“Would you like to go get some apple cider?” asked Twilight.

“Would you like my hoof in your ass?” I muttered. “The sun isn’t up yet.”

“We have to get there before the crowds.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s the opening day of Cider Season.” She sounded excited.

“We have a season for cider?”

“Why sure. Applejack’s only been talking about it for the last month.”

“Weird. I don’t remember that.”

“Won’t you come?”

“Well, if it’ll make you happy, I’ll go.” I pushed myself off the couch.

“Weee!” said Spike. “The opening day of Cider Season means that it’s only thirty days to Sapphire season.”

“Who likes rocks?” I asked. “Besides you.”

“Well, technically they’re minerals.” Spike shrugged.

“Whatever.”

We left and went over to Sweet Apple acres. There were lots of ponies already in line.

“Wow!” said Twilight. “I hope they don’t run out.”

“Well howdy Twilight, Spike, Valiant,” said Applejack. Loudly she said, “Attention! Cider season is open!”

Walking away from the crowd, Applejack began helping her family collect bits and dole out mugs of cider.

When our turn came, we paid for some of the special cider. I wasn’t really sure how to tell the difference.

“What makes this different from regular cider that we can buy anytime?” I asked.

“Well-kept family recipe,” answered Granny Smith.

Well, down the hatch, I suppose. I took a gulp.

“Walnuts!” I screamed, falling to the ground.

They took me to the Ponyville clinic. Not really necessary, but required for insurance reasons. Applejack showed up to apologize.

“Shouldn’t you be helping to sell cider?” I asked.

“We ran out.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Every year. We’ll make more tomorrow.”

“Couldn’t you have told me that you flavor it with nuts?”

“Sorry sugarcube. I was a little distracted. I just got a letter from cousin Braeburn.”

“I thought he got trampled by a buffalo.”

“Well, he did, but I just found out that it didn’t kill ‘im!”

“That’s great to hear. Took a while, though.”

“Well, he just got out of a coma.”

“In a coma for that long?” It seemed like it had been months since the Appaloosa Massacre. “Just how badly was he hurt?”

“Three legs, an ear, and an eye.”

“Three legs, an ear, and an eye, what?”

“Had to be amputated.” Her ears dipped.

Ouch. “But hey, at least he’s alive!”

She nodded, face brightening. “He’s comin’ for a visit soon. Said somethin’ about stickin’ around for a while.”

Oh God, the guilt was going to kill me. If you wanted to be really technical about it and play the blame game, I may have sorta maybe had something to do with the massacre.

The next day, I was back at Sweet Apple Acres trying to sell ponies shots of liquor to put in their cider. It wasn’t working very well.

A strange machine came rolling up to the cider stand. Two smartly-attired ponies stepped out, smiling and clearly trying to sell us something. I can spot traveling peddlers a mile off.

They were brothers named Flim and Flam, and they were exactly the slick operators I had expected. Something about their names set me on edge, but for some reason none of the other ponies noticed it.

After a nice little song, they tried to make a business partnership with the Apple family. It wasn’t going to work out.

“No deal,” said Big Macintosh firmly. I realized that two words were the most I’d ever heard him string together.

“Very well,” said Flim. “If you refuse our generous offer to be partners, then we'll just have to be competitors. How about a competition to see who can make the most cider?”

“You wouldn't dare,” said Applejack.

“Actually,” I put in, “It’s really easy. It’s called Capitalism. Competing companies succeed or fail based on how good of a job they do. It’s as American as apple pie.”

“That does sound pretty American,” said Apple Bloom. “But what’s that mean?”

“In time, young one.”

I turned to Flim and Flam. “Gentlemen, I encourage you to make your product better, cheaper, faster. Innovation drives quality of life.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” shouted Applejack.

“Oh don’t worry,” I told her. “It’s also the American way to be skeptical of outsiders.”

Turning back to the brothers, I said, “So, you two show up for the contest tomorrow and bring your A-game. If you lose, we’ll run you out of town on a rail.”

The two of them laughed nervously and rolled away in their machine.

Cousin Braeburn showed up that afternoon. I helped Applejack fetch him from the train station.

“Howdy cousin.” Braeburn was wrapped in bandages. One side of his head was misshapen, and his three stump legs gave me the creeps.

“It’s good to see you,” said Applejack. I heard the strain in her voice. It was technically true that she wanted to see him, but he looked anything but good.

I helped Applejack push his wheelchair back to the farm where he would be staying and then I went back to the library.

After seeing Braeburn, I felt even more guilty about what had happened. Luckily, I could do something about it.

This was the kind of thing that Twilight didn’t need to know about. She’d tentatively accepted the idea that I was actually human, but I wasn’t ready to share all my secrets just yet.

A couple of hours after the sun had set, Pinkie and I snuck over to the farm and kidnapped Braeburn right out of his bed. It was rather easy, as his wheelchair was sitting right there and he was a heavy sleeper.

Admittedly, we probably shouldn’t have strapped him to a table in the basement of Sugarcube Corner. He freaked the hell out when he woke up.

“Oh Celestia! What are you doing with me?”

“Whoa, relax,” I told him. “We’re here to help. Pinkie, do you have the knife?” She gave me a meat cleaver.

“What the—where did you even get this?”

Pinkie shrugged. “Just something I had around.”

“This is not what I asked for, Pinkie! I wanted a small precise scalpel, not a freaking cleaver! This is for chopping stuff. He’s already been chopped!”

“Please don’t kill me,” squeaked Braeburn.

“Shut up.” I jammed a bottle of alcohol from my still into his mouth and held it there for a few seconds.

He sputtered once I let him take a breath. “What is that stuff?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.” I took a big swig of my own. Tossing the bottle away, I started cutting.

The next morning was bright and clear. The perfect day for a Capitalism demonstration. Take that, Commie ponies.

The Mayor kicked off the event. “The teams have one hour to produce as much cider as they can, after which the barrels will be counted, and the winner will be named the sole cider provider for all of Ponyville! The teams are the Flim Flam Brothers, and the Apple Family!”

I saw the brothers lounging on their machine. Walking over, I said, “So this is open to any member of the Apple Family?”

“That’s right,” said Flim placidly.

“Cool. Hey Braeburn!”

A startled gasp came from the crowd. The group of ponies parted and a stallion came walking up, clanking slightly with every step.

Three of his legs were made of metal, with exposed gears and actuators visible. Half his skull had been capped with metal, one eye and one ear replaced with electronics.

The parts didn’t fit very well, as they had been scavenged from a mare-sized robot that had been sitting around gathering dust for a while. After getting Braeburn drunk enough not to feel pain and using the rest of the alcohol to sterilize the tools, Pinkie and I had spent all night getting everything attached.

Having never seen a cyborg before, the residents of Ponyville freaked out and ran away screaming.

“Uh, Flim?” said Flam.

“Yes, brother?”

“I don’t want to compete against the Apple Family anymore.” They zoomed away on their machine.

“Braeburn, what in tarnation happened to you?” said Applejack.

“Dr. Valiant here got me walking again.” He smiled lopsidedly, because half his face was missing.

“Valiant ain’t a doctor,” said Apple Bloom.

“You aren’t?” shouted Braeburn.

“Yeah, you would never agreed to let me do that to you if I confessed that I didn’t know anything about anatomy.”

“I didn’t agree to let you do it anyway!”

“Dude, you’re the six-million-bit pony.” I got in his face. “Six million bits in debt to me. That stuff wasn’t cheap.”

“Uh, can we make you some cider?” said Applejack. “No nuts.”

I shrugged. “Or that.”

Author note:
I'm thinking about writing a Dukes of Hazzard crossover. If this isn't a good idea, say so. I don't want to spend my time writing something nobody will read. Be honest and tell me exactly what you think. Remember, I can't downvote you.