As the pair, a colt and filly, trod through the serene snow away from an abandoned factory they'd finished playing in, the older filly finally broached the one topic that interested her the most. “Who is that mare on your back, and why do you carry her?” The frost in the air kept things chilly and crisp under the smothering cloud cover.

Fearshatter winced and twitched for a second as if something had hit him. Stomach dropping from his body. Still. It always... Felt better talking about it. As if he was able to give a word of warning or to just enjoy regaling ponies with the tale. Nopony ever stuck around though. But since this pony might stick around... Maybe he should go into more detail? He looked back behind him at the oversized stuffed plushie strapped to his back with a cord. At least one and a half times his size, maybe a little more. It was his mother who he carried with him everywhere. Her mouth and other orifices had been sewn shut, and she had thread reinforcing several bits of torn preserved flesh here and there, as well as along the underside. Brainstorm had been a beautiful mare in life, and even now with her somehow sustained, vibrant-now-dull lime green eyes she was a sight to behold, despite all the dust that had covered her once pristine powder white coat. Her precious golden mane was still swept back like flames in a forest or waves on a beach, with a light crimson dusting scattered throughout, same colors as her coiled tail. Her cutie mark was faded from the elements and whatever chemical he'd found, but one could still make out the dark gray brain with three yellow thunderbolts sparking outward from the bottom.

Fear looked back and nodded. "Well... It was early in the morning.”

---

The sound of gunfire was prevalent on the prewar farmhouse, near an old bunker, shots ringing out constantly, bullets flying and chipping against the rock Brainstorm and her foal were hiding behind. The littlest, cutest colt crying, his friendly, glowing blue eyes full of tears that never stopped flowing.

“M-mommy are we going to be okay?”

The raiders screamed. “We're going to skin you alive you bitch! Stop fighting and maybe we'll go easy on that colt of yours!”

A motherly smile. Storm pat Fear on the head with one hoof, running it through his curly, unkempt purple mane as she held the M1 Garand in her other foreleg, holding the sten-like trigger bit in her mouth, releasing it for but a moment. “Everything's going to be just fine sweetie. It's just a little scuffle between bad ponies. I'll make sure to sing you your favorite song when this is all over.” The mare sounded so sure of herself, the pendant around her neck rustling against her chest. One... Two... Time for them to reload. The raiders so far had not shown smart tactics, firing together instead of separately. The fence and rocks they were hiding behind were good cover though.

Fear nodded, sniffling, looking so adorable and helpless. His coiled, twisted purple tail flicking to the side. He could feel his mom's emotions. She was completely calm and at peace. Everything would be okay if even Mommy could be strong in such a violent, chaotic cacophony.

Storm grimaced and focused, rolling around the rock and getting down on her stomach, looking through the rifle's scope, holding the trigger in her mouth, using one hoof to balance it against her shoulder, and the other hoof to adjust the sight. A unicorn could use it better honestly. But she was skilled with it. She had practiced with it many times and was an expert by this point, and had taught her son the basics. Time slowed to a stop for her as she focused on the raiders attacking them, as if she were falling into an organic form of SATS. There were the four. She restored her sense of perceptions and moved to line up the gun with the first raider. Bam. He was down as he was reloading. The bullet casing flew out. Next. Bam. Down. Storm was a smart mare, but she had underestimated. They'd been lulling her into a false sense of security.

Without warning, as she was aiming a fifth came out of hiding and targeted her. The next shot rang out and through her skull, brain matter exploding outward through the small hole.

Everything slowed down as Fear looked at his mother, laying on the ground. Dying. It wasn't an instant death. Fear brought his forelegs to his muzzle. He screamed. His mother was feeling things in order. Panic for her son. Panic for her life. Then peace. Fear sensed it all. She didn't even have time to tell him she loved him. He couldn't even tell her he loved her. He sniffled, his jaw jerking, snout flaring. Tears flowed. He reached forward.

“YEAH! GOT THE BITCH! Now we can get that stupid fucking colt!”

Fear lunged forward. Everything was numb. What had just happened? One minute his mother was calm with deadly precision. The precision of a teacher who knew she had to defend her son. Fear was shaking. No, he was trembling violently. Everything was crashing down around him. He had no one. His jaw slackened. His brain was fizzing out. His eyes were turning red. No, this couldn't be. It was too soon. Mom always said the wasteland was a harsh place... Memories flashed through his mind. Laughing with her, learning with her, traveling with her, snuggling with her. His favorite song. He'd... His eyes quivered. He'd never get to do any of that with her again. These raiders had taken everything he held dear from him. And they were going to take more. They were coming out from cover. Fear's emotions burned. They blazed. His short horn grew a field of magic. He'd been pretty shit at magic before, always having to use the mouth handle and take the pain of kickback. But now... Fear grit his teeth, getting low to the ground like his mother taught him. Aim. Fire. Fear stared through the sight, holding the gun against his shoulder like he'd been taught, balancing it with one foreleg and eyes focusing on the crosshair as much as he could. It was a little faulty due to his shaking and small body, but he tried his best.

One blam. The kickback hurt. “Shit! THE COLT'S FIRING AT US!”

They ran for cover.

No. Fear couldn't let them get away. Another shot. The bullet pinged off the dirt. Four bullets left. Mom always told him to keep count. He aimed harder, gritting his teeth and ground them into powder. He had to get this right. Line up. Fire.

BAM. There was a wet, squishy plap and a raider went down to the ground, a scream ripping out that began to taper off as the stallion bled to death. Fear had hit an artery.

Three bullets. Two murderers.

“STOP AND KILL THAT COLT!” The stallions got down low to the ground with their own weapons and started to fire.

Fear felt images caress his brain as it crackled with energy, the pendant on his mother's body glowing from such close proximity- not that Fear knew. Bullets whizzed over the colt's body. Forms of him bleeding out desperately and his dead mother being used as a fleshlight in front of him coalesced in his mind, driving him further. Just an overactive imagination right?

“Fucking fire at him!”

“My gun's jamming!”

“Fuck everything!”

Fear felt calm. It wouldn't last. He fired. A miss. Just barely. Two bullets left. He didn't have time to reload. They'd be on him once they heard the ping of him being out. Images of him being shackled and used as a slave in Fillydelphia barraged his mind. Horrid radiation poisoning. Malnutrition. Abuse. He'd heard horror stories on his mother's radio of the place. DJ-P0N3 warned about it. No. He couldn't let that happen to him. He would stop this here and now.

Aim. Fire.

BAM!

A loud squelch. A scream. Bleeding out again.

“Going to shove my hoof up Suncow's ass!”

Fear had one more bullet left. He had to make it count. Shots flew over him. One nearly grazed his cheek. The colt's sparkling red eyes were glowing brighter than ever. He was on a mission. For vengeance. Karma. He'd make them pay.

Line up. Pull the trigger.

BOOM!

Thuck. The clip pinged as it was ejected.

Everything was silent.

Fear started to cry. He started to sob. He didn't put down the gun. Mom's lessons. Never carry an empty weapon. Fear reached for his mother's saddlebags, opening them up like they were a purse and rooting around for the next en-bloc clip. Put the tip against the ground. Flick the safety on. Slide out the bolt. Jam in the clip. Shuck. Fear set down the gun and moved to his mother. He held her in his forelegs, looking at the bullet wound in her skull. He needed to use her first aid kit and sew that up. The colt felt something strange on his flanks and looked back. His cutie mark. A jagged spiral of rainbow energy. He needed... What did he need? He needed his mother back. Cutie mark didn't matter. His mother couldn't be proud of it if she was dead. The pain in his shoulder didn't matter. The agony in his head. The things he'd seen. All of it. Was too much. The vivid pictures of his mother being used.

“No... Mommy... I couldn't let it happen.”

The colt would eventually loot the bodies like taught and struggled to drag his mother back to the prewar bunker they had been staying at. Under the tarps and ancient appliances. He had an idea. A crazy one. But it'd allow him to be with her forever. He'd gut her. Preserve her coat. Take out the bones. Stuff her and sew her back up.

Starting the process was the hardest part. It felt like he was being dragged through mud toward a cliff. He knew that after doing this there would be no going back, but he also knew if he didn't hurry, he would lose his mother for good. But he also knew, somehow, that he'd already lost her. He didn't feel her soul signature anymore. She was gone. And if he didn't rush the body would begin to rot. But beginning seemed so insurmountable as well. It was nearly paralyzing. Eventually he ceased his uncertainty and shoved himself over the cliff into the brink. Tumbling down the mountain of sanity toward rock bottom. Getting battered, bruised, and broken bones the entire way.

It took three days without sleep and only water and food breaks, just listening to DJ-P0N3 while he worked, using telekinesis for the fine, dexterous motions in stitching. His telekinesis might've been empowered by the trauma, but even before: manipulating something as small as a needle was relatively easy. The place reeked of death and other things. Knowing how to gut and eat rad monsters had helped. Fear was covered in his mother's blood for a couple weeks before he finally found a place to bathe and get the blood out of his dark gray, fluffy coat of fur.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e2ZaFg40vqY

Author's Notes:

For those wondering, I get it's a mistake to not show Storm and Fear being happy mother and son for a few chapters, but that's kind of the point. We're supposed to hear about it all in past tense, because that's what it is. It's completely cut off from who Fear is now, and Fear is trying to find that self once more.