"So I'm sitting around in my room after practice, minding my own business. Spitfire's been running us tight all weekend, so I'm looking to unwind, yeah?"

Shining Armor rolled his eyes. "Soarin', for the last time, I'd appreciate it if you didn't start every conversation about you burping the worm." He raised his beer to his lips, taking a long, slow draught from it.

But the blue-haired athlete rambled on, somehow managing to keep his face straight. "No no no, see, here's where it gets weird. So I'm lying around in my hammock sucking my dick—"

The captain of the royal guard nearly choked on his drink, eyes watering. "I'm sorry, what?"

Soarin' rolled his eyes at the distraction. "Yeah, I'm a snickety-snake, big deal. Anyway, while I'm playing the skin flute, Fleetfoot decides now's an excellent time to bust my doors down and have a heart-to-heart or some crap."

Shining Armor finally recovered, wiping his mouth and pounding his chest, trying to ignore the looks the other patrons of the bar were giving him. "So what you're saying is, your teammate walked in on you giving yourself head?" He winced. "How exactly did that work out for you?"

Soarin' grinned, folding his hands and leaning forward in his seat. "Well, let me break it down for you, soul brother…"

"Ah yes, this seems to be the place." Fancy Pants murmured as he opened the door to the bar.

Spike followed behind him, wary of his surroundings. "Are you sure we should be here? I don't exactly have a good reputation with bars."

The blue haired gentleman waved off his concerns. "Don't worry, I promise you that nothing will go wrong. Probably."

Spike rolled his eyes. Thanks for the vote of confidence. "I sure hope so. The last time I stepped into a place like this, it took me months to get better."

Fancy Pants smirked, nodding to the bartender as the two of them headed into the tavern. "We could always go visit that feminist demonstration down the road."

The young green-haired man shivered, gritting his teeth at the suggestion. "I dare you to go one day without getting me entangled in some sexual fiasco."

Fancy Pants grinned patronizingly at his young friend. "Oh, did you learn a new word during your recuperation?"

"Actually, I learned three, you deplorable cloaca."

The two's conversation gradually drifted off as they approached their table.

"And so this gumby fucker's running through the hallways screamin' his head off about how I'm gay and everything." The blue-haired Wonderbolt waved his hands erratically. "And the entire time, I'm stumbling out of my room, pulling up my pants and trying to get my dick out of my fucking zipper. And I'm all like 'I ain't gay, I just suck dick!'"

Spike coughed into the palm of his hand, trying to ignore the stares that they were attracting.

"Spike, is that you?" Shining Armor got up from his seat and clapped the young man on his shoulder. "You really shot up these last few years, huh?"

Spike chuckled nervously, barely able to look Twilight's older brother in the face. "Time flies, huh?"

"You said his name was Spike?" Soarin' turned to the green-haired young man as well. "How's Rainbow Dash doing?"

Spike's thoughts immediately shifted to the night he spent with Rainbow Dash, sweating and panting against a brick wall after their brief but intense encounter.

"Uh…"

Fancy Pants smiled as he sat down at the small table next to his friends. "That reminds me, how are your lovely young friends doing back home? It's been quite some time since we last saw each other.

Spike recalled the afternoon last spent with a certain one of his friends…

"Fluttershy, are you here?" Spike yelled, wiping sweat off of his brow as he searched the perimeter of Fluttershy's cottage. "I got your message from one of the birds you sent. What's the emergency that you mentioned?"

A voice called out from the back of the small building. "Spike, over here! Quickly!"

The green-haired youngster rushed to help his friend, nearly tripping over himself when he found her.

Sunbathing.

"Oh, thank goodness you made it in time!" Fluttershy said, clasping her hands to her chest.

"What…seems to be the problem?" Spike asked, doing his best to keep his eyes above her neckline.

"Well," she started, "I was feeding the ducks when I saw that Count Quackula was having trouble swimming."

"You named your duck Count Quackula?"

"That usually means that he hasn't been taking his supplements," she continued, "and it turns out that we ran out of the medicine that supports his uropygial gland, so I had to apply olive oil directly to his feathers so he wouldn't drown."

Spike blinked. "Sounds like you took care of the problem, Fluttershy."

But the pink-haired beauty simply shook her head. "That wasn't the problem, though."

"Then what is?"

She gestured to a blotch of liquid on her back. "I spilled some oil on myself by complete accident, and I need another pair of hands to help me get rid of it!"

Spike stared at her skeptically. "How did you manage to spill oil on your back without meaning to?"

But Fluttershy grabbed the startled young man by the shoulders, and pushed him down forcefully onto her lawn chair. "SHUT UP AND HAKUNA MY TATAS!"

Post-flashback, Spike shrank under Fancy Pant's expectant stare.

"Uh…"

Despite his obvious discomfort, Shining Armor likewise pressed his questions upon the young man.

"Twilight's told me about how you've been in Canterlot ever since your fight with that other dragon guy. Have you had a chance to visit the folks yet?"

Panic momentarily forgotten, Spike looked at the captain of the Royal Guard in confusion.

"Huh?"

Shining Armor rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "You know, the 'rents? The old buzzards who more or less helped raise you?"

In Spike's mind's eye, he recalled his last meeting with Twilight and Shining Armor's parents, but a few weeks past…

"Mrs. Sparkle, are you sure we should be doing this?" Spike fidgeted nervously as the older woman whipped off her blouse, exposing a beautifully pale braless chest.

"Oh Spike, you wonderful, wonderful young man." She chuckled, hooking a finger through his belt loop and dragging him down to the bed, pulling him on top of her. "Of course it's fine. You have no idea how much I need this."

The sound of a door opening reached their ears, and Spike's eyes widened as a pipe and robe hit the floor.

"How much WE need this."

Spike's eyes turned wide as dinner plates.

"UH."

The three older men stared at the flustered teenager as he tripped backwards, bumping into a waitress by accident.

"Sorry!" he said hastily, at least mildly relieved to be on a completely different topic.

The waitress looked him up and down, growling. She said in a husky whisper, "If your dick is as hard as your elbow, don't be."

FUCK

"I have to pee!" Spike yelled, far louder than he had intended to.

The restaurant watched as he stumbled into the bathroom…

…and as he exited, blushing, and stumbled into the right bathroom.

Spike washed his face in the bathroom sink, trying to clear his mind.

Okay, how do I do this? So I may have ended up bedding the family and friends of three older men who're more than capable of killing me.

He gulped. I've been through worse, at least.

He started as the door to the men's bathroom burst open, only to find himself looking up at a familiar face.

"Oh, Big Macintosh," Spike said, smiling and covering his heart. "You really startled me there."

"Ah know what you did." Came the angry reply.

Spike froze, suddenly wary of apple farmer. "W-what do you mean?"

"Ah know what you did with my sister," he snarled, muscles rippling as the robust man clenched his hands.

"Oh…that." Spike said. His voice reduced itself to a small, meek whisper as he backed up in fear.

"Way I hear it, you've been getting' around a fair deal lately. Miss Twilight, the Mayor, a couple of skanks at some bar—"

At this, Spike rose up indignantly. "Now hold on a moment, Lyra and Bon Bon are not—"

"Not them, the white-haired ones that watched you get your ass kicked," he corrected.

Spike considered that for a second. "Oh, them. Yeah, they were skanks."

In response, the burly apple farmer only stepped forward menacingly.

"Please, we don't have to fight," Spike begged. He still hadn't fully recovered from his encounter with Garble, and he couldn't be sure that he would stand a chance against Applejack's older, stronger brother.

"Tell me, Spike," the living statue said, ignoring his statement, "y'all ever make love to a man before?"

Spike's eyes shrunk to the size of pinpricks.

Then he started to cry.

"Please don't do this, I'm softer than I look!" the young man bawled, covering his backside protectively with his hands.

"Ah know." The farmer said, advancing and pushing Spike into a nearby stall.

"I-I'm really young, and this'll tear up my insides, and-and I'll never be able to marry—"

Big Macintosh said nothing, closing the stall door behind him. He took one massive hand and ripped the back of Spike's jeans. "So everyone knows what happened here," he clarified.

Spike sniffled, not bothering to fight anymore as he put his hands against the walls to brace himself.

Why didn't I stay in bed today?

He felt the arm on the back of his neck tighten, grow smaller in size. A mouth leaned in close to his ear.

Bed of nails, it snarled, each word hot as if a dragon had spat them out.

Spike catapulted up in bed, sweating profusely. His green hair was matted down, eyes wide and dull in color.

The door to the loft swung open, and a familiar face popped in.

"Spike? Are you okay?"

The green-haired young man panted, brushing his hair back with his fingers as he looked to the open door. "Applejack?" he asked when he managed to catch his breath. "What are you doing here?"

The farmer approached the bed, sitting down on the edge and placing her hand on his leg. "Twilight's out running some errands for the Princess, and she won't be back for a while. She wanted me to come over and check on you."

Spike blinked, adjusting the sheets as he sat up in bed. "Really? What's she doing?"

Applejack made sure not to meet his eyes. "She didn't say."

But before Spike could call her on her lie, the apple farmer spoke up again. "You sure you're alright? The way you were groaning, it sounded like you were having a hell of a nightmare."

Looking at the young blonde, and considering her relation to the subject of his torment, Spike shuddered. "I guess you could say that."

Applejack moved up the side of the bed, wrapping a firm arm around Spike's tense neck. "Spill, sugar. What's eatin' you?"

Spike stared ahead. "It's late, Applejack. I'm not exactly in the mood to have hot, angry, passionate words."

She slapped him upside his head in annoyance. "Believe it or not, I don't spend every waking minute I'm around you eager to get in your pants."

Spike looked over in mild surprise. "Really?"

Applejack rolled her eyes. "Yeah, really. Now would you tell me what's botherin' you? I ain't one for twenty questions."

Spike was silent for a manner of seconds, before muttering something under his breath.

"Come again?" Applejack pressed, poking her finger into his side.

Spike groaned, shifting away from the farmer, arms crossed. "I said I've been having this nightmare."

Applejack cocked her head. "'Nightmare?' You mean you've been havin' it more than once?"

Spike nodded. "Well, usually. There was that one time I melted from the inside out."

The apple farmer cringed. "Shouldn't you be gettin' looked at? All this sounds a little dark for someone your age."

"That's the thing, though." Spike said, folding his fingers. "These dreams are so vivid, I could swear they're really happening. Some nights I wake up smelling alcohol and brimstone."

"What—"

"That's what Garble smells like," he muttered, habitually clutching the patch of colored skin on his stomach where his body had warped and his fire had left. "That's what he always smells like."

"What are your dreams usually about?" Applejack asked.

Spike was hesitant in answering, not sure how she'd take his inclusion of her brother in his nightmare. "I see the family and friends of the women I've been with, some I haven't been with," he admitted. "I try to get away before they find out the truth, but someone always catches me."

"What happens then?" she pressed.

"Dark things," Spike murmured, clutching his arms around his chest. "Dark, anally things."

Applejack was silent for a while, before speaking up. "Ah ain't much for interpretin' dreams, Spike, but I'd have to say you've got some guilt issues goin' on that you need to address."

"I know," Spike groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "I mean, on one hand, I know I'm not going out and looking for sex, but they always find me." He rushed to elaborate before Applejack could interject, "I know that I'm still responsible, but still."

Applejack mulled that over for a few seconds before saying, "And on the other hand?"

"Garble's still out there." His body involuntarily twitched at the mention of his name. "If I don't get better, he'll slaughter me the first chance he gets."

"You know he's got to be in bad shape too, sugar," she pointed out. "There's no reason to worry yourself half to death. Besides, all of us are here for you. You really think we'd just let 'em waltz right in and kill you?"

"You didn't see him, Applejack," he insisted. "He nearly broke Dash, and he nearly killed me."

"Yeah, so?" she argued. "Ya learned your lesson, and now you know he's out there."

Spike grumbled. "That doesn't make me feel better, though."

Applejack crossed her arms over her chest. "What will, then?"

Spike pondered his response for a moment. "Sleep with me," he said.

Applejack's shirt was already off by the time he finished his sentence. "Y'all sure? I'd hate to take advantage of you when you're distressed."

But he raised his hands in protest. "I meant that literally, Applejack. I want to have someone nearby, in case the nightmares come back."

Applejack grumbled, pulling her jeans back up. "Probably should've phrased that better, then."

"Sorry," he muttered. "You can keep the shirt off, thou—oh my God, you can grind meat on those abs."

Applejack rested her hat on the nightstand next to his bed, settling in place under the sheets. Spike lowered his head to rest on her chest as his hand wrapped around her waist. "I have to say, Applejack, you're the prettiest man I've ever had the privilege of cuddling."

The farmer ignored his smartass remark, and instead wrapped one strong arm around her friend's shoulders. "You sure you don't mind sleepin' with me? I'm no Rainbow Dash, but Ah'm not always so noble when it comes to keepin' my hands to myself."

"Don't worry," Spike said, without hesistation. "I trust you."

Applejack was stunned into silence.

"Dammit."