The old barn door slams open, its hinges squealing and rattling as it smacks against the wooden frame. He startles from his haybales, blinking his bleary eyes awake. An orange, well-muscled figure is silhouetted in the moonlight, her trademark stetson casting a long, looming shadow cover him. She's teetering back and forth, slowly, unsteadily. He can smell the liquor from here, cheap and strong.

He slowly gets to his hooves, and steps to the side, gesturing for her to enter. He watches as she slowly walks into the barn, her hoofsteps clopping against the hardened ground in an unsteady, rhythmless gait. She stumbles, and he watches as she smacks into a pile of haybales. The tower looms over, and topples, crashing to the ground in a cacophany of thumps, thuds, and clatters as tools scatter across the barn floor.

She shoves herself back into motion, shaking her gaze off the mess she'd made, and shoves her face right into his. He can smell the stink on her breath. Whiskey, definitely. Rum, maybe. A hint of Scotch too. How much has she had tonight?

Her emerald eyes bore into his, filled with hatred and pain and questions he knows he'll never be able to answer the way she wants him to. As her hot, angry breath washes over his face, his mind drifts back to the photograph. He sees his sister as she was. The way she smiled at him on that day. It never needed to be said. They'd done good. Ma and Pa woulda been proud.

"Whiy ahre ya shtill 'ere..?" She slurs, struggling to get the sentence out properly.

He blinks, the question snapping him back to reality. His little sister isn't here anymore. The mare who'd helped him raise Bloom like a daughter is gone. All that's left is anger, hate, and pain. Her emerald eyes brim with fire, and he can see her eyes watering.

But she doesn't cry. Apples hurt on the inside.

He sighs, trudging over to the window and gazing out at the Orchard. The slivers of dawn peeking over the hills, dappling the apple blossoms with pink rays. "The farm needs me..." He whispers, staring at the beautiful white flowers that speckle the branches of Jimothy, Samantha, Katrina, Lucas, and all the rest of his hundreds of fruit trees. Hoof-planted and doted over. He knows each nook, hook, and crook of their branches. Every one of their names and stories.

His gaze drifts to the farmhouse. Harold cries on the rooftop, announcing the dawn of a new day. "Granny needs me..." They'd raised Harold from just a chick. Taught him how to protect the coop from foxes, kept him from hurting the other hens. Granny showed him how to clean and bathe the rooster after a scrape with a Raccoon, and how to keep Winnona from biting his head off every time Harold tried to flirt with her.

He watches as Bloom stumbles out of the farmhouse, belly swollen and wobbly as she waddles her way to the chicken coop. "Bloom needs me..." She's nearly due, it'll be any day now. Ironically, its fortunate she's still a teenager. She doesn't have to crouch so much to fit inside the coop, and a few minutes later she's out with all the eggs, waddling her way back to the farmhouse with the basket in hoof.

In the distance, he can hear the buzzing of wings and the tell-tale rattle of wagon wheels bumping down the country road. He wishes he could tell Ms Scootaloo how thoughtful she is, how proud of her he is, that she bought a wagon with her own bits, so her friend could have a safe ride to school. She ran a paper route ever single day, the Foalfree Press, bright and early, all so her friend didn't have to waddle across town.

And there goes Bloom, speed-waddling out the door, toast in her mouth, squeezing her forelegs through the maternity dress Sweetie had helped make. A soft green like Granny, with red apples on the hem. It's not pretty by any means, frayed edges and rumples and half-stitches. But it was made with love, a sister trying her sister's craft for her best friend. He's so proud of Bloom, to have found such good friends.

He freezes as her eyes catch his. The shimmering golden peach glint. Her mouth moves, he can't see what she says to her friends before she sprint-waddles over. His mouth is dry, his eyes are watering, as she waddles up to his window.

"H-hey Mac!" Her smile is shy, unsure. Her eyes gleam with hope. "I-it's been a while. You doin' ohkay?"

He gives a hesitant, shaky nod. It's been so long.

"M-me an' th' gurls ahre jus' about ta hed out." She stammers. "Gotta git an earleh stahrt ta skhool, ya know?"

He nods again, his hooves trembling beneath the windowsill.

"Ahre ya..." She hesitates, clearly unsure. "Will ya be joinin' us fer supper t'night?" Her eyes plead with him, begging him to do the impossible.

He dips his head. "Ah... Ah'll try."

Her eyes light up, and for an instant, all is right in the world. "Reahlly?! You'll be thare?!"

His heart aches, as he so desperately wants to promise what he can't. "Ah... Ah'll try."

She practically vibrates with excitement. From behind her, Ms Scootaloo is already hollering. "Ah-ah gotta go." She turns, speed-waddling away. "Ah'll see ya tonight!"

There's movement beside him. He can see AJ in his peripherals, watching the same scene play out before him. How the hatred melts away in her emerald eyes, as she watches her little sister bicker with her friends while she awkwardly clambers into the little Red Ryder wagon, and begin the bumpy ride down the road.

He turns his gaze to the sky, watching as a rainbow streaks across the sky, clearing the clouds for the trio. Even Dash is up this early, all for his little sister. The whole community really came together for her.

He grunts, shoving himself off the windowsill, and trudges back to the haybales.

"How dare you..."

He blinks his eyes, a throbbing pain in the back of his head. His vision is bit blurry, his heart is hammering in his ears. Is he on the ground? Why is he on the ground? He reaches back, rubbing his head, and feels a warm, slick wetness. He pulls his hoof away. There's red, where there should not be red.

He turns his gaze. Brown glass shards are scattered on the floor around him. His gaze slowly sharpens as the thrum of his heartbeat slowly abates. He turns his gaze to the heavy panting behind him. There stands the well-muscled, stetson-wearing mare he knew, frozen mid-throw, teetering back and forth, her face frozen in horror.

He pushes himself to his hooves, ignoring the way his head rushes as he wobbles unsteadily. He steps around the glass shards carefully, walking over to his sister. She drops her hoof, looking away from him as she pulls her stetson over her eyes. He stands before her, staring down at his father's hat.

"Jus' leeve alrheady!" She shouts, refusing to look at him. "Y'ain't welcome 'ere no moar!"

His head throbs in pain. His own sister. Of course, his own sister. Why not?

He reaches out, tries to put a hoof on her shoulder, around her neck. She bats it away, dropping her hat to the blood-stained floor. "Dammit Mac, no one wants ya 'ere! Don'tcha git it?!" She screams, her voice raw and pained. "Why would th' Ahpples want a Sun-damned child molester ohn th' farm?!"

She spins around before he can blink, her hips coiling back into that famous Applebucking position they're known so well for. He braces himself, bending his knees and gritting his teeth. The impact still knocks the wind out of him. He skids back across the barn floor, hooves flaring in pain as they skid through the broken glass, cuts lighting up in agony as the appear across his fetlocks like lightning.

He slams into the stack of haybales with a thud. The impact jars his head, the pulse drowning out all sound for a moment. He can feel the stack teetering behind him. He shakes his head, looking away from his sister, and braces himself against the pile, steadying the wobbilng tower.

He breathes a sigh of relief as the tower slows, settling to rest once more. Then his jaw flares in pain, as an orange hoof connects. He flips over backwards, impacting a support beam with a heavy thud. The roof shudders, and he can feel his jaw ache. He probes with his tongue, feeling a few molars knocked loose. His sister, stands over him, rubbing her hoof as she drunkenly wobbles. "Ah don' need no raipist on mah farm!" She slurs, winding up her shoulder for another left hook.

He stares up at the celing, his head in a daze. He can hardly focus on what his sister is saying. Something's caught his eye. The roof has needed patching for a while now. Heavy rain damage, no access to family funds, no one wanted to come out to the barn to fix it. And there it is, an old, rotten beam swinging loose.

He forces himself up, ignoring the pain and the blood loss. He tackles his sister, bowling her over and rolling towards the haybales as the roof collapses. He prays he aimed correctly as they knock the tower over like a stack of Jenga blocks, haybales flying everywhere.

She bucks at his stomach as he holds her tight, pinning her to the ground as she screams. "What Mac, yer gonna rahpe me too?!" She bites at his foreleg as a haybale impacts his shoulder. "Wahs Bloom naught enough fer yah?!" Another crack, glass bottles shatter, metal creaks and groans as his haypile is buried in the rubble of the roof. Another blow to his pelvis, as she coils up her hind legs and bucks at him. He grips his forelegs around her even tigher, pinning her barrel to his chest as a piece of roofing clips his temple.

He pins her there as til the dust begins to settle, as she bites and kicks and screams and cusses. And when the sounds have finally stopped, he strains his muscles, pushing the haybales up and off of his back as he stands over his sister. He winces as he kicks a haybale out of the way, clearing a path for her to crawl out of the pile. She scrambles, bolting out of his grasp with a cackle and he groans, shifting more of the weight off now that she's free.

He limps his way out of the pile, shoving his way to the clearing where she stands. He looks up at her, frozen in shock at the chaos of the barn. He gives a wet, wheezy chuckle. "Looks lahike Dihscord took a piss an fergot ta whipe." He groans, slumping to the ground as his sister spins around to face him. He closes his eyes, not in the mood to look anymore. Not in the mood to see. It hurts too much.

"Whiy are ya still 'ere?" She chokes out. It's dusty in here, he muses. Can't be good for her lungs.

"'Cuz you need me."

He can feel the blood running down the back of his neck. That'll probably need stitches. Not that Redheart would even look at him. He groans, pulling himself to his hooves. He turns, looking away from her and starts walking to his haypile. He grunts, and starts sifting through the debris. Roofing tiles flop aside, he hefts a beam off and it clunks over to the other side of the barn. This'll take all day. He pretends to miss the sound of hoofsteps leaving the barn.

There it is. An old photograph, mercifully intact. Well, intact enough. It doesn't matter. He sits there, holding it close to his chest, pushing aside the aches and pains in his body and forcing the memories to fade.

They don't want him here. His head throbs.

They don't want him here. His shoulder aches.

They don't want him here. His hooves sting.

They don't want him here. His back cries.

He reaches into the debris.

snicksnick-click

He's so tired. It feels so light. Like it's barely even there.

They slid in so easily. Snicksnick-click. Onetwo-done. Locked and loaded. He knows they'll come out even faster.

He sits there, as the dawn rises over the wreckage of the barn roof. He looks around at the mess of his home. The chaos of his life.

He stares up at the rising sun and he prays. He begs to Celestia, that this pain would be over. That peace will finally come. He begs for his nightmare to end.

He looks around the barn. Nothing has changed. He looks at his body. His eyes are getting blurry, the wounds are still there.

They don't want him here. No one does.

He raises Winchester to his chin, and his breath hitches. Is any of this worth it?

Author's Note

And here it is, the culmination of every last hurt.
Mac has lost his friends, his family, his potential love interest, two major business ventures, and his community has all turned their back on him. What is left to lose?

This was one of the first chapters I actually finished. Been holding onto this one for a bit now, tweaking it, making sure everything fit. And, ya know, had to draw this all out. I've condensed a year of pregnancy and torture into 6 chapters. In my opinion, the best way to read this story is one chapter a day. It just puts you even more into Big Mac's shoes.