“I hate you! I hate you so much! I wi-ish you’d all just go away!”

And had Equestria been any other place, that might have been the end of it. But in a land of magic and friendship, the one thing you can always, always rely on is that someone, somewhere, is listening.

Far underground – past roots and earth and crumbling mine shafts, with worms sliding ‘cross its glistening carapace in wavy, oblong passes – stone moved.

“Alright,” Spike muttered to himself, claws digging grooves into the broom handle they were holding. “Here goes nothing.”

And with that, he poked the broom handle upwards and flicked open the curtains. A rich golden light flooded into the main section of the library, dancing off the brightly polished tabletops and a floor scrubbed to within an inch of its life. Spike leant the broom against the table and stepped back, claw rubbing along his spines.

“Sun’s still in the sky. Huh.” His hand dropped down. “How about that.”

“Who?”

“We’re not getting into this.”

A few book pages rustled about, some rattling in their bookcases as Owlowiscious flew past them. He landed next to the window, his shape throwing an exaggerated shadow out across the room.

“Oh, fine. Block my light, why don’t you? It’s all fine. I’m down with it.”

Owlowiscious’s head spun round, a pair of black, beady eyes blinking down on Spike. “Who?”

Spike frowned back, before turning round with a sigh and a muttered, “Stupid bird.” He waddled off towards a book laid open in one of Twilght’s stands, with a list dangling like a tail off of it. He grabbed a chair and jumped up to its level. He plucked a quill out from an invisible pocket.

“Ok... Sun in sky. Check.” He flicked a tick onto the list, and then brought it closer to his face, eyes running along its length. There was an awful lot of ticks.

“Let’s see here... No Evil Monsters In Cupboards. Cleared that one up. Ponies screaming in streets?” He listened. “Nope. And the sun is in the sky...” Spike lowered the list down, lips bunched up to one side. “But still no Twilight. Huh...”

When Twilight Sparkle had failed to return four days ago, Spike had been prepared. Or, to be more precise, Twilight had prepared him -- her absences and weird, global crises had combined often enough that Twilight had drafted up a step by step guide of “What To Do If I’m Not Back For Tea.”

It was two thousand pages long and the same weight as two bricks. Spike had only ever read the first step -- stay in the library and keep yourself busy -- before using it as, alternatively, a door stop, a pillow or as a substitute for a set of weights.

The first day, after Twilight had failed to show up, had involved cleaning -- lots of it.

By the time the second day had rolled around, and the scent of wax had permeated everything, Spike had finally gotten round to digging out the book from its current location under the dirty laundry. He’d attempted to read through it before figuring that Twilight was bound to show up soon anyway and returning to cleaning.

He’d starting making a list of the most important parts as soon as the third day started, painstakingly copying out the “How to tell if you’re in Mortal Danger” section into a checklist, stylised images and all.

And he’d just gone through it. All of it. As far as the book and Twilight by extension were concerned, there was no crisis going on whatsoever. The world was working perfectly, no rampaging monsters or closet-hiding fiends.

“Huh,” Spike said again. It felt like the right sort of thing to say.

A few seconds later, he hopped off the chair and waddled off to pick up the Library’s second tub of beeswax.

It felt like the right sort of thing to do.

There was no beeswax. Which was a problem because there definitely was a few seconds ago.

Spike leant back, confused. Had there been? Yes, yes there had been. He was sure of it. Almost sure of it. Almost completely, totally sure of it. Almost.

He thought back, casting his mind back to three days ago when this cupboard’d been stocked to the brim. Had there been two tubs of beeswax? He couldn’t really remember: there’d been a lot of stuff in that cupboard. It was hard to figure out exactly what the individual parts of the great, remembered mass called “Cleaning stuff” had been.

It was a lot clearer now, though. Much easier to see what was here or, in the case of the missing beeswax, what wasn’t.

There was hardly anything here at all now...

Oh.

Right.

He’d used it all up, hadn’t he.

Huh.

Spike reached up and had a scratch at his face, claws clicking as they scraped along scale boundaries. A part of him dimly wondered if this was in the list.

He spent an hour browsing through the index, an hour spent in vain: there wasn’t.

Huh.