Pistol’s right hoof slammed into Red’s side, breaking several ribs. Both fluffies tumbled as they slid across the floor, but Pistol got back up first. Spinning back towards Red, Pistol slammed his front hooves down on Red’s left hip, shattering Red’s pelvis, destroying his dick and balls. Pistol then proceeded to methodically crush Red’s left rear leg, then the right, then the left front leg, then the right. Walking around the immobile, sobbing colt, Pistol then stared Red in the eyes for a moment before leaning forward and biting Red’s head off, which he swallowed whole before declaring: “SHIT SO WEAK IS BROKEN BY ALL!”
Wait…
None of that happened.
What actually happened was:
Pistol leapt over the prone filly and tackled Red. Grabbing the smarty with his front hooves, Pistol tucked Red into his belly and rolled, coming to a stop after two complete rolls. Pistol sat up, and while Red was shouting nonstop and struggling hopelessly against the much larger alicorn, Pistol transferred the red fluffed foal to his mouth and ran over to the tiny sorry box. Again holding Red in his hooves, Pistol quickly set Red down into the sorry box before sprinting back to the brown foal, who by now was frantically chirping and wailing. By this point, Sally had righted herself, and was gently cradling the filly, singing softly to her. Sally and Pistol shared a brief glance before both nodded. While Sally kept singing to the injured filly, Pistol ran to Dave.
Dave had been watching everything on the security camera via his computer, and was very impressed with how effective coaching Red seemed to have been. It was less than a minute before Pistol had crossed the house and was skidding through the door to Dave’s computer room. “Daddeh! Wed gu smawty-cwazy! Wed gib bwown fiwwy ba’ huwties! Pwease Daddeh, Hewp bwown fiwwy, she gud babbeh, and su widdwe, nee hooman hewpies! Pwease!”
“Sounds to me like you and Sally didn’t do a very good job caring for your babbehs then.” Dave said with a smirk.
“Deaw wit dat watah, bwown babbeh need hewp now!” Pistol countered, undistracted and still laser focused on getting the filly help.
“You do realize that you and Sally might have all your babbehs taken away for letting her get hurt, right?” Dave responded, hoping the fear of punishment might give Pistol pause.
“NU CAWE! HEWP BWOWN BABBEH!” Pistol cried, tears streaming down his face.
“Shit!” Dave thought, “Even in a crisis, the dude’s still on point, and dealing with the injured kid is what any reasonable parent would do first. Fuck, given red’s not even their foal, I’m not sure if this even counts. FUCK”
“Fine!” Dave finally relented, “I’ll take her to a vet, but in the meanwhile, you need to deal with Red, or when I get back, I will.”
Dave left Pistol in the room, jogged his way to the safe room, gently took the filly to his car, and left, heading for the vet.
Pistol made his way back to the safe room almost in a trance. On his way back, he saw nothing, heard nothing, and thought nothing, his body a machine moving on autopilot. At least, it was until he reached the safe room door and saw Sally trying to nurse the rest of the foals, but she was sobbing into a hoof, unable to stop crying, but not wanting to alarm the other foals any further.
Pistol gave Sally a long hug and helped her nurse the rest of the litter before filling her food bowl and cleaning the litter box. When he was done, he started walking over to the sorry box.
“Wat Pistow gonna du?” Sally asked quietly. Pistol stopped and turned to face her.
“Pistow nu no Sawwy.”
Pistol turned back to the sorry box and approached it. Red was curled up in a corner, and sensing Pistol’s approach, raised his head to meet Pistol’s head with fear in his eyes.
Pistol sat next to the sorry box, his front shoulders and head towering above the edges. He looked down at the colt before saying, “Pwease teww Pistow why Wed gib sissy scweamies an hewties.”
Red was slightly surprised that Pistol didn’t seem mad, and happy to be given another chance to explain how poopie fluffies are supposed to be treated. “Wed saw poopie babbeh steawing miwkies, an’ Wed nee teww poopie babbeh wha poopie fwuffy am, bu 'cause poopie babbeh nu wisten wast time, Wed tawk woudah an gib hewties su poopie babbeh wemembah dis time.”
Pistol sighed, “Why du yu tink bwown babbeh am poopie”
“Siwwy daddeh, poopie babbie wook wike poopies, an’ su am 'posed tu num poopies.” Red hadn’t realized that Pistol simply didn’t know all this stuff, he would have explained it earlier had he known.
“Sawwy wook wike da sky, su Sawwy num da sky, wight? Yu wook wike boo-boo juice, su Wed only 'posed tu num boo-boo juice den, wight?”
“Nu daddeh, dat siwwy, Wed num nummies an miwkies, nu wan num boo-boo juice.”
“An’ Sawwy nu num sky,” Pistol finished, “Su den, why dat wuwe onwy appwy tu bwown babbeh?”
“Cause it du! Wed jus no! Wed am smawty, and smawty aways wight!” Red said, hoping that going to the basics would help Pistol understand.
“But wha if Wed am wong anyway?”
Red looked very confused.
Pistol sighed, “Pistow knu a smawty wunce, he wud wed, wike yu, an was pointie, wike yu.”
“Wed wike dis smawty.” Red interjected. Pistol just shook his head.
“Dis smawty was suwe he was wight aways, an towd da hewd dat. Da hewd bewibed him. Da smawty towd da hewd dat a fwuffy dat had a pwetty speshul fwend was pwanning tu num aww da hewd’s babbehs, su da smawty towd da toughies tu gib dat fwuffy fowevah sweepies. Da smawty den made da pwetty mawe smawty’s speshul fwend.
Da smawty decwawed wun day dat aww da mawes in da hewd couwd owny hab speshul huggies with da smawty, 'cause smawty nu wanned any dummeh babbehs fwom otha stawwions in smawty hewd.”
“Su many speshul huggies!” Red said, imagining it in awe, despite only having the faintest concept of what sex was.
“Da smawty den found hooman nummies behind a big hooman waww, su smawty towd da hewd dat dey wib dewe now, an dat smawty get fiwstest nummies, den smawty’s speshul fwend, den da toughies, den da mummehs, den da soon-mummehs, den aww da otha fwuffies. By da time da toughies finished dey nummies, dewe wewe nu nummies weft fow da oddah fwuffies. Bu ebey day, da hooman nummies came back, an ebey day onwy da smawty an smawty’s speshul fwend had 'nuff nummies, but smawty nu cawe 'bout da otha fwuffies, towd dem if dey no find nummies, den they num poopies. Aftah a few bwight times, da toughies decided dat da smawty nu was aways wight, an wen smawty was sweepies, dey bwoke smawty’s weggies and da weggies ob smawty’s speshul fwend. Da hewd den weft dem dewe, an wen tu fin 'nuff nummies fow aww da hewd tu hab nummies. An da smawty speshul fwend went fowevah sweepies, cause she nu hab any nummies. An den da smawty went fowevah sweepies, aww awone”
“Dat smawty wa dummeh! Nu smawty at aww!” Red declared after pondering Pistol’s story.
“Bu da smawty was tinkies was smawty, jus wike Wed tink Wed am smawty.”
The revelation hit Red like a sledgehammer to the brain. “Wed cud be wong?!?” Red asked, shuddering and shaking.
“Aww fwuffies am wong sometimes.” Pistol said softly. “Bu smawty fwuffies wong mowe den most.”
Red kept shuddering as implications struck him like machine gun bullets. “Am Wed stiww smawty?”
“Dat,” Pistol said, “Is da question dat Wed nee answah- am Wed smawty?”
Red’s eyes bugged out as he released a terrified deluge of scardy poopies. “Wed nu wan wose hewd! Wed nu wan wose speshul fwend! Wed nu wan wose weggies! Wed nu wan fowevah sweepies! Wed nu wan be smawty nu mowe!”
Pistol sighed, he was really getting somewhere now. “Wha 'bout bwown fwuffies? Wha if bwown fwuffies jus am fwuffies, an jus wan wha oddah fwuffies wan, wike wub an huggies an nummies an pway.”
“Dey… Dey nu am fow num poopies? Dey nu poopie fwuffies?” Red sputtered, open mouthed.
“Nu, dey jus bwown, an bwown fwuff can be pwetty tu.”
Red just nodded, almost absently, as he stared a thousand yards through Pistol’s eyes.
“Now, wha Wed hab tu say 'bout wha Wed did to bwown sistah?”
Red blinked, abject horror on his face. He shuddered his hardest yet before curling into a ball shouting, “WED AM MUNSTA! WED AM MUNSTA! WED AM MUNSTA!” He then devolved into violent sobbing as he continued shaking.
Pistol put a hoof into the sorry box, and laid it gently on Red’s side until the colt had calmed down enough to listen again.
“Dewe am test fow if fwuffy am munsta. Wha Wed did was munsta ting. If aftah Wed undastan dat bwown fwuffies jus hab bwown fwuff an dat aww fwuffies am wong sometimes, an Wed stiww tink wha Wed did was wight an am pwoud ob doing it, onwy den am wed munsta.” Pistol watched carefully for Red’s response.
“Bu Wed hewt sissy!” Red wailed.
“Yu did hewt sissy, an yu nee be punished.” Pistol said straightening up. “Wed punishment am tu num aww da poopies in da sowwy bocks, den stay in bocks tiww dawk time gu 'way. Den nu sweepies in fwuff pile tiww bwown sissy wet Wed back. Am dat faiw?”
Red paused before looking down, “Dat faiw… Am sissy okay?”
“Pistow nu no, Dave daddeh wen wit bwown fiwwy to fwuffy doktah. Pistow hope it nu tu wate.”
Pistol went back to Sally to comfort her and the foals.
