Sensation (SFW Version)

by Vivid Syntax

Chapter 23 - To The Core

As great as it was to see Braeburn in all that pink, washing it out was even better. The chemicals worked like a charm. Maybe they've got some magic in them or something. I finished with his tail, and when everything was all done, I had my old Braeburn back, even if he was a little soggy. It made my heart feel bigger.

And I felt like myself again, too. Like Soarin' Bucking Windsong, Coltfriend Extraordinaire. I'd stuck it out with Braeburn while he played around being Gayburn, and maybe he was becoming a little more honest with himself and everypony else. At the time, I was thinking, 'He's starting to get it. He doesn't have to put on a public face to make somepony else happy. Good for you, Applebutt.'

We didn't want to go out on Friday after we'd washed off our disguises, because duh, so we spent the day cuddling in bed. His fur wasn't quite dry, and it felt a lot softer when I mashed my face into his chest. He smelled clean but like an apple orchard, with just a little hint of that freshly-cut wood from Appleloosa, and he kept squeezing me tighter with those strong legs of his. Mm…

…

Anyway, on Saturday, Braeburn's saddle bag showed up at our hotel room. Slate had sent it with a note explaining about how the media made it tough to get into Brae's house for a few days. The bag didn't have a ton in it – a heavy sack of bits, some clothing, a flask, and a fancy little box with stationery, quills, and ink – but Braeburn seemed a lot mellower when he held it. He put it on, even though we were still in the hotel room, which seemed weird. I asked him, "What, you leaving?"

He adjusted his shoulders and bounced a little, feeling the weight of his bag on his back. "Naw, just feels nice, like a little bit of home."

We got out of Las Pegasus easily enough. The Palomino Hotel is great like that. The celebrity liaison they have on staff knows how to handle the local media and how to "leak" information about where we'll be. It keeps them distracted, and then one of the Palomino's private cabs can get us right onto the train without having to deal with the crowds. Damn, I love being famous.

Our train left in the middle of the afternoon. We took the ride from Las Pegasus to Salt Lick City, where we stayed in a cheap motel.

Braeburn wouldn't let me pay, but as we walked into a dimly-lit, cramped room with a dingy bed, I saw him stiffen up a little before lowering his head. He shut the door and took a quick look around. "S-sorry it ain't much." He looked adorable like that, but I didn't want him to feel guilty. Yeah, it was less comfortable than I was used to, but he was with me, and I wanted him to know that that's what mattered. I stepped right in front of him. As he looked up, I moved my face closer to his. "There ain't many options outMMMPH!!!"

I'd leaned in and shoved my face into his for a quick kiss.

He pulled back, chuckling. "Heh heh. Well, somepony's frisky tonight. Like I was saying, though, I hope you don't mind such a humble plaMMMPH!!!"

I did it again. Harder this time, and with one leg around the back of his neck while I sucked on his lower lip.

Braeburn let me have my way for a few seconds before he broke our kiss. He shook his head and smiled at me. "Heh heh. Well, I see what you're doin', Soarin', and I appreciate it." He nuzzled my face. "But I'm still a little embarrassed. You're probably used toMMMPH!!!" He squeaked a little that time, too. I hopped forward, wrapped both forelegs around him, and wrestled him to the ground with a giant, open-mouthed kiss and a hell of a lot of tongue. We landed on the dirty carpet with a thud and with me on top, and I squeezed harder, caressing his flanks with my wings. He fought at first, but after a few seconds, we were moaning into each other's mouths, and he was stroking my sides.

Our moans slowed down, and when his breathing returned to almost normal, I pulled back and narrowed my eyes at him. "You know I can keep this up all night, right?"

Braeburn's golden mane was splayed on the carpet beneath me. His eyelids looked heavy, and I could practically read his mind. He was thinking, 'Now, there's a good way to spend our night.' He didn't say anything, though. Instead, he leaned up, licked my face once, and planted a soft kiss on my eye. We made out on the floor until our backs hurt too much.

We got dinner at some point, and we spent some time reading in the hotel room. Or at least, Braeburn did. I tried to. Braeburn had grabbed a book from a small library at the front desk, and I cracked open Braeburn's Whitewing adventure again. I was at the start of the heist, and it was supposed to be really exciting, but I couldn't get into it. I found myself reading and re-reading page after page. My eyes would skim over the words, just like they were supposed to, but I wasn't absorbing much. It was like a bunch of the words were in a different language. I… thought I was just tired.

It's crazy how easy it is to miss the important little details. You have to really be paying attention and know what you're looking for to see them, and I was getting to know Braeburn pretty well. He hummed to himself a little while we both read on the bed. He twitched, and he was nodding. He also hardly ever turned the pages.

I scooted over to him. "What's up?"

He drew in a sharp breath, looked at the opposite wall, and spoke in a quick, clipped tone. "We should probably get some shut-eye."

After brushing our teeth, we lay on our backs in bed together with all the lights out. A few rays of light from the streets snuck in through the faded curtains, enough to see the water-stained ceiling. Braeburn was breathing heavily, and the air smelled a little like whiskey. He'd snuck a pull from his flask when he thought I wasn't looking. After we'd both counted the stains on the ceiling a few times, he finally broke the silence. "So. Tomorrow." He took a long, slow, heavy breath. "You're gonna meet my parents."

I'd been thinking the same thing, but I didn't want him to worry. I think I overcompensated by making my voice too bouncy. "Yeah! It'll be great."

"Eeyup."

"Yep!"

…

We didn't look at each other. Neither of us were breathing normally.

"Should be a good time."

"Yeah!"

"Mm-hm."

The only noise was a couple talking softly on the other side of the wall. We stayed motionless.

We both wanted to say more. My thoughts raced in circles, and I kept thinking, 'He's nervous, but he's not freaking out, so I shouldn't say anything to make him worry. But I should say something to make him feel better. What's he thinking right now?' But I didn't say anything.

I heard some liquid sloshing around a small metal container again. Then something rattled near the top. It was followed by a chugging sound and the smell of sour mash. Then there was a small, muffled burp as the cap spun back on.

I didn't say anything.

Braeburn set his flask back down beside the bed, then flopped onto his back again. "We should get some shut-eye."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Okay." I looked over to him. "Good night."

"G'night." He rolled onto his side, facing away from me. I was still on my back, staring at the ceiling when he turned back my way. "Oh, almost forgot." He leaned and kissed my cheek. "Night." He rolled back over and was snoring in a few minutes.

I didn't sleep that night. Not much, at least. I kept trying to picture what Braeburn's parents would look like and how they'd sound and how they'd act. Maybe it was the fatigue, but I wasn't feeling very creative. All I could imagine were pegasi. One was a stallion with a cerulean coat and a short-cropped silver mane. He was smiling and saying a bunch of vaguely encouraging things. His… wife… was a mare with a light blue, almost white coat and soft, flowing, midnight-blue mane, and she had a look in her eye that told you she didn't really care for you.

And that got me thinking about Braeburn's relationship with them. I kept thinking that his dad must have been the level-headed one, and he was probably this warm, friendly guy that just wanted to hang out with Brae and shower him with love. And how it must have been his mom that had been stoic and judgmental. I thought, 'She must have been the one to make that crack about, 'Have you told anypony?' She probably looked him straight in the eye right before she turned away. I bet his dad stood up for him right on the spot.' I wondered if his mom had left the room and slammed the door after Braeburn had come out.

I talked to Fire Streak about that once. He called it a projection issue.

Braeburn's snoring lulled me to sleep after a few hours, but the sun came up too quickly. After a quick breakfast at the motel, we got into the carriage that would take us from Salt Lick City to the suburb where Braeburn's parents lived: Haulahay.

"It's gettin' too big," Braeburn explained as he stroked my mane. He was half-lying down with his back on the plush carriage seat, and I was resting my head on his belly, nodding off. Between the lack of sleep and the feeling of his hoof on my head, I was losing the fight to stay awake. His voice kept me conscious, though. "That's the suburbs, I guess, but my parents sure don't like it. Cuts into the farmland my pa manages. Course, they're settled now, and they don't wanna move again unless they have to."

"Mm-hm," I moaned. I took a deep breath of the fur on his belly. His scent was so masculine. I felt safe.

Braeburn kept talking, but every time he started explaining about the town or the farm or whatever, the subject came back to his parents, until he eventually gave up trying to avoid it. He petted me harder. "Just be yourself, and they'll like you." He'd said that four times already. You'd think it would have sunk in. "I'm sure of it." I could see out of my half-open eye that he was staring out the window, and his stomach rose and fell more quickly. "I'm sure of it."

The carriage rolled to a stop, and with a yawn and a stretch, I stood up and stepped into the blinding light of a Sunday morning. Haulahay looked like Appleloosa, but a little greener and a little more spread out. There were old and new houses all mixed together, but with vast stretches of sand and green patches between them. The roads were more well-defined, and the houses were bigger, too, and there were three water towers I could see. There were even some foals running around with their dogs. It was all a little too perfect, you know? It gave me an idea of what Appleloosa might become one day if it's successful, or if the property barons get to it.

The house right in front of me didn't seem too special. Big, yeah, but not any bigger than any of the other houses around. It was a green, two-story house with big windows and black shingling. The yard was impressive, and the path up to the front door was made of cobblestones. It looked so normal.

I should have been more nervous, but instead, I was just exhausted. I'd probably used all my nervous energy the previous night.

Braeburn hugged me suddenly and gave me a big, sloppy kiss on the side of the face. When I asked him what that was all about, he nuzzled my face and said, "Might not get another chance for a while." My heart sank.

We trotted up to the door, and…

Do you have you any idea how many normal things you do in a day? Like, just stupid stuff that you don't even think about. There's a ton of it! And when something interrupts you or changes something minor, it completely throws you off.

Braeburn didn't knock. He just opened the door and walked right in, and that moment seemed to stretch out forever. Of course he wasn't going to knock, but it threw me off my game. I think that's what started it.

"Ma? Pa? Ya' home?" Braeburn stepped inside, and like clockwork, he wiped his hooves, set his hat on the rack, and dropped his bag in a spot that looked made for it. Like he'd done it a million times. "I've, uh, got somepony I'd like you to meet!" His voice was overly cheery.

The gears turned in all my muscles as I stepped in and shut the door behind me. I stood up straighter and mentally went through the eleven-point posture from the Academy. My wings flared out a little. I set my jaw and hoped the bags under my eyes didn't look too bad. I was defaulting to Wonderbolt mode, all because he hadn't knocked.

A bouncy, low, feminine voice called from upstairs. "Oh, I'll be right down!" It had the same accent as Braeburn, but not quite as strong. A heavy thumping echoed on the floor above us, and before long, a smiling light-orange earth pony mare with a chestnut brown mane appeared at the top of the stairs. Her mane had streaks of blonde, and her cutie mark was a whisk. She was heavy-set, but her curves were in all the right places.

…

If you print that, I swear to Luna I'll throw you off this cloud myself.

"Well, if it isn't my little colt!" She rushed down the stairs and threw her forelegs around Braeburn. "Oh, I'm so glad you're home, Braeby!" She was talking fast. "I didn't know when we'd be seeing you again, and I wish you'd written ahead so I could make you something special, but I suppose life's been pretty crazy for you." Braeburn was struggling to pull away and stand up straight and stallion-like, but his mother managed to kiss him once on each cheek before he pulled away. As soon as he did, though, she had a hoof on his ear, fondling his blue stud. "Oh, that's… new. Huh." She took half a step back and stuck out her lower lip. "What made you want something like that?"

Braeburn shuffled in place. "Uh, hey there, Ma! Nice to see you!" He gave a wide, corn-ball grimace. He glanced up at his ear, and his cheeks went red. "Well, I think it looks nice, and, uh…" Braeburn eyes turned toward me. So did his mom's. He quickly stepped in front of her again. "Just felt like somethin' a little different."

"Oh, we can talk about that later," she said flatly before squeezing him again and nuzzling his cheek. "I'm just so happy you're okay." Once Braeburn had escaped her hug, she looked at me with eyes that didn't match her bright smile. "And who's your friend?"

Braeburn chuckled. "Oh, you're always botherin' Pa about takin' you to the Wonderbolts shows. I know you recognize Soarin' Windsong!" He gestured to me, and I flared my wings out a little more with a smug smirk.

"Oh, of course! I'll have to get my autograph book. Hope your father won't get too jealous. Hm-hm!" She had this weird chuckle that sounded like a hiccup. "Hm-hm!"

"Soarin', this is my Ma, Gala."

Gala stuck out a hoof. No hug for me. "Pleased to meet you, Soarin'. Welcome to Haulahay!"

I took her hoof. She shook it as hard as any stallion. I nodded back, and my voice came out stilted. I rattled off a few of the usual canned responses. "Great to meet you, Mrs. Apple! Always happy to see a fan. And sure, I'd love to sign anything you'd like!"

"Well, how about the deed to your house? Hm-hm!" She nudged Braeburn, who gave a polite little laugh, rolled his eyes, and mouthed "Sorry" to me. Gala perked up again. "I think Cortland's out on the porch. Probably taking a smoke break." She turned to me. "I try to get him to stop, but some ponies just can't be changed, I guess! Braeby, would you go get him? He'll be so happy to see you."

Ever see a pony relax and tense up at the same time? It's weird. Different parts of their body flex, and it gives them this wiggly look. Braeburn did all that, blinked a few times, and finally said, "Uh, sure!" He was looking right at me. He made a move to brush up against me, but under Gala's eyes, he flinched at the last second. "Be right back." He turned and walked further into the house. "Pa? I'm home!"

I watched him disappear before turning back to Gala. The words kept spilling out. "I meet a lot of stars, but Braeburn's something special." My voice grew even stiffer, and I didn't mean to add emphasis when I said, "You should be proud of him."

"Oh, I am." It was her eyes: they'd been perky in front of Braeburn, but they'd grown dull. She still wore a smile, but it looked fake. Wooden. "And it's always nice when he brings friends over."

Yeah. 'Friends.' I felt my wings hitch up. "Actually, I'm his coltfriend now."

There was no response.

She kept smiling through the silence. I kept smiling through the awkwardness. We both pretended everything was fine.

"Dinner's going to be ready soon. You know, I'm the one that taught him to cook."

"He's great at–"

"Oh, I bet he'd love to lend a hoof." She trotted away with a quick, "Come on in and make yourself comfortable."

We settled into a few chairs in the parlor. The house was… artificial. It had that homey vibe to it where nothing was out of place. Everything from the curtains to the wood tables to the rugs were perfectly straightened and dusted. I think Gala must have become a homemaker at some point and just kept the place flawless.

And there were photos everywhere. Family members, mostly, I think. On the mantel, a lot of them featured baby Braeburn grabbing onto a small, red-ish colt with a dirty blonde mane. Braeburn was the cutest baby I'd ever seen. Hell, his mane was beautiful even back then. The young colt he was with looked just as picture-perfect, and I began wondering why Big Mac was in so many pictures with him. I remember thinking, 'Big Mac looks so small. He was probably just Mac, I guess. Heh. Looks like they've always been close.'

Gala spoke up while I was staring at the pictures. "Hope you don't mind something simple. We don't eat many fancy meals here – just the basics. We're having stew tonight."

I sat up again, even though something at the back of my mind told me I'd never impress her enough. "That sounds great!"

"Good thing you showed up when you did, too. There was another reporter here until just a few hours ago. I swear, they've been banging on the door since last Sunday."

"Oh..." My head dropped a few inches, but then I put my game face back on. "Sorry about that. The 'Bolts get a lot of attention. Ha!" Ugh.

"Well, I don't know much about that. Usually the only news we get is about redistricting or some major event happening over in Salt Lick." Her eyes narrowed just slightly. "Seems like we're getting nothing but bad news these days. At least Cort's got us taken care of. I'm just happy we've still got a roof over our heads that Braeburn can come home to. I would have rather he'd let us know about what was happening, but that colt of mine has never been very good about bein' forward with information." It was clear where Braeburn got his big mouth from. "Don't much appreciate getting second-hoof news about my own son from a bunch of reporters, but that's how it is sometimes, I suppose. We're just not used to it, you see, but oh, this must all be just small potatoes to what you're used to, hm?"

I'd gotten lost somewhere around the spot she'd called me "bad news," but I stayed on-course. "Your house is lovely! Great decor. A lot of ponies are surprised, but actually most of the Wonderbolts like settling down someplace quiet every once in a while." Wrong, of course, but I couldn't help myself, and something about Gala didn't sit right with me. I didn't trust her.

Did I mention I have projection issues?

Not like I had much time to think about it, though. Braeburn trotted in with another stallion in tow. "Pa, I'd like you to meet Soarin'. Soarin', this is my Pa, Cortland."

Cortland was imposing. He was only about Braeburn's height, but he was filled out more, and he looked more solid. His hooves were planted firmly on the floor, and he stood motionless for a while. His coat was a brownish red, and his mane was gold with streaks of orange and brown, the opposite of Braeburn's, but Cortland's had a few small hints of gray. His cutie mark was, duh, an apple: a gold one with a lot of green leaves. When he spoke, he spoke slowly, but his voice was a little higher-pitched than I'd expected, somewhere between Big Mac and Braeburn. "Evenin'."

I stood up and moved over to him. "Nice to meet you. Soarin' Windsong, captain of the Wonderbolts." I held out a hoof for him to shake and put on my biggest, most official-looking smile.

He eyed my hoof for a moment, nodded, and shook it half-heartedly. "Pleasure."

Gala nodded us over to the kitchen. "Stew should be ready any moment now. Hope you like it. It's homemade with some veggies from the garden out back."

I nodded at her. "That sounds wonderful!" Too much enthusiasm, but it was fine. I looked over to Braeburn, who was a little stiff. I couldn't tell if he was breathing, but his eyes kept flickering between his parents' faces.

The table in the heavily-decorated kitchen was pushed up against the wall, under a window that looked out over a small backyard garden. It faced east – Gala and Cortland seemed like the type of ponies that would wake up slowly with the sun. The table was oblong, and the two places that were already set were on the long side. Gala quickly set two more places on opposite ends of the table, and Cortland settled into one of the center places. Braeburn and I would be as far away as possible.

The soup was tasty and warm, but the atmosphere was bitter and cold. I kept up my Wonderbolts routine, and Gala kept up her housewife act. She'd ask question after question about being a Wonderbolt and living in Cloudsdale, but every time I'd try to steer the conversation to Braeburn and me, she'd pull us right back to a different topic. I said something like, "Meeting Braeburn has been like a breath of fresh air."

Without hesitation, she jumped in with, "Speaking of fresh, I hear you don't get many fresh veggies up in Cloudsdale. Is that true?" She drank the rest of her soup, and I saw Braeburn frowning and playing with the potatoes in his.

Next to him, Cortland kept leaning toward Braeburn just slightly. The sides of his mouth curled up a little every time he looked at Braeburn, but it never stayed that way for long. His lips parted a few times. I think he wanted to say something, but nothing ever came out.

With a sigh, I set my spoon down. "Well, kinda. You can get it, but it's more expensive. The stuff we get is a lot less fresh. Mostly we eat a lot of dry goods. The 'Bolts get a bunch of our meals paid for…" The sarcasm started slipping into my voice, and I'd resigned myself to simply surviving instead of actually getting to know Brae's parents. "…but nothing as good as this soup, Mrs. Apple."

"Oh, you stop that. Hm-hm! See, Cort? You'd be starving without me."

Cortland gave a quick glance and a smile to his wife. "Sure would." After that, he went right back to looking at Braeburn. A million tiny adjustments kept changing his expression, showing everything from relief to anger to confusion. That was only with Braeburn, though. Whenever I managed to make eye contact, he'd just stare, and his brows would knit.

Braeburn was trying to talk about our trip. "You shoulda seen Las Pegasus, Ma!" He was putting on a show, too. "You'd have loved it. All sorts of things to do. Soarin' and I–"

"Oh, I'm sure I'd just get flustered," she said.

It kept going like that, and I just cruised through the whole thing. I kept looking over at Braeburn, and he looked like he was sick. His ears were down, he ate slowly, and he didn't say much after his first few tries had failed. I felt bad for the guy, not just as his coltfriend, but as another pony. He was trying to create this warm atmosphere, and I know he'd had a few fantasies about how the evening would go. But the conversation just played out between me and Gala like we were strangers waiting at the same bus stop.

I finished a second helping of soup as Braeburn set his napkin down. He'd cleared his bowl like a good colt, but without enthusiasm. We started clearing the table, and Gala was still rambling. "I'm glad you like it! Nothing fancy, but it does the trick. Now, you just relax, and I'll clear everything up, and then we can get you settled in for the night. We've got a rollaway bed that should be just big enough for you."

Braeburn perked up. "Well, Ma, Soarin' could sleep with me tonight. We'd make do."

Cortland stared out the window. He drew a sharp breath, and his forelegs tensed up. It wasn't hard to figure out what he was imagining.

Gala started running water in the sink, and there was a long pause. She grunted. "Oh, your bed's far too small to share, even with one of you sleeping backward. Wouldn't want Soarin's wings to get cramped. Hm-hm!"

It was painfully obvious that they'd had these conversations before. Gala wasn't accepting it. She wasn't accepting that I was her son's coltfriend, and she wasn't accepting her son. From that moment, I felt a fire behind my eyes whenever I looked at her.

Braeburn took a step forward. "Ma, Soarin' would be much more comfortable upstairs. Doesn't get nearly as cold up there."

"We have plenty of blankets, and a pegasus needs his space." She shut off the water and turned to me. "Sorry for the little spat. Braeburn's still my little Braeby sometimes."

My hackles raised, and my teeth ground together.

Braeburn sucked in a quick breath. His face was beet-red. "Ma, that's mighty condescending of you." His voice was lowering. "I don't much appreciate you talkin' down to me like that, especially in front of my coltfriend."

Gala looked to her husband. Cortland give a weak little shake of his head, but it didn't stop Gala from saying, "Well, I don't much appreciate you arguing in front of company, young colt. It's terribly embarrassing."

My eyebrows furrowed. I growled a little, barely keeping the scream in my chest from escaping. I took a step closer to Braeburn.

Braeburn puffed out his chest. "But if you'd just–"

"We're happy to have your friend over as a guest, Brae–"

Braeburn's face was redder than I'd ever seen it. His eyes scrunched up, and he shouted, "He's my coltfri–"

A booming voice cut him off. "That's enough, y'all." Cortland pushed himself away from the table and brought the last few dishes over to the sink. Just like Big Mac, his steps had a lot of gravity, even for a smaller pony, and nopony spoke until he'd set his dishes down and finished. "We'll figure out the sleeping arrangements later, but it looks like you two have some things to discuss. I'll show Soarin' around the place."

My muscles didn't relax, but I was relieved that Gala didn't say anything else. I looked over to Braeburn, who was blinking a lot and looking away. A big part of me wanted to argue, to stay with Braeburn in case he needed me, but I knew I'd only make things worse. Without anything else to fall back on, Wonderbolt Soarin' took over again. "Uh, sure! I don't get out to the country much. Let's go!"

Gala chimed in again. "Don't you worry. We'll have everything set up by the time you get back. Don't bore him to death, Cort!"

Cortland sighed. "Sure thing, Gal." He headed to the door.

Braeburn bit his lower lip, but he relaxed and smiled a little when I gave him a wink and blew a silent kiss while Gala was turned away. In my mind, I told him, 'I've got this. We'll be okay.' I think he heard me.

I cooled off once we'd walked out the door into the fading twilight. We walked down the main road outside their house, which led us in a curvy path around town. It was more of the same and exactly what you'd expect from the suburbs, but there were occasional fields of hay or alfalfa to break up the monotony, and the air was fresh and earthy, pleasantly heavy in my lungs.

I tried to make conversation. "So, what do you do?"

Cortland watched the road ahead. "Manage a few fields, mostly. Sold off a lot of my acres after Braeburn moved out, but the new owners don't know a lick about proper management."

"Ah, okay. I see where he gets his mayoral skills."

Cortland raised an eyebrow. "Braeburn's the mayor?"

"Well, not really, but yeah, kinda."

"Hm." He looked down at the dirt, and his shoulders sank. "Never mentioned it."

We walked, our hooves softly falling against the dirt road. We turned down a path around one of the hay fields, but Cortland still didn't say anything.

I couldn't take it. I put on a wooden smile and said, "Nice area out here. Maybe the Wonderbolts should do a show!"

No response.

I kept babbling. "I feel so blessed to see this part of the country." Can you believe it? Blessed? Ew. "Greener grass, kind ponies, good–"

"Oh, cut the act."

I felt a spike through my heart, but words kept falling out of my mouth. "Act? Naw, not me! I'm just Soar–" I stopped myself that time. Cortland had stopped abruptly and was looking me in the eye with furrowed brows. My wings felt heavy, and it was like his stare was applying actual weight to my back. "…Sorry."

He looked back up the road, and we kept walking. My thoughts spun. 'Shit. I blew it. Braeburn's gonna be sad. Can I fix it? I can fix it.' I wish I could say I'd stayed cool, but really it wasn't more than fifteen seconds before I broke again. "I said I'm sorry! You know, it isn't easy on us, either. The media's a bitch, and I feel super guilty for bringing him into it. Okay? You don't have to make it worse."

He remained stoic. "I didn't say a thing."

He was right, and that got to me. "Oh, shut up!" I hopped into the air and fluttered beside him. I completely forgot for a second that I was talking to Braeburn's dad – Cortland was just some douche that was making my life harder. "Yeah, fine, you didn't say anything, but you're acting all judge-y!"

"What am I doing?" he asked in an even voice.

"You're not saying anything! It's just quiet, and it's freaking me the buck out!"

"That's not the quiet's fault."

"Well, no, but–"

"So whose fault is it?"

"It's… Ugh!" I hovered beside him, fuming.

Cortland took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Unconsciously, I did the same thing. Maybe he did that on purpose. "My pa always said you could tell a lot about a pony by what he does in the dark." His voice was smoother, more laid back. "I suppose that means the quiet, too."

I cocked my head to the side. "The buck does that mean?"

His head didn't move, but he cast a glance my way. "You tell me."

"I dunno," I said in a huff.

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

He whinnied quietly. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be uncomfortable."

My heart stopped. "Fine!" I wheeled around and plopped down in front of him. "It's because I suck, okay? I screwed up, and I've got the emotional maturity of a five-year-old, and now Braeburn's getting hounded by the media and we have to hide at his stupid homophobic parents' house!" My jaw snapped shut and my eyes went wide at what I'd said. "I-I didn't mean–"

Cortland didn't flinch, but his eyes were half closed. "No, go on." He spoke slowly. "What do you think of me? And be honest."

I hesitated.

Cortland took a hard step toward me. His voice was the same, but it felt like there was a lot of power behind his words. "Soarin', be a stallion for once and tell me to my face what you think of me. I can take it."

My chest felt tight. 'Fine,' I thought, landing and straightening up. "I don't like you, because you made Braeburn sad. He came out to you, and you just asked if he'd told anypony?" I sat down and threw my forehooves in the air. "What the hell!?" I jabbed a hoof to his chest. "He needed you, and you failed him." Something clicked, and I spoke through gritted teeth. "You basically abandoned him. And I can't. Fucking. Stand that."

I saw Cortland's lip quiver, just a little, but he never looked away. "Did I really abandon him, though? Isn't he in my home right now after bringing in a stranger and yelling at my wife?"

I got quieter and turned away. "He still needed you."

Cortland flinched. After a moment of silence, he walked past me. "At least you're finally being honest."

I turned around, and we kept walking around the fields of hay. It was quiet, but my chest wasn't as tight anymore. I was still pissed, but in a way, I was more at ease, if that makes sense. Earth pony magic, maybe? Or maybe finally getting to yell at him did me some good.

After a few more minutes, Cortland spoke up again. "You really care about him?"

I sighed. "Yeah. I do. A lot."

"He's a good stallion." His voice was suddenly rigid. "Done good for himself. Real go-getter. Has been since he was a tyke."

"Heh. Yeah." I thought about how focused he was while he was doing his not-mayor work, about how much he did to keep Appleloosa running. Thinking about Braeburn relaxed me. "What was he like when he was young?"

"Loved everypony. Seemed to really get attached, even as a newborn."

"Yeah, I saw those pictures of him clinging to Big Mac. Looks like he's always been his favorite."

Cortland's voice raised in pitch just a little. "Those are, uh… Those are Brae with his big brother, Jonagold."

"Oh! Duh." I chuckled. "Shoulda guessed. His coat looks like yours." Cortland didn't say anything. "Seems like Braeburn was really attached."

Cortland smiled, but his eyes sank. "Yeah, he was always grabbing onto Jonah. Made sense. Jonah always wanted to make sure Braeburn was okay. If Braeburn was crying in his crib, Jonah would run up to us and tell us, even in the middle of the night." His voice didn't have an edge anymore. It was softer, airier. Like he was talking to himself more than me. "Once, Jonah ran up to me, crying. I asked him what was wrong, and he said that Braeburn hadn't wanted to play with the blocks like they always did together, and Jonah was scared that Braeburn was sick or that he'd done something wrong and was a bad brother." Cortland looked my way, blinking rapidly. "Y-You have any siblings?"

I sighed and looked down the road. "Nah. Mom didn't even want one foal, I think."

He shook his head. "That's too bad."

"Yeah. Woulda been fun having a little brother. Or a big brother. Or sister, even." I looked back at him. "Where's Jonah these days? Is he founding a town somewhere, too?"

Cortland was dead quiet. His breathing had gotten heavier, and he was looking straight forward, neck rigid. "Car–" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and blinked a few times and let out a big breath. His hoofsteps were a lot slower. "Carmine fever got him. Little after Braeburn's second birthday."

My body turned to stone, and we stopped walking. "Oh. I'm… sorry," I whispered.

A frog croaked nearby. The wind seemed to be colder all of a sudden, and it made a soft rustling noise as it blew across the grass and wound through the trees. The smell of freshly-cut and baled hay wafted to my nose from the nearby field. It was quiet enough that you could almost hear the stars twinkling.

Cortland moved over to an unpainted, wooden, split-rail fence at the edge of the hay field. He reared up on his hind legs and rested his forelegs on the top rail. I walked over and did the same.

Cortland looked up to the sky for a while before speaking. "Well, Soarin', I hope you never experience a loss like that. It's the worst feeling in the world." I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just looked up at the stars with him while he kept talking. "Had a lot of dreams for those colts of mine."

The fence was scratching my forelegs, but my body refused to move. "Like what?"

"Aw, nothin' too crazy," he sighed. "Dreamed about 'em growing up. Wanted to teach 'em all about being a right gentlecolt. About how to talk to mares and how to take 'em on dates and generally how to treat 'em right. And I think I mighta put too much stock in those fantasies after… after it was just Braeburn." He sniffled and wiped at his eye.

Dad. I remember thinking about my dad right then, about how he's always wanted to see me fly with the Wonderbolts, about how proud he was when he got to watch those first few shows. He'd always been so encouraging, and I would see him swell up whenever I succeeded. I thought about what Dad would have felt like if he hadn't gotten to see me, and in a way, I felt like I understood where Cortland was coming from.

I readjusted myself on the fence and looked down at the grass. "And Braeburn didn't have any interest in that stuff, right?"

Cortland sighed again. "Right. Course, I didn't think much of it at the time. Braeburn was just always so busy, you know?" He shrugged. "Always wanted to help out around the farm. Kept up his studies in school and volunteered wherever he could. Really took root in his community."

"I… saw the awesome work he does in Appleloosa, and it's unbelievable."

"Thank you, but I have to wonder how much of a hoof I really had in it."

"What do you mean?"

"He just seemed to drift away. I'm proud of all his accomplishments, of course, but as he became a young stallion, he spent more time away from us. When he told us one day, out of the blue, that he was moving to Appleloosa all on his own, it about broke Gal's heart."

I sneered a little. "Seems like she just wants to control Brae's life."

"Can you blame her, though?" He looked at me. His eyes were wet. "Our little colt wandered out into the world without hardly a goodbye. And on the few times we heard from him, he didn't seem happy, Soarin'. So we worried ourselves sick. And eventually, well…" His voice was suddenly choked up. "He told us the news."

My chest felt funny. It wanted to set itself on fire with rage, but it wouldn't light. Even if I couldn't look Cortland in the eye, though, I still needed to say something. "Yeah, but asking if he'd told anypony?"

"I wish Gal hadn't said that, and I-I wish I'd spoken up. But I didn't. I…" He stifled a sob. "Thought he was angry with us, or that we'd screwed him up, or that it was because he was lonely. Felt like we were l-losing him, too, like it was his way of telling us he didn't want us in his life anymore." Cortland was shaking, and it was rattling the fence. He started speaking more quickly. "And I hate all this, Soarin'. I hate how Gal just pretends like nothing's wrong, like he's just a colt again. And I hate how I'm not strong enough to fix it all. But it hurts like hell, Soarin'. Feels like I've failed. I wanted him to be happy and lead a normal life and raise a big family, but now, well, I'll never be a granddaddy, and it's tough to let that go."

Carefully, I scooted a bit closer. The cool breeze seemed to blow right through me. "But… you still love him, right?"

Cortland's eyes immediately watered. His head whipped around to face me, and his stoic expression had completely shattered. "Soarin', he's my son! Of course I love him. I always will, no matter what. Nothing in the world could change that."

It was Dad. That look he was giving me was just like that night Dad and I had been stargazing. I tried to say something, but the words got caught in my throat.

Cortland shook again, and he spoke quickly. "Soarin', what I wanted is a pile of shit compared to his happiness. But I see him goin' down this path of bein' with other stallions, and it brings him no end of sorrow. Appleloosa, Bronze, this new mess…" He sniffled. "It tears me up. He's my pride and joy, Soarin', the most important pony in the world to me."

My cheeks felt hot.

Cortland wiped a tear away from his face. "He's such a good colt, Soarin' – kind, hard-working, smart as a whip – but sometimes I think he's too love-drunk for his own good, and he doesn't know how to handle himself in the real world. And frankly, that terrifies me."

"Braeburn…" I felt a kick in my gut. It's the one you feel whenever somepony says something about somepony you care about. You need to defend them, even if they aren't really under attack. "Braeburn's really smart, and he's a lot better at this stuff than me, and I've been with tons of other ponies."

"Ha!" It came out half-sob, half-laugh. Cortland looked up at me and shook his head, a weak smile on his face. "Ain't exactly comforting to hear my son's courtin' a loose pegasus."

"Oh. Right." I shrunk, but when I saw that he wasn't mad, I tried to perk up again. "B-but he's really a good pony! Like, the best!"

Cortland looked up to the sky again. "Yeah, he is. And I miss him, and I want to be there for him, but he just never seems to want us in his life. That colt of mine will shoulder all the trouble in the world, and he'd never let on that he's struggling."

I thought about Braeburn back in Appleloosa. 'He probably never asks for help with the paperwork or anything, and he puts up with everyone's shit just because he loves the town. Buck, Slate didn't even know what an asshole Bronze really was.' Something about the way Cortland was sitting made me think, 'He probably doesn't know about Bronze, either.'

I couldn't keep it in. Maybe it was disrespectful to Braeburn, but he needed more ponies in his corner. "Bronze hit Braeburn."

Cortland snapped to attention. He still leaned on the fence, but his body was completely rigid. "H-how do you mean?" Even in the dark, I could see the fear in his eyes.

I almost pretended that I'd misspoken, that everything had been fine. But Cortland would have hated that, and I would have, too. "Just what I said. They'd fight, and Bronze would get violent."

Cortland froze for a second. His face twisted up, and he turned his head away from me. He took quick, labored breathes, growling every time he would exhale, louder and louder and louder. He started shaking, and I thought I heard him mumbling to himself. I could almost hear his heartbeat, and my wings hitched up out of fear.

Carefully, I leaned in just a little and softly said, "Uh… Cortland?"

"Dammit!" He raised a hoof and brought it down on the fence, which caved in with a loud crack! "Dammit all," he sobbed. His tail lashed back and forth. Looking out over the field, he shook his head and quietly repeated, "Never told us. He never told us." After that explosion of energy, everything became still again. But Cortland's face looked strained, like he was barely able to hold it all in.

No, Braeburn hadn't told them, and that petrified me, not just because of Bronze, but because it meant he wouldn't tell me everything, either. And it made me realize something: Braeburn couldn't live up to the ideal that I'd been holding him to. For weeks, Braeburn had been this perfect thing – he made me feel better, he did a great service to his town, and he was incredibly humble. But he wasn't just a victim of circumstance. My little Applebutt wasn't perfect. He had flaws, just like everypony else.

Just like me. Hell, I had a million more than he did. I got angry, I didn't think things through, I got jealous, I didn't trust ponies enough… But neither of us had really learned to let our guard down. "Being honest is… hard sometimes." When Cortland looked at me, I added, "You never know how somepony is going to take it."

Cortland was taking deep breaths. "Mh-hm." He wiped his face with a fetlock again. "Did…" He cleared his throat. "Did you know that Braeburn didn't tell us they'd split? He and Bronze, I mean. No letter or nothing. Just heard about it two days ago."

"I'm sorry." My voice was quiet. "Reporters can't keep their mouths shut."

"No." He sneered. "Not from them. Bronze stopped by on Friday afternoon."

My whole body tensed, and my head snapped up. "What?"

"Eeyup," Cortland growled before closing his eyes and violently shaking his head. He grumbled, "That… cocksucker said he was worried about Braeburn. Dammit. If I'da known he was beatin' up my son, I woulda… woulda…" His shoulder tensed, and he smacked the top rail of the fence again, this time splitting it completely in two.

I jumped back from the fence and threw my wing up to block the splinters, and when I lowered it, Cortland had pushed off from the fence and was staring at the ground.

He sighed. "But naw. Just dropped off a letter, said some words, and left." He hadn't stopped shaking his head. "Hard to believe a nice guy like that has a cruel streak. Was always pleasant when we met him."

"Yeah, well, he was a dick," I said flatly.

"But Braeburn never told us." Cortland looked up, but his eyes were droopy. "And it's shit like this that makes me worry." His eyes narrowed, and his voice grew sharp. "Don't you ever hit my son."

My eyes went wide, and I shook my head. "Dude, no! I'd never do that."

He let out a long, slow breath. "You say that, but I really don't know about you, Soarin', and frankly, I find it hard to trust another stallion with my son. Maybe you're an honorable guy, but I worry about you celebrities. I worry you're gonna treat him bad and throw him away once you're bored."

I reeled back a bit. "I–"

He looked me straight in the eye. "Promise me you'll do good by him, Soarin', and you'll try to make him happy. Just promise me that one thing."

Cortland looked like a lot of things in that moment. He looked like a proud father, one that wanted the best for his son. He looked like a scared colt that was only trusting somepony else because he didn't have any other choice. And he looked like he just needed to know that everything would be okay.

I nodded solemnly and stuck out my hoof. "I promise."

Cortland shook my hoof, whole-heartedly this time and with the smallest hint of a smile on his face. "Thank you. Hope you mean it." He looked back down the road. "Now, we should get back, 'fore Gal worries you're tryin' to make me a cocksucker, too."

For some reason, 'cocksucker' stung a lot less than 'coltcuddler.' Plus, he was being jokey with me. The tension melted out of my body, and for a second, I don't think Wonderbolt Soarin' existed at all. "Weeeeeell, you're not really my type."

He smiled, and with a cocked eyebrow, he asked, "And what type would that be?"

I gave him a smirk. "Straight."

He chuckled and nodded. "Good answer."

We finished the loop around the hay field and started back towards the Apple house. Wonderbolt Soarin' didn't show up for the rest of the night, and really, I think he's shown up less and less since then. Yeah, being honest is hard, but it's easier on the heart, and I'm getting better at it. I mean, hey, I'm telling you this story, right?

Yeah. I like real Soarin' better.