When You Wish Upon An Apple
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Big Mac was not a necessarily complicated stallion.
He was a pony that considered himself simple, but not a simpleton. Big Mac valued the simple things, and he had simple values. He was a reliable stallion, proved by his countless hours of work toward supporting the farm – on one such day, Big Mac was doing just that.
The fields weren’t going to plow themselves, after all.
With the sun beating down heavily on his back, Macintosh could lose himself in thought as sweat beaded on his brow. The weight of the plough ensured that he kept his eyes focused on the ground before him, and he tilled the land with an expert touch.
It was an average, ordinary day for Big Mac, and that was something that he could live with.
At least, it was an average, ordinary day for a short part of the morning.
“Hi, Daddy!”
Macintosh stopped mid-pull, wearily standing straight to cover his eyes from the morning sun and peer about for the source of the noise. Much to his surprise, a small grey filly with a ragged mane stood chipperly beside him. Waving, for some odd reason. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t see her; after all, she was nearly bumping into him.
Big Mac blinked again, looking around in mild confusion.
“Young ‘un, what are you doing all the way out here?” he stretched his aching back, staring at the filly in confusion. She straightened herself up proudly, realigning her bizarrely familiar spotted blue pants.
“I came to find you!” she chirruped. “I was asleep for a real long time, and then I got up, and then I found you. Here you are, Daddy!” The filly tackled him with a pathetically limp hug, but it was probably as strong as she could manage.
“Uh, I ain’t your pop,” Big Mac explained to her in mild irritation, the strange feeling of déjà vu still picking at him. “You just run along now, your parents are probably worried sick.”
“Mommy never has time for me anymore,” the filly shrank a little, rubbing her foreleg in unhappiness.
“I’ll bet she’ll make time for ya when we go find her,” Macintosh quietly sighed and resigned himself to quickly and efficiently finding the little filly’s parents so that he could return to work. Just how far out must she have walked to find him?
“I don’t think so,” she said sadly, trailing miserably after him as he led her back toward the farmhouse. “She’s just going to put me back in the box again.”
Big Mac nearly missed a step, and made a show of cleaning out his ear with one hoof.
“… Hang on, come again?” he stared at her, coming to a full stop. “Your momma put you in a box?”
“Well, a trunk, actually,” the filly brushed a lock of bedraggled mane from her face. “It gets really lonely when she locks me in.”
Alarm bells rang painfully loudly in Big Mac’s head, and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates.
“What the f-”
“So I came to find Daddy!” she chirped with much more enthusiasm, bouncing a little when she spoke. “I couldn’t find you, so I looked, and then I found you. Here you are, Daddy!”
Macintosh squared his jaw, kneeling down in front of the little filly and putting a hoof on her shoulder. He looked her dead in the eye, and asked “Young ‘un, what’s your name?”
Big Mac expected her to tell him her name, at which point he would take her to the local authorities and personally see to the filly’s parents himself.
Loudly.
However, he was not expecting the sudden shock of her reply.
“Smarty Pants, silly!” she giggled. “Don’t you remember me?”
Oh, Big Mac remembered, all right.
But that was impossible.
Smarty Pants was the name of a stuffed doll, a little toy. Not a filly.
“Uh… huh,” Big Mac nodded slowly, assured that it was only a (rather disturbing) coincidence. “Ee-nope, can’t say I do.”
“You don’t?” Smart Pants looked crestfallen, as if he had just personally insulted her. “Not even a little?”
“Sorry, young ‘un,” Macintosh shook his head, eager to get the filly to her parents and away from the migraine inducing oddness of the situation. He was thrilled to see the farmhouse in sight as they drew closer. “We’re gonna get you home – or, shucks, from the sound of it, far away from it.”
“Yay, I get to live with Daddy!” Smarty Pants cheered, leaping onto his back. He grunted, but more in surprise than anything else. The filly was heart wrenchingly thin, and barely had any weight to her at all.
Oh, Big Mac was going to have more than a few words with her parents, all right.
“I’m not your – ah, forget it,” he muttered as he nodded to Granny Smith, who sat serenely on the front porch knitting.
“There y’are, Big Mac,” the wizened old lime green mare grinned toothlessly at him, peering in mild surprise at the filly on his back. “Dig up somethin’ strange, did ya?” she joked, smiling even wider at the filly.
“Nope!” she answered before Macintosh could stop her. “He’s my Daddy!”
Granny Smith dropped her knitting.
And her false teeth.
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Big Mac was rather surprised to see a highly irritated Twilight answering the door.
“Oh, good morning, Big Macintosh,” Twilight nodded to him, out of breath as he stood before the library, the little filly hiding behind him. Twilight’s mane was disheveled, and she looked like she had a scorch mark on one side of her cheek.
“Mornin’, Miss Twilight,” he replied politely, nodding back.
“Say,” Spike butted past her suddenly. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen anything weird, have you?”
Big Mac stared even longer at the flour coated drake, wondering what in the world could have happened to lead to any series of events that lead to it.
“You could say that,” he frowned.
“I’m sorry, Big Mac,” Twilight shook her head distractedly. “I’m really, really busy right now, the library’s actually closed – Spike decided that it would be a good time to play a prank.”
“I said I was sorry!”
“You wouldn’t mind keeping an eye out for me, would you?” she requested. “I was attempting to perfect an animation spell; hoo, it’s a really long story. Just let me know if you see any walking tables or tap dancing teacups, would you kindly?”
“How about a filly?” Big Mac inquired slyly, raising an eyebrow.
“A what now? Why would -?”
The moment Big Mac stepped away to reveal the filly stealing looks around him, Twilight’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
“… Oh, sweet mother of Celestia.”
“Hi, Mommy!” Smarty Pants jumped up and down, thrilled that she had succeeded in surprising her. “I told you, Daddy – I found Daddy! See? I was looking for Daddy, and then I looked, and then I found him. Here he is!”
Twilight, however, could not hear Smarty Pants, as she had fainted on the spot.
Worried, Macintosh helped Spike move Twilight to the cushions on the couch, and Smarty Pants jabbered excitedly the entire time.
“Oh my gosh Mommy fell down did you see her Spike I saw her I was there look Daddy she fell down how come she isn’t waking up is she dead why are you all flour-y Spike is Mommy gonna be okay can I have a glass of water?”
Big Mac only sighed heavily, setting about getting a glass of water to hopefully quiet the overexcited filly for a few precious seconds. She chugged it rapidly, gulping down the entire glass before belching loudly enough to make Spike cringe a little.
“… Dude, that was loud,” he stared at her. He then gave a belch of his own, blowing off some of the flour on him in the process and shooting out a little burst of green flame.
“Haha!” Smarty Pants pointed at the drake. “Betcha can’t do it again!”
“Oh, yeah?” Spike and Smarty Pants shortly devolved into a belching match, each one trying to outdo the other.
Big Mac found it slightly adorable and a little gross at the same time. It almost reminded him of Applejack and Apple Bloom when they were younger.
Twilight began shifting a short while afterwards, and slapping herself had no effect. It was clear that she was awake, and that only made her feel a little stranger.
“… Big Macintosh.”
“Eeyup,” he muttered, watching the pair of them wrestle cackling over the floor, leaving trails of flour wherever they went.
“I brought Smarty Pants to life.”
“Eeyup.”
“I’ve dreamed of this day since I was a little filly. And I have got to tell you, it scares the hay out of me.”
Twilight ran a hoof through her messy mane, only making strands of it stick up on their own.
“I have to make some adjustments,” she mumbled to herself, and Big Mac watched as she furrowed her brows and thought. “Although it was only designed as a temporary solution, I wonder…”
“You, uh… you gonna turn her back?” Big Mac asked in slight curiosity while Smarty Pants sat victoriously on Spike’s back, who wailed in discomfort.
“I might not have to,” Twilight spoke with her hoof over her mouth, lost in thought. “By my estimate, the spell will have worn out by midnight.”
“Did you see me, Daddy?” Smarty Pants clambered onto the couch next to him, completely out of breath. She nearly fell off, kicking dead air and struggling to sit beside the stallion. “Didja, did you see me?”
“Eeyup,” Big Mac patted her on the head, thinking heavily. “I saw you. I think he wants a rematch.”
“I’m gonna win again!” she cheered, barreling off the couch and back toward the petrified drake, who scrabbled to get away from the crazed filly.
“Midnight?” he asked Twilight under his breath.
“I believe so,” she muttered, trying and failing to flatten her mane. “I mean, I could try to turn her back now, but it could cause complications if it’s not allowed to run its course. I don’t even know if I could duplicate the original spell, it’ll take hours to backtrack through all my notes. I mean, I’ve never even done magic like this before, it might just make it worse.”
“… You know, I almost dropped a brick when she started talkin’ to me about being locked in a trunk,” Macintosh said conversationally, to which Twilight giggled.
She then froze, thinking.
“That… has multiple implications…” she stuttered, her eyes wild.
“Daddy!” Smarty Pants screeched out of the kitchen, Spike close behind her with a rolling pin. “Daddy, Spike’s gonna get me!”
“Spike,” Twilight glowered at him, starting up. “Put down that pin.”
“What pin?” he shrugged innocently. “It’s a suppository, I swear.”
“Spike!”
Smarty Pants leapt up onto the sofa in a single bound, snuggling behind Big Mac to cower against him.
Big Mac sighed again, and was rather surprised when Twilight turned to him.
“… You know, she seems to have really taken a liking to you,” Twilight said quietly.
“Eeyup.”
“Big Mac,” Twilight asked. “Why don’t you and-and Smarty Pants um… go and play… outside?”
“Are you trying to tell me you want me to foalsit?” Macintosh deadpanned, and Twilight nodded sheepishly.
“I’m sorry, Big Mac. I’ll look for a way to reverse it early, if it makes you feel any better.”
Smarty Pants climbed precariously onto his shoulder, draping her forehooves over him with a tired grunt.
“… That’s alright, Miss Sparkle. I think the young ‘un will be okay for a little while.”
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“I’m tired,” Smarty Pants moaned pitifully as they drew upon the farmhouse.
“You didn’t walk,” Macintosh pointed out as he carefully pulled her from his shoulder, and she slid to the ground. “Come on, Smarty. What do you say we go get some brunch?”
“Yay!” she cheered, blasting through the front door in her eagerness.
Big Mac sighed through his nostrils, tramping after the excited filly.
For somepony that claimed to be tired, she certainly had a lot of energy.
Big Mac quietly explained the situation in full to Granny Smith, while Smarty Pants bounded throughout the house in search of food. She stared at him as if he were mad the entire time, which he really wasn’t all that surprised about. After all, he could imagine his own reaction if somepony told him that a little doll had suddenly been given life.
“Daddy!”
Macintosh nearly leapt out of his skin when the filly snuck up behind him, and he whirled around angrily to give her a stern glare.
“Look, Daddy!” she held up a bundle badly tangled of red string with a single button on it. “I made you a toy because I love you!”
Oddly, Big Mac felt his frustration slipping weirdly away for reasons that he could not quite ascertain. She danced back and forth, looking almost worried that he wouldn’t appreciate it. He looked up after a couple of moments, though.
“And it’s very nice,” he nodded thoughtfully, holding it in one hoof. “I can see the craftsponyship, very fine, Smarty Pants.”
She bounced cheerfully at the praise, tackling him with another limp hug before bounding off again.
“… Darlin’, that was adorable,” Granny Smith chuckled, and Big Mac snorted. “I can’t see why y- did that little brat destroy my crochet?!”
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“Sma~rty Pants,” Big Mac called quietly as he playfully crept around the farmhouse. “I’m gonna fi~nd you…!”
He yanked open the hallway linen closet with an ‘ah-ha!’ but found nothing but… well, linens. Smarty Pants had to be one of the best at hide and seek that he’d ever seen, next to Apple Bloom. He meandered down the hall and scratched his head in confusion, certain that he had searched every single nook and cranny. As he started down the stairs, Macintosh’s ears perked up upon hearing noise coming from the kitchen.
Which, as he spotted Smarty Pants, explained quite a bit.
He snorted, trotting in and not even startling the filly. She held a large jar of apple juice with a few partially cut apples in it, and from the looks of them, a couple had sewing needles stuck in them.
“There ya are,” Macintosh half frowned at her, amused at his own thoughtlessness for not searching elsewhere. “I thought we were playing hide and go seek?”
“I got bored,” Smarty Pants explained in a flat expression, not taking her eyes off of the jar as she shook it. The apples clinked quietly against the glass, bobbing up and down in the liquid before she plucked them out, screwing the lid back on.
“… What are you doin’ in here?” Big Mac blinked, staring down at her.
“Practicing voodoo,” she replied in a completely serious tone. “It’s because Granny Smith is mean to me.”
“Uh huh,” Big Mac deadpanned, motioning for her to follow him. “Come on, young ‘un. We’re gonna go pick some apples from the orchard. I was supposed to this morning, but, uh… well, I got a little distracted.”
“I know that feeling!” Smarty Pants placed her jar on the table and struggled to climb onto Macintosh’s back. He silently helped her up, and she clung to his short mane as Granny Smith returned with a basket of laundry, wiping sweat from her brow and breathing heavily. “Hee-yah! Hi-yo, Daddy! Away!”
“Hold your horses, Smarty Pants,” Big Mac tried not to snicker as he started outside with her. “We’ll get there in good time.”
Big Mac paused a few steps away from the house, and could have sworn that he heard coughing and retching noises, along with what sounded like spilled water.
“Yay!” Smarty Pants bounced on his back cheerfully. “It worked!”
“What worked?” Macintosh half turned back toward the house, the hacking and choking mingled with words that he certainly wouldn’t want to repeat in front of the filly. “Smarty, was there something aside from apples in that apple juice?”
“What apple juice?”
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“I’m gonna beat you there, Daddy!” Smarty Pants called from atop the stairs, and Big Mac tiredly nodded.
“Eeyup,” he sighed as he slowly climbed the flight of rickety wooden stairs. “I must be gettin’ old.”
“Catch me, Daddy!”
“What?”
Big Mac grunted in surprise when Smarty Pants tackled him from higher up, and he nearly toppled over down the stairs from surprise.
“Smarty Pants!” he pulled her off and roughly placed her on the floor. “Don’t do that to somepony on the stairs, it’s dangerous!”
The filly cringed, tears starting to sting her eyes.
“I-I’m sorry, Daddy,” she cowered pitifully, her voice coming out in a croak. “I didn’t mean to be bad.”
Macintosh started to carry on, but bit his tongue. After a moment, he sighed again and patted the filly on the head.
“It’s alright, young ‘un. I forgive you. Just don’t scare me like that. Somepony could get hurt.”
“I understand, Daddy. I’m sorry.”
Big Mac almost felt bad for making the filly look so sad, and he had to struggle to fight it off. He shook his head, motioning toward the guest room.
“Come on, Smarty Pants. It’s time for bed.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she trailed miserably after him, dragging her hooves.
“… If’n you don’t hurry up, we aren’t gonna have time for a bedtime story.”
Smarty Pants immediately cheered, powering past him and darting into the guest room excitedly. He grinned, snagging the book he had hidden from her and watching as she leapt up and down on the bed.
“Alright, alright,” Macintosh tried to calm her. “Settle down, Smarty.”
She eventually and a bit disappointedly snuggled up in the bed, but seemed to cheer up a bit more when Big Mac tucked her in. He pulled up an old wooden chair beside the bed, letting the old storybook fall open in his lap.
“What’s the story about, Daddy?” Smarty Pants inquired curiously, stifling a yawn.
He started to tell her, but paused.
“… It’s a story about a doll maker, who’s little wooden doll comes to life.”
“Really?” she perked up, eagerly peering around the book to see if it had pictures.
“Eeyup,” Big Mac flipped a page. “All thanks to a fairy. It all started a long, long time ago, in a faraway land…”
“… Daddy?”
“Yeah, Smarty?” he blinked, looking up at her.
“ I love you, Daddy.”
“... I love you too, young ‘un. Even if you are a hoofful,” he grinned slowly, and she snuggled sheepishly beneath her quilt.
Big Mac read to Smarty Pants for a long time, from beginning to end. He read her the tale of the old lonely doll maker who wanted nothing more than to have foals of his own, he read her the birth of the wooden doll. Big Mac told her of the grand adventures that the little doll had, he read until his voice was hoarse and his throat was sore. Big Mac kept on reading, even when she fell still and quiet. Big Mac kept on reading, even long after she had stopped breathing.
Big Mac read all the way to the end, and by the time he finally stopped reading, he didn’t think that he had ever cried quite so hard in his entire life.
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