A hatless Applejack snapped awake, gasping a lung-full of air. Her chest pressed hard against the warm tile beneath her. Immediately, instinctively, Applejack scrambled to her hooves, eyes desperately glued to the unicorn sleeping in the bed beside her.

It was the same every time she woke. The same breeze flowing through the open window behind her. The same tick from the wall-clock. The same gashes on a purple body, hugged with red gauze and bandages.

And her sleeping friends scattered around the hospital’s recovery room.

Still, Applejack squinted hard through the darkness. She had to be certain Twilight was still there, that nothing had hurt her again. Applejack released a long, quiet breath, careful to leave her other friends undisturbed. She bit the curse rolling under her tongue, for she had failed again. Failed to stay awake. To watch Twilight without as much as a blink.

This time, Applejack wouldn’t fail. This time she would hold consciousness with a crushing grip. With dark bags weighing her eyes, Applejack fell to her haunches, and resumed her diligent watch for the fifth time that night.

Minutes passed, and the clock’s ticking grew louder, like guns firing at the ear. Applejack’s tired, narrowed eyes fluttered shut. But she fought it. It didn’t matter what, or how long it took; Applejack would be the first thing Twilight saw when she woke up. It was only fair for the unicorn that saved her life. That saved all of them, really.

Applejack’s eyelids lifted, jaunted awake by the memory. Claws, cold as steel. Fangs, sharp as blades. Black scales, hard as diamond. And those eyes, red as the blood that stained through Twilight’s bandages.

Applejack shivered. She could still hear the dragon’s booming laugh. She could still feel her own ribs prodding into her lungs, that cold grip clutching her. Crushing her. Her friends sprawled about in bloody heaps. And Twilight… Damn it all if Applejack forgot the unicorn’s rage. Shouting at the dragon. Blasting it with volley after volley of magic. Futilely kicking at its ankles with all her might.

Applejack would never forget what she saw in Twilight that day. Nor would she forget the giant, clawed hand crashing into Twilight. Or the bones crackling as Twilight’s body hit the mountainside. Damning memories, they were, memories Applejack frantically shook away. But in their place, came another memory. One that left her mouth dry and bitter like never before.

Applejack glanced at the nightstand beside the bed, and grimaced at the golden trinkets boxed in glass, cushioned by a velvet pillow.

A constant reminder of her duty. Of their duty.

Never had the Elements of Harmony looked so evil. They were responsible for this. They condemned Applejack and her friends to a life of peril. They skewered Twilight Sparkle with all those tubes, wrapped her with all those bandages. And they—the only reason Applejack hadn’t thrown them off a cliff—brought them together. Kept them together.

The Elements healed the worst of Twilight’s wounds, of all their wounds. The Elements trapped that dragon into the mountain which would’ve surely been their tomb. The Elements saved them. And that was the problem. If one should fall, the Elements would be useless. The dragon knew that. Any worthy enemy would know that. What if Applejack had succumbed to her own injuries during that terrible ordeal?

What if Twilight did?

Applejack’s blood hammered through her body, making sleep a long-forgotten need. Her moistening eyes stayed on Twilight, orange hooves clutching the ivory sheets over the unicorn. It just wasn’t enough. Raw emotion wasn’t enough. Strong faith wasn’t enough. Magic wasn’t enough.

If not for the Elements of Harmony… If not for Twilight…

Applejack looked toward the unicorn like she’d realized something spectacular. It was ridiculous, really. All this time, after everything they’ve shared with each other—learned with each other—Applejack fully comprehended Twilight’s importance. It was so obvious; the Elements hadn’t salvaged their victory, Twilight did. Without her, Applejack would have perished. Their friends would’ve perished.

But without the Elements, Twilight would’ve perished.

The revelations tumbled down on Applejack like mossy brick-walls. In that moment, everything made sense. In that moment, Applejack saw how vulnerable they all were. Worse, she saw how weak Twilight Sparkle truly was.

Applejack shook her thoughts away once more. The last thing she needed was to cry all over again. Tears were shed plenty and full already. And tears wouldn’t save anypony. Tears wouldn’t protect loved ones. And only then had Applejack found a solution.

It was right in front of her this whole time. Since the day that chariot landed in Ponyville, Applejack had wasted so much time, believing friendship would be enough, that any obstacle could be toppled with an insurmountable bond. She’d fooled herself. They all did. Twilight brought them together. Twilight kept them that way.

And she was weak. Pregnable. Destructible.

If Applejack could somehow change that—if she could somehow reshape Twilight, harden her—nothing would hurt her again. Nothing would threaten to take Ponyville’s greatest treasure away. Yes, Twilight wouldn’t need the Elements of Harmony. If her body was sharp and powerful as her mind, Twilight wouldn’t just be a force to be reckoned with. She’d be a force of Nature.

And Applejack would never hear those pained cries again. Would never see such a wonderful pony hooked to a heart monitor.

Applejack’s lip trembled, and she buried her face in Twilight’s covered belly, holding her sobs through sheer willpower.

The fur on Applejack’s neck bristled. The endless breeze, the only thing ensuring none of this was a terrible nightmare, stopped. Yet she still heard it, whistling through the window, making the curtains dance to its sad, wayward tune. Applejack lifted her head and frowned into the white sheets, unable to meet the new arrival, the pony blocking the breeze.

“Well done…” came a soft voice, gentle as a winter snow drift.

Applejack nearly scoffed, but held her tongue. She guessed correctly who it was, which only angered her more. There were several questions Applejack could’ve thrown at Princess Celestia. Why she gave them such a task. Why she wasn’t there when Twilight was first hospitalized. More pointedly, why she showed her face at all.

Every one of those questions threatened to burst from Applejack like a wind funnel, complete with stomping hooves and thrown objects. She didn’t move, though. Despite the approaching hoof steps, Applejack stayed exactly where she was.
Her ears stiffened, somehow unnerved by Celestia’s steady breaths, somehow growing even more protective of Twilight.

“I’m proud of you all,” Celestia said. “Yet again, you’ve done Equestria a great service.”

By now, Celestia stood beside Applejack. Her snow-white stature towered above the frowning farmer, above the slumbering Twilight. For the first time, in a long time, Applejack mulled over her own words. Worse, she fought the urge to slap Celestia stupid. But only when Celestia’s hoof rested on Twilight’s chest did Applejack actually want to kill her.

Celestia didn’t deserve to be in Twilight’s presence, let alone touch her, for what she’d put them through. Celestia either didn’t notice Applejack’s glare, or didn’t care. The two bathed in much less than companionable silence, watching over Twilight.

“Thank you… Applejack.” The farmer’s bulletproof glare cracked in an instant, completely caught off guard by the tears gathering at Celestia’s eyes. “I was so relieved when you’d all returned. But seeing Twilight draped over your back, I—“

A thousand times over, Applejack cursed her own forming tears. She restacked her glare, now softened by glistening eyes. The desire to point all the blame, all the hatred, all the bitterness at the sun princess bounced within Applejack like molecules in a balloon. The instant Celestia turned to her, Applejack’s angry gaze fell back on Twilight. Celestia’s hoof guided Applejack’s face back toward her.

And it took every lesson of humility ever beaten into Applejack’s subconscious not to slap it away.

“Can you ever forgive me, Applejack?” Celestia pleaded, her face the epitome of sympathy and guilt. “For what I’ve put you all through that day?”

The word ‘no’ echoed in Applejack’s head so loud, her ears nearly bled. Instead, tears rolled down her face, unrestricted. Applejack broke her gaze, turning away as much as she could. Mercifully, Celestia released the young mare and turned toward the window. Head bowed. Eyes closed.

Celestia’s magnificent wings jutted out, and she seemed more than ready to leave. And finally, Applejack found her voice. “What was it all for, Princess?” The farmer squinted at the cracks in her own voice.

Celestia wasn’t moving, yet, somehow, she’d stopped right in her tracks. She stood tall before the open window, letting the breeze caress her, letting the question sink in. Applejack frowned deep at Celestia’s back, the silence trying her patience.

“Y’all could’a had the Royal Guard handle it. Shoot, ya could’a had Discord handle it.” Applejack accused. “Why us?”
Celestia remained frozen. If she was breathing, it was impossible to tell. Applejack held her gaze, her falling tears long-forgotten. “All I want is the honest truth, Princess,” she said. “What was it all for?”

Celestia’s slightly-turned head was Applejack’s only hope of getting an answer. Truly, she hadn’t expected one, all but wishing Celestia would just fly off.

“Careful Diplomacy.”

Applejack wasn’t a forceful pony. Quite the opposite in fact. Yes, a paper-thin line stood between honesty and boorishness. Where one stripped away every lie, and lay the truth bear with unforgiving force, the other tore defenses away and crushed the opposition with an icy grip.

Applejack had reassured herself she was the former. Twilight needed help after all, needed somepony to support her shaky steps. It didn’t matter how adamantly Twilight feigned her lack of fatigue, or claimed she could walk on her own. Surely, as far as Applejack knew, a pony waking from a week-long coma needed help.

And with a little force, help is exactly what Applejack provided.

No, no. Not force. Applejack wasn’t a forceful pony. She was a compassionate, dependable pony who dutifully considered the wellbeing of her friends. Honesty was her tool, her weapon. And if Applejack had to use it on a friend who couldn’t acknowledge her own stumbles?

She could handle an empty glare with a fond smile.

“Now don’t go shootin’ me that look, Twi.” Applejack couldn’t do away with her teasing tone.

For the third time since they left the Hospital, Twilight grumbled beneath her breath, and shot a little pout to the dirt road. Perhaps if Twilight hadn’t actually needed something strong to lean on, to keep her hooves steady, she might’ve had ‘lecture’ ammo.

Applejack smiled on. Why wouldn’t she? Twilight recovered with little more than a few scars. She could walk, talk and think straight. Twilight was healthy. Twilight was alive.

Soon, the pair reached Golden Oaks Library. Much to Applejack chagrin, Twilight had a terrible time opening the front door with her magic. She tried to hide it, of course; every failure covered with a crooked smile. When the deed was done, Twilight tore herself from Applejack, and walked inside with very forced balance.

“Thanks… for walking me home, Applejack,” Twilight said, unable to look at the other mare.

Twilight’s knees buckled beneath her, and Applejack’s next words immediately died. She leaped forward and cushioned Twilight’s fall, lifting her back to her hooves. Applejack could’ve laughed, could’ve teased Twilight for her little blush and averted eyes. If she were cruel. Applejack was many things, but not cruel.

“Sugarcube? Are you—“

“I’m fine!” No sooner had her words snapped out, Twilight cringed. “I… I’m fine, Applejack.”

“Twilight…” Applejack hesitated, frowning against her own weakness. She knew if she hesitated anymore, intervention would never come, Twilight would never change. “Twilight, you… I… It just ain’t enough.”

Twilight began to shake, and Applejack battered down her own barriers, briskly marching through all her doubts.
“Twilight, we need more. You need more. You’re not—“ Applejack’s throat clenched when Twilight looked to her with wet eyes. “You’re not strong enough, Twilight.”

Applejack would’ve liked to think she was ready. Ready to brave the consequences of her honesty. Ready to combat Twilight’s rebuttals with cold hard fact. She may have indeed been ready for Twilight’s shouts and stomps. But tears rolling off her cheeks? Nothing prepared her for that.

“Shut up,” Twilight whispered.

Those two words bludgeoned Applejack’s heart to pieces. But she kept her jaw squared and her will solid. “No, Twi. I… I should’a said somethin’ a long time ago. I should’a seen it, should’a known.”

“Shut up!” Twilight ripped away from the farmer again, cursing her wobbly legs.

Applejack frowned, fighting the sting in her eyes, squinting through the waviness. “Twilight, you were there! Y’all saw what happened to us! You need to hear this!” she shouted.

Twilight paced—or rather stumbled—in angry circles. “No I don’t! We’ve won, Applejack! There’s nothing left to talk about!” she declared.

Applejack nearly laughed, but thought much, much better of it. “Ya almost died that day.” Twilight flinched back at Applejack’s change in tone, her pacing grounded to a halt. “And if ya did, so would the rest of us.”

Twilight glared emptily at the farmer, but all too soon, her tearful eyes wandered aside. “But I didn’t. I’m standing right in front of you. We made it.” Her momentum receded.

“And the next time?” Applejack voice was as leveled as her brow, deftly and quietly picking Twilight to pieces. “What then?”

Tough but fair. If Applejack kept thinking that, she could endure Twilight’s tears just a little longer. Twilight said nothing that time, and Applejack went for the ending blow.

“The Princess swooped in the other night, Twilight.” With Twilight’s perked ears, Applejack almost didn’t continue. Almost. “I asked her why she sent us instead of somepony else.”

Twilight frowned and Applejack knew exactly why; questioning the Princess was taboo, especially for the unicorn. “I’m sure she had a good reason,” Twilight said, very much defensively. “She always does.”

“Oh? Then maybe y’all can explain what ‘Careful Diplomacy’ means.” Applejack hadn’t meant to point at Twilight, or to sound so accusing, but her thoughts with Celestia weren’t exactly… cordial.

Twilight’s gaze fell to the floor, and she mouthed the words silently. Of course she didn’t know what it meant, Applejack thought. “Twilight, if she sends us off again, if we gotta go through somethin’ like that again...”

The moment Twilight turn her head away, Applejack knew she’d won. “Just… What do you want from me Applejack?” Twilight asked, her voice squeezed in her throat.

Applejack took the plunge. “I want ya to be better, Sugarcube. I… I wanna help y—“

“So then help me!” Twilight yelled in fresh bout of tears. “Fix me!”

No. No, Applejack refused to shed a single tear. “Twilight…”

Finally, any strength Twilight clung to left her, and her rump hit the floor. “I know I’m weak, okay?! I know without the Elements, we’d all be…!”

Applejack stepped forward and pressed her forehead against her friend’s. “I don’t gotta be this way. We can make you better. We can.” Applejack was unsure whom she tried to convince, really.

“How, Applejack?” Twilight said, thoroughly drained of aggression. “If I can’t handle one stupid Wyrm, then how can I stop bad things from happening to you?”

Honestly, Applejack hadn’t planned that far ahead. Worse, the question itself held a galaxy of complicated answers. But as the two mares stood face to face, forehead to forehead, the answer became as simple as farm life. Ironically.

Applejack smiled. “The Acres could sure use a dedicated worker, Twi,” she said. “It ain’t much… but it’s a start.”

Author's Notes:

TWIJACK!!!!! *Ahem* This is ambitious project of mine, one I've worked on for a good month or so. Got it planned and primed. All I ask is for good critique. After all, I NEVER want to stop improving. Let your reviews grant me POWER!!