The good Dr. Crazystein, chapter 9
Dr. Crazystein meets a Monster
Candi stared at the ceiling thoughtfully, sitting on the couch with her arms crossed.
She’d ended up taking the day off. Aside from needing recuperation time herself, all three of the fluffies now under her roof needed supervising.
Ivo to make sure he would eat his antibiotics and make sure nobody else ate them.
Duskie because she was getting increasingly sure the filly was a run-away, which meant calling around and putting up ‘found fluffy’ ads. She also needed supervision to ensure the other two wouldn’t hurt her (though Ivo had quickly adopted her as another baby to take care of, so no issues there).
And Dr. Crazystein because the moron had food-poisoned himself, not having space for some bird organ in the food bowl and solving it by eating the damned thing. Scrubbing the gore from him had been unfun enough without having him puke up blood halfway through. (It took three cycles to get all the blood out! Three!)
All of them seemed to be doing fine, so she was all cleared to go to work again the next day, but the thought of doing so it was like a cold fist clenched around her heart. Sure, she could go to work. And return to a little filly whose horn had been transplanted to Ivo. Or maybe a dead toad currently being operated on. Or maybe all three fluffies dead due to having tried out a new miracle potion.
Still, she couldn’t use up all her sick days for fluffies. And she certainly couldn’t leave her little doctor unsupervised with a helpless, naive filly. Candi didn’t dare to even think about what could happen.
Contemplating this problem, Candi finally thought of a solution. It might be a little expensive to find one on such short notice, but …
She went to make another call.
“Good morning.”
Dr. Crazystein straightened a little as his owner poked her head through the door, sitting as good-fluffy-like as he could. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was still upset at him, despite his impeccable cleaning job (why else would she rinse and scrub him three times in a row and force him to chuck up everything he’d eaten?), and so he wanted to be absolutely sure she knew he was on his best behavior.
“You’re awake already?” asked his owner, blinking first at him, then at the small fluffpile where Ivo and the new foal were cuddled up. Dr. Crazystein followed her gaze, trying to decide if that question was meant to be answered or not - it wasn’t that he was up early after all, it was just that Ivo had overslept. His mom continued: “That’s good. Have you eaten?”
“Uh.” Okay, that was definitely not a rethorical question. However, it was such a strange question that Dr. Crazystein wasn’t sure how to answer. She had never asked this before. “… Nu?”
“You probably should, it’s gonna be a long day.”
Growing more confused by the second, but wanting to prove himself the most obedient and goodest fluffy in existence, Dr. Crazystein padded over to his food bowl and scooped a few bits of kibble into his mouth. He kept his eyes on his owner, waiting for her to be satisfied with him and leave.
She didn’t.
He tried eating a bit more. She kept watching him. Only after he had eaten his entire breakfast kibble did the human seem satisfied, and Dr. Crazystein dutifully took a step back as he watched her. She didn’t leave, mind you, rather she entered the saferoom and walked over to him …
And unceremoniously hoisted him into the air. Dr. Crazystein yelped, flailing his legs a bit before remembering he was a good fluffy and good fluffies did not panic-flail, forcing himself to calm down as his owner crouched by Ivo and nudged him awake.
“Hey, Ivo. Dr. Crazystein and I will be leaving now - you don’t have to worry if you can’t find him, okay?”
… Leaving? As she stood and began carrying him out of the saferoom, Dr. Crazystein started to squirm again. What did she mean, leaving? His place was here! At home, with bodyguards and science things! “Wait! Whewe awe we going?”
“I enrolled you in a fluffy daycare,” replied his owner, which felt far less reassuring than it was probably supposed to be, as she carried him out of the house and into her strawberry red car.
“What am dat?” Dr. Crazystein asked worriedly as he was strapped in.
The human patted him on the head and smiled as she sat in her own seat. “It’s like … A place where fluffies go to play with others and be watched over when their owners aren’t around.”
Oh, that sounded bad. It was exactly the kind of place regular fluffies would love, full of huggies and shrill voices and babbles. Dr. Crazystein tugged to try and escape the car belt, but to no avail. “Nu want dat.”
“Oh, you’ll like it.”
“Why Ivo ow … fwuffy … nu haf to go?”
His owner smirked, patting his head once more, and he couldn’t help note an air of maliciousness. “Because I can trust them.”
Once they reached the daycare it all happened so fast; it felt like they had barely left the car before he was handed to a stranger, dropped into a brightly colored playpen before the humans were even done talking. Then someone called out and introduced him, and suddenly a dozen pairs of brightly lit eyes were staring at him, a technicolor sea of fur everywhere he looked. Someone cried out ‘nyu fwend!’ and then several of the other fluffies - at LEAST three - ran forward to wrap their hooves around him.
They didn’t even ASK first. Dr. Crazystein had no chance against three of them, and the babble was too disorienting for him to keep up. He tried to escape the crowd clinging onto him, but it was no use. He couldn’t get away.
“Nu!” a filly voice suddenly cried out, loud and clear. “Nu gif hugs! Dat am bad fwuffy!!”
The trio-or-more of attackers suddenly relinquished their hold on Dr. Crazystein as confused murmuring took hold, everyone looking around and whispering about bad fluffyisms.
“Dat am meanie doctah!” the voice continued, and Dr. Crazystein managed to catch a glimpse of its source - a familiarly green filly with a yellow mane, a blue ribbon around her neck and her belly fluff cut short. “Doctah gif Mawy wowstest suwgewy owwies and nu even gif huggies to hewp!!”
A ripple of shocked gasps spread through the crowd, and one of the doctor’s assailants turned to him with eyes big as paper plates. “Am- am dat twue?”
“… Nu wike hugs,” replied Dr. Crazystein warily, still recovering his breath, and a second wave of horror spread through the fluffies around him. He may as well have said he peed on babies. He didn’t dispute the “mean doctor” thing though - mad scientists were built on the more-or-less undeserved scorn from others. Plus “mean” wasn’t far from “mad”.
“Meanie doctah!” cried Mary, pointing a hoof accusingly at the doctor. “Gif stompies and wowstest owwies! Nu want meanie munstah doctahs!”
The ensuing hesitation was palpable. Nobody moved, until a single fluffy raised a hoof - not to attack, just for the sake of speaking. “Bu’, um, if any fwuffy gets owwies, nu fwuffy gets sketties. Waiwwoad wikes sketties.”
“Oh. Wite.” Mary frowned, expression twisting in thought. “… Otay, nu huwties den. Bu’ nu hugs! Meanie fwuffies nu desewve hugs!”
That the other fluffies could agree on, and so they began to disperse. One pink mare gave Dr. Crazystein a final quick (and very unappreciated) hug, whispering an apology that she didn’t wanna go against everyone else, and then finally the doctor was given some personal space.
It may have been intended as a horrific punishment or revenge for something, but he quietly thanked Mary for saving his hide. The good doctor rested for a few moments, catching his breath and fluffing out the fur that had been smushed down from the hugs.
“Um… Hewwo,” spoke a quiet voice. “Fwend?”
Dr. Crazystein glanced up, ears flattened, already prepared to refuse this newcomer’s friendship - but then stopped.
In front of him, awkwardly scuffing his hooves and looking like he wanted to hide behind something, stood a stallion. He was orange and light brown, slightly bigger than the doctor, but most importantly? He had both wings and a horn, a scientific impossibility that meant he, like Ivo, must have gone through surgery to add new bits. Dr. Crazystein’s eyes widened and he gasped, falling back on the only appropriate word. “Munstah!”
The monster fluffy flinched back but the doctor had rushed up to him, studying the wings and brushing the fur aside to see where the stitches were. He couldn’t see any, so he reasoned it was the horn that was sewn on - but when he brushed aside the fluffy’s mane, he could see no stitches on the horn either. He checked the wings again, then the horn again, circling the fluffy who was getting more and more awkward.
“U-um, what fwuffy doing?” the monster finally asked, taking a step back to avoid yet another horn check.
“Nu am fwuffy, am Doctah Cwazystein!” corrected Dr. Crazystein, despite those things not being mutually exclusive. “An’ am wooking fow munstah stitchies! Nu can see - what pawts awe stitchied?”
“Stitchied?” the monster fluffy echoed awkwardly. “Nu haf stitchies… Amow haf both wingies and pwetty hown since Amow was babbeh.”
Dr. Crazystein blinked. “Nu haf suwgewies ow extwa pawts added?”
“Nu.”
“Munstah jus’… Bown as munstah?”
“Yus.”
Slowly, sparkles crept into Dr. Crazystein’s eyes. A natural-born monster. No need for stitches or experiments or anything, just… there. “Dat is so coow.”
“Y-Yu think so?” asked Amor. “Othew fwuffies say Amow am scawy an’ munstah.”
“Amow am munstah!” Dr. Crazystein declared delightedly. “Wike mad science munstah! An’ dat is supew coow!”
Amor deflated. “Bu’ Amow nu wan be munstah.”
“Weawwy?” The little doctor tilted his head to the side. “Why not?”
“Wan be nowmaw fwuffy an’ pway with evewyone. Othew fwuffies wun fwom Amow an’ cwy an’ say am scawy!”
Dr. Crazystein still saw no downsides to that, and it was a waste to de-monster a perfectly good monster fluffy, but … This was his expertise, and surgery was just as good for removing things as it was for adding them, and he did really love surgery. “… Doctah Cwazystein can hewp.”
“Weawwy?” asked Amor, cautiously hopeful. “Yu can?”
“Of couwse!” Already getting into the idea of a new kind of surgery, the little doctor proudly placed a hoof to his chest. “Am doctah!”
He just had to find some surgery supplies, and then they’d be good to go!
As he explored the playpen, Amor in tow, Dr. Crazystein soon found that his plan had hit a snag. He knew what he needed - a sharpy tool, white softy stuff, stitches and band-aids - but absolutely none of those things were anywhere to be found.
There were blockies and balls, stuffy friends and a big TV screen. There were some other fluffies too, of course, but they seemed hesitant to approach and just glanced at the duo with fearful faces.
There was also Mary, who seemed to always be nearby and glowering for some reason, but he wasn’t sure what to make of that.
After looking through everything twice over, Dr. Crazystein took to climbing onto the tallest and most worn stuffy friend in the whole pen, looking around to see if a higher vantage point would let him find what he sought.
Nothing.
“What am doctah wooking fow?” asked Amor as the little doctor climbed down, grumbling.
“Nee’ shawpy toow,” he replied. “An’ white soft thingy an’ band-aids.”
The monster fluffy hesitated, as if considering whether to ask. “… Why doctah need shawpy toow?”
“Because!” Dr. Crazystein cheered up at once, walking up beside to his new friend and jabbing a hoof at his wings. "What makes Amow munstah is… wingies! So Doctah Cwazystein wemove wingies, with suwgewy!"
To his surprise, Amor actively recoiled. “Nu! Amow wuvs wingies!”
The little doctor paused for a moment, then pointed to Amor’s forehead. “Wemove pointy hown, then-?”
“Nu!” The monster fluffy hid his horn with his hooves. “Nu, Amow wuvs pwetty hown!”
“But …”
“Amow wan keep both wingies and pwetty hown, just nu wan be munstah!”
… Okay, that was a tall order. The wings and horn were what made him a monster to begin with! He’d be one as long as he had them! Dr. Crazystein sat down and tapped at his chin, trying to think of a solution. How could he remove something without removing it?
“Doctah… nu can hewp?” Amor asked quietly, looking disheartened. The doctor huffed, suddenly feeling offended. How could he doubt his skills? His science skills?
“Can hewp!” he insisted, more out of pride than anything. “Doctah Cwazystein know jus’ what tu do, haf a pwan!”
He just had to figure out exactly what said plan was.
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