Spike hated himself.

“I hate myself,” Spike said.

And he was sure of it. For the past month, he would walk outside and hear the grating sounds of ponies trying to jabber his chops off, only for him to imagine himself using a cheese grater on his ears. Let’s say, that didn't work well. He has scales for crying out loud.

So Spike became more and more imaginative, and soon, his self-hating loop had him waking up to the sounds of Twilight out of sync with his favorite tunes. He couldn't even listen to music anymore.

“Oh, Spike!”

Spike sighed. “I’m coming!”

He stomped down the stairs, his frown growing further and further. He couldn’t imagine what bullshit he was going to endure today.

Twilight looked at him, inquisitively. “What’s got you so upset?”

Spike couldn’t help but contain his enthusiasm. “I’m not wanting to talk about it.”

Spike knew his friend would not take no for an answer. She would just say his name all disappointed in his life choices—

“Spike…”

—and then she would look at him with a sad gaze that would make him lose his mind.

Twilight looked sad.

“You know you could talk to me about anything.”

Spike shook his head. “I can’t. Because if I told you what is bothering me, I would want you to hack ‘n’ slash me like one of those terribly cheesy slasher films.”

“Spike, slasher films aren’t all terribly cheesy, and why would you want me to kill you? I don’t understand.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “You don’t get it, so it’s better not to tell you and continue living my existence with a permanent hangover than to tell you and want to sacrifice myself to Celestia.”

Twilight watched him hop up to the table. “Well, know that you can tell me anytime. Even if I don’t understand, I’m willing to be your ear no matter what.”

Spike tried to smile, but the force inside him told him that her voice was more of a destroyer of worlds than a sanctifying grace.

“Thank you,” he squeaked, before promptly putting his arms on the table.

Twilight sat across from him with a cup of coffee in her magic. She quietly sat it in front of them, the steam radiating off it with no remorse.

“So what did you want, Twilight?”

Her face lit up into flames, just how Spike imagined it, only the flames didn’t burn her. Only her eyes glowed in the light. “Oh! I wanted you to help me with my errands today.”

“Errands?” Spike said with a raised brow.

“Yeah… errands.” Twilight twiddled her hooves. “Celestia had my bases covered this week.”

“She plays baseball now?”

Twilight shook her head. “She couldn’t hit a ball if she tried.”

Spike felt his inner Death scream in agony for a pitcher to hit him square in the head with a fastball. “I wish she could, that way it would…” He paused and shook his head. “Nevermind, so that must’ve been a figure of speech, right?”

“Exactly,” Twilight replied, nodding. “And I assume you wishing she would play baseball was too?”

Spike felt a bead of sweat trickle down his cheek. “Actually…”

“You would want Celestia to play baseball?”

Spike nearly snapped his neck in half with how fast he shook his head. “No, Twilight, I just wish she would be the pitcher and knock me out with a ball hotter than the sun.”

Spike imagined that Twilight would be shocked and would call a doctor from the Ponyville Medical Clinic immediately after that utterance. Instead, what Twilight said, shocked him.

“Nonsense, Spike! You’re fireproof!” Twilight said with a grin. “Besides, Celestia can’t throw a pitch faster than a foal, you wouldn’t die by that!”

Spike ratta-tap-tapped his fingers against the table and looked away from Twilight.

“Spike…”

And there was that disappointment again, voicing its grating concerns of his deplorable demeanor, while Death trickled thoughts of jumping off the top of the castle in hopes of breaking his spinal cord.

Spike growled at her.

Twilight jumped back in her seat.

“S-Spike?”

He stood up and walked over to her. “Tell me what errands you need done, and I’ll get them done.”

“O-Okay,” Twilight tried to say through her chattering teeth.

Spike felt fire filter through his body. He could nearly surge the energy through his nose to burn himself alive, but yet again, if Twilight’s claim was true, he couldn’t burn himself alive. He’d just be a walking torch. Plus, Twilight’s legs shaking made Spike’s lips permanently stuck in eternal sadness.

“Ugh,” Spike said, facepalming. “Look, I’m sorry, Twilight. Death’s just telling me so many different things to kill myself, while everyone sounds like a combination of a cheese grater and a pony trying to write on a chalkboard." Spike winced at the imagery. "I’m pretty close to snapping.”

Twilight brought him close, wrapping her hooves around him. “I’m sorry for trying to make you do something for me when you’re suffering like this. Can I help you out?”

Spike shrugged and returned the hug. “I don’t know if you can, Twilight.”

“Well a hug’s a good start,” Twilight said.

“You know what…” Spike said, his eyes widening. “I think you just gave me an idea on how to solve my problem!”

“I did?” Twilight said, pulling away from the gentle embrace.

Spike hopped up and down. “Yeah! Twilight, you’re a genius!” He gave his friend one final hug, before scurrying out of the kitchen.

Twilight ears fell. “He didn’t wait for me to write down my errands…”

It was a sunnysome type of day in Ponyville. Spike was wearing a sly smirk on his face as he walked down the street. Spike felt great. Twilight’s suggestion has his hopes sky high. All he needed to do was visit Pinkie and tell her what he needed from her.

Spotting his destination, Spike smiled and climbed the steps of the Sugarcube Corner.

“Hello, Pinkie Pie!” shouted Spike as he walked through the double doors.

Inside, Pinkie Pie was cooking muffins.

And now she was right in front of Spike.

“Hi, Spike! What could I do for you?”

Spike hugged her close. “Could you hug me to death, Pinkie?”

“...What?”

Author's Notes:

This was written in an hour and thirty while listening to people opening some doors that were meant to be closed.

God damn it, Missy.