Mr. And Mrs. Cake's Crosstime Bakery

by Coyote de La Mancha

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony Comic, Equestria Girls, Pinkie Pie, Mr. Cake, Science Fiction, Slice of Life, Crossover, Death, Alternate Universe, Anthology, Mrs. Cake, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 10889

An anthology of stories about spacetime, confections, alternate realities.... and, of course, ponies.

In their youth, Mr. and Mrs. Cake traveled from one end of Equus to the other, and they saw a lot of strange things. Now they’ve settled down in Ponyville, and the strangeness comes to them.

So, welcome to a place where other dimensions not only touch, but know each other’s safety words. Where pastry magic is as powerful as the magic of friendship, the stars are merely raindrops looking for a place to fall, and “canon” is just what you do in the daylight.

Welcome to Sugarcube Corner, Mr. and Mrs. Cake’s Crosstime Bakery.

Here. Have a pastry.

Enjoy.

Inspired by Spider Robinson’s Callahan’s Crosstime Saloon and an offhand comment by FanOfMostEverything.

This anthology is not part of my other continuities. That being said, it touches on a variety of verses, and guest spots are possible. As is usual with my stories, all episodes (aside from most of Season 8) are part of this canon unless directly contradicted.

Finally, I have no plans for this collection of little tales to be finished, so there’s no sense in waiting for it to be “complete” before reading.

Published 2020-11-29 09:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-09-02 07:25:53 UTC

1. On Pies and Cakes and Other Confections.

It was four days until the wall, and Pinkie couldn’t sleep.

She hadn’t even realized she’d remembered the date, from so many years ago. Well, in a way it was years ago. And in a way, it wasn’t.

But no matter when it was or wasn’t, it was only five days away. And it worried her, like a cat worrying a piece of yarn.

She was still Pinkie, of course. So she bounced, and smiled, and planned for parties as a party pony should. But the wall loomed, and she could feel its shadow around her, even as she continued to fray at the edges.

Aside from placing the newly-baked confections and setting the tables, Sugercube Corner was ready to open by the time Mr. and Mrs. Cake made their way down the stairs together, nuzzling and sharing sleepy endearments. The stopped near the base of the stairs, looking around the bakery with mild concern.

“Pinkie?” Mrs. Cake asked. “Did you do all this?”

“Uh-huh!” Pinkie bounced, circling the little shop’s interior. “I was up early, and I just thought – well, I was up late until it was early, which is basically the same thing, at least when it turns early again – and I thought, hey, why not just get a head start on everything…”

“She mopped the ceiling,” Mr. Cake marveled, staring upwards.

“Pinkie,” Mrs. Cake tried, “Pinkie, slow down a minute, dearie…”

“I alphabetized all the recipes!” Pinkie exclaimed happily. “Twice!”

Then, she abruptly stopped bouncing, cocking her head as she considered the older ponies. “And do you guys always come downstairs at the same time? I’d never noticed before. I guess because I was usually still asleep? Huh. Of course, I don’t notice most things when I’m asleep. Including being asleep…”

Mrs. Cake smiled. “Well, Carrot always helps me with my make-up in the mornings.”

Pinkie paused, looking at her quizzically. “Was that an answer?”

“What was the question?”

Pinkie blinked, opened her mouth, then closed it. Then, the moment passed, and she was in motion again.

“I’m heading out,” she chirped. “See you evening shift!”

And then she bounced out the door, and was gone. Mr. Cake stared for a moment, concerned, then turned to his wife.

“Um.” He decided.

“Pretty much,” Mrs. Cake agreed, setting out the morning displays.

Mr. Cake began placing placemats and napkins on the tables, all of which had been folded into origami.

“What do you think, honeybun?” he asked. “How worried should I be?”

His wife considered for a moment, then went back to arranging pastries.

“Probably not very,” she decided. “It’s later than I thought, is all.”

He nodded. “So, we don’t need to keep an eye on her or anything.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that,” she said contentedly, continuing her arrangements. “There’s always the chance she might decide go off on her own without warning, of course. But we can just keep the kitchen locked at night, and she’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Mr. Cake paused, gently pulling on the tail and head of the crane he held. Its wings moved when he did.

“And if she does go back?” he asked. He pulled again, and the wings moved again. Neat.

Mrs. Cake gave a helpless shrug. “If she goes back, I don’t think we’ll know about it anyway. But I think she’ll want to talk about it first. She’s got a lot invested in the way things are, after all.”

Then, with the smile he loved so well, she added, “Now c’mon, angel cake. Help me with these bearclaws.”

It was three days until the wall, and Pinkie couldn’t sleep.

The impending nature of it seemed to cover everything around her. It was a blanket that wrapped itself around her, tangling her legs, and she couldn’t kick it off.

But today, at least, she had something else to occupy her mind. Applejack’s birthday was today. And even though her marefriend…

Pinkie stopped, frowning. Wait. Did Applejack have a marefriend? Pinkie had thought she had, a moment ago, but who? Was it Rarity? Twilight? Or, maybe she… didn’t?

The party pony shook her head violently. She was too tired. It was getting harder to keep track of that stuff.

Glancing suspiciously at her reflection in the widow, she moved a hoof up, then down again. Her reflection moved with her, perfectly. She made a face. Her reflection made the same face. After a bit more experimentation, Pinkie gave a small sigh of relief. At least it wasn’t one of those days. She had enough to worry about as it was.

And as for the whole marefriend thing, sure, being so close to so many maybes might get a little disorienting sometimes. It was just the price she paid for what she’d done. But it would all come back to her, she told herself. It always did.

Meanwhile, there was a party to prepare for. Mrs. Cake was always happy to host, which made things so much easier. And Mr. Cake would probably play the accordion for ponies to dance to, as he often did.

Pinkie frowned again, puzzled at the new feeling of déjà vu assailing her. Usually she declined Mrs. Cake’s offers to help decorate, but this time she thought she might accept. She was way more tired than she’d realized.

If only she could sleep.

It was two days until the wall, and Pinkie couldn’t sleep.

The certain uncertainty of it all, it… wrapped? Clung? Um… hovered?

Darn it, she sighed inwardly. I’m running out of metaphors.

Anyway, the point was that it was still on her mind. And not only was she running out of descriptions, she was running out of time. And, possibly, running out of… um…

Pinkie shook her head to clear it. Without sleep, it was getting harder and harder to concentrate on anything. And while she had plenty of energy, without mental focus doing even the most minor magic could be super dangerous. Much less what she had in mind.

And that was assuming she would have an opportunity in the first place. The Cakes had taken to locking the kitchen every night for some reason, and at least one of them was always in the shop during the day.

Even as tired as she was, she made it through most of the day without incident. It was while getting ready for the dinner rush that the cake exploded. Well, technically, the oven exploded. But the cake was why it exploded. So, yeah.

Looking around at the multicolored morass of fruit and pastry that had once been a kitchen, Pinkie made a mental note that her recipe for two-and-a-half minute spiced pineapple upside-down cake with strawberry frosting a la mode might need some recalibration. With a sigh, she reached over the main sink, and grabbed the scraper thingy hanging above.

She knew it had a more kitchen-technical term, but the scraper thingy was the very best for scraping pastry off of things, and walls, and ceilings, and separating things from other things when frosting had stuck things together, before applying other cleaning things like, say, mops and rags and firehoses and…

She paused. Maybe that’s why kitchens have so many drains in the floor? She thought.

Then, she shrugged. Oh, well.

Licking the splattered batter off her face (“Mmmm! Delish!”), she started scraping the counter when the kitchen door opened to reveal Mrs. Cake, balancing two stacks of dishes as she entered, oblivious to the frosting-slick floor.

“Oh, and Pinkie, dearie, could you waaaaaaahhhhhhh!”

With a horrified gasp, Pinkie leaped forward with lightning speed, grabbing and stacking dishes from mid-air where Mrs. Cake had flung them as she’d fallen, only to trip over her employer while catching the last teacup, spilling helplessly forward, sending the dishware hurtling upwards again...

Whereupon Mrs. Cake leaped upwards and forward like a starving gazelle on a pogo stick in a hayburger buffet, and started catching the stacks of dishes that Pinkie had dropped…

Until she slipped again, spilling everything into the air for a third time, inspiring Pinkie to tap into her energy reserves and spring into the air herself, catching the falling dishware in mid-air even as she, herself, was falling…

Even as Mrs. Cake was spinning in mid-air towards the floor, catching and tossing plates and saucers like Frisbees before they hit the kitchen tile, so that Pinkie could, in turn, keep hurling them into the air as she fell…

Just as Mr. Cake came out from the walk-in cooler and suddenly found himself beset by a veritable wall of spinning, orbiting dishware against a backdrop of falling mares and pastry Armageddon. Eyes wide, mouth open in horror, he began to juggle frantically as he slid helplessly across the kitchen floor on his rear hooves. As more dishes fell, Pinkie and Mrs. Cake continued catching them and wildly passing them to him and to each other as they rose to their knees and then their rear hooves, even as they all glided in a slow, pastry-slick circle around one another, team juggling feverishly all the while.

“Quick!” Carrot Cake yelled desperately. “Somepony play some polka!”

It took several moments, and an inspired musical interlude between the three of them, but ultimately they managed to gain enough traction to stop their mutual orbits and fill the dish pit without anything striking the floor.

The three of them were still leaning on the kitchen counters, gasping for breath, when Mr. Cake looked from one mare to the other, saying, “Um, you do remember the plates are unbreakable, right?”

The two mares looked at one another. There was a heartbeat of silence, and then they broke into laughter, while Mr. Cake rolled his eyes with a grin.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Anyway. Honeybun, would you give me a hoof cleaning up? Pinkie, I think you’ve got a picnic with the rest of the Elements, don’t you? I packed a few things for you while you were cooking.”

Pinkie Pie stared.

“Ohmygosh! I forgot!” Then, looking around herself, her shoulders sagged. “Aw, I can’t leave you guys with this…”

“Oh, now don’t you worry about a thing, dearie,” Mrs. Cake assured her. “Me and Carrot will have this cleaned up in no time. You run along.”

“But…”

“It’s alright, Pinkie,” Mr. Cake assured her with a careless wave. ”Believe me, we’ve cleaned up far worse.”

“Well,” Pinkie hesitated, “If you’re sure…”

“We’re sure, sweetie,” Mrs. Cake interrupted gently, shooing the younger mare out as she did. “You go along now and get some time in with your friends.”

With a grateful grin, Pinkie bounced out from the bakery, pausing long enough to pick up the basket Mr. Cake had prepared for her as she did.

Even as Pinkie Pie closed the door behind her, Mr. Cake was donning his face shield while his wife was uncoiling the fire hose from its resting place in the corner.

“I can’t believe she was going to use the scraper thingy on this,” he said with a shake of his head.

Mrs. Cake grinned as she readied the hose. “I know. After all, why else would a kitchen floor have so many drains?”

Later on and not too far away, a picnic between friends dissolved into laughter as stories wound down and dishes and leftovers were gathered and carried away. Pinkie avoided her friends’ questions, and ignored their worried looks as best she could. It took her longer to get home than usual; it was dark by the time she arrived.

The kitchen was locked again. Unsure how she even felt about that anymore, she sighed and trudged her way to her room. She spent the night staring at the ceiling until dawn, wondering.

How could she take it away from them all?

How could she leave things as they were?

It was one day until the wall, and Pinkie couldn’t sleep.

Aside from Pinkie’s ever-growing exhaustion, it was a normal day at Sugarcube Corner. Well, normal for the bakery, anyway. But then, right after lunch rush, there was a terrible pop! and Mr. Cake’s head was hanging down, his eyes screwed shut in pain, his normally forward-jutting chin withdrawn somehow into a more traditional pony-face shape.

“Ohmygosh!” Pinkie cried, bouncing over at once. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, that’s just his jaw acting up,” Mrs. Cake assured her as she trotted up to them both.

Feeling along her husband’s jawline, she added, “Poor Carrot got his head caught in an automatic rice picker, years ago. Broke it in I don’t know how many places. It’s fine nowadays, but every now and then, it acts up, and he needs help.”

There was a horrible but brief grinding sound as she suddenly wrenched his jaw back into its usual configuration.

“Hank you, hunnyhun,” he managed through his tears of pain.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she smiled, kissing him on the forehead.

Nodding her relief, Pinkie Pie went back to work, humming happily to herself as she did. It was funny, though. With his chin dislocated, Mr. Cake had reminded her of somepony. Frowning, she tried to pierce through the fatigue-induced fog in her brain to remember. But for the life of her, she couldn’t put her hoof on who.

It was the day of the wall, just after closing, and Pinkie couldn’t sleep. She wanted to, mind you. Even for a pink party pony of her particular power, inescapable insomnia was increasingly irritating.

And now I’m falling into narrative alliteration, she thought as she leaned with lifeless lethargy against the west wall. I’ve got to figure this out before I go into full blown tautograms, that always gets so confusing…

“Pinkie?”

Pinkie started, then focused her eyes. There was a slight chill as another wave of energy was released from somewhere within her, and as she perked back up she saw Mr. Cake looking at her from across the store, his eyes full of concern.

“Pinkie?” Mr. Cake asked again. “You know I hate to pry, but there’s obviously something wrong. It’s been bothering you all week. Is it something you can talk about?”

“Um…”

He raised an eyebrow of eternal enticement.

“I have cupcakes,” he said. “They have ice cream in them.”

He was expecting her to simply bounce away, or at the very least a refusal. But to his surprise, Pinkie Pie pushed herself away from the wall, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards slightly.

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay. I can try.”

A few minutes later, and they were sitting together at one of the booths, Pinkie sighing as she contemplated the last cupcake on her platter.

“I always thought I was resilient,” she said. “That’s what I told myself. That’s what I told other ponies they needed to be, too. Resilient. Unbreakable, no matter what the world did to them.”

Mr. Cake said nothing, just tilted his head as an invitation to continue.

“When I was a little filly, my parents died in a fire.”

While he stared in shock, she went on, “And it wasn’t just them, most of the village went up. Most of the grownups, anyway.

“But after we finished burying the dead, I helped the other foals remember how to dance and play. Not because I wasn’t crying inside, but because even then I was determined to never let life take away my smile. And, I was determined to help other ponies keep smiling. Keep laughing. No matter what.

“But as life went on, bad things kept happening. And no matter what I or other ponies tried, they just got worse.”

She looked down, her voice quiet.

“There was a war,” she said. “All my friends went insane. And even after the war stopped, ponies died every day, and no one…”

She swallowed, and went on, “…no one seemed to care. And after a while, I realized that the universe wasn’t just uncaring, but that it was mean. That it had just created us to play with. And you know what?”

Meeting his eyes with her own with new vigor, she pronounced, “I decided that if the universe was like that, then I would be better than the universe! Sure, nothing mattered. With the world just a disc of rock zooming through the stars for some eternal Thing’s amusement, how could it?

“But if that were true, then nothing mattering… also didn’t matter.”

She blinked, looking down.

“When you realize the world is just a cosmic joke played at your expense, the only sane response is laughter,” she said. “And while you’re at it, dance. Wiggle your flank! Because there’s no sense in obeying or imitating a mean universe. Gravity hates us either way, so why give it the satisfaction? Be nice despite the universe, and buck the consequences!

“But after a while, I started to realize something.”

“Oh?” Mr. Cake asked. “What did you realize?”

“I realized that fighting the universe is…”

She sighed. “…exhausting.”

Sitting back, Pinkie Pie let her gaze wander to the window nearby. Carrot Cake wondered what she was looking at; her reflection, or the darkness beyond it.

“Before the Two Sisters became princesses, earth ponies were known for their strength way more than we are now,” she said. “Because just like the pegasi who can fly and do weather magic, or unicorns who can do telekinesis and sorcery, we have our own magic. Sure, we have a connection to the soil and what grows there, but that’s just a shadow of what we used to do.

“‘The way of the lithophage is all but lost,’” she sighed. “That’s what Dad always said. And back then, with my family gone, I was pretty much the last. But we earth ponies, if we practice when we’re young, we can consume stones. Jewels. Precious metals. And when you can eat stone, you can convert it into magical strength, like a dragon.

“That’s the secret of the earth ponies. The secret of our lost power.

“And since I was also the closest thing that Spike had to a friend – which wasn’t saying much – a lot of times we ate gems together. So, even with all my bouncing and party tricks, I had a lot of energy stored up over the years. Like, a lot of energy.

“But at the same time, I was just so tired. Tired of the crazy, tired of the hurt, tired of swimming against the current every day just so I could do it all over again the next.”

Her voice dropped almost to a whisper as she said, “And, well, I was tired of being alone.”

Shaking the moment off, she continued, “So, I used the powers I had as a party pony, fueled by all the magical energy I had and, well, by just how much I wanted to see my parents again.”

Mr. Cake swallowed, growing pale. “So, you… you tried to bring them back to life?”

Pinkie Pie stared.

“What?” she gaped. “Haven’t you been listening? Of course not! How could you even think that? I wanted to see them and know they’d be okay! Of course I didn’t try to bring them back!

“No, I baked and mixed and opened and jumped,” she cried, “and there I was! But that was so long ago, that I’m almost there. Right back to the now that’s this now-now like it was that now back then!”

“Um, okay?” Mr. Cake said, gesturing helplessly.

Pinkie Pie sighed again, sinking her chin onto her forelegs.

“The day I went back,” she said miserably. “The day I used the magic I’d been saving up as a rock eater, combined with my pastry magic as a party pony, and travelled back in time to fix everything. The point in time that I don’t know anything beyond, that I can’t see past, because I’ve never lived through it.

“I call it the wall,” she said miserably. “And… it’s tonight.”

“When I went back in time, I was sure it was the right thing to do,” Pinkie went on. “And at first, it was. History’s so much better now than it used to be. Even things that shouldn’t have been touched by my going back. Couldn’t have been. Twilight and her brother, for one thing. The war not happening for another. Sisters actually love each other now, and friends are actually, well, friends. And that’s great.

“But not only is my family still alive, but there was never a fire in the first place. Or even a village.

“And I don’t know if I splintered things when I went back or if it just made me more aware of my other me’s, but… it wasn’t just this now, it was all nows. The ones I’m close enough to see, anyway. They were all better.”

Carrot Cake nudged the cupcake towards her a little, but she pushed it away.

“Then, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Because now, I don’t know,” she said quietly, staring at nothing. “I went back thinking, ‘No problem, All I have to do is invent time travel, then go back in time, and then the future will be better! My plan is great!’ And at first, it was. And sometimes, my knowing things about the future I’d left behind even let me help with stuff. I mean sure, nothing was really the same same, but the big stuff still kinda rhymed. I could help ponies, make things even better than better.”

She sighed, then looked up at the older stallion. “Betterer?”

He gave her a gentle smile. “Sure.”

She managed a little smile herself, but it faded far too quickly.

“But after tonight, that ends.” She said. “I won’t know anything that comes next, or who a new pony is, or what problem they’re trying to solve. And I’m not used to not knowing anymore. And that’s…”

Her voice was almost too quiet to hear as she finished, “…hard.”

Then, her eyes narrowed slightly as they bored into the table before her.

“But I can’t go back to being who I was before, either,” she snarled. “I’m not just some victim of fate, just some toy in a snow globe that the universe keeps shaking for laughs. Not anymore! I took control. I made it right. I betterered everything! I’m a party pony, and I make the world a happier place. It’s what I do.”

And then, her mane becoming dangerously straight, her eyes hardened as she growled through bared teeth, “And if a problem shows up that threatens that happiness, then I make that problem go away.”

“Um, Pinkie?”

Pinkie felt a hoof rest gently on her shoulder. Looking up, she saw Mr. Cake, his eyes full of concern for her.

“That doesn’t sound like a good way to be happy yourself,” he said softly.

She sighed, her mane re-curling a little as her colors regained their normal hue.

“No,” she agreed. “It doesn’t. But what if Equestria ends tomorrow, because of something I did, but I didn’t know when I did it? Or maybe the whole world?

“Or maybe it won’t be anything that big. Maybe Rarity just gets hit by a turnip wagon when she wouldn’t have before, and dies. Or even somepony I don’t know. But then again…”

Her voice cracking, she managed, “…but then again, how could that not have happened, somewhere, sometime, to creatures I’ll never even know about? Am I just supposed to shrug and carry on? Like I don’t care, like I couldn’t do something about it?”

“So, you’re thinking of going back in time and fixing your fixing things?”

“Maybe?” she said, struggling harder against her tears. “But… should I? Is that selfish? Or should I go back again to try to make the betterering even better? Or… should I just leave everything like it is, just because I’m more comfy with things the way they are?”

“But would that be the real reason?” Mr. Cake asked gently.

“I don’t know!” she went on, the tears coming at last. “I mean, even if I can fix the fix and unbetterer everything, what about all the choices everypony’s made along the way, between then and now? Everything was so bad before, that didn’t even occur to me!

“But now, ponies are happy. And not just ponies, creatures I’d never even known about before! They’re all made decisions, fought through stuff, been happy and sad together, and, and… can I really take all that away from them?”

Up until that point, Carrot Cake had been very, very good. He had listened, given advice, played devil’s advocate, and that was all. Well, that and offering comfort food. But he distinctly hadn’t invaded Pinkie’s space in any way, or done or said anything uninvited.

But now, he was in motion before he even realized it. He gathered up the young mare and her misery, and hugged her as hard as he could. After less than a second, she was hugging him back.

“I don’t know,” she sobbed again and again. “I don’t know what to do…”

Eventually, the tears wrung out of her, they parted. Pinkie blinked, then looked mildly uncomfortable.

Oh, horseapples, Carrot Cake thought, did I just mess everything up?

“Um,” Pinkie Pie said quietly at last, “I think I got snot on your apron.”

There was a heartbeat’s worth of silence, and then Mr. Cake started laughing. A moment later, Pinkie was laughing with him. Then they paused, and Mr. Cake grabbed a napkin and with a great show of dignity wiped his apron clean, which led to a new round of laughter.

Finally, their mirth had run its course, and Mr. Cake spoke again.

“Well, Pinkie,” he said, “it seems to me that by its nature, time travel isn’t a now or never kind of thing. Sure, you could go back now and take your chances. Or, you could go back a year from now. Or ten. Or twenty. Or, never at all. Or, maybe you could just wait until you know more about it. Who knows? Maybe someday, you’ll find a way to travel back in time and be a helper to ponies without taking away their choices.

“But no matter what, you’ll always have the option, and there’s no rush. And until then, if then ever comes, you’re still a time traveler, in a way.”

She raised her head to look at him, and he smiled.

“One day forward at a time, just like the rest of us.” He said. “Throwing parties, helping ponies laugh, and making life better for whoever you can with what you know.”

It was another one of those moments that happened occasionally at Sugarcube Corner, where Mr. Cake reminded her of somepony else. Somepony she just knew she knew, if she could just put her hoof on it.

Pinkie smiled and hugged him again, and the older stallion hugged her right back.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Anytime, hon,” he whispered back.

After a minute or two, they parted again.

“I should probably crash,” Pinkie said. “Lotta stuff to do tomorrow. Whatever tomorrow ends up being, anyway.”

Mr. Cake nodded. “I’ve got a few things to take care of first, but I’ll probably be heading that way myself. Did you get that shopping list put together?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” she said distractedly, already bouncing towards the stairs. “There’s a few things we’re all the way out of…” She stopped. “Aw, I was gonna get that stuff earlier.”

“No problem, I can pick up a few things now,” he said, waving her concerns away as he plucked the list from the kitchen door. “You go to bed.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Cake.”

“No problem.”

“No,” she said, facing him fully. “I mean… thanks. Really.”

His smile was gentle. “Like I said Pinkie, anytime.”

Pinkie, still smiling, nodded, then turned back to the stairs. She had just begun her ascent when Mr. Cake spoke again.

“Hey, Pinkie?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Uh-huh?”

“Is the universe still mean?”

She smiled.

“Nah,” she said. “Not with ponies like you in it. I still don’t know if it cares as much as it should, but it’s not mean.”

Then, her voice fading slightly as she continued her bouncing ascent, she yawned, “It just needs a little help being nice now and then, is all…”

Carrot Cake smiled as well. Then, once she was safely headed for bed, he glanced at the list as he opened the front door. If he hurried he could just make it to the grocery before they closed.

But even as she heard the front door close again, Pinkie froze halfway up the stairs, eyes wide.

Because come to think of it, Mr. Cake did remind her of somepony else. And now that she’d seen it, she couldn’t see him any other way. The way he sang and played the accordion, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and above all the way he hugged…

“This is crazy,” she whispered, staring into the dark, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. “This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy…”

But crazy or not, the idea stuck.

Carrot Cake had an orange mane, not a brown one. But a brown mane might shift to an orangish one with age. Pony colors were funny that way, and sometimes coats changed over time without turning a full grey or white. It could happen.

And come to think of it, hadn’t Grandma’s coat changed color as she’d gotten older, turning from pink to a kinda bluish color before she’d died?

But then, what about their cutie marks?

In Pinkie’s mind, images of the Cakes coming out from their bedroom together in the morning, chatting happily. The bedroom that had its own bathroom and shower.

Carrot always helps me with my make-up…

Pinkie clutched the stair rail, feeling dizzy, eyes screwed shut.

And seriously, how many ponies would’ve hired her on, given her a room of her own, even accepted her as family, sight unseen? Especially an Element, somepony prone to having dangerous adventures, maybe even having those dangerous adventures follow her home? Especially especially when she maybe kinda sorta made things go explodee herself sometimes, just a little bit…

It’s alright, Pinkie. Believe me, we’ve cleaned up far worse…

The giggles pounced on her as she stood there, nomming at her ribs without mercy while she clutched helplessly at the railing. They rose up from within her, refusing to be kept at bay.

Who knows? Maybe someday, you’ll find a way to travel back in time and be a helper to ponies without taking away their choices…

The giggles grew into full-on laughter as she let herself slide into a sitting position on the stairs, hugging her hind legs. She laughed a long, long time. Longer than she had in a while. And, eventually, she grew quiet again, giving a contented sigh as she stared into the darkness

“Yeah,” she said happily to nopony in particular. “That’s fair. I guess there’s no rush.”

Feeling better than she had in a very long time, Pinkie Pie bounced the rest of the way upstairs to her room, threw herself under her covers, and, exhausted, finally slept.

2. The Guy with the Mouth.

Sugarcube Corner was unusually full for a Sunday night, thanks both to Princess Cadence being in town and to Princess Twilight having been treating her to dinner there just as the storm had started. One by one, ponies had found their way into the confectionary, the door ringing its merry bells with each new arrival. Some came to see the foreign princess, some came for the food. But as the evening went on, many of them stayed for shelter during the increasingly violent, unscheduled tempest that had caught Ponyville by surprise.

So, the little store was comfortably packed, with the Ponyville ponies chatting happily together, enjoying the cozy fireplace, hot cider, and warm food and confections. Spike the dragon was there as well, happily soaring among the wooden beams above on his new wings, occasionally perching like a pegasus and looking down at the assemblage with satisfaction.

The Cakes and Pinkie shared a few silent smiles as they bustled about. It was looking like a late night, but the good kind, and for all the right reasons. But while the rest of the bakery hustled and bustled merrily, Pinkie Pie often paused, looking out the bakery’s front window with trepidation. The rain continued to come down in sheets, encouraging the clientele to continue their stay. After a while, the Cakes exchanged a look, and Mrs. Cake quietly made her way towards her young friend.

Pinkie Pie ignored her, staring at the lightning crawling across the roiling sky, angry serpents of red, green, blue and gold.

“Pinkie, honey, what’s the matter?” Mrs. Cake asked at last.

The party pony studied her for a moment before responding.

“The storm,” She said. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Mrs. Cake frowned. “Well, now, I’ll admit it does feel a little off,” she acknowledged. “Can you be more specific?”

Pinkie Pie bit her lip, returning to the window. She’d been hoping that nothing would be a surprise to the Cakes. That would have given her a sense of security. But, apparently that was not the case. So, she sighed.

“I dunno. It just… feels wrong. Like it doesn’t belong here. Like maybe it’s bringing...” Her voice trailed off, and she sighed.

Mrs. Cake smiled.

“Well, lots of folk don’t really belong most places,” she reminded her. “That’s why they’re welcome here, even if they’re a little stormy. Now, come on,” she said, guiding Pinkie away from the window, “Worst case scenario, we get some new arrivals coming in. So, let’s get ready for some extra guests.”

Pinkie Pie considered this, then smiled, her hair perking up immediately.

“You’re right!” she grinned. “That means new friends to meet! Hooray!”

As Pinkie bounced merrily into the kitchen, Mrs. Cake paused, allowing her smile to falter slightly as she turned back to look at the storm raging outside once more.

As it happened, she’d seen that particular storm many times in her travels. Each time it had showed up at a different time and place. And each time, it had meant something different coming through. The one thing she was fairly certain of was that, whatever came, she and the other ponies would give it every chance to be nice.

And if it wasn’t, well, she wished it the best of luck. After all, this time there were princesses about.

She went back into the kitchen to get the pineapple upside-down cake she was baking out of the oven. In the end, here as anywhere else, sometimes you just needed to let what was going to come, come.

The stallion looked about himself. Sopping wet, alone, unarmed and confused. Charred soil surrounding him from where the lightning had struck.

He tried to stand on his hind legs. Windmilling his arms frantically for a moment, he succeeded only in falling backwards. Then, he tried again, this time falling forwards. Then, pushing himself off from the mud, he saw his forehooves for the first time.

Even the thunder and the raging winds failed to drown out his fury.

The ponies heard him well before they saw him.

At first, it seemed as if someone was speaking nearby, projecting enough to be occasionally heard over the dismal storm. But as the pony approached, it became clear this was no mere projection echoing over the raging tempest. Rather, despite all expectations and against all reason, this was a rare exercise of the Royal Voice.

And, as its user slowly approached the establishment door, it became clear that it was neither Celestia nor Luna who was about to grace the bakery. For, impossibly, the voice was unmistakably male. After a moment, Twilight heard a small noise from nearby, and turned to see…

“Cadence?” Twilight asked, her voice full of concern.

She had never seen her old friend like this. The Princess of Love was staring at the door in uncharacteristic fury, teeth bared, eyes blazing. Her breath coming in harsh, labored gasps.

“Cadence, what’s wrong?”

The crystal princess was trembling now, her voice reduced to a menacing hiss.

“It’s… him.”

Lightning flashed as the door flew open. And there, in the doorway, he stood, illuminated by the raging storm. Grey coat. Black mane. Horn, not spiraled but crescent-shaped, as if forged from a jewel, glinting red in the firelight.

Princess Cadence’s battle cry was a declaration of war. It was the voice of a punishing fury who had found her quarry, and would finally make him pay for his sins.

“SOMBRA!”

In an instant, she was airborne, arcing towards him in a pink blur of fury. He had just enough time to stare as she bellowed, to say

WAIT

as she moved. And then, she was upon him. A single kick and he went down, instinctively curling into a fetal position as she launched a seemingly endless barrage of attacks into him with her hooves.

“Cadence, wait!” Twilight cried, trying in vain to halt her cascade of wrath. “Stop! Don’t! Please!”

Stompstompstompstompstompstompstompstompstompstompstomp…!

As Twilight and Pinkie Pie each seized their royal friend and strove to pull her away, she thrashed in their arms, screaming, “No! Let me go! You don’t understand! We’ve got to take him down before—!”

It took all of their strength to pull their friend off of him. Cadance was breathing hard, still struggling, her eyes filled with a killing frenzy.

“That’s not Sombra!” Twilight insisted.

“But—”

“Look!”

Seeing the stallion before her, Cadence trembled with barely controlled rage. She could smell the acrid scent of burning tapestries and carpets, hear the sounds of combat and destructive spells, lightning and fire. She could feel her mother’s hooves lifting her up in a controlled panic, reciting the ancient spell even as the Crystal Heart began to glow, even as the great doors flung open, the enemy’s name chanted again and again by his supporters as the Great Tyrant strode into the hall.

Sombra… Sombra… Sombra… Sombra…!

Then, she closed her eyes, tried to control her breathing, her heart pounding against her ribs as if trying to tear its way free.

And, opening her eyes again…

At a glance, the stallion lying at her hooves did look a great deal like the crystal dictator. His coat grey, his disheveled mane was long and perfectly black. His horn even followed Sombra’s heretofore unique shape.

But his was a true horn, not the enchanted ruby that had crowned Sombra’s brow. And the stranger’s horn was only a crimson color at its base. At its middle length it was orange, fading further to an amber color at its tip. His coat was too light a shade. And his eyes, rather than being the crimson hue that still haunted her worst dreams, were instead a black-on-yellow that she had never seen before.

And as if there were any doubt remaining, there was the matter of his cutie mark: an ebony… what was that, exactly? Shackles? Two discs orbiting each other? Certainly nothing like Sombra had ever borne.

But above all, he was too young! The stallion before her was little more than a colt, maybe as old as Twilight had been when Nightmare Moon had returned…

Cadence stared for less than a second, horrified. “Oh, ancestors before me, what have I done?” she whispered. Then she was kneeling before him now, feeling his throat. She felt a pulse there, powerful but arrhythmic.

“He’s still alive!” she exclaimed. “Spike, send a message to Aunt Luna, maybe she can heal…!”

“I can’t,” Spike said. “She’ll be in dream, I can’t reach her there.”

“Celestia’s asleep, but I could teleport—” Twilight started.

“No, don’t leave, I need you here!” Cadence cried. “We’ve got to save him!”

The stallion coughed up some unnaturally bright red blood.

“Are you conscious? He’s conscious!” Moving her face closer to his, she said desperately, “Stay awake, stay with me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I thought you were him, I thought…”

Blearily, he opened his eyes, managed to focus them on her.

OH, OKAY.

I JUST FIGURED WE’D MET BEFORE, AND I HADN’T MET YOU YET.

Cadence started, then stared. “What?!?”

But the stallion shook his head, still coughing.

NEVERMIND. I’M FINE. YOU JUST BROKE MY ORGAN CAGE.

AND A FEW ORGANS.

AND A STRUT POD.

JUST LET ME GET TO MY RECUPERACOON…

Then he blinked, his shoulders sagged.

OH, RIGHT. FUCK.

Then, he shrugged and struggled to rise, wincing as he did while bones audibly ground together.

“No, stay down, don’t try to get up…” Cadence said in dismay.

THANKS, BUT YOU MISSED MY BLOOD PUSHER SOMEHOW, AND I’VE STILL GOT THREE GOOD FRONDS TO WORK WITH.

I SHOULD GO.

One of his hooves slid out from under him, and he fell back with a crackling sound.

Twilight and Cadence looked at one another in horror.

“Pinkie,” Twilight said, “Clear off a table. Now.”

“I’m on it!” Pinkie chirped. Already, a nearby table full of regulars had already stood, grabbing dishes and glasses. Meanwhile, the earth mare rolled the table cloth expertly across the tabletop, collecting the remaining flatware in its folds.

For his part, the newcomer stared at them all, his eyes narrowing.

ALSO, I DON’T NEED YOUR PITY.

“You’re in pain and you don’t know what you’re saying,” Cadence told him.

FUCK OFF.

“Twilight, watch his head.”

WHAT? NO.

NO, I DON’T WANT YOUR FUCKING HELP.

Suddenly, the stallion was surrounded in a warm, soothing, blue glow. His eyes widened, and he stared about himself as wildly as he could without moving his head. His head, of course, being kept still by a separate, purple glow.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

“It’s magic,” Twilight assured him.

THIS IS DISGUSTING.

“It’ll keep you more stable than if we used our hooves,” she added.

YOU KEEP YOUR THOUGHT TAFFY TO YOURSELF.

“Okay, let’s start moving him over,” Cadence said.

EW. STOP.

“Mrs. Cake, do you have anything to make splints out of?” Pinkie Pie called.

PUT ME DOWN.

“I’m already there, sweetie,” Mrs. Cake called from a back room. “Be there in a jiffy!”

STOP OOZING YOUR THINK SPHINCTERS ON ME.

“We’re almost there,” Cadence assured him.

GROSS.

With the precision and delicacy only possible to masters of telekinesis, the stallion found himself on the table, the colorful auras fading from around him. There were several layers of padding and numerous tablecloths between him and the table, and he was immediately surrounded by a view of multicoloured faces, all desperate to somehow be of help.

“How is he still conscious?” a voice from further away marveled.

“How is he still alive?” another wondered.

For her part, Cadence looked down, and said nothing.

“Please,” Twilight said to the young stallion, “we need to re-set as many bones as we can. At the very least we’ve got to wrap your barrel and set your broken leg, and Mr. Cake’s left to get potions to help you heal and ward off infection.”

Behind her, the door was gently closing in the older stallion’s wake.

“That’s the least we should do for you, the bare minimum. What we want to do is re-align your ribs and leg so they’ll heal normally, stop your internal bleeding, and make sure nothing hemorrhages further.

“I’d try to do more, but true healing magic is dangerous at best,” she explained. “It risks overriding the body’s idea of itself on a cellular level, basically. Even Princess Celestia doesn’t try it unless absolutely necessary. But we can call on your body’s memory of itself, in a sense, to harmoniously move the separated parts back into alignment. It’s called regenerative tactile-telekinetic thaumoequilibrium, and it utilizes the Law of Contagion with the healing center of the…”

“Um, Twilight?” Spike said.

“Right! Sorry. Anyway, the point is, there’s a lot that we can do to help. But you’re awake, so you can still make informed decisions. So I’m not going to put you to sleep, or do anything else medical, against your consent.

“So, please… will you please let me help you survive this?”

Realizing that he was not only outnumbered, but also broken enough that moving on his own was temporarily impossible, the stallion sighed in defeat.

OKAY, FINE. YOU WIN. BUT REMEMBER, I DIDN’T ASK FOR HELP.

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” Mrs. Cake winked. “We’ll remember.”

MY NAME, he said through clenched fangs, IS KARKAT.

Then Twilight cast her sleep spell, and for a time he knew nothing more.

It was several minutes later when the process was done and Twilight lifted the spell. And, despite the cautions and concerns of the ponies around him, the strange stallion carefully slid down from the table, walked a few paces, then winced and slid a little too fast into a quickly proffered chair. And, finally, questions could be asked and answered.

His name, he repeated, was Karkat. And he was not from Equestria, but from a place called Alternia. And he was not a pony, he insisted, nor “any kind of four-legged ponychromed strutbeast,” for that matter. He was a Troll, the name of both his species and his culture.

When asked how he’d arrived, he said his last memories were of a storm in something he called paradox space, where he and several of his friends had been desperately engaged in the last throes of a war against a single entity he did not wish to discuss.

He also made it clear that he “did not fucking ask to be here, at all.” Especially since he and his friends had been fighting for their lives when he’d been forcefully yanked from his own universe by the storm that still raged and bellowed above Sugarcube Corner.

And, most especially, when said friends were by this point most assuredly very, very dead.

“It sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” Cadence said at last, “And I hope you can forgive my adding to your pain. But, please, since you’re here now, can you tell us what you need? How can we help you?”

WHAT DO I NEED. YEAH, OK.

He sighed.

WHAT I REALLY NEED IS TO NOT BE HERE. LIKE, AT ALL.

“Well, as soon as the storm lifts and I can get to my books, I’ll be working on that,” Twilight replied. “But even if Starswirl the Bearded—”

OH, MY FUCKING GOD.

“What? What’s wrong?”

NOTHING.

NOT A FUCKING THING.

YOU JUST KEEP MAKING WORDS, AND I’LL PRETEND THEY AREN’T MAKING MY THOUGHT MUSCLE BLEED.

“Right,” Twilight said uncertainly. “So, anyway, Starswirl…”

AAAAARRRRGHHH.

Twilight blinked, then pressed on, “…created... many interdimensional mirrors in his time. And one of them may lead to your world. He also left a lot of notes about different worlds besides those.”

Then, reluctantly, she added, “But even with that, dimensional travel has always been rare at best. If we can’t locate your home, I’m sorry, but…you may be stuck here.”

Karkat sat in stony silence. Finally, Pinkie Pie spoke.

“You know, Karkat, Equestria really isn’t so bad…”

But Karkat was looking at the empty water glass he held, chin resting on his other hoof, with the poise of a barfly bent upon complete self-annihilation.

YOU KNOW WHO SHOULD FUCKING BE HERE? EQUIUS SHOULD FUCKING BE HERE.

Cadence frowned. “Who?”

EQUIUS.

HIS COOLANT SECRETION PORES WOULD BE ALL ABOUT THIS HAPPY HORSE SHIT.

“Pony shit,” Spike corrected him as he circled above. “It’s happy pony shit.”

The ponies stared, and he landed on Twilight’s withers, glancing around at them.

“What?”

But the grey stallion was nodding as if this had been the most sensible thing ever said.

PONY SHIT, Karkat said.

GREAT.

FINE.

THANK YOU SPIKE.

I FUCKING STAND CORRECTED.

ON THREE OUT OF FOUR STRUTPODS NO LESS.

BECAUSE LIFE HATES ME.

BUT ANYWAY. EQUIUS.

HE WOULD BE ALL LIKE, I MUST MEET YOUR NOBLEST HORSE NOBILITY. SO THEY CAN COMMAND ME.

ALSO, BRING LOTS OF FUCKING TOWELS BECAUSE I AM STRONG OR SOME SHIT.

ALSO ARCHERY. BUT MOSTLY FUCKING HORSE QUEENS.

AND TOWELS.

YOU PONIES WOULD COMPLETELY RUN OUT OF FUCKING TOWELS.

Throughout the room, the assembled ponies exchanged looks of sheer confusion. The alien was practically speaking gibberish. Was this how they sounded to him?

Twilight made a mental note to get Rainbow Dash involved with the situation as soon as possible. She was best friends with a griffon, after all. Maybe she could reach past Karkat’s apparent universal hostility. And Rarity had been across much of the known world, maybe through some blessed synchronicity something about this would sound familiar to her?

But that would have to wait until tomorrow, when the strange storm had passed. In the meantime, determined to maintain at least something resembling rational discourse, Twilight cleared her throat. “Um, actually, our planet is called Equus. At least by ponies…”

Karkat blinked.

OKAY, THAT’S THE FIRST THING YOU’VE SAID THAT’S MADE SENSE.

“Karkat, I know you’re having trouble with this,” Twilight tried again. “I’ve been to alien worlds, too. And they’re always difficult. But please, we’re not your enemies!”

OKAY, THAT’S FAIR.

The alien in pony form sighed.

LOOK, IF YOU CAN’T GET ME OUT OF HERE.

“Yes?”

JUST KILL ME.

The ponies all stared at him in shock. Finally, Twilight spoke.

“What?”

NO, REALLY.

END MY FUCKING LIFE.

JUST SHOOT ME.

I DON’T KNOW, PRETEND I BROKE A CALCIUM STAFF OR SOMETHING, AND I’D NEVER RUN AGAIN.

“We can’t do that!” Pinkie bounced. “You’re our friend!”

OH JEGUS.

Karkat buried his face in his hooves.

I HATE YOU ALL SO MUCH RIGHT NOW.

For several seconds, the mares and drake at the table exchanged helpless, dismaying looks.

SO MUCH FUCKING HATE, IT’S ALMOST REFRESHING.

“Um… Karkat?” Cadence tried.

A CLEAN, MINTY HATE.

He looked up at them, glaring crazily at all the ponies around him.

YOU SEE THESE WHITER THAN WHITE CHEW STONES? THE ONES I AM GRINDING RIGHT NOW, IN MY SMARM HOLE? THEY ARE WHITE BECAUSE I BRUSH THEM. WITH THE FUCKING HATE I HAVE.

“Karkat.”

FOR ALL OF YOU QUADRAPEDAL MEAT SACKS.

“Karkat.”

AND THEN I FLOSS.

“Karkat!”

WHAT.

“Nopony is going to kill you, okay?” Cadence insisted. “You’re safe here. And we just want to help. Please, we’re offering you our friendship. Why can’t you just accept that?”

The grey stallion stared at the ceiling in silence. It was impossible to tell if he were entering a new phase of contemplation, or if his rage had temporarily surpassed verbosity. Perhaps both.

After another moment, Pinkie Pie uncertainly approached him.

“Um, maybe if you had something to eat?” she asked. Then, after a moment, she added, “Something to help you feel better? Maybe a muffin? Some ice cream? You know, sometimes ice cream can really help when you’re feeling down…”

Her voice trailed into silence. At first, Karkat didn’t move. Then, finally, he spoke.

I WOULD LIKE A NICE TALL GLASS OF POISON, PLEASE.

Then, he turned to Twilight and the others. DID YOU GUYS WANT ANYTHING?

Cadence raised an authoritative hoof.

“Alright. This needs to stop.”

The alien sighed again. YOU’RE RIGHT.

“Look, I know we got off on the wrong hoof,” Cadence started. She glanced at her own hoof resting on the table, winced, and moved it down. “And you’d already been through a terrible ordeal, before that.”

Karkat shook his head. NO, WE’RE COOL, he said.

But the pink alicorn shook her head. “Please, let me explain. I owe you at least that much. You see, many years ago, in the Crystal Empire…”

It took a while before Cadence had finished her story. The bakery had been all but silent, listening to a chapter of ancient history told by the princess who had witnessed it all.

For his part, Karkat had remained silent as well. Sometimes nodding, sometimes wincing. But always listening.

“…and so, that’s why I acted as I did,” she said at last. “Even with everything I’ve done and dealt with over the years since, I didn’t appreciate how traumatized I must have been. And then, when I saw you…”

He voice trailed off, and then she looked away.

“Anyway. The point is, I’m sorry for attacking and hurting you. And I hope you can forgive me.”

For a moment, Karkat didn’t move. Then, he took a drink and addressed the Crystal Princess, still waiting to hear his answer.

I’M SORRY.

Cadence frowned, shaking her head in confusion. “What? No, stars above us, no, I’m sorry…”

NO, YOU WERE RIGHT.

She fell silent, trying to process this. So much of what Karkat said seemed to be borderline nonsense. But then Karkat began to speak again, his continued use of the Royal Voice somehow still demanding attention from everyone there despite their long exposure.

THERE’S… THERE ARE A LOT OF TIMELINES.

He was staring into his glass again as he spoke.

MAYBE AN INFINITE NUMBER. I DON’T KNOW. IN EACH ONE, DIFFERENT CHOICES ARE MADE. IN SOME CASES, THERE’S DIFFERENT RANDOM ACTS THAT MAKE THE DIFFERENCE.

ARE YOU WITH ME SO FAR?

Still puzzled, Cadence nodded. “Of course. That’s basic transdimensional theory.”

GOOD. BECAUSE I’VE SEEN DIFFERENT TIMELINES. I’VE TALKED TO GHOSTS. I EVEN KNEW A GUY WHO COULD SENSE HIS OTHER SELVES, IN OTHER TIMELINES. THEIR CHOICES, THEIR LIVES, WHAT WAS GOING ON IN THEIR HEADS.

He closed his eyes.

I CAN’T DO THAT. BUT I’VE GOTTEN TO KNOW MYSELF PRETTY FUCKING WELL THE LAST COUPLE OF SWEEPS. AND EVERYTHING YOU’VE DESCRIBED… I KNOW THAT COULD HAVE BEEN ME.

IN FACT, I THINK IT WAS.

While most of the assembly stared at him in shock, he continued.

I WAS AN OUTCAST, LIKE HIM. I USED TO WANT TO BE POWERFUL, LIKE HIM. I JUST WANTED TO BE A STRONG LEADER, TO CONQUER, TO BE PART OF… WELL, IT DOESN’T MATTER ANYMORE.

Opening his eyes, he drained the rest of his glass and pushed it away from himself.

THE POINT IS, I’M NOT EVIL. AT LEAST, I HOPE I’M NOT. BUT I AM ABSOLUTELY DESTRUCTIVE, WHETHER OR NOT I WANT TO BE. AND I CAN SEE MYSELF DOING EVERYTHING YOU JUST DESCRIBED, IF THINGS HAD BEEN JUST A LITTLE DIFFERENT.

BECAUSE IT’S PRETTY OBVIOUS THAT SOMBRA IS YOUR WORLD’S VERSION OF ME. WE EVEN LOOK THE SAME, EXCEPT HE’S OLDER. WE COULD BE FUCKING TWINS.

SO, IN A WAY… IN A WAY, THINK I DID DO THOSE THINGS.

He swallowed, then made himself finish.

I KILLED ALL THOSE PEOPLE.

I WRECKED YOUR KINGDOM.

I TOOK AWAY YOUR FAMILY.

IT WAS ANOTHER ME. I WASN’T THERE, BUT I STILL DID IT.

He swallowed, his eyes screwed shut.

AND… I’M SORRY.

Karkat heard Princess Cadence move off her seat, take a step to him. Internally, he readied himself for the horn-handing beating that was about to commence. He couldn’t blame her.

Although, he had to admit to himself, telling all that to a creature that had already beaten him nearly to death had been pretty stupid.

But instead of violence, he felt her strut knob wrap itself gently around his shoulders, and felt her kiss him gently on the cheek.

Opening his eyes, she looked like she’d been crying. But she was kind of smiling, too.

He froze in horror.

Oh, crap, he thought.

Do ponies… have quadrants?

The implications chilled his soul. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to him before. But now, looking at the situation, he had to wonder: was she going black on him?

Oh, Jegus, was she going black on him???

How was he supposed to handle this? He didn’t even know this female!

If she began courting him, in public, with the sarcasm of early kismesissitude, as injured as he was he knew he would have no escape.

Fighting down his panic, Karkat reminded himself that he was being ridiculous. Alien or not, she was towards the top of their twisted hoofy hierarchy. There was no way she would embarrass herself like that, he assured himself. And even if she somehow did lose all sense of dignity and self-control, her obvious moirail, Twilight, would certainly intervene.

But then she said, in a quiet, intimate whisper, “Thank you.”

His eyes widened to the size of thirdmeal nutrition plateaus in sheer mortal dread and he heard himself say,

WHAT.

After the word fell out, his mouth just hung open. Yes, he realized with growing apprehension, she was definitely smiling now. The horse-queen of the frozen north was smiling at him, doubtless with years of repressed, freshly-opened hate buzzing around in her fevered, repressed lobe stem like a swarm of talonscreechers around a fresh body.

Karkat’s heart raced like an ovum pummeler in Erebus. Bad enough that he was trapped in some pacifistic alien hellscape, surrounded by a race and culture made up of subjects from Equius’ wildest nocturnal churn-fests. Now he, Karkat, was being dumped headlong into some weird quadrupedal courting ritual that he didn’t understand and had absolutely no control over…

“Thank you,” she said again, still smiling through her tears. “Thank you for the opportunity to forgive him, even if it’s through you. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to, of course. But… I’m going to try.”

And then, right then, with the pink monarch’s face still wet with dismay fluid and Karkat’s eyes darting about the room with more and more terror and desperation by the nanosecond, the insane multi-chromatic aliens surrounding him started to fucking applaud.

It was a short time later when Twilight found herself guiding the alien stallion (Troll, she reminded herself) through the rain to his chosen domicile. She was still racking her brain for some possible parallel between what little she knew of his culture and a creature she might introduce him to, if all else failed and he was in fact stuck on her world.

The Griffons were probably out, she reasoned, simply because most of them wouldn’t be able to see a non-flier as any kind of equal. But she might be able to get some pointers from Gabby and Gilda on communicating with someone so crabby, just the same. And when he’d started talking about the necessity of finding a new temporary ‘hive,’ she’d of course thought of the Changelings. But a few random phrases seemed like a pretty superficial parallel, considering that Changeling society was based in part on the need to consume emotions.

And he wasn’t physically strong enough to deal with most dragons, she thought to herself. Granted, he was certainly durable, for all that she was concerned he might trip and re-open his internal wounds. And he was stubborn enough, and Celestia knew he was proud enough. So much so, in fact, that he had vehemently refused her offer to stay with her and Cadence until better arrangements could be found, or even remain in Sugarcube Corner once the storm had slacked off a bit.

“You know, I can still extend the umbrella spell to cover you,” she tried again. “It’s a standing offer.”

FUCK OFF.

Frowning, Twilight snorted and plodded ahead, rain and wind neatly deflected by her weatherproof force field, with the sopping Troll stallion whatever-he-was behind her. Fine. Let him stay wet. So far as she was concerned, he’d used up any excuse for being such a jerk long ago.

Still, he obviously wasn’t a fool, nor was he uneducated. Before leaving the bakery, when she’d asked if there was anything she could get him to help him adjust, to her surprise he’d actually had a request. And at the time, it had taken her completely aback.

Romance novels? she’d echoed.

And he had confirmed that was exactly what he wanted. Romance novels. As many as she could get to him.

But now, considering the matter, she had to admit that wasn’t a bad place to start. Personally, she would have started with the roots of the culture. When she’d chased Sunset into Gaea, years ago, she’d started out studying creation myths and ancient history, working her way forward to present day. Which, at the time, had seemed completely logical. But she also had to admit that approach had also left her with huge gaps in cultural norms, vernacular, and even table manners for most of her first visit.

Karkat, meanwhile, had insisted that he needed as many and as varied a fare of romance novels and any other similar media as possible. Songs, poetry, plays, everything. But especially novels. And as many as possible, starting with present day and working backwards. He’d read it all, he’d assured her. Word for word. And faster than she might think. He’d said time was of the essence.

Despite her irritation with him, she had to smile a little. She’d never read much in the way of romance novels herself… upon reflection, she was pretty sure she hadn’t read any. But considering the matter now, she couldn’t think of a better way to give one’s self a crash course on a society’s current structure, social rituals, and traditions than stories about ponies’ day-to-day lives and intimate moments. So however crotchety he might be, Ponyville’s otherworldly visitor was apparently a scholar. Or, at least, a sociologist.

She grinned. She herself might have more in common with him than she thought.

Finally, they arrived. It was a small shack just outside of town, only abandoned a year or so ago. When Twilight had mentioned it, he’d said it would be perfect. Said he couldn’t wait to go. Heck, he’d practically run out of the bakery alone.

Now, she opened the door, peering in, the light from her horn illuminating one of the most dismal interiors she had ever seen.

“Oh, geez,” she said, looking around in dismay. “I didn’t expect it to be this bad. There’s stuff living in here. I can help you clean—”

By that point, the waterlogged Troll had pushed his way past her. Lightning crashed violently nearby as he entered, various things scuttling out of his way as he left a trail of rainwater along the floor.

NO, THIS IS PERFECT. THANKS.

“I can—”

GOOD-BYE, TWILIGHT.

And the door slammed closed in her face.

For a moment, she stared in shock. Then, in a sudden fit of indignity, she shouted, “Well, you don’t have to be such a jerk about it!”

She was about to teleport the heck away from him when she heard the sigh from within. There were a few hoofsteps towards the portal, and, slowly, it opened again.

He looked at her from under his soaking mane, not so much sad as resigned.

LOOK, TWILIGHT, I GET IT, he said. YOU TRY TO BE EVERYBODY'S FRIEND, EVEN MINE.

(FOR SOME FUCKED UP REASON.)

AND EXCEPT FOR THAT YOURE REALLY SMART. SO I RESPECT YOU. I DO.

BUT I.

AM.

NOT.

YOUR.

FRIEND.

AND BELIEVE ME, YOU DON’T WANT TO BE MINE.

The princess shook her head. “I don’t believe that, Karkat. Not for a second.”

OF COURSE YOU DON’T, he said with an eyeroll. YOU DON’T KNOW ME. YOU’RE AN OPTIMIST. YOU THINK GOOD THINGS HAPPEN ALL THE TIME. PROBABLY BECAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW ME.

Taking a step forward, he scowled at her, suddenly menacing despite the rain and his injuries.

SO, TRY TO GET THIS TROUGH YOUR THINK PAN.

I.

AM.

A.

FUCKING.

SHIT.

SHOW.

THERE IS NOTHING ABOUT ME THAT IS GOOD NEWS. AND THE LAST THING YOU WANT IS HAVING ME ON YOUR TEAM, BECAUSE I WILL ABSOLUTELY INFECT ANYTHING I TOUCH.

SO THAT IT FUCKING DIES.

PLANETS.

PEOPLE.

ELDER GODS.

IF FUCKING CTHULU WOKE UP ON MY WATCH, HE WOULD BE DEAD AS DEEP LIPID-COOKED CLUCKBEAST.

He paused, considering for a second, then added, UNLESS I HATED HIM, I GUESS. THEN HE’D BE FINE.

Twilight snorted. “Okay, so, why?”

Karkat blinked, genuinely taken aback. WHY WHAT?

“Why do you think you’re so dangerous to anypony around you?”

HISTORY, TWILIGHT.

MY LIFEPATH IS PAVED WITH THE CORPSES OF MY FRIENDS. ALL OF THEM. EVERYWHERE. ENTIRE UNIVERSES HAVE BEEN INFECTED BY MY FUCK-UPS. MY WHOLE TIMELINE WAS DOOMED BECAUSE OF ME.

EVEN HERE, YOUR WORLD’S VERSION OF ME WAS A SHOCKING PSYCHO. THE ONLY GOOD THING HE EVER DID WAS DIE.

SO, FUCK OFF TWILIGHT. I’M DOING YOU A FAVOR HERE.

IN EVERY WORLD, IN EVERY LIFE, I AM A FUCKING CANCER.

YOU DON’T KNOW ME, AND YOU DON’T WANT TO.

Then the door slammed again, leaving Twilight alone on the alien’s porch. Lightning raged and thunder roared as the storm started to pick up again, sheets of water lashing against her mystic shield. And as she stood there, her mouth thinned, her eyes hardened with determination.

“I have a history too, Karkat,” she said quietly. “I don’t pretend to understand what you’re talking about. And I’ll admit, what you’ve said scares me. Just like I think you meant it to.

“But in my experience, nopony deserves your level of self-loathing. And if you think I’m giving up that easily, then you don’t know me, either.”

Then there was a burst of violet, and she was gone.

Author's Note

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