“You’re doing it again.”

Spike nearly flinched. “Wh-what?” he stammered.

“You know what I mean.” Twilight Sparkle held the book she had been reading—no intense research, for once; no forbidden magical knowledge, no policy, no ancient history, no maps of distant lands, just the latest Daring Do novel—up in front of her face, eyes peering over the top. It mirrored what Spike had been doing with the comic book he was holding just a few moments ago, though it also served to mask the grin across her muzzle as she chuckled wryly. “You would always look at me like this when you were nervous about something,” she then said plainly.

The dragon huffed, snorting a plume of greenish smoke, as he roughly dropped the comic on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “When I was just a hatchling, Twilight,” he muttered under his breath.

“Old habits die hard sometimes, Spike,” she replied, letting her own book fall away to show a smile that was now more good-natured. “Just like how your frills would always get droopy when you’re feeling down.” She gestured to her cheeks.

“Oh.” The outer shell of Spike’s tough demeanor melted away somewhat. The floppy green frills on the sides of his face wiggled; he could coerce them to move if he concentrated enough, force them into a more neutral position, but that only served to highlight how much they had been sagging. He sighed, a low, gravelly sound in his throat. His eyes flashed with a kind of wariness in them as he looked toward her. “Sometimes I feel like you know me better than I do.”

“In some ways, perhaps, I do like to think that I’ve learned a great deal about you and your habits by now.” Twilight Sparkle beamed with pride, however slightly; she knew that this wasn’t the time to go into a tangent about all of the little details she could rattle off. “Clearly not enough, though, or else I wouldn’t have to ask you what the problem is.”

“Can’t truly know everything, huh?” he replied with another snort and a slight smile of his own. After a few more seconds he sighed and continued. “I dunno, Twilight, it just feels weird to me how…how calm things are right now.”

“It’s a bad thing that it’s calm?” she asked, raising one eyebrow at him.

“Well, no, it’s just…” Spike pursed his lips and took in a deep breath. “It’s not bad, it’s just…with everything that’s happening, I would’ve expected a lot more…” He paused again as he looked at the pony across from him, seeming conflicted, struggling to decide on what to say. In the end, he shook his head and said straight-up, “I thought you’d be a lot more worked up about the whole succeeding Celestia and Luna thing.”

The mare’s expression shifted, flattening, eyes squinting, as she put down her own book, and for a moment Spike worried that he might have stepped over a line, but then she broke into laughter. “Now wait…wait just a minute,” she said, still snickering, and she pointed one finger across the table toward him, “are you trying to tell me that I should be getting worried about everything? After you and everypony else drilled into my head over and over again about how I needed to take it easy?”

“I…n-no,” he stammered, and he felt a blush in his cheeks as the absurdity of his own statement dawned on him. “I’m not saying that it’s bad, it’s just…of all things, I wouldn’t have expected that this was the time when you finally took all that advice to heart. I know that you’ve gone through a lot, but this…this is going to be a bigger jump than anything before.”

Twilight Sparkle calmed gradually, but she remained smiling mirthfully even as she seemed to delve into introspection. After a few seconds she stood and walked away from the table, toward a desk at the far end of the library. There were stacks of scrolls and letters here, all the documents that she had been poring through in the past few weeks. There were also several framed photographs standing around the periphery, frozen snapshots of some of the most important moments and ponies in her life. The most recent group picture of her family, after the birth of her niece. A young filly holding a newborn purple dragon and standing next to Princess Celestia. Her original coronation in Canterlot. The first class picture for the School of Friendship, faculty and students together.

She picked up one of the photographs and regarded it nostalgically. Six mares and a dragon stood in front of the old Golden Oaks Library (there was the faintest bittersweet pang in her heart at those memories). After she had been in Ponyville for a whole day, after the defeat of Nightmare Moon. They were so much younger back then—most notable for Spike in particular—but they were still so vibrant and eager, so content to be together.

They were less experienced, perhaps. One might even say naïve. They all had so much yet to learn. Those seven would have a great many trials and hardships ahead of them. In the end, though, the obstacles they faced were never left unchallenged.

“It’s going to be hard,” she murmured as she turned back to Spike. “Even being a princess up until now, I’ve never really ruled over anything. Garnering respect from ponies is going to be difficult. I don’t know how I’ll adjust to being the center of attention for the entire country. And I’m just going to be one pony, too, I won’t have the benefit of a sister to help me divvy up the tasks.” Her composure faltered, just briefly, but she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath and her smile returned. “It’ll be fine, though. I don’t know what this will mean for all of us…but I know that it won’t stop us from being friends, and as long as I have all of you at my back I know I can handle anything this crazy world throws at me.”

Spike smiled back at her, warmth in his expression. “Well, I’m glad that you’ve finally worked that out for yourself.”

But his frills were drooping again.

“Spike?” Twilight Sparkle put down the photo and started forward. The dragon was gathering up his comics and starting to stand, to leave. “Spike, is…is there something else wrong?”

He didn’t say anything, if anything seemed to go out of his way to turn away, to hide his face, as quickly as possible.

“Spike!”

“Don’t—!”

Twilight Sparkle reached out and made to grab his arm, to hold him back. That wasn’t so easily done anymore, even with her increased alicorn strength, and with a jerk of his shoulders he had pulled out of her grasp. He rose to his full stature, and there was a moment in which she was struck with surprise at how he didn’t only come up to her chest. He whipped around to face her with a toothy snarl, and his eyes, glittering and flickering like flaming emeralds, stared right back into hers. Spike indeed was certainly not a hatchling anymore.

The rage quelled as quickly as it started upon the sight of the mare shuddering before him, so abruptly gone from pleasantly calm to terrified, eyes shimmering with tears ready to issue forth. “Twilight…I…I’m sorry,” he muttered, hushed, his own voice quivering. He gripped the arm that had lashed out with his other hand, as if to accost it for acting out of line, and his tail curled around his legs.

Slowly, Twilight Sparkle approached him again and extended a hand toward him. She daintily touched the tips of her fingers against his arm, and when he made no effort to resist this time she encircled it in her grasp completely. The cool scales on the surface yielded to a faint warmth and the rigidity of muscles underneath. “Spike…you know you can talk to me, right?” she said quietly. “Anything on your mind, anything that’s hurting you…you can always tell me about it, I promise. That’s what siblings do for each other.”

He looked back at her dourly. Melancholy overcame him, but there was something else hidden beneath. Something harder. “Am I always going to be a little brother to you?”

She blinked confusedly before she mustered a weak smile. “Of course, why wouldn’t you be?” And then she managed to chuckle. “Shining is going to be doting on me until he’s a wrinkled old coot, I’ve got to have someone I can treat the same way, don’t you think?”

Spike gave a thoughtful hum, rumbling in his throat like the premonitory quaking of a volcano, but his expression didn’t change much.

“Come on, give me something, anything…” Twilight Sparkle pleaded.

“I…” He tensed, and she did the same, anticipating another retaliation, but none came. He grimaced as he closed his eyes, seemingly deep in thought. His body heat rose subtly as the pulse of his blood beat faster. Curiously, though, there was a faint rosy tint on his cheeks. Was he embarrassed because he didn’t know what to say? Or was it because of what he wanted to say?

But at last he shook his head solemnly. “I’m sorry, Twilight…I just…I can’t, not right now.”

Twilight Sparkle winced as if this news was physically painful to her. “It’s not…anything dangerous, is it?”

“No.” But, with his present glum tone, this assurance didn’t inspire much confidence in her. “I’m just not ready yet. I’m sorry.”

Then he pulled away from her, gently, and she made no attempt to resist. She watched his back, wings folded up tightly, as he walked away. She felt another pang in her heart. “We…we can talk tomorrow, maybe? In the morning?” she asked in desperation.

There was a noncommittal grunt in response as the dragon left the library. The mare couldn’t bring herself to try to say anything else or to run after him.

“Oh, Spike…” She sighed wearily. She couldn’t be sure what could possibly have him so flustered. Something about the coronation and the move to Canterlot? Was he facing hurdles in his own friendships? Did he resent being doted upon?

But it wasn’t just about being angry or depressed. There was something embarrassing about it, some mortifying awkwardness that was making him freeze up, she felt certain of that.

Twilight Sparkle placed her hand on the table for support, only to find her palm touching paper instead of wood. She looked down and saw the stack of comics—Spike had left them behind. For a moment she felt a glimmer of hope at the idea that bringing these back to him would give her the opportunity to talk again. A metaphorical olive branch to show how much she cared for him.

“…No,” she said aloud and sighed. She understood that Spike was no mere hatchling anymore and she couldn’t presume to impose her perspective upon him. He was adult, and his thoughts required more sorting through. He needed time to himself. The mare left the comics behind on the table as she too departed from the library.

“I’ll talk with him in the morning.”

= = = = =

The dragon in the mirror gazed back at Spike with a neutral expression leaning toward morose. He reached out with one hand to touch the glass surface, and his reflection met his fingers. A reminder that this was him. It seemed so alien.

There was more definition to his features than there had once been. He had eschewed much of his childhood doughiness for muscle, sinew cording his limbs, the green scales over his front forming into faint ridges to denote pectorals and abs. His head was more boxy than round, short snout protruding from his lower face. He still lacked horns like most dragons seemed to have, and if anything he was starting to think that his skull seemed closer to that of a pony. The leathery wings behind his back might have been the most significant addition, but if he kept them folded they couldn’t even be seen from the front.

With slow, reluctant movements, he extended his arms out to the sides and flexed, stretching his wings at the same time, far past the bounds of what could be seen in the surface of the mirror. He sucked in his gut as much as he could and puffed out his chest. A toothy grin spread its way across his face, proud and confident and fierce. He was a mighty dragon, to be certain.

His frills were drooping.

A scant few seconds later, the air escaped him in a defeated sigh, and his posture sagged. Spike had once pined for the day when he would be an adult. Now that day had come and long since gone, and he wasn’t sure anything felt different.

He placed a hand against his throat, over the hard point of his Adam’s apple, then ran down over the plates of his front, over his bare chest and stomach. Down to the groin. A pony would have looked far more indecent, standing here completely naked in front of a mirror. Spike didn’t have anything swinging between his legs, though, only a thin, almost unnoticeable slit.

A dour grumbling noise escaped him as he turned away from the mirror and trudged toward his bed to lie down. It was much bigger these days, but it still had the shape of a nest, the mattress surrounded by a wooden frame that kept it enclosed. He had always enjoyed it, felt some comfort in that implicit sensation of being protected. In recent times, however, he wondered if that was simply a product of complacency.

He stared up at the ceiling, expression just as neutral, but now it was tinged with something else: defeat.

While still maintaining that posture, one hand reached to the side and dug in between the mattress and the bed frame. From within that narrow crack, he pulled out a hidden prize. It was a comic book, not unlike those he had been reading in the library. But it was also noticeably distinct compared to those typical issues, and not just in how his uncharacteristically rough storage of it had resulted in its pages being wrinkled and worn.

The general design and colors might have been easily recognizable at first glance as a typical Power Ponies cover. Upon deeper scrutiny, however, one would notice that the details didn’t look quite right. The publisher insignia wasn’t that of Dark Pony Comics but of some other imprint, a grinning stallion under the text “Solcolt Publications.” The art style was radically different from the clean, practiced styles that were usually attached to the series, instead rougher, heavier lines, and with mildly questionable anatomy. There was also the suspect presence of an extra letter awkwardly inserted into the title, something that could easily be overlooked in the midst of the overall picture.

And the characters—well, they were accurate enough that each member of the team was clearly identifiable. But their outfits weren’t supposed to be showing nearly as much skin, and their poses weren’t known to be so provocative about pushing out their breasts and buttocks. The six superheroines appeared to be vaguely standing in opposition to a menacing red draconic figure who wore a cape and cowl but seemingly nothing below the shoulders—though the groin and legs weren’t shown, cast black in shadow—revealing his unreasonably exaggerated musculature.

A text blurb proclaimed, “Can the POWER PORNIES withstand the salacious sizzling assault of FLAMETONGUE?”

Spike’s expression remained much the same as he opened the comic and started to look over the pages inside. He held it with one hand, while the other remained occupied with prodding at his crotch. His eyes scanned over the black and white pages, tracing along lines and curves, over and over again. There was no need to pay attention to the speech bubbles—he’d already read the whole thing front to back, and it wasn’t like the story was the main draw anyway. The bodies, however unrealistic they might have been, were all that really mattered.

He grunted as his breathing hitched and grew hot, panting noxious fumes, and his arm jerked in a languid, rhythmic motions.

Crack.

Spike snapped the comic shut and slammed it down, hurriedly covering both it and himself in blankets. He bolted upright and looked up around himself, eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, rapidly alternating. His breath was coming haggardly. There was nothing to be seen in the bedroom.

“Twi—” His mouth clamped shut as quickly as it had started to open. Perhaps he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He knew that he had heard something, and if there really was something in the building, in his room, he didn’t want to attract its attention.

He also wasn’t sure that he wanted anyone’s help.

A few seconds passed in tense silence, and, once Spike was satisfied in the lack of movement, he allowed himself to relax and eased back into bed to resume his pleasuring exercise.

At the corners of the room, where the light from his bedside lamp couldn’t reach, the shadows flickered and danced, as if eager to creep inward.

Author's Note

Pain comes in many colors.

This prologue actually wasn't originally written as the start of the story, I had the first chapter, and after the second or third chapter I decided there could stand to be a little more context given to the story, especially considering that the bulk of the emotional weight is placed on Twilight Sparkle and Spike. Also for the sake of clearly establishing that Spike is an adult and facing adult problems.

This story takes place sometime during the events of Season 9 of the show and acts under the assumption that time is allowed to pass at a more visible pace, about a year per season, so Spike and the CMC and other younger characters from the start of the show have naturally aged into adults (also disregarding stuff like dragons aging at different rates or whatever). Characters like the Young Six and Cozy Glow just have to be aged up for the sake of consistency though.

This first section also saw some fairly extensive rewrites during the editing process because I realized the perspective wasn't very clear, switching randomly between Spike and Twilight, I had to change it to be more consistently from Twilight's perspective.

There was much consternation about the details of the porn comic Spike would be reading. At one point the original Power Ponies label was said to be "Marevel" while the knock-off was going to be a DC parody. I settled for instead doing references to Dark Horse Comics and the ill-fated Solson Publications, publisher of such reputable works as Sultry Teenage Super Foxes. The publisher of Bimbos in Time probably would have been even better but I couldn't be bothered to look up and watch old Linkara videos.

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