24 - In Sickness and in Health
AN: This originally was four times this length. It was also really, really boring and stupid and I was embarrassed about having written it. So I cut out MOST of Spring's conversation with Bruce. I think that was what was hampering me this whole time: trying to make it WORK rather than pruning the stupid out.
I still hate waking up after a good long cry. My eyes were all gummy, my throat was scratchy and I felt as though I hadn't gotten a single wink of sleep. It sucked waking up that way. Especially to birds again.
"Really, guys? You couldn't give me five more minutes?" I grumbled as I turned over in bed, giving the little chorus line of birds sitting right outside the window a rather bloodshot evil eye. My voice sounded very hoarse but that's to be expected from crying into a pink coat for an hour before passing out. Least I finished singing my 'pity me' song. The birds turned their little heads at each other as if considering my words and then piped up with a really painful tweet that set my teeth rattling in my head. "I take it there's no snooze button, huh?"
Their long tweet reply actually caused me to dive under the pillow, whimpering. Yes, I can whimper. I can also whine and cough. Which is what I started doing. My mother - my real mother - used to have a name for a cough like the one those damnable birds set off in me. She called it a 'goose cough' because it sounded like a goose's honk. I guess. Sounded more like someone stepping on a goose to me but it works. And it was not at all pleasant.
"Argh, stupid," honk, "birds and," honk honk, "their stupid," honk, "twittering." The birds all vacated the window sill in quite a hurry as hoofsteps echoed into the still bare room.
"Bruce, is that you?" Mr. Cake poked his head into the room, his face full of worry. I was going to drive that poor stallion into an early grave with all the worry I was causing him. His mane was all roughed up and he looked like he had spent the night wrestling a bear. Either that means Mrs. Cake got violent or ... ew, don't think about that Bruce. Despite the mental scarring, I really hoped it was the latter one and not the former.
"Yeah, it hap-" honk, "-pens." I spent the next minute coughing a lung out. I had an extra anyway, didn't need that one. When I finally coughed myself out - panting amid the ruined remains of what was a bed - I found Mr. Cake rubbing my back gently.
"That doesn't sound good at all." I shrugged, not trusting my voice not to send me off on another rousing trip of 'let's see how much damage we can cause to these lungs.' I'm a smoker, I got used to the 'hack-up a lung' wake up call in the morning.
"Ahhh, it's passing." With a sniff and another honk, I finally managed to get what was in my lungs out. Mm, breakfast. With Mr. Cake looking on in a horrified manner. "Sorry about that. Extreme recycling."
"That was ... lovely Bruce. Uh, well, it's time to get up." I grunted up at him as I pretty much just walked off the bed. Now there were two Mr. Cakes and they both looked really worried. "By the Pastures Bruce! Are you ok?"
"Yup. Only way I know how to get off beds." I picked myself up and shook like a dog. I really didn't know why, it just felt right. Mr. Cake gave me a quizzical look. Whether it was from the dog-shake or the tumble, I couldn't tell.
"Uh, m-most foals hop down."
"I don't trust my legs." Mr. Cake facehooved with a big sigh.
"Bruce, what am I going to do with you?"
"Help me downstairs for a real breakfast?" I looked up at him as he shook his head, a frown plastered on my face. My antics must be at least kinda funny, I saw a ghost of a smile. He nodded towards the door, motioning me to lead.
"Don't hurt yourself."
"I hadn't planned on it, Mr. Cake."
A hop, skip and a tumble down the stairs - with Mr. Cake once again getting all flustered at how accident prone I seemed - and I was in the kitchen with the rest of the ponies of the household. I couldn't call it a 'family' since they weren't my family ... and Pinkie Pie was there. She was much chipper this morning as she zipped around the actual food-prep area of the kitchen, even giving me an over-excited wave that I returned in a halfhearted kind of way. The other members of the household were seated around the kitchen table, already digging into bowls of something.
"So, Bruce, what do you want for breakfast?" Bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs ...
"Uh, what do you have?" Yeah, pony food. Looking at what was being eaten, I think 'hay' was a very integral part of their complete and balanced breakfast.
"Well, we have haycereal, haycakes, hayshakes, haybrowns, some fruit and I think we could whip you up just about anything you'd like." Mrs. Cake grimaced at her husband's implied offer. I think I should keep it nice and simple.
"What about waffles? Could I get some regular waffles?" Waffles. Plain old waffles. Can't screw those up, can you? Uh, actually you can but frozen waffles are a staple of my diet and I refuse to bend to the strange urges of this pony biology.
"Sure thing Bruce!" Pinkie piped up from behind the counter, her zipping form doing strange and arcane things to even stranger and more arcane equipment. There was a stop at the fridge, a pantry, and several of the machines as she added my request to her already hectic workload. I winced in sympathy.
"Uhm, is it ... nevermind."
"What were you going to ask?" Mrs. Cake's voice was tinged with a wary curiosity. At least she wasn't growling at me. Seriously, I know I've been a bit of a handful but I haven't been that bad! Have I? Regardless, she did ask and I am not one to hold my tongue when given the opportunity to use it.
"Uh, is it really proper for your employee to do family cooking?" My questioning look really drove home the fact that I saw this as strange. And it kinda was. Was Pinkie a household servant as well as a baker? Maybe she did chores to help offset her room's cost. Suddenly, Pinkie-maid images flooded my head.
"... I, uhm, don't see why not." Mrs. and Mr. Cake shared a glance before Mrs. Cake looked over her shoulder and called out to the pink speed-demon that was currently doing something ... vaguely disconcerting to the oven. This isn't Robot Chicken, Pinkie, stop humping the appliances. Oh, she's fiddling with the dials. Continue on. "Uh, Pinkie? Do you mind doing the cooking?"
"Nopey-dopey Mrs. Cake! I love to bake and cook and steam and dice and slice and cut and-" Flashes of my life passed before my eyes as an image of a blood-splattered Pinkie armed with a cleaver stared at me from the depths of my imagination. Her dead eyes weighted with the souls of all she slew, her manic grin dripping with cruelty and madness. Almost got a giggle out of me, honestly, because once you meet her there is no way Cupcakes could ever happen.
I hope.
"O-ok, thank you Pinkie!" Mrs. Cake cut off the perky pink party pony's profuse proclamations, politely. Must be something in the water making me do that alliteration thing. She turned to me with a furrow of worry. "Uh, is it a problem that she's cooking for you?"
"No, no." I waved my hooves, emphasizing that I had no problem with Pinkie. Where they got that idea I have no clue. Maybe it was the hospital. "I, uh, it's just that it seems odd to me to ... have such a close relationship with your wor-." A plate of steaming waffles appeared in front of me and I jerked backwards, startled. A glance to my side showed Pinkie's beaming face just inches from my own.
"Here's your waffles, Brucey-wucey! And Mr. and Mrs. Cake are my bestest of friends and have taught me everything they know about the bakery business!" She smelled like hay and sugar. I quickly pulled my head back to give her some room. "Least I could do is help them around the house." I nodded, my eyes still not moving from Pinkie's face. How does she do that? That is not scientifically possible. She was not ... right, science and Pinkie still have that custody battle going over Reality. Leaving those maddening thoughts behind, I regarded the plate in front of me as a thought bubble burst inside my rather empty head.
"... these have hay in them, don't they?" The twins looked at each other through mouthfuls of ... haymeal? Oatmeal with hay in it. It was as weird looking as it sounds. Even Mr. and Mrs. Cake's brows furrowed at my question. Pinkie, on the other hoof, seemed to take it in stride.
"Duh! Of course! Hay is a staple of a good breakfast and helps all good little fillies and colts grow up big and strong." With a ruffle of my already mussed bedhead mane, she bounced on back to the kitchen to do, uh, whatever it was Pinkie does there. I think it had something to do with Dark Gods and virgin sacrifices. Explains how the twins came to be, at least.
"Faaaaantastic." With a slight grimace at the steaming pile of grass in front of me, I dug in. It wouldn't be the first time I chanced my human allergy towards outdoor carpeting in my pony body. Course, nothing bad happened then so I was pretty sure I was okay. And hey, free food is free food. I wouldn't be an American if I didn't love me some free stuff. And food. Free food is a bonus!
"Well that was interesting." I fought the urge to belch the 'Star Spangled Banner' and hid my gaseous expulsion behind a hoof. Pinkie could be heard out in the store-front, chatting with everypony that came through the door, and the twins had run off to do ... whatever it was little pony foals did during summer vacation. I had my money on the aforementioned 'Dark Gods' and 'virgin sacrifices' thing. Mrs. Cake went with them.
Maybe she ate the survivors? Only Mr. Cake was left and I was bound and determined not to let him suffer that Fate Worse than Death. Oh, wait. He was already married. He seemed to have been chosen as my handler for the day anyway.
"What was interesting?" Mr. Cake looked up from his newspaper. I waved towards my empty plate with a half-smile.
"The waffles. Never had them taste so ... bready." Haywaffles were pretty good, all things considered. Not as sweet as regular human waffles but not too shabby. At my choice of words, Mr. Cake quirked an eyebrow at me.
"Bready?"
"Ah, nevermind. So what's the haps, paps?" That got a blank stare. I figured since jazz was the 'new thing' maybe their slang was the same. Except I didn't know any 20's slang so I was just throwing things out. After a second, he shook his head slightly and put his paper down.
"... ah. Yes, well, Ms. Meadows stopped by earlier and said she wanted to talk with you about, well, everything really." We stood together, his face carefully cheerful and mine completely deadpan.
"I am a quiver with anticipation." I made a move to leave but was stopped by a hoof.
"We put our dishes away before we leave the kitchen, Bruce." Lovely, now they're adding chores.
The walk to the hospital took about as long as you'd expect: too long to avoid Mr. Cake running into a dozen friends but not long enough for my mood to improve. I was depressed, a bit angry and about to see my least-favorite pony in the world. I was entitled to being a bit irritated. Luckily, we were expected and I was quickly ushered into that faux-field 'talking room' from before. I found myself seated on a pillow in the middle of the floor with Spring beaming at me from her own pillow. Ponies can work fast when pressed. I could make a crack about her being the 'sun' here and feelings of inadequacy compared to the Princess but, well, I'm not that good at the whole 'psychology' thing.
"Hi Bruce!" Spring - devoid of paperwork this time - lay with her legs curled up underneath her. I noticed her pillow wasn't as plush as the one I was on which caused our heads to be almost level. Clever girl. Foster feelings of equality and remove the 'height' of being an adult to stimulate youthful interaction.
"Hello Ms. Meadows." My face betrayed no emotion. Otherwise, I'd get chewed out about 'being mean' or something stupid. "You wanted to speak with me?"
"Well, I wanted to see how you and the Cakes were getting along but there's also some ... unfinished business I need to address." She seemed hesitant, for some reason. "First, I need to get your input on a few things."
I nodded with a halfhearted shrug. This whole thing was stupid, she was stupid and her stupid face was stupid. Wow, that was really childish. Keep it together, Bruce. After a moment of waiting for me to say something - and my continued silence - Spring sighed.
"Alright, Mrs. Cake said that you were in foster care before?" Her smile had fallen a few notches. Perhaps it was about time to turn over a new leaf with her but I was still not happy about being treated like any regular foal. I was a foal in their eyes but until I was treated more inline with what I felt myself to be, there would never be any regular interaction between the counselor and myself.
"Yes." Spring waved at me to continue but I pointedly ignored her urging. Her smile morphed into a slight frown - finally! Ha! Eternal sunshine has been vanquished.
"... uhm, care to talk about it?" she asked after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
"Not really." She groaned and collapsed into her pillow at my simple response. Things were not going to her plan. Of course, if she'd approach me as at least an adult-like foal, things might go better for her.
"Bruce, where were you in foster care?" I could hear her muffled question. She wasn't acting very professional and I quirked an eyebrow at her prone form. Maybe pony-professional was different from human-professional.
"Earth." Yes, I was answering her with one-word answers on purpose.
"You're making this difficult on purpose aren't you?"
"...yes."
"Fine, we'll discuss that next week." Heaving a sigh, Spring brought her head back up to my confused and admittedly slightly irritated face.
"What?"
"We're going to have weekly meetings to deal with some of these issues, remember?" Her smile returns, warmly. It made a huge difference from that forced grimace she had been wearing for so long. "We're going to find out better ways for you to deal with these problems."
"Oh, right. You told me that before."
"Yes. Also, I'd like you to sit in on a group session starting ... tonight actually. It's called 'Loving the Real You' and-" I cut her off before she could get into the 'selling' part of it.
"Really?"
"Yes, Bruce. It's about coming to terms with the real you and how everypony - no, everyone is special. We're all special and worthy of love."
"Wow. That is so ga-er, well. Never mind." I hate that term as an insult. My mother was gay and it always irritated me when people would use it. And here I was, driven to the point of madness.
"Yes, well. I suppose it is ga-er," she lowered her head and mumbled under her breath, "whatever that means." I'm guessing I wasn't supposed to hear that last part. "And there's one last thing before we really start. Ms. Cheerilee is going to give you an assessment test to find out where you are scholastically. We need to be prepared for when school starts in the fall."
She looked at me expectantly as I tried to process this little bit of information. ERROR: intAge OutOfBounds in aiSchoolAge. School. Again! I did my time, I don't want to go back! School sucked then and I doubt the one-room classes that I remember from the show have made it any better.
"I'm an adult. I think I have a pretty good grasp of schooling." I had no hope of getting out of going to little foal-school. None whatsoever. I still had to try.
"Well think of it as a refresher course then." She clopped her hoof rather ineffectively against the carpeting, 'pomf'ing a small cloud of dust up. I take it she put her hoof down. I still had time between now and when school starts, right?
"Or a waste of time." With a nod at my tacit acceptance of my school-fate, she rubbed her mane slightly and twisted her smile into that fake-grimace thing she loved so much. My face hurt just looking at her.
"So, Bruce, tell me about your feelings."
"That could have gone better," I grumbled as I awaited Ms. Cheerilee and her assessment test. Spring had tried very hard to get me to talk to her about 'feelings' and 'emotions' and that sort of thing but, well, I wasn't having a thing to do with it. I was not happy but I think I'll avoid going into the shouting match I tried to have with her. Eventually, she put me in the 'time out corner' for the rest of our scheduled time together.
Dealing with feelings is hard.
All three of us - Mr. Cake, Spring and myself - were sitting in that happy-fun 'talking room' while we waited. I was still in the corner while the adults got to be on the pillows. I had no one to blame but myself. Didn't stop me from trying though. Stupid Spring. I couldn't hear what they were talking about but every so often I would glance back to check up on the progress. Spring seemed adamant about something or other while Mr. Cake was quite adamant in the opposite fashion. Probably discussing 'adoption' again. A knocking at the door brought everypony's head around.
"I heard somepony needs an - OH! Oh my." Ms. Cheerilee, the mauve (mauve? Pink-ish? Something) headmarestress of the Ponyville Schoolhouse, trotted in with saddlebags on her back. Spring's happiness always seemed forced to me, like something she 'had' to do. At least around me. Cheerilee's, on the other hoof, felt more natural. That meant that her confusion and partial dismay at where I was stationed was that much more rewarding. Hell, maybe I'm a changling and I feed off bad feelings. "W-well hello Spring, Carrot. Uhm, is that the colt?"
"I'm right here, ya know."
"No talking in time out, Bruce." Spring's voice held that lovely adult tone of authority that I so loved to hear. That HAD to be why I kept egging everypony on because I sure as hell wasn't winning any popularity contests with my behavior. I couldn't see what everypony was doing from where my head was firmly entrenched in the corner but I could hear them.
"Well, that's not a good sign." Cheerilee's voice was calm. I heard the sound of something hitting the floor, presumably her saddlebags.
"Yes, Bruce is ... a difficult foal." Mr. Cake sounded more tense. Seriously, stop worrying! I'll be fine, I've had worse punishments before. Soap comes to mind. Yech.
"His behavior is difficult." Spring was trying to correct Mr. Cake without correcting him. She's probably thinking something about how all snowflakes are beautiful even if they have soot in them. Or something.
"I can come back at a later time."
"No, no. You're fine Cheerilee. We can set you up wherever you want."
"Oh, well, it's just a test. If we can use, uhm, well it'd be best with a desk."
"We have an old school desk in a storage cabinet nearby. I'll go get it." I heard the plod of hooves and a door shutting. I peeked out from the corner but the clearing of a throat told me I was caught. After a few seconds of me not moving, the two adults remaining began talking again.
"How is it going, Carrot?" Cheerilee's voice drew a sigh from the stallion.
"I try but, well ... " His voice tapered off and I could just imagine him waving a hoof towards where I was seated. My ears - already down from trying to hear their conversation - twitched and began to turn a bit red. His voice lowered and I had to strain to hear him. "I don't know. Spring is really concerned about where everypony needs to go to get him acclimated to his situation but with Cup's problems and Pinkie in the house, I'm not sure we can keep him there."
"Yes, but I remember Spring trying to find more foster options for him at the town meeting yesterday. I mean, other than you two, nopony seemed willing to take up his case. Even the Apples declined and you know how open they are."
"And Spring thinks placing him with a unicorn would do more harm than good."
"Unicorn?"
"That dressmaker friend of Pinkie's, Rarity. She's been trained as a foster but you know how she is. Still looking for 'Mr. Right.' Has little time for even her sister."
"Carrot, those are rumors. She and her sister get along fine. She'd take him if nopony else would."
"Cheeri, she didn't even want to babysit for us."
"That was years ago, Carrot. I'm sure she was just nervous about messes." A door opening cut their conversation short and I heard something heavy being dragged into the room along with some unidentified flapping noise.
"Come - on - you - stupid," Spring's grunting made me roll my eyes and turn away from the corner, consequences be damned. She was flapping her wings to get more traction as she pushed this antiquated chair-desk thing into the room. There was a wooden bench balanced on the desk itself. She noticed me looking but said nothing, concentrating on getting the obstinate piece of furniture into the room. I was just glad I didn't have to trot my way across Ponyville to the schoolhouse to get this stupid thing over with.
"Let me help, Spring." Mr. Cake trotted over and together they dragged the assembly into the room. Cheerilee closed the door for them after they had cleared the entrance.
"Finally. That thing is heavier than it looks." Spring wiped her brow as she sat, chest heaving from the exertion. "Should we leave or is it ok for us to be in the room with him?" I could hear the unasked question under her breath, can you handle him?
"Oh, whichever makes him the most comfortable. Can't have him distracted during the test though." Ms. Cheerilee favored me with a smile.
"Uh, I'd probably do better without an audience." Yeah, keep Ms. Sunshine away from me.
"Well, we'll leave you to it. I have to discuss schedules with Carrot anyway." Mr. Cake and Ms. Meadows trotted out as I approached the desk with trepidation. Wow, that thing was 'old' but it looked brand new save for some scuffing. Cheerilee watched me as I gave the desk a once over.
"I know, it's a bit on the old style but it's what we have. This is one from the Ponyville school actually, when we remodeled five years ago." With a deft kick of her hoof, the desk shed it's bench passenger which clattered to the floor. Surprisingly, it remained upright.
"I think my grandma used to sit in one of these." Cheerilee rolled her eyes as I prodded it with a hoof. I didn't expect it to try to bite me but I didn't want to chance it. That and it's fun to poke things.
"It's not that old, Bruce. Come on, let's get you seated." With some balancing and just a bit of nudging from Ms. Cheerilee's muzzle, I was up and sitting like a proper young colt. Actually, I was clinging to the sides of the desk as I teetered back and forth. You'd have to be a gymnast to function in pony society! Ms. Cheerilee retrieved her saddlebags and started to rummage through them, placing odds and ends on the desktop as she spoke. "Oh Bruce, it's not that bad. Now, here's your pencil and here's the first part of your assessment test. Writing!"
"Question."
"Answer."
"Uhh, right. How, exactly, am I supposed to write without hands again?"
Genjen. He's cool yo bucket.
ALSO! Question for all readers of this: what would Bruce's Cutie Mark be? Not promising anything and I have my own idea for it but I was curious about what y'all thought.
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Soooo, hit me up in the comments. What would Bruce's Cutie Mark be?
Bruce is WINNING!
Now write MOAR
Great chapter as always, Bruce´s cutie mark? hmmm well he is a smoker, but i dont think that it could be his special talent, well we dont really know what he was good at when he was a human, if i recall you have said what he worked at but that didnt really sound like he liked it. Sooo i got nothing...
Maybe i will come up with something sooner :)
1627085
considering who he was in the human world, smoking
1627085 Earth.
a picture of Earth.
A cigar,
Nuff said.
Well about cutie mark it can go in three way:
normal: something about human.
Murphy law way: something sweet, cute and childish.
And something about his "adult" behavior.
Still i think that the test will be a great way to "show how adult and old" he is.
Silly. Bruce's cutie mark would be a cig and a cup of coffee (no cream, two sugars)
Bruce's cutie mark should be a pack of cigarettes with a frowny face on it.
Oh, I do so love these antics!
I was wondering about this. Both writing and well reading the unicorn and Pegasus alphabets.
A half cut lemon. Either for the Life joke, or cause he's a sour personality.
something to do with screwing with peoples.......ponies minds. because he seems to be good at that so far but think his character needs to develop more before a 'cutie mark' becomes realistic.
1627085 a cigarette with a mad smiley face
lol. I wonder if they are going to force him to learn to write (and think he is illiterate when he can't), or if they will let him answer orally.
Or both.
Another great chapter, though as usual it leaves me wanting MOAR!
1627085
Soap~!
A buggerer at comedy? No, wait, that would be a really weird Cutie-mark...
I don't have anything, sorry...
Good chapter though
A cigarette?
Edit: I propably should have refreshed before posting this...
An angry cat, ie a sourpuss.
1627085
A packet of cigarettes and some $@!*ing language symbols.
Cigar and a tumbler of scotch.
I guess he would go "against the system" and get a cutie mark of not having a cutie mark
Also kittens for those of you who need their dayli dose of cuteness
A serious answer about the cutie marks. What relation would it have to him? Usually earth pony cutie marks are ties to an actual talent ability or purpose. He has a sweet singing voice. He is also recalcitrant. I doubt any cutie mark will appear until he has come to a level acceptance of his situation.
I have not seen much of a sign in his talents or purposes in life.
Well I wonder how his test will go.
The breakfast of real men!
Bad Bruce! Bad!
As for what his cutie mark should be, perhaps something involving his bad habits.
Oh crap, he is going to be considered stupid because he can't write.
I guess his cutie mark could be an unhappy face or maybe a bottle of Valium.
Bruce's cutiemark should be the Blue Screen of Death.
What do you think, Minalkra?
1627085
The figure of an adult pony?
"Question."
"Answer."
Best fucking line.
1627085 A double-edged sword, since all the things he tried to do end up backfiring impressively. or, y'know the ACME label from RoadRunner...
Oh, the Apples....he would be worked to the bone if he wound up there. I would have liked seeing his interactions with the no-nonsense Apples.
Surprised that Rarity was even an option. 
I could believe that the Doos might have been an option though.
If you're going with the smoking motif, make it a tobacco leaf. I personally would go for something that would describe his speaking skills(smartassery if you will). Of course he could stun them with skills that he has gained competence in from his previous life and easily gain a cutie mark from that, Also, If you're planning to give him a cutie mark, does that mean he'll be there longer, or he'll be stuck there?
Chapter seemed a little short, but you explained it a little in the author's note.
A flaming stack of hay.
A middle finger, to express his special talent of being eternally pissed off
845073
If you like HiE fics, you are maybe interested in looking over mine. Password is fireball. Have fun if you're going to read it.
883066
I just saw your story. HiE? 32 years old? Slight Dan-ish features? Insta fave and like without reading one single line.
Bronydragon
1627134
This.
Cutie mark: Earth, Cigarette, Smoke, Something adorable, Something obscene etc.
Can you have it so that he passes the test with flying colours? Or if not that above average? I know tests like this don't really reflect potential and ability blah blah blah, but it would be quite funny to imagine their reaction based on his score.
Good stuff. Love it!
a flask. or a frowny face or a pile of used chain-smoked cigarettes. or something that has to do with his work. a computer maybe? or a something that symbolized solitude or something that symbolized a more complicated level of love that we humans are no strangers to but ponies wouldn't quite get. Sorry, no idea where i'm going with that. maybe a picture of a foot or a hand. or dead birds. a closed door or a tv. or a picture of discord; as humans are chaotic by nature and he seems to be even more so by normal standards. or like that one thing from that one flag, like the isle of man.
basically, i'd love to see him have a non-standard pony cutie mark that would really make ponies go "wait, what?!" or hint that he really is a human or more than what he seems. just something ponies wouldnt have or expect. but then again, since there seems to be other forces working to make him look as plain and boring as possible by pony standards, maybe a borning cutie mark? like a patch of dirt? or one of those books that have a lock on it? or an empty folder?
1627085
Considering his attitude a hand with an extended middle finger comes to mind.
May be an upside down compass rose or a broken guidepost because he never takes the direct path?
Or a labyrinth, because he's can't find a way out?
Cutie mark- A sunrise, showing a new beginning, a new chance.
Bruce's cutie mark, eh? I'd say something disestablishmentarianistic. (Yes, I just used that word in a sentence.)
I'm thinking...
messesofben.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/anarchist-a.jpg
1627363 That would imply that he is against the church. antiauthoritative is what you are looking for.
1627380
I know that!
I just really wanted to use disestablishmentarianistic in a sentence. I mean, how many opportunities in life do you really think you will have to say disestablishmentarianism, antidisestablishmentarianism, disestablishmentarianist, etc. in a sentence? Not many, I'll tell you that! 
Maybe not connected, but:
rlv.zcache.com/angry_marine_t_shirt-d235018975565261529ukpf_210.jpg
With a cig in mouth.
It'd be funny if his cutie mark was a picture of Earth.
Pack of Marlboros.
Heh, his coughing could be interpreted as miners lung, another hint pointing to the diamond dogs
1627405 True, very true.
1627405
ANGRY MARINES!
Honestly I can't see Bruce as anything but a perpetual blank flank. Your cutie mark is, in large part, about how you fit into society. And Bruce... doesn't. At all. It also seems like if other ponies saw, say, an incredibly surly adult wandering around with no cutie mark, they'd just kinda go "Well, that figures."
Alternatively, if cutie marks truly are inevitable and everypony ALWAYS gets one eventually, and the universe truly is out to dick with him... hmm. Perhaps a lump of coal?
1627424
ALWAYS ANGRY, ALL THE TIME!!!dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/Mr_Cake.png