Canterlot, Equestria
Two Days Later

The clock ticks to five in the afternoon in a welcoming office decorated with plants and landscape paintings. The curtains are pulled aside to allow the afternoon sun to give a sense of peace for the two ponies inside.

One of them is the mare from Slick’s picture, and she is dressed in a black business casual suit with a white blouse that is buttoned up to her neck with a trail of frill traveling down her barrel. The name tag clipped to her says her name is “Pad”, and her patient is a pegasus stallion with a dark coat and a gray mane cut to a blocky wedge. Underneath the left sleeve of his dark blue uniform is a bandaged hoof, and stitched to his uniform’s shoulders is patch that is made up a rounded cloud with a “W” in the center and three bolts of lightning tilted up on either side. This patch shows that the pegasus holds the rank of Senior Airstallion in the Royal Air Gurad's Wonderbolt Division, and the tag he is wearing is a gold bar with 'HURRICANE' printed on it.

Senior Airstallion Thunderlane Hurricane sits on his soft chair with his head down and hoof gently massaging his bandage. Out of his peripheral vision he can see Dr. Pad smiling patiently at him with her notepad and quill pen levitating in front of her, waiting for the opportune moment to scribble something down. Thunderlane notes how the good doctor’s posture is straight and well rested, and he finds himself wishing he can be like that. Sure he has had his full eight hours, and some extras on days that he can afford it, but ever since the attack on his convoy in Glorieta over a year ago, he has been feeling more anxious and drained. And the nightmares plaguing him for the same duration have not made things any better.

“Have you been sleeping better?” asks Dr. Pad tentatively, as if she were walking on a minefield.

Thunderlane stops and lifts his eyes to look at Dr. Pad. She still has her caring smile, but his attention breaks away from her for only a moment when he sees a photo of her and Slick at their wedding, both happy and eagerly awaiting the bright future ahead of them. A moment later, he looks back at the red unicorn while gently massaging his bandage.

“Yes, ma'am, the pills are helping a lot,” replies Thunderlane quietly.

Thunderlane can see the mild skepticism in Dr. Pad’s expression, but she does not confront him about his well-rested claim, which is an obvious lie since his eyes are heavy with nasty colored bags and his body looks ready to fall apart. What she does instead is write down something that Thunderlane cannot see, but is certain it revolves around him being a liar.

“Have you been recording your dreams like I asked you to?” asks Dr. Pad after she finishes writing.

Thunderlane hesitates. “Yes, ma'am, I have.”

“Why don't you tell me about your most recent one?”

Thunderlane's reluctantly nods and tries to think about his most recent dream, but he draws up a blank and all he hears is the wall clock marking the seconds with its ticks.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. That is all Thunderlane can focus on despite his attempts to search his brain for details of the kind of Hell he got stuck in for eight hours. He wants to think, but every passing tick and tock makes him flinch slightly in his spot, every second that the clock marks sends a jolt through him that leaves him trembling and his mind more clouded with haze.

Tick. Tock. Slide. Lock. The ticking clock sounds less like an instrument of time and more like a weapon loading up to fire, ready to take the life of anyone too slow or too stupid to avoid it.

Thunderlane keeps his focus on his bandages, mouth dry and hoof shaking as it goes up and down the rough bandages. His hoof throbs and his heart thumps in his ears. All he hears is the parts to his single shot battle sliding in place and the rounds going in the chamber, ready to take everything and break a family for the survival of his team and his country.

Tick. Tock. Slide and lock the parts in place.

Tick. Tock. Slide and lock on to the target.

Tick. Tock. Slide and lock, aim and-

BANG!

Thunderlane’s eyes snap up to the hanging clock with a skipped heartbeat and sees that the time has just turned to 5:05 in the afternoon.

“We just reached Glorieta. Time is seventeen oh five. We need to pick up the pace.”

Spitfire's final words before a bomb detonates under a manhole and kills half a dozen soldiers in one go and a sniper almost kills Fire Streak. More explosions, more flying shrapnel and debris, more lives taken, more families broken. 5:05 has not ended and already nearly two dozen soldiers are injured or dead, nearly two dozen families that will have to see their fathers and sons buried.

Tick. Tock. Crack. Pop! Gunfire replaces the clock.

Thunderlane's heart feels ready to pop as it beats faster in his chest, wanting to get out, wanting to escape the torment. He knows he is not in a warzone, and everyone, from Spitfire to Rainbow Dash, and his brother and parents, has been telling him for many weeks that he is safe.

But Glorieta was supposed to be safe, and yet so many died on its streets. So many crippled. So many hurt in the blood they lay in, trying to call for help.

The screams and blood, they stick to him on constant replay. The flying rubble and barrage of hot lead ripping past armor and skin is as real and new as that day. He cannot escape the screams; the gunfire; the flames; the fear.

Tick. Tock. Fwump. BOOM!

Thunderlane pauses his strokes. His whole body shakes and his breathing is shallow while his eyes remain large and unfocused.

That final explosion of the day, that green wave of magical energy and sonic screech returns to haunt his ears and plague his memories with the surge of crumbling debris knocking and Rainbow Dash back. He can hear and feel everything, from the pain in his ears all the way to the bits of broken road bouncing off of his suit. He should have been crippled like Rainbow Dash. His wing should have been broken or sprained, he should not have been able to walk, much less stand, but still he did. And he still could not protect Rainbow Dash from the Painter.

He tries to tell himself that Rainbow Dash is safe now, he is safe, and so is his team. He wants to believe that they are safe... but Glorieta was supposed to be safe and now the town is destroyed.

The time is now 5:06. Thunderlane’s eyes break free from the clock and sees Dr. Pad scribbling something on her pad. Her pen is frantic and his body remains tense and shaking in his seat. He only realizes that he is sweating when a thick bead of salty water rolls down his forehead, and when he wipes the bead away, he sniffles and blinks, which clouds his vision. In a silent fit of panic, he quickly wipes his eyes and nose and keeps his head down as far as it can go in the hopes that Dr. Pad does not see this display of weakness.

“Thunderlane, are you okay?” asks Dr. Pad.

Thunderlane nods his head quickly. “I'm fine, ma'am,” he says in a low mumble.

“No you're not. What's on your mind?”

Thunderlane keeps his head down and resumes stroking his bandaged hoof with his uninjured one. He is back to shaking and a tug of war goes in his mind about how he should play this out. Should he remain silent or give her something to poke at for what remains of their hour long session?

“What's wrong, Thunderlane?” asks Dr. Pad.

Thunderlane waits for a few seconds to make a verdict on what course he should take, and when that verdict is made, he looks at his psychiatrist without lifting his head.

“I can't escape my nightmares,” says Thunderlane pathetically.

Dr. Pad leans forward with the weight of concern clear in her expression, and Thunderlane averts his eyes to rub his bandaged hoof again.

“The nightmares are back?” she asks.

The nightmares never went away from Thunderlane, but still he nods and watches in self-loathing of his breaking defense as his psychiatrist writes on her pad.

“Are they the same kind of nightmares?” asks Dr. Pad with concern.

Thunderlane swallows, doing his best to keep his eyes from misting over. “Sometimes I’m a puppet, other times I am hurting myself just so I can see if I’m alive, and sometimes I’m just nopony.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Thunderlane looks down, wanting to snap at her and tell her that she is the doctor, she needs to figure it out instead of letting the patient do the work, but he does not lash out because he knows that is what she has been trained to do.

“Emotions are dangerous. They can get the best of you if you aren’t careful,” is something that Thunderlane’s father has told him countless times. Mostly when he was just a colt without a cutie mark and prone to tantrums. Anger leads to poor words and regrettable actions; sadness and disappointment hinder motivation; and too much happiness will make you into a fool. Emotions must be controlled with the utmost diligence. That is the Hurricane way.

“It’s okay to cry, Thunderlane,” assures Dr. Pad.

Thunderlane keeps his eyes on his bandage, though. A part of him wants to let it out, to scream at the madness that has haunted him since the pony in the painter suit nearly killed everyone a year back, but he wills himself to stay quiet, no matter how painful it is.

“It is okay to grab a pillow and just scream,” says Dr. Pad, her voice soft and comforting. “Just scream and let it all out. I know you want to. I can see it. I've been seeing it ever since we had our first appointment. Everything you have inside, all that fear and sadness and doubt, it wants to come out but you aren't letting it, and I think that is why you are having these nightmares and distancing yourself. You doubt yourself so much and are so afraid of failure that you take the only way you see out. Isolation. But out of that isolation, you are burdened with a sadness, and that fear and doubt you have is what is keeping that sadness strong. I want to help you out of this, Thunderlane, I really do.”

Her soft spiel has left Thunderlane's heart and lungs feeling as though a set of knives have plunged into them and are slowly twisting to get the most pain possible. He looks away to avoid showing his crumbling defense.

“Will you let me help you?” asks Dr. Pad.

Thunderlane looks at her, blinking the mist out of his eyes, but silently refusing to speak. The wet lump in his throat is choking him, but rather than taking a breath and risking tears or a whimper, he swallows it whole.

With his silence, Dr. Pad sighs leans back in her cushioned seat and stares at Thunderlane sympathetically. Thunderlane, in turn, looks down, feeling ashamed for the disappointment he knows he caused, but the silence remains. He looks up again when he sees a box of tissue levitating in front of him, he shakes his head and politely declines, and she gently sets it back on her desk.

Silence comes between them again.

“Why don’t you tell me about your most recent nightmare?” suggests Dr. Pad a moment later. “I know you want to talk, and you can tell me. I promise I won't tell anypony.”

The seconds tick on by, and finally Thunderlane nods and chews on his lip with his head tilted down as he once again puts the pieces of his unpleasant sleeping experience together.

But even when he has the puzzle solved, he is still hesitant to talk. He only talks when his psychiatrist nods encouragingly after he looks up at her with pathetic puppy eyes and drooped ears.

“In my dream, I was looking in my bathroom mirror after I got out of work...” mumbles Thunderlane nervously, “but it wasn't me who I was seeing.”

“Who did you see?” asks Dr. Pad curiously.

“My dad.”

“Really?”

Thunderlane nods. “But the thing is, I didn't care. I didn't even skip a beat or... or scream or do anything. I just accepted it and went to my room, and then I saw another reflection in my bedroom mirror, but this time it was my mom.”

Thunderlane keeps his eyes on his hoof, which is now throbbing like a beating heart, and he tries to keep it comforted with his gentle strokes, but it isn't working. Everything fades around him, leaving just him, his lingering voice, and his injury.

“The whole apartment had mirrors everywhere,” continues Thunderlane distantly. “I just couldn't escape the reflections that weren't mine, but I wasn't scared. Or angry. Or sad. I was accepting of it. I probably passed every mirror in my apartment and not one mirror had my reflection. Not. One.”

Thunderlane's eyes glide up once more to look at Dr. Pad, and he watches her scribble furiously on her pad. He then glances to the pictures of her and Slick in various fun scenarios, such as fairs and plays, and restaurants and picnics. Thunderlane doesn't realize that Dr. Pad has stopped writing since he is is completely entranced by the joyful smiles. He finds a bitter-sweet emotion seeping in from seeing the happiness that is always out of his reach.

“Thunderlane, are you alright?” asks Dr. Pad.

Thunderlane snaps back to the psychiatrist, his mind once again going back to reality. He nods and she gently asks him if there is anymore to his dream, which sends an uneasy tingle up his spine. He momentarily strokes his injury before taking another breath and continuing with his story.

“When I went into my living room, in my dream, I found a photo album I had never seen before,” continues Thunderlane. “I opened it up and started going through the pages. I saw me, Rumble, and Mom and Dad together like how a family is supposed to be, but I wasn't there. I mean, I was there, but... wasn't.”

“What do you mean?” asks Dr. Pad carefully.

Thunderlane swallows a lump in his throat. “I had no face.”

He looks at Dr. Pad, watching her scribble on the parchment in furious strokes. He has a pretty good idea of what she is writing, but despite that, he continues talking.

“When I woke up, I was shaking and cry-” Thunderlane stops himself suddenly and looks down at the carpet shamefully, rubbing the gauze wrapped around his hoof. “I broke my mirror and threw it out. I told Rumble that it fell, but I think he knows that I broke it and not the floor.”

Dr. Pad writes another quick note. “Can you tell me about the your other nightmares?”

Thunderlane keeps his head down and continues rubbing his sore hoof in long strokes. While doing this, Dr. Pad patiently scribbles down more notes, waiting patiently for him to continue.

Time doesn't seem to move for Thunderlane. Everything becomes static, and even though he can hear Dr. Pad calling him, he still keeps his eyes down with his only form of acknowledgment being the twitch of his ear. When he is called again, Thunderlane stops rubbing his injured hoof and slowly lifts his head. He looks at her for an agonizingly long five seconds before speaking again.

“What do you know of numerology?” he asks meekly.

A couple of hours later, Thunderlane steps inside his apartment, marked 505, dazed and ready to pass out. His steps are sluggish and his brain barely has the capacity to open the door. When he hangs up his keys, he looks at the mirror above the key ring and frowns at his pathetic state. His charcoal coat has gray bags under his eyes and his mane is disheveled to where strands are down in front of his eyes. He doesn't look like a soldier. He looks like a bum in a uniform.

Sighing, he walks in his living room, which is also messy, and notices that Rumble is reading and lying on the couch with half of his chunky body covered in a plaid blanket. The dial radio on the take-out container covered nightstand has been turned up too loud for Thunderlane's liking and is broadcasting a talk show rather than playing music. He does not mind the broadcasting, though. He actually prefers it over the music that Rumble likes listening to, but since there is not attention being put to it, it is just a waste of electricity.

“...We need to face the facts, and the facts are saying that the warmongers would rather break apart families than find a peaceful solution to the crisis facing Bernese and Equestria!” says a hyper stallion over the radio. “War is not -nor should it ever be- an option. The event was tragic, but we cannot go around shooting-”

Thunderlane turns off the radio with a nearly unheard click, and Rumble barely acknowledges him with a flick of his ear.

“I was listening to that.” Grumbles Rumble without taking his eyes off of his book.

Thunderlane is about to make a quirky remark, but when he walks past Rumble, he sees his younger brother is not reading a real book, but a comic book instead. It has the famous Trixie in her Mare-Do-Well costume without her helmet on, striking a guarded, yet alluring, pose with the villain behind her in the shadows and slimy tentacles rising around her. The title is: Mare-Do-Well and the Attack of the Goo Monster. Below is the rating and the printer, which is 'XXX' and made by a printing press called Sinful Joys Press.

Thunderlane shudders, now realizing why his brother has a blanket covering just the lower half of his body, and makes a mental note to give that particular blanket to Rumble. He turns away from Rumble and rubs his eyes in a vain attempt to think about something other than what his brother is doing in the public area of their apartment.

“Where did you get that?” asks Thunderlane, his eyes still covered by his hoof.

“Charlie,” replies Rumble bluntly.

“Who the heck is Charlie?”

“He's that new unicorn down the hall. He's kinda cool, but I think his brothers are on drugs or something. They're weird.”

Thunderlane shakes his head and goes into his dimly lit room to free himself from his Wonderbolt uniform. Most would not be impressed with the minimal possessions he has in his room, for all he really owns is a bed, a dresser with a blank spot where his mirror should be, and a closet packed with neatly hung uniforms. The bed has yet to be made and a small layer of dirty clothes and garbage litter the floor, including a lot of cut up newspapers, magazines and empty tape and glue containers. On his dresser is a pair of scissors- which he absolutely hates using since they are unfriendly to non-unicorns- and a notebook with 505 NOTES written in bold, black permanent marker.

Thunderlane closes his door behind him with a halfhearted mule-kick and drags his hooves against the floor. He goes to carefully remove his uniform and buttons with sluggish motions and drops them in a hamper marked Dry Cleaners, which is located in his closet where three more spare uniforms hang, tightly pressed and ready for wear.

Thunderlane slides his closet door shut and goes over to his notebook. His hoof glides over its smooth cover and he almost has half a mind to open it and have a look at its contents, but decides to get something to eat. He has nothing new to glue in, anyway.

When Thunderlane steps back into the living room he is not in the least bit surprised that Rumble has yet to move from his spot. He wants to say something to Rumble, like “Go to your room if you're going to read porn” or “We have a bathroom for a reason”, but he chooses to stay quiet and go to his kitchenette, instead. He picks up the pace when Rumble grins from ear to ear and giggles with one hoof holding the porn book closer and his other going under the blanket.

Thunderlane frowns at Rumble for only a moment before he puts his attention to a pile of home delivery menus sitting on the counter. The majority of the menus are pizza related, but there are a few salads and fish meals as well.

“What do you want to eat?” asks Thunderlane as he flips through a fish menu.

“Surprise me!” answers Rumble brightly.

Thunderlane looks up at Rumble, unimpressed with his answer, and seconds later his younger brother lowers the comic just enough for him to see his the wolfish grin on his face.

“It's too bad you're so squeamish, Thunderlane, this is a great comic,” taunts Rumble. “In fact, I just dogeared all the sex scenes and put a sticky-note bookmark at the part where Trixie is tentacle-raped by Dr. Bio's goo monster if you want to read it later.”

Rumble goes back to his comic, snickering from the perverted joy he is getting, and Thunderlane shakes of his head and stomps over to his younger brother. Rumble is too engrossed in his erotic fantasy to realize what is happening, though, and when he gets an idea it is already too late.

“Give me that!” snaps Thunderlane as he swiftly snatches the comic from his brother. He ignores Rumble's protests and pleas for him not to ruin it as he spearheads his way into the kitchen, and when he drops the offending book in the garbage can he says over the whines: “You shouldn't be reading that crap, and you're lucky I didn't have company!”

Rumble is quick to remove the comic from the garbage and tuck it protectively under his wing.

“You never bring company and you don't let me bring anypony over!” complains Rumble.

“Because the last few times you brought somepony over you did something stupid!” yells back Thunderlane. “You're lucky Cloudchaser didn't get pregnant from your stunt!”

“She was on the pill and off season, so she wasn't going to get pregnant anyway!”

“Why would anypony take a pill if they were off season?”

Rumble rolls his eyes and storms to his room, swearing and mumbling about Thunderlane being an idiot. Thunderlane goes after him, but comes a sudden stop when his younger brother slams his bedroom door shut, and his ears perk when the door lock clicks and rap music blares. Wiping his mane back, Thunderlane swears and paces in a circle before returning to the kitchen, where he searches through his kitchen cabinets for something to cook, but he comes up almost completely empty, save for a can of beans and corn.

Thunderlane huffs and flaps his wings once and stomps towards the far end of his counter where another pile of menus lie. He goes through the menus with increased aggravation as each passing fancy flier or stolen menu proves to be of ill taste. Every cheap logo or poor choice of dishes makes his scowl becomes deeper and his slides more aggressive, until, eventually, he is throwing menus on the tiled floor. Right as he reaches the bottom, he slams his face against the counter. Immediate regret comes in full play after that since it brings immense pain to Thunderlane's face. However, he keeps his face on the cool counter for another few seconds before he sighs explosively and lifts his head up.

Thunderlane takes a deep breath in, exhales slowly, and looks at his brother's door. He swears he can see it vibrate from the music blaring from it, and he is already picturing an angry neighbor or the landlord knocking on his door to complain about the noise levels. He has already told Rumble about this noise issue more than once, but his younger brother's mind is too clogged with “gangsta rap” and porn comics for it to seep in.

With a deep sigh to get him moving, Thunderlane approaches Rumble's door and tries to get his attention by knocking on it, but unfortunately for him his knock isn't hard enough to surpass the obnoxiously loud music. He tries again, but is met with the same failure, and when he tries to get inside, he finds out very quickly that the door is locked and there is something gooey on the doorknob. Thunderlane quickly pulls away from the doorknob, grimacing at his hoof and his brother's door. He looks back at his hoof seconds later in a feeble to figure out what he just touched.

“Rumble, I'm going to the store! Do you want anything?” yells Thunderlane over the music without breaking eye contact from his hoof.

“Nope. Have fun!” replies Rumble sarcastically.

Thunderlane shakes his head and after he washes his hoof in the bathroom sink he quickly leaves his apartment. Even though he really wants to slam the door as hard as he can on his way out, he ends up shutting it and locking it quietly since he sees no point in making a scene. After locking his door, he proceeds to walk briskly down the hall and smiles politely to a unicorn mare and her two foals getting ready to leave, and he continues looking at them until he is no longer able to.

As he goes down the hall, Thunderlane tries to push the argument between him and Rumble to the back of his mind, and after pushing the button for the elevator he watches with tired eyes as the numbers slowly light up. Once the elevator reaches his floor, he steps inside and keeps it open when the small family runs down the hallway with the mother yelling for him to hold the door. As soon as the family is inside, the mare thanks him and he once again offers a smile and curt nod, but his smile drops to a frown when the doors lazily slide shut because one of the foals pokes at his preened feathers, and that reminds him that he has wings for a reason.

It is nightfall when Thunderlane finally makes it to the fish cart in the bazaar after going through a swarm of buyers and pushy merchants. He already has two saddlebags full of vegetables and spices, and fish is the last part of his food shopping that he needs to get done. Unfortunately for him, though, the only fish cart that is open at the time is operated by a sea green pegasus mare with blue a ponytail style mane who can speak Equestrian about as well as a toddler. The locals call her Ms. Fishy, and Thunderlane knows that she is an immigrant from Germaneigh so he tries to be patient with her, but right now his patience is running on fumes.

“No, I just want two salmon, okay? Just two,” says Thunderlane as he gently slides two fresh, very large, wrapped up salmon back to her.

Ms. Fishy pushes the two fish back, annoyed. “Yes, two.”

“No, I already got two and they’re right there.” Thunderlane points at two salmon lying on a scale, also wrapped and partially dangling over the edge of the scale. “How much for those two?”

“Two!”

The mare pushes the fish back almost to the point to where they fall off and Thunderlane’s hoof goes out to stop such a thing from happening. He looks at the fish, then back at the merchant, who is silently daring him with squinted eyes and a tight frown to push them back. It does not take Thunderlane very long to sigh in defeat.

“Fine, I’ll take the four. How much?” says Thunderlane as he reaches for his bit pouch.

“Four.” Ms. Fishy pulls out two more wrapped fish from under her cart and pushes them to the two already in front of Thunderlane.

“No, I-”

“You want four! I give you four, stupid pony!”

“Hey, I’m not-” Thunderlane stops himself with a heavy sigh and puts his entire bag of bits on the counter. “You know what, just give me all of your fish.”

The sea green mare’s frown flips to a devious smile as she ducks down once more, leaving Thunderlane to regret his decision. He regrets it even more when he hears her snickering as she stacks one wrapped salmon on top of the other in front of him. When the last is up, the merchant goes to pull out a paper bag and Thunderlane sighs heavily, knowing full well that he’s going to have to scrub himself good tonight.

A couple of hours later, Thunderlane and Rumble are sitting at the small dinner table, eating their meal of fish and salad in silence, and trying not to give the smelly pile of a dozen wrapped fish their attention. Not even the radio is on, making it so the only noise is chewing, sipping, and the whooshing of the ceiling fan. During the course of the meal, Thunderlane glances at his younger brother, only to see the same thing had had been seeing for the past fifteen minutes. Him behaving like a starving dog who got into a garbage can in search of leftovers, even though it is obvious that the little light gray pegasus is well overweight. The last nail of the coffin for this display is when Rumble burps loudly without covering his mouth and dives back in to eating his fish and salad. Thunderlane frowns, takes a couple of pills that are drowned with a gulp of water, and leaves to put his half finished meal away.

“Are you going to finish that?” asks Rumble, his mouth full of food and his hoof aimed pathetically at the plate.

“I will later,” replies Thunderlane while carefully dumping the food in a plastic container.

Rumble shrugs and goes back eating, and when Thunderlane places his leftovers there a light bulb goes off in Rumble’s juvenile mind and his hoof snaps up with his ears.

“By the way, mom called.” Rumble says quickly.

“What did she want?” asks Thunderlane unenthusiastically.

“The usual. She wants to know if I found a job yet and if you're done being a nut.”

Thunderlane slams the fridge shut and places his hooves on the counter with his head down and exhaling a breath of aggravation.

“I told you these things are mandatory, Rumble,” says Thunderlane, trying to keep his tone in check. “And did you ever get back to Mr. Rich?”

“You mean Filthy Rich? No. I'm not going to work construction. That's not for me.”

Thunderlane walks up to Rumble, his expression hardening with disgust as each passing second his younger brother gorges himself on his meal, causing some food to fall off the plate or on the floor in the process.

“And what is?” asks Thunderlane crossly.

Rumble shrugs. “I don't know. I was thinking that I could work at the Snowflake Gymnasium. You know that place off of Kindness Boulevard?”

“You want to watch a bunch of sweaty stallions bend over and rub each other?”

Rumble’s light gray fur gets a burst of red around his cheeks and folded ears as he glares at Thunderlane, and seeing the amused smile from his military brother only makes him more infuriated.

“No! I want to get boxing lessons!” claims Rumble with a yell.

Thunderlane holds up his hoof in fake defense. “Hey, if you want to check out stallions that's your butt, not mine.”

“I want to learn how to box! And if I work at the gym then I'll get a discount for membership fees and tickets.”

“Uh huh, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Thunderlane trots out of the dining room with a victorious smile on his face while Rumble fumbles with his words in a horrible defense against Thunderlane’s cruel accusations. Rumble does shout something aimed towards Thunderlane, but the Airstallion doesn’t hear it all since he closes his room door before the younger pegasus can finish his defense.

Every bit of noise seems to be shut out when Thunderlane closes his door, and his victorious smile dissolves when he yawns and looks at his unmade bed. If the bed had a voice, it would be calling him, begging him to come and lay down and snuggle with the fluffy pillows and comforting blanket. But before he goes to lay down, he carefully bites down on his bandage and unravels it from his hoof. Slowly but surely, charcoal fur comes into view and so do the red blotches in the lower layers of his bandage, but there is not a sign of injury on him. No wet scabs, no thin fur or pale lines, it is all one fully covered hoof with all the thick fur of a pegasus to cover his skin.

Thunderlane scrutinizes the hoof that should be covered in scars as he flexes it, but his tired mind does not give him any ideas about this interesting sight. Instead, it tells him to go to bed and stay there for the rest of the night. He happily entertains that idea with a stiff fall that results in him face-planting the messy bed, and he sluggishly grabs his pillow and a bundle of his sheets with his eyes shut in bliss. Next thing the tired pony knows, his hoof is caressing the bundle and his cheek nuzzles his pillow like they are one very comfortable mare. The comfort of his overused sheets relaxes Thunderlane’s body to the point where he deflates like pony shaped balloon, and Mistress Sleep is ready to take him to the wonderful land of dreams when-

“...The tribunal for Captain Soarin Pansy will resume on Monday, in which the Military Court will decide whether or not he deserves to keep his title after the incidents at the Celestial Spire and Glorieta. Leading the prosecution is General Gale Hurricane, who said-”

His eyes snap wide open with the red veins growing and he lifts his head, glaring at the door as the rapping stallion continues with its vows of sadistic arson. The music might as well be beating Thunderlane's head with a pair of drumsticks with how loud it is, and in a vain attempt to escape the music, he curls up under his blanket with a pillow pressed over his ears and his eyes squeezed as tight as they can go. Thankfully, sleep comes minutes later.