The ship pulled into port just as Rarity finished packing—she had managed to get two bags for the travel, a sign to Jack that she was too soft on the soul-folk—and the group froze when they all made it to deck and saw what greeted them.

It was small for a port town, and quaint enough that Rarity’s brow twitched automatically and even Jack had to pause.

The village, for it was too backwoods to even be called a town, looked to be a good twenty or thirty years behind even Mansfield. There were no streetlights, no paved or cobblestone roads, only muddy dirt, and only a few scant buildings weren’t simple homes made from wood.

“It… uh… sure is somethin’,” Jack said, trying to force a smile to her face. Rarity meanwhile, had her mouth open, speechless. The captain spoke up.

“Lobole is a quaint place. Only sprung up about two years ago as an alternative port to Freya. Since we want to be fairly inconspicuous, Celestia had decided to land here instead, considering Freya is one of the hearts of western Scandinavia.”

Rarity scoffed. “And this is clearly the colon.”

“Rare,” Jack hissed out.

“Well, from what little Celestia mentioned, what you all seek is closer here than at the capital. We’re at least a two-day hike to Freya.” The captain popped his knuckles and sighed. “Guess there’s no point stalling. We’ll need on the road soon.”

Spike cocked his head. “You’re leaving us?”

“We need to resupply before we haul everyone back,” the captain explained. “Not to mention mailing off notifications to next-of-kin.”

“Wouldn’t taking the ship be easier?” Jack asked.

“To transit, yes. But then we’d have to deal with customs, dock fees, and explaining why we’ve such a skeleton crew and why we’re hauling no freight.”

Pinkie blinked. “Those are good reasons.”

“What ‘bout Celestia? She stayin’ on the ship?” Jack asked.

“There’s an inn here. It might do her some good to get off the boat and into a solid bed.”

Jack scratched at her chin. “Alright. Spike, Diane, y’all get her room ready. I’ll check out the place with Rare.”

“Do you think we’ll have issues?” Spike asked. The earth-folk shrugged one shoulder.

“Jus’ a feelin’. Every lil’ town has issues. An’ goin’ by what I see…” She gestured towards the hamlet in question.

Rarity caught on. “Or don’t see,” she agreed.

The streets were all-but deserted, save for a few men in the distance watching a road that ran off east, and a few men nearby reluctantly hauling a net loaded with fish onto the dock.

“Get two rooms,” Jack instructed the boy, still watching the town cautiously. “Maybe I’m jus’ paranoid. If everythin’ is fine, go ahead an’ rest up, keep an eye on Celestia. Anythin’ odd…”

“Haul ass to the boat. Or haul ass to you and make them wish I had hauled ass to the boat,” he said.

Pinkie giggled. “That’s a lot of butt hauling!”

“Surely there’s nothing so terrible here,” the captain offered. “I’ve been here a year or two ago and had no complaints, despite, of course, it’s more rustic nature.”

“Jack’s farm is rustic, this is backwards,” Rarity mumbled to herself.

“I believe ya,” Jack said to the captain, ignoring Rarity for the time being. “Jus’ cautious.”

So saying, she broke from the group, Rarity following suit beside her. When they got closer to the men watching the eastern road, Jack came to a few conclusions. The first being that, save for one man, they were all untrained in combat by the way they stood and even the way their equipment sat at their sides—even Rarity had more training under her belt. Their equipment was another point Jack noticed. It was hastily assembled shambles, obviously not part of any actual military organization, but rather a frantic conscription; plows made into makeshift swords, hoes turned into improvised spears. The last thing Jack noticed was how equipped they were against magic. They wore bracelets of lead and each had a ball of silver around their necklines.

That ain’t so unusual, Jack thought, briefly thinking of the silver cross necklace she wore under her armor, or, hell, even the combat style Will taught her to help negate magic. It clearly was the only real positive the armor of the men seemed to hold.

One in the group turned to face Rarity and Jack, his armor and stance suggested to Jack that he was the leader, the only one that had a stance that seemed to imply he’d snap to action in a moment’s notice. Stepping forward he looked at them, or, rather, down at them. He actually had a few inches on Jack—an oddity for all but the Norfolk and some select earth-folk.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by one of the other militiamen.

“What we got here, guv? A little bird with a butterknife?” one jeered with a thick, backwards accent, pointing to the greatsword at Jack’s back.

“Be downright impressed if the bleedin’ tart could swing it, let alone hold it,” another called out.

“Ploughin’ gobshite, what’re you bloody doin’ here?”

“Enough,” Rarity warned, taking a step forward to put herself between the group and Jack.

They grew silent when they noticed the mark of three diamonds at her cheek, its location identifying her instantly as a soul-folk and they stood, briefly stunned as they let that soak in.

“A fuckin’ witch!” a bald man announced, his voice almost panicked, “I thought we got rid of you lot weeks ago!”

In a blur of motion there came a stone from the crowd; it flew, coming nearly into contact with Rarity’s face, only a reflexive slap inches away from her nose saved her from a bloody lip or, God forbid, a chipped tooth.

Jack’s eyes widened first in shock, then anger. She gripped the handle of her sword just as Rarity held a hand behind her, stopping Jack before she could unsheath the colossal weapon and draw blood.

“A moment longer of your time, darling,” Rarity whispered behind her and turned to face the unruly mob.

“A soul-folk, perhaps, you’re correct on that regard, I suppose. But no witch. Nor am I a ‘fucking’ one, as your friend so eloquently called me,” Rarity said, her voice unraised, but the tone bitterly cold.

“They’re one in the same!” another man from the crowd called out. “Burn your crop, kill your women, make-away with your children! Whole lot types!”

“She ain’t,” Jack growled out.

“What are you?” yet another called out, “some bumbling oaf that robs bodies for that witch’s ungodly necromancy?”

“Jack,” Rarity warned again, then returned to the issue at hand as she looked over the crowd, her expression distant and unreadable. “I do not know the first step about necromancy, components, gestures used, opportune time of day. I barely have time for normal magic—being a seamstress, one does not take breaks from the art of the dress—you gentlemen would know quite a bit more about necromancy than I.”

Finally, the man in charge turned his hand to the crowd. “This can’t be the one,” he said. The group’s mood shifted in a heartbeat at his verification, save for one.

“How do you bleedin’ know?” he asked.

“Tall one’s obviously Cabellian or a Norfolk. The soul-folk’s accent doesn’t match any in our parts. Besides, if it was her, we’d have good odds of being dead already.” He returned his focus to Jack and Rarity, giving them both a stiff bow. “My apologies. We’ve been having an issue recently here.”

“With your vulgar men, or something greater?” Rarity dryly questioned.

“One of your boys mentioned a necromancer. That right?” Jack quickly asked before the man could respond to Rarity.

“To put it bluntly: yes. We believe so.”

“We can help,” Jack offered.

“With all due respect, I have enough rookies under my wing. Going by what you’re wearing, I’m sure you know how to handle a drunk or two, but a necromancer is on a whole different level.”

“Saint's blood,” Jack said. The man paused, so Jack continued. “Rosemary oil, garlic, snapdragon. Mash it inta a paste, dilute it more with honing oil. That’s Saint’s blood. Acts like a poison ta undead, even can spook werewolves. Almost as good as a silver weapon against ‘em.”

“How do you…?” he trailed off.

“It’s my job. I hunt monsters.” She paused. “Well, I’m a farmer every day I can get away with it. This is more a side project fer when I’m needed, but I ain’t the type ta split hairs.” She held out her hand. “Jack Apple.”

He took it. “Captain Daniel Crown of Freya.” To Rarity he gave a bow and took her hand, pecking the back of it with his lips. “And I apologize again for my men’s actions, lady…?”

“Lady Rarity Apple-Belle,” she replied, giving a small curtsy. “Charmed, earlier foolishness notwithstanding.”

“Captain,” Jack addressed. “Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, I wanna know some information. Who the necromancer is, what undead she typically uses, her mark, motivation.” Reaching into the satchel at her side, she produced a notepad.

“I haven’t seen the necromancer myself. I made the conclusion it was one by recent events and eyewitness testimony.”

“Events?” Jack repeated.

“Mmm. Four bodies this week alone. A death toll of ten this month. All partially devoured, all locals.”

“Any soul-folk been questioned?”

“Questioned and anyone without a solid alibi exiled to the next town over. Few of them didn’t make the trip.”

“Exiled. Fer that?” She narrowed her brow. “What the hell? What kind of circus ya runnin’?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” he snapped back. “It’s either get rid of some bad apples or risk spoiling the whole batch. Most of the men without allies were layabouts anyway.”

“You work together,” Rarity countered. “Bad apples or no, they would have helped if you had let them. Very few people, righteous or not, wish to see their life and livelihood castrated.”

Daniel shook his head. “You think too highly of them.”

“No. I’m a realist. People rise to a challenge or they die. Very few wish for the second option, Captain. Even the scum would have attempted to help this garrish place.”

“An’ scum can sometimes be good folk too,” Jack chimed in. “If they get the chance.”

“A bit idealistic, but there is a grain of truth there, I suppose,” Rarity agreed then gave a brush of her hand. “But enough discussing semantics. Their blood is on your hands, after all. Not mine or Jack’s. Let’s return to the present.”

“Lets,” he agreed, his expression more stern than it was before.

“Take us ta the bodies,” Jack ordered.

The man lead them to the town graveyard, where several fresh piles of dirt and wooden crosses greeted them. He offered the names of the fresher victims, then gave them space to work, heading to check on his men and the roadblock they put up.

“This is ghastly,” Rarity bemoaned, looking to be nearing a shade of green as she put a shovel into the fresh-packed dirt. “My shoes are caked with dirt, I think I chipped a nail, my hair’s an embarassment to be on my head because of the humidity and I forgot my lipstick in one of my bags. It’s the worst possible thing.”

“An’ yer diggin’ up a corpse,” Jack added.

“And I’m digging up a corpse!” Rarity wailed, tilting backwards and putting the back of her hand to her forehead as she nearly swooned. Jack rolled her eyes and offered her hand.

“Let me. Go sit somewhere, sug,” the earth-folk stated.

“You don’t deserve this either,” Rarity replied.

“I want ta so you don’t have ta.” When Rarity gave her the shovel, Jack smiled. “Besides, it’s a reward fer keepin’ yer cool with those assholes from earlier.”

“They’re scared,” Rarity quietly said, her intentionally over dramatic nature discarded instantly as the conversation became serious. “Petrified, and hoping to blame something that they could rebuke for this mess. Believe me, I was ready to fight the whole time I dealt with the brutes, but gave them exceptional leeway due to their losses.”

Rarity turned, her back facing Jack as the farmer began her morbid task of unearthing the victims.

“So, ya really buy inta the whole ‘sink or swim’ approach, don’t ya?”

“Mmm?” Rarity questioned.

“‘Bout how people survive or they die.”

“Well, darling, you simply need to look at history. Either people stand on their own two feet, or get swallowed by the tide, be it war, disease, or act of God.” After a beat and a reassurance to herself that Jack might understand her trepidation, she added on, “That’s what Celestia doesn’t understand. You coddle the populace, make sure they never have to truly worry about tomorrow because someone will always be there to make it better and you’re left with people unable to rise on their own.

“By Celestia gaining the grail, she may very well doom the nation in a few generations by killing their ability to be self-reliant.”

Jack paused, resting her hands on the end of the shovel. “It’s a narrow path,” she agreed after a long consideration. “But I don’t think anyone’s completely self-reliant. We try our damndest ta be, but I know if I didn’t have people I could fall back on, ta do the right thing?” She spared a quick look to Rarity’s back and got back to shoveling. “I wouldn’t be able ta handle half of what I do if I didn’t have you an’ my family. Not ta mention all our friends. They help me rise when I get kicked down, ya know?”

“There’s a difference,” Rarity argued, turning her head to look at Jack. Her eyes widened as the earth-folk’s work unveiled a coffin; she quickly turned her back to the farmer once more. “We’re all in the struggle together. Having an outside force just… brushing her hand over our trials, it’s sickening.” She shook her head. “You know as well as I the value of hard work, sacrifice, commitment to a goal, darling.”

“I also know we woulda died if Celestia hadn’t helped out on the ship,” Jack countered, putting the spade of the shovel under the lid of the casket and popping it open. She grimaced at the smell and even from where Rarity stood, Jack heard the sound of the tailor gagging.

“What in the—no, no, I won’t look,” Rarity muttered to herself, shielding an eye with her hand. “Please put him up quickly, I’m going to vomit.”

“Her, actually.” Jack knelt by the body. It was gruesome; the bugs had already started in on it and the face was lined with larvae. Even though it disgusted Jack, she kept calm. It was a lot like when they got a calf that died at the farm. The way the bugs got to it, started their work before you could even blink—ruthless in a way, efficient in another, like most of nature and the beasts that ran the show.

And speaking of beasts…

Jack looked over the body, relaying what she saw to Rarity.

“Deep lacerations at the arms. Set of three talons, looks like. Farthest from the thumb looks weak, not as deep as the other fingers.” Another pause as she lifted up the woman’s shirt, grimacing. “Deep bite mark. Guessin’ it killed her.”

“How can you tell?” Rarity asked, looking towards the gate of the graveyard, wanting more than anything at the moment for them to be done with the morbid investigation.

“Not jus’ a bite like a dog gettin’ ya. She’s missin’ a good chunk-a her side an’ a rib’s been splintered.”

“Oh.”

Jack reached into her satchel, pulling out a book. Flipping through the pages, she finally came to one in particular.

“Bite’s bigger than normal, from somethin’ not quite human. Lil’ more like a muzzle.” She held out a palm a few inches in front of her mouth to demonstrate to herself.

“A snout? How garish,” Rarity remarked, almost as disgusted at hearing that as she was with the smell she was enduring. Almost.

“Let me check the others. I might have an idea on what made this.”

She went to work digging through the other caskets until she was satisfied with what she saw. Each seemed to have the same sort of bite pattern, usually on the torso, save for one man who had a leg taken from him. Each had the bite be the cause of death. Before long Jack shut the caskets and tried her best to return the corpses to as much peace they could find.

Moving to Rarity’s side, they headed to the graveyard’s entrance.

“Ghoul,” Jack said to the soul-folk.

Rarity raised a brow. “I’d assume so. We’re dealing with a necromancer, after all. She’s bound to have zombies.”

“There’s a difference between zombies an’ a ghoul. Ghoul’s are wolves ta a zombie’s dog. Faster, meaner, an’ feral. They’ll go after anythin’ that has a heartbeat an’ tear inta it. If a necromancer is able ta control somethin’ that wild…” Jack rubbed at her chin in thought. “I’m a bit worried now. We’ll really need ta get as much information as we can. We need ta talk with the captain, see ‘bout rustlin’ up an eyewitness.”

A few sailors had stuck around to give a hand with moving Celestia’s body. Pinkie had talked to the innkeeper, distracting him to make the whole operation seem less suspicious. The two rooms were ordered without much issue and soon Celestia was lying in a warm bed to herself.

“Thanks,” Pinkie said to the sailors, as they put the all-folk down. “Back to the boat for you, huh?”

“The road,” one corrected. “We’re heading to Freya to take care of resupply for the ship. Not to mention letters to the next-of-kin.”

“Oh, yeah,” Pinkie said, her voice sounding more hollow than before. “You gonna be okay, right?”

“Well, we’re alive. That’s about what you can ask for, when it’s all said and done.” One stiffly looked to the woman. “We’ve lost men before. But like this… it was an experience.”

Pinkie made a soft hum in agreement. “Be careful out there.”

“Of course.” With a nod, the group was off and down the stairs. Spike watched them go with a shake of his head and moved over to a chair in the corner of the room.

“Guess we’re babysitting, huh?” he asked, cocking his chin Celestia’s way.

Pinkie didn’t respond, her demeanor losing its luster the moment the sailors had left. She paced about the room, looking for something. “Any candles about?”

“There’s an oil lantern by your head, if that’s what you mean.”

Pinkie flicked the object, and it gave off a small creaking sound. “No, that won’t do. I need something better, more special.”

Spike’s interest was a bit more peaked. “Special?” he repeated, leaning forward. “For what?”

“Just something I gotta do,” Pinkie said, opening drawers and the wardrobe. When her searches ended up fruitless, she left the room and bounded down the stairs, coming back later with a good handful of candles.
“Can you light these?” she asked, holding them just under Spike’s face.

“Uh, sure,” he replied. With a small breath, the dragon-folk lit them easily with his magic. “What are they for?”

Pinkie stepped over to the small fireplace in the room, kneeling down and placing each candle next to one another. “Everything’s been so crazy recently that I really haven’t had time to…” She swallowed. “Time to think.”

“I don’t know. Thinking too hard on it’s been something I’ve tried to cut back on. It paralyzes you otherwise.” He rose, rubbing awkwardly at his arm but moving to join her regardless.

“I talked to those men on the ship. They were my friends, Spike,” she told him, focusing on the candles. “I can’t just forget about them, pretend they never existed.”

“And if you think about them too hard it’ll drive you nuts. Jack talked to me some about it,” Spike countered. “I know it’s hard.”

“Well somebody needs to care about them. Might as well be me,” Pinkie said quietly, adjusting one of the candles very slightly.

“That’s what their families are for.” He tilted his head back in consideration. “We gotta appreciate them, of course. But you think too hard on it, on how maybe it should have been you, and—” Shaking his head, he shrugged. “I don’t know what to say,” he admitted.

“Then maybe don’t say anything,” she snapped.

Spike narrowed his brow. “I was just trying to help. I’m sorry I’m too stupid to do that, I guess. Sorry that I can’t just say something and make it all better for you. Just because I didn’t talk that much to them, doesn't mean this is easy for me either. I watched them die, Pinkie.” He thrust a finger at his chest. “They’re gone, and part of it has to be my fault.”

“You don’t think I know any of that?” Pinkie asked, turning around to face him. “I watched you nearly die! How the heck do you think that makes me feel?! If you had,” she hesitated, wiping her eyes, “had passed, I wouldn’t even be here right now, doing this! So I think it’s not too much to ask that I give them a little time because it could’ve been so much worse!”

“Fine,” he answered simply. “But is it going to be just a little time? Are you sure it’s not going to eat at you after this? Because it sure as hell was eating at me.”

“I-I dunno!” Pinkie stammered. “I mean, things got bad for Jack and Rarity a while back but I wasn’t actually there. I didn’t see any of it! But on that boat, those men, with so much to give to the world…” She closed her eyes, shaking her head and gripping her knees. “They were just gone in a flash, like they never mattered at all.”

“A heartbeat,” he agreed, “here and then gone. I guess I didn’t realize how fast something like that can happen.”

Pinkie gestured to the candles. “I think they deserve more than a heartbeat.”

Giving an unsure nod, he moved back to his chair and sat. “Do what you need to. But if I get to thinking on it… I can’t,” he said, looking down to his hands.

Pinkie nodded, staying still.

She could’ve done better. Found some petals, or something. Maybe there were even photos of the crew onboard. Each of them had a story to tell, they would’ve been worth something to at least one person in the world. And just like that… gone. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t walk away from that, like the others had. She wasn’t strong like they were.

A tear trickled down her cheek and was quickly wiped away; if she couldn’t actually be strong, maybe she could pretend. She already had enough practice doing that anyway.

A little while later—she didn’t count the minutes—she rose. One by one, she snuffed the flames out with her fingertips, then moved over to Spike.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he responded in kind. “Are you feeling better?”

“A bit. How about you?”

“I’m fine. I think.” He let his hands rise and fall onto his lap. “I hope.”

“Well, I think I’ve given them enough time.” Pinkie leant over, placing her hands on Spike’s. “But I’ve got the rest of my life to spend with you.”

He squeezed her palms in response. “I’m lucky,” he said. “Luckier than most.”

“I’m luckier.” She took in a deep breath, thumbs running over Spike’s hands, as if seeking every corner of them. “If you hadn’t made it, I—be more careful. I love you too much to handle you being ripped from my life like that.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I wasn’t expecting that night to turn out like it did. The way Princess Celestia explained it, it sounded like it’d be, well, not a cakewalk, but something a lot more approachable, I guess.”

Pinkie nodded, staring at the resting form of the all-folk. “It would’ve been a lot worse if she hadn’t intervened like that. She saved us.”

“I knew she would,” Spike said. “She’s never let us down.”

“Not yet,” Pinkie replied. She scooted over, attempting to fit into Spike’s seat. “Cuddle.”

He brought her to his chest, and then some, as her head stood over his easily when she sat on his lap. Regardless, he leaned her into him, giving a rub to her side.

Pinkie hummed appreciatively, still looking at Celestia. “What do you think she’s dreaming about?”

“It’s hard to say with all-folk, isn’t it? Maybe she’s thinking about her past. Or maybe she doesn’t dream.” He gave a small smile. “I hope she’s dreaming, though. Something great.”

“Yeah,” Pinkie agreed, rubbing at an eye. “Hope I get a good dream tonight too.”

“Speaking of, I’m glad there’s a second bed in this room. It would be weird sleeping with her. That hasn’t happened since I was a baby.”

“Speaking of, thanks for reminding me.” Pinkie poked Spike on the nose. “I need those baby pictures.”

“Not a chance,” he dismissed. “I keep those under lock and key.”

“No fair.” Pushing herself off Spike, Pinkie made her way to the second bed. She slipped off her boots, socks and jacket, before falling right onto the mattress.

“You’re turning in early,” Spike said with a small smile. “Not that I mind watching.”

“Seeing her resting made me all sleepy,” she replied, curling up. “Plus it’s been a long day ‘n’ all.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s not even halfway over.” Rising, he kicked off his shoes and landed next to her, looking up at the ceiling. “Though I don’t know what else we’d really need to do.”

Pinkie’s stomach made a loud rumble, right on time.

“Eat,” she said, coupled with an embarrassed laugh.

“Oh yeah. I haven’t really wanted to eat much since the Kraken, but you might be hungry.”

“Very.” She stretched out, her tummy revealing itself. “Too tired to go get something myself, though.”

“I can get us some if you want to rest.” He reached forward, giving a rub to Pinkie’s stomach. “Though if I keep bringing you food in bed, you’re gonna end up plump afterall.”

“The day I turn plump is the day—um, the day that… the daaaaay—” She pouted, waving a hand. “Too tired to come up with anything good. But I won’t get plump! Besides, it all depends on what you bring me.”

“Well, I doubt this place is going to offer salads. I’ll see what I can do, though,” he answered with a shrug, stepping out the door.

Pinkie’s gaze wandered around the room before lingering on the burnt out candles by the fireplace. She sighed, then turned, peering over at Celestia. Even her, serene as she looked while asleep, just reminded Pinkie of the boat. So she rolled onto her back, resigning herself to stare at the ceiling. The room felt a lot smaller than it had been before.

There was a small knock, and Spike returned, a plate in tow.

“Ever eat mutton?”

“You know I’ll eat anything,” she replied.

“Well, good, because that’s what you’ve got. Mutton and rolls.” So saying, he put the dish down onto the bed. “Don’t get too used to this breakfast in bed deal, by the way.”

“I really appreciate it, Spike.” Drawing him closer, she gave him a soft peck on the cheek. “There, now you know.”

He smiled at the action and moved to sit at the foot of the bed.

“Hey,” Spike said, looking towards the door. “Everything ok?”

“Mmm?” Pinkie mumbled, a roll in her mouth.

He gave a lazy circle of his hand. “The boat trip. Things alright? We didn’t have much time to talk about any of it.”

“I’ll be okay,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “Just need some good food. Maybe some air later, y’know? Go outside, do something. I’ll go stir crazy if all we’re gonna do it sit here until the others come back.”

“What is there to do? You saw how this place looked.” He gave an exaggerated shrugged. “I’m amazed they had food, honestly.”

“Great.” Pinkie rolled her eyes, stuffing some of the mutton into her mouth. It wasn’t something to savor.

“Besides, I don’t want to leave Celestia unguarded. I don’t think the locals are violent, but…” Grabbing a roll, he wolfed it down.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Pinkie agreed with a sigh. She looked at Spike very briefly, then shied away.

He knew what she was doing and shook his head with a flat glance.

“Come on, what?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Pinkie. I don’t like it when you are keeping something serious from me. That’s not how these things are supposed to work.” Spike gave a small tap to her wrist as punctuation.

Pinkie drew her arm back. “Well if I told you I’d only make you feel awful. And then that’d make me feel sad. And then that’d make you feel even sadder—it’s just a terrible cycle!”

Leaning back, he laid down once more on the bed, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It’s better to get whatever it is out in the open. That’s the only way for a relationship to work. I’m an adult now, I can take what you’re gonna tell me.”
“It’s just…” Pinkie put the plate to the side, hugging her knees. “When you went all dragon-y…”

“Say it. Please,” Spike encouraged, putting a hand to her arm.

“You gave me a look. It was only a second but I saw it and I can’t forget it. It looked like you just wanted me, like you were really hungry or something and if there hadn’t been a kraken there you might have—” She cut herself off, slowly shuffling around to hide her expression from him.

“Oh,” was all he said. No denial, no attempt to butter her up, no indigent counter. Just a quiet, two-letter word. “I scared you, huh?”

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s hard sometimes,” he replied. “Knowing I’m weak. Knowing I can’t put my all into something. Knowing Jack and Twila and even Rarity now can outdo me if I don’t keep things in check. But I gotta.” Unsure of what to do, he brushed his green hair away from his brow. “I want to say I’d never hurt you like that, but I don’t know. I don’t want to find out, either. Cabello doesn’t know much on me—my people, I guess—since I’m just bastard blood. Doesn’t happen often, for obvious reasons.” Pursing his lips, Spike exhaled. “So I’m sorry if I freaked you out. You have every right to be scared.”

“I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of the you that lurks within you, and what he might do to me.” Pinkie stared at her palms, flexing her fingers. “I’m not sure I could even do anything to stop him.”

Spike to put his hands to his head in resignation. It was true. Spike knew that the princesses could easily stop him, maybe even Jack. But Pinkie? Not a chance, and that’s what hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I hate what I am, I do, but I don’t know how I can change it. But, as long as I don’t open the door, he can’t come out.”

Pinkie reached over, drawing Spike close to her chest. “Never hate yourself. We all have our nasty sides, all we gotta do here is some research. That’s all, it’s no different from anyone else. Even me.”

“Your nasty side can’t claw out a throat,” Spike said with a bit of harshness. After a moment, he took to giving a hesitant rub to Pinkie’s arm.

In return, she placed her hand over his. “Maybe Celestia can help you.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “I’ve never really asked her. Guess you can’t count out all-folks until you try ‘em.”

“I’m sure she’ll know something, unlike me.” Pinkie placed a hand to her forehead, sweeping back her messy fringe. “I can’t really do anything. You think you’re weak? I’m, like, ten times worse.”

“Nobody expects you to know how to fight, Diane. I don’t know how to either. Nothing wrong with that.”

“You’ve at least got your cool dragon powers. Me? I’m probably just going to be a burden.” She sniffed once, then frowned, seemingly gaining some resolve. “Not that I’d want to go back. At least when I’m here with you guys, my friends, I can give you all some support. Even if it’s just a smile on a bad day, every little bit helps.”

She looked at Spike and, despite her innocent and childlike smile across her lips, her eyes hinted at a person who was far wiser and maturer than she let on. “There’s a lot of really weird, strange and dangerous stuff in our world. But I’ve always thought there’s nothing more powerful than a simple smile.”

“You know. I think you might be onto something there,” he agreed. Despite the stress of the last few days, he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Diane could go off on odd tangents, and following her train of thought would usually take you all over the countryside. But at the end of the day, she was more right than it seemed at first glance.

There was nothing more powerful than a smile.