//------------------------------//
// The First of the Second Moon, year 1820 of Celestia's reign 
// Story: Scootaloo's Hollow 
// by Dead_Mares 
//------------------------------//

Dreadwing blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dark room and dreary atmosphere. He had entered into Scootaloo's bedroom, which was quite bare. The only items in it were an old bed, a small dresser, her broken scooter, and a single lightbulb that hung from a wire in the ceiling. The filly had said her scooter was having problems, but it looked to Dreadwing as if it were smashed deliberately. "How odd," he thought to himself.

A loud squeak echoed through the building as the door to Scootaloo's room swung open. It froze at the sudden noise, and when the sound of heavy hoofsteps began to echo down the hall the orange pegasus bolted inside and slammed the door shut behind her. Dreadwing felt terror rapidly build up in her mind as she leaned back against the door in an attempt to hold it shut, which perplexed him.

Scootaloo held her breath as the hoofsteps came to a stop in front of her door. The doorknob slowly began to turn, and when the pony on the other side began to open it, the filly pushed back with all of her strength. There was a grunt from the other side of the door, followed by a scratchy voice. "You wanna do this again? Have it your way." There was a brief pause before the door was flung open and Scootaloo went skidding a few feet along the floor. In the empty frame stood a  light brown earth pony with a short purple mane and gray eyes. And he looked angry.

This pony, Scootaloo's father, reeked of alcohol. Dreadwing had never smelled the stench so strong on anypony before, and he barely managed to stifle a gag at the suffocating air. The pony snorted and marched into the room, straight to Scootaloo. "And just what do you think you're doing, coming home so late?"

Scootaloo swallowed and glanced up at the sorry excuse of a stallion. "I was just... riding my scooter. I lost track of time."

The pony stamped a hoof sharply against the floor and Scootaloo let out a yelp. "Bullshit! We both know you can't ride now, I made sure of that last time. Because you weren't here there wasn't anypony to make dinner."

"I'm sorry," Scootaloo whimpered pitifully.

"You will be." The pony reared back with one foreleg with such malice in his eyes that Dreadwing had never seen. Nothing compared to the pure evil in this being's heart. Not Discord, not Tirek, not even Grogar could match this unreasonable malevolence. Despite his own warped morality, Dreadwing was taken aback by this cold aura. So much so that he very nearly failed to react in time.

Scootaloo flinched back as the large hoof halted a hair's breadth from her muzzle. As Dreadwing had not chosen to appear to her she could not see him, but her father could. He snorted after he glanced up at the massive creature that held his foreleg firmly in one of his clawed hands. "What a shitty costume. Get out of my house before I crush your skull in."

Dreadwing tightened his hand around the pony's foreleg. "No. Your time has come, filth."

The pony screamed as Dreadwing crushed his foreleg effortlessly in his grasp, as if it were no stronger than a toothpick. He then flung the stallion upwards by his broken limb, using his magic to make the pony phase through the ceiling and into the attic, where a dull thud could be heard as he hit the ceiling. As much relief as Scootaloo would probably feel once her father was dead, Dreadwing felt she did not need to see such things. He would not scar his friend that way.

Dreadwing flew upwards and phased into the attic. Before the stallion had even hit the floor the creature was upon him, pinning him by his neck to the angled ceiling. The pony's eyes bulged out and his forelegs fumbled vainly against the far stronger being.

"Be glad I only kill you. If I weren't so merciful I would keep you alive for years and torture you the way you have your daughter." Dreadwing tightened his cold grip around the stallion's throat and grunted in satisfaction as he felt the pony's windpipe crush flat against his thumb.

The stallion's struggles grew weaker and more ineffectual as he began to slip into unconsciousness. Once there, Dreadwing would happily snap his neck and dispose of the body.

The ladder at the end of the small room slid to the floor of the hallway below, and Dreadwing turned his head at the noise. Having expected Scootaloo's mother to come to her husband's aid he readied his magic, but stopped when the young filly herself raced up into the attic and turned to find her father pinned against the ceiling by an invisible force. She paused for a second, confused, before she remembered Dreadwing's magic and looked in his general area.

"Please don't do this, Dreadwing," she said with an odd hint of panic in her voice.

Dreadwing appeared to her and frowned. "Why not? He is the reason of your despair, correct? From what I saw, there is no other explanation."

"He is, and I know he's terrible and I'd be happy if I never had to see him again, but you shouldn't kill him."

"But for years he has beaten you and done as he pleased. Would he not be better off dead?" Dreadwing asked in perplexation.

Scootaloo shook her head. "The worth of his life isn't up to me or you. I've thought about killing him in his sleep, but I was never willing to accept what that would cause for me." She sighed. "It isn't you. I know you're not a murderer. Think about what this would do to your mind."

Dreadwing scowled and turned back to the stallion. His face had turned beet-red and his hooves were barely tapping against his attacker anymore. "How is this not who I am? I'm a monster. I have no business worrying about morality. I shouldn't have even been able to befriend you."

"But you're not a monster. Remember that day under the bridge when I told you I had met a real monster? Well, you're looking at him. You'd never intentionally hurt anyone, and that's why I wanted to be friends with you. What matters is who you are on the inside, not your appearance or your abilities."

Dreadwing felt a lump form in his throat as he realized the truth of her words. As much as he wanted to hold firm to the image of himself he had built up over his long lifespan, there was no denying it. He hadn't injured anypony. He hadn't tried to take over Equestria and rule it with an iron fist. He had simply existed, forced to be content with the life he had been given. It wasn't him. Murder wasn't something he could do.

The stallion gasped in a breath as Dreadwing relaxed his grip so that it was loose enough to allow air into his lungs, but not enough to let the pony to the floor. Dreadwing brought his beak next to the pony's ear and spoke in a growl that he was sure would stick in the scum's mind forever. "If you value your worthless life, listen very carefully to my words. I will be watching over this filly from now on. If you touch her again, or even so much as glance at her with ill intent in your heart, I'll happily shatter another of your legs. Understand?"

The pony nodded weakly and Dreadwing allowed him to collapse to the floor, where he lay gasping for breath. Scootaloo smiled up at the creature as he walked over to her. "'Told you you're not a monster."

Dreadwing smiled at the filly and ruffled her hair. "It's amazing, everything I have learned from you. You are more mature than most grown ponies I have seen."

"I guess that'll happen to ponies in my situation."

Dreadwing nodded and led Scootaloo back down the ladder. "Come. It is late, and you must sleep. I will watch over you tonight."

The door swung shut as the two of them entered Scootaloo's room. She crawled into bed and pulled the covers up around herself, suddenly realizing just how tired she was. "Thank you," she said as her eyes began to flutter closed.

"Anything for a friend." Dreadwing took a seat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. It was strange to not believe himself to be a monster anymore. Instead, he was finally starting to view himself with some value. Dreadwing smiled to himself. Never in his existence had he thought he could make a friend. He wasn't sure Scootaloo would ever understand just how drastically she had changed him, but he would be eternally grateful.