Prime

Spike's wings were heavy with the wounds he had sustained. Each thunderous clap of air brought a sharp stabbing pain coursing through the massive chunk torn out of his side. It had finally stopped bleeding about an hour prior, much to his relief.

As he flew, Spike allowed his thoughts to wander, mentally pacing back and forth as his mind simmered. What reasonable explanation could there be of what just happened? First, he had had an incredible, otherworldly experience in what could only be described as a dream, where he saw the ponies that he hadn't seen in countless millennia. The very next day, he runs into this new supervillain nemesis that claims to have been imprisoned for the past two and a half million years. Why him? Why Spike? It could have gone after anyone else, and yet it chose him, even calling him the "Prime One", whatever that meant. What's a Prime One? he pondered, Why did that thing speak like it knew me?  And what of this 'prophecy'?  Could that have something to do with all of this?

So many questions raced through Spike's head as he tried to focus his vision to the primary goal at hand. His eyesight was becoming increasingly blurry over the time that he soared through the crisp, early-Summer air. This was the longest he had flown in a very long time.

As his thought traced over the previous events conspiring in the past few days, he took a quick inventory of his wounds. Some cuts here, bruises there, the chunk missing from his right abdomen, multiple tears through his wings, along with what felt like a pulled muscle in his right arm and left leg. Not the worst he's ever had... but he'd seen better days, that much was certain. This may have been his last trip to Canterlot.

He felt helpless, like a dog that was chased out of its own home and forced to go live with one of the neighbors. He felt misplaced, because nowhere he stayed seemed to last.  Above all else, though... he felt scared.  Why couldn't he just be left alone? Why couldn't he live in peace and die of old age like he wished? Just then, midway through a stroke of his powerful wings, he felt a raindrop touch his forehead. It was rather large, and considering the speed he and it were both going, it hit pretty hard. Another one made brief contact with his snout. Then another, on his left wing. For the first time in a little while, he looked up.

Storm clouds.

Wonderful, he thought, just what I need!  Can it get any better? A sudden splash of water hit him as a collection of the drifting raindrops were met with the thick bulk and scaly hide of the old dragon. He winced as a group of them made their way into the seeping wound in his side. They were cold, causing him to contract lightly.

"Thanks." he said, looking skyward for a moment with a menacing scowl.

He saw a sudden bolt of lightning emerge from the clouds, followed shortly by a crack of thunder. The rain started pouring onto him, delivering each droplet's gift of moisture into his wounds and over his scales. He flew onwards into the storm, a look of complete and utter loathing on his face.

There was a time, once, where Spike had been in almost this exact same position; hopeless, struggling to find a claw-grip in life, and alone in the rain. With the storm clouds above, he very quickly became soaked in the shower of water falling upon him. As if the injuries weren't bad enough, now he was being drenched in a torrential downpour.

He was reminded of this situation when a horde of memories came flooding back to him, causing a slight bit of nostalgia and pain to squeeze his heart in a tight embrace. Before he could stop them, another flashback had already begun.

*****

Even for a rainy day, it was dark. Spike stood at the feet of the tombstones. There were six of them.  A small bouquet of roses was held close to his chest by trembling claws; even their extraordinarily rich and vibrant pedals seemed lurid and dull. The sky was a soulless, colorless grey. A light drizzle added a shimmering coat of glistening white over the marble slabs as a few rays of sunlight perforated the cloud layers and settled upon their smooth, rounded tops. His stomach lay in a knot, his heart heavy. A stream of either tears or rain crept down his face... he couldn't tell which; he didn't care.

He sighed, trying to release some of the pent-up stress being built upon his shoulders. For a second, he thought that the encumbrance would simply be set free, floating with the current of the wind in the exhale. But as he breathed, he felt no lighter. Instead, he felt only the sadness of loss weighing down upon him.

The small drops that hit him were left unnoticed as he stared onto the tombstone in front of him. Below a large star engraved onto the obsidian-black marble, it read:

Twilight Sparkle

Bearer of the Element of Magic

Mother, Sister, Mentor, Faithful Student

and Friend

May the magic of her knowledge and friendship live on within all of us, as death marks only the beginning

of one last great adventure

Spike stared at the polished stone for several minutes, his head bent in reverence. Finally, he knelt down, placing the roses at the base of his mother's marker. The grass was nicely trimmed, which meant that the keepers were at least doing their jobs. This did not comfort him, however. Nothing could. He was alone... truly and utterly... alone.

Spike exited the cemetery, closing the rusting iron gate behind him. It replied with a loud shriek and a clang as it swung shut. Solemnly, he began his routine walk through Ponyville, the muddy ground squishing and splashing with each step. Most of the ponies living here were inside, spending their time with family or friends as the gloomy weather continued without them. The August rains were notorious for their constant and rather unstable downpours.

Other ponies were outside, under their umbrellas, walking about town on the worn cobblestone sidewalks. The occasional carriage would pass by here and there, trailing mixed waves of soot and rainwater behind them as they rolled through the streets. Spike walked along a row of houses, feeling the cooled stones beneath his feet as the rain’s resonant “pitter patter” filled the air. He watched as a young couple rounded a corner from across the intersection where he now stood. The stallion held an umbrella over his partner, a young mare with an amber-hued coat.  Completely oblivious of his surroundings, he was drenched in the guzzling rainwater that ran from the top of the bright blue umbrella. The mare smiled warmly, and gave him a kiss on the cheek, to which he smiled. They continued walking together, reminding Spike of his party of one.

He remembered when he used to hold the umbrella for Twilight. He remembered when they would visit the tombs of their friends together, sometimes with Pinkie, and when they would stay inside and watch the rain pour.

He remembered when he had a family…when he had a home.

His world lay empty now. There was nothing left but the memories…and the sorrow that they left in their wake. He felt as if somepony punched a hole straight through his chest; as if he were hollow. With nothing and no one, where would he go? How would he live with himself knowing that this would keep happening; that his friends would all, one day, leave him?

Spike walked on, feeling the cold grip of reality tighten around his heart. He crossed the street with a light jog, silently praying that a carriage would come while mid-stride. Rounding another turn, he saw it.

The library; a place he had once felt true happiness in, where he was safe... where he was never alone.

He quickened his pace slightly, eying the large tree-home ahead. The gutters dumped a constant flow of rainwater onto the cobblestone, splashing the lower portion of his legs as he walked past. When he got to the door, he wiped his feet on the “welcome” mat that sat at the foot of the rounded wooden door, thinking back to when he and Twilight made it.  Once the mud was wiped off, he opened the door, smelling the thick aroma of ink and parchment as he stepped inside.

The library was still chocked full of texts and books that Twilight used to read to him. This had been his home for the past 133 years of his life, and nothing was going to change that. He would not alter it one single bit. The soft thumping of his footsteps carried throughout the library, bouncing off of the many bookshelves and wooden interior of the tree. There seemed to be a slight breeze coming from upstairs. Spike looked to the open room laying at the top of the stairs to see the main window ajar.

Spike made his way up the staircase, hearing the occasional squeak as he passed one of the more grooved steps. Each one of them reminded him of Twilight; each one held a memory, of some time or another. Clunk! This one had been where he had noticed that he was going to lose his very first tooth. Thump! That one he was particularly fond of. On Twilight's 38th birthday, Spike had been a quarter of the way down the stairs with her birthday cake in-claw. Everypony there (which was actually everypony in town due to Pinkie) had witnessed as Spike's foot came flying out from under him, sending the birthday cake hurtling through the air and straight onto the blindfolded birthday mare. She went from light-purple to vanilla cake frosting in 2 seconds flat. The laughter still rang in Spike's ears as his chest clenched up.

He reached the top of the staircase, walking slowly over to the open window and firmly shutting it. The unrelenting symphony of rain continued as he gloomily receded back down the steps. For some strange reason... he had the sudden urge to write. So, gathering several rolls of parchment, a few quills, ink, and other supplies, he set down at a nearby table, and finally opened the gates to his feelings.

The words poured out in a tidal wave of emotion, flooding the paper in an ocean of fear, anger, resentment, sadness, and dripping tears. The flat parchment was transformed into a sea of infinite depth and magnitude within a matter of minutes as Spike released his regrets upon the open page. The script of his confessions, his deepest secrets and sorrows that he had lugged around on his shoulders all washed onto the thick paper as he moved the quill across its surface.  He started with his earliest memories of loss, and made his way foreword.  The ink required constant replenishment due to the sheer speed that his claw was mustering as he scribbled his heart onto the blank scroll; it was sent airborne in multiple blobs as the quill flew in and out of the inkwell with rapid intervals.

Soon enough, one page of parchment had been filled.  Almost instantaneously, Spike had pulled another onto the table, continuing to write the accounts of his hardships.  A certain energy seemed to flow through his body; it felt as if his feelings had taken control of him as the words continued to drain from the emotional dam he had built up.  64 years of sorrow all just... poured out.  He wrote of his old life; of the friends he had, of the bonds he'd made, and of the events that changed his life.  He made account of Rarity, Applejack, Fluttershy, of Rainbow Dash and of Pinkie Pie... of Twilight.  He even recalled and described a few of the Cutie Mark Crusaders' misadventurous antics, and how there came a day when they too saw the last of their adventures.

Some of the floodwaters reached his eyes, causing small droplets to form into a stream of tears that leaked from the windows of his aching soul.  Every minute that passed by was a blur to him as he documented his regrets.  Nothing other than writing mattered at that moment.  Nothing else, that is, until he heard a knock on the door.

*

For a moment, he was dazed.  Who could it be?  Spike's mind raced.  What he wouldn't have given to open the door and see none other than Twilight standing there with her saddlebag stuffed with books, a grin spread across her face.  The thought was quickly dismissed as he stood up, wiping the tears from his eyes and cheeks.  He walked slowly, in a deliberate pace, hoping that whoever it was had made a mistake and would simply realize the error and leave him alone.  You are alone, he told himself.

He stood tall, puffing his chest out slightly as he took ahold of himself and forced the tears back.  He opened the door, not expecting the face that appeared in front of him.

"Applebite?"  The young mare before him stood tall as well, her brilliant red mane sleek and shining, no doubt from the rain.  The second and last daughter of Applebloom, Applebite had taken over Sweet Apple Acres some years back as her mother became elderly and aged.  She had three children of her own now, all of which fillies.  Spike couldn't remember her husband's name, only that he attended Applebloom's funeral and said some kind words.  He was a city-colt, coming from the more populated regions of Califoalnia.  Spike remembered once when he had foalsat for the couple while they went to visit some distant relatives in New Mexicolt.  He had passed away nearly six years ago, leaving Applebite to care for the family at Sweet Apple Acres by herself.

"Howdy there, Spike." She tipped the family Stetson that covered a majority of her mane.  She was a fully-grown mare now, and with the classic cowpony hat, western accent and ponytail... she reminded him a lot of AJ.

"Wh-what're you doing here, Applebite?  Is everything alright?" he said, doing his best to mask his sadness.

"Yeah, everythin's fine.  I just figured... well... I thought that I should come 'n' visit ya'll.  It's been a mighty long time since I seen ya' last, an' I jus' wanted to...catch up 'er somethin'."  She peered inside the library, making quick glances to and fro between Spike and the interior of the tree.  "Mind if I come in?" she asked.  The rain drops continued their feeble attempts to infiltrate her Stetson as she awaited an answer, standing in the midst of the sonorous pits and pats.

"Oh, uh, yeah... sure.  Here, come on in."  He stood aside, allowing the mare to pass.  She tilted her hat in response, lightly prancing inside.  Her hooves made audible clopping noises as she passed from the doorway to the wooden floor of the main room.  Closing the door behind her, Spike noticed a trail of water leading to her hooves.

"Oops, sorry." she apologized.  Carefully trotting back to the doormat, she wiped her hooves off, and began looking around the spacious abode.  "Wow," she said, her eyes darting over the many bookshelves and archives of the library, "this is quite the collection ya'll got here."  She picked one of the books off of its shelf, to which a few of its brethren slipped into the empty space with a quiet thump.  "The Midcastle's Guide to Avian Physics... Fifth Volume." she read the cover aloud.

"Uh... yeah.  That was just one of Twiligh--" he paused, the pang of a broken heart returning, "I mean... that's nothing.  It's just a dusty old book.  I've only read it once or twice." he explained blatantly, taking it from her and setting it back in its proper place amongst its siblings.  "So, can I offer you anything to eat or drink, or would you just prefer to kick-off with conversation?"

She smiled lightheartedly.  "I guess I could go for some apple juice."  Spike never understood this about the Apple Family.  It seemed as if, regardless of the amount of time in their lives spent on apples, they just couldn't have enough... almost as if it were a mental disorder that gave its host an insatiable obsession with the popular fruit.

"Coming right up." he replied, feigning a smile back.  He walked into the kitchen and prepared a pitcher of freshly squeezed apple juice.  Once he had filled her cup with the sweet-smelling liquid, he returned to the lobby, where Applebite was leaning comfortably up against one of the walls, a single straw of wheat sticking out of her mouth.  By the look of it, one might assume she was headed off to the annual Rodeo.  "Hope you like it fresh." he said facetiously while handing her the cup.

"Thank ya'." she replied, taking the long, hanging strand of wheat out from between her lips to taste the juice.  "Mmmm," she sighed, raising the glass, "just how I like it."  She took a few more gulps before she stopped.  Her eyes glazed off into space for a moment before she spoke.  "Ya' know Spike..." she began.

"What?" he answered.

"I just realized that we haven't seen each other since I was twenty-five years old... tha's about, um... six years I reckon."  Just then it hit him.  Had it really been that long?  It felt like only yesterday that he had been foalsitting her.  He remembered how she used to put him to sleep when she would cuddle up to him on the couch when all the rest of her siblings had gone to bed.  She always was the more loving one out of the bunch.  The last time that they really saw one another was at her husband's funeral.  Maybe that was why she took over the family business, although there were a variety of reasons.  One of them being because she felt like it was her way to contribute; to show how much she cared.  Spike preferred that alternative rather than thinking that she worked herself to block the memories; that by keeping busy she would forget.

"Wow.  Yeah, it's been a pretty long time, huh?"

"Not for you, I'm sure." she answered.  Spike was taken by surprise.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, bein' a dragon an' all, ya'll gonna live for a lot longer than anypony else, 'cept for the Princesses o' course.  But my point is:  What's six years to a dragon tha's gonna live for tens 'a thousands of 'em?"  She made an exceptional point, although Spike couldn't help but to feel a little taken back.  She was right.  What is six years compared to the millennia he had yet to live?

"Yeah..." he agreed quietly, "I guess you could say that."

"You know, it must be hard.  Livin' on your own like this, with nopony 'round." She took a second to gaze around the room.  "Seems awful lonely, if you ask me."  The comment was blunt, yet it pierced Spike's heart as if it were the sharpest blade in the world.  It left him speechless, partly for fear that he would cry if he spoke, so instead he merely nodded.

"Somethin' tells me that you're not exactly the happiest dragon that ever lived." she said.  She was in no way naive of the truth... after all, her family carried the virtue of honesty like an heirloom.

Spike moved his mouth to speak, yet not a single sound escaped.  There was no way he could find to explain.  Where would he start?  How could he possibly give her an understandable reason for his sadness?  "I'm really fine," he lied.  "I just haven't had a visitor in a little while."  She finished the glass of apple juice.  He gestured to give it to him.  Walking back into the kitchen with the two cups, he set them into the sink, smelling the faint scent of dish detergent.  When he came out, he looked around for a second, finally spotting her over at the table overflowing with parchment.  He quickly paced over, although he had no idea what to say when he got there.  Applebite examined the pages curiously.

"You wrote all this?" she asked.  He muttered a small "yeah" in response.

She took this as an all-clear, and began stacking the cluttered papers into an organized column.  He went to protest, but found it harder than not to make the effort.  Once they were all compiled into an orderly fashion, Applebite hesitantly pointed a hoof to the starting line of the first page, looking to Spike.  He muttered a "yeah", and she began reading.

It seemed like an eternity until she finally reached the point of the last page where the ink cut off.  She began setting the rolls of parchment into a neat, organized stack.  He was standing behind her, awaiting some kind of a response.  However, she didn't move for what might have been a full couple of minutes, or hours (he didn't really know), sitting upright and facing forward.  There was no sign of movement from either of them for a time.

Just then, she turned around in the seat to face him, her Stetson casting a dark shadow on her face.  She reached up and removed the hat, her face becoming illuminated.  She had a thick stream of tears running down her face, the fur damp around her eyes.  She stood from the chair, looking down for a moment as she gently pushed it back in.  Then, she looked up at him.  He was only about 6 inches taller than her, but she still had to give her pupils the extra push upward.  She sighed, attempting to wipe a few of the tears, but to no avail.

She walked towards him slowly, stopping a few inches short.  Then, in a steady motion, she stood up on her back legs, and wrapped her hooves around him, bringing him into a tight hug.  "Spike..." she started, "I... I just..."  She gave up, and squeezed tighter, sobbing into his chest.  He returned the embrace, doing his best not to cry.  He failed.

*

For the next few months or so, Spike decided that it would be better if he helped out Applebite with work on the farm.  After their little water-works display, they made an effort to visit one another more often.

"No!" she had insisted one evening.

"Yes!" Spike shouted back, "I'm going to assist you whether you like it or not!"  She was just as stubborn as Applejack was.  He smiled as a small trickle of memories entered his mind as he recalled the one time he had tried to help AJ out.  He'd gotten better at farm work... or so he thought.

"No, Spike!  I'm not gonna' have you slavin' around the farm for me while I just sit back and watch!  You can forget about it!"  She was trying to make her point with him, but he wasn't going to budge.

"Applebite.  I don't care if you think I'll be 'slaving around'!  This is something I want to do, and by Celestia, I'm gonna' to do it!  You better get used to the idea that I'm helping out!  And you're not going to just be sitting back and watching.  You'll be... um..." he struggled for a word, putting a claw to his chin, "Supervising!  Yes, you'll be supervising!"

"Spike, this is the last time I'm gonna' tell you:  You are not workin' at Sweet Apple Acres!"

*

"Ya' may wanna' start from the right side!" she hollered to him from the rocking chair on the front porch, "It gets tough if the soil gets blown up in your face!"  She was in a reclined position, the family Stetson offering more shade to her bright blue eyes from underneath the wooden patio.  Spike worked with plowing the fields to prepare the apple seeds, a manual task that required constant tedious labor that often left Applebite exhausted for several hours.  The family had expanded the size of the vast plantation many years ago, assimilating more and more land to better fit the needs of the town.  Sweet Apple Acres was a growing business, and thus needed more to work with.

"Sure thing!" he yelled back, gripping the rusting iron sides of the plow and walking to the other side of the dirt field.  After pestering her enough about it, Applebite had finally allowed him to help her with work on the farm.  He could see now why she was so tired at the end of every day.  He looked at the porch to notice that she was gone.  The front door was open.  “Okay…” he deadpanned.  His scales glistened in the unrelenting sunlight.  This day in particular was dry, with one or two rain puddles still left in the whole town.  Most of them had already evaporated in the past two to three days.  The heat was slowly becoming unbearable as he carried the plow across the warm soil.  He reached a point where something caught his eye.  Turning to face the direction leading into further farmland, he nearly dropped the large piece of equipment from his shoulders as the view engulfed him.

Steep hills covered in apple trees rolled into oblivion with the cresting aquamarine horizon.  Some small clouds dotted the sky-scape with bright white shine; they almost seemed to be glowing.  Spike sighed as he beheld the sight for a moment.

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

He jumped.  Applebite was carrying a saddle-mounted tray with a small pitcher of cold apple juice and several small glass cups.  “Jeez, don’t sneak up on me like that!  You want me to die a couple thousand years early?”

She smiled, turning so as to give him access to the beverage.  “Sorry Spike.  I didn’t mean to scare ya’ll like that.  Jus’ wanted to bring ya’ a drink, that’s all.  Figured it’d be good repayment for the kin’ness you’re showin’ me.  Help yourself…hope you like it fresh,” she mimicked, chuckling as she poured some of the contents of the pitcher into one of the cups and offered it up to him.

He took it, almost immediately smelling its tangy sweetness.  His lips were dry, his body parched.  As he took a sip, he felt the cool liquid running down his throat in a satisfying deluge.  He could feel his core temperature lowering as he quickly emptied the glass of any remaining fluid, sighing happily.  “Thank you…I needed that.”  He paused for a moment, looking at his empty glass, then back down at the pitcher, and then at Applebite.  “Well, better get back to work,” he said bluntly while placing the cup on the saddle-mounted platter.  As he turned to walk away, however, she stopped him.

“Actually, Spike…there’s somethin’ I’ve been fixin’ to tell you…” she said, rubbing the back of her head with a hoof.  “An’ I know that it’s better if I do it now.”

“Sure,” he said, “Shoot.”  He folded his arms in apprehension as he waited for the question.  Although nothing could have prepared him for what she said.

“Well, uh…ya’ see…when I came to visit a couple months ago, I did wanna’ catch up ‘n’ everythin’, but there was somethin’ else, too.”  She looked at him with guilty eyes.  “Spike…I’m leavin’ town.”

For a moment, he thought it was a joke, a smile beginning to make its way across his face.  But as he saw the seriousness in her expression, he knew that she was speaking the truth, and it felt as if his heart had stopped.  “What?” was all he could manage to say while trying to hold his composure.  His eyes darted back and forth between spaces before looking at her again.  “But…why?”

“I’m takin’ Juniper, Green an’ Lil’ up to San Franciscolt.  I figure I could find me a good job an’ they could get themselves an education…go off to college, get set for the real world.  I’m sorry to tell you this now.  It’s just that…well, that’s why I went to visit you that one day, because…Spike…I want you to have Sweet Apple Acres.”

This time, the “what?” was much more audible, and much more high-pitched.  In fact, it sounded more like a squeal than a rhetorical question or an objection.

“I know it sounds crazy.  But the way I figure it, you’ve been a friend ’a’ the family’s for a long time.  An’, if ya’ want…ya’ll could just sell it or somethin’.  The land don’t do to well with how few of us there are now, and I think you could take care of it fine, or do with it as you please.  Either way, it’s no use to us now, an’ I want you to have it.  Think of it as a 'thank you' for stickin’ with all of us for so long.”

He blubbered for a second, trying to find words.  He cleared his throat, arranging the argumentative sentence in his head to something relatively logical-sounding.  “Applebite, I am not taking Sweet Apple Acres from your family!  It’s been like a private capital for the Apples since before I was born!  Aren’t there any relatives you can send for?  Anypony?!”  He was getting desperate fast.  Suggesting immediate course of action for others after mere seconds to think about it was usually a last resort, especially when Applebite had probably been thinking about it for…well, a while.

“I’m sorry, Spike.  But I’ve already signed the deed to the land over to ya’, an’ now it’s yours.  I don’t mean to give you no say in the matter, but it’s too late.”  She smiled, and yet her eyes showed that she regretted having to say it.  “Congratulations, Spike, you are now the proud owner of Sweet Apple Acres.”

*****

His wings felt as if they were about to give out.  The wind came in pocketed gusts that often violently swept him backwards when they hit.  He was beginning to wonder whether or not this was all worth it; if it was all just some cruel test to see how long he could be pushed to his limit before he gave up.  Of course it's worth it! he chastised himself, It is my responsibility to convey this message to the Princesses!  Surely they will know what to do!  In his mind he sounded confident, but after each stroke through the ruthless wind, the exhaustion slowly deteriorated just how much he believed it.  He was hardly flying anymore; rather, he seemed to only be gaining fall-speed.

Spike rounded another couple of mountains, a long ridge of them blocking his view from any of their sides.  Come on, he thought, it should be around here somewhere!  Just then, caught a glimpse of it, not noticing at first; but as he craned his long neck in hopes of a better view, he saw exactly what he was looking for:  Canterlot, in all of its majestic glory.  He was beginning to lose his peripheral sight, the castle along with everything else becoming blurrier and blurrier.  Banking right, he began his descent.

The structure stood much higher than he remembered it, and included several additions to the ancient mountainside castle.  He tucked in his legs and arms, propelling himself forward with several momentous wing beats.  His sight darkened still, fading away until only a slim window of perspective remained.  There was no way he would land with this kind of speed, and so he settled for something slightly less... gracious.

Sorry, Celestia... looks like I'm going to have to make a bit of an abrupt entrance...  His eyesight diminished completely as the darkness filled the gap in the center of his vision.  Finally, in a last series of wing strokes, he lost all forms of awareness, and slipped into vast unconsciousness.