//------------------------------//
// I: Denial 
// Story: Six Stages of Grief 
// by mushroompone 
//------------------------------//

I remember learning that the whole "five stages of grief" thing was a load of hooey after my parents died.

Mac and I just quit talking altogether. It wasn’t a joint protest or anything, just what the two of us thought was the best way to handle everything that was going on inside us. I knew that if I talked I was gonna be honest, and if I was honest I was gonna say some ugly things. Mac, I think, couldn’t figure out how to put anything he was feeling into any words at all. Apple Bloom, bless her heart, was too young for any of it.

You can imagine how that affected my family. My remaining family, that is.

My Granny took the two of us to see a shrink, which didn’t go so good on account of us being all clammed up. We mostly sat in big smelly chairs and got talked at for an hour or so a week. Sometimes we’d get to do a jigsaw puzzle while we got talked at. Not the worst thing in the world, I guess.

I'm getting off track.

Point is, when the shrink talked about the stages of grief, he talked about it like it was inevitable. Like I had to go through each stage in turn, taking my time with each one, never straying from the path. And that ain't how it works at all.

You can do them in any old order. You can get caught in a loop. You can spend eternity on one stage and never make it to the greener pastures of acceptance. The five stages is more a list of things that you might experience, but even then it ain't exactly exhaustive.

When my parents died, I was all anger.

I screamed. I broke things. I hit my brother. A lot of things I regret.

I spent long nights just wailing wordlessly into a pillow. Wondering why it happened. Angry that it happened at all.

So much anger.

I remember being warm. Always sweating, a little sheen on my forehead. Always finding it hard to breathe. Everything was small and stuffy and hot. It didn’t help that it was the height of the summer. Not that I think losing my parents in the dead of winter would have eased the pain.

I couldn’t help but remember it, though, as I looked across to Pinkie Pie.

She was herself, in a way. Her mane was still all puffed up and pink. She wasn't crying or anything. Just staring out the window of the train at the scenery that rushed by, little beads of sweat trickling down her face every now and then. 

I dunno. I guess that’s not very much like Pinkie at all, now that I’m saying it.

“Say, uh…” I cleared my throat. “I hope you won’t mind teaching me the ropes on rock farming.”

Pinkie looked over at me, and her eyes were sorta glassy. Not like she was gonna cry. More like she just couldn’t see through them right. “Sure! That sounds kinda fun,” she said, softer than usual. “Y’know, if I have time.”

I chuckled. “What is it you think you’re gonna be doin’?”

She shrugged as she turned back to the window. “I dunno. Hanging up posters, talking to the police… whatever it is ponies do when someone goes missing, right?” Then, much softer, she added, “I’ve never had someone go missing before.”

And, to be honest neither have I. I don’t know any more than she does. I don't know if you do anything at all. A part of me thinks that, when someone goes missing, everyone just sits quietly in a room until they come back. Or until they hear otherwise, I suppose.

Just sitting.

Maybe talking.

Maybe talking about nicer things.

Because I can’t really picture talking about what’s actually happening.

“Well, I’m planning on stickin’ around for a while,” I said. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time to show me around.”

That made her smile. Not her usual toothy grin, but I’ll take it. “Okay. Sounds good, AJ.”

The train rattled along the tracks.

Thin rays of summer sun stretched up over the horizon, but I doubted it could get much hotter than it already was. The air was stale and sticky and I just couldn’t help but remember the way my cheeks had burned as I cried.

Pinkie stared out the window.

And I stared at her.

I wondered how long it would take her to cry.





The Pie Family Rock Farm ain't the most comforting place in the world.

Maybe that's just me talking—I realize I didn't grow up there—but there really isn't anything warm or fuzzy or homey about it at all.

The first thing I noticed about it was… well, it was the area in general. The train don't come close to dropping you at the farm's doorstep, and so the two of us had to shlep a mile or so across barren, blown-out, apocalypse-type desert, carrying Pinkie's life in bags along with us. To her credit, she didn't complain. Maybe she was just used to it.

Despite my occasionally stubborn quirks of personality, I make it a point not to work myself silly in the dead heat of the summer. The buzzing in my ears and the sweat trickling down the back of my neck reminded me why that was.

As we approached the ancient log fence, Pinkie picked up her pace from a shuffling amble to an hopeful trot, and I did my best to keep up with her.

"Slow down, there, Pinks," I called. "Unless you wanna help me out with some a'these bags."

She looked over her shoulder at me, and I caught a glimpse of her unburdened self. "Huh?"

I sighed and chuckled and shook my head. "N-never mind!" I yelled back. "You go on ahead, now!"

Pinkie nodded and broke into a canter, her saddlebags pounding against her sides. Somehow—despite all logical laws of the universe—the bags balanced on her back only bounced happily up and down, never in danger of falling.

That mare really does things her own way.

I hiked my own load back into a more stable position and forged ahead. I couldn't say my energy was renewed, but seeing Pinkie rush towards her sisters like that made me feel a little more secure. Strange as their relationship is, those girls always come through for Pinkie.

I stopped for a moment. Just to catch my breath. The sun is baking, and there isn't even one speck of shade to rest in, so standing still hardly helps… but I do it anyways.

It was as I stood, panting and sweating, trying to get a better grip on the bags, that she said, "You're here."

I jumped and dropped a few bags as I whirled to face the toneless voice.

Maud stared back at me. That mare was practically a rock herself. It's no wonder we didn't spot her earlier.

"Hello to you, too," I wheezed.

Maud just stared back at me.

She was wearing a frock, and yet not sweating even a drop. What's her gotdang secret?

I sighed. "I know I wasn't invited," I said, since this somehow felt like an interrogation. Maybe because I was sweating bullets and she was just staring at me without blinking. "I was just—"

"It wasn't a question."

I cleared my throat. "Oh."

She kept staring at me. She was far enough away from me that I thought she could take me all in without moving her eyes at all, so I figured that's what she was doing. That, or she was boring holes right through my skull to watch my brain grind its gears.

Joke was on her. I was too hot to think at all.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

It took me a minute to realize who she meant. "Oh. You mean Twilight and them?"

She blinked.

I took that as a yes.

"They, uh… they didn't wanna overcrowd," I explained. "Small house and all. Pinkie seemed to think I'd be helpful."

Maybe it was the haze, but I could have sworn I saw Maud's cheeks tighten. Like she was squinting.

"On account of the farm?" I prompted.

Maud looked around her.

I was starting to wonder just how much 'farm' was in this rock farm, too.

"Oh."

I nodded. "Yeah…"

Maud's staring continued unbroken. If anything, I was mostly just impressed by her stamina.

"I also… y'know, I know what it's like," I mumbled. "To lose your parents."

Maud's jaw tightened. Barely there, but I could feel it. "That isn't why Pinkie Pie asked you to come."

She gave me a longer look.

I didn't know Maud all that well, to be honest. What I did know was that, even though she might seem fairly one-note on the outside, her mind operated on more levels than most folks. 

The look she gave me was on a level I couldn't understand in the least.

"You're honesty," she said.

It seemed like a question, though she hardly said it like one.

"Y-yeah," I replied.

"Hm." She blinked. "Maybe that's why you're here."

I cocked my head. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

Before I could even get the words out, Maud was turning to leave.

"We should go up to the house," she said.

"Uh… s-sure thing."

I gathered the bags, clumsy as a three-legged dog, and hobbled after Maud. 

I swear you could see the curve of the planet out here. As Maud and I walked, separated by that beat-down fence, I could see the farmhouse come into view like a ship on the ocean's horizon. A few more steps and the silhouette of Pinkie caught in an embrace by her other two sisters became clear against the beige of the distant mountains.

I wondered what Pinkie might have said. I sure as sure know Marble wouldn't be saying a word as long as I was around, and Limestone seemed the type to seethe in quiet anger. A bit like myself, I suppose.

"Applejack's here," Maud announced as we drew close, in a voice hardly louder than her usual speaking volume.

The Pie sisters pulled apart to look at me.

Marble was crying. Not a surprise.

Limestone's face was flushed and crinkled like a used tissue. Also not a surprise.

Pinkie, despite knowing I was there, looked up too. Yet another inscrutable Pie-family look twinkled in her eyes.

"What in the hay are you doing here?" Limestone demanded.

Marble only wiped tears from her cheeks.

I had hardly opened my mouth before Maud cut in:

"She's here to help Pinkie," she said. "And the farm."

Like those were two separate things.

Pinkie nodded. "AJ's a farmer, too," she explained. "And I thought she could help until mom and dad come back."

That sent a wave of discomfort through her sisters. Limestone's face contorted all the more, Marble seemed to hold back even more tears, and even Maud seemed to at least stiffen.

Who really knows, though?

But then, as quickly as the wave came, it seemed to ebb.

"Uh… great idea, Pinkie," Limestone said, without elaborating.

Marble nodded her agreement.

Maud, however, remained silent. She hardly even moved.

"Well… I gotta get my stuff upstairs," Pinkie said at last. "Can you girls help AJ get everything up on the porch maybe?"

Limestone grumbled her agreement and jumped off the edge of the porch. Marble and Maud mutely turned to follow her lead.

Pinkie watched a moment, like she was supervising, before pulling open the beat-up screen door and disappearing into the old farm house.

Limestone snorted as she vaulted the fence. "Pinkie sure doesn't know how to pack light, does she?"

"She didn't know how long she was packing for," Maud said simply.

Marble wordlessly picked up a duffel bag in her mouth and headed for the porch, though something in the way she looked at Limestone made me think she agreed.

I couldn't say it wasn't familiar. Mac, Bloom, and I had certainly developed our own little dialect over the years. It felt weird to be on the outside of one, though.

Maybe that's what it feels like to be on the outside of any family.

The porch steps groaned under my hooves. It was old, soft wood. The kind that feels pliable. Like it could give way any second. If you looked at it the wrong way, even. All it did, though, was complain if you stepped in the wrong spot.

The Pie sisters knew all the right spots to step on.

"Thanks," I said.

"We'll get the rest upstairs for ya," Limestone said. "You're sweating like a hog."

I chuckled. "Me 'n' the heat ain't the best of friends."

"That won't improve while you're here," Maud said.

Marble shook her head solemnly.

I made a weary sound of defeat as I looked out across the barren plains of the rock farm.

"Applejack?" Pinkie called. "Are you coming?"

Maud caught my eye and gave me one more slow blink.

I didn't know what to do in return.

"I'm comin'!" I shouted after Pinkie, only a bit of hesitation in my voice.

The screen door stuck in its frame as I tugged on it, then slapped shut behind me as I crossed the threshold.

I had been here before. A holiday or two. The lack of winter-y decorations only served to make the place feel empty. A lot of blank walls and bare rooms. Well… a lot is relative, I guess. There weren't many walls or rooms in here in the first place.

The stairs creaked under my hooves just the same as the porch, but I climbed them anyway. They'd get used to me soon enough. Or I'd get used to them, I guess.

I crept down the hall, peering into each room in turn until I happened upon Pinkie's.

She was spreading a quilt out on the bed. I'd never seen the quilt before. I was sure of it.

When she was apparently happy with it, she turned and came face to face with me.

She gasped. A little squeak like a toy. "Oh! There you are," she said. "Boy, you almost spooked me."

"I'm breathin' heavier'n a cow in heat," I said. "How could I spook ya?"

Pinkie hesitated, then shrugged and hummed a quick "I dunno".

I just stood there, watching her putter about and play house, getting everything squared away just so. Even with all her stuff weighing me down, I stood there.

Her tail swished.

I wanted to feel lighter. I wanted to feel like she was at least being optimistic, like it hadn't hit her yet and maybe she could take a minute to settle in before it all came crashing down.

But I didn't.

I felt the crushing weight of the life in her bags. Not the sort you pack for a quick trip.

I felt the absence of the rest of the girls. They weren't the type you sidelined for something like this.

Not a short trip.

Not a solvable problem.

On some level, she knew that.

She knew the statistics. She knew the way it all looked. She knew what the police had said and the way everything was shaping up.

But she hummed to herself. She buzzed around the room, unpacking one thing at a time, making this house her home again. A constant buzzing and humming to distract herself from it all.

She was like a shark. If she stopped swimming…

Only that ain't true.

I dropped the bags.

You're honesty.

"Hey, Pinkie?"

She looked over at me, eyes wide as dinner plates. "Hm?"

Maybe that's why you're here.

"Uh… why don't we sit for a sec?" I suggested, making my way to the mattress. "I'm mighty tired. Need to catch my breath."

Pinkie looked down at the bed. "Sure," she said. "Good idea."

I eased myself down.

The bed creaked, too.

Pinkie sat down beside me. Her cutie mark touched mine, and I felt how warm she was. She only looked straight ahead.

I sighed. "So," I said. "How long you think we'll be here?"

"I dunno," Pinkie said. "How long does it take to find missing ponies? A few days?"

I chuckled, dry and humorless. "You've packed for more than a few days, sugar cube."

Pinkie didn't say anything.

"I just wanna make sure you know how… how this stuff tends to go," I said carefully.

She looked up at me, putting on an air of innocence that I saw straight through. "What stuff?"

I held my gaze with her for another second or two before shaking my head. "Pinks…"

The room was quiet.

There aren't many quiet moments with Pinkie Pie. 

She's the type to share. She makes her feelings known, good or bad, the second she feels them. It's a type of honesty, I guess. I can respect that.

But it makes the quiet moments with her kinda frightening.

"Full-grown ponies don't just disappear," I whispered, as firmly and kindly as I could. "You know that."

Pinkie stayed quiet, but her lip quivered momentarily.

"I just don't want you to… I dunno. To get lost in the hope that—" I didn't even wanna say it. The words got stuck in my throat as I pressed into Pinkie's side. "In the expectation that everything's gonna turn out okay. You get me?"

Pinkie made a small grunt. Otherwise, she was still as a statue.

"I'm not tryin' t'be a… well, I don't even know what to call it." I leaned away from her and pulled my hat down towards my brow. "I think your sisters are worried that your optimism is gonna cloud your judgement. Now, you're a lot of things, but stupid ain't one of 'em."

Pinkie shuddered. "I'm not being stupid," she said through clenched teeth.

"I-I know," I stuttered. "I just—aw, shoot, it's comin' out all wrong."

I tore my hat off my head and crumpled the brim between my hooves. Pinkie watched.

"I just know that, when my mom was sick, I would've liked to hear the truth," I said. "No use getting fed shiny, happy lies and putting off what's got to be done."

Pinkie looked at me. Suddenly, like I'd said something she couldn't quite believe. Wide-eyed. A little scared, even.

She reached up and snatched a bit of her mane between her hooves, tugging at it with a feverish speed and strength. It seemed, with each stroke, to deflate. To straighten. To fall, silken and flat, against the side of her face. Just like her sisters.

"Pinkie?" I asked.

She swallowed hard and kept pulling.

"P-Pinkie. Talk to me, okay?"

Pull. Pull.

Harder.

Faster.

"Pinkie."

I put my hooves on her.

Not hard. Just firm. Sudden and strong and trying to be comforting, both on the bit of her haunch beside mine. A little shake for clarity.

She paused.

"Pinkie?"

"They're dead, huh?"

I stuttered something. Not words, exactly. Just sounds. Whatever jumble was at the front of my brain.

"It's gonna be okay," I lied.

I didn't mean to.

Pinkie was quiet.

Her hooves weighed down her mane, now straight as an arrow.

"It's gonna…" I swallowed the lie. "I'm here for you."

She didn't reply.

But her rear hoof rubbed against mine.