Chapter Text
The training field was quieter than usual.
Most of the cadets had already cleared out, the golden light of late afternoon stretching long shadows across the grass. At the far edge of the field sat a very small, very frustrated Rainbow Dash.
Her wings twitched in irritation. Her eyes burned.
She wiped at them quickly. No crying. Not her.
A pair of hooves landed softly behind her.
“Hey,” came a warm, steady voice. Not sharp. Not commanding. Just… there.
Spitfire lowered himself beside her, folding his bright wings with practiced ease. Even sitting down, he carried that natural authority—but it softened when he looked at her.
“You skipped cooldown laps,” he noted gently.
Rainbow sniffed. “Didn’t feel like it.”
He didn’t scold her. That wasn’t what she needed.
Instead, he shifted so he was sitting sideways, close enough that their shoulders brushed. “Bad run?”
Silence.
Then, very quietly, “I messed up the turn. Again.”
Spitfire nodded once, like that was the most ordinary thing in the world. “Yeah. You did.”
Rainbow’s head snapped up, offended—but the expression crumbled almost instantly. “Everypony saw.”
“And?” he asked calmly.
“And I’m supposed to be the best!”
He studied her for a moment. Not as a captain. Not as a coach.
As a kid trying too hard to carry something too big.
“You know what I saw?” he said after a pause.
She crossed her forelegs. “What.”
“I saw a filly who pushes herself harder than anypony on this field.” His voice dropped lower, warmer. “And I saw her get scared.”
Rainbow froze.
“I wasn’t scared,” she muttered weakly.
Spitfire gave her a small, knowing smile. “Dash. You’re allowed to be.”
That did it.
Her tough posture collapsed. She leaned into him suddenly, pressing her face against his chest like she hadn’t meant to—but once she was there, she didn’t move away.
Spitfire reacted instantly, wrapping one strong wing around her smaller frame. He tucked it close, shielding her from the open field, from the imagined stares, from the world.
“What if I’m not good enough?” she whispered.
His chin rested lightly against her mane.
“Kid,” he said softly, “being good enough isn’t about never falling. It’s about getting back in the air after you do.”
She fisted a hoof lightly into his uniform. “What if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll be right there until you can.”
There was no bravado in it. No big speech.
Just a promise.
Rainbow’s breathing slowed, the tension draining out of her little body as she stayed tucked safely under his wing.
After a while, he brushed a hoof through her mane. “You don’t have to carry the sky by yourself.”
She huffed a faint laugh. “That sounded cool.”
“I practice speeches,” he replied dryly.
Another quiet minute passed.
“…Can I stay like this a little longer?” she asked, voice barely above a murmur.
Spitfire adjusted his wing, pulling her just a bit closer. “Yeah. You can.”
And when she finally pulled back—eyes still a little pink but shining again—he bumped her shoulder gently.
“Ready to try again?”
Rainbow nodded, wings giving a tentative flutter.
“But you’re watching,” she insisted.
He smirked, confidence returning—but the warmth stayed.
“Always.”