Left behind-GREEN

Chapter 3: Branches Broken, Roots Intact

Bad Apple sat in the familiar yet unwelcoming embrace of an old wooden chair, its creaks echoing faintly, a reminder of all the moments that had passed in this room without him. The dining room of the Apple family farmhouse hadn’t changed much since he’d last been here, and that fact gnawed at him. The same sturdy oak table dominated the space, its surface worn smooth by years of family meals and late-night conversations. The walls still bore the marks of a lifetime of living—scratches, dents, and memories etched into the wood.

His eyes drifted to the doorframe, where the faded marks of the Apple siblings’ heights had been carefully recorded over the years. His name, once scratched into the wood with childish pride, had been methodically removed, sanded down until it was barely a whisper of what had been. But there was a new name added below it—Apple Bloom. Her growth over the years had been documented with the same care, a fresh set of marks that told a story he hadn’t been a part of.

The more he looked, the more it became clear: this house, this family, had moved on without him. His gaze continued its journey around the room, taking in the familiar quirks that made this place home, even if it no longer felt like his own. The doorboard near the kitchen still bore the mark from the time Applejack had kicked it in frustration when they were younger, a crack that had never quite healed. The old faucet by the sink dripped steadily, a rhythmic *plink* that echoed through the room—a problem that hadn’t been fixed since the days when Granny Smith and her husband, Oak Barrel, had built the place together. The old stallion had passed before Bad Apple was even born, but his handiwork and legacy remained in every beam and board.

But despite these familiarities, the atmosphere had changed, hardened in his absence. Finally, Bad Apple turned his attention to the three ponies sitting at the table with him. Applejack, her eyes blazing with barely suppressed anger, looked like she was one wrong word away from exploding. Big Mac, usually the picture of stoic calm, had a fire in his eyes that was rare to see, his jaw clenched so tightly that Bad Apple could almost hear his teeth grinding. Only Granny Smith seemed unbothered, sipping her tea with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who had seen too much to be rattled by anything.

The teapot in front of him let out a small, high-pitched whistle as steam rose from its spout, curling lazily in the air. Bad Apple watched as Granny Smith took another measured sip from her cup, her sharp eyes peeking over the rim to meet his gaze.

Bad Apple let out a dry chuckle, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “I think we’re going to need something a little stronger than this if we’re going to have this conversation, Granny.”

Granny Smith set her cup down with a soft clink, her eyes never leaving his. “Might be so, might be so,” she said in that slow, measured drawl of hers, the one that had always made it impossible to tell if she was about to scold you or let you off the hook. “But we don’t take kindly to snakes slitherin’ into the barn. And we sure as sugar don’t pour cider for ‘em. ‘Less you’ve got somethin’ real important to say.”

Bad Apple leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting with a mixture of resentment and amusement as he surveyed the faces around him. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. “So, we’re really doin’ this, huh? Alright then, let’s drop the niceties. Y’all wanna know why I’m here? It’s none of your business. But since you’re so keen on knowin’, let’s just say I had some time on my hooves and figured I’d check in on things. What’s it been—ten, eleven years now?”

His words dripped with sarcasm as he looked each of them in the eye. “But don’t think for a second that I came back to beg for forgiveness or fix any so-called mistakes. And I sure as Tartarus didn’t come here to be judged by a bunch of ponies who left their own kin to rot in a dungeon.”

Applejack’s eyes narrowed, anger simmering just beneath the surface. Before she could speak, Bad Apple’s gaze locked onto her, his voice sharp and biting. “And you, Applejack… Element of Honesty, right? Well, you sure got that down pat, because honesty’s the only thing you could manage. But loyalty? Ha! We’re just lucky you didn’t get stuck with that one, because you sure as hay wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

Big Mac’s deep voice rumbled from across the table, his tone as steady as a mountain but with an edge that hadn’t been there before. “Don’t you go talkin’ to her like that, Bad Apple.”

Bad Apple slowly turned his head toward Big Mac, a mocking grin tugging at his lips. “Well, look who finally found his voice. Stickin’ up for one sister now, huh? Where was that fire when I needed it?”

Granny Smith’s voice cut through the tension like a hot knife through butter. “You mind your tongue, colt. Ain’t no place here for your venom.”

Bad Apple’s smirk faded slightly, but he held onto the edge in his voice as he focused solely on Granny Smith. “Venom? Maybe. But don’t act like you didn’t have a hand in brewin’ it, Granny. Where were y’all when I was rottin’ in that Canterlot dungeon? Where were you when the accusations were flyin’, and everypony was ready to lynch me? You were all so quick to believe the worst, weren’t ya? Threw me to the wolves and never looked back.”

Applejack’s voice shook with a mix of anger and hurt, her hooves trembling as she spoke. “What were we supposed to believe, Bad Apple? You came back here with a sack full of bloodstained jewels and no Ma and Pa! We begged you to tell us what happened, but you wouldn’t say a word. Then you up and left in the middle of the night like a coward, and come mornin’, the town’s in ruins and you’re bein’ hauled off in chains.”

Applejack looked Bad Apple dead in the eyes, her gaze as hard as steel and twice as sharp. It was like she was trying to see right through him, to find the brother she once knew somewhere deep inside, but all she saw now was a stranger. The anger on her face was so fierce, so consuming, that it seemed to choke her, leaving her almost unable to speak. When she finally did, her voice was low, trembling with the weight of everything she’d kept bottled up for so long.

“I could’ve forgiven all that, ya know,” she began, her voice quivering like a leaf in the wind. “Whatever happened in that cave, the sneakin’ around behind our backs—I could’ve let it all go. But what I can’t forgive is how you threw Ma and Pa under the bus to save your own sorry hide. They couldn’t even defend themselves, and you… you might as well have walked right up to their graves and spit on ‘em.”

Her words hung in the air, thick with the bitterness of betrayal. Applejack’s voice softened, the fire in her eyes flickering as the rage gave way to a deep, old sorrow. “Do you even know what happened after that? After you left us all behind? No, you don’t—you never bothered to come back and find out.”

As Applejack spoke, Big Mac’s jaw tightened, his usually stoic face etched with a rare, visible pain. His eyes, usually calm and steady, flashed with the memory of what they had all endured. Granny Smith, meanwhile, sat quietly, her hands resting on the table. Her sharp eyes, usually full of a mischievous twinkle, were clouded with a sadness that went back generations. She didn’t say a word, but the lines on her face deepened as if the weight of Applejack’s words were adding years to her life right before their eyes.

Applejack’s gaze dropped to the floor, her voice growing even softer as she continued. “First murder case in seventy years,” she muttered, her words laced with the kind of hurt that only time can dull but never fully erase. “Folks in town looked at us like we were monsters, like we’d turn on ‘em at any moment. They said such awful things ‘bout Ma and Pa… things nopony should ever hear about their kin. It got so bad I couldn’t stay on the farm no more. I had to get away from all the whisperin’, the sideways glances…”

She reached up and took off her hat, that old, familiar Stetson that had been her constant companion through thick and thin. She set it down gently on the table, her fingers lingering on the brim. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, as if she were talking more to herself than to him. “This here… this is all

we got left of Pa,” she said, staring at the hat like it held all the memories of a happier time. “Just this old hat… and the memories. We didn’t even get any bodies to bury.”

The room was heavy with silence, the only sound the slow, deliberate ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, marking time as if to remind them of all the years that had passed since that night. Big Mac shifted slightly, the creak of the old floorboards barely audible but enough to convey the weight of his thoughts. His eyes were focused on the table, his hands clenched into fists as if trying to hold back the tide of emotions that threatened to break through his usual calm exterior.

Granny Smith, still as a statue, finally let out a long, slow breath. The hurt in her eyes was plain to see, but she kept her silence, knowing that sometimes, words weren’t enough to convey the depths of what they’d all lost.

Bad Apple, for once, didn’t have a quick retort or a cutting remark. Applejack’s words had struck deeper than he’d expected, pulling back the curtain on wounds he’d long since buried. He leaned back in his chair, his usual smirk nowhere to be found, replaced by something that might have been regret, or maybe just the realization of how far he’d pushed them all away.

The tension in the room was thick, the air heavy with the weight of the past. The silence that followed was almost suffocating, each tick of the clock stretching out the moment as if time itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Bad Apple slowly reached into his pocket and placed a worn, frayed scrunchie on the table. Despite its age and the faint stain of dried blood marring its once vibrant color, every Apple in the room recognized it immediately. The once square shape had softened with time, but its significance had not. The room fell into an even deeper silence as the weight of the object settled between them.

Before anyone could react, Bad Apple spoke, his voice low and thick with a mixture of emotions. "I was scared… and angry," he began, his eyes never leaving the scrunchie as though it anchored him to the moment. "I was bein’ accused of triple homicide, parricide, and a list of other crimes those Canterlot investigators could throw at me." His tone hardened as he spat out the words, each one dripping with venom. "They told me I’d likely be sent to Tartarus, that I’d never see the sun again."

He paused, his expression darkening as a memory surfaced, unbidden. In his mind’s eye, he saw a pair of emerald green eyes staring at him, a devious smile playing on lips that had whispered poisonous words into his ear. He could almost feel the sensation of a hoof trailing down his leg, a touch that had promised freedom at the cost of his soul. A chill ran down his spine as he remembered her, that voice that had lured him into making the worst decision of his life.

"I listened to somepony," he continued, his voice faltering for a moment. "Somepony who offered me a way out. Do I want to live the rest of my days with my head up in Tartarus, or walk free with a little dirt on my hooves? I was trapped in a no-win situation, and I made my choice."

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look directly at Applejack, who was staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and anger. "I did what I had to do," he said, the words coming out with a confidence he didn’t truly feel. "And one day, when I finally face Ma and Pa again, I know I’m gonna have to explain all of it to them."

The tension in the room was almost unbearable as Bad Apple let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His eyes softened as he continued, his voice tinged with regret. "I did come back, two years later. I thought if I let things cool down, maybe I could explain, maybe I could tell y’all what really happened. But when I got here… I saw you’d all moved on. You had Apple Bloom, and it was like you’d erased me from the house, like I’d never even existed."

His gaze drifted to the wall where the height marks still stood, each sibling’s growth documented over the years. His own name, once etched there with pride, had been scraped away, leaving only a faint scar on the wood. "After I saw that," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "I figured maybe it was better if I stayed gone. Better to be an unpleasant memory than to come back and stir up old wounds."

The room was quiet as their grievances lay bare between them. The house, which had once held so many memories, both good and bad, seemed to absorb their collective pain. Each of them, in their own way, was lost in thought, grappling with the ghosts of their past.

Big Mac stared at the scrunchie on the table, his usually stoic face betraying the storm of emotions brewing inside him. He remembered the anger, the frustration, and the helplessness he’d felt back then, scrubbing away every trace of Bad Apple’s presence in a desperate attempt to erase the pain. He’d torn down the height marks, thrown out old belongings—anything that reminded him of his brother. But the memories were not so easily scrubbed away.

Applejack, her eyes still fixed on the hat she’d placed on the table, felt the weight of the years pressing down on her. She remembered how she had shut down after Bad Apple’s departure, moving through the halls like a ghost, avoiding every memory that might trigger the flood of emotions she wasn’t ready to face. She had buried herself in work, trying to forget, but it had never truly gone away. Eventually, it had become too much, and she’d left the farm, searching for something she couldn’t even name.

Granny Smith, still holding her teacup with steady hands, felt a deep weariness in her bones. She had done her best to hold the family together after everything fell apart, bearing the weight of it all in silence. She had cried only once over the loss of her son and daughter, at their funeral, and had pushed everything else deep down, focusing only on keeping the farm running. Now, sitting at this table with her grandchildren, the years of heartache and loss seemed to catch up with her all at once.

And Bad Apple, still staring at the wall, saw not just the faded marks of a lost childhood, but the cold stone walls of the Canterlot dungeons. He remembered the storm that had raged inside him during those dark days, the anger, the helplessness, and the betrayal he had felt. He could still feel the chill of the iron bars, the rough texture of the stone, and the seething fury that had consumed him, driving him to make choices he would regret for the rest of his life.

The room was steeped in silence, the weight of their shared past pressing down on them all, as they each confronted the scars that had never truly healed.

As time seemed to stretch in the heavy silence of their conversation, the steady ticking of the old grandfather clock suddenly grew louder, its chime echoing through the room and breaking everyone out of their contemplation.

Applejack’s eyes widened with sudden realization. "Shoot! We forgot about Apple Bloom. We should’ve been pickin’ her up by now."

Big Mac glanced at the clock, his expression shifting from intense to mildly panicked as he remembered his own obligations. "An’ I still gotta head out to get some last-minute supplies for the family get-together," he added, already halfway out of his seat.

The two of them quickly got up, their chairs scraping loudly against the wooden floor. But then, as if suddenly reminded of Bad Apple’s presence, they both hesitated, caught between leaving and staying.

Granny Smith, ever the pragmatic matriarch, let out a long, weary sigh. "You two young’uns go on and get everythin’ ready. I’ll keep an eye on Bad Apple."

Applejack and Big Mac exchanged concerned looks, clearly uneasy about leaving their brother alone with Granny. Sensing the tension, Bad Apple couldn’t resist a smirk as he quipped, "Looks like not much has changed around here—Granny still knows how to crack the whip on you two."

Applejack shot him a narrow-eyed glare, but before she could retort, Granny Smith cut in with a sharp glance that brooked no argument. With that unspoken command, both Applejack and Big Mac reluctantly turned and headed out, though not without a final wary glance back at Bad Apple.

Once they were out of the room, the tension didn’t exactly lift, but it shifted. Bad Apple, never one to dwell too long on awkward moments, simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of Lucky Stallion cigarettes. Granny Smith’s eyes narrowed slightly as she recognized the brand—an old favorite of her late husband, Oak Barrel. She had thought Bad Apple might’ve outgrown the habit, but seeing that familiar pack brought back memories she hadn’t expected to resurface.

Bad Apple, completely unfazed by the scrutiny, popped a cigarette into his mouth and was just about to light it when he caught sight of Granny’s disapproving look. For a moment, their eyes locked—his defiant, hers unyielding—and it was clear that old habits died hard on both sides. With a sigh of reluctant acknowledgment, Bad Apple pulled the unlit cigarette from his lips and pocketed it again. "I guess I haven’t gotten over it either," he admitted, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly.

As he stood up, ready to walk out to the porch, he noticed Granny Smith rising from her chair as well, following him with a purposeful stride. He cast a sideways glance at her, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "So, you’re gonna keep an eye on me everywhere I go, huh?"

Granny Smith gave him a look that was equal parts irritation and amusement. "Nope," she replied, her tone as dry as ever. "I’m goin’ out for a smoke, same as you."

Bad Apple stopped in his tracks, genuinely surprised. He had thought Granny Smith had given up smoking after her husband, Oak Barrel, passed away. The idea of her still indulging in the habit seemed so out of place, yet somehow fitting at the same time.

The two of them stepped out onto the porch, the weight of the house’s memories trailing behind them like a shadow. The sun was still shining brightly, but the air felt cooler, more forgiving. Granny Smith settled into her old rocking chair, pulling out a pipe instead of a cigarette and lighting it with practiced ease. Bad Apple leaned against the porch railing, finally lighting his own cigarette and taking a long drag, the smoke curling up into the air between them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound being the creak of the rocking chair and the occasional puff of smoke. It was a strange, almost peaceful interlude after the storm of emotions inside.

Granny Smith broke the silence first, her voice softer now, tinged with the weight of the years. "You know, some things don’t change, no matter how much time passes."

Bad Apple nodded slowly, taking another drag and letting the smoke fill his lungs. "Yeah," he replied, his voice quieter than before. "Some things don’t change."

Granny Smith took a slow, deliberate puff from her pipe, letting the smoke swirl lazily in the air before she spoke again. "We got ourselves at least a good 60 minutes 'fore either one of 'em gets back. Why don't you go ahead and tell me what really happened that night."

Bad Apple mirrored her actions, exhaling a thin stream of smoke as he leaned back against the porch railing. "You already know most of it, Granny. It’s clear you didn’t spill the beans to Applejack or Big Mac."

Granny Smith rocked gently in her chair, the wooden creak filling the quiet space between them. She didn’t offer any confirmation, just kept her gaze steady on him, waiting.

Bad Apple sighed, rubbing a hoof over his face. "Alright then, where do you want me to start?"

Granny Smith let the rocking chair still as she took a moment to consider her next words. "Why in tarnation did you get mixed up with them Diamond Dogs and that fightin' pit?"

Bad Apple couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory, though it quickly turned into a rough cough as he accidentally inhaled some smoke. He took a few seconds to compose himself before speaking. "Really, Granny? That’s where you want to start?"

Granny Smith’s stare remained unyielding, her lips pressed into a thin line of determination. She was a mare who’d seen it all, and she wasn’t about to back down now.

Bad Apple sighed again, his usual bravado slipping just a bit. "Fine, fine. I’ll give it to you straight. Me and Big Mac overheard your conversation with Ma and Pa after that whole mess with the fruit bats. Ma wasn’t ready to start bucking apples again, you were gettin’ up there in age, and Big Mac… well, he was still green as spring grass when it came to the trade. And Apple Bloom was just a baby. We knew there was no way the four of us were gonna get all them trees bucked before harvest. Not by ourselves."

Granny Smith’s eyes narrowed slightly in surprise, though she didn’t say anything just yet. She hadn’t realized the young ones had overheard that particular conversation. It had been less of a discussion and more of a brewing argument, the kind that could’ve easily boiled over if left unchecked. She’d thought for sure they’d been asleep, tucked away in their beds while the adults handled the business.

"So," Bad Apple continued, tapping the ash off his cigarette and watching it fall to the porch floor, "I figured I’d take it upon myself to find a way to make ends meet. The farm’s always been hangin' by a thread, you know that better than anyone. Then there were the taxes that year—jumped up by a good bit, didn’t they? I did some quick math in my head: we had close to a hundred acres of farmland, with about sixty of that bein’ apple orchards. Then there was the pig farm, the few cattle we kept, and, of course, the zap apple jam production. But even with all that, the numbers just didn’t add up. We were barely scrapin’ by."

Granny Smith’s expression softened for just a moment, a flicker of understanding passing through her sharp eyes. She’d known the farm was in trouble, but she hadn’t realized just how much the young’uns had picked up on.

"Ya coulda come to me," Granny Smith finally said, her voice softer now, almost sad. "We woulda found a way, together."

Bad Apple shook his head, his voice tinged with regret. "I didn’t want to burden you, Granny. I thought I could handle it. Figured if I took care of the problem on my own, you wouldn’t have to worry about it. But I was young and stupid. I thought I could play with fire and not get burned. The Diamond Dogs were offerin' good money for certain… services. And that fightin' pit… well, it seemed like easy bits at the time."

Granny Smith sighed, her rocking chair creaking back to life as she shook her head slowly. "You always did think you could take the weight of the world on them shoulders of yours. But some weights ain’t meant to be carried alone, Bad Apple."

Bad Apple took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling lazily into the air as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked out over the farm, the land he’d once been willing to do anything to save. “You know, Granny, everypony gets up in the mornin’ for the same reason—bits. Ain’t no shame in that. I did what I did because I figured layin’ in the mud wasn’t gonna get me dirty. Thought I could play their game and come out clean on the other side.”

He paused, flicking the ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor. “But here’s the thing, Granny… I don’t regret it. Not one bit. The last thing I ever did for Ma and Pa was pay off that huge debt that was hangin’ over this place. They weren’t here to see it.

Granny Smith watched him closely, her sharp eyes searching his face. After a moment, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “I knew it was you,” she said quietly, her voice steady but carrying the weight of years of suspicion confirmed. “Always figured there was more to that story than what we heard. Deep down, I knew you had a hoof in payin' off that debt.”

Bad Apple met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “You’re right, Granny. I did what needed doin’. And I’d do it again if it meant keepin’ this place above water.”

Granny Smith sighed, leaning back in her chair and taking a slow, deliberate puff from her pipe. “You always were as stubborn as a mule in a mud hole, thinkin’ you could haul the whole world on your back just ‘cause you were born with a stronger body than most. But listen here, Bad Apple, it ain’t just about what you do for the family—it’s how you go about doin’ it. And the way you went about it… well, it’s like leavin’ a pie half-baked—still a mess that needs fixin’.”

Bad Apple’s eyes flickered with a mixture of defiance and something else, something deeper. “Maybe so, Granny. But I ain’t apologizin’ for keepin’ this place goin'. I did what I had to do.”

Granny Smith nodded slowly, as if she’d expected nothing less. “I reckon that’s the truth. And I reckon that’s why you’re sittin' here now, smokin' on this porch, instead of off somewhere else, outta sight and outta mind.”

Bad Apple looked down at the cigarette in his hoof, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, Granny… reckon you’re right.”

Bad Apple leaned forward, flicking ash from his cigarette, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the fields. "Let’s cut to the chase, Granny. How in Equestria are you keepin’ this place goin’ with just two ponies doin’ all the heavy liftin'? Applejack and Big Mac might be tough, but they’re just two ponies. What happens if one of 'em gets hurt or sick? What if the wagon breaks down in the middle of harvest season? Who’s left to pick up the slack?”

He snorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You know, I’ve been hearin' some rumors about your dealings with Filthy Rich, too. Word around town is he’s squeezin’ you harder than ever, cuttin’ your margins down to the bone. You sell him your best cider And jam for dirt cheap, and he turns around and sells it at three times the price. And from what I hear, you’re still locked in that old contract from when Grandpappy signed it. A deal that was good back then but is killin’ you now. Why haven’t you renegotiated?”

Granny Smith’s expression tightened, but she remained silent, her eyes never leaving Bad Apple’s.

He continued, “You’ve got what, three acres of apple orchards? Maybe more if you’ve been replantin'. You’re sellin’ cider like it’s gold, but the production costs are eatin' you alive. Each acre gives you around 183 barrels of cider if you’re lucky. You sell a couple of barrels a week to the local bars, but that ain’t

much. Most of it goes to that snake, Filthy Rich. And then there’s the cider festival—sure, it brings in some bits, but it’s not enough to make up for the loss you’re takin' on those contracts.”

Bad Apple took another drag, exhaling smoke through his nostrils. “You’re keepin' an acre set aside for them vampire fruit bats. That’s a third of your yield gone right there, for who knows how long until those new trees are ready to produce. That’s a big chunk of income you’re missin'. Unless you’re gettin' some compensation from the Princesses, that’s a dead loss. You’re replacin’ trees every year, cuttin' down another hundred for firewood. All the while, you’re tryin’ to juggle corn, grapes, carrots, and a bunch of livestock that need feedin’ and care.”

He shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and frustration in his voice. “You’re stretchin' yourselves too thin, and it’s gonna bite you. The farm’s gotta be at least 200-300 acres, with half of that bein' pasture for cows and sheep. You’re runnin’ a whole damn ranch with barely any help, and for what? A few bits of profit here and there, if you’re lucky.”

Granny Smith's face was tight, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—pride, maybe, or stubbornness. “We’ve been doin’ this for generations, Bad Apple. We know what we’re doin'. This land’s been in our family, and we ain’t about to let it go just because times are tough.”

Bad Apple’s lip curled, his tone hardening. “This ain't about lettin' go, Granny. This is about adaptin'. You think heart and tradition are gonna keep this place afloat? It ain't. You gotta be smart about it, and right now, it looks like you're lettin' sentiment blind you to the reality. Filthy Rich is bleedin' you dry, and you're lettin' him because of some old deal that's outlived its time.”

He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, “I get it, Granny. This place is home. But home ain't worth a damn if it's draggin' you under. You gotta start thinkin' like a business pony or you're gonna lose everything, and that ain't just numbers talkin'—that's the hard truth.”

Granny Smith narrowed her eyes, the lines on her face deepening with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. “And just how in tarnation do you know all this, huh? You ain’t been around, so where you gettin’ your information from?”

Bad Apple let out a chuckle, a wry grin spreading across his face. “Granny, the one thing I’ll give Canterlot credit for—they sure know how to keep their records straight. Public ledgers, business filings, court documents… all right there for anypony with half a brain to look up. You’d be surprised what you can find out if you know where to dig.”

He leaned back against the porch railing, taking another drag from his cigarette, clearly enjoying the moment. “You might say I’ve kept a close eye on things. Figured it’s always good to know what’s goin’ on back home. And I’ve gotta admit, I got a real knack for numbers these days—comes with the territory of bein’ the second most hated thing in Equestria… a lawyer.”

Granny Smith snorted, unimpressed but not entirely surprised. “So you’ve been spyin' on us from the comfort of them fancy Canterlot offices, huh? And here I thought you were too busy chasin' bits to care.”

Bad Apple shrugged, his grin never faltering. “A pony's gotta have a hobby, Granny. And keepin’ up with the family drama? Turns out that’s more entertainin' than I thought.”

Granny Smith gave a short, dry laugh, shaking her head. “Well, we ain’t the only ones with drama to our name. Seems like every other time I pick up the newspaper, there’s your name poppin’ up—defending another snake or some lowlife up in Canterlot. You sure know how to keep yerself in the thick of things, don’t ya?”

Bad Apple’s grin widened. “What can I say, Granny? Snakes know their own kind. Keeps life interestin’. And besides, there’s good money in defending the so-called ‘undesirables.’ Everypony deserves a fair shake, don’t they?”

Granny Smith huffed, her eyes narrowing. “Fair shake, huh? Or just a fat purse for doin’ what nopony else would touch with a ten-foot pole? Ain’t like you to go gettin’ all righteous on us now.”

Bad Apple shrugged again, looking amused. “Oh, I ain’t righteous. Not by a long shot. But a bit’s a bit, and I never could resist an opportunity to make some easy ones. Just funny how ponies will pay through the nose when they’re backed into a corner.”

Granny Smith gave a snort, her eyes crinkling with a mix of frustration and amusement. “Looks like age didn’t make ya any wiser, Colt.”

Bad Apple chuckled, finishing up his cigarette and flicking the butt off the porch. “Maybe not wiser, but it sure as hay made me smarter.” He exhaled the last of the smoke, a sly grin creeping across his face. “Guess we should finish up the smoke break. Applejack’s liable to raise Tartarus if she catches you puffin’ away again.”

Granny Smith smirked, a glint in her eyes. “Why would she be mad at me? I could just as easy blame it on you, y’know. Wouldn’t be the first time you took the heat.”

Bad Apple let out a genuine laugh, the sound echoing across the porch. “Didn’t know you still had jokes in ya, Granny. Maybe age did make you a little sharper after all.” He leaned back, the tension in his posture easing just a bit.

Granny Smith took a final, thoughtful drag from her pipe, her sharp eyes still fixed on Bad Apple. "So, where ya plannin' on layin' your head while you’re in town? And how long ya reckon you'll be stayin’ here?"

Bad Apple hesitated, glancing out over the fields before answering. "Haven’t decided yet, Granny. Might stick around for a bit, see how things go."

Before Granny Smith could press him further, the sound of approaching voices caught their attention. As Applejack and Apple Bloom made their way down the road, Apple Bloom's excited chatter filled the air. The young filly was practically bouncing as they got closer, her eyes widening when she saw the unfamiliar stallion standing next to Granny Smith.

Apple Bloom's face lit up with recognition. "I knew you got my letter!" she exclaimed, rushing up to Bad Apple with a wide grin. "Why were ya gone so long? How come nopony ever told me 'bout ya? And why didn’t ya write back sooner?"

Bad Apple chuckled, holding up a hoof to pause her flood of questions. "Hold on, kiddo," he teased gently, "One question at a time. I’ll tell ya what I can… but some things might be a story for when you're a bit older. Or maybe Granny or Applejack here will fill you in."

Apple Bloom huffed, her face scrunching up in a pout. "I am older! Old enough to know everything!" She tilted her head, curiosity practically bursting from her. "What’s it like bein’ a lawyer? Do ya live in a big house in Canterlot? Can ya teach me how to argue and win, like ya do?"

Bad Apple grinned, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "You’ve already got some fire in ya, Apple Bloom. Arguin' might come naturally for you," he said warmly. "But yeah, I reckon I could teach ya a few things, if you don’t mind learnin’ from someone with a bit of a… reputation."

Applejack kept her distance, her expression wary and her eyes watchful. "That reputation is exactly what worries me," she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. Her voice carried a mix of suspicion and restraint. "Good to see you bein' decent to Apple Bloom, at least."

Bad Apple gave her a knowing look, his grin softening just a bit. "Well, it ain't her fault she wrote to a brother she didn't know she had," he replied evenly. "Just figured she deserved some answers."

Applejack's eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. "Fair enough. But don’t think for a second you’re off the hook just 'cause you're bein' nice."

Bad Apple shrugged, his smile fading into something more sincere. "I ain’t here to cause trouble, Applejack," he said quietly. "I came in three days early to take care of some things, and I figured it was about time I met the little sister who reached out to me."

Granny Smith watched them both, a knowing glint in her eye. "Three days early, huh? Seems like you’ve been keepin' busy," she remarked, her tone still carrying a hint of suspicion.

Bad Apple glanced over at her with a casual shrug. "Had some business to settle. Things don’t always go as planned."

Apple Bloom, ever the eager one, piped up again. "So, are ya gonna stay for a while? Will ya be here for the family reunion?"

Bad Apple looked down at her with a soft smile. "Yeah, I reckon I will. Seems like there’s a lot to catch up on."

Applejack kept her gaze steady, her expression still guarded but not quite as hard as before. "We’ll see how things go," she said, her tone cautious. "Reckon we got a lot to sort through."

Apple Bloom, unable to contain her excitement, beamed at Bad Apple. "I’m glad ya came! I wanna hear all the stories and learn all the things!"

Bad Apple chuckled again, his smile genuine. "Well, I better get ready for a lot of questions then," he replied, looking between Applejack and Apple Bloom.

Applejack crossed her hooves over her chest, still watching him closely. "Just remember," she warned, "We ain't lookin' for any more trouble."

Bad Apple nodded, his expression serious. "I hear ya, AJ. No trouble… just tryin’ to do right by the family this time."

Granny Smith, sensing the tension beginning to ease just a bit, gave a small nod. "We’ll hold ya to that, Bad Apple. Let’s see if you mean what ya say."

The air between them remained thick with uncertainty, the weight of years apart pressing down on their shoulders. Applejack stood still, her eyes never leaving Bad Apple, trying to read the intentions behind his calm demeanor. Bad Apple, for his part, seemed to sense the tension but kept his focus on Apple Bloom, whose enthusiasm was as infectious as ever.

Without warning, Apple Bloom grabbed Bad Apple's hoof with surprising strength and tugged him toward the door. "C'mon, Bad Apple! You gotta see my clubhouse! And I’ve got a million questions about bein' a lawyer! Oh, and wait ‘til you see the new apple pie recipe I came up with!"

Bad Apple chuckled, letting himself be pulled along. "Alright, alright, slow down, kiddo," he laughed, trying to keep up with her rapid-fire excitement. "I’m here, ain’t I? You’ll have plenty of time to show me everythin'."

As they disappeared into the house, Apple Bloom's voice continued to chatter away, her questions flying faster than Bad Apple could answer. The door swung shut behind them, the old wood groaning under the movement, leaving Applejack and Granny Smith alone on the porch.

Granny Smith turned her gaze from the door to Applejack, a knowing look in her eyes. "Well, that went better than I thought it would," she drawled, leaning back in her chair, the creak of the wood the only sound for a moment.

Applejack sighed deeply, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she watched the door. "Maybe, Granny, but I still don’t trust him. Not yet, at least. Ain't exactly easy forgettin' all he put us through."

Granny Smith nodded slowly. "Might be he’s lookin’ for a chance, whether he knows it or not. Ain’t easy bein’ a big brother again after all this time."

Applejack's gaze hardened, though not without a touch of softness. "Chance, huh? I just don’t want Apple Bloom to get hurt. She’s so excited to have a big brother… I don’t want her disappointed."

Granny Smith smiled, a gentle, almost sad smile. "She’s tougher than she looks, that one. Got the same fire in her as the rest of us. But… maybe havin' Bad Apple around will be good for her, and for him, too. Might be they can teach each other a thing or two."

Applejack gave a short nod, her expression contemplative. "Maybe. But I’m gonna be watchin’. One wrong step, and he’ll have to answer to me."

Granny Smith chuckled softly. "Wouldn’t expect nothin' less from ya, Applejack."

Applejack allowed a small smile to creep onto her face. "I’ll give him a chance, Granny… but only one."

Granny Smith patted her on the back gently. "That’s all anypony can ask for, sugarcube."

Inside, Apple Bloom’s excited chatter filled the air, her laughter ringing out, followed by Bad Apple's amused responses. The sound drifted through the open window, filling the porch with a warmth that seemed almost foreign after so many years of silence.

After a moment, Applejack turned back toward the door, her mind still spinning with thoughts. She opened it, but just as quickly stepped back out, her eyes narrowing at the faint scent of smoke that still lingered on the porch.

"Granny…" Applejack’s voice was sharp, almost accusing. "Are you smokin' again?"

Granny Smith hesitated, then let out an awkward laugh, the kind that comes from being caught with a hoof in the cookie jar. "Well now, sugarcube, I ain’t exactly been smokin’…" She shot a sideways glance at the old pipe beside her, then tilted her head toward where Bad Apple had been standing. "But I reckon he’s been smokin' more than his fair share."

Applejack crossed her hooves and sighed, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Figures. Can't leave y’all alone for five minutes without somethin' like this."

Granny Smith gave a small shrug, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Ain't my fault he's got his old habits, now, is it?"

Applejack rolled her eyes but couldn't help a slight grin. "No, Granny, guess it ain't." She looked toward the door again, the sound of Apple Bloom’s laughter still ringing in her ears. "Just hope he's here for the right reasons this time."

Granny Smith nodded slowly, watching Applejack carefully. "We’ll find out soon enough, I reckon."

Applejack took a deep breath, then gave Granny a knowing look. "Yeah… we will."

As the sun hung high in the midday sky, casting soft light over Sweet Apple Acres, Granny Smith rocked gently in her chair, a twinkle in her eye. "Ain't nothin' ever easy with family. But it’s always worth tryin'."

Applejack glanced back inside, her smile growing just a bit more genuine. "Yeah, Granny… reckon you’re right."

With that, she stepped back inside, leaving Granny Smith alone on the porch. The old mare chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head as she settled back in her chair, the quiet creak of the wood keeping time with the soft rustle of the leaves in the afternoon breeze.

And for the first time in a long while, the farm felt just a little bit fuller.