What's Eating Big Macintosh?
Big Macintosh turned off the water in the shower and grabbed his towel. He began drying himself off with a heavy sigh. The hot water had soothed his muscles—aching and stiff from another long day of work on the farm—but it had done nothing to ease the disquiet in his mind. The unwelcome thoughts continued to plague him. They'd been bothering him for the past month, and it didn't seem that they would be stopping any time soon.
With another deep breath, Mac stepped out of the tub and onto the warm wooden floor of the bathroom. The old boards groaned, as they always did when they took his weight. He crossed to the mirror above the sink and used his foreleg to wipe away the steam. He glared at his reflection. He thought maybe it was all in his head, but he could have sworn he looked more tired than usual; he thought his jaw had a distinct melancholy sag to it, there were new bags under his eyes, and the eyes themselves were shot through with a spiderweb of delicate red blood vessels. Mac shook his head at what he saw. Farm work had always exhausted him—Granny and his parents had taught him that if you weren't asleep on your hooves by the end of the day, you weren't doing it right—but never so much that he looked like this.
No, these thoughts he'd been having were the culprit. He knew that, as sure as he knew the Apple Family's secret cider recipe by heart. He scowled at himself in the mirror and grabbed his comb from the little shelf to the left of the sink. He ran it through his mane quickly, pulling a little harder at the knots than he otherwise would have, in his frustration. The thoughts were the culprit. The thoughts that he couldn't shut out of his mind, no matter how much he wanted to or how hard he tried. They were bouncing around his head even now, but he knew they would get worse before the night was over. They'd be more intense when he went in his room in a few minutes, as he lay in his bed and waited for sleep to take him. And even in sleep, he would find no relief, for that was when the thoughts were at their most powerful: they had invaded his dreams every night without fail.
A sudden loud pounding on the door broke Mac's thoughts (not that he was complaining). “Big Mac, you done in there?” came Apple Bloom's voice through the door. “I gotta go!”
“Eeyup!” he called back.
Mac put his comb back in its place on the shelf and walked over to the door. He had hardly turned the lock when Apple Bloom pushed inside, yelling, “Get out, get out, get out!” and making a beeline for the toilet.
Mac obliged his little sister, leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind him. It was just as well, he thought. All he'd been doing in there was wallowing in his own mind, and he could do that just as easily in his bedroom as he could in the bathroom. He started the slow walk to his room at the end of the hall, past the doors to everypony else's rooms. He passed Granny's room, and could hear the old mare's soft snores. Apple Bloom's room was, of course, still empty. Just as he was passing Applejack's door, it opened.
Applejack came out with a crumpled piece of cloth draped over her back. When she saw her older brother, she gave him a smile. “Hey, Mac,” she said, “heading to bed?”
He nodded in response.
“Me, too,” she said. “I just wanted to get a fresh pillowcase before beddin down for the night.”
Again, Big Mac simply nodded in acknowledgment.
“Yep, I'm mighty tired,” Applejack went on. “Course, I bet you're more wore out than me. I think that was the biggest load of apples I ever seen you haul. You got the whole north field's worth of red delicious in one trip.”
The two fell into a silence. For Mac's part, he thought it felt oppressive. He could feel Applejack's gaze on him, and he found he could barely return it. He'd never struggled to meet her eyes before the thoughts had started. It made him feel shifty and dishonest… made him feel like he wasn't even fit to call himself an Apple.
Big Macintosh quickly felt like he couldn't take any more. It didn't seem like Applejack had anything further to say, either, so he made a move to go past her.
“Wait, Mac,” she said.
He stopped himself and looked at her.
“Listen,” she said, “I know you ain't one to talk nopony's ear off in the best of times, but lately, you've been even more tight-lipped than usual. I ain't the only one that's noticed, neither; Granny and Apple Bloom both are wonderin what's goin on with you, but I think they feel weird about sayin somethin. Me, on the other hoof… well, you know me: ain't too much that'd shut me up. Anyway, my point is, is somethin wrong, Mac?”
Big Macintosh quickly shook his head.
Applejack snorted in annoyance. “You and me both know that's a lot of horse-apples, Big Macintosh.”
“Nope.”
She scoffed. “Pony-feathers! Now, I know you don't like to talk to Apple Bloom or Granny about things, but it's me. Ain't we always helped each other out, since we were foals?”
“Eeyup.”
“So are you gonna tell me what's goin on?”
“N-nope.”
Applejack let out a breath through her teeth, hissing like a pot about to boil over. “Fine, Mac. I was hopin you'd tell me somethin—even if it was only to make yourself feel better—but I guess I can't make you. I'm gonna go get my pillowcase now. Have a good sleep.”
“Eeyup.”
They walked past each other, Applejack to the linen closet and Mac to his room. As he entered and closed the door, he took a deep breath. He wanted to tell Applejack what was happening to him—wanted to tell anypony, really—but he couldn't. He knew, if he said the thoughts that plagued him aloud, there would be no way to take them back. Everypony would look at him like a freak. And they'd be well within their rights—he even looked at himself like a freak.
He did his best to banish this line of thought and went over to his bed. He put the light out and slid under the covers. He was so tired, both mentally and physically, that it wasn't long before he felt sleep creeping up on him. His last conscious thought was that of course he would have told Applejack if he could. He was closer to her than to anypony else in the world. However, he recalled as he fell asleep, that closeness was part of the problem.
“C'mon, Mac, those apples aren't gonna buck themselves.”
Big Macintosh found himself in bright sunshine. The sky above was a brilliant blue, the air was warm, and his nose was filled with the sweet fragrances of apples and fresh-cut grass. He took a deep breath and felt invigorated.
Mac was standing facing the orchard. The old apple trees looked warm, welcoming, and ready for harvest. Every limb in sight was laden with hefty, succulent-looking fruit. From the sound of Applejack's voice, it seemed she was already deep in the fields, harvesting as fast as she could. Not to be outdone, Mac wanted to catch up with her as soon as possible, and take on his share of the work.
Just as he took a step toward the trees, Applejack's voice drifted back to him once more. “Big Macintosh, are you coming or what?”
“Eeyup!” he shouted back, and broke into a brisk trot toward the orchard.
As soon as he got beyond the first row of trees, something changed. The first thing he noticed was the air; it had gone from warm and free to frigid and stifling. He went forward a few more steps, and then the trees caught his attention. Where just seconds ago there had been vibrant foliage and beautiful fruit, there were now only skeletal, barren limbs. Mac swallowed. These trees had none of the jovial presence of the trees he'd just seen. In fact, as he moved through the orchard, he could feel these trees looming over him. They seemed suspicious of the unwelcome pony in their midst, and Mac could swear they were talking to each other. In a register just below the threshold of his hearing, and in some malign language, these trees were plotting some way to get rid of him. Quite likely, for good.
“Mac, I'm gettin old here! Get a move on!”
Applejack's voice came back to him. It sounded a lot more distant now—though that could have just been the heavy air deadening the sound—but it still reminded him of why he'd walked into this orchard in the first place. He felt himself calm just a little. The skeletal trees, though still imposing, didn't seem quite as scary. The air felt a little less oppressive, and it moved in and out of his lungs with greater ease.
Big Macintosh put on some speed, and ran in the direction of Applejack's voice. He paid as little mind as he could to the sinister trees on all sides of him. At least until he ran up against a wall of them. He skidded to a halt. This wasn't right. The trees in the orchard were planted in straight rows; there was no way in Equestria he should have come to a dead end like this. He looked around, dumbfounded. Ahead, to his left, and to his right, impenetrable walls of trees pressed in. The only place there seemed to be a path was behind him. He'd have to double back.
He did so, and as he walked back the way he'd come, his fear of the trees returned with new strength. His throat pounded with his heartbeat. Again, he looked up at the trees, and again he was filled with the sense that they were plotting something he couldn't quite understand. He walked a few more steps and came upon a path branching off to his left. He was sure it hadn't been there before, and as such, he distrusted it. Still, it was the only way forward he could see. He turned down this new path, feeling himself tremble.
The new path was darker and more intimidating than the one he had just left, and not just because the riddle of its existence troubled him. Questions, each more unsettling than the last, flitted through his mind. Were the trees moving? The answer to that, much as the no-nonsense part of his nature refused to believe it, was yes. How else could anypony explain their sudden decision to rearrange themselves into a labyrinth? But why were the trees doing this? But the answer to that was as simple as it was dreadful—they were doing it to get rid of him. Hadn't he suspected a plot to do away with him almost from the instant he'd entered the orchard? He hadn't known how the trees were planning to go about it, but now it was all too clear. If they could move and position themselves into a never-ending, ever-changing maze, they could keep him in here until he starved. Or dropped dead of exhaustion. Or went insane.
A shiver went through Macintosh's body. He wasn't the only one lost in here. What if he never found Applejack? Were the two of them doomed to spend the rest of their lives in here, calling out for each other, but never getting any closer?
That grim prospect did nothing to lessen his fear, so Mac tried to push it away. He was going to find Applejack. He told himself that as he plunged ahead. Even if most of him didn't believe it, he had to keep a small part of himself convinced to hold onto hope. He knew that if he managed to do that, he could keep looking for her.
He moved deeper and deeper into the maze. Each time he came to a fork in the path, he shouted, “AJ!” at the top of his lungs. He didn't always get an answer, but when he did, he tried first to move in the direction it had come from. Almost invariably, however, the trees were faster than him, and his path that way was blocked. Then, he had no choice but to take the route that ran away from Applejack. Each time this happened, he grew a little more dejected and a little more fearful. He did his best not to let these feelings take him over, though. He reminded himself that he still had plenty of strength left to reach Applejack, and plain old earth pony common sense besides. No matter how many dead ends the trees placed in front of him, he'd be able to get back to Applejack. Earth ponies had remarkable senses of direction—not quite as honed as those of pegasi, but miles ahead of unicorns'.
Mac wandered and searched for a long time. His hooves got to the point where they protested each and every step, and he'd shouted himself hoarse. All the time, the trees seemed to press in on him more closely, and look down on him with even more black thoughts and evil intent.
“I'm gonna find Applejack,” Mac said to himself, as he forced all his will into picking his hooves up and putting them back down. “I'm gonna find Applejack… I'm gonna… I'm gonna find...”
But he wasn't. He wasn't going to find her, and he'd been a fool to believe that even for a minute. The last piece of him still holding hope gave itself up, and Big Macintosh collapsed. He lay with his face in the dirt, feeling tears start to slip down his muzzle. What a waste he was. A waste of a son, a waste of a big brother, a waste of a pony. In that moment, he was glad his parents were dead—at least they had been spared seeing what their only son had been reduced to.
Mac lay there for what felt like hours. He was ready to remain there forever, ready to die there. They might look for his body, but nopony would ever find him, not in this maze of evil trees. He let these thoughts lull him into a daze, and gave his mind over to a dead gray fog of misery.
He stayed this way until a voice said, “Big Mac, what are you doing?”
He looked up slowly, hardly daring to believe his ears, but then he saw her. Applejack was standing over him, looking the same as ever, albeit a bit annoyed.
“AJ?” he said. “You found me?”
“I guess,” said Applejack, looking bemused. “I dunno what you mean by ‘found you,’ though—you were just layin here on the ground like a nincompoop.”
“But how'd you get away from the trees?” he said.
“Mac, you're makin about as much sense as Granny when she ain't had her nap.”
“No, I mean it,” Mac insisted. “The trees were evil, and there was this whole labyrinth, and… look! They're right behind you.”
Applejack, wearing a look of frustrated disbelief, turned around and looked at the trees—the trees that were still sinister, skeletal, and pressing in on them like a circle of predators. “Um, Mac?” she said. “What am I supposed to be seeing here, because all I see is the orchard, same as ever.”
Big Mac was silent. She didn't see it. How could she not see it? It was all around them, staring them in the face. There was no way she couldn't see it.
Applejack turned back to him, an uneasy grin on her face. “Mac, you sure you ain't been in the hard cider, or somethin?”
“Nope.”
“Well… anyway… do you still feel up to doing some harvestin? I could sure use your help, big brother.”
He hesitated. “Eeyup.”
Mac got to his hooves. He didn't know why Applejack couldn't see the evil orchard all around her. He also didn't know how they were going to harvest anything from these barren trees. Most of all, he didn't know how he and Applejack were going to do anything without losing each other again. Applejack seemed sure enough for the both of them, though, so he thought he'd stick close to her. Somehow he knew, if he did that, things would work out for the better.
Without warning, Big Mac felt Applejack's hooves around him. He looked down at her hugging him. “Uh… AJ?” he said.
She looked up at him, a little blush on her cheeks. “Sorry, Mac,” she said. “I don't know… I just… I all of a sudden got this feeling, like I needed to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“Yeah, thank you. Thank you for being the best big brother anypony could ask for.”
“Oh, well, you're welcome, I guess,” Mac stammered awkwardly. This gesture wasn't one bit like Applejack, but still, he couldn't help but be touched. He wrapped his hooves around her and started to hug her back.
And then his hooves sank right through her flesh. Only it didn't feel like flesh anymore; it felt like something impossibly delicate—tissue paper and eggshells and glass. He looked at Applejack's face to see a horrible look frozen there: the eyes were wide with shock, the mouth gaping in a silent scream of pain.
“Applejack!” he shouted, and quickly let go of her, but it was too late. Even as he watched, her body crumpled in on itself, collapsing into the gaping hole his hooves had made in her side. Her legs snapped like the spindly little projections that they were, and her body crashed to the dirt. The impact jarred her skull, opening a huge hole in it and causing her eyeballs to roll out and shatter on the ground. And from all these injuries, Applejack didn't bleed. She didn't even seem to be a real pony anymore, only a paper doll filled with glass and dust.
Mac felt his legs give out, and he too collapsed to the ground. He felt on woozy, but he held onto consciousness enough to hear Applejack utter one last ghostly “Mac,” before she was no more. He looked at the pile of shards and dust that used to be his sister, and really did think he was going to faint.
His vision was going foggy when he heard a voice say his name. The sound brought him back to himself, and his eyes cleared up. He looked and saw Princess Luna standing before him.
“Rise, my little pony,” she said. Her voice was regal, but not unkind. “I believe we have much to talk about.”
He got to his hooves, unable to stop gawking at the princess. Of course, it had all been a nightmare. He'd known that all along, somewhere deep in his mind, but when you're in the middle of such a nightmare, the knowledge that it is in fact just a nightmare seems to fly right out of your head.
With a flick of her horn, Luna banished what remained of the orchard dreamscape. Now, she and Macintosh stood in a peaceful, secluded valley. This was a favorite haunt of her own dreams, now that she no longer had the Tantabus tormenting her. Flowers of every size and color imaginable bloomed near at hoof, filling the air with preternaturally sweet perfume. The babble of a small waterfall could be heard in the background.
“Now, Macintosh,” Luna began.
“Mac's fine, Princess,” he said.
“Very well. You may call me Luna, if you wish,” she said. “As I was saying, Mac, I have watched you have this same dream, or one very much like it, more than a dozen times now. And always it ends with the same image: you attempt to hug your sister, and end up crushing her instead.”
“Eeyup,” Mac said.
“Of course, in my time as guardian of Equestria's dreamscape, I have become rather skilled at deciphering the language of dreams—”
She stopped short at Mac's questioning look.
“Perhaps I should explain more fully,” said Luna. “Dreams speak to us, but of course not in words—not the way you and I are speaking to one another, for example. Dreams speak in symbols, images, feelings. It is a harder language to understand, I grant you, but if once you learn to interpret it, you may find that it speaks even more loudly than things in your waking life. Does that clear things up?”
Mac nodded.
“Good. Now, as I said, I am rather adept at unlocking the messages of dreams. This dream of yours, however, has me quite flummoxed. Still, I see that it is causing you much distress, and I wish to help, if I can.”
“Thank you, Luna,” said Mac.
“No need to thank me, for I am merely doing my duty. I wish to help you, but in order for me to do that, you must first tell me what the dream means to you.”
“Uh… ah...” Mac faltered.
“You need not be afraid,” Luna said. “Your sister tells me you do not speak much in waking life, but you must know that you can let your tongue loose with me, in your dreams. Anything spoken here will remain between us, never to be uttered to the outside world, if you do not wish it. For that is part of the covenant of dream-magic: in exchange for my abilities in the dream realm, I am bound to a sacred trust, to be the sole witness of my subjects' secrets. So you see, I could not reveal anything, even if I wished to—and I assure you, I do not wish to.” Luna looked at him, a trace of pleading in her eyes.
Big Macintosh gulped. “Alright, I guess you have a point, and this has been eatin me up inside something awful. Here goes...” Mac paused, unable to go on for a moment. Already he'd spoken more than he had in the past week combined, and he still hadn't told Luna what was the matter. He cursed himself for beating around the bush.
“Yes, Mac?” Luna prompted, when it looked like he wasn't going to finish.
Big Mac drew in an almighty breath and gathered himself. “I love Applejack,” he said. “Meaning, I'm in love with her, and I don't know what to do. That's what my dream is about.”
“I see. That is...” Luna cleared her throat. “That is not what I was expecting, but… I believe I can help you. At the very least, I can try.”
“Thanks a heap, Luna,” said Mac, “but you ain't gotta help me. Just gettin it off my chest helped a ton. Besides, I know you don't wanna waste time on a bad pony like me.”
“Bad pony?” Luna said. “You are not a bad pony.”
“I know you're tryin to spare my feelings—and I thank you for it, really I do—but I ain't too blind to see the truth. I'm in love with my little sister, and where I come from, that makes somepony a bad pony.”
“It does not, and I am being honest. Is not honesty a point of pride in your family?”
“Eeyup.”
“Then you ought to recognize it when it is staring you right in the muzzle.” Luna smiled softly. “I assure you, I do not believe you are a bad pony. Just to judge from when these dreams began, you have been struggling with these feelings for a month or more. Am I correct?”
Big Mac nodded.
“And to have come so far, with these emotions still kept hidden, shows tremendous goodness in you. I believe I am correct in assuming that the image at the end of your dream—Applejack crushed to death in your embrace—represents your fear of what would happen if you were to reveal your feelings to her.”
“Eeyup. That sounds about right.”
Luna nodded and began pacing up and down in front of him, following her train of thought. “You fear that by pulling Applejack closer, you would hurt or destroy her. Yet in the same breath, you say your feelings are tormenting you.”
“They are,” said Big Macintosh. “But if you'll pardon me, Luna, I still don't see how all of this proves I'm not a bad pony.”
Luna stopped pacing and looked him dead in the eyes. “Because a selfish pony—a bad pony—would, in your position, seek first and foremost to relieve his own pain, even if that meant hurting others. You have not done this. You chose to keep yourself in constant agony, for fear of hurting somepony you care about. Do you see?”
“I think so,” said Mac.
“Under the circumstances, I would say you behaved rather nobly.”
Mac was suddenly thankful for his red coat, as he felt heat blossoming in his face. Praise from a princess!
“Furthermore,” Luna went on, “I must impress upon you that you are far from the only one struggling with something like this. It is uncommon, yes, but not so rare as one might believe. The covenant prohibits me from divulging specifics, but I will tell you that yours is not the only dream I've seen dealing with these kinds of feelings. From Canterlot to Fillydelphia to Los Pegasus, I have seen it all over Equestria.”
“That… does make me feel a little better,” said Mac. He was silent for some minutes. So keeping his feelings hidden was the right thing to do. He'd known that all along, but hearing Luna commend him on it had sealed it even more firmly. He wouldn't tell Applejack a thing. It would be hard, and it might put his relationship with her under strain, but at least it wouldn't break their bond the way revealing his feelings would. It would be hard, but he could do it. Couldn't he? He thought he could, but you could never be totally sure about anything in life, could you? There were doubts everywhere. Even if he poured every ounce of his considerable strength into keeping his secret inside him, might it not still slip out, somehow? What would happen then? Mac hardly dared to think.
In the end, he couldn't help voicing this doubt to Luna. “What if one day, I just can't hold it in no more, no matter how hard I try?”
Luna looked at the ground for a few minutes, licked her lips, then returned her gaze to his face. “Alas,” she said, “I know how that situation plays out—perhaps better than anypony.
“Thousands of years ago, when my sister and I were still quite young, I realized—much to my dismay—that I had fallen in love with her.”
Big Mac stared.
“Like you, I did my best to keep these feelings under wraps. But perhaps I was not as strong as you, because little things began to slip through the cracks. I'd steal glances at Celestia as we held court. Laughed much harder than usual at her pranks and jokes—perpetrated just as often on the castle help as on myself. Let my hoof linger in what was an otherwise innocent touch.”
Luna sighed. “At the same time, consumed with love as I was, I began reading ulterior motives in what I now realize were benign gestures of the love between sisters. Celestia would give me the last chocolate tart, and my heart would scream with joy. If she let me win at our favorite games, I was absolutely convinced that it signified something deeper and more intimate that sisterly love. As you can no doubt tell, I was starting to persuade myself that Celestia shared my affection.
“One day, not long before the Nightmare took me over, I decided to tell her. I was sure she felt the same, and each day I hid my feelings was pure agony.”
“How did she take it?” said Mac.
“As you'd expect,” Luna said. “I could see in her face that she didn't know what to say, and she was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke, it was to inform me that she did not feel the same way.
“To her credit, I now realize that she rejected me in as kindly a manner as possible. Still, to a lovelorn young mare—young by alicorn standards, at any rate—the scorn was unbearable."
“I bet,” said Mac.
“In the weeks and months following this incident, I became extraordinarily solitary. I took to my bedchambers, spending hours at a time just brooding. Soon, the pain in my heart metamorphosed into anger. I was angry with myself for feeling the way I did about Celestia. I was angry with Celestia for not feeling the same way about me. I was angry with our subjects for the praise and worship they heaped upon Celestia's shoulders.
“I didn't understand it at the time, but all this anger and bitterness led—if only indirectly—to my being possessed by the Nightmare. It whispered in the back of my mind, things my shattered heart wanted to hear. ‘How dare she reject you?’ it said. ‘You are more than deserving of her love. And how dare these ponies, your subjects, worship her day, and shun your sacred night?’
“Being in the state I was, I lapped up everything the Nightmare fed me, and its voice grew stronger. The night I was banished, it was screaming inside me, ‘SHOW HER YOUR POWER! SHOW HER YOU WILL BE LOVED, EVEN IF YOU MUST TAKE THAT LOVE BY FORCE!’”
Big Macintosh let out a long whistle. “That's some story, Luna.”
“It is, and not one I particularly enjoy reliving. I tell it to you, though, in the hope that you can learn from my mistakes. The pain of holding your feelings inside is vast, doubtless; but the pain of allowing them to destroy the bond you have with your sister is infinitely worse.”
“Eeyup.”
“It has taken Celestia and I a thousand years to get even a semblance of our former bond back, and even to this day there are scars that have not healed. You and Applejack have not the luxury of immortality, and I would hate for one slip of the tongue to ruin the rest of your lives.”
“Eeyup. Me, too,” said Big Macintosh. “Mom and Dad are gone, and Granny—whether I like to admit it or not—is on the way out. Soon, me and Applejack'll be all Apple Bloom has left.”
“Precisely,” said Luna.
“I think I'm gonna keep my mouth shut about this, Luna,” said Mac.
“I think that is a wise decision,” Luna said.
“But can I ask you one more question?”
“Anything.”
“How did you finally get over Celestia?”
“Well, a thousand years on the moon gave me a lot of time to think,” said Luna, “but it didn't take me that long to get over her. Only a decade or so into my banishment, I managed to convince myself that I needed Celestia as a sister more than I needed her as a special somepony. That, I think, is the key thing to remember: you can do Applejack a lot more good as her brother than as her coltfriend.”
Big Macintosh nodded. “Eeyup. Okay, I guess I lied before—one last question.”
“Go ahead,” said Luna.
“If you were over Celestia, how come, when you came back a few years ago, you were still Nightmare Moon?”
“Ah, yes. You see,” Luna said, “even if I'd let go of my love for Celestia, I was still holding onto my hatred for the ponies of Equestria. By that time, the Nightmare had too firm a hold for me to escape on my own, anyway. I have your sister and her friends to thank for finally setting me free. But now, I think it is getting on toward dawn. You will be waking up soon, and this dream will evaporate. We must say farewell for the present, but we may see each other again.”
“Under better circumstances, I hope,” said Big Macintosh.
“Agreed.”
“Thanks for everything, Luna.”
“You are most welcome. Goodbye, Mac.”
“Bye.”
Luna disappeared, taking the dream with her. A few minutes later, Mac woke to the sound of a rooster's crow. His mind immediately began poring over the dream, even as its details (as they are so wont to do in the morning light) slipped away. The overall message of the dream stayed with him, though.
Two hours later, another day of work was beginning on Sweet Apple Acres. The whole family pushed back from the kitchen table, upon which stood the remnants of their breakfast (apple-cinnamon pancakes and fruit salad). Granny Smith set off with Apple Bloom to take her to school, leaving Applejack and Big Macintosh to clear the dishes and get started on their other chores.
As soon as all the plates and cutlery were in the sink, they went outside. It was a cool morning, and mist still lay over the farm. The sky was filled with heavy clouds the color of iron.. Big Macintosh started off to the north, in the direction of a distant vegetable patch he knew needed weeding, but Applejack stopped him.
“Hang on, Big Mac,” she said. “I was thinkin we oughta patch up the roof on the old barn, before we do anything else. We been puttin it off way too long, and Rainbow Dash told me we're in for a heck of a rain today. Don't you think we oughta do that first?”
“Eeyup,” he said.
They turned and made their way to the big old barn. The outside was a thoroughly faded red. Inside it was dim, except for a patch of sunlight coming through a sizeable hole in the metal roof. The interior of the structure smelled of dust and moldering hay. Big Mac started off into the far corner, where the supplies for patching the roof were piled haphazardly. Applejack followed, but instead of helping him move the materials, she took a seat on a bale of hay.
“This'll only take a few minutes,” she said, in answer to the look he gave her. “That hole's waited for darn near two weeks; we can let it go a while longer. If you want the truth, RD said the rain won't really hit til later tonight. The real reason I stopped you goin off on your own is because I wanna talk.”
“Nope,” said Big Mac. He knew she'd just want him to talk about the same things as the previous night.
“I get you don't wanna talk,” Applejack grumbled. “I think you're plumb crazy not to wanna tell me what's eatin you, but I guess that's your business. You are gonna listen to me, though, if I have to buck you into next week. Now sit down.”
Big Macintosh, familiar enough with Applejack's temper to know not to push his luck, did as he was told. He sat down on the hay bale and stared at the dark boards of the barn floor as she started to speak.
“Listen, Mac,” she said, her voice low and warm in the still air of the barn, “I know you like to make yourself strong for Apple Bloom and me. You're the stallion of the house, and I wouldn't expect anything different. Most of the time, I love you for it—you have no idea how much pressure it takes off me, knowing you're there to catch us if we fall or clean up after us if we screw up. So first off, I wanna say thank you for that, because I don't think I ever have.”
Big Macintosh felt heat creep up his face and neck. His vision swam with budding tears.
“But you know as well as I do that nopony can be strong all the time,” Applejack went on. “I mean, I guess I can understand that there's some things a pony just has to work through on their own, but there ain't no shame in askin for help. You remember that time I worked myself half to death, tryin to do the whole harvest by myself when you got hurt?”
Big Macintosh sniffed, a watery smile crossing his cheeks. “Eeyup.”
“Well, if I hadn't been too hard-headed to ask for help, I could've saved myself a whole lotta trouble. And hard-headedness runs in families. If I know you—and I do—I'd say you're headin for trouble even as we speak."
“Maybe,” said Big Macintosh.
Applejack gave a small shake of her head. “Now, I know I can't force you to take my help—just like you couldn't force me to take any help with the harvest back then—but I just wanted to remind you of a few things you seem to be forgetting. One: I'm your sister, the pony that knows and loves you better than anypony. Two: We always used to tell each other everything, and there ain't no reason to fix what ain't broke. And three: Whatever it is you're eatin yourself up inside about, it probably ain't as big a deal as you think. Got all that?”
“Eeyup.” Big Mac turned and looked her full in the face.
“So, if you decide to come to your senses sometime soon, I'm always willing to listen.” Applejack gave him a hug, squeezing him tight between her forelegs. “I love you, big brother.”
Big Mac hugged her back, and for one fleeting instant, an echo of his nightmare returned—the frail body and the horror of watching Applejack disintegrate. But it was gone as quick as it came. Applejack's body in his embrace was warm, solid, and strong as ever.
“I love you, too,” he said. At first, his mind added, too much, but he banished that notion. There was no such thing as loving your sister too much. Part of him loved her the wrong way, it was true, but not too much. He held her and took a deep breath. It was tempting—treacherously tempting—to take her up on her offer of an ear to bend, to lay the entirety of his feelings out before her and see what happened.
He wouldn't do it, though. Never. The part of him that loved her the wrong way howled in protest at this thought, but that did nothing to change his mind. Applejack loved him the right way, and Applejack loved him more than he deserved. To risk all that for a selfish desire was unthinkable.
They remained locked in their hug for a long time. Finally, they broke it, stood, and went to make the long-overdue repair.
