//------------------------------// // Down // Story: Carry On, Carry Mine // by The Elusive Badgerpony //------------------------------// There was a hole inside of Braeburn that seemed to suck everything else away. He hadn’t moved from where Macintosh had left him in the barn. He had pretty much fallen on his hooves, his eyes still puffy from bawling like a little schoolcolt, his formerly sweat-clad body and tearstained face now covered with dirt, whatever sleep he had found fitful, dreamless. The blue moonlight had given to golden beams of sunlight that wrapped around Braeburn like supporting hooves, driving the cowpoke to slowly rise into a sitting position. Raising his dirtied head, he could see the clouds of dust as they rose in the brightness of the midday sun, hidden in shadows but revealed by the swords of sun. Everything felt like a waste. Nothing seemed like anything anymore. He simply sat on his haunches and waited for his useless life to finally be over. He shuddered, sobbing, smearing the dirt already coating his face, thin rivers of tears meeting the delta of his jawline and dripping into the dirt. No Big Macintosh. He had failed. He was a failure. He was a freak, and he was all alone in this world with nopony to turn to anymore. When was it going to end? “Pull yourself together,” he murmured halfheartedly to himself. As if. It was going to be a while before he would even have the strength to get onto his hooves and leave for the train station back to Apploosa. Back to where he couldn’t talk about last night, or any of those previous nights in Ponyville, where he had to keep up a charade underneath fear of… They wouldn’t kill him, of course. Braeburn repeated his murmured insistence to suck it up. No. They wouldn’t kill him, but they’d do worse. They’d ostracize him, they’d stare as he trotted down the street, they’d quietly vacate the bar whenever he went for a drink to quiet down his soul as it cried out for somepony, anypony to at least understand. Braeburn was, at the very least, a happy drunk, but he questioned the security of the charade when he would be rolling on his hooves, pleading for somepony to either love him, or hate him enough to put him out of his misery. It was fine, though. Braeburn sniffed, doing as he had commanded before, his heart still broken, but at least holding together for the time being. It was fine. It was fine because it was what Macintosh wanted. At least he was happy, Braeburn mused, as he rose to his shaky hooves. At least Macintosh would be able to move on, had already moved on. Braeburn… Braeburn didn’t have that luxury. All he had was himself, and his own little problem, his own little love that would never be, could never be. He raised a hoof, taking a step, telling himself to put one hoof in front of the other, to get down to that train station and leave the life that could have been. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, anyhow. He couldn’t love anypony other then Macintosh, and Macintosh had left him to himself, forever and ever, never to be loved. He turned around for just the slightest moment, looking around the big, wooden structure of the barn, as if searching for some sort of validation that it was all worth it in the dusty, gray-toned expanse. He only found dust, beams of sunlight, and a crate, a dead candle spilling now-hardened wax all over the top of it. With a sigh, he left the barn, left the future, left whatever hope he had left. His head and his hat were down as Braeburn marched solemnly through the middle of Ponyville, still lost in the trappings of his own head, still thinking of Macintosh. Macintosh, Macintosh, Macintosh. Macintosh, big and powerful, red fur over a stocky, muscular, masculine frame, dripping with testosterone, and yet, quiet, reserved, almost bookish. Green eyes peered through Braeburn’s imagination, looking up at him, down at him, over him, begging for him, making him beg for Macintosh. Big, powerful Macintosh, overtaking Braeburn, making him his, forever and ever, lovers until the end. Macintosh, Macintosh, Macintosh, now never to be his. He suppressed a sigh at exactly the wrong moment. “Sounds like yer in a bad spot, stranger.” A voice. Growly, leechy, surly. The sort of voice that filled the nightmares of little colts. Braeburn suddenly found himself stopping in the middle of the street, his head turning to the left, towards the source of his accoster. He wiped a hoof across his eyes, pulling the hat down a bit more, peering into a seemingly empty alleyway. Nopony there. Braeburn looked to the left and to the right, then shrugged and continued on. “I’m talkin’ to ya, stranger. Best that you stop now.” Braeburn’s stomach began turning, fear beginning to rise up inside of him. He was going crazy. He had to be. Whoever this pony was, he wasn’t there. This was crazy. “Leave me alone,” he hissed to the shadows. “Now why would I ever think a leavin’ a pony in need alone? Yer problems bes my problems, stranger, and I’m willing to solve them fer yeh.” “What’s it to you?” Braeburn grunted, swallowing down his fear. “Ta be honest, stranger, it’s business to me,” the voice said. “It seems as if you’ve a need, and I’ve mayhaps got the fix for you… At a price.” With that, a figure walked from the shadows of the alleyway, pulling a small, covered cart behind him. Braeburn suppressed a gasp of surprise, looking over this odd pony that had been trying to wheedle a deal from him. He was clad in a navy blue cloak, almost black, his face concealed by shadows and a facewrap covered in intricate patterns. Braeburn couldn’t see his eyes, but he could feel them, peering into him, into his soul. The cart seemed almost dilapidated, no fancy advertising tricks, a secondhand cart, an antique from the pioneering days about to fall apart. It barely seemed large enough to house the two of them together, and yet the mysterious merchant said that he had a solution… Braeburn swallowed again. “What would you know about my… My problems?” He didn’t see it, but Braeburn could feel the merchant’s smirk. “More than you’d think, stranger. I know that it’s love, fer one. I can see your eyes have been crying, fer almost a whole night,  though you’ve tried to hide it. Nopony would go out in the daylight when somepony’s passed, so I figgur you’ve had some sort of bad luck with somepony else. I have many a fix fer that sort of thing, if you’re willing to open up your heart to me.” Braeburn shook his head, backing away, rationality trying to win out over curiousity. “You wouldn’t understand.” The merchant’s invisible smile only seemed to grow. “So you're in love with another colt?” Braeburn stopped backing away. Impossible. He couldn’t have been that easy to read. He couldn’t have been. It was impossible. Him and Macintosh had made sure everything had been as secret as possible, only meeting at midnight, always talking quietly, never shouting or drinking, always friends, never lovers, until Braeburn had… Last night had… “How did you know?” Braeburn murmured. “Well, I didn’t, stranger, until you said it was so.” There was a moment of silence between them, before Braeburn smacked a hoof against his forehead, dragging it down across his face. Oldest trick in the book… “Look. Mister. I know you want to help, but–” “He was thinkin’ of havin’ foals, wasn’t he, stranger?” Braeburn’s expression hardened. “Alright, now I’m gonna go.” “Why don’t you bear them yourself, then?” the other pony inquired, trotting around Braeburn and blocking off his exit. The farmpony glared at his accoster, before sighing and lowering his head. “Do you really not get how this works? Mares carry babies. Unless you can make a stallion carry a baby, I don’t see it happening.” He could hear the mystery merchant’s ears split from the size of his smile, but he couldn’t see his face move. “Aye, stranger, but there’s a fix fer that…” For a moment, Braeburn’s gaze only hardened. Then he started to laugh. It began as a small, nervous chuckle from the throat, then turned into a trembling giggle, then into a lung-filled laughing spell, into belly laughs that filled the entire square. Braeburn laughed, for he had never heard such ridiculousness, except in old mare’s tales and the fantasies of children. Turn into a mare. There was no way that Braeburn was going to do that. It took a massive amount of magical power to do it, not to mention that in most provinces of Equestria, such magic was illegal… Ponyville wasn’t one of these provinces. Braeburn’s desperation-stroked mind ticked. Something told him to go through with it. Some little voice told him if he did this, Macintosh was his. Those long years he wanted to spend snuggled up with him, smelling him, smelling dirt and sweat and… Coffee. Big Macintosh smelled like coffee sometimes, and he wanted to bury himself into Macintosh’s very being, his scent, his body, his mind, his love. “Show me,” Braeburn breathed. The merchant reached up, and pulled down his mask, revealing the triumphant smirk upon it. “Very well, stranger. Done Deal shall help you.” For some reason, Braeburn trusted Done Deal. He had only met the cloaked colt a half hour or so ago, and had spent about half of that time standing beside the merchant’s cart as various crashes, bangs and avalanches of metal, bone and plastic shot out into the air. He had been promised something preposterous, something that took strong, barely-legal magic, and yet he trusted Done to deliver. The merchant wasn’t a unicorn, or a zebra, but something simply told Braeburn that this was the path to Macintosh. All he had to do was wait, patiently. Braeburn glanced up at the town clock. He had missed his train, anyways. If it meant a lifetime with Macintosh, it was worth a shot. He shuddered, not in fear or in sorrow, but in anticipation, begging to the powers that be that he be freed of long, lonely nights, that he feel the colt that he loved hold him in the way that nopony else could ever hope to do so, that all of this work be for the best. It was the opportunity to never feel alone again that made him trust Done Deal so, and it was with that in mind that Braeburn shot up as the stallion stumbled out of the back of his wagon, coughing and wheezing from the dust that had only taken minutes to collect. “I mustKaff! Warn youKahuakaffkoff!” Braeburn hadn’t heard a single mangled word the merchant had said, his eyes instead trailing to what appeared to be a small, bronze amulet. It was rusted, wafer-thin and brittle seeming, the chain that held it obviously years younger than it. To the eye of the common pony, it looked like a bit of junk, a decorated old coin, or worse, the cap to a sewage valve or something. And yet, something about it seemed mystical. The outer edges were trimmed with a Trottish knot pattern, leading into inner rings of rune after rune after rune, until a single character of some long-lost language dominated the center of the medallion. “That’s your solution? It don’t look like much,” he murmured, raising a hoof to closely examine the medallion. However, Done Deal had recovered from his coughing fit at this point, and was able to pull the medallion out of Braeburn’s reach with a scowl. “Don’t touch ‘til you pay, stranger,” the cloaked colt growled. “She may not look like much, but what you be dealin’ with here is dark magic of the strongest sort.” Braeburn remained quiet, although he let an annoyed eyebrow tilted upwards. “I know, I know, she don’t seem like much at all,” Done Deal murmured, a smirk adorning his features. “But she’s a very powerful n’ vexing magic, she is. Fragile, too. So much as looking at her the wrong way shall make her crack, n’ you don’t want that, now. If she cracks, the magic leaks out, n’ if the magic leaks out, you ain’t going back to the way you were.” “What does it do?” Braeburn muttered again, raising his hoof gently, only for Done Deal to take more affirmative action and smack it down. Braeburn pouted, but Done Deal merely smirked back at him, holding the amulet up high over his head. “You’ll find out. But if your problem bes what methinks it is, it’ll be just what you wanted. If not… Well, I’ll buy it back at a high price.” “I’ll take it,” Braeburn said, not a hint of hesitation in his voice, raising his hoof to the seemingly mystical amulet again. Done Deal pulled it out of reach again, a scowl on the uncovered part of his face. “Now, stranger, be wary. I said she be a powerful n’ vexing magic, I did, and I wasn’t lying. You take this amulet, things will seem all well at first, but if ye be not careful, you’ll feel her cries of anguish throughout you. ‘Tis not a blessing she gives you, ‘tis a curse, stranger, older, stronger, n’ more powerful than even the Princesses could understand. The thing ‘bout curses now, stranger, is that some curses can be used fer your own good, just so long as you don’t abuse them.” Braeburn sighed, his hooves shaking, his eyes shifting to either side, Done Deal’s words inspiring just the slightest tinge of doubt. He trusted him, doubtless, but trusting himself was a different matter entirely. Braeburn knew he wasn’t exactly one to keep his emotions in check. It had gotten him in trouble enough times to let him know that much. If this… Thing, this amulet thought he couldn’t handle it... But he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted Macintosh. And he wanted Macintosh more than anything. “I’ll take it,” Braeburn said, all hesitation free from his voice. “How much you asking for it?” Done Deal merely smiled a venomous, cold smile, and Braeburn could feel him gaze into his eyes, peering, drilling into his mind. His shivering grew, and he felt his gaze forced to the bricks underneath his hooves. The venom Done Deal’s smile held wasn’t one of malicious intent. It was a smile that spoke of promised regret, a smile that knew that Braeburn would be back. Braeburn swallowed. Only if it didn’t work. If it didn’t work, he would bring it back. If it did, he would hope to never see this cloaked stallion again. Seeing the determination on Braeburn’s face, Done Deal merely chuckled innocuously, dropping the amulet at Braeburn’s hooves. “All I ask is that you ne’er blame me, stranger,” he said. “‘Twill be payment enough.” When he looked up to respond, the mysterious merchant was gone. “Cousin Braeburn?!” Applebloom had barely opened the door before Braeburn brushed past her, nodding a greeting to her as he practically ran up the stairs. “Cousin Braeburn?! Did ya miss your train?! Hey!” His hoofsteps echoed across the floor as Braeburn shot into the guest room, closing the door behind him with a rear hoof and locking it, a curious Applebloom almost smacking into the other side of the door as he shrugged off his saddlebags. “Cousin Braeburn? Ya alright?!” “Fine!” he cried, a bit too loudly, pent up excitement bursting from his lungs. He took in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. The clasps of the saddlebag snapped as Braeburn opened them up, his forehooves shivering, licking his lips as he lowered his voice a tad to address Applebloom again. “I… I’m fine, Applebloom. Just… Just leave me be for a while, alright?” “Ya sure? Ya sound pretty off in there…” Braeburn sighed. “Just leave me alone for a bit, Cuz.” He held his breath, listening, hoping Applebloom would go away. It seemed like an eternity and a half before Applebloom’s little hoofsteps could be heard trotting away from the door, apparently satisfied with his answer. And Braeburn was now satisfied with his solitude, rummaging through the bottom of his saddlebag, swearing under his breath as he longed for the clink of metal against his– Clink. Braeburn’s face broke out into a hysterical smile, and he let out a small, triumphant laugh. The amulet was pulled from the various bits of junk and treasures within the saddlebag, gray iron with streaks of brown and orange rust. It bounced around in his hooves, a gleeful smile on his face as he looked down upon it, his eyes wide with wonder. Here it was. His solution. Braeburn trotted over to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room, examining himself. A pale yellow young colt, barely in adulthood. The sight of his eye made him jump– Bloodshot and swollen, puffy with despair and tears, a contrast to his face, a nervous smile etched into it. His hat was worn, beaten down by sun and time, and the same went for the leather vest that fell around his shoulders. Only a night of heartbreak, and Braeburn looked like he had been through hell and back. He glanced down at the amulet. Here was an opportunity in his hooves to never have to go through another night of loneliness again. Here was a chance to never have to suffer the indignity of an empty bed and a tearstained pillow. Here was the chance to be loved as he wanted to be loved, by the pony he wanted to be loved by. And yet, every time Braeburn lifted the amulet to put it around his neck, something inside him stirred, crying out against him. What was he doing? He had no idea what this thing was going to do to him. For all he knew, it was going to kill him, maybe fill him with acid, or simply zip up and choke him to death. And what if it didn’t work at all? What if, after all he had done, Macintosh still wouldn’t… Braeburn sighed. No time to think about that. Either this worked or it didn’t. He lifted up his hooves, shivering all over, and slipped on the amulet. Nothing happened. Braeburn took the time to look upon it in the mirror, and he finally felt how breathless he was. He had been running so hard home to try on the amulet, and… And it wasn’t doing anything. Braeburn raised a hoof to it, giving it a little shake, trying to see if something… Something magical was going to happen. Nothing. The only thing about the tearstained colt in the mirror that had changed was that he was wearing a trinket around his neck. Braeburn let out a groan through his airless lungs. He had only himself to blame, of course. Listening to a crazy old stallion and his old wive’s tale. Running home, or what he had always hoped and prayed would be his home, only to put on an old piece of junk a homeless guy had given him. It was silly to put his hopes and dreams into the hooves of a crazy old coot with a cart full of junk. Braeburn scowled, raising a hoof to the mirror to support himself. Goddess, it was hard to breathe. He must have run harder than he thought. Just a moment to catch his breath, that was all he needed. Then he would go back to Done Deal and throw this amulet right into his stinking face, that no good… Braeburn gasped, trying to pull air into his lungs, but they wouldn’t accept it, seeming to blow it out as fast as it went in. His eyes widened. This wasn’t breathlessness. This was literally being unable to breathe. Braeburn gasped and wheezed, trying to suck in precious air, but to no avail. He raised a hoof to his neck, massaging it, pushing into it, trying to force his throat to open up, coughing and hacking. He let out a breathless cry, his legs starting to ache, then starting to throb, then firing off into powerful, stinging pain, bringing him down to the floor with a thud. A silent scream escaped, the last use of what air he had left, as his leg bones cried out underneath him, spasming and slamming around the floor in helpless pain. “Cousin Braeburn?!” Braeburn’s eyes rolled up into his head, just as his throat opened up enough to let him get desperately needed air, though his voice was still missing, the silent screaming continuing through his burning voicebox. The pain in his legs moved up now, pushing and pulling his shoulders, his hips, his back, stretching, adjusting, changing, Braeburn squeezing his eyes shut as cramps built up throughout his entire body. It was agony in it’s purest form, a charley horse throughout the entire body and amplified. He raised a weak hoof, trying to call out to Applebloom, to the little hooves banging on his door, but to no avail. “Cousin Braeburn, are you alright?! What’s going on in there?!” Braeburn let out small sobs of agony, feeling his insides churn, his muscles scream, his body in a vice of horrible, awful pain. He wanted to call out to Applebloom, he did, but he couldn’t, not enough air in his lungs, all pain, just pain. He couldn’t get up, he couldn’t even speak. All he could do was writhe on the floor and wait for it to end, just somehow end… “Brae! Hang on, I’m gonna go get Applejack! Just sit tight!” Applebloom cried, her little hooves battering against the floorboards. Braeburn reached out a hoof, trying to cry out for his little cousin to stay, that there was no time to get Applejack, but to no avail. The hoof fell to the floor, and another silent cry of agony passed Braeburn’s lips as his entire body felt as if it was being slowly pressed, stretched, cut short. The first spasm ran that ran through his face made him cry out, bringing his head down into his hooves, and he could feel his face, the muscles within churning. Another spasm, this one to his jaw, then one to his cheeks, one to his eyes. Braeburn sobbed, his already tear-dry eyes now forced to let go of more, it was so agonizing. He had nightmares of being beaten by the large colts that worked the Appleloosa fields, and somehow, this fit the bill perfectly, his bones snapping and cracking underneath the skin, fitting into the shape they wanted them to. Pain, endless pain, make it stop, make it stop. Braeburn felt the a spasm in his nose, and felt a bit of warmth against his foreleg, a trickle of red going down his face. He groaned, flopping down, panting, breathless, throbbing with pain and letting out shuddering sobs. Pain, agonizing, unbearable pain was his world at that moment. It filled his muscles, it pulled at his bones, it slowly ebbed away at his form, until all he felt was a dull, throbbing, terrible pain. The blood from his nose trickled down to the floor, smearing it with small crimson streaks. Braeburn thought the pain would end there, but then it felt as if his skin was being pulled on his very frame, and he let out more agonized screams as it slowly tightened around him, crushing him like a vice. It was the last straw. His muscles spasming, his bones groaning, his nose bleeding all over the floor, and now his skin itself was betraying him. This was pain incarnate. This was a curse. Slowly, though, the pain relented, and exhaustion set in. Whatever the amulet had done was finished.  Braeburn groaned, rolling over, his entire body pain. No more. No more. That was enough pain for a lifetime. That was enough pain for a thousand lifetimes. He laid there, sobbing gently. It was through his sobs that Braeburn found that his lungs were working again. He pressed his head against the bottom of the mirror, breathing deeply, sucking in air greedily. Air. Wonderful, wonderful air. Braeburn’s entire form shivered, his haunches upon the floor, his eyes dry now as he wiped them along his forelegs. Braeburn heaved, filling his exhausted lungs with that wonderful, wonderful air, almost crying, as if set free from a thousand year prison. Air. He could feast upon it for a lifetime. It had been unbearable. Intolerable, horrible pain. Braeburn had yet to unscrew his eyes open, keeping them shut gently as tears continued to travel from them. Hopefully, Macintosh would relent, hopefully Macintosh would give in and love him after seeing… Whatever the amulet did. This had better have been worth it. Braeburn coughed, trying to clear his throat enough to speak, if only to see if he could. “You better be worth it, Mac,” a voice said.  Lighter, softer, more… Something. Braeburn couldn’t put his hoof on it. An perplexed look crossed his face. Odd. That was what he was just thinking, wasn’t it? The pain was replaced with numbness, now. Braeburn slowly rose to his hooves, dragging his still-bleeding nose across the mirror, standing shakily on his limbs. “You better be worth it, Mac,” the voice said again, enunciating slowly as Braeburn was trying to do through his apparently now broken voice box. And there it went, repeating what he was saying again. Braeburn grunted, except the voice grunted instead. “Applebloom, this isn’t funny! Stop it!” the voice cried out. Braeburn tried to grunt again, but the voice did it instead. He could feel his mouth moving, and his throat, still aching, cry out in protest as he tried to speak, but the voice did all of it instead. He raised a hoof to his mouth. That was his voice. There was nopony else in the room. Was this the amulet’s curse? His voice was different? His body… He could feel it now, through the numbness. Different. Different shapes, different sizes, different everything. Some parts larger, most smaller, his face different. It was as if he was a different stallion entirely. Some sort of curiosity set in, despite everything in the past few minutes being every reason to ignore it. Braeburn finally opened his eyes, and looked into the mirror. Despite the pain, he let out a scream.