“Hey, Twilight, check it out!” said Spike from downstairs, somewhere.

The little bubble of comfort and safety that Twilight had built up in her study warbled and threatened to collapse altogether. But it was okay! She would just ignore him. Spike knew that sometimes sound didn’t carry so well in the palace, with the crystal walls and all, so she could just say that she didn’t hear him.

Her eyes resumed their romantic liaison with the book in front of her, a recent publication of essays by Baltimare University’s most gifted minds.

… Well, recent, by her current standards. There was a time when Twilight measured the newness of an academic study by the number of hours between its virginal publication and the moment her lustful eyes had their wicked way with it. Nowadays, she was lucky if she could keep herself from falling more than a publication cycle behind with any given university’s major journals.

“Twilight! Where are you?” Spike’s voice echoed once again through the halls.

Steadfastly, Twilight denied the existence of any adolescent dragons in her castle. In fact, there was a good chance statistical chance that adolescent dragons didn’t exist at all, considering how draconic puberty only accounted for about 0.01% of a typical dragon’s natural lifespan, which fell well within the margin of error of several—

“I’ve got my Nightmare Night costume on! You wanna see?” came Spike’s voice, somewhere down and to the left of Twilight.

Oh Celestia, he was in the public portion of the library. Once he was done searching there, he’d be [i]here[/i] next!

… But he [i]was[/i] a fair bit bigger than he used to be, and he sometimes had trouble navigating the more narrow shelves. It’d buy her time. Sweet, succulent time alone with her book.

She shoved the journal back in her face and began to read an application of Hayto’s philosophy to modern financial ethics, with the desperation of a sleazy suitor whispering the phrase “Now, where were we?” into the ear of a beautiful and terrified mare even as an out-of-control kitchen fire spread to the highly flammable curtains of the otherwise extremely reputable Neightalian dining establishment they sat within.

“Twilight? Are you taking another nap?”

It just wasn’t [i]fair![/i] She spent all bucking day reading creative writing projects from her third year students! The full extent of most of their literary prowess was to remember to sign and date the top of their wide-ruled notebook paper!

Finally, the inevitable happened. The fancy Neightalian restaurant burned down, and Spike’s footsteps sounded just beyond Twilight’s study door.

“There you are!” he said, as the door squeaked  opened and he stepped in. “Dude, check out my costume for this year.”

Twilight really didn’t like being called “dude”. It didn’t even make sense.

Lovingly, she mouthed the words “I’ll be back, I promise!” to the Hayto article, before closing the book and looking up from her desk. And then she saw the most utterly horrifying thing she had seen since Tirek.

“Do you like it?” said the monstrosity in front of her in Spike’s voice.

Twilight shut her eyes and took off her reading glasses. They did tend to blur things in the middle distance. She smiled peacefully, and opened her eyes again.

Yep, still terrifying.

In front of her stood, well, herself. It looked exactly like the purple alicorn that greeted Twilight in the mirror each morning. Except, of course, where it was unnaturally misshapen from the ordeal of fitting an entire Celestia-sized dragon inside of it. And, of course, how it’s mouth was stretched in an unending silent scream, like the dislocated jaw of an egg-swallowing snake, in order to let Spike’s own muzzle and eyes to poke through.

Some of the stitching was also a little rough at the joints.

“Are you dressed as me?” she said.

“Yeah!” said Spike. He smiled toothily from within the fake Twilight’s wailing mouth while he spun around. His wings poked out through the top where Twilight’s would have. “I did most of the sewing myself, and I can’t really see the back of it when I’ve got it on, so I’m not entirely sure how things look over there.”

Twilight breathed deeply to silence the internal screaming.

“It’s… Wow.”

“Thanks!” said Spike. “I’ve also got one for you! I was thinking we could do a matched set this year.”

From somewhere within the eldritch folds of the Twi-suit, Spike produced another purply-hued bundle of cloth. When he spread it out between his outstretched claws (which, Twilight noted, poked disturbingly out of the Twi-suit’s hooves), she saw that it was one of Spike himself, made to her size.

The Spike-suit looked up at her, with sad blank eyes, like the discarded skin of a dead fish. Twilight wasn’t even sure if or how griffons skinned fish before they ate them, but she still thought it was an apt metaphor.

“That looks…. Wow!” she said, once she remembered that Spike was waiting for her thoughts.

“I’m… sensing a bit of hesitation,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Darn! When did he get so perceptive?

“Oh, did you already have plans?” he asked. He gestured punching the air. “Drat! I knew I should have asked you first, but I wanted it to be a surprise!”

“No, I don’t have plans. It’s just that…. Uh….” Twilight’s mind drew a blank as she looked at fishskin Spike’s gaping maw, where her head would presumably stick out from. “What I’m trying to say is…. that…”

Spike’s wings drooped.

“Oh, well, if it’s not your speed, then don’t worry about it.” He bundled up the Spike costume and stuffed it back into some kind of hidden pocket in the Twi-suit. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung this on you like this.”

The ‘Bad Friend’ alarm sounded in Twilight’s head (with the flashing red lights and everything), and she scrambled to backtrack.

“No, wait, I mean—”

“It’s nothing!” Spike smiled and waved a claw dismissively. “It was a bit of a silly idea, and I let it run away with me.”

“But… You’ve definitely put a lot of work in this.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve still got a little while before Nightmare NIght, and I’m sure Rarity would jump at the chance to design something for my size again. Good practice for the Princesses, she says.”

Somehow, that only turned up the alarm bells further.

“Spike, I didn’t mean to make you upset.” said Twilight.

“I’m not upset!” insisted the gentledrake. He grinned again and made a shooing motion. “Go back to your book. I know you’ve been looking forward to it.”

With a nonchalant saunter (as much as one could saunter in a Princess costume), Spike stepped out the door and shut it behind him.

For a couple of moments, Twilight was a little dumbstruck. She did eventually find her spot in the Hayto essay again, but she found herself reading the same couple of sentences more than a few times and only half-realizing it. The fiery passion of a lover from just a few minutes prior was gone, turned into wet sheets and icy glares.

Then Twilight did discover the most awful thing that an introvert could imagine. That an awkward silence could still be built up even if there was nothing but a nerd and a book in a room.

[hr]

“Okay,” said Spike. “I guess I’m a [i]little[/i] upset.”

“Pssh! I knew it!” With a practiced throw, Scootaloo sent another dart soaring through the air. It arced beautifully. The slight spin that Scoot’s flick imparted on it kept its trajectory nice and tight as it joined its four siblings in a well-worn spot about a foot left of the dartboard.

[i]thunk.[/i]

“Darn, not again.” said Scootaloo. She walked up to retrieve the darts.

“Scoots, don’t be mean,” said Sweetie Belle, scowling at her friend from her seat across from Spike. Next to her in the booth sat Apple Bloom, who was nursing a halfway-licked extra-large salt cube.

“Er’m nrt ‘eeing mean!” said Scootaloo as she pulled the darts out of the wall with her teeth. She spat them out (along with a fair bit of drywall) and made her way back to the throwing line. “I’m just saying, I knew it! Spike’s always a bit mopey when he’s trying hard not to be upset.”

[i]thunk.[/i]

“Darn,” said Scoots.

“Am I really that predictable?” said Spike, fiddling with the mug of piping hot cider in his claws.

“There is [i]nothing[/i] wrong with how you choose to express yourself, Spike,” said Sweetie, as she glowered at Scootaloo again.

“I don’t know,” said Spike. “I really shouldn’t care this much over a dumb set of costumes. But… well… I don’t know…”

[i]thunk.[/i]

“Luna-darn it…”

“Sounds like there’s somethin’ more to it than just the costumes,” said Apple Bloom. “I mean, you’re a reasonable dragon. I reckon that if there’s something troublin’ you, there’s a good reason to it.”

“Well, I guess…” said Spike. He sipped his drink and tried to start again. “I mean…”

Across the table, Sweetie Belle eagerly leaned forward even more, eyes wide and her therapist-smile stretching from ear to ear. She nodded, encouragingly.

“It’s been a while since I feel like Twilight and I did something together.” Spike scratched his chin. “Well, I guess we did do pretty much [i]everything[/i] together, before she was a princess, or a teacher, or a principal and all. Sometimes I feel like… we’re just not as close as we used to be.”

“Oh, I see,” said Sweetie. She nodded with the serene understanding that only a professional could have. “Have you thought about your future much, Spike? Do you feel like you’re in control of your life?”

Spike balked a little. “Um…. I guess I am? I think my future seems pretty good. But I guess sometimes I wish things were the way they used to be. You know?”

“Oh, I do understand, Spike,” said Sweetie, smiling sweetly. “Why don’t you do a thought experiment with me? Can you imagine the pony—er, [i]dragon[/i]—that you think you’ll be in ten years? How is he different from you now? How is he different from you ten years ago when you were—”

“Land’s sake, Sweetie, are you goin’ through the Destiny Checklist with him?” interrupted Apple Bloom. “Spike ain’t a client.”

“But—But I can help!”

Her professional confidence gone, Sweetie tried to hide behind one of her hooves. It was pretty cute, Spike thought.

“Spike doesn’t need [i]that[/i] kinda help, Sweets,” said Scootaloo between throws. “What he needs is a little ([i]thunk[/i])—Darn!—a little straight-talking.”

“I find myself agreeing with Scootaloo’s diag-naw-sis.” Apple Bloom bit down on her salt cube and chewed thoughtfully. “Ya think Twilight knows how much this is bugging ya?”

“She probably has a bit of an idea,” admitted Spike, “but I don’t want her to worry about it.”

Apple Bloom shrugged. “That’s your call, but I’m pretty sure Twi’s the understandin’ type,” she said.

“That’s exactly the problem,” said Spike. “She’s running herself ragged for everypony else. The last thing I want to do is to make her run herself ragged for [i]me![/i]”

“Why not?” asked Scoots as she—[i]thunk![/i]—missed horribly again.

“We… we’re special.” Spike fidgeted with the mug again. “I mean, we’ve been there for each other since I was an egg. I don’t want to end up being just another one of Twilight’s friendship problems…”

“You’re not,” said Sweetie Belle. This time, her smile wasn’t confident; it was soft. “You’ll never be just another problem to Twilight.”

“Thanks,” said Spike. He smiled, but he was careful not to show teeth, because they were in public and sometimes ponies didn’t like that.

Wistfully, he began tapping a claw on the tabletop.

“I just… well I guess I had this silly idea. I mean, there’s a bunch of things that Twi and I used to do together that we don’t do anymore.”

Sweetie’s therapist-grin began to come back.

“Yes..?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat again.

“I mean…” said Spike.

He debated whether or not to tell this next part. Because even in his head, it sounded a little dumb, and probably more than a little weird. Finally, his mouth just started working on its own a little.

“I had this idea, where while we were wearing those costumes of each other, we could—”

[i]thunk![/i]

“Darn it aaaaaall!” Scootaloo stomped in place with all four hooves.

Sweetie shot Scoots a look that could set a forest on fire, but the damage was already done. Spike shook his head and downed the last of his cider.

“Ah well, forget it,” he said.

“You don’t need to tell us anything yain’t comfortable with,” said Apple Bloom, despite Sweetie’s pleading looks. “But I’m glad you could git what you could off yer chest with us.”

Spike nodded, contentedly.

“Thank you, guys,” he said. He stretched in his seat, and started to pick himself up. “Well, it’s getting late. I think I need to head back.”

“So do we,” said Apple Bloom. “We’ve got work in the morning.”

“On Nightmare Night day?” asked Spike as he stepped out of the booth. He stretched his wings, which ached from being cramped. “That ought to be illegal!”

“Tell that to Scoots; she’s the one that sets the office schedule,” said Apple Bloom.

“Ya’ll are just unappreciative,” said Scootaloo. “I’m giving us—darn!—a week off for Hearth’s Warming.”

Spike laughed and started making his way out.

“See ya, girls,” he said with a wave. But he made a point to find Sweetie with his eyes. “Good bye, Sweetie Belle!”

Flustered, Sweetie, muttered something that sounded like a farewell, while Apple Bloom chuckled, knowingly.

“Catch ya next time, pardner,” she called out as Spike left the salt bar.

[i]thunk[/i]

“Cadance-darn it, this makes no sense!” Scoots fumed. She looked around the mostly-empty bar for a minute, and then made up her mind. “Does somepony have a hammer and nails? I’m moving this friggin dart board."

[hr]


When Spike had left the castle, it took Twilight only a little while to find the Twilight and Spike costumes.

She felt kind of bad for snooping through Spike’s room. But, she told herself, if it was for a good cause, it wasn’t really snooping. It was friendship-rummaging!

A couple of questionably-hidden magazine stashes later, Twilight found herself peering at the Twi-suit’s soulless eyes, and she really had to shudder again. The uncanny effect was still there, even when nobody was in it.

“I don’t know why you’re so important to Spike,” she admitted.

Twi-suit only stared at her questioningly, with a permanently open mouth and askewly sewn button eyes.

“But you [i]are[/i] important to him,” she said. “So, you’re important to me, too.”

Holding the two costumes closely, she closed her eyes and lit her horn. A flash of magic engulfed her, and she disappeared, leaving only her reading glasses, which clattered to the floor.

[hr]

There was a little storage closet next to the public library that Twilight kept empty and locked from the inside. She called it her landing room.

It was a straightforward concept: if there was a room of known dimensions that she always knew would be empty, it’d simplify her teleportation formula by quite a bit to teleport directly there each time she had to jump to the castle. It was efficient, and Twilight was nothing if not a mare of efficiencies.

Late that night, she flashed into the landing room, with two heavy coat bags in tow. Unlocking the door with a key on a peg, she opened it and walked out to the sight of Spike just around the corner, waiting.

“Buh!” she recoiled in surprise. “How did you…?”

“You left your glasses behind, again. They were on my floor.” he said.

Twilight’s hoof instinctively went to her forehead, where her readers usually were, only to find them predictably absent.

Spike chuckled and held them out in the tip of a claw. Embarrassed, Twilight took them in her hornglow and placed them back on top of her head.

“Spike, I’m sorry about earlier today,” she said. “I shouldn’t have made you feel like I was shooting you down. Even if I was a little… confused by it.”

“No worries, Twilight.” Spike said. “I think I was being a little insecure about the whole thing myself. I actually just had a talk with the Crusaders about this.”


“Oh? Did Sweetie have any good advice?” Twilight smiled.

“Er, yeah she did.” Spike rubbed the back of his head while grinning a grin that showed teeth. “They all did. And I think the most important part of it, was, that I want you to know that I’m always going to be on your team. You’re important to me.”

“Thanks, you big lunk,” giggled Twilight, as she drew him in for a one-armed hug that was only a little bit awkward. “You’re important to me too.”

The coat bags in Twilight’s grip rustled, and she smacked an open forehoof on her forehead.

“Oh! Yeah! Let me show you,” she said, opening the bags. “Well, I just wanted to clean up some of the stitching, and Rarity ended up helping me retouch them both.”

Out of the bags came Twi-suit and Spike-suit, both wearing dopey smiles now. Their eyes were aligned, their back legs weren’t terribly misshapen, and they would probably not make foals want to scream at first sight anymore. Probably.

“It’s… It’s great, Twilight!” Spike gently took the Twilight costume in his hands. “Does this mean, you think you’ll…?”

“Yeah, let’s do it!” said Twilight. “I’ll be you, and you’ll be me this year.”

Spike smiled toothily again.

“I was also… Well I was thinking about doing a little something to go along with the costumes, if it’s fine with you.”

“I’m all ears,” said Twilight. “Lay it on me.”

[hr]

“Nightmare Night!” Chanted schoolfoals, for the upteenth time. “What a fright! Give us something sweet to bite!”

Twilight threw some candy down at the foals, and giggled at the looks she got from the parents.

“Golly, I hope that’s enough for you all!” she said, in the raspiest, lowest voice she could manage.

“By my calculations,” said Spike in a falsetto, “each schoolchild should receive an average of three point six-six repeating pieces of candy per visit for the optimal sweets distribution rate. Make a note, Spike!”

Between the foals, her students, and the Ponyville old-timers who had been around since Spike was little, most everypony thought that their skit was a hoot.

“I hope there’s gonna be some left for me!” grumped ‘Spike’ from atop ‘Twilight’s’ back.

The foals giggled and dispersed once the candy was divided up.

Spike began trotting down the street, making his way to the newer residential areas where a lot of young families were living now. Atop his back, Twilight teetered and tottered. It was probably in the ballpark of three decades since she last had a pony-back ride, and it was [i]not[/i] like riding a bicycle.

Up ahead, a group of foals were gathered at the little cottage that the Crusaders rented as office space.

“Nightmare Night! What a Fright!”

“Yeah, yeah, give you something sweet to bite. Sure, kiddos.”

Scootaloo yawned through her windigo mask as she hoofed over a pile of candy that was probably a bit too much for the five or six foals at her door. Not that they minded at all, those sugar-addicted little beasts.

“Hey Scoots!” called Twilight in her Spike impression. At this point, she had all four hooves wrapped around Spike’s middle, clinging on for dear life. “How’s it [i]hanging[/i]?”

It took Scootaloo a moment to blink away her sleepiness before she laughed. Poking her head back inside, she called out.

“Sweetie! Blooms! Come check this out! Twilight’s riding Spike!”

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” rumbled ‘Twilight’. “It’s simply the most efficient way to travel, given our relative body weights and average strides per meter.”

“Oh!” said Scootaloo, smirking. “You’ve got her down [i]good[/i]!”

 From a window, Sweetie Belle poked her head out, wearing a tricorne and an eyepatch.

“Hi, Spike!” She waved.

“Hey Swee—” Spike began in falsetto, before catching himself with a gurgle. “Hi, Sweetie Belle!” He managed in his regular voice.

Twilight rolled her eyes and decided to bail him out.

“We’ve got a few more stops tonight,” she said in her Spike voice. “But we’ll be back in a few!”

“Sounds good!” said Sweetie.

“I’ll probably be passed out,” Scootaloo confessed. “Blooms was right. Next year I’m scheduling the day off.”

“We’ll catch you later!” said Spike, as he sauntered down the road, as much as one could saunter in a Princess costume.

Twilight sighed and settled back down into the little divot in Spike’s back, where his hips met his tail.

“You know, Spike,” she said in her normal voice, “I could definitely get used to being carried around everywhere.”

“It’s the best,” chuckled the dragon. “I really miss it, sometimes.”

For a couple of minutes, the Twilight was silent as she felt the bounce of Spike’s steps and heard the plodding of his feet on the ground down below.

“Spike,” she said, after a while. “Do you think it’d be odd if… we asked Rarity to make up some kind of riding saddle?”

Spike cocked his head to the side. “I mean, if you want to do this again next year, then sure! But it might be a little odd, two years in a row.”

“No,” said Twilight. “I meant a saddle not just for Nightmare Night.”

“Oh!” From the sound of his voice, Twilight could tell Spike was smiling. “That miiiiiight be a little weird, I guess. But not too weird.”

“I’ll be honest, I think I really missed this,” said Twilight. “I missed walking down the streets with you, and I miss talking to you while we walked.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Spike.

Twilight was kind of overwhelmed at the moment, and words kind of just started pouring out of her mouth.

“You’re family to me, Spike,” she said. “And we should really make sure that we don’t drift apart.”

“Thank you, Twilight.” Spike’s fangs poked out of his smile again. “You’re the best [i]mom[/i] a dragon could have.”

Twilight laughed, and it nearly knocked her off her perch.

“Ew, no, stop!”

“Sister, then?”

“That’s… also not quite right.”

“Hatcher?”

“That’d make you my… hatch-ee?”

“Your [i]spawn[/i].”

“Haha, no!!”

“Your thrall!”

“Haha. Just… family, Spike. Let's leave it at that. Just family.”

[hr]