The Darkness in Cider

by Mama Qwerty

Rating: everyone
Tags: Granny Smith, Sad, Applejack, Big Macintosh, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 3864

Applejack was one tough pony. Strong, dependable, and confident. But every year, on the anniversary of her parents' death, she would disappear into the storage shed. Why?

Every pony deals with grief differently. Some face it head on, while others, well, others tend to push those feelings down, deep, deep down, and ignore them for most of the time. Especially if there's work to be done.

But sometimes, you just have to let them out.

Published 2015-06-30 17:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-06-30 17:50:01 UTC

The Darkness in Cider

Author's Note

Greetings all! Here's my first piece of MLP fanfiction, featuring my fave girl, Applejack. Just a little contemplation about her parents' deaths and how she would deal with them, given her personality. Hope you enjoy!

The Darkness in Cider

Applejack closed the door of the storage shed behind her, and slid a barrel of gardening tools against it as a makeshift lock. The faint snores of the cows in the nearby barn mingled with the chirps of the crickets, while thunder rolled in the distance. Rainbow had promised rain later in the night.

I hope it pours, Applejack thought as she moved to the little window that looked toward the house. I hope it's a real doozy of a storm.

For the moment, the world outside was quiet and still. The farmhouse stood dark, the rest of her family tucked safely and comfortably in bed. The wind chimes Apple Bloom had made in school tinkled softly in the light breeze as they hung outside her bedroom window. High above all of Equestria, the moon shone full and bright.

The young mare in the storage shed closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of ripening apples filled her nose, and she smiled. Barring any catastrophic calamities, they would have a good harvest this year.

A lone timberwolf howled in the distance, and the smile dropped from Applejack's muzzle. Ordinarily wary of the wolves, she couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for this one. It sounded almost sad. Alone.

And that was something the young mare could unfortunately identify with.

With a sigh, Applejack pulled herself away from the window. She walked toward the back of the shed, where tools, tarps, and wooden posts lay in a seemingly haphazard pile. Methodically, she removed the items, one by one, and carefully stacked them beside and behind her. After a few minutes of organization, the small barrel of hard cider she had hidden here at the end of last harvest sat alone.

The mare stepped back, and sat heavily on the dirty wooden floor. She stared at the barrel, at the gossamer spider webs that criss-crossed along the aged wood. Thunder boomed again, sounding closer. She closed her eyes.

Just a few hours 'til mornin', she thought. I just need to get through tonight. That's all. Easy as pie. Apple pie.

She smiled weakly at this and opened her eyes. Then she stood, stepped forward, and dragged the barrel out of the corner. An experienced whack with her hoof and the lid was off, revealing the dark amber colored drink inside.

The scent that wafted up to her was different than that of the still-ripening apples outside. Muskier. Richer. Sharper. She inhaled deeply and the alcohol fumes dried her sinuses. Her nostrils flared.

Truth be told, she didn't really like hard cider. Didn't touch it normally. The taste was okay, but the alcohol tended to burn her throat and dry her mouth. Kind of a waste of perfectly good apples, when you got right down to it. Why would anypony drink this on a regular basis when plain ol' apple juice or regular cider were more refreshing and thirst-quenching?

But it was the beverage of choice for certain occasions, specifically those that involved celebration or commemorating a certain day, such as a birthday or wedding.

Or an anniversary.

One drink. This all started with a single toast. Just one.

Applejack tasted tears in the back of her throat and she swallowed hard. Memories flashed in her mind, random and chaotic. One floated to the forefront, replaying a scene that had taken place long ago.

She was a young filly, not much older than Apple Bloom. Big Mac was about her age at the time, and Apple Bloom just a tiny foal . . .

Applejack grunted, snorting in frustration as she pushed the memories away and reached for the shelf above her. She pulled down an object wrapped tightly a towel, and quickly peeled it to reveal a mug. After a quick puff of air to insure no creepy-crawlies had taken up residence inside, she scooped the mug into the barrel, filling it with the intoxicating liquid.

She lifted the mug before her, watching as excess cider ran down the sides. Amber droplets fell back into the barrel, creating ripples wherever they landed.

Cheers.

Her stomach rolled, mouth dried, heart raced. She didn't want to do this. It didn't feel right. The secrecy, the elaborate measures to keep the barrel and her actions hidden, the inevitable pounding headache the next morning. It all felt so dishonest—which was a shocking departure from her typical nature.

So why did she do this, year after year? Why was this annual ritual so important to continue?

As if in response, memories appeared, replaying that night all those years ago. The night everything changed.

Ears folded back, Applejack tilted the mug up and emptied it in three large gulps. The cider hit the back of her throat in a rush, burning its way down to her belly, and she swallowed before doubling over into a coughing fit. Her belly threatened to expel the liquid as her coughing tapered off, and she sat quietly for a few minutes, taking long, deep breaths to try and settle the rumblings.

As her stomach complained, her memories continued. Applejack closed her eyes, uttering a small whimper. She had hoped to avoid this part. Hoped to stop with just one. Hoped she was stronger this year. But as the memories came flooding back, she felt her resolve weaken.

She dipped her mug into the barrel again.

The thunder was closer now, it sounded like a powerful storm on the way, and she tried to focus on that as her mind continued its painful playback.

~X~X~X~

“When are Mama an' Daddy comin' home?” Applejack asked as she sat playing checkers with her older brother. “They've been gone forever!”

“Oh hush child,” Granny Smith said as she rocked Apple Bloom's cradle with her back hoof. “They've only been gone for four days! And take your daddy's hat back upstairs. He'll raise the dickens if you ruin it.”

“He said I could have it once I'm big,” the young filly said, readjusting the hat on her head. It flopped heavily to one side. “It fits just fine now, don't it Mac?”

“Nnope,” the young colt answered, moving his checker forward. “King me.”

“Aw, you cheated!”

“Nnope!”

The two bickered for a moment, jabbing accusatory hooves at each other, until a heavy knock sounded on the front door. The argument stopped, and the silence pounded into Applejack's ears.

Dread dropped into her belly like an icy stone. She didn't exactly know why she would feel so afraid from just a simple knock, but she did. It wasn't the typical greeting of someone come visiting. A light, knock-knock-knock. Instead, it was a cold sound – two timid tappings.

Her heart raced as Granny Smith pushed herself out of her rocking chair and shuffled toward the door.

“I'ma comin'!” the green mare called.

Applejack pulled the hat off her head and hugged it to her. “Don't answer it, Granny,” she whispered. “Please don't answer it.”

Granny Smith did not hear her granddaughter, and opened the door to reveal a tall stallion, wearing a dark vest with a shiny golden star. A sheriff. His face was solemn, his eyes dull and serious.

“Sheriff?” Granny asked, her voice cracking more than usual. “What . . .”

The stallion's large blue eyes flicked past the old mare, registering the children in the living room. He tilted his head slightly to the right, motioning for her to step onto the porch. Granny obliged, but she moved slowly, and Applejack didn't think it had anything to do with her age.

The young filly stood and slowly walked to the middle of the living room, where she could see the two ponies on the porch. The sheriff spoke to Granny in hushed tones, dipping his head to look at her fully. Applejack couldn't hear what he was saying, but that low, calm tone made her heart race and mouth go dry.

Something was wrong. She felt it in every fiber of her being, from the tip of her muzzle to the end of her tail. Her skin tingled, making her coat stand on end.

As Applejack watched, Granny shook her head slowly, before her legs buckled. The old mare collapsed, her body trembling.

“Oh no,” the young filly whispered, her ears flattened against her head. She stared with wide eyes at the duo on the porch, before glancing back at her older brother. Mac was standing, his tail tucked between his legs, and knees bent. He stared back at her, his ears flat, eyes wide and shiny.

Then the sobs began. Applejack whipped her head back to the front, and found Granny's shoulders shaking. She was speaking, but Applejack couldn't make out the words. Just sobs.

“G-granny?” Mac squeaked. Tears trickled from his eyes, leaving shiny tracks down his red coat.

“No,” Applejack said, her voice hardly above a whisper. She had a fairly good idea what was going on, but hoped she was wrong. More than anything.

Time stopped in the living room then, while Applejack and her older brother watched their grandmother sob on the porch. Slowly, achingly, the old mare got back to her feet, and turned to face her grandchildren.

She had aged a dozen years in as many minutes. Her eyes were red and puffy.

Fear gripped Applejack's heart.

“NO!” she cried, and raced up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her. She ran into her room and slammed the door, before tucking herself into the far corner and throwing her front legs over her head.

It wasn't true. Couldn't be. There was a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake.

Her memory blurred after that. Voices downstairs. Mac's powerful, honest, gut-wrenching sobs. Apple Bloom, woken from her nap by the commotion, crying and wailing along with her brother. Their cries mixed together to produce a sound of pure sorrow and loss.

Then the silence returned. This was somehow worse than the crying. She opened her eyes and sat up, listening hard.

No voices. No crying. No nothing. Her own heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears.

Sometime later, Granny came to her, looking much older than she had that morning. She spoke softly, and paused often, when her voice trembled and threatened to crumble into sobs. Then she would continue. She sat with Applejack on the filly's bed, and nudged her granddaughter with her muzzle to offer support and comfort.

Applejack didn't catch everything her grandmother said, but she caught enough.

An accident with the train. Her parents had helped save other ponies. But in the end, they weren't as lucky.

Granny spoke a little longer, wrapping a foreleg around Applejack and telling the girl she was there for her, and would be there if the filly needed to talk. The words washed over Applejack, and she sat quiet, feeling numb. She shook her head, turned and curled up on her bed, facing away from Granny and hugging her knees to her tightly. She felt Granny slide off the bed and place a gentle kiss on the top of her head, before the old mare left the child to her thoughts.

For three days, Applejack stayed in her room. She did not speak to anypony. She did not eat any of the food Granny left outside her door. She only came out long enough to attend the funeral held at the heart of the farm, where two young saplings were planted in her parents' honor.

She also did not cry. Not a single tear. Her parents were gone, taken too soon, and leaving three young children behind. But she could not cry. Her mind simply shut down, and refused to process the emotional aspect of things.

Her Mama had always said she was just like her Daddy, and Applejack supposed that was true. When the barn had caught fire two years before that, and they had lost three cows in the blaze, he hadn't cried. He focused on what needed to be done to make sure something so tragic never happened again.

When Applejack asked him why he wasn't sad, her Daddy had smiled and hunkered down to her level.

“O' course I'm sad, Dumplin',” he said, rubbing her hair with a hoof. “It was horrible, what happened. But, way I see it, bein' sad can either hold you back, or make you want to do better. That ol' barn maybe wasn't in the best shape. I'll build a better one that's safer.”

That's the way her Daddy was. And she was her Daddy's girl. Through and through.

So that's why, three days after the funeral, Applejack walked downstairs as the early morning light shone through the windows. The house was still and quiet as Granny Smith, Big Mac, and Apple Bloom slept upstairs. Extended family that had come in for the funeral had all gone home yesterday, unable to stay to help around the farm because of their own responsibilities, but had left lots of food behind to help the grieving Apples get by until they could return.

Applejack cooked herself a big breakfast, ate until her belly threatened to burst, then walked into the living room. Hanging on the rack by the door was the hat she had on when the sheriff came.

Her Daddy's hat.

Her hat.

She pulled it down and placed it on her head before walking out into the early sun. She stopped a moment, closed her eyes, and exhaled. Then she stepped off the porch.

There was work to be done, and she was burning daylight.

~X~X~X~

Thunder boomed directly above as Applejack downed another mug of cider. The liquid in the barrel was decidedly lower now, and she had lost count of how many times she had refilled her mug. Her belly felt full and bloated.

The memory that had taken hold finally faded, falling back into the darker recesses of her mind. She didn't like thinking about that night. An odd mixture of guilt, sorrow, and anger would boil up when she did, throwing her into emotional confusion and turmoil.

Rain poured down, pelting the shed with large drops and filling the young mare's ears with noise. The air was electric with lightning, and it set Applejack's hair on edge.

She gazed into her mug, at the foamy leftovers of her last fill. The alcohol was clouding her mind, making her feel sleepy. But lurking underneath this feeling was another – a dark cloud, reaching out to her with long, spiky tendrils.

Those old emotions where stirring. Jockeying for position. Swimming to the surface to find release.

“It ain't fair,” Applejack told her mug. “It just ain't fair.”

The mug didn't respond. She dipped it into the barrel once more, filling it with drink. Then she sat back on her haunches and stared at the ceiling.

It wasn't fair. She was so young. Why did her parents have to die? They had three kids and a farm to care for. It was so senseless.

But the longer Applejack thought about that night, and the events that had taken place afterward, the more angry she became. She was angry that her parents died, sure, but she was also angry AT them for dying. She was angry at Granny Smith for not being stronger. Angry at Big Mac for not stepping up.

That night all those years ago was the night she became an orphan. That fact made her sad.

But it was also the night that she became the head of the family.

And that fact ticked her off more than a wet hornet.

“I was just a filly!” she hissed. “Just a little filly who should'a been thinkin' about school an' friends an' having fun! Not bein' in charge of the whole dang farm an' the family an' the harvest an' everything else!”

Granny should have held it together better. She was the adult, and the one in charge of the kids. When she broke down, it set the tone for everything after. Sure she was old, and had just lost her own child, but come on! There were other kids depending on her, and looking to her for guidance and support.

Big Mac was the oldest, and he should have been the one to take charge when it was apparent Granny couldn't. But he didn't. He crumbled. Retreated. Even after, when his grief had waned, he didn't step up. He could work the farm, sure, but seemingly had no desire to run it.

That fell to Applejack. Because that's what her Daddy did. And she was her Daddy's girl.

She looked down in her drink and saw her own reflection glaring up at her. The absolute fury on her face made her grimace, and she clamped her eyes shut tightly.

“It ain't FAIR!” she cried, and hurled the mug at the far wall. The cider inside exploded in an amber fan, coating the wall with foamy liquid. “I didn't want this! I didn't ask for this! Why did they have to die an' leave me behind to take care of everything an' everyone??”

Guilt appeared, further fueling her anger.

“WHY??” Applejack screamed as thunder exploded overhead. “Why did they have to die? They're GONE! I'll never hear my Mama sing me to sleep again, or feel my Daddy ruffle my hair or call me Dumplin' again. Apple Bloom will never know her parents, an' I never really got to be a filly!”

She lifted her head and screamed again, a great primal scream that gave voice to the rage bottled within her. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed as she sent out her anger, forced it out in a long, high-pitched screech. Her voice cracked as her neck muscles stretched, and the scream slowly transformed into a deep, sobbing wail.

And now she cried. Tears streamed down her soft orange coat, seeming eager to compete with the great pelting rain outside. The thunder drowned out her sobs, masking them from being overheard.

This is why she performed this ritual each year. To allow her sorrow, her anger, her guilt a safe, hidden release. Applejack's rein on them was normally too tight and strong to allow any of this feeling-sorry-for-yourself nonsense, but the cider helped the mare deal with them.

For one night each year. Just one.

She cried for her parents. She cried for Granny. She cried for Apple Bloom. She cried for Big Mac.

And she cried for herself. For the life she had but lost that night. For the childhood she lost. For the pain she carried. For the years she convinced herself that she was fine, when she wasn't. For the bitterness she felt inside, and the guilt it ultimately brought.

And so the annual ritual closed, with Applejack lying on the hard wooden floor of the storage shed, sobbing like a child. In the morning she would dump the rest of the cider out in the back pasture, and clean the barrel. Life would go on.

Tomorrow she would be Applejack again, the strong, confident head of the farm, and not somepony you want to cross.

But tonight, right now, she would lay here and cry like a lost filly until she eventually fell asleep. Alone. Overtaken by the emotions she kept buried inside the rest of the year.

~X~X~X~

Big Mac flipped his wet bangs out of his eyes as the rain fell in sheets. He was soaked to the bone, the ground beneath him turned to mud. He gave his head a hard shake to flip water out of his ears.

Behind him, inside the storage shed, Applejack sobbed. Great braying sobs that twisted Mac's heart. His sister was in so much pain, and he very much wanted to go to her. Be there for her. He knew she was angry at him for not assuming control of the farm. He was angry at himself for allowing her to do so. She had to step up, because he didn't.

But their parents' deaths had been hard on him, much harder than his sister realized. He had fallen into a depression so deep, he may have never found his way out.

Applejack was the one who saved him. When she had resumed the farm's daily activities, she did it alone. She didn't call for help, or order everypony back to work, she just did what needed done. Their parents were gone, but here was his little sister, hauling around water, tending the orchard, and working from sunup to sundown. Her strength inspired him.

After a few days of watching her work, Mac joined her. She was hauling a cart full of water out of the barn when she saw him, and she stopped. They looked at each other for a long minute, before she wriggled out of the cart's harness and walked over to him. She nuzzled against his neck, and they exchanged a tight hug before she hurried off, toward the east orchard. Mac shrugged on the cart harness and resumed his chores.

It was an unspoken agreement – Applejack lead, and Mac followed. She had a better head for being in charge anyway. They both knew it. They adjusted to their new reality.

She never spoke a word to him about their parents, that night, or what she did on this grim anniversary. She was a private and stubborn pony, and tended to avoid subjects that made her uncomfortable. He had discovered her secret years ago, purely by accident.

He wanted to talk to her about it. Tell her that she didn't have to hide away. That she didn't have to be alone. That he was sorry he had let her down, all those years ago. That he would be there for her, he would always be there for her, because he was her big brother, and he loved her. And he would take care of her, if she'd let him.

He wanted to tell her all this. But he couldn't.

What mostly stopped him from talking to his sister about this wasn't her stubbornness, or his discomfort with confrontations, but one simple truth: It wasn't his secret to tell. It was hers. And thus, it was her decision whether or not she let anyone in.

So Mac would keep his silent vigil, year after year. He would wait until Applejack went to the shed, then take his position outside the door. He would stand guard, watching over her, keeping her safe, and offering support. Even if she didn't know he was there.

He would step up now. Because he couldn't then.

Big McIntosh sighed and lay down in the mud. The rain was slowing, as were his sister's sobs. She would no doubt fall asleep soon, bringing this year's ritual to a thankful conclusion.

Maybe some day he would approach her about this. Some day. When she was ready. When he was. Until then, he would keep watch. Faithfully.

Secretly.