For Want of a Horseshoe Nail

by Sixes_And_Sevens

Resentment

Apple Bloom lay on her bed, staring through the ceiling of her bedroom with a vague scowl furrowing her brow. She was so close, she could feel it tingling at the back of her brain like fizzing cider. An orange coat. A stetson. Shouting. Regret? Yes. Regret. If she closed her eyes, she could almost remember. She squeezed her eyelids shut, concentrating. If she could remember what she had been doing just before she had found herself at the top of the stairs, she felt sure that everything would fall into place. There had been an argument. But who had she argued with? And why? Certainly nopony else appeared to particularly upset. Bloom groaned and rolled up into a sitting position. Nothing. It was as though her memories had been stolen from her mind. Worse still, she couldn’t even remember what she had forgotten.

Suddenly, Bloom saw red. She let out a cry of rebellious anger and defiance and hurled her pillow at the bedroom door. What was going on? Why couldn’t she remember anything? She held down her other pillow and punched it with feverish rage and intensity, growling and snarling like a wild beast. A throat cleared behind her and she froze. Slowly, the mare’s head turned to the door.

Bloom saw red in quite another sense, now. Her brother scuffed his hooves on the floor and coughed. “Uh, Bloom? Ma, Pa, an’ Granny want a word. That is, if yer decent.”

The yellow mare took a long, deep breath in and let it out slowly. “How’s mah mane?”

The large stallion eyed his sister’s red locks. They were wild and stuck out every which way. “Not great. Want Ah should getcha a comb?”

Bloom shook her head and merely pulled the pink bow from her mane, letting it flutter to the floor. Then, without a word, she trotted past her brother and down the hall. Mac hesitated for a moment before following after.

***

Thunderlane stared broodingly into space. “Could you be a little more… specific, Doctor?” he asked at length.

The tropical blue pegasus in the rather fetching fez merely sighed. “You can’t really be that specific about temporal anomalies, ‘Lane. Just look for something that shouldn’t be there, something that makes you uncomfortable.”

Thunderlane gasped in mock shock. “My parents are a temporal anomaly?”

“No! Well, maybe. Probably not. Hopefully not, since then you wouldn’t exist. Well, at least, I don’t think you would. You can exist without having parents, sometimes. I had a friend like that. Which reminds me, if you see a crack in a wall, one that sort of looks like it’s grinning in a really angry, world-consuming way, run. Really, just run. I think I closed them all up, but you can’t be too careful.”

Thunderlane shook his head. “Some days, Doctor, I think your Magic and Lyra’s Laughter must’ve gotten mixed up after all.”

The Doctor grinned. “And how ‘bout you, eh? By all rights, you ought to be kindness, or maybe loyalty. Certainly to hear Rumble tell it.”

“Nah, nah. Zecora and Maud deserve those way more than I do,” Thunderlane chuckled. “Alright, off to look for whatever’s trying to ruin the universe’s day. Anything else?”

The Doctor’s expression collapsed like a poorly-made souffle. In a much softer voice, he asked, “Do you know Apple Bloom?”

Thunderlane squinted. “I know of her,” he replied carefully. “And I know her brother pretty well. We’re drinking buddies. But no, I don’t know her personally. Why, how is she mixed up in all this? I mean, she’s just a kid.”

“I think she knows something,” the Doctor said quietly. “I don’t think she’s the cause of any of this havoc being played in the time vortex. I’m not even sure if she knows that she knows. But somewhere in her brain, there’s something she remembers, and that could be dangerous.”

“So you want me to keep an eye on her?”

“Keep a lookout for her, any rate.”

Thunderlane regarded the other pegasus for a long moment. Then, he nodded. “I trust you, Doctor,” he said, and then flapped off.

The bright blue stallion watched his friend go. “Oh, Thunderlane,” he whispered. “I wish that I could believe in me as much as you do.”

***

The parlor held none of that morning’s conviviality and good cheer. Granny and Pa were sat on the couch, while Ma took one of the armchairs. Apple Bloom took stock of the room. Nopony was smiling. On the contrary, they all looked rather stoic, Granny most of all. The phonograph sat silent in a corner, and the fireplace was full of ashes and smoldering embers. Oddly enough, they all seemed to be staring at her mane. Self-consciously, Bloom ran a hoof through it before sitting down in the other armchair. Quietly, Mac Jr. entered a moment later and, seeing that there were no upholstered seats left, took the rocking chair.

For a long time, nopony said a word. At length, Bright Mac cleared his throat. “Ya changed yer mane.”

Bloom blinked. She wasn’t honestly sure what she had been expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. “Uh… eeyup,” she agreed. “Th’ bow got tangled, so Ah took it out fer a bit.” She ran a hoof through her mane again.

“Were ya thinkin’ of… keepin’ it like that?” her father continued hesitantly.

“Uh… dunno. Might do, Ah guess.” Bloom rose to her hooves to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her eyebrows rose. “Huh. Yeah, Ah could make it work,” she said slowly. “Mebee a nice braid, or a…” she trailed off. ‘Ponytail,’ she didn’t say. ‘Like Applejack.’

“Ah dunno, maybe Ah’ve grown out of that bow. Ah’m bettin’ ya got more t’ talk ‘bout than mah mane, though,” Bloom said brusquely, sitting back down in the armchair.

The silence was deafening. “Ya’ll’ve been a bit… distracted, of late,” Granny said slowly.

“We’re worried about ya,” Bright added earnestly.

Apple Bloom glanced around. Stony faces on all sides. Mac Jr. looked distinctly uncomfortable. She chuckled. “Well, shoot. It’s nice y’all are so worried, but it ain’t no more’n a headache. Jes’ ain’t m’self today.”

Granny glanced for a moment at Buttercup, who looked away. Bright Mac Sr. shifted in his seat. Junior looked like he wanted to run, but the act of rising from the rocking chair would attract too much attention. Instead, he merely shrunk into himself as best he could.

At length, her mother cleared her throat. “Baby, you remember Applejack, don’tcha?”

Apple Bloom blinked. “‘Course Ah do. She’s ma sister.” She leaned forwards, eyes growing wide. “What’s wrong with her? Is she okay?”

Granny let out a huff of indignation. “Not s’if we’d ever know,” she grumbled, crossing her hooves across her chest. “Bin weeks since she last wrote us.”

“Granny,” Ma said, a note of warning in her voice. The old mare glared at her daughter-in-law, but sat back in her rocker, grousing softly.

Bright Mac glanced at his mother and then at his wife. Neither seemed willing to speak. “Apple Bloom, we’re just a little worried ya might do something… rash.”

His daughter cocked her head. “How d’ya mean?”

Mac Sr. coughed and glanced away. “Well, something like… leaving the farm.”

She was staring intently at Bloom’s mane. At length, she turned to look at her daughter-in-law. “Comb,” Granny said shortly.

Buttercup quickly rose to her hooves and trotted from the room, keeping off her right forehoof. Bloom watched her mother go, confused. “What—”

A glare from her grandmother silenced her. There was a long, tense contest of wills. Mac quietly closed his eyes. At length, Bloom glanced down. The green mare smiled tightly and gestured her over. Slowly, cautiously, Bloom hopped off the armchair and trotted over, eyeing her granny warily. With a gentle but firm hoof, Granny Smith guided her granddaughter into a sitting position in front of her. Buttercup reentered the room, a hairbrush and a strip of pink ribbon clutched in her teeth. She lay them both on the arm of Granny’s chair. “There y’are, Granny,” she said, backing away, not looking at the old mare or at her own daughter.

“Thank ya,” the old mare replied with a nod, pointedly returning the lack of a look. She picked the brush up and ran it firmly through Bloom’s mane.

“Ow!” Apple Bloom yelped, taking to her hooves. Quick as a whip, a hoof pressed down on her tail, forcing her to sit. The bristles scraped across her scalp once more, taking more than a little skin with it. “Granny, stop!” she protested. “Ah can fix mah own— Ouch!”

The brush was relentless. For the next five minutes, occasionally protesting, Apple Bloom winced through the indignity. Finally, finally, the abrasive bristles stopped and the young mare breathed out in relief. She tried to rise, but the hoof was still on her tail. Her mane was firmly tugged upwards, and she felt something being wrapped up in the strands. Finally, her grandmother let her go. Bloom stumbled away, unsteady on her hooves. She regarded her Granny for a long moment. Then, she dashed over to the mirror. She stared at her reflection for a long moment. The bow was back. Her mane was styled the same way it always had been since she was a filly. Apple Bloom’s eyes slowly narrowed. “Ah can fix mah own mane,” she said flatly, glancing at her assembled family.

Pear Butter glanced away. Bright Mac chuckled. It sounded terribly forced. “We know ya can, sugarcube. It’s jes’ well…”

“Mighta put it back wrong,” Pear Butter said, voice rough.

“Wrong?” Bloom repeated. “How d’ya mean, wrong? It’s mah mane.”

Nopony said a word. At length, her grandmother spoke. “Ya always had yer mane like that. That there’s yer… yer sister’s ol’ bow.”

Bloom let out a huff of annoyance. “Ah know that. But it ain’t me no more! It’s too… young. Too childish.”

“You are young,” her father said.

“Not that young! Give it to some li’l cousin or summat. Ah’ve had it long enough.”

“Apple Bloom.” Her grandmother’s voice was the voice of the earth itself, ancient and powerful and deep. “You leave that bow in.”

Bloom’s cheeks begin to grow hot. “Why? Ah’m old enough t’ make mah own choices, Granny! An’ Ah don’ wanna—”

“Do as yer tol’,” Pear Butter said, her voice rising slightly, not so much out of anger as out of worry.

“Bloom, sugarcube, ya don’ know what yer sayin,” her father said gently.

“I’m not a li’l filly no more!” Bloom exploded. “Ah’m old enough—”

Her grandmother rose to her hooves. “Go to your room,” she said, voice like the shifting plates of an earthquake.

Bloom stopped, stunned. Her eyes went wide. “Go… to… your… room…” she whispered. She stared straight at the wall, eyes unfocused.

Both Bright Mac and Bright Mac Jr. exchanged uncertain glances. “That’s what she said,” Buttercup agreed, uncertain.

Apple Bloom took a step back, her eyes wide. “No. No. This ain’t happenin’. This can’t be…”

Bright Mac blinked in surprise. “Well, it ain’t worth that much fuss, child. Here, come have a lie-down, ya look peaky.”

Bloom stared at him. “Pa,” she said slowly. “Yer here. You an’ ma— ya ain’t meant ta — Ya can’t be here. An’ Applejack!” She turned her head wildly, as though following the path of a pesky insect. “Where’s Applejack?”

Granny Smith stepped forward slowly, concern quickly replacing anger. Bloom backed up a few fearful paces, then turned and bolted from the room. “Where’s Applejack?” she shouted. The sound of squeaky hinges echoed through the house, followed by the short, sharp, slam of a screen door.