Cargo

by Arbarano

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Rainbow Dash, Big Macintosh
Length: 1514

Rainbow Dash muses about her situation during a cross-country flight.

Rainbow Dash has been pushed into flying something heavy and precious halfway across the country in the middle of a freezing night. She finds this less than ideal.

Published 2016-09-28 17:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-09-28 17:10:01 UTC

Cargo

“Stupid rail strike.”

It had all seemed so easy that, what, hour ago, when they set off for Appleloosa. So what if the rail companies were having a three-day cancellation because they were too dumb to realise that if you make working at the weekends optional and then give ponies no reason to do it, everypony’s going to come down with a crippling lack of tossage to give? She could fly; she could do so much more than that, but this wasn’t the night for it, no matter how perfect the sky looked. She could even remember smiling as she took one last look up at the inky eternity; the moon was full and bright, there was not a single cloud to be seen, and the air was nice and balmy on her fur.

“Stupid family reunion.”

Dash squinted as the bitter air tore at her face. Yeah, of course it was never going to be that easy. Doesn’t matter one downy discard how calm and pleasant it is on the ground; what mattered was that it felt like a million frozen needles were being hurled right at her every single second. And when you’ve got to travel halfway across Equestria because Braeburn insists that everypony has to come and meet the in-laws he’s just added to the family, that’s a whole lot of seconds.

“Stupid buffalo.”

Still, at least she could see where she was going, when she screwed her eyes most of the way shut. After all, the moon was still there, lighting up the snowy countryside below her and causing it to glitter and twinkle like it was making fun of the stars. Dash chanced a look at the ground, her eyes falling on a lonely little farmhouse, way out in the sticks and in the centre of a big web of spindly fences surrounding wide, empty fields. A little wisp of smoke wound lazily into the sky from the chimney, but all the windows were dark and the doors closed.

“Stupid lucky ponies.”

Yeah. Lucky. She snorted, two jets of steam warming her cheeks for the briefest second of her life. They didn’t have to try and sneak a few hours of sleep in the middle of the afternoon years after growing out of power-naps. They were the ones who got to go to bed tonight, who got to curl up into the blankets and just let the warmth and the heat and the coziness seep right into their bones. They were the ones who didn’t have to fly through a field of ice when they should be snuggling into their husband’s chest, should be nuzzling and snuffling into his fur and letting his scent fill their nostrils, should be wrapping their strong, powerful wings around his middle and squeezing until he made that scratchy little grunt, should be melting into sleep as his steady heartbeat soothed away all the troubles of the day.

“Stupid… awesome Mac.”

Her back bristled, chafing against a harness hung loose on her shoulders and jostled into the folds it had managed to forge onto her skin. Of course she’d had to borrow Mac’s gear for the job; when did she ever pull a cart like this before. And the big problem with him making an awesome pillow for her to spread out on and nestle into was that he. Was. Huge. She had the thing looped through its tightest setting, and she could still fit both her hooves between it and her stomach. On the ground. And it was built to belt around Mac’s chest. In the air, it whipped around freely below her barrel, and she had to keep her forelegs out to the sides to be absolutely sure it would stay in place.

“Stupid… Big Mac.” Seriously; she’d seen photos of that whispy, runty little cirrus he’d been, and he’d probably eaten better and less than her for his entire life. How did he get so big?!

Chills whipped at her fur as it stood up, but the blaze still burned inside her. Little specks of freezing moisture pooled in the corners of her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. She regretted it before her next heartbeat, as her raw eyes creaked and cringed at her for daring to try and hide them away. Growling, a grimace twisted her lips until they managed to catch even more of the air and direct it right into her eyes.

“Stupid goggles.”

Of course she’d left them behind. Of. Course. Maybe they were in her locker over at headquarters, maybe they were in her travel pack from her last tour, maybe they were lost somewhere in the laundry room under a heap of her sweaty, crusty training gear. Or maybe they were actually in all three places because she was a professional flier and she owned more than one pair of goggles, but because they weren’t right there, on the table, next to the fritters she’d wolfed down as some slow-release energy, she hadn’t put them on. Not that she hadn’t flown uncovered before; hay, every sonic rainboom she’d ever made was flown uncovered. But they were done in much better conditions, when she didn’t have to keep her wings moving to stop them freezing over, and they only lasted a few seconds. They weren’t flying in a straight, level, comfortable line, in the chilly zone, for hours.

“Stupid forgetful husband.” Why didn’t he tell her that she was missing something? He still had eyes. He knew that she would need them. Hell, he’d packed enough stuff into that wagon to last a whole month, and he couldn’t tell her to bring her goggles? After spending a full minute practically drooling over her while she was stepping into… inside his harness? Really, Mac? Not cool.

“Stup--”

Over the wind whistling through her mane, the creaks of the wagon under its load, and the heavy flaps of her wings, a high, wheezy, tiny yawn broke the air. She whipped her head around, knowing exactly what was coming next, already feeling the screams clawing at her ears from all the way across the orchard.

Except it never came. Pippin’s precious pink speck of a face poked out from under a thick red foreleg, tiny mouth bobbing open and closed like she was gasping for air. Rubies still tucked gently away from the cold, she let out little strains and groans, and Dash could spot the sniffles twitching her nose. Tendrils a million times colder than before snaked into Dash’s innards; her eyes darted to her little earth colt who’d finally nodded off sprawled backside-up against the wall of red fuzz, and then to her pegasus filly curled up high on the furry battlement, watching over her baby siblings...

But daddy was there. Daddy was already curled all the way around her, his huge back and his mighty heart standing guard through the cold, shielding her from anything that would dare disturb her. Daddy didn’t even need his eyes as he lifted his head up, carefully lumbered over her pudgy frame, and lowered his chin to her forehead. Instantly her mouth closed into a soft smile, her chest settled, and she squirmed back into daddy’s back. Daddy nuzzled her head until she was good and calm and safe, shifting himself ever tighter around his charges, careful to avoid jostling their eldest two, his fuzzy jaw caressing her as if she were made of porcelain. Oh yeah, Mommy smirked. Daddy had successfully beaten back the evil, wicked winter, and led their prized little Pippin safely back to the land of nod.

Daddy laid his head down next to her, ready to ward off the next attack. The wind gently teased at his mane and tousled it around, but that way it wasn’t getting onto their little earth filly, and a smile flickered across his lips. Badass.

Dash sighed, the fur on her back smoothing down with the slipstream, and turned back to face forward.

“Stupid awesome family.”

Hooves out in front of her, mane pinned back by the wind singing in her ears, wings pushing on with mighty flaps, Dash smiled. She had a very precious cargo to deliver tonight. So what if it was cold, if she was missing her home, if it was the middle of the night and her eyes were itching, if she wanted so bad to just saunter back there and snuggle up with them… she had a delivery to make. What was it Muffins said? ‘Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night keeps me from the speedy completion of my appointed rounds.’ Before slamming into the ground and scattering her letters all over, anyway.

She snorted, smile curling expertly into a smirk. Those buffalo better be ready to meet their new in-laws.

Author's Note

Four years. Four. Years.

Massive thanks to both Tofazz and Captain Unstoppable for actually keeping some sparking of writing alive during that time.

As this was written purely as an exercise, feel free to absolutely crucify my grammar/characterisation/storytelling/description/lazy workshy self.