Shame and Pride

by TambourineBlossom

Rating: teen
Tags: Caramel, Slice of Life, Sad, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Sex, Braeburn
Length: 1044

Braeburn didn't make the family reunion again.

Yet again, Braeburn has missed the Apple Family Reunion. What could possibly keep such a friendly stallion away from Ponyville?

It's simple, really. Shame and pride.

AN: Takes place the day of the pilot, before Twilight Sparkle comes to Ponyville. Implied m/m sex. Written for One-Shotober.

Published 2013-09-25 13:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-25 13:50:02 UTC

Shame and Pride

A cream-coated earth pony with a shaggy copper mane awoke to find his companion from last night still snuggling against him. He pulled himself away from the drowsing pony at his side. After he groggily located his vest and hat and shook out his mane, he got dressed. With any luck, he would be out of here before he had to break another heart, and-

"Brae?" Caramel was awake now, sitting up with the covers over his flank. Braeburn sucked on his teeth in annoyance. "Are we ever going to see each other again? Did last night matter to you?"

The cowpony snorted and rolled his eyes. Here we go again. "It mattered to you, I take it."

"Well, yeah. I thought we really connected. I thought there might be something special there. I mean, I'm no colt-cuddler, not usually at least, but-" Braeburn cut him off with a hoof pressed gently to his lips.

"I have that effect on ponies, always have," he said. "I'm a wanderer at heart, Caramel. I'll be heading back out west before the sun's finished rising. Back to where I belong."

Caramel looked crestfallen. "I... understand. I never could leave Ponyville, and you could never stay. Even when we were foals, you couldn't wait to leave." He smiled a little. "Maybe you could write me?" he asked hopefully.

Braeburn squinted at the face in the mirror, frowning at the deepening furrows at the corners of his eyes, and sighed. "Caramel, you have a girlfriend. We're old friends who ran into each other and got to drinking, and you were too drunk to walk home. Anypony asks, that's what happened. Granny Smith ain't in her grave just yet, and I don't aim to be the stallion who put her there." Braeburn buckled on his holsters, crossing them over his barrel. Ponyville was a damn sight safer than parts further west, but it didn't feel right to walk around without a weapon. Maybe it'd never feel right again.

"I know it's not my place, Braeburn, but why'd you come all the way out to Ponyville and not even stop by Sweet Apple Acres? Wasn't that family reunion of yours today?"

"You're damn right it's not your place, Caramel. Now if'n you'll excuse me, I have to get going. Them trails ain't gonna blaze themselves." Braeburn stormed out, slamming the door behind him. A moment later, he poked his head back in. "Checkout is at eleven, ya might wanna slip out before then."

"Alright." Caramel sighed, feeling conflicting emotions washing over him. He felt guilty, and sore, and happy, and empty, and to be frank more than a little hung-over... but he wouldn't have traded last night for the world.

Braeburn walked the old trail leading out of Ponyville, the rising sun and Celestia's gleaming palace high atop the Canterhorn both behind him and barely entering into his thoughts. Another family reunion I've skipped out on. At least this one I made it all the way to Ponyville before deciding to bail. He didn't mind putting on a happy face for the Apples in small bursts on his territory, on the rare occasion one came out to visit, but all of them at once made him face who he was, what he had done... and there wasn't enough cider to deal with that on all of Sweet Apple Acres.

After Uncle Nickajack had that... accident, Applejack left Ponyville to try her hoof at being a society pony. Things didn't work out though, and the family welcomed her back with open arms. From her letters, it seemed that she came to the realization that Manehattan wasn't where she was meant to be months before she actually left. Mostly, it was shame and pride that stayed her hooves. Braeburn thought that if anypony understood what he was going through, it would be cousin Applejack. Shame and pride kept him away from Ponyville as much as it made him a fixture of every ciderhouse and saloon west of the Missisaddle River. Soon, too soon for his tastes, it'd be time for another family reunion. Maybe he'd make this one.

A series of images flashed unbidden through his head. A young colt, one whose name he'd never know, couldn't be no more than twelve summers, shot and left to die beneath a burning Marejave sun. Cousin Moe blubbering as the manticore venom worked its dark magic, begging him to bury him deep so as the vampiric jackalopes couldn't get to him. Applejack's face as he said he was leaving forever. Granny Smith's face as she said he'd be back.

"The West ain't no way to live, boy," Granny Smith told him years ago. "You'll be back afore harvest and we'll be glad t'have ya."

That was nearly ten years ago. He hadn't set foot on Sweet Apple Acres since.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts. Maybe it was time he took ol' Silver Star up on his offer to come help out with this town they were building. Maybe if he built things instead of destroying them for once, he could rest easier. Maybe he'd be able to face himself.

Maybe he'd be able to face his family.

It was a long walk that left a lot of space for pondering. Maybe once they got around to laying rails, he'd have less time to his own thoughts. The sun was high overhead now, and the grassy hills and forests around the base of the Canterhorn had already started giving way to harsh scrub-land. Braeburn found a tree that hadn't the sense to give up like the rest of its brethren and leaned against it, hoping to catch a little shuteye and pick up walking again after the sun went down. Daylight is great n' all, and thank Celestia for it and all that, but days like this I'm a bit more anxious for her to bring the nights.

Within a few moments, Braeburn had drifted off to a shallow, uneasy sleep; he wouldn't get much out of it, but nothing could sneak up on him in the time it would take for him to get to his pistols.

For once, there were no dreams.

He was grateful.