A bit of work I did for Ask Pitch Patch.
I did this thing. And don’t hate me for the ending, I love ambiguity.
There was once a time where he was very lonely. For that matter, there was once a time when they were some of the loneliest ponies that existed in our world. The latter, known in the shadows as the Butcher, had known love at one point. At one point, that was all that he had cared about, and looked forward to seeing at the end of a long day. All was taken from him in an instant, and slowly over time. Butcher watched her die, and he watched as the last remnants of her life slipped out before him.
To the other, he had never properly known love. A kind and gentle heart, Vagabond was always mistreated and taken advantage of by those who knew how to play games with his mind. Eventually, one led him to marriage. One led him down the road of no return, breaking his gentle heart as she made him believe that he was in the wrong; when in reality, he was doing all he could to save himself. Ending in a bitter divorce, and losing what Vagabond had considered to be love, he was tossed onto the streets. All was lost to the vile pony whom he had succumbed to. The courts ruled in her favor, and he was now just like many others, living on the end trails found in trash cans, sleeping in boxes in random alleyways.
Love doesn’t always come through one in an instant. Sometimes, it takes time. A little time is all that one needs. This all started with a few words. Butcher, wearing his typical lab apron and surgical blue gloves, stated, “I can give you a home: a bed, 3 meals a day, and heating. All I ask is that you and your old, fragile body give me something in return.”
“And who would you exactly be, fellow?” Vagabond asked curiously, looking up through his sagging eyelids and grey beard.
“A scientist, of sorts… I need you for some experiments. I can’t promise that you will live very long, or that it will be pleasant. But I can give you a home until it comes time to let you go six feet under,” Butcher replied coldly.
Vagabond staggered to his feet, groaning as his aching joints struggled to hold the weight of his body. “Very well, then.”
Vagabond wasn’t subject to the usual experiments that other ponies had typically suffered, ranging from the instant death of decapitation to the slow onset of hypothermia, and gradual blood loss. There was always a reason behind the work that Butcher did, but there was no inclination as to why he did what he did. Just as Vagabond had promised, he followed the instructions given to him by Butcher; completing every task to the “T”, never once faltering despite the pain inflicted.
He was shocked, beaten, injected with various vials of unknown medicines or viruses, for all he knew. Each one hurt Vagabond in some way shape or form, some causing minor aches, while some mildly fractured his old, brittle bones. Over time, things seemed to change for Vagabond. After these trials, he began to notice that he felt better. Doses of morphine began trickling through his veins, helping to ward off the pain that he would otherwise feel. While he didn’t understand what was going on, Vagabond assumed it was just another one of butcher’s many tests and conditions. And in his case, he was in no place to negotiate for anything. With his state, he was ready to accept death on the streets. At least here, he would be helping some pony complete something in his last few weeks in this world.
Even though Vagabond was stricken for words with what could be happening, he felt for Butcher. It was someone who had lost just as much as him, or even much more for that matter. His cold demeanor was his shell, locking away his past deep within. There was something hidden back inside, and Vagabond knew he could love. He noticed that sometimes Butcher would slightly hesitate before causing some other pony pain, and in this case especially Vagabond. It was just ever so slight, but it was apparent he did care to an extent. Or at least he did, destroyed by the events of his own past.
Butcher didn’t understand why he felt the way he did at times, as he typically tried to keep his emotions hidden away under his shell, as they had only caused problems for him in the past. This time, however, it was much harder for him to withdraw these feeling and emotions. It was almost as if he was caring. As if he was feeling guilt that this pony that meant nothing to him was getting tortured and beaten on a daily basis. It was something that he hadn’t felt for some time; but then again, he hadn’t felt anything for quite a while, so any sort of emotion was strange to him. Throughout his sleepless nights, he watched over Vagabond. He studied him as he slept. He tried to make sure that he was able to get through the night, and as time went on, Butcher tried to make him comfier. He removed the pain, and lessened the experiments. He began to care.
It wasn’t for a few weeks before Butcher cracked a small grin he watched over Vagabond sleeping. He watched night after night, the way he watched becoming more intense as time went on, his heart slightly warming to the thought of Vagabond. Even though he held his cold shell to the rest of the world, a crack was forming in his shell to Vagabond.
Some weeks later, he noticed that Vagabond had curled in his sleep, clutching his pillow tightly as he slept. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes, his teeth grinding as he pulled the pillow closer. His body creeped slowly into the fetal position and Butcher actually felt worried; compelled to do something to help this pony he had once thought that he had not cared a single bit about. Now, he was there. Watching, with the ability to help. But he couldn’t, there was no way for him to understand the complexity that surrounded a ponies dreams. Butcher had tried to do experiments to attempt and further understand the psych of the pony mind, but he was unable to find anything that could be considered conclusive evidence. With that, he had once theorized that the touch of another pony could relax the mind, as long as it was one that cared, and one that the sleeping pony cared for. While it was hard for him to get other test subjects to care for one another, this was his chance to try the experiment for himself. At least that was what he had convinced himself of, although deep within his mind, he had ulterior motives.
Slowly and quietly making his way into the test chambers, Butcher quietly opened the door to Vagabonds chambers, trying to make sure that he didn’t wake him from his sleep. Silently making his way to the other side of the bed, Vagabond facing away from Butcher, a cold white blanket draped over him. Taking in a soft and mildly reluctant sigh, he lifted the blanket slightly, sliding into the bed behind Vagabond, carefully sliding one of his legs through Vagabond’s, one of his arms wrapping around his stomach. Butcher felt uneasy holding onto another pony this way, but at the same time - it was also oddly comforting. So much so, that Butcher eventually lost track of time as his eyelids slowly drifted closed.
When he slowly came back to reality, rested from a few hours of sleep without any persistent nightmares, Butcher awoke to see Vagabond’s muzzle, just inches away from that of his own. As his warm breath settled across his neck, Butcher felt oddly comforted. Before a few moments had even passed, Vagabond raised a hoof to the side of Butcher’s head, slowly pulling him in as he panicked inside of his own mind. The other ponies eyes slowly closed, as Butcher could feel the warmth of Vagabond’s lips getting ever closer.
At that moment it happened; and everything changed.
