With much care, Spike slowly lowered the iron tray full of shiny, globular chestnuts over the open fire, spending ample time making sure the rectangular grid was locked securely in place over the roasting frame.

Exhaling in relief, Spike backed away slowly from the open range, leaving the detachable handle securely locked to the tray of chestnuts. When he considered himself a fair enough distance away, he wiped his forehead and looked around the periphery of Ponyville Castle’s kitchen to see what else he could do.

There was still plenty to clean up; in particular, the island’s counter was still coated with clumps of butter and flour from his earlier efforts in baking cookies for Twilight and her friends.

Groaning softly in exertion, Spike walked over to the sink to wet a large cloth for the purpose of cleaning up his mess. The tip of his snout burning, Spike reached out a cupped claw to fill with warm water and splashed it over his nostrils. Twilight had given him a list of half a dozen errands to complete earlier in the day, and he had run himself ragged outside in the sub-zero weather, to the point that jackfrost had adhered to his snout and caused a rippling pattern of tissue death across his face.

He winced and groaned softly as the water ran down his face, the inflammation making his scales there exceptionally tender. Gently patting his face dry, he took up the newly wetted washcloth and proceeded to clean the counter.

Spike’s reach was limited by his height and he had to kneel on the counter itself to clean it. Thus, his laborious task quickly began to weigh on his back muscles. Still, he managed a small smile upon hearing Twilight and her friends singing a yuletide carol from the next room. They were always able to hit perfect harmony, it seemed.

Serenaded by the silken voices of seven mares he cared about, the work seemed to pass instantaneously, and as soon as the makeshift choir’s rendition of ‘The Hearth’s Warming Song’ begun to diffuse through the walls and into the room, Spike had finished.

Wadding up the washcloth and tossing it into the sink stylistically, Spike allowed himself a short, joyous leap and a celebratory declaration. “Three points for Spike! The crowd goes wild!”

Spike began to gyrate rhythmically, bringing his arms toward and then away from himself cyclically, in such a way that any onlooker would have the compulsion to look away to save them both the embarrassment. “Yeah! Alright; go Spike!”

A particularly high-pitched shriek, probably sung to mark the transition between verses in the song but failing miserably in its intended purpose, startled Spike, causing his foot to slip on the still-wet crystalline counter.

Spike yet out a yelp as he fell practically sideways off of the counter, his left arm smacking hard into the edge of the counter and his coccyx letting out an unnatural crunch as it took the brunt of the impact from the fall.

Lying on his back, Spike let the ringing in his ears subside before he opened his eyes, wincing as he tested his digits to make sure his spine was still functioning. “P-Pinkie,” he wheezed quietly, looking up at the ceiling with an expression of agony, “Why…*gasp* must you shriek as such?”

After a few hacking coughs, Spike slowly sat up, groaning but alive and in control of his faculties. “That’s gonna bruise real bad,” he stated manner-of-factly, following up the sentence with a sigh. Standing up slowly, he began wobbling over to the oven with a noticeable hunch in his posture.

His path took him by the window, where he looked out over the white blanket of snow holding back the cruel, black night. Outside, he could see couples bundled up tightly (almost as if they were yaks, or some other group indigenous to the frozen north) hobbling along under the streetlights. Thick clumps of white snow fell, obscuring his visibility as ponies came into his vision suddenly and then slowly faded into the distance.

He must have been staring for five minutes when he finally shook his head to clear his thoughts. “The snow is beautiful, but I have a tofu roast to take out,” he scolded himself, turning tail and finishing his painful sojourn to the oven.

Opening the oven required Spike to bend his injured back, which caused him a great deal of consternation. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t promptly been hit with a rush of hot air that made his frostbite injury feel as if it had been set on fire.

Lifting his head back and choking away tears, Spike moaned in lament and reached for the oven mitts. After gently placing the roast on the counter, and crunching up his face in pain at the bombardment of hot oil droplets associated with said action, he slapped the mitts down on the counter and kicked the oven close, stubbing a claw on his foot.

“Ah!” he cried, biting his lip and scowling at the uninjured oven door. After a moment’s reflection, he sighed at his own incompetence. “What a lousy day,” he pouted. “First I get frostbite running a bunch of holiday errands, then Rarity shows up for the sleepover early, and alone, and doesn’t even notice that we’re under the mistletoe together, and now all this complete-“

Spike sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, remembering the one lesson repeatedly drilled into him by Twilight over the last several years.

“Nothing justifies profanity, Spike.”

“All this complete garbage,” he corrected himself, waving his hand all over the room for emphasis. Groaning, he weakly shambled over to the window again, watching the snow peacefully drifting down from the black sky. “You know what? I’ve been working all day, and I deserve a break. Yeah, a break! The Cakes’ babies are up all night, every night waiting for Santa Hooves, and even the Cakes get a break! This holiday is supposed to be for everypony from one to ninety-two; I don’t know how that translates into dragon years, and I don’t care! I’ll ask Twilight if I can stay in there with them for just a little while, and even if she says no, I’m sure Starlight or Pinkie will stick up for me! I’ll do it just as soon as I finish roasting those-“

Spike’s head whipped around and toward the kitchen’s open fireplace, where loud popping and sizzling indicated that the cooking procedure was already at completion. “-Chestnuts!”

Spike scrambled over to the fire as fast as his stocky stature and injured back would allow. Unfortunately, upon rounding the corner of the counter he stepped in an almost-empty mop bucket, causing him to fall and brutally twist his ankle.

Covered in dirty mop water and physically crippled, Spike used a single claw to pull himself toward the fire. “Just gotta get them off before they burn…” he choked, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Reaching up, he wrapped a claw around the iron handle attached to the roasting tray…

…Which he was not supposed to have left attached during roasting.

Dragon physiology is highly resistant to lava because of the environment in which dragons live. However, their scales have always been highly vulnerable to heated metal, hence the prominence of metal weaponry and armor among Middle Ponish-era dragon hunting units (that’s what’s in Princess Twilight’s notes on the subject, anyway).

“AH, SWEET CELESTIA!”

Rarity’s ears perked up. “Darlings, did you happen to hear that?”

“Hear what?” Applejack asked, a mouth full of food obscuring her syllables.

Grimacing in moderate disgust at her friend, Rarity curled her upper lip before continuing. “It sounded like Spike.”

“I-I should go check on him,” Fluttershy meekly offered, standing up from her seated position near the den’s roaring fireplace.

“Not a chance, Fluttershy,” Rainbow Dash spat, speeding over to push her back down on the floor. “Not until you answer your question. That’s how ‘truth or dare’ works- no escape!”

“O-oh, my…” Fluttershy shivered, retreating behind her mane. “I-I mean, I just don’t know if the question is clear enough…”

“How could I have possibly been clearer?” Rarity asked, seemingly personally offended and having completely forgot about Spike’s scream of pain. “Have you, or have you not, ever liked a stallion or a colt?”

“W-well, I-I mean, I like my Dad…”

Rarity buried her face in her hooves for a moment. “Goodness, Fluttershy, must we really start defining terms for you!?”

“Oh! I’ve been waiting for such a time to suggest implementing standardized definitions!” Twilight offered a little too eagerly. “And while we’re at it, we can implement Robert’s Rules!”

“Will you can it, Twilight?” Rainbow Dash practically screeched. “I’m trying to get some juicy digs on my oldest friend over here and nopony can stay on track. Now, Fluttershy, have you, or have you not, ever LIKE-LIKED anypony?”

“W-well…uh…um…I…”

The door to the den slowly swung open, causing Rainbow Dash to groan in exasperation and Fluttershy to let out an inaudibly quiet ‘Yay’. The whole group of gossiping mares looked over to find Spike walking towards them with more food.

Or, what once could have been identified as Spike. This baby dragon looked a lot worse. The green crest on the top of his head was bent slightly to one side, and his face appeared tired and colorless, cracks across his snout revealing exposed, bloodshot tissue. He was bent over pitifully as he shambled toward the center of the room, obviously favoring one leg and using a claw covered in makeshift bandages to assist the other, covered in an oven mitt, in carrying a metal tray full of roasted nuts into the room.

The pleasant smell of the roasted chestnuts, and the shocking appearance of Spike, were enough to make everyone forget about the game, if only for a moment.

“Spike, you don’t look so good,” Starlight Glimmer offered, a worried frown on her face. “Do you want to maybe…sit down for a minute?”

Spike slowly hobbled past her, silently ignoring her offer as he walked toward the crystal coffee table in the center of the room. Upon reaching it, he stood up as straight as he could and held the tray of chestnuts directly over the table. Leaning away to let out a few hacking coughs, he turned his head to look directly into Twilight’s eyes.

“Here are your fucking chestnuts,” Spike croaked, dropping the tray onto the table. Several chestnuts were bumped out of their places on the tray and rolled across the floor, while the contact of the still hot tray with the table caused a series of fizzling sounds to emanate.

The fizzles, and the pops of the fireplace, were the only sounds in the room as Spike slowly turned around and began limping his way toward the room’s exit.

A few seconds more past before Rainbow Dash burst into a riotous fit of laughter, rolling around on the couch. She was almost unable to breathe.

“Spike!” Twilight scolded obnoxiously from the far side of the room as she watched him leave. “Language!”

Author's Notes:

I'm always on Spike's side, you guys. Just saying, I could see this happening.

Also: "Nothing justifies profanity." -Stonewall Jackson