Rain poured from the sky, pattering on Dean's face and seeping into his skin. He groaned, shifting slightly, stopping as mud squelched under his arms. His head swam and his brain felt fuzzy; he wasn't sure where he was or what had happened. His last memory was of trying to banish a room full of loudmouthed angel dicks. Something must have gone wrong somewhere; he didn't feel put together quite right.

"What in tarnation? A pony could catch their death sleepin' out in the rain; are you alright there, sugarcube?"

Dean blinked bleary eyes as he raised his face to the voice, making out a hazy face framed by blond hair and a cowboy hat. "Pony?" he questioned weakly, trying to push himself out of the mud. His arms felt odd, like they were bent the wrong way, yet there was no pain. He swayed violently, nearly falling back to the ground. A warm pressure caught him, however, setting him upright.

"Y'all are having kind of a rough night, ain't'cha?"

"Something like that," he answered, turning his head to look at the girl that was helping him. His eyes went wide and he recoiled. "Son of a – You're a horse!"

The dark-coated palomino raised an eyebrow. "Uh, pony, actually. Just like you, fella."

"Listen sister, you seem nice enough, so I'm not gonna gank you, but I'm not a pony." He took a step back, tripping over a protruding root and finding himself on his back, legs in the air. All four of them. "What the hay?...'What the hay?'….Nevermind…Zachariah! You feathery lunatic! What is this? You think you can turn me into a freakin' horse and I'll say yes? Think again you di – woah!"

The mare had grabbed hold of his tail…oh, god, he had a tail…and was tugging him to his feet once more. "That's better," she stated once she had him on all fours. "It ain't gentlecoltly ta shout like that, especially since there's nopony out here excepting for you and me. Now, my name's Applejack and who might you be?"

Mind still reeling, Dean opened his mouth. He was pretty sure his head told his tongue to say his name, but what tumbled out was, "Angel Blade." Oh, fantastic; not only was his brain to mouth function severely dysfunctional, but that had to be his alias. Dick angels with their broken humor. The only thing more obvious would be if they were making him call himself "Michael Sword".

"Angel Blade, huh? That's an odd one, I gotta admit, but it makes sense."

Dean raised an eyebrow at Applejack. "It does?"

"Well, hay yeah, it does. Matches yer cutie mark perfectly."

"My what-now?" Dean hoped and prayed he'd misheard, before realizing that prayers would only be heard by the bastards that did this to him in the first place.

"Yer cutie mark, silly. On yer flank." Applejack turned, showing her flank to Dean. He frowned at the three apples before looking away, hit with the knowledge that he was basically staring at the pony's ass.

Those bastards put a tramp stamp on my ass? Dean rolled his eyes at the sky before craning his neck around to take a look at the offending mark, raising an eyebrow. A silver sword was emblazoned over his tan coat, black wings making up the guard. Closer inspection revealed his anti-possession tattoo inlaid in the hilt. "Right. I guess that's not too bad," he muttered lowly. Actually, it was kind of bitchin'.

Wind shrieked between the trees, chilling him through his damp skin and he shivered, spraying droplets off his coat. Applejack shied away from the castoff before bringing a hoof to her forehead in a way that no normal equine should have been able to do. "Aw, shoot! Look at me, jabberin' on when you've been out in the rain for Celestia knows how long. Now you jus' follow me, fella; yer in for some Apple family hospitality tonight."

Dean hesitated before following the palomino mare through the darkness. Talking ponies might be creepy and unnatural, but it sure beat sleeping in the mud.


They didn't have to walk far before a large structure appeared in a large patch of cleared ground. A flash of lightning overhead revealed it to be a bright red barn. "Sure good to be home," Applejack announced, pushing the door open with her foreleg. "And out of that rain."

"I'll second that last part," Dean grumbled, unconsciously shaking himself before stepping into the structure. He ignored the cracks about her living in a barn that tumbled through his mind, reminding himself that she was a horse. Besides, on the inside, it actually resembled a house. Somewhat. "Nice place. Point me to the couch and I'll crash."

"Now, y'all is bein' ridiculous. We'll get ya a bed, but first, how 'bout some grub?"

Dean's stomach turned at the thought of food. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry, but he really couldn't see himself munching on hay, even if he was technically a pony. And he couldn't exactly ask for a bacon cheeseburger. Before he could protest, however, Applejack raised a hoof to her mouth and whistled. There was a rumbling, and then suddenly the room was filled with ponies.

"Angel Blade, allow me to introduce the Apple family. This here's Apple Fritter, Big Macintosh, Cousin Braeburn, Granny Smith…"

Dean zoned out, trying and failing to keep up with all the ponies as they were introduced. Applejack continued the introductions without pausing for breath until finally a tiny little pony with a ridiculously large bow stepped forward. "…and this is my little sister, Apple Bloom. Family, this here is Angel Blade. Found the poor colt sleepin' out in the mud and promised him some of our hospitality. C'mon, everypony; let's get some soup on!"

The enormous Apple family scattered, leaving a very confused Dean standing in the middle of the room, blinking dazedly.

"Enjoying yourself, Dean?"

Dean turned, glaring hard at the winged pony that had materialized in the room. "Zachariah, you feathery dickwad. Even as a cutsie pony, you still look like a creepy douchebag." Finally! His mouth was working again.

"Ah-ah…language, Deano. Be honest with yourself, you pitiful mud-monkey. You already hate it here. Just say the word, and you can go home. Be back on two legs."

"You know what, Zach? Screw you. You can drop me in this cutsie puke bucket. Hell, you can even leave me here; I don't care. Because the answer is no. It will always be no."

Zachariah's face faltered for a moment. "Have it your way, then. Enjoy the rest of your life as a pony. When you change your mind, let me know." With a flap of his wings, the angel was gone, vanishing just as Apple Bloom's bow came into view.

"Mister, who was ya talkin' to?"

"Nopony, kid." Damn it. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"How'd ya get yer cutie mark, Mister? Whatever it is that makes ya who ya are, I bet it's really somethin'."

Dean sighed, craning his neck to glance at the ass tattoo. "I honestly couldn't tell you, kid. This thing isn't me at all."

Apple Bloom looked confused, but her next question was cut off by Applejack's reappearance. "Apple Bloom, Angel Blade; supper's on." She pointed a hoof at Dean. "You'd better get a move on, fella, or you'll miss out on Granny's famous cures-what-ails-ya."

Once again, Dean's eyebrow rose, this time out of wariness. He really did not want to eat hay. Then again, what choice did he have? Eat straw or say yes. Roughage it was. Grudgingly, he followed the sisters to a long table, perking up at the sight. Real food covered every inch of it; sure it was almost all made of apples, but hell, it wasn't grass. His stomach rumbled hungrily. Maybe he could get used to this pony thing.

He found a spot beside a large chestnut pony that he recalled was named Big Macintosh. The larger stallion eyed him suspiciously and Dean couldn't help scooting a bit farther away; if this guy was a human, he'd probably outsize Sam. It would be better to stay on his good side.

He focused his attention on the table in front of him, his eyes going wide as a steaming hot pie was placed before him. "All yours, sugarcube. Granny's cure-all apple pie; the best in Equestria." Applejack gave him a smile before moving farther down the table and taking an empty seat. "Dig in everypony!"

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He dove into the pie, moaning with delight after the first bite. Best in Equestria, indeed. Try best in the universe. He was pretty sure this pie was better than sex, which he didn't really want to think about at the moment. Instead, he thought back to the last time he was surrounded by apples, grateful for the lack of pagan scarecrow gods and sociopathic denizens.

This time, he knew without a doubt what he'd never gotten the chance to find out back in freakin' Stepford.

So what if he had to prance around on all fours for the rest of his life? So what if he had a tattoo stamped on his ass cheeks? So what if he never got to taste another hamburger?

The pie…the pie was definitely worth it.