Spike awoke to the smell of smoke.

Blearily, he sat up, realizing that he was in a bed. Looking around, he saw that he was in the ever-familiar loft of the library, in the same bed that he shared with Twilight.

"Look who finally decided to wake up," said a grumbling voice.

Somehow, when Spike looked up and saw Garble sitting at his bedside, he wasn't surprised or angry. Probably because he couldn't find the energy to be either.

Resisting a yawn, the younger man looked up at his counterpart. "Hey."

Garble fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing his arms, saying nothing.

Finally, after an awkward, seemingly incessant silence, Garble said, "Your buddy told me about you."

Spike blinked, uncomprehending.

"The blue-haired old guy," Garble said, pointedly not looking at Spike. "Said you weren't raised right."

The younger drake said nothing, only fixing Garble with a disappointed stare that the older man couldn't help but feel burning his face.

"Look, it's not-" he struggled to say, then sighed. "I'm not really good with talking to other guys like this."

Join the club, Spike thought, though he said nothing.

"It's just...I get it." Garble rubbed his forehead. "I was getting on you about not acting like the rest of us, and now I found out why." He snorted half-heartedly. "If my folks ever screwed me over like that, I wouldn't want to be a dragon either. You'll get people telling you to grow the fuck up, that dads leave, or whatever." He snorted. "They don't know what it means for a dragon, though."

Spike only nodded, which seemed to encourage the older dragon. "It's just that, ya know, up until I met G and everything, I hated humans. Couldn't stand the fuckers. So weak and stupid, and they don't even care about the same shit that we do."

"We?" Spike asked weakly. Since when was there a we? As far as he was concerned, the 'we' had ended over seven years ago.

"Dragons," Garble clarified. "And I'm not being racist about it or anything. I don't know much about humans, yeah, but I know dragons." He waved an arm in frustration. "Like, even now, she's always asking why I'm always throwing shit out or why I don't 'socialize' or whatever . And it blows my mind that she just doesn't get it. I hate clutter. I hate worthless shit. I hate worthless people.

"And if there's one thing a dragon knows, it's the value of something. That's why I don't like being around her people." He barked in laughter. "Probably why I don't have any fucking friends."

Spike's breathing deepened, and he could feel the fatigue claiming him.

"And when you say something about it, they look at you like you're a fly in the fucking soup. You're the wrong color and you shouldn't be there. You get it, right?"

Spike looked over to him, eyes widening, and though he said nothing, Garble felt a vague sense of agreement emanating from him.

"Look, I'm not a bad guy," Garble said. "It's just that I work different." His face, for the briefest of seconds, looked somber, even lonely. "I love my girl."

But his voice was already fading from Spike's memory. A glance from the corner of his eyes told him of a door being opening, and a pair of feminine legs racing towards the bed...

Like a voice speaking underwater, he heard Garble say, "But they're not like us. They don't get it."

"Look up."

Spike stirred from his rest. He heard a faint buzzing, the rustle of an ancient tree behind him.

Regardless of the stiffness in his neck, he obeyed, glancing Fancy Pants' form from the corner of his eye.

The stars in the sky and the heavy presence of humidity told him that it was nighttime.

"What do you see?" asked the older man.

"Stars," Spike said. His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in quite some time. He chuckled lightly. "Cause you're a sky, cause you're a sky full of stars."

"Who sings that?" Fancy Pants asked.

"Coldplay, I think."

"Hmm. Maybe you should let them."

Spike frowned. The fuck, man?

"A man who was dear to me once," he said, "dearer than my own father asked me that same question when I was your age." Fancy Pants sighed, and Spike suddenly realized that they were on the upper porch of the library. "I gave him the same answer, naturally."

"So it was the wrong answer?" Spike asked.

"Oh no, there was never any right answer," Fancy Pants answered, leaning back in a plain green lawn chair. "He told me that the answer reflects the person." He chuckled. "I suppose that meant that you and I are severely lacking in creativity."

Spike was silent for a moment, pondering. Then, "What did he see?"

Fancy Pants shrugged. "God. Possibility. The people in his life who stood out above the rest. It was a long time before I thought to ask him, actually. When you get to be older, you find meaning in things, whether you imagine them there or not."

"Do you believe in God?" Spike asked. It was an innocent question.

"It makes sense to me," Fancy Pants said, nodding. "To some, it may not. But I can only know myself so well, eh?" He stretched, reaching for a glass of water that was beside him. "It seems to me that—pardon," he took a sip, "—that everything seems to happen for a reason, if you will allow the cliché. Fate, I think," Fancy Pants said, motioning in the air like a teacher, "is like a star falling from space: the more important it is, the heavier it is. And the heavier it is,"

"The harder it is to stop?" Spike guessed.

"Precisely," Fancy Pants answered. He smirked wryly. "I wonder which ours were, sometimes."

"Our what?"

"Our fates," he answered simply. "If my parents and yours had been decent, how different would the world be?" He tugged absently on the tufts of his mustache. "Would we be the same men? Would I have a family of my own? Would you have your same friends? Or are some things set in stone?" He sighed. "Were you always going to end up here?"

Spike found he couldn't think of an answer, and wondered if the older man's questions were simply rhetorical.

"Who knows," he murmured. "Maybe I'm just getting old."

Spike yawned. "You're in your mid-thirties, dude."

As he faded back to sleep, he heard Fancy Pant's sigh break the silence. "Maybe things weren't so bad after all."

He stirred.

Looking around, he noticed the heavy warmth of a comforter, draping over him and nearly tugging him into what appeared to be an armchair.

Something twitched, and he realized belatedly that he wasn't alone.

Long fingers ran with practiced motion through his hair, another hand clutched gently at his side.

The high pitch of a blizzard whistled outside, muffled by the wood of the library, save for the occasional creak of wind on glass. A pleasant fire, warm and unobtrusive.

Spike started to mumble his confusion, but stopped once he felt the gentle press of a finger on his jaw line.

"Hush now," said a low, comforting voice. "Quiet now." A swath of pink tickled his collarbone, and a shifting of a thigh tucked him into her side.

Spike obliged, feeling the fatigue take him as he curled into the warmth that was Fluttershy.

"Hey," said a familiar voice.

Spike blinked, feeling the torpidity that follows a long, exhausting rest. He blinked the crust from his eyes and looked to his side.

"Twilight?" he asked, yawning.

She nodded, smiling tiredly.

"How long have I been asleep?"

Twilight sighed, leaning forward and rubbing her eyes, which was not a good sign in any language. "Princess Luna said that you exhausted your body with that stunt you pulled. You came this close to dying," she said, a hint of reproach entering her voice.

Spike said nothing, deciding to stare at the wood grain on the ceiling. He saw that he had returned to the loft.

"She said that you were extremely lucky that your lifespan had already stretched, because the excess magic you built up is gone, along with mostly everything else." She frowned. "Dragons are inherently magical creatures, so when your body was suddenly drained of so much energy, it went straight into hibernation so you wouldn't be traumatized from the shock."

"How long, Twilight?" He repeated, feeling a familiar shock of electricity coiling in his stomach.

"Eight months," she answered, wearily. "We think it's stopping, though."

The familiar feeling of guilt weighed Spike down, until he felt like crashing through the bed and hiding his face from his friend. He covered his face with his hands, shivering. "I'm sorry," he said.

Twilight blinked. "For what?"

Don't make me say it, he thought, grimacing inwardly, but he answered anyway. "For making you worry." It seemed like a paltry apology, but he knew he couldn't do better. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"So, you don't think I don't want you around anymore?" she asked.

Spike dropped his hands, staring at her. "What?"

Twilight was smirking, the same sarcastic smirk she'd always wear when she got the better of him. Seeing it, Spike couldn't help but feel a smile of his own coming on.

He blinked, noticing for the first time Twilight's attire. "Why are you wearing a dress?"

Twilight looked down, as if recognizing the outfit for the first time. "Oh, this?" she asked, fingering the white knee-length sundress fringed with purple. "Garble and Gilda got married a while back, and they were short on bridesmaids." She tried to smile, but the look on Spike's face made it hard. "I needed something to wear today," she said, weakly.

Spike said nothing, laying back on the bed and breathing heavily.

"Spike?"

"I'm fine, I'll be fine," he said, trying not to let his situation stress him. What would Celestia do? he tried asking himself, but for once, he couldn't focus hard enough for the question to do him any good.

Finally, he thought, What would I do?

His breathing calmed, and he looked at Twilight. He didn't try for a smile, because he knew his mood was still sour. "How's everyone else doing?"

Twilight looked surprised, and for a disturbing moment, Spike thought he saw a wrinkle on her face. She can't be getting old yet, he thought, not her. Then she shifted, and he was relieved to see that it was a trick of the light.

"Rarity was a little miffed when she found out about you and the Crusaders," she said, and her tone was devoid of inflection, "but she's mellowed out. Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy are fine. Rainbow Dash has been trying to patch things up with Gilda, and Applejack comes by every day to check on you." She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm glad you two made up."

Spike nodded. "How are you doing?" When Twilight opened her mouth, no doubt to say I'm fine, he interjected, saying, "And not what you tell the others. How are you really doing?"

Twilight was shocked, then hesitant. She studied the floor, and as she wasn't concentrated on making her friend feel better, the stress of the past months seemed to play out on her face. She was cringing as if in pain, rubbing her arms and looking anywhere but at Spike.

Finally, she said, "I feel upset." She looked down at Spike, frowning heavily. "What the hell were you thinking? You know how I worry about you, and Luna's going to give you hell once she realizes you're up!" Twilight was shaking, though whether it was with grief or anger, Spike couldn't tell. "And now I'm going to have to cover for you again, and then I'm going to have both her and Celestia going after me because they think I don't know what I'm doing with you!"

"I can handle myself," Spike said weakly.

"That's just it, you can't!" Twilight shrieked, eyes wide and angry. "You always do stupid things like this, like you're still a dumb little kid, and I'm the one stuck cleaning the mess up!" Her fingers pointed at him like talons. Spike jerked as they moved towards him, but Twilight, seeming to try and keep herself in check, clutched them to her side instead. "You—ooh," she said, nervous with anger. "You make me so mad sometimes, Spike." She exhaled heavily, and Spike could swear he saw steam.

"Let it all out yet?" Spike asked dryly, knowing it would drive her crazy. His inner bastard couldn't help but laugh.

He wasn't disappointed. Twilight drew herself up, and he could see her eyes flicker white momentarily. "No, as a matter of fact, I haven't." She leaned closer to him, menacing. "I've got something to say to you, something that I should have said a long time ago."

Leaning back, Spike cringed away from his former caretaker's face. "What?"

Twilight looked mad enough to spit fire, and Spike was half-expecting her to. But just as she reared up, she seemed to back down. "Do, uh...do you think we should get a bigger bed?"

Spike blinked. "Huh?"

Twilight retreated back to her side of the mattress. "I mean, if you're going to be staying here and all, a twin isn't really the best size for us."

Us.

Spike's mind jumped back to the conversation he had with Princess Luna months ago, about Celestia's hopes that he and Twilight would...

"Oh!" he said, startling Twilight by nearly shouting, "I'm not really sure, I mean, Luna's gonna have me running around a lot once she finds out I'm up, you know?"

Twilight merely stared. "Oh."

"But," he tried to backtrack, failing terribly, "I can still visit you whenever you want." He smiled awkwardly. "I can teleport now, remember?"

Twilight seemed to brighten up. "That's true, I guess. So, this spell—"

"Is not for booty-calls," he finished.

The purple-haired magician made a show of snapping her fingers in disappointment. Spike laughed. "Darn," she said, "it was just what I wanted, too."

Spike smirked. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Twilight froze. "I was kidding. We should really get you something to eat. In the kitchen."

"S'matter?" Spike said, reaching over and pulling her around the waist onto the bed. "It's not like either of us has an appointment to keep." He felt Twilight shudder as his arm rested just above the curve of her hips.

"We can't."

"What do you mean?"

Twilight rubbed her temples, groaning as she grasped a corner of the bed frame.

Trying to marshal her thoughts as she spoke, Twilight said, "We can't keep having...relations." She shifted awkwardly in her dress. "You're going to be really, really well-known in a couple of months, and if word got out that we were, you know..." She trailed off, then seemed to regain some measure of nerve. "I never wanted to be your girlfriend, you know that." She sighed. "It was...convenient. You know?"

A pause. "Yeah, I got it."

Twilight looked up at him. "Spike?"

He smiled, the same deceivingly arrogant yet companionable smirk that only a lovable moron like Spike could produce.

"All I really wanted was to hang out, you know. Not complaining," he said, holding his hands up in defense, "but hey, you jumped my bones."

Twilight laughed, feeling her face warm.

"There is...one thing, though," he said, almost unintelligible.

"Hmm?" Twilight asked. An anxious knot started to form in her chest.

"Luna said you never came to visit when I was hibernating." He looked up at her, suddenly vulnerable. "How come?"

Twilight was slow, hesitant even, in giving an answer. Finally, when it seemed as if she would remain silent, she said, "I did visit you, once. Princess Luna is still responsible for governing the country, so she wasn't with you all the time."

Spike said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

Sighing, she said, "Hibernation isn't like sleeping. There's barely any breathing, not much body movement, and you don't get much sun. By the time I finally managed to see you, you were pale, like a—a corpse." She met his eyes, albeit sheepishly. "I didn't want that image in my mind whenever I thought of you."

The drake felt a well of guilt spring up, though he knew it was irrational. "But then, when I went under this last time, you saw me like that—"

"Every single day," she finished. Her stare was blank.

Spike sighed, hanging his head. "I never meant to put you through that, Twilight. I never knew I'd turn out to be such a terrible person."

Frowning, Twilight reached out, grasping her partner's rough hand, silently marveling at how much bigger it was than hers. "No, Spike. You're not a terrible person. You're a terrific person. You're my favorite person." She saw a reluctant smile break out onto his face, and they embraced. "But every once in a while, you can be a real cunt."

Spike laughed, hugging her tighter. "You finally watched Kill Bill."

"I did."

Opening the door to the fridge, Spike whistled a tune as he searched for something to make for breakfast.

Morning had come, and he was anxious to be on his way. People to catch up with, demi-goddesses to plead for his life from, et cetera.

"Twiliiiiight!" he called. "We're out of moo juice!"

"The heck is moo juice?" She called back, from her study.

"The white creamy stuff that comes out when you juice a cow!"

Silence.

Then, "Do you mean milk?"

"Well yeah, if you wanna take all the fun out of it," he mumbled.

"There's some grocery money in the jar on the fridge, go get some," she called.

"Sure thing," he replied. He reached to the top of the refrigerator, grasping the jar, and pocketed the coins.

Making his way toward the door, he was surprised when the bell rang.

Who's that at this hour?

He opened the door, and found himself facing a familiar dizzy-eyed mail woman.

She grinned.

"Twiliiiiight!" Spike called. "How do you file a restraining order?"

"What are you going on about this time?" She snapped, strolling out into the main room. "If this is some kind of jo—HEY! NO!" She conjured a squeeze bottle, brandishing it at the mail woman who had latched onto her assistant. "Shoo! SHOO!"

Pinkie Pie hummed, sweeping clean the front porch of Sugar Cube Corner. She wore a pink shirt and light grey sweatpants. Opening time was fast approaching, and she could hardly wait for the first customers to arrive. Life was just boring without other people around!

She wasn't disappointed for long.

Hearing the footfall of an approaching person, she looked up. Gasping with surprise, she pressed her hands up to the side of her face. "Spike! You're not dead!"

Spike was sprinting across Pinkie's field of vision, wearing a purple button up and shorts. A medium-sized backpack was all he carried. He looked around until he saw her, "Hey Pinkie, now's not a really good time to-SHIT!"

He slipped over his own feet, wheeling around until he fell onto his back and hit the ground, hard.

WHAM!

The backpack exploded, showering Spike's back with milk.

Pinkie Pie blinked. "Why are you running around town carrying milk?"

"I think I'm being followed by my local mailwoman."

"No, I mean why are you carrying milk in your backpack?"

Spike scrunched his nose. "What kind of barbarian doesn't have milk in their house?"

Pinkie Pie shrugged. "Can't argue with that." She gasped, jumping in place. "Your birthday!"

Spike stared at her. "What about it?"

She continued to hop in place. "Your birthday passed while you were asleep! Come inside, come inside!" She spun around, opening the partition to the bakery.

Spike rolled his eyes, but followed anyway. "Anything that keeps me from getting molested."

Pinkie Pie stopped just inside the doorway. "Oh." She paused. "Well, come on anyway!"

"What do you need in here?" Spike asked, absently wringing the liquid from his shirt.

"Well," Pinkie Pie said, stretching the word out, "someone's missed out on four years of birthday presents so far, haven't they?" She winked obviously at him, nudging him in the stomach.

"Five, actually." Spike said, shrugging.

"Five?" Pinkie said, cocking her head.

"Yeah, that one time I stopped by the bakery and baked a cake by breathing fire on it. That was my birthday."

"It was?" Pinkie said, cocking her head even further, at nearly a forty-five degree angle.

"It was," Spike said, slightly perturbed. "I was surprised you forgot."

Pinkie Pie mouthed silently for a moment, then sputtered. "Spike, I was high that entire day! Didn't you notice?"

"What?!" he barked, incredulously.

"Yeah! I was wondering why there was a party set up in Sugar Cube Corner, because I totally didn't remember setting it up. Turns out I did, but I forgot because Dashie and I were getting lifted out back!"

Spike slapped his palms to his face. "Oh my God." He looked up. "Mrs. Cake said you went to Cloudsdale!"

Now Pinkie was the one who looked incredulous. "Codeword, Spike." She mimed smoking a blunt. "Cloudsdale?"

Spike rubbed his eyelids tiredly. "No wonder." He stared at Pinkie. "Speaking of cake, did that thing with the aphrodisiac ever wear out?"

It took Pinkie a minute to remember. "Oh! Funny thing, actually. Twilight sent you a couple blank letters while you slept so you'd breathe fire, and she ran a test over what was in it."

"And?"

Pinkie shrugged. "Dragon aphrodisiac just makes anal feel better."

Spike squinted. "Really? How does that work?"

"It's magic, yeah?"

He shrugged. "I guess. So you guys weren't really changed at all?"

Pinkie shook her head. "Nope! Turns out we're just whores."

Skillfully hiding his laugh behind a cough, Spike recovered, asking, "So, not to sound rude, but presents?"

"Oh yeah!" Pinkie slapped herself on the forehead, moving from the entryway to behind the counter. She ducked down, searching for something. "How long are you staying, anyway?"

Spike pondered the question, placing his arms behind his head nonchalantly. "Beats me. Luna's probably going to be here for me sometime today."

A pause in the rustling behind the counter. "How do you figure?"

"I'm not asleep, so she probably knows I'm better now."

"Bummer." Pinkie Pie jumped up, plopping herself on the counter, holding what appeared to be a cassette tape. "I was going to invite you to a night of insane sex and partying, but I guess you'll just have to settle for this mixtape."

Spike stared at her. "I can do quick."

Pinkie Pie raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Phrasing, much?"

Sighing heavily, Spike took the mixtape, ignoring the pat his friend gave him on the back as he walked out of the shop.

"Seeya, Spike!" she waved, jubilantly. "Come back and visit soon!"

Spike waved back halfheartedly, slinging his backpack around so as to keep the mixtape protected. He glanced over the title of the tape: Songs I'll Fuck Your Brains Out To, Vol. 1.

He broke down in the street, falling to his knees and weeping bitter, salty tears.