Apple Bloom stood in the hallway outside her bedroom and rested her forehead against the closed door. She wasn’t ready to go in. Not yet.
Everything floated up the stairs. Voices of many ponies she’d met before and many she hadn’t. The smell of the casserole Fluttershy always brought to baby showers and funerals and sleepovers. The humid air of too many ponies in too small a space.
The afternoon blurred into a whirlwind. What had happened? Walking home from school by… by herself? Then Fluttershy wouldn’t say anything, and Applejack said not to come upstairs, to give it some time first.
Because… Apple Bloom gritted her teeth. Because Sweetie Belle had fallen and hit her head and—
She pushed the door open. They all treated her like she was a small child, like she couldn’t face anything tough on her own.
With a gulp, she paused, the door still blocking her view of the bed. More smells, vegetable soup, cornbread, collards drenched in vinegar. Her stomach growled, but on reflex only. She wasn’t hungry. More voices, and she recognized some, but she couldn’t recall seeing any of those ponies downstairs.
Sweetie Belle. Something had happened, and they’d all told her not to come in here, that she should wait until—
Apple Bloom stepped in and bit her cheek. Kind of dark, with the sun on the other side of the house, but the shades weren’t drawn. “Sweetie Belle?”
Her friend was sitting up in bed, propped against the headboard with two or three pillows. She had a quilt pulled over her legs and belly, and she wore a white flannel nightgown. From the other side of the bed, a tube trailed over to her from a plastic pouch hanging on a metal pole. And—
Apple Bloom flinched. On her cheek, an ugly bruise, and a small bandage behind her right ear. “Sweetie Belle? How do you feel?”
Sweetie Belle blinked. And she stared straight ahead, her eyelids halfway shut.
“Does it hurt?” Apple Bloom held her breath and walked to the bedside. She leaned over the mattress.
Blink.
Apple Bloom waited. Still, Sweetie Belle would only watch the plaster on the far wall, her mouth hanging open a bit.
Blink. At regular intervals. Blink. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—
Blink.
The ebb and flow of conversation from downstairs continued to carry through the open door. Apple Bloom climbed into the bed and wriggled up next to her friend. “If I bump somethin’ that hurts, tell me, alright?” she said softly.
Poor filly. Apple Bloom had certainly taken hits before, where she just needed to sit still for a while and clench her jaw and take it, but Sweetie Belle had sat here for hours. Did it hurt that bad?
Why here? Why would they set up an IV here and not at the hospital? Not because they couldn’t move her, or they wouldn’t have left her unattended like this. No, no, bits of memory floated down like ashes in the hearth. Rarity had gone to Manehattan, their parents on another vacation, and Applejack had sent word as quick as she could, but it’d take them a couple days to get back. That’s what Applejack said, anyway. Apple Family hospitality would love to put her up here until they returned.
But what had her so stunned that she wouldn’t speak?
“It’s alright,” Apple Bloom said. “If you don’t wanna talk, you don’t have to.” She curled her forelegs around one of Sweetie Belle’s and lay her head against the pillows, but she had to hold steady. Her stupid legs wouldn’t stop shaking, and if she let on how scared she was, Sweetie Belle—
That nice scent of floral shampoo. Apple Bloom had always liked it. “You just get to feelin’ better. I’m gonna stay by your side.”
Apple Bloom watched the lengthening shadows creep across the room. Almost sunset. Her stomach rumbled again, but she wasn’t hungry. And now that she pricked her ears up, she didn’t hear all the voices downstairs anymore. Had everypony gone home? Applejack must have figured out by now where Apple Bloom was. In fact, a few hoofsteps thudded on the stairs, stopped… disappeared?
Somepony would have to come check on Sweetie Belle soon, anyway. Weren’t they going to bring up dinner for her? Well, no… the IV. She peeked over at it, but it didn’t seem to be running low. She would have liked some of Fluttershy’s casserole—it always tasted so good when the Cutie Mark Crusaders spent the night at her house. But she didn’t feel like getting up right now.
The autumn air had turned a little chilly. Apple Bloom lifted the edge of the quilt and slid her hind legs under it, then flipped the corner up and over her shoulders. She’d wait a little longer, then maybe go downstairs and find something to eat. And see why it had gone so quiet. Somepony could have at least shouted up to her, and she would have answered, but maybe they hoped Sweetie Belle would fall asleep.
For now, Apple Bloom would rather snuggle up with her friend. Sweetie Belle’s silence had started to worry her, but pestering her to talk might only make things worse. “I’ll stay with you, Sweetie Belle. I’ll keep you company, and you get some rest.”
Sweetie Belle blinked.
Apple Bloom stirred and rubbed her eyes. Sunlight flooded the room—morning already? Somepony had closed the door overnight. At least nopony would be missing her now, assuming they’d seen her there. The covers did seem tucked around her a bit tighter.
Her mouth felt so dry—she sat up in fits and starts and slid off the bed, then clutched her forelegs to her chest. Somepony had opened the window, too, and the sun hadn’t had long enough to warm things up yet.
“I’m gonna get a glass o’ water,” Apple Bloom said. “You want any?” Sweetie Belle only stared at the wall. Blink. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—blink.
With her lips pursed, Apple Bloom walked into the hall. No noise from downstairs. “Hello?” she called. Shouldn’t Applejack be making breakfast by now? Unless she’d done that a while ago—Apple Bloom had no idea of the time—but the smell of pancakes and eggs should hang around all morning. She took a sniff and only found a trace of dust.
“Hello?” All out doing chores, she guessed. Maybe they’d decided she needed some alone time with Sweetie Belle. Maybe Applejack finally thought Apple Bloom deserved to find her own way on this one. Sweetie Belle was her friend, after all.
She got her cup from the bathroom and filled it from the faucet. Odd, she wasn’t really thirsty anymore. She should offer some to Sweetie Belle, though, so she took a few swallows for the heck of it, then topped off the cup and returned to her room.
“If you want a drink, just poke me or somethin’,” she said as she set the cup on her bedside table. With a long stretch, she let out a yawn. Funny, she thought she would have gotten enough sleep. She didn’t remember any dreams, though.
“I hope you don’t mind me talkin’ to you.” Sweetie Belle just wasn’t ready yet. No need to pressure her, force things. Just carry on, the same friends as before. Nothing needed to change until Sweetie Belle wanted it to. She patted her friend’s shoulder, but her hoof came away wet—Sweetie Belle’s sleeve and chest, all soaked from the drool leaking down her chin. “Oh, you’re gonna catch cold!”
Apple Bloom grabbed a couple of tissues and patted her dry as much as she could manage. “We really oughtta change that nightgown, but I don’t think you’re gonna let me.” Blink. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—blink.
Frowning, Apple Bloom looked down at the floor. “Sorry. I’m real sorry, Sweetie Belle. I wish I knew what to do for you.” She opened her mouth to say more, but… Stupid! She’d just got through reasoning that she needed to keep everything the same, let Sweetie Belle come to her on her own terms, in her own time.
“I… Look, forget that. Say, what should we do to help kids get their cutie marks today?” She flicked her eyes around the room, and they eventually settled on her bookshelf and the odd assortment of Bobtail Twins mystery books. She had to admit, she’d never thought of storytelling before. What would that mean for a career, though? Journalist? She could even tell them from experience how not to do that. Teacher? News anchor?
Anyway. She pulled out her copy of The Bobtail Twins on the Pony Trail and climbed back into bed. So Sweetie Belle could see, she propped the book up on her belly, then turned to the first page and began reading out loud.
After only a few pages, the door creaked open, and Applejack scuffled in. “Y’all want anything to eat?” she mumbled. She didn’t look up.
Apple Bloom wasn’t hungry. She glanced at Sweetie Belle’s IV, and the level hadn’t gone down since last night, not that she could tell. But when she’d turned back, Applejack no longer stood there.
What would upset her sister that much? Was… was this Applejack’s fault?
Her sister would never hide the truth from her. Silly of Apple Bloom to even consider that. She found her spot again, halfway down the left page, where she’d stopped reading. By the time she finished, her scratchy throat made her glad she’d brought that water in here. The room’s shadows had grown long again, and—the whole day gone already? And Applejack hadn’t returned to ask about dinner?
Apple Bloom’s stomach growled again, but she didn’t actually want anything to eat. She just hugged Sweetie Belle, wiped the drool off her chin, and snuggled against her.
Dark. Apple Bloom jerked her head up, and it took her a moment to recognize her room in the faint moonlight. She lay back down, her ear against Sweetie Belle’s chest. That reassuring heartbeat, the steady rise and fall with each breath. On a whim, she turned her face up to Sweetie Belle’s and smiled.
Blink. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—blink.
Her mouth felt dry, but she wasn’t hungry. A tray of cold food sat by the door. Had Applejack brought that for her?
She wandered out to the hallway. No lights on, no sounds. No Granny Smith muttering about zap apples in her sleep, no buzzsaw snoring from Big Mac’s room, no click-click of Winona’s toenails from resettling her position next to Applejack’s bed.
Who was supposed to be looking after Sweetie Belle? Did they all think Apple Bloom had taken that on? She looked back over at the IV bag, and it seemed full enough. Maybe somepony did come in and change it.
She flipped the covers back over Sweetie Belle. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to let you catch a draft,” she said. And now that she thought about it, she wasn’t really thirsty. What had made her think she was? Never mind.
Apple Bloom clambered onto the mattress and took her place next to her friend. “Try and get some sleep,” she said. Did she even sleep?
Sweetie Belle blinked. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—blink.
After wiping off Sweetie Belle’s chin again, Apple Bloom tucked her muzzle against Sweetie Belle’s cheek. How did she keep smelling so nice? Still that sweet, flowery scent, but Sweetie Belle hadn’t had a bath in a couple days at least. Not that Apple Bloom had seen, anyway. Maybe in the morning Applejack would help her with a washcloth and a bucket of warm water.
One last time, she breathed the scent in. Then she closed her eyes.
Morning again. Apple Bloom lifted her head and took in Sweetie Belle’s face once more. Still blank. She pulled over the corner of the quilt and dabbed her friend’s chin and nightgown dry again, along with her own head, where she’d rested against Sweetie Belle’s cheek overnight.
For a minute more, she watched. Blink. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—blink.
Where was everypony? Giving her some private time with her sick—or injured, or whatever—friend was nice and all, but couldn’t they say hello once in a while? Bring her something to eat? Let her have a little contact with somepony who would actually talk back? Well, the tray by the door had disappeared. And if she perked her ears enough, maybe she heard voices in the far-off orchards.
Why keep her here, why hadn’t Rarity come over? Hadn’t she gotten Applejack’s message yet? Apple Bloom held her hooves to her temples. It didn’t make sense!
What was wrong with Sweetie Belle anyway? All Applejack ever said was that “something happened.” The bruise on her cheek had darkened and spread in the last couple of days. Two days. Two whole days, and not a single soul cared to set hoof in the room and talk to them. Maybe while she slept, but this was getting ridiculous. Why avoid her like that? What were they scared of? Not like Sweetie Belle was contagious or anything. They wouldn’t let Apple Bloom stay with her in that case. Un-unless they thought she’d already caught it too, and—
N-no, then everypony would make her stay in here, and nopony had locked the door.
“’Scuse me. I’ll be right back,” she muttered before flinging the door wide and stomping into the hallway. Down the stairs, into the kitchen. Empty. Nopony there. All the dishes, stacked neatly in the rack. Nopony doing chores, at least on the side of the farm she could see out the window. Barn door closed, no wagons or tools out. Had they all taken leave of their senses? Did she have to take care of Sweetie Belle all by herself?
She huffed out a sigh. A few of the trees in the distance seemed to shake, if she squinted at them. Everypony’d gone out applebuckin’, and Granny Smith must have cooked up something for lunch already and put it in the icebox, if she went by the thick smell of carrots in the air.
She could look after Sweetie Belle if she had to, she noted with a scowl. She’d proved already that she could be trusted to handle things alone around the farm. But it wasn’t exactly fair to spring this on her, unannounced, and with the health of one of her best friends at stake. How would she even change an IV? Where did they keep the spare bags?
Apple Bloom dug through the kitchen cabinets. Not in there. Not in the fridge. Maybe upstairs, in her closet. It’d make sense to keep them close to the patient. But they’d already done that for her a few times, right? While Apple Bloom slept. They just wanted her to keep her friend company? Ponies in comas or whatever this was could hear when somepony spoke to them, right?
Back upstairs she trotted, but… outside her door, she started shaking again, like she hadn’t done since that first day. She—she really had to take responsibility, didn’t she? This was her friend.
If she could only get Sweetie Belle feeling better, all this might be over. Everything could go back to normal.
Apple Bloom walked to the edge of her bed and rested her chin on the mattress. “I’m sorry, Sweetie Belle. I wish I could help, but I don’t know how. Please talk to me.” Her heart surged—she’d heard often enough from her sister not to let panic get the best of her. But she’d already thought through every possible way to help, and nothing had worked! She’d left Sweetie Belle room to heal on her own, but she couldn’t even tell if things had improved one whit!
“Please!” she repeated, tears running down her cheeks. “I just need to know you’ll be okay. One word, just one! Please tell me what to do!”
Sweetie Belle blinked. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—blink.
If—if she had some kind of magic, maybe she… She could carry her to town, cast some… medical spell, make a difference! How could an earth pony—
What had Applejack said before? Long ago. Something about magic, that—that all ponies had it. Unicorns in their horns, pegasi in the sky and clouds, earth ponies in the soil and plants. And everything. There’s inspiration and hope in everything, she’d said, if you know where to look for it. And that made magic.
What could she use? Some lucky charm, something that meant a lot to her? Her sister used to have that coin. She didn’t know what was so special about it, but Applejack had to give it up when all that mess with Tirek happened. What did Apple Bloom have like that? A twig from her first apple tree, her first junior rodeo ribbon… What else?
No, something special to Sweetie Belle, too. Something they shared. She took the photograph of her, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo off her dresser—the one with their first Cutie Mark Crusaders capes. Smiling so big, and all hugging each other.
She nestled in next to Sweetie Belle again and drew the picture to her chest. “Please, Sweetie Belle. Get better.” She squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could and strained until she thought her head might pop. She needed to believe. She had to.
And she did. She knew that when she opened her eyes again, she’d see Sweetie Belle’s face smiling down at her. They’d talk and talk and talk, and Sweetie Belle would tell her what happened, and Apple Bloom would hug her and say it was all okay, and then they’d all be best friends again. She cracked an eye open.
Sweetie Belle blinked. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—blink.
“Please, Sweetie Belle!” Apple Bloom whimpered. “It wasn’t s’posed to be like this…”
She looked up again, and—her heart leapt! There, in the corners of her eyes, tears!
Apple Bloom rushed to the door. “I see somethin’!” she yelled into the hall. “Sh-she’s cryin’!”
No answer. She ran to the bed again. The tears had only gotten worse, and Sweetie Belle still hadn’t budged a muscle. Why not?
Was she touched by Apple Bloom’s concern for her? Upset at what had happened to her? Happy that the worst had passed? Scared that—?
A shock ran down Apple Bloom’s back. Sweetie Belle had heard it all. She knew exactly what was going on. And she couldn’t…
Apple Bloom’s legs wobbled, and she sank to her haunches. How… how horrible! Sh-she couldn’t even think! Her whole body went numb.
What would Apple Bloom do in her place? Hang on and hope for the best? Give up? Secretly wish a friend might take pity on her and shove the pillow into her face until…?
She grimaced and shuddered, and… she thought she might be sick. She couldn’t. Even as much as she might think that in Sweetie Belle’s situation, she wouldn’t.
Apple Bloom climbed onto the bed again and held her face just inches from Sweetie Belle’s. “C’mon! Say somethin’! Please…”
Sweetie Belle blinked. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—blink. More tears, and her nose started to run, but she didn’t make a move to stop it.
Even closer Apple Bloom pressed. “Fight! I know you can! I know you’re in there!” She held up the photograph, but those eyes didn’t focus on it. Could she even see it, or would it all be a blur? “I don’t want to lose you. I-I love you! I know I never say it, and it’s just understood between friends, but I do! I love you!”
She pulled another tissue from the box and wiped away the mix of drool, tears, and snot from her friend’s face. By then, it was too drenched to take up her own tears.
“C’mon!” she repeated, shaking Sweetie Belle’s shoulders, but her own voice rang in her ears, loud, only like a whisper. Metallic.
She stared into those unmoving eyes, her own reflected in them, and… she could barely keep hers from drifting shut. With each blink, she struggled more and more to get them open again. “Sweetie Belle,” she tried to say, but it came out only as a strangled gasp. Her legs, impossibly heavy, lay useless on the quilt, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Sweetie Belle’s face.
She… she had to move. That stare must be holding her in place—if she let her eyes stay shut, it wouldn’t keep her still. Just look away, and she’d be free!
Against the iron grip, she pushed. Sweat blended with tears, and lights danced inside her eyelids. Straining to break the lock, pushing, wrenching with her last breath against something so heavy it might as well have been a whole mountain, but she had to push, had to, until it hurt, until her head burned, until…
It all gave way, like the entire woodpile when the little wedge holding it up got knocked aside.
Apple Bloom sucked in a deep breath. And another. Her head bobbed with each new one, and throbbing pain—she gritted her teeth against it—but she could move. She could move.
After a moment spent enjoying the sensation of breathing, she opened her eyes. And blinked. One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, one thou—blink.
One thousand one, blink. Blink, blink.
She was propped upright in her bed, an IV running into her foreleg. Her cheek had a dull ache, and she remembered falling… Not how it happened, only a vague impression of her stomach lurching and air rushing over her mane. She wiped the trickle of drool off her chin and looked around the room.
Near the door, Big Mac sat in a rocking chair, slumped over and snoring. Applejack and Winona lay on the floor next to him, with a blanket pulled over them. Scootaloo, snoozing under the open window by what Apple Bloom thought was Nurse Redheart’s house-call bag. Some trays of dirty dishes on the dresser, smelling of carrot soup. And—
Warm breath, on her neck, and a scent of floral shampoo. She glanced down to see Sweetie Belle in a white flannel nightgown, fast asleep and nestled against her with a photograph of the Cutie Mark Crusaders clutched in her hooves. “Please, Apple Bloom,” she said in a breathy whisper. “Don’t wanna lose you. We all love you.”
Apple Bloom gasped, and at the noise, Sweetie Belle’s eyelids fluttered open. That same photograph. The same one. Had she imagined it all? Sweetie Belle’s voice next to her, scents of the food everypony brought with them, making it into a dream where Apple Bloom was the devoted caretaker for her dear friend?
Weird. But she might not have found the strength to fight through it, if not for her friends. “Good mornin’,” Apple Bloom said, her voice barely tinged with a giggle.
Sweetie Belle looked up and broke into an enormous grin.
Author's Note
Yeah, the publication date on this story is correct. It was from a write-off many years ago, and I just got around to sprucing it up and publishing it.
