Left behind-GREEN

Chapter 5: Echoes of the Orchard

Bad Apple followed Apple Bloom up the creaky, worn wooden steps to the old treehouse. Each step groaned under their combined weight, and for a moment, Bad Apple half-expected the whole structure to give way. The treehouse had always been a bit rickety, a hideout for him, Applejack, and Big Mac back when they were foals. It was a place filled with secrets, plans, and the kind of mischief only siblings could cook up together. But to his surprise, the treehouse held firm, its weathered boards still sturdy after all these years. As he stepped inside, he was met with a rush of memories—memories he’d tried to bury, yet ones that surfaced as soon as he crossed the threshold.

The interior of the treehouse was a mix of old and new. The wooden walls, once rough and bare, were now decorated with drawings, posters, and keepsakes from the Cutie Mark Crusaders' many adventures. A patched-up rug covered the floor, and a small table in the corner was cluttered with art supplies and bits of half-finished projects. The place had a warm, lived-in feel, but there were still traces of the old clubhouse he remembered from his youth.

“This old thing hasn’t fallen apart yet?” Bad Apple mused, a hint of disbelief in his voice as he scanned the room. His eyes lingered on a few of the familiar spots—the corner where they’d once hidden secret plans, the rickety chair Big Mac had always insisted on using despite its wobble.

Apple Bloom grinned, clearly proud of what she and her friends had accomplished. “Nope! We fixed it up a while back. Me and the Crusaders—we spent a whole summer gettin’ it back in shape. It’s our clubhouse now!”

Bad Apple nodded, impressed despite himself. “Y’all did a fine job. Looks better than it did when we were foals.” His eyes drifted to the ceiling, where faint chalk marks still lingered, remnants of old games and plans they’d scrawled out in their youth.

As Apple Bloom led him around, pointing out the little improvements they’d made—a new window here, a reinforced beam there—Bad Apple couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of nostalgia and unease. He could almost see the faint echoes of the past in the room, memories from the edge of his mind, almost forgotten, now surfacing as he took in the familiar surroundings.

In one corner, he could almost make out a younger Applejack, her mane tied back with a makeshift ribbon, daring Big Mac to jump from the highest point of the treehouse. He hadn’t thought about that day in years, but now the memory was vivid, filling his mind as he scanned the room.

But it wasn’t just Applejack and Big Mac he saw. There was another figure, a bit smaller, a bit more distant. It tugged at his memory, but he couldn’t quite pull it into focus. He frowned slightly, pushing the thought aside as Apple Bloom continued talking.

“This place sure has seen a lot of livin’,” he muttered, more to himself than to Apple Bloom, as his eyes traced the familiar yet changed surroundings. But even as he spoke, more memories—ghost-like in their clarity—flitted around the edges of his vision.

There, by the old window, was the memory of his mother, Buttercup, carefully sewing patches on a blanket while humming a soft tune. She’d often join them in the treehouse after their father had called it a day, her presence making the space feel even warmer, more like home. Bad Apple could almost hear her voice, soothing and kind, telling them stories of how she and Bright Mac had built a life on the farm, brick by brick, seed by seed.

And by the doorway, the faint image of Bright Mac himself, standing tall and steady, his eyes filled with pride as he watched his children play. He’d always been a man of few words, but his love and strength were clear in every glance, every action. Bad Apple blinked, and the images faded, leaving behind only the familiar sight of the treehouse and Apple Bloom’s eager face.

Apple Bloom’s eyes sparkled with excitement, oblivious to the memories stirring in her brother. “We use it for all kinds of things—our meetin’s, plannin’ our crusades, and just hangin’ out. It’s where we come up with our best ideas for gettin’ our cutie marks!”

At the mention of cutie marks, Bad Apple let out a low chuckle, slipping briefly into his old country drawl. “Always chasin’ after those marks, huh? Some things never change. Granny and Ma used to say they’d come when they’re ready, no need to rush.”

Apple Bloom nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Granny says the same thing to us! But me and my friends, we ain’t the patient type.”

Bad Apple’s lips curled into a half-smile, a bit of warmth creeping into his usually guarded expression. “Guess that runs in the family.”

As Apple Bloom continued to show him around, pointing out all the little improvements they had made, Bad Apple’s attention was caught by something carved into the wood, partially hidden behind some old crates. He moved closer, brushing away the dust and grime to reveal a set of initials carved into the wooden wall: A.J., B.M., and B.A., along with a fourth set, F.R., faint but unmistakable.

The sight of the carvings brought another rush of memories, and for a moment, he could see them all again—Applejack and Big Mac laughing as they took turns carving their initials, and that smaller figure, F.R., quietly working alongside them, more serious and focused. He remembered how proud they’d all been to leave their mark, a permanent reminder of their bond.

Apple Bloom noticed his interest and leaned in to get a better look. “That’s you, Applejack, and Big Mac, right? But… who’s F.R.?”

Bad Apple hesitated, his mind flashing back to long-forgotten memories. He knew exactly who F.R. was, but he wasn’t ready to share that part of the story just yet. Instead, he slipped back into his more polished, Canterlot-acquired tone. “Could be a friend from back in the day. It’s been so long, I can’t quite recall.”

Apple Bloom, ever curious, pulled out a small knife she had stashed away. “Well, if it’s a secret spot, we should add our initials too! Me, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle—we’re part of the history of this treehouse now!”

Bad Apple arched an eyebrow at the sight of the knife but didn’t seem overly concerned. “You supposed to have that, kid?” he asked, though his tone was more amused than stern.

Apple Bloom shrugged with a grin. “Granny says as long as I’m careful, it’s alright. Besides, it’s for important things like this!” She moved to carve their initials next to the old ones, her face scrunched up in concentration.

Bad Apple watched her, a mix of nostalgia and something else stirring in his chest. After a moment, he spoke, his voice softer. “Just be careful with that. You don’t want to carve too deep or too shallow—make sure it lasts, but don’t ruin the wood.”

Apple Bloom nodded seriously, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she worked. “I will! I want this to be here forever, just like yours.”

As Apple Bloom finished carving the initials into the wood, she stepped back to admire her work. The new initials—A.B., S.B., and S.L.—sat proudly beside the older, more weathered ones, blending the past and the present in a way that made the treehouse feel even more special.

Bad Apple nodded approvingly. “Good job. You’ve got a steady hoof.”

Apple Bloom beamed at the praise, then turned to him, her eyes shining with curiosity. “Bad Apple, can I ask you somethin’?”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?”

Apple Bloom hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Granny always tells us that cutie marks and talents will come when they come, and that we shouldn’t rush. But what about things like wantin’ stuff? Like, is it okay to want more than what you have?”

Bad Apple thought for a moment before answering, carefully choosing his words. “Wantin’ things ain’t a bad thing, kid. Wantin’ more, bein’ greedy even, can push you to do better, to work harder. Greed can be a powerful motivator, somethin’ that drives you to succeed.”

Apple Bloom frowned, crossing her hooves. “But Granny and Applejack always say that wantin’ too much can make a pony selfish, like when Diamond Tiara used to brag about her money and stuff. How’s it okay to be greedy then?”

Bad Apple considered her words, realizing he’d need to go a bit deeper. “It’s true that greed can make some ponies selfish, but it’s not the greed itself that’s the problem—it’s how you use it. Greed is like a tool; it can help you build somethin’ good if you use it right, or it can destroy everything if you let it control you.”

Apple Bloom still looked unconvinced, so Bad Apple decided to give her an example. “Alright, think of it this way magine you’ve got a pie, and you want the biggest

slice because you’re hungry. That’s a kinda greed, right? But if you take the biggest slice every time, and don’t leave enough for your friends, then you’re lettin’ your greed hurt others.”

He paused, letting that sink in before continuing. “But what if you use that same greed to make more pies, so there’s plenty for everyone? Now, your greed pushed you to work harder and do better, and everypony benefits from it.”

Apple Bloom tilted her head, thinking it over. “So, it’s okay to want more, as long as you’re careful about how it affects other ponies?”

“Exactly,” Bad Apple said with a nod. “It’s all about balance. Just like how givin’ away everything you have can leave you with nothin’, wantin’ too much, or lettin’ greed control you, can end up destroyin’ you. Greed can push you forward, but if you ain’t careful, it can also lead you down a dark path.”

Apple Bloom nodded slowly, finally understanding. “So it’s not just about wantin’ stuff—it’s about how you use that want to help yourself and others?”

Bad Apple smiled slightly, slipping back into his more polished tone. “You got it, kid. Use your desires to push you forward, but don’t let them blind you to what’s really important.”

Apple Bloom smiled, clearly satisfied with his answer. “I’ll remember that. Thanks, Bad Apple.”

He nodded, appreciating the moment of connection between them. For a moment, he almost felt like a real big brother again, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. But the feeling was bittersweet, tinged with the knowledge of how much he’d lost.

As they sat in the treehouse, the late afternoon sun filtering through the leaves, Apple Bloom looked around, her expression thoughtful. “You know, Bad Apple, I’m glad you came back. It’s different havin’ you around. Feels like I’m gettin’ to know a part of the family I never really had before.”

Bad Apple chuckled, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Well, I’m here now. Guess we’ll see how it goes.”

Unbeknownst to Apple Bloom, Applejack was nearby, trying to be as sneaky as possible while eavesdropping on their conversation. She wasn’t exactly subtle, though—peeking her head out from behind the tree, almost in clear view. Bad Apple noticed her immediately, but didn’t let on that he had seen her. Instead, he allowed her to follow them, just like in the old days when they played hide and seek.

“Still terrible at hidin’,” Bad Apple thought to himself with a wry smile. “But she always did have a knack for findin’ folks.”

Turning his attention back to Apple Bloom, he decided to teach her something useful. “So, have they started lettin’ you buck apples yet?” he asked casually.

Apple Bloom nodded eagerly. “Yeah! They let me help out, but they don’t let me do the big trees yet. Just the smaller ones.”

“Good,” Bad Apple said, slipping back into his old accent for a moment before catching himself and switching back to his Canterlot tone. “That’s good practice. Learn to pace yourself. But remember, it ain’t just about the strength—it’s about the technique. I’ll show you a few tricks.”

Apple Bloom’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Really? That’d be awesome!”

Bad Apple chuckled, feeling a strange mix of pride and awkwardness. He wasn’t used to dealing with kids, but for Apple Bloom, he was willing to make an exception. As they continued talking, he couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite everything, he might have a chance to reconnect with his family after all.

And as for Applejack, still hiding not-so-sneakily behind the tree, Bad Apple just smiled to himself, letting her think she was going undetected, just like old times.

Bad Apple watched Apple Bloom square up to the tree, her small frame tense with determination. She took a deep breath and bucked the trunk with all her might, but instead of the satisfying thud of apples raining down, there was… nothing. The tree barely shook, and not a single apple budged from its branch.

Bad Apple couldn’t help it—he let out a small, amused snort. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to draw Apple Bloom’s attention. She spun around, glaring at him, her face flushed with embarrassment and frustration.

“What’re you laughin’ at?” she demanded, crossing her hooves and pouting.

Bad Apple held up his hooves defensively, though the smirk didn’t quite leave his face. “Sorry, kid. Just didn’t expect that. It was a good effort, really.”

Apple Bloom huffed, turning her back to him. “You think you know so much about buckin’ apples? You haven’t worked on the farm in years! What do you know about it anyway?”

Bad Apple’s smirk softened, and a thoughtful look crossed his face. “Alright, fair enough,” he said. “But let me ask you this: what do you know about Earth pony magic?”

Apple Bloom turned back to him, her curiosity piqued. “Magic? What does that have to do with buckin’ apples?”

Bad Apple leaned against the tree, his tone calm as he began to explain. “Everything, actually. See, you’re right—I haven’t worked on the farm in a long time. But that doesn’t mean I forgot what I learned. Magic is all around us, and every creature can pull it in. That’s somethin’ most ponies don’t realize. It’s not just unicorns that can use active magic. Any creature can, with enough practice and focus.”

Apple Bloom’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? I thought only unicorns could do that fancy spell stuff.”

Bad Apple nodded. “That’s what most ponies believe, but it ain’t true. Why do you think the apples fall when we buck the tree a certain way? Sure, part of it is our strength, but it’s more than that. Earth ponies have a natural connection to the land and its magic. Most of us use that magic passively without even knowin’ it.”

Apple Bloom frowned, still unsure. “But if it’s magic, why can’t we just, I dunno, think about it and make it happen? Why do we have to buck the tree?”

Bad Apple smiled, impressed by her question. “Good point, kid. It’s because our magic works differently. It’s tied to the earth, and it flows through us into what we touch. When you buck the tree, you’re sendin’ a pulse of magic through your body and into the tree. That pulse creates a shockwave that forces the tree to release its apples.”

Apple Bloom’s frown turned into a thoughtful expression as she absorbed his words. “So… it’s not just about buckin’ hard?”

“Exactly,” Bad Apple said with a nod. “It’s about connectin’ with the tree, with the land. You’re not just hittin’ it—you’re lettin’ the magic flow through you and into the tree. That’s why some Earth ponies are so good at growin’ things or workin’ the land. They’ve learned how to use their magic, even if they don’t realize it.”

Apple Bloom’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Can you show me? Can you show me how to do that magic?”

Bad Apple grinned, stepping back to give her room. “Sure thing, kid. But let’s start simple. Close your eyes and focus on the tree. Can you feel anything?”

Apple Bloom closed her eyes, concentrating hard. She felt the earth beneath her hooves, the warmth of the sun on her back, and then… something else. It was subtle, but there was a tingling sensation in her legs, almost like a gentle current of energy flowing up from the ground.

“Yeah, I can feel it,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.

“Good,” Bad Apple said, his tone encouraging. “Now, when you feel that magic, pull it into your hooves from the ground. Gather it up like a ball, and when you’re ready, let it flow through you and buck.”

Apple Bloom focused on the sensation, gathering the magic just like he said. When she felt ready, she opened her eyes, reared back, and bucked the tree with all her might.

There was a loud *thud* as her hooves connected with the trunk. The tree shook violently, and almost every apple fell to the ground in a cascade of red and green. But more than that, there was an echoing crack, and Apple Bloom’s hoof was momentarily stuck in the small dent she had created in the bark.

“I did it! I did it!” Apple Bloom cried, hopping up and down on her free hoof, her face glowing with excitement.

Bad Apple’s eyes widened in surprise at the force of her buck. “Well, I’ll be… You’re a natural, kid. That’s some serious magic you got there.”

Apple Bloom beamed, pulling her hoof free from the bark with a bit of effort. But before she could continue her celebration, Bad Apple added with a smirk, “But... Applejack’s probably gonna be a little pissed about that dent in the tree.”

Apple Bloom gasped and quickly corrected him, her voice indignant. “You can’t say words like that! That’s a bad word!”

Bad Apple laughed, shaking his head. “Ah, come on, kid. I’m an adult—I can say what I want.”

Before Apple Bloom could retort, Applejack stepped

out from her hiding spot behind the tree, her voice firm but playful. “You might be an adult, Bad Apple, but that doesn’t mean you can go around sayin’ things like that, especially in front of Apple Bloom!”

Apple Bloom crossed her hooves, nodding in agreement. “Yeah! What she said!”

Bad Apple chuckled, holding up his hooves in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll watch my mouth.”

Applejack walked over, giving him a playful nudge. “You better. We might have to start washin’ it out with soap again if you don’t.”

Both sisters burst out laughing as Bad Apple rolled his eyes, grinning despite himself. “Fine, fine. But let me show y’all somethin’ else.”

He walked over to another tree, this time taking a more measured approach. “There’s another way to get the apples down without buckin’ the tree too hard. It’s all about findin’ the weak spot, the place where the magic flows easiest. If you can find that, you don’t need to buck as hard.”

Apple Bloom and Applejack watched curiously as Bad Apple lightly tapped his hoof against the tree. The moment was charged with tension as if the entire orchard held its breath. To their amazement, a single apple dropped neatly from its branch, landing perfectly in his hoof.

Bad Apple held the apple up with a satisfied smile, taking a slow bite as the juice dripped down his chin. “See? It’s all about control and precision. Everything has a weak spot, and if you can find it, you can knock down just one apple or a whole bunch—all with one precise strike.”

Applejack’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly impressed. “That’s some serious skill, Bad Apple.”

Apple Bloom’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Can you teach me how to do that too?”

Bad Apple chuckled. “Sure thing, kid. With practice, you’ll be just as good.”

As they stood together, the sun beginning its descent in the sky, Bad Apple couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of contentment. Despite the years of distance and the shadows of the past, this moment—being here with his sisters—felt right. It was as if, for just a brief moment, the wounds of the past had started to heal.

As they walked back toward the farmhouse, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long, golden rays over the orchard. Bad Apple’s eyes swept over the familiar landscape, memories flooding back with each step. He could almost see the ghosts of the past in the fields—the faint image of Applejack and Big Mac racing through the trees as foals, their laughter echoing through the years. Sometimes, he’d catch a glimpse of their father, strong and steady, guiding them with that quiet, knowing smile. And there was their mother, her gentle voice carried on the wind, calling them in for supper.

He blinked, shaking off the visions. They weren’t haunting him; they were simply there, lingering at the edges of his mind, reminders of a time when things were simpler. He didn’t see them often, but being back on the farm had brought the memories closer, almost like the land itself was nudging him to remember.

Apple Bloom, oblivious to the images that danced in Bad Apple’s mind, trotted beside him, her earlier excitement mellowed into a thoughtful quietness. After a while, she looked up at him with curious eyes. “Bad Apple, you said before that Pa taught you some tricks with magic. Was it the same one you showed me? The one that makes just one apple fall?”

Bad Apple nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. “Yeah, kid. It’s the same technique. Pa—Bright Mac—was real particular about how things were done, especially when it came to the land. He taught me and Applejack how to find the weak spots in a tree, how to make the most out of our magic without wastin’ any of it.”

He paused, glancing at Applejack, who was walking a few paces ahead. “I guess Pa never got to fully teach you the finer points, AJ,” he added, his voice softening as the weight of those words settled between them.

An awkward silence fell over the group, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Applejack didn’t turn around, but Bad Apple could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her steps slowed just a bit. He knew he’d touched on a sore spot, and the regret was immediate.

Apple Bloom, who had been quietly absorbing the conversation, broke the silence with a question that had been bubbling up inside her for as long as she could remember. Her voice was soft, tinged with sadness. “Bad Apple… what were Ma and Pa like? I mean, I’ve heard stories from Granny, Big Mac, and Applejack, but… I never really got to know them.”

Bad Apple’s steps faltered for a moment, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t expected to talk about their parents so openly, not now. But he looked down at Apple Bloom, her wide eyes filled with genuine curiosity and a hint of sorrow, and he couldn’t deny her.

“They were… they were good ponies,” Bad Apple began, his voice tinged with a bittersweet tone. “Pa—Bright Mac—was strong, but not just in the way you might think. He had this way of knowin’ exactly what needed to be done, whether it was on the farm or with us kids. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, you listened. And he taught me a lot, even when I didn’t think I needed to learn.”

Apple Bloom listened intently, her gaze never leaving his face. This was the first time she’d ever heard him speak like this, so openly, and it made her realize just how much he’d kept inside since he returned.

“Ma—Buttercup—she was somethin’ else,” Bad Apple continued, his voice softening even more. “She had this warmth about her, like she was the heart of the farm. She was always singin’ when she worked, always smilin’. But she was tough too, in her own way. She had to be, raisin’ all of us. She could make you feel better just by bein’ around, and she was always there when you needed her.”

He paused, swallowing back the lump that had formed in his throat. “I remember them bein’ so proud of us, no matter what we did. And they loved this place, this farm… it was everything to them. They worked hard to make it what it is, and they wanted us to do the same.”

Apple Bloom’s eyes were wide, absorbing every word. She had never heard Bad Apple speak this way before, and it struck her how much he must have kept inside all these years.

“It wasn’t always easy, though,” Bad Apple continued, his voice dropping a bit. “There were hard times, times when it felt like the world was against us. But they never gave up. And even when I left… I never forgot what they taught me. It’s what brought me back here, I guess.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was filled with the shared weight of memories, of loss, and of the ties that bound them together.

Finally, Apple Bloom spoke up, her voice small but determined, despite the sadness lingering in her tone. “I wish I could’ve known them. But… I’m glad I know more about them now. Thanks, Bad Apple.”

Bad Apple nodded, a faint, melancholic smile on his face. “You’re welcome, kid. I think they’d be real proud of you.”