his scrawny arms above his head.
Clang!
Featherweight opened his mouth wide just as...
“YEEAAAHH!”
The scowl on his face melted into amusement, his tummy heaving in muted laughter as he wiped the froth from his mouth and returned to his morning routine.
After a few minutes trying in vain to tame his mane, Featherweight trotted down the stairs, saddle bags hanging from his narrow flanks and ever-present camera around his neck. He quickly crossing the cramped living room and entered the kitchen. Dad was sitting on his end of the table guzzling down a frothy protein shake, his blonde mohawk plastered to his skull with sweat, while a bowl of oat cereal sat in Featherweight's spot.
“Morning, slugger!”
Wincing from Dad's scream, Featherweight made an exaggerated show of digging in his ear with a hoof. Glaring at him, he flicked his left wing up, then in a forward circle, while simultaneously touching a hoof to his mouth before pushing it quickly towards his father.
“I’m not yelling!” Dad yelled. “I’m just speaking in a loud enough voice so that everypony can hear me!”
Looking to his left, then to his right, Featherweight made a slow circle in place before looking back to Dad. His right ear twitched several times, while his forehoof tapped against his chest and chin.
Dad blinked. “Oh! So you are!” The two shared a hard glare for several long seconds before his dad cracked, descending into a fit of deep-pitched giggles.
Shaking his head, Featherweight chuckled silently. The little exchange was a bit of a ritual on mornings when Dad got off work early enough to be awake when he left for school. Sure, it was a silly joke, but it was their silly joke. Featherweight sat down at his bowl and had the spoon halfway to his mouth when Dad cleared his throat.
“Uh, Feathers...”
Setting the spoon down, Featherweight sighed. He knew this was coming...
“I know you were looking forward to seeing the Photojournalism Museum...” He paused, gnawing on his lip for a few moments before his massive shoulders slumped.
Looking into Dad’s dejected eyes, Featherweight nodded slowly, his wings fluttering in a specific pattern, his hoof tapping against his bicep before touching his wrist and pumping his hoof away from his body several times.
Dad sighed again, his eyes drooping to the table. “I’m sorry, kiddo, but my Reserves check doesn’t come until the fifteenth of next month, and the next building competition isn’t until the summer. I’m gonna have to take this weekend’s shift at the spa to make rent this month.” He looked back up at Featherweight. “But I can make it up to you!”
With a huff, Featherweight shook his head. Sure, spending a full weekend with his dad would have been awesome, but then, so was eating. He reached for his spoon again just as he heard an exaggerated sigh.
“Well, okay, then. I guess I’ll just tell Captain Spitfire that you don’t want a tour of the Wonderbolts Headquarters next weekend, and that you don’t want to stay in the barracks with the team.”
Featherweight’s spoon dropped into his cereal bowl with an plop. He glanced up, eyeing Dad’s cheeky smile. A wide grin spread across his cheeks as he nodded hesitantly.
“Yes, sir!” he said with a grin just as wide as Featherweight's. “Turns out that for as big a hard-flank as she can be, Spitfire has a bit of a soft spot for kids.” He leaned forward, the tiny table groaning under his bulk. “So, what do ya say, squirt? Two whole days in Cloudsdale with your old man?”
The wind from Featherweight’s wings all but rattled the cupboards as he flew like a hummingbird towards Dad, hugging his massive frame as best he could with his gangly limbs. Father embraced son hard. A bit too hard, as Featherweight swore he heard his ribs creak, but he didn’t dare pull away. He had the best dad in the world. Finally, he pulled back just enough to look his dad in the eye. He raised his hooves to speak, only to jump as he heard the front door slam open.
“Oi, Feathers!”
His dad gave a loud sigh, Featherweight rolling his eyes with him. “Good morning, Pipsqueak,” Dad called out before the colt even made it into the kitchen.
The diminutive colt rounded the corner, saddlebags affixed to his sides. “Morning, Feathers.” He plopped down in front of Featherweight’s forgotten cereal. “Morning, Feather’s Dad!”
“You know,” Dad snarked, “some ponies actually knock.”
Pipsqueak raised a spoonful of oats to his face. “Yeah, and some ponies lock their front door.” He grinned at Dad and shoved the spoon in his mouth.
Still in Dad’s lap, Featherweight slammed a hoof on the table, glaring at Pip indignantly.
Having already shoveled another large spoonful into his mouth, Pip arched an eyebrow at his friend. “What?”
Featherweight rubbed his belly, tapped his mouth, then his eyebrows and ears flicked several times.
Pipsqueak’s eyes narrowed. “Do it again.”
Rolling his eyes, Featherweight repeated the motion.
“One more time?”
Once again, this time very slowly.
Pipsqueak blinked, brow creased in thought, then grimaced. “Eww! Why would I eat your slugs?!”
Dad sighed. “He said cereal.”
“Are you sure?” When Dad nodded, Pip looked down at the half depleted bowl. Quickly, he dropped the spoon and pushed away from the table. “Oh, well, uh... heh, w-well, it’s not like you were gonna eat it anyways.” He ran up to Featherweight and nudged his skinny belly several times. “Eh, ‘Matchstick Colt’?” Before his friend could respond, Pip darted back towards the kitchen entryway. “Anyway, come on, Feathers! We’re gonna be late.” With that, he dashed out, once more slamming the door hard as he left.
After several seconds of shared silence, Featherweight pressed his head against his father’s muscled chest, pounding against him several times.
Dad nodded. “Remind me why you’re friends with him.”
Featherweight raised his hoof but paused, instead deciding to just shrug. As Dad chuckled, he flew over to his bowl, quickly lifting it and gulping down the remaining oats. A loud belch later, he zipped to the sink and washed out the bowl, then headed for the door. Before he left the kitchen he stopped and turned to Dad, rubbing his hoof across his chest several times, then pointing to him.
Dad smiled. “Love you, too, kiddo. Now get to school.”
A tiny flick of his wrist brought the scene into focus: through the lens of the camera, an elderly mare used her magic to tear bits of bread from the loaf in her hooves. Just as she tossed them to the flock of pigeons before her...
Click!
“I mean, can you believe that?!”
Pipsqueak's voice was somewhat distant. Featherweight looked up from his camera and blanched, pumping his tiny wings to catch up to him. Dad had once joked that the only reason he could fly so fast was to make up for his blink-and-you’ll-miss-it attention span slowing him down.
He set down next to his friend, but Pip hadn't seemed to notice his absence. "Button Mash, a known screen-watcher, accusing me of cheating! I beat him fair and square every time! It's not my fault he's rubbish at GoldenHay."
The two colts trotted down the road towards the Ponyville schoolhouse. Featherweight could see other foals on the road—some skipping and smiling, others stomping and huffing, and one particular filly taking measured, slow steps, frantically scribbling in her math workbook. Ponyville had yet to fully awaken, though there were several adults trudging towards Market Street.
“And then Rumble, that traitor, chimes in and says he saw me do it! Pfft, I guess I shouldn't be surprised, though. We both know exactly why Rumble always takes his side.”
Featherweight arched an eyebrow.
"He’s sweet on Button's mum!"
Featherweight rolled his eyes, flicking an ear as he did so.
"Um, was that an itch, or were you agreeing with me?"
Featherweight did nothing but walk.
“Oh, come on! It's clear as day! Last week, at Button’s house, his mum came down with a plate of gingerbread cookies.” Pip looked up to fix a serious glare at Featherweight. “Rumble had four. Four!”
Featherweight looked back at his friend with another raised eyebrow.
“Rumble hates gingerbread cookies! Remember a few months back when we were at my house? My dad came in with some, and Rumble didn't eat a single one!”
Featherweight shuddered at the memory of Pip’s dad’s... well, he hesitated to call it “cooking.” Cruel and unusual punishment felt more apt. He raised a hoof to speak.
“Now what am I to do? Simply let this travesty go unanswered?”
Feather raised a hoof to sp—
“Should I just lay down and take it?”
Feather raised a ho—
“No! You're right! I'm gonna march right up to that no-good cheat and demand a rematch right after school! I will not let my honor be sullied!”
Feather raised—
“See?” Pipsqueak chucked Featherweight on the shoulder. “That's why you're such a good mate, Feathers. You always know what to say! Now, come on. School and destiny await!” With that, the tiny colt sprinted towards the schoolhouse.
Featherweight paused there for several seconds, hoof hanging in the air. Slumping, he shook his head and chased after his friend.
The bell rang just as Featherweight slammed into his chair. He let out a little sigh. How he and Pip could leave so early and still barely make it in time baffled him. He made a point not to think about the dozen or so new pictures in his camera as Miss Cheerilee rounded her desk.
“Good morning, my little ponies!” she said, overly chipper as always.
“Good morning, Miss Cheerilee,” came the droning reply of a Monday morning.
“Okay, class, roll call! Apple Bloom?”
There was no answer.
“Hmm, has anypony seen Apple Bloom?” When nopony spoke up, she said, “Okay then. Archer?”
“Here!”
“Button Mash?” The colt mumbled some unintelligible response.
The roll call went on. When she called Featherweight’s name, he rapped his hoof soundly on his desk three times. She smiled at him.
“Before I go on, Featherweight, how did those pictures for the next Foal Free Press come out?”
Featherweight—somewhat slowly—told her. Her eyebrows knitted a bit as she watched. After a moment, she nodded. “Okay, good! I really think you’re doing an excellent job as editor.” Featherweight blushed a bit, and the roll call continued.
Eventually, Cheerilee called out, “Scootaloo?”
No answer.
“Scootaloo?”
Again, no answer... until the classroom door blasted open, followed by a breathless cry of “Here! I'm... I'm here!”
“Well, glad you could join us today,” Cheerilee said. “Is there any reason you’re late?”
“Yeah,” Scootaloo said as she eased into her desk that was flanked by two empty ones. “I was checking up on Sweetie Belle. She and Apple Bloom both caught the pony pox. Applejack and Sweetie’s parents said they'll be out the rest of the week.”
“Oh, dear,” Cheerilee said. “Well, perhaps we can make some get well cards for them today.”
From across the room, a snide voice chimed in. “Oh, no. You mean you had to walk to school all by yourself?”
Scootaloo tensed, but didn't turn her head. “Shut up, Diamond Tiara...”
“Scootaloo! Be more polite. And Diamond Tiara, please do not speak out of turn.”
“Sorry, Miss Cheerilee,” Diamond Tiara beamed from an angelic face. “I'll behave. I wouldn't want to get grounded, now would I?” she said, her eyes turning to Scootaloo.
Featherweight rolled his eyes. Diamond Tiara never missed a chance to make fun of Scootaloo and her friends, but these weren’t her usual barbs. Nothing about her being a blank flank, just... normal words, really, but the way she said them all but screamed “insult.” More telling was Scootaloo’s reaction. Even from across the room, Featherweight could see Scootaloo’s hooves digging into her desk, and the ever-so-slight twitch of her wings. Something about Diamond’s words were really getting to Scootaloo.
Still, there was little he could do but wonder as the day progressed.
“Okay, what do ya got?”
“I have,” Rumble paused, opening up his brown lunch bag and peering inside, “an avocado, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, a bag of chips, and a chocolate milk.” The colts sat huddled under a large tree behind the school house. The morning’s lessons had been light, but on a Monday afternoon so close to summer break, it left them all drained. Now, the foals of the Ponyville Schoolhouse were engaging in a much more complex and cutthroat business.
Pipsqueak nodded. “Not bad, not bad. How about you, Shady?”
Shady Daze sighed. “Bad day today. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple.”
“Ooh, tough luck, friend,” Pip said, shaking his head.
“B-but it’s a Sweet Apple Acres Red Delicious! That’s gotta be worth something, right?!”
“They all come from Sweet Apple Acres around here. Sorry, mate, market’s saturated with them. Truffle Shuffle?”
The pudgy colt held his head high. “I have a grilled mimolette cheese with chopped egg, green onion, and garlic aioli on Neighponese anadama bread, with homemade parmesan potato chips and fresh-pressed guava juice.” He was met by a heavy silence, and he somewhat wilted under the confused eyes of the other colts. “What? I, uh... I-I got a bit adventurous this morning.”
“Right,” Pip said slowly. “We’ll... mark you as a bust then. Now, Feathers, you..." he trailed off as Featherweight shot him a deadpan glare, “are not participating. Okay then! Now that we know what’s on the market, we can begin negotiations! Rumble, I will trade you my banana for your bag of crisps.”
“What?!” Rumble squeaked. “No way! I gave you my pudding cup last week, which means you still owe me two bags of chips!”
Pipsqueak shot to his hooves. “Two bags of crisps for a pudding cup?! That’s highway robbery!”
Rumble shrugged, giving the smaller colt a smug grin. “That’s the going rate.”
“Crony capitalism, I say!” He nudged Featherweight. “Feathers, back me up!”
When all the colts turned their attention to him, Featherweight just shrugged and returned to his grilled cheese.
“Ah-ha! See?!” Pip announced triumphantly. “He says that your offer is absurd. So absurd, in fact, that he thinks you should just give me your crisps as compensation for having to even listen to it!”
“He said all that... with a shrug.”
Pipsqueak blinked and looked around. As the other colts were barely holding back giggles, he drew up on himself a bit. “It’s a... very dense language.”
Featherweight smiled and rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics. Pip was the very definition of a motor mouth, and some day it was going to get him in trouble. Archer once joked that even if Featherweight could talk, he’d never get a word in edgewise with Pip—
“Uh-oh,” Truffle said, pointing across the playground. “There they go.” Featherweight turned to look in the indicated direction, and his eyes narrowed on the spot. Scootaloo was stomping her way towards the schoolhouse, a deep scowl on her face. Trailing close behind her, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were seemingly talking to each other. Now close enough, Featherweight could make out their words.
“Ostrich?” Silver offered.
“Hmm,” Diamond said. “How about... emu!”
“Oh, penguin!”
“Shut up, you two!” Scootaloo growled without slowing down or even looking over her shoulder.
“We’re just trying to help,” Diamond said, though her angelic smile was countered by the cruel look in her eyes.
“Help?” Scootaloo said, not even bothering to look back.
“Of course,” she cooed, insincerity plastered across her doe-eyed face. “After all, we need to figure out what you are now that we know you’re not a pegasus.”
At this, Scootaloo finally rounded on the two, eyes dripping venom. “What did you say?”
“Yeah, what do you mean by that?” Rumble asked.
“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Diamond asked sweetly, her eyes scanning across the group of foals who had gathered around the scene. “Well, my daddy’s secretary has a sister who works at Ponyville General Hospital. And she said that the... kiwi here got some very bad news this weekend.”
The moment Diamond said “hospital,” Scootaloo’s eyes went wide with what looked to be dawning horror. Her lower lip trembled as her rear legs began to quiver. “No...” she whispered.
“Wait, what kind of bad news?” Archer asked.
Diamond Tiara let out a dramatic sigh. “It seems like poor little Scootaloo had some kind of test run last month.”
“Please... p-please stop...”
“And on Saturday, she got the results,” Diamond said with a grin so evil it almost hurt to look at, “confirming what all of us already knew.” Slowly, she advanced on Scootaloo, who backpedaled hard, though her shaking limbs made her movements sloppy. “She... is never gonna fly!”
Scootaloo finally fell to her haunches. The first tears were just snaking down her cheek as she looked up at her tormentor. “S-stop... please.”
“So you see,” Diamond said, spinning in a slow circle to lock eyes with as many ponies as she could, “we need to decide what to call her. After all, if you can’t fly... you’re not really a pegasus, are you? You’re just... damaged.”
Diamond made to step back towards the sniffling Scootaloo, but jerked to a halt and gasped as Featherweight shoved his way between her and Scootaloo. His chest was heaving and his venom-soaked eyes bored into her.
Quickly, Diamond Tiara shook her head and resumed her glare. “Move,” she ordered.
Featherweight did nothing.
Diamond Tiara let out a growl and turned to walk around him, but he side-stepped and blocked her yet again. A seething anger built in her eyes as she took a step forward, advancing on the pony who dared disobey her, and shoved his shoulder with one hoof. “Get out of my way!”
Featherweight did nothing.
Outraged, Diamond let out a snarl. “I said move!” she screamed as she slapped him across his face. Featherweight’s head jerked to the side, but he snapped his eyes back forward, taking heaving breaths. And still, he did not move.
“W-whatever!” Diamond said as she slowly stepped back, and almost scared glint in her eyes. “You’re... you’re just another defective freak like her!”
“Diamond Tiara!”
The cold shout snapped Featherweight out of his little trance. He turned to see Miss Cheerilee standing in the doorway to the schoolhouse, her normally bright and cheery eyes turned to stone and glaring into the terrified Diamond Tiara. “Come here,” she said in a dangerously low voice. However, as the cowed filly trekked to her fate, Cheerilee’s eyes widened at something behind him. “Scootaloo, wait!”
Whirling around, Featherweight saw the filly sprinting away. He made to follow, but stopped. Scootaloo was a very athletic foal, and he was... not. There was no way he’d catch up to her with that kind of lead. All he could do was watch with heavy eyes as she bolted.
“Alright, everypony,” Miss Cheerilee said. “Recess is ending early today. Please come back inside.”
As the children groaned, Featherweight did not move. He just sat there, his right forehoof trembling. A gentle tap on his shoulder made him jump slightly. Pipsqueak looked at his friend with sad eyes. “Terrible thing, eh?” As Featherweight nodded dumbly, Pip sighed. “Come on, Feathers. Let’s head inside.”
Featherweight finally moved to join his friend, but he couldn't stop himself from one last glance at the retreating filly in the distance.
The remainder of the school day had dragged even worse than the first half. While Featherweight did feel a bit of satisfaction at the dressing down Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon had received, as well as the knowledge that Miss Cheerilee would be talking to their parents, the pain he had seen in Scootaloo’s eyes had all but haunted him the entire day. When the bell finally rang, he had launched himself out the door, not even stopping to answer Pipsqueak’s question. He had somewhere he needed to be.
“Thank you again for letting us in,” Dad said for probably the billionth time since they entered the quaint house. It seemed to be designed with an eye more for function than flair. It was bigger than his house, but that wasn’t really saying much. “Feathers was pretty dead set on talking with her.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” Miss Lofty said. “I just hope you can get through to her. She came barreling through the door hours ago and locked herself in her room.” They finally reached the top of the stairs. At the end of the hallway was a door covered in stickers and hoof-drawn pictures, all surrounding a construction paper sign that read Scootaloo’s Room: KEEP OUT! “She won’t talk to me, and my wife won’t be home for a few hours. I just... want to know what happened.”
Featherweight tapped her on the leg. She looked down, and he signed to her. Dad sighed. “He says, ‘Nothing good’.”
Eventually, they stood before Scootaloo’s room. In the back of his mind, Featherweight realized this would be the first time he’d ever been in a filly’s room... and Scootaloo’s room at that. A blush started to spread across his cheek, but then he remembered that his dad was standing right next to him. He shook his head clear as Miss Lofty knocked on the door. “Scoots, hun?”
“Go away, Aunt Lofty,” came the voice from behind the door. Featherweight flicked an ear at the slightly rough voice, even raspier than it normally was. She must have been crying. “I said I don’t wanna talk.”
“I know, sweetie,” Lofty said, “but one of your little friends from school is here, and he wants to talk to you.”
An almost painful length of silence followed, until finally Featherweight heard tiny hooves approaching the door. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Featherweight’s heart skipped a beat. Scootaloo looked awful. Her eyes were nearly bloodshot, and hot tears had stained her cheeks. Peeking past her, the walls of her bedroom were bare, though he guessed they hadn’t been this morning, judging by the large pile of crumpled posters in the corner. A neat stack of pictures also lay on her bed.
Scootaloo’s bleary eyes blinked hard once she looked at him. “Featherweight,” she more stated than asked. He gave her an awkward wave, though her eyes had already trained up to Dad. “And... Bulk Biceps?”
Dad chuckled. “That’s actually just my stage name on the lifting circuit. My real name is Heavyweight.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding. After a beat, her mind seemed to put two and two together, and her eyes danced between them. “Wait, so... you’re...”
“He, uh...” Dad seemed to be struggling ever so slightly to find the words, “he takes after his mother.” He shifted on his hooves for a second, then cleared his throat. “Anyway, Feathers has something he wants to say to you.”
He took just a moment to pat Dad on his leg before trotting into the room. Scootaloo’s reddened eyes followed him as he sat down across from her, facing his dad and her Aunt Lofty. When her attention was fully on him, he took a deep breath and began to sign.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry about what happened at school today,” Dad said behind her.
Scootaloo turned her head towards him. “Oh, tell him it’s alright.”
“Tell him yourself,” Dad said, inclining his head toward Featherweight.
Scootaloo looked back to Featherweight, an uncertain awkwardness in her eyes. “Uh... i-it’s okay, Featherweight. Don’t worry about it.”
“I know it’s none of my business,” Featherweight said through his dad, “but I’ve heard those two insult you before. This seemed different.”
“Meh,” she said. “Those two are... jerks, we already knew that.”
“Wait,” Miss Lofty said from the doorway. “Are those two fillies giving you guff again?”
Scootaloo sighed. “Yeah. Somehow Diamond Tiara found out about... S-Saturday.”
Miss Lofty’s eyebrows quirked for just a moment, but a deep scowl settled on her face pretty quickly. “Ooh, that rotten little... as soon as your Auntie Holiday gets home from work, the three of us are marching straight to that filly’s home and having some stern words with her parents!”
“No, please!” Scootaloo groaned. “You’ll just make it worse!” Miss Lofty muttered something under her breath, but gave a curt nod. Scootaloo sighed and turned back to Featherweight and blinked hard. Apparently, the curious gaze in his eyes was painfully evident.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Featherweight asked.
Scootaloo heaved a deep sigh. “Whatever. If Diamond Tiara knows, the whole world's gonna know by next week. Last month I had my big annual check-up at the doctor’s office. When he found out that I... c-couldn’t fly yet, he wanted to run some big test or something. And on Saturday... we got the results.” Her breathing suddenly hitched, and her wings ruffled. “It, uh... it turns out I have some kind of, uh, weird condition called... um...”
“Congenital Hetero-Thaumatic Dysplasia,” Miss Lofty said. “It’s extremely rare, but it can happen in ponies of mixed heritage.” When both Featherweight and Heavyweight arched their eyebrows, she continued. “My brother-in-law, Scootaloo’s father, he’s an earth pony. So essentially, Scoots has the body of a pegasus, but...”
“The magic of an earth pony,” Scootaloo mumbled. “Which means that no matter how much I grow up, n-no matter how strong my wings get... it’ll never be enough.” A tiny hiccup escaped her mouth, her wet eyes cast to the ground. “I’ll n-never get off the ground.”
Her words hung in the air like a smothering blanket. Featherweight heard that all-too-familiar hitch in her voice. He heard it from Dad sometimes. “Scootaloo, I am so sorry,” he said. “But trust me, it’s really not the end of the world.”
“You know, everypony keeps saying that!” Scootaloo roared, leaping to her hooves and pacing back and forth across her room. The tears flowed freely from her furious eyes. “They say, ‘Oh, it’s not the end of the world, this doesn’t change who you are,’ but you know what?! It kinda does! My entire life I’ve been looking up to the sky, just imagining all the cool things I would do once I was up there! Just waiting for the day I could fly alongside Rainbow Dash, my mom, Aunt Lofty, and every dang pegasus in the world!”
The outburst was so sudden it almost made Featherweight jump. One instant Scootaloo was fuming, stomping around like an enraged beast, and the next she all but collapsed to her haunches in front of him. All the anger and frustration just... vanished from her eyes. “All... all I have ever dreamed about, the only things I ever saw myself growing up to be,” she said, sniffling, “they all involved flying. And now... I-I’ll never have that. But do you know what the worst part is? I know that every single time I look up and see a pegasus flying through the air, I’ll be reminded of what I can’t have.” Her shoulders slumped even further, as if every ounce of life had fled her. “Of how I’m... broken.”
That sparked something inside Featherweight, and his eyes grew firm. “Scootaloo, you’re not broken.”
Scootaloo threw her head up to look at him. A bit of fire had returned to her gaze. “Pegasus ponies are supposed to be able to fly!”
Her shout still echoed in the tiny room as Featherweight contemplated what he was about to say. Part of him really didn’t want to, but the bigger part knew he had to say it. So he did, his eyes hard as concrete.
Or, at least, he tried to. When no accompanying translation came, all three of the other ponies in the room looked to his dad. Heavyweight stood still as a statue, his face frozen in shock, and a spreading sadness in his eyes. A gentle, yet insistent, rap of Featherweight’s hoof on the ground seemed to snap him back to reality. Dad cleared his throat, and his heavy eyes locked onto Featherweight's. “Uh, h-he... he said—” a long sigh “—ponies are supposed to be able to talk, too.”
The silence in the tiny room was oppressive. Each pony had to just take a few long moments to process what the colt had said. It actually made Featherweight feel a bit uncomfortable. He knew what he said carried a lot of weight, but he hadn’t intended on derailing the entire conversation.
Finally, Scootaloo spoke. “You know, and I totally understand if you don’t wanna say, but I’ve always been... curious.” Featherweight understood, thought for a second, then nodded. He raised a hoof—
“It was a cart accident.” Every pony spun to look at Heavyweight. The massive stallion looked downright tiny with his broad shoulders slumped and eyes cast downward. “We were living in Manehatten at the time. Feathers had just turned two. He and his... m-mother were riding in the back of our cart that I was pulling. I—” he sniffed and looked up with a shaky smile “—I-I was just goofing around! Showing off how fast I could pull it. They were both smiling and laughing.” The smile vanished. “I never even saw the trash barge coming.
“Pearl, she... d-didn’t make it,” he said, an errant tear snaking down his cheek. “And a big piece of metal went through... well, they saved Feathers, but his vocal chords were completely destroyed.”
Featherweight had enough. He raced over to his dad and embraced him as hard as his gangly limbs allowed. Dad threw a foreleg around him, pulling him close. After a few painful moments, Featherweight pulled back just enough to sign to him. Dad huffed, rolling his eyes. Featherweight then punched his muscled leg and repeated the sign as forcibly as he could. Finally, Dad looked down at him with a wan smile. “I know, kiddo. I know.”
One more nuzzle, and Dad spoke again as Featherweight returned to his position. “Anyway, that’s how we ended up in Ponyville. His medical bills wiped out my savings, and Pearl was the breadwinner of the family. Without her income, I couldn’t afford our apartment in Manehattan, and... here we are.”
“Wow,” Scootaloo breathed. “That... really happened?”
Featherweight nodded and lifted his head to expose his neck. She leaned in a bit as he pulled the fur aside to reveal a long scar across his throat. He lowered his head to look at her again. “What I’m trying to say is I know what it’s like,” he said through his dad. “Seeing everypony around you doing something so simple and basic, and being physically incapable of doing it yourself. It really does suck.”
Scootaloo nodded. “How... how did you manage?”
“Well, it was easier for me,” he said. “I can’t even remember a time when I could talk. But it does get hard sometimes, and what always helps me is just doing my best to stay positive. My family and friends help, and laughing helps a lot, too.” He suddenly sported a goofy grin. “I mean, if you think you have it bad...”
A deep rumble of laughter came from behind her. Turning, Heavyweight was trying desperately to contain his giggles. “What?” Scootaloo asked. “What did he say?”
Clearing his throat, he looked to her. “He said, ‘If you think you have it bad, try only being able to talk to three ponies, and one of them is your dad.'”
After a moment to process, a little snkt squeaked out of her mouth. She turned back to face Featherweight and smiled. “Well, maybe I could learn a few words! Here, tell me how to say hi.”
Featherweight blinked several times, then grinned widely at her as he simply waved his hoof. Scootaloo’s eyes narrowed, then she broke out laughing, nearly doubling over from the force of it all.
He let her calm down a bit before continuing. “Look, I know personally that it never really gets easy. But it does get easier. It’s hard for me, but Scoots, you’re the coolest pony I know. Even cooler than Rainbow Dash!” As a tiny blush spread across her face, he could feel his own cheeks warming a bit. “I’ve seen you stand up to bullies, do crazy dangerous stunts with your friends, and the whole time you had this big smile on your face, like you weren’t afraid of anything. This really sucks, but somepony as awesome as you will make it through. I know it.”
Throughout his little speech, a bit of fire had been seeping back into Scootaloo. By the time he was done, her chest was puffed out, and her eyes blazed with confidence. “Yeah, you’re right! I’m awesome!” she exclaimed, pounding a hoof to her chest. “And I’m always gonna be awesome!” Her brash posture deflated just a tad, and her fiery eyes cooled. “I just... I kinda wish I could be awesome like Rainbow Dash. In the sky.”
Featherweight took a deep breath. This could either go very well, or very bad. Eh, to heck with it. In for a bit, and all that. “You already are, Scoots,” he signed, then trotted out into the hallway where he left his saddle bags, and pulled out his beloved photo album. Once he had sat back down before the filly, he took one more steadying breath and opened it to one particular section, spinning it around so Scootaloo could see. The moment she did, she gasped.
The two-page spread held eight photos of her. One showed her giggling at something with Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, and next to it a close-up of her face, wearing that cocksure grin. The rest were lovingly framed shots of her doing tricks on her scooter in Town Square. In one slightly blurred shot, she was grinding across the fountain. Another saw her spinning her scooter around after a wing assisted hop in the air, and one of her deftly bobbing and weaving around the mass of ponies crowding the Square.
However, the largest photo got the biggest reaction from her. Her jaw dropped, and her hoof gently traced along a picture of her right after she had jumped from a ramp. In mid-air, she had let go of the scooter and extended her arms in front of her. Combined with the upward angle of the picture, it almost looked like...
Finally, she looked back up at Featherweight, a genuine smile blooming across her face. “You... you took all of these?”
He nodded. “I take pictures of things I like to look at.” Less than a millisecond later, every muscle in his body tensed, to the point he almost fell over. As arched her eyebrows, he furiously signed, arms and wings almost a blur.
“Uh,” Heavyweight said, his eyes squinted, “boot... cheese... tablecloth. Feathers, calm down!”
Featherweight took a few deep, cleansing breaths, though his face still felt like it was in a furnace. The barely repressed giggle from Miss Lofty didn’t help much. Finally, he managed to find his voice. “Look, what I mean is there have been a few days when things got too much for me. When all I could focus on was my limitations. And every single time, my dad would say that it’s not about being able to do what everypony else can do. What matters is finding out what you can do that nopony else can do. And this?” He tapped the photo album. “I’ve never seen anypony do these kinds of tricks before.”
Scootaloo’s brow was furrowed for a good long while before she looked up at him with that smug, confident look that made his wings flitter a bit. “Yeah, I get it. I get it! If I can’t be the fastest in the air, then I’ll just have to be the fastest on the ground!” She leapt to her hooves, not looking at anypony in particular, almost as if she was addressing everypony, even those not in the room, all at the same time. “I’ll go faster and jump higher than anypony ever has or will! I’ll learn so many impossible tricks and stunts that the Wonderbolts themselves will pay to come watch me perform! Everypony is gonna know my name someday!”
“That’s the spirit, hun!” Miss Lofty said. “Just... be sure to wear a helmet.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, Aunt Lofty,” Scootaloo said. “By the time I’m done, I’ll be so good I won’t even need a helmet!”
“Uh, that’s not really what I...” she sighed. “Of course, Scoots.”
Scootaloo wasn’t looking at her anymore. She had refocused her attention on the pictures spread on the floor. Featherweight could see the wheels turning in her head, though she actually seemed a bit... apprehensive, maybe? “Uh, Feathers?” she said, to which he nodded. “Would you... m-maybe wanna come by sometime while I practice? T-to take more pictures!” she squeaked. “I-I know my parents would love to see them.”
It was several long seconds before Featherweight’s brain rebooted, and he realized that in this situation, a response was expected. “Yeah, sure!”
“Awesome!” she said. A moment later, her hoof went to her chin. “You know what? I’ve had a couple of new tricks in mind lately. I think I’ll go practice them right now!” She raced for the door, but suddenly paused. Though she faced away from him, judging by her twitching wings and slightly downturned head, Featherweight could tell she was mentally debating something. Eventually, she huffed and spun around, revealing her heavily flushed face.
Scootaloo ran back to Featherweight, her face inches from his, and she flashed a genuine, warm smile. “Thanks, Feathers,” she whispered. She then lunged forward and placed a lightning fast peck on his cheek. Without even pausing to see his reaction, she blurred out the door with a shout of, “Kay, bye!”
Featherweight slumped down to the ground, a dumbfounded, goofy grin quickly overtaking his face. His hoof idly rubbed at his cheek, and his wings slowly extended out from his body.
“Heh,” Miss Lofty said, looking at his dad. “I don’t think that one needs translating.”
Heavyweight chuckled. “Yeah.”
Featherweight let out a silent, protracted yawn as he wrapped himself in his bed sheet burrito. True to her word, by the time they had exited Scootaloo’s house, she was nowhere to be seen, off somewhere to practice. Dad had spent a good five minutes thanking Miss Lofty over and over again for letting them in, until she all but yelled at him to stop. Still, with the promise of a friendly lunch meeting sometime, they departed. The rest of the day just sort of... blurred by. After such an eventful morning and afternoon, Featherweight was absolutely pooped. Almost the instant his head hit the pillow, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy.
“Okay,” Dad said from the hallway. “Aloe and Lotus need me to prep the mud baths in the morning before they open, so I won‘t be here when you wake up. But I should be home about an hour after you get back from school, okay? I’ll even grab some Chineighese for dinner. Sound good?”
Featherweight nodded, already half asleep. “Alright, good night, slugger.” Dad flipped off the light, but paused halfway through closing his door, gnawing on his lip. “Hey, Featherweight?” He lifted his head off the pillow, and Dad beamed at him. “I’m.... I’m real proud of you, kiddo, and—” he took a deep breath “—and I know your mom would be, too.”
Featherweight smiled back and rubbed his hoof across his chest several times, then pointed it at him. Dad chuckled, then repeated the motion and eased the door shut. Featherweight lay his head down, and almost immediately he felt the gentle tug of sleep on his mind. His eyes lazily closed, and he drifted off.
A final swing brought him up to his favorite perch. The stone gargoyle wasn’t exactly the most comfortable seat in Manehatten, but it allowed Spider-Mane a sweeping, panoramic view of the city. Even long after night had fallen, the hustle and bustle on the streets far below him did not abate in the slightest. The hero life was certainly a busy one, but it was one he would never abandon. He had the power to keep ponies safe, and by Celestia, he was gonna do it.
“Hey, Web-Head.”
He smiled and sighed. He didn’t need to turn and look. Even without the voice he would recognize her. Very few ponies could actually sneak up on him. “Long time no see, Black Cat.”
She let out an airy chuckle as he turned. She slunk towards him, her wild purple mane lightly dancing in the wind thanks to their high altitude, tiny orange wings tight to her sides. He did his level best not to stare too hard at the skin-tight black outfit. Even though she wouldn’t be able to see his eyes, she would know. She always knew. Now in front of him, Cat ran a teasing hoof across his chest, then stepped past him to the edge of the building. “Going my way?” she purred over her shoulder.
“That depends if you can keep up,” he said.
Cat let out a demure bark of laughter as she reached for the grappling hook on her belt. “Oh, that’s cute,” she said before throwing the hook at the next building and launching herself into the air.
Spider-Mane chuckled, shaking his head as he extended his hoof out. “That filly, I swear.” A line of webbing lanced from his hoof, and he gave chase.
