Chapter Text
Sprout had spent the whole day in his bedroom, skipping breakfast. Not that it mattered. His mother was still giving him space from last night. She hadn’t knocked on the door to wake him up or even shouted a “good morning.” Instead, he laid in bed, ignoring the smell of apple cinnamon wafting into his bedroom. It had probably been oatmeal. The kind of oatmeal he hated. She only ever made it when he wasn’t home, which wasn’t often, but this morning she had made herself cinnamon apple oatmeal as if he didn’t exist. For some reason, Sprout didn’t care.
He normally loathed the smell of cinnamon. It did funny things to his nose and throat. He couldn’t stand to be in the same room as the stuff. Cinnamon was absolutely gag worthy. In fact, he normally felt insulted whenever it was in his presence.
Not today.
He laid in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling then out the window then to his writing desk then to the ceiling and went like that for a while. Cycling through what he wanted to do for the day.
He never was the kind of pony for planning. He normally hoped out of bed without a care. “Go with the flow,” could easily be his motto.
He thought about lying in bed all day when he stared at the ceiling. After all, his comforter was warm– warmer than the ponies outside. Dreamless sleep wouldn’t be bad. He would rather not deal with anything right now.
Then when he stared at the window he thought about getting out and continuing on with his life again as if a unicorn had never visited his town, as if he had never incited a mob and become a war hungry dictator. That was too good to be true though. All of those things did happen, and nopony was willing to forget about them. The world was changing. Sprout couldn’t stop that.
And finally, when he looked at his writing desk he thought about what he’d say to Sunny. His apology letter was well overdue, yet nopony had fetched him to bring it forth. Not that he would have a letter to give. He hadn’t even started writing it. Every time he sat down to write, all he could do was scribble on the paper, and scribble hard he did. He made ugly, thick black marks on the paper. He put all of his pent up energy into it because no words could describe how he felt. He wasn’t sure how he felt.
He heard the front door slam shut, and he knew his mother had left for work. He had the house all to himself. He had all day to himself.
Solitude should have been his solace, but he wasn’t quite happy with it.
A small part of Sprout had hoped his mother would have talked to him before she had left. He wanted her to knock on his door and come in with a bowl of sugar hay bale cereal, kissing him on the forehead before laying the bowl down on his nightstand. She could have smothered him with her optimism and unabashed adoration, telling him to eat up because he had a big day ahead of him being the town’s deputy. He was always going to be her pride and joy, and she was never going to let him down. The whole world might, but his mother? Never.
Unfortunately that hadn’t been true.
Wasn’t it funny though? He had put so much trust in his mom, and she had put so much trust in him, but in the end, they had let each other down.
If he was going to write an apology to Sunny, shouldn’t he write an apology to the whole town? Shouldn’t his mother write an apology to him? To everypony?
All around, everypony had been wrong about the other pony tribes. It wasn’t just Sprout who had malice. He hadn’t intended to become a monster. Did anypony really? He was just scared and overwhelmed, thrusted into a position where others looked up to him for answers. He had all of Maretime Bay on his shoulders. He hadn’t wanted to fail. He was used to failing at pretty much everything.
Yes, he went overboard. And he felt… bad about it. But what did ponies expect from him? Hitch had practically foreseen the future about the mob. He wasn’t very brave or competent. He was a pony that had been desperate, pulled at the seams. Sprout was Sprout. Things couldn’t have been different.
His mother’s words from last night echoed in his head:
There’s power in making ponies feel safe.
But the power of fear was stronger. At least, to Sprout it had been.
He spent the rest of the day in his room, going through his childhood belongings.
He had opened up the window before he began his work. It was mid July, so there wasn’t much of a breeze, but that summer air felt refreshing somehow. He rummaged through his past, trying to make peace as he listened to the present fillies and foals outside playing.
Not much had changed in his room since he was a kid. He still had the cowpony sheriff poster hanging up over his bed, and the glow in the dark stars still shined on his ceiling. His bookshelf was still filled with comics after comics of superheroes and futuristic robots. The copy of War of the Worlds his mother bought him as a gift for his tenth birthday still sat on the bottom shelf unread. (Too many words and no pictures.)
He pulled out the toy chest from the corner of his room and went through each item inside one by one. He had a plethora of toy guns. Some shot out water, others foam bullets. He even had a pistol that made gunshots and lit up when you pulled the trigger. He was a big fan of games of War and Cops and Robbers. Anything where he got to be a hero fighting evil was his favorite. Those games seemed to be the ones that got him in the most trouble though.
There was a tear in the wallpaper behind his toy chest, which he had purposely concealed with said chest so his mother wouldn’t find out. He found himself smiling over it. Now, it seemed so silly to hide it. The incident was years old now and the once red and white striped wallpaper was fading into a musty yellow and burnt orange.
He had ruined the wallpaper when a game of pretend had been taken too far. Hitch and him were playing pony warriors. They were defending their town from an invasion of barbaric pegasi. Their entire army had fallen and Sprout and Hitch were everypony’s last hope. Just when the odds were stacked against them, an ancient god of War answered their prayers. He had bestowed them unbreakable swords and impenetrable armor.
Their swords were really just pool noodles and their helmets were ransacked from the kitchen. Each had pillows taped around their backs and stomachs like chest plates. They had drawn arrows and stars on their faces with markers.
The two of them were shouting their best battle cries, each trying to out shout the other. Hitch was winning. He had started going through puberty and his voice was beginning to change. Sprout was jealous of his deeper voice. He had a nasty feeling in his gut, one of wanting Hitch’s voice to crack, so Sprout could tease him about it. Of course, that wasn’t happening and he was getting frustrated.
Sprout swept a hoof across a line of enemy soldiers, hitting as hard as he could. The wooden toys flew across the room. He gave out a hearty, triumphant laugh, but Hitch didn’t seem to notice his prowess.
Hitch zoomed around the room, picking up soldiers, circling around Sprout.
“Jail! Jail! Jail!” He proclaimed with each and every one of the toys he grabbed.
Soon, all that was left was the biggest wooden pegasus Sprout owned.Hitch scooped it off of Sprout’s bed. He held the toy high above his head.
“Surrender now or face the consequences!”
“Hey! That’s not fair! I want to be the one to capture King Razor Wing of the Barbarians. You gotta beat the Big Bad last time we played!”
“Calm down, Sprout. It’s just a game. Besides, I’m older and bigger than you. Doesn’t it make sense that I would be the one to defeat the King?”
“But this is my room! These are my toys! And this is MY game! Why do you always think you get to be in charge?”
Before he knew it, they were fighting against each other instead of with each other. Their game of tug of war ended poorly, with the doll flying against the wall, breaking in two.
Both boys stood still. The doll hadn’t been the only casualty. The wall now had a hole in it, the wallpaper torn with insulation poking out from it.
Hitch insisted that they confess to his mom about the damage they had done. Sprout had already gotten in trouble recently though. Looking back, he couldn’t remember what for, but at the time he was certain he didn’t need to add to the list of reasons he should be grounded.
They ended up rushing around to clean up all evidence of their war game. Not a single toy soldier was in sight. They moved Sprout’s toy chest to cover the hole, and they pulled out a checkerboard and books, pretending they had had a quiet afternoon of nonviolent fun.
When Sprout’s mom came in to let Hitch know it was time to go, the two boys had been sitting in the middle of the room with homework out in front of them. Now, if his mother bothered to inspect their workbooks, she would have noticed they weren’t filled out, but luckily she hadn’t.
That day had been the last time Hitch had come over to play hadn’t it?
Now, Sprout wasn’t smiling about the fond memory. Could he call it a fond memory? Maybe a bittersweet memory. They had had fun together, but they also hadn’t.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had played with the toys in his toy box. He hadn’t played much with his toys since he stopped having play dates. It was probably around the age of 12 when ponies stopped coming over… There hadn’t been any use to play with his toys with nopony to play along with.
Why did everypony stop liking him? What happened to his friendship with Hitch? And what about Sunny?
He had convinced himself in middle school that it was he who cut ties with her, but looking back he wasn’t sure anymore.
He spent the next couple of days going through the rest of the house. The attic one day. The garage the next day. Even the storage shed another day. An entire week went by and Sprout stayed inside the house, cleaning and decluttering anywhere and everywhere he could. His mother said nothing about him going out to get a job. She just stayed out of his way.
Not until next Tuesday rolled around.
He had been going through expired canned goods in the fruit room when his mom poked her head into the cool, cellar. When she called his name tentatively like a whisper from a ghost, he had jumped and bumped his head on the low ceiling.
“Oh, dear! Are you alright, honey?” All sheepishness gone, she rushed in to inspect his booboo.
“Uh yeah, Mom. I’m fine.” He waved off her approaching hug. He thought it was strange, but he couldn’t help but feel he did not want to be babied. “What did you want?”
“Oh!” She chuckled and shook her head as if she was shaking her motherly instincts away. “I came down here to remind you that it’s Tuesday.”
“I know.” Sprout when back to inspecting the jars on the shelf.
“Well, I got a call from Mr.Dream earlier.” She continued, “ He asked if you could come in earlier today. I told him yes.”
“What?” He nearly dropped the canned peaches.
“I wasn’t quite sure where you were. You know, you’ve been quieter than a mouse the last few days! I told him I’d take a message, and well, you already know what that message was…. Not much of a point having the poor stallion waiting on your reply, so Arbor and I both decided 1 o’clock would be fine. That gives you a little time to finish up…. Whatever this is.” She loosely gestured between the garbage bag and him. Before he could get any words out, she beat him to the punch and said, “I thought it might be good for you to get out of the house anyways.” She caught the peaches that were slipping out of his hooves again. She neatly put it back on the shelf and turned and hurried up out of the cellar.
So, Sprout arrived two hours earlier than usual to the park. Earlier than that even, it was five minutes to one! He dreaded every minute walking up to Arbor's office, which was really a bungalow where the older stallion both worked and lived. Arbor was a stickler for punctuality. It wasn't like him to change plans at the last minute. He must have had a grueling project in mind for Sprout. Something with a lot of heavy lifting, or worse a task that would have Sprout there all day. Arbor somehow always managed to get him to stay longer than his hour quota.
Sprout hesitated at the front door. He took his time, eyeing the intricate carvings etched into the oak door. Funnily enough, said carving was that of a large oak tree with woodland creatures tucked away in nests on high up branches, or burrowed in nooks and crannies around the tree's trunk. Squirrels played around the base of the tree. Sprout had never noticed any of that before.
He felt an indescribable ache in chest when his mind wandered to Hitch.
Desperate to shake off the funny feeling, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
He had barely gotten through one rapt when the door swung open.
"You're late." Arbor spat, leaning against the door, filling in the crack into inside his home, keeping Sprout from entering.
"What? I could have sworn--"
"It's one o' two, my boy. Very rude of you to keep your friend waiting."
A mass of blue curls popped up behind Arbor and a purple hoof waved madly around.
"Hi Sprout!"
Oh no.
Arbor dropped his hoof from the door and took a step away, his signature clinking sound following. As Sprout watched him, he couldn't help but notice a new accessory adjourning the grumpy stallion...
It was one of those friendship bracelets. Green and white thread braided together all fancy. Woven in between were bottle caps. Sparkly bottle caps. It looked as if someone had slathered glitter glue all over them, lathering on glops too thick in between coats. The amateurish do-it-yourself look was almost charming.
"I see ya eyeing me bracelet. You're friend here's got some fine Craftsmanship, dontcha think? Let's hope she's as good at crafts as she is at getting her hooves dirty. Alright enough lollygagging: get to work!" He guffawed and then handed the uni a set of keys.
What was he talking about? Actually, Sprout didn't care. What he did care about was correcting him on their relationship status. They were so not friends! More like enemies to begrudging acquaintances. Heck, he couldn't even remember her name!
He was ready to explode when Frizzy butted her way into the conversation.
"Aww gee thanks, Mr.Dream Sir! I'm glad you like it. I promise we won't let you down!" She exclaimed and gave him a hearty salute, eyebrows knitted into a stern frown.
"W-wait… what are we doing?"
For a moment everything went quiet. Arbor was giving him the coldest glare he had ever been subjected to. The guy was practically staring into his soul, trying to pick his brain.
Then the unicorn started to laugh. The forced kind.
"Oh Sprout, you are too funny!" Suddenly she was standing right next to him, gently prodding him towards the door. "Really, you have such a good sense of humor. You know in a way it is kinda a good question. I mean, I know what we're doing, and you know what we're doing, but do we really do what we're doing? Nopony's tackled a project like this in Maretime Bay before…" Her prodding got harder as Sprout stayed rooted where he was. Her tight smile looked ready to split. "But let's not sit and dwell on every little detail! We just gotta get out there! Go with the flow!" She gave one tremendous push and unable to move him, she slipped onto the floor.
He looked between the poorly concealed, panicking unicorn and the hard to read, glaring stallion.
His fear of Arbor Dream won out over his distaste for the purple unicorn. That's what he kept reminding himself as he pulled around a thousand pound cart, installing "unicycling" bins around the park.
When they stepped out of Arbor's home, Missy promised to explain soon (out of earshot). So, he followed her without much complaint, trying to practice his patience. She led him to his storage shed behind the bungalow and loaded up the bins, showing off her all powerful levitation magic, then harnessed Sprout up to pull the cart.
Sprout had tried protesting being the working mule for the project. These "unicycling bins" as Misty put it were really just old oil drums that had arrows painted on them. Each drum had to weigh about 40 pounds. There were four total to transport. Four! She had clearly signed him up for something without his consent. It wasn't fair to ask so much from an unwilling participant.
But as he watched his magical companion struggle to levitate the third bin in, almost dropping it into the cart, he held his tongue. Stallions we're supposed to do the heavy lifting for mares, won't they?
She was plastering a unicycling poster on a water fountain when decided he had enough of being patient. Arbor Dream was plenty out of earshot wasn’t he?
"So… care to explain?”
“Oh, they’re to help ponies know which bins to use for what!
“No, not the– ugh! Why am I here? Helping you with whatever this is?" He gestured wildly around.
Missy's happy go lucky expression turned somber. She pulled some glasses out of thin air and put them on. She cleared her throat.
"Well, you see, I'm visiting Maretime Bay for serious business-- besides helping Sunny with her house. I'm here as the ambassador of Bridle Wood, spreading unicorn culture and fostering friendship."
"Okay, the more you speak the more confused I am… what does this have to do with me?"
"I caught you lying--"
"Excuse me?"
"The bottle caps. I know you lied about cleaning up the park and finding those bottle caps for Arbor to get out of work. You pretend to pick up litter--"
"I DO pick up litter--"
"You pretend to pick up more litter than you have. You do a little work and then fabricate some more to distract Arbor then you call it a day."
"How did you-- Why--," Sprout was fuming.
"I know you lied, but that's okay. I lied too! Well maybe it's not really okay… but I have a feeling you're 'the end justifies the mean' kinda pony."
Sprout opened his mouth, but quickly closed it at her last comment. She had hit close to home, but she had his attention.
"I just needed to get my hoof through the door with my recycling project. And I assumed you'd be down. I mean, nopony's ever listened all the way through to my song before, and I've never been good at rallying ponies up for a cause. I'm used to getting shut down before I have a chance to suggest anything… and I've never had friends before, and these new friends are all off with their amazing ideas to bring ponies together, and what if they move on without me if I can't keep up?"
The purple pony was close to hysterics now. She was walking around in circles, pulling at her hair.
"Ok… that's a lot to take in. Maybe we should sit down?" Of all the ponies, she just had to vent her friend problems to him. By now hadn't she figured out he was friendless? Also, he was good at riling up ponies, not calming them down!
They went and sat down on the benches. Mizzy (he really needed to figure out her name), held her face in her hooves.
His hoof hovered over her shoulder a moment before quickly patting her three times. The whole exchange made his skin crawl. He held back a gag. "Ummm… soooo… are you trying to black mail me?"
"What? Of course not!' She wiped around to face him.
"... Guilt trip me?"
"N-No! No! No!" She shook her head, the mass of blue curls flying around madly, obscuring her face. Getting in her mouth, too, as she spit bits out.
Sprout snorted. He covered his mouth. Then he burst out laughing.
She was giggling, too.
So there they were laughing like manics in the middle of the park, laughing too hard for something that wasn't even that funny. But he was laughing anyway at a strange unicorn having a bad mane day, spitting curls out of her mouth, cheeks puffed with her tongue poking out. It wasn't moments before she was being dead serious she was back to being childish.
There was a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. He didn't try to fight it, he held onto it even after his laughter died down. It had been a long time since he had felt this warmth so purely towards anypony.
"Okay, how about you start over from the beginning."
"The beginning beginning like when we first met or...?"
"More like the bottle cap thing..."
She giggled.
"I know. I'm just messing with you!"
"Uh huh."