• Published 11th Mar 2013
  • 8,064 Views, 1,135 Comments

How my Little Brother Became an Alicorn - WiseFireCracker

I used to love that premise. I thought it made for a fun debate of nature vs nurture and all that. I just never expected it to happen. Now Tom's gone and I don't know what to do!

  • ...


“Sam?” The voice of my parents, along with the few knocks on the bathroom’s door...

Any possible answer was drowned out in the following moments, as my abdomen retched upward, a burning sensation going up my throat. Acidic liquid filled my mouth, gagging reflex forcing my head forward, into the toilet.

Too horrible. This is monstrous.

Rancid vapors filled my nostrils. I was going to be sick. More than I already was. It was all so simple…

On the plus side, my doubts had all but vanished. My imagination had rendered every detail with dreadful precision, every image had been perfectly about Tom. And now… I could not stop seeing it in my mind. Torture. Again and again, escalating in depravity with each passing sentence. It echoed in my mind!

“And we twist the wings now!”

Retching. Barfing. Puking my guts out.

“Stabbity stab in the leg!”

My head was spinning, horrifyingly vivid images dancing before my eyes.

“You won’t need that horn now, will you?”

“Oh God…” A spasm ran through my body, almost throwing my hands off the toilet seat and sprawling on the floor.

“Come on! It’s not fun if you don’t scream along, Bladey!”

“Stop…” I begged, conjuring the mental image of Pinkie Pie. “You’re one of his f-favorite!”

Sick. Unwell. Nauseous.

“Cool story, Bro. I really liked how you showed that little Stu we don’t take kindly to his kind here. Instant fav.”

Vision blurring, I tried to stand up, pushing on my elbows. I only managed a halfway position, my knees staying firmly on the ground. Still, at that height, I could easily see my reflection staring back at me.

Some were applauding the author of that demented THING! They were asking him for more! This… how could they?

The worst of it all had to be the most casual comment.

“Damn right, brother! That little Gary Stu just needs to go! Look at my petition.”

I choked. And coughed. My body seemed to violently express my disgust, my anger and my fear.

This was an abomination. Inhuman.

Long minutes passed before a semblance of health filtered through my breathing and the strength in my limbs. Rising my head from the sink, I stared at the blonde guy in the mirror.

Pale, with a labored breathing, a chin shining and a mouth hanging on open, I was a classic picture of illness. Beneath my blonde bangs, blue eyes were cutting through the fog of my mind. There was something at the front, for all to see.

A monster. Not the poor chap that just couldn’t find the solution to all his problems. No, not him, not anymore! That story had pulled at a hidden part of me; it had awakened a darker side of me that I had forgotten existed.

Shining through the clear blue of my eyes, there was but one thing: hatred. My whole self was burning with pure unaltered hatred. Toward the monster that wrote a story about my little brother being tortured to death by his favorite character… Toward the growing majority of bronies that hated him or believed him unnecessary… Toward whatever thing had taken Tom in the first place.


My grip became as strong as steel. In a matter of seconds, my knuckles had become pure white. How dare they? How can they wish death on my little brother?!

A different urge filtered through this burning darkness, pure and focused into the destruction of such a monstrosity.

Kill. Kill them all.

As if a veil of blindness had been lifted, my senses returned to normal. The illness simply faded away. Exhaling deeply, I found myself able to stand, head light and arms heavy. Eyelids drooping halfway over my eyes, I let a wave of coldness wash away my mind. Everything appeared crystal clear and everything was painful to the touch.

Ignoring the burning sensation spreading through my hands, I stumbled to the door and unlocked it.

Behind it, Mom and Dad were both standing, worry stretching their faces. “Sam?” my mother asked, tentatively.

“I’m fine,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

They didn’t buy it.

“Sammy…” Dad placed a hand on my shoulder.

“I said I’M FINE!” I slapped off the offending appendage, pushing my way through them.

Stomping, I made my way to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. At my desk, my laptop was still waiting.

I unleashed all my pent-up aggression into that keyboard.


It took all her years of training not to sigh and openly massage her forehead in front of her class. Not that this would have been a problem, seeing as her students were all staring outside through the window.

“Now, now, I know his tricks can be quite impressive, but we have a lesson to finish… Class?”

She sighed outright. Teaching had started to become a headache as of late. Something, somehow, had particularly annoyed Ponyville’s newest alicorn. As she now knew was the case whenever he got angry, Blade Darkblaze was flying around and accomplishing tricks that would easily make a professional flyer look amateurish. And, of course, he did it all just over Ponyville for the whole town to see.

How was she supposed to retain the attention of her students in those conditions?

“He’s so dreamy!” Diamond Tiara sighed longingly, imitated by her friend. Both had a smile on their face.

“What a show-off!” A certain filly dismissed the show with a wave of a hoof. However, one did not need to be very perceptive to notice the moisture in her eyes as she said it. “Rainbow Dash is a thousand times better.”

“At least he can fly.” Cheerilie cringed the second she heard it. Her legs carried her toward the filly who had uttered those mean words to her classmate.

“Diamond Tiara! You will apologize right now.”

“What?” The pink filly sneered. “It’s not my fault Scootaloo can’t fly.”

“Okay, that’s it! You’re going to get it!” Scootaloo roared, turning an orange blur as she jumped on the bully and started hitting her with her bare hooves.

It did not take long for Diamond Tiara to start fighting back. Soon, the two were rolling on the floor, using anything and everything they had to make the other feel pain.

“Girls, you will stop right this instant!”

Why was this colt causing so much trouble?


I sat with a small smile. Beyond the edge of that murderous fury that I kept close to my heart, there was content. Pride even, perhaps.

My parents did not take notice, or if they did, they didn’t want to bring up my apparent good mood. I figured they had been off put by the bouts of yelling I had let out earlier.

That was fine with me. I did not wish to engage in trivial conversations anymore. I had a single goal in mind and I intended to keep going until it had been accomplished. No distraction, no self-pity, only the quest for my brother’s return.

And shitstorms, I shouldn’t forget that either.

With that thought, my grin widened, growing to the point of being fully visible, even from the corner of one’s eye. Beaming positively at the thought of my previous actions, I cut into my steak with good appetite.

It was wrong, but oh so satisfying.

Basically, I had provoked the mother of all shitstorms in that story’s comments, then trolled the fuck out of the readers, then hacked into the author’s account, destroyed his story and reputation, got banned for it, created three new accounts, spewed my venom all over the Blade hate groups (ignoring the twisted cold in my guts at the acknowledgment of their existence), got banned again and finally just went on an argument spray over four different brony forums.

It was probably the single most disproportionate and petty reaction of my life, but there truly was no part of me that even remotely cared about it. If I could do it again, I would try my hardest to make it a lot worse. I’d have looked for their coordinates and send hate mail to them.

The monster in me had just roared in triumph for the duration of my vengeance. It demanded a bigger, more physical revenge, but I had no way of fulfilling that need. It would have to do.

“Sammy?” My father’s voice brought me out of my reverie.

“Yeah?” I asked, not looking up.

“How was the meeting with your therapist?”

Oh. That? My expression hardened, my grin slipping and muscles relaxing. “I didn’t like it. I don’t want to go back.”

Dad frowned. “That badly?”

“Worse.” Lying bitch! Trying to make me give up on Tom!

“What happened?”

I almost sneered, instead focusing my anger into the movement of my knife. Viciously, I stabbed the slice of meat in front of me. “She said a bunch of things, I don’t really care to remember. It had to do with delusions.”

While they thought I couldn’t see them, my parents exchanged a glance. It said a lot of things, I supposed, if only by the way my father shifted in his seat.

When he spoke, it was with utter serious. It was enough to get my full attention at least. “Sammy, why did she say that?”

I paused, contemplating telling them the truth. Right! As if! “…Something about being unfair to myself or some crap like that.”

“And how did she believe you were unfair to yourself?” Dad pressed on, leaning forward with a frown on his face.

For a moment, I hated that honest gaze of him. Stern and true, it always pierced through any veil of lies and secrets I could create. It held a fatherly quality that simply made me unable to run away from myself.

That didn’t mean I had to be happy about it. “She thought I wasn’t responsible for his disappearance,” I grumbled.

“You aren’t!” His cry of indignation flew out of his mouth faster than even he could proceed. “That’s ridiculous, Sammy!”

My lips had clenched together, forming a thin line. My gaze was all but impressed. Just because people repeated a lie to me, it didn’t mean I would start to believe it. I’d put my trust in facts and the fact remained that if I hadn’t introduced him to the fandom, there would be no way for him to be in Equestria.

However, my father wasn’t done berating the stupidity of that concept.

“What could make you think that this is in any way your fault?!”

In the face of this honest indignation, it became harder to remain coldly detached. “…Our fight the day before, Dad,” I reminded him with a quiet voice.

“That…” He appeared pained by my answer. “Sammy, that wasn’t your fault...”

I opened my mouth to reply, to argue my guilt, but I was cut off by another set of words. They were spoken through a stupor, a complete disbelief echoing through each sound.

“T-that fight?” Mom muttered, eyes widening with the realization.

Her gaze fell on me and I felt as if my heart had been burned.

I would recognize that look anywhere. I knew what she was directing at me.

Accusation. She blamed me.

The ground threatened to swallow me. The fire in her eyes reached at the core of my being and threatened to break it. And I realized that she hadn’t known.

Mom thought it was my fault. She believed I had pushed Tom away and he had made himself vulnerable as a result. She believed it was my fault. And now that it was being pushed on me, I felt myself unable to cope. Though my thoughts had always pushed me toward shouldering that responsibility, though I had been annoyed when others failed to recognize that truth, I found myself shattering under the weight of my mother’s judging eyes.

“I… I…” I staggered, throwing my chair to the ground just by standing so quickly.

I had to leave. I had to leave this room!

“Sammy!” My father reached forward, trying to ground me into the room, but I jolted backward as if he had been flames.

Stumbling, I ran off.


“Is there such a thing as rock bottom?” I asked thin air in the hopes no answer would come back. I’d be afraid to hear the answer, whichever it would turn out to be.

On my back, I could barely feel the pressure of the back of my chair on my shoulders. Slouched over it, I was staring blankly at the ceiling.

So… Mom hates me then? Should have seen that coming. There was a core of sadness in the midst of my chest. I could not ignore it, it was eating away at me. It could only be so long until someone did. And who better than Mom? Dad should get on with it too, once the realization hits him…

It was so easy, such a small stretch of my imagination, to see their faces, cold and uncaring, their anger directed at me. Every detail was burned into my brain so easily. I knew I would see this image in my nightmares from now on.

They’d rant and rant about how they thought I was a disappointment, how I had never done a thing right and how they would have preferred Tom to be an only child. They’d talk my ears off how hard it was to pretend to love me all these years…

My vision blurred, obscured by some liquid. Burning and stinging, tears trailed down my face.

“I just… I… I… I don’t even know anymore…”

There was this hatred, festering at the back of my mind, while an overwhelming powerlessness just made it all meaningless.

You’re nothing! They screamed at me. A disappointment!

“Thanks…” I whispered, throwing myself off my chair. “At least I’m doing something for Tom… what have you guys done? I mean, how could you not realize where he is?”

Lethargic, I moved more slowly than usual, going to my closet to fish out the list.

Seeing the scribbled notes on it reached inside me, like a proverbial slap in the face. Just like getting one, it whipped me back into a more… productive state of mind.

“You… Useless… Thing…” I spat, hands shaking so hard the paper was almost ripped in half. And we can’t have that, right? Oh, you’re so useful!

Seeing another outlet for my anger, I tore away the first page off, looking at the words, remembering how they had promised me so much and delivered nothing!

Suddenly, I couldn’t be on that thing fast enough. My nails clawed at the soft structure, my fingers closed on its edges, gripping it so strongly that they started to numb with pain. I glared at the list. I wanted nothing more than to destroy it.

I shouldn’t do that…

And I wanted to… I wanted so much.

But this was my only lead…

With a sigh, I slumped down.

I felt defeated, empty. What more could I do? I’d just continue to try, over and over again, until I found the right way. I could not honestly think of anything else I could do.

Let’s get on with it then… I sighed and reached for the list, fallen from my grip when I had sit down. Which one was I supposed to try next?

Silently, my eyes went from the crossed lines to the first few words still intact. They fell on something rather weird. Well, not that weird to be perfectly honest. A better word for it would be childish. Reading it the first time had me slightly puzzled, but then again, it was Tom.

‘Portal opening 101’ brought to you by yours truly, Monsieur Ten Ropes.

I blinked.

Whoa, that sounds like either a creepy magician or a guy with a BIG bondage fetish… and I’m going to follow his advices… Suddenly, I found myself wishing that Tom had not tried this particular method. Alas, even if he hadn’t, I would. Nothing would be left to chance…

“Alright, what’s with this stuff?” I mumbled, flipping the notes over toward this new method.

The first thing I recognized was the pentagram. Lines traced with minute precision I knew Tom was incapable of. Not with the attention span he had. Nonetheless, I forced myself to push away the healthy skepticism to the back of my mind, where it could be ignored. At the point I was, nothing short of the human sacrifice would make me hesitate more than a few moments.

If it came to that, well… I had a few ideas of whom I’d choose.

I shook my head, forcing myself into a more rational state of mind with a well-earned slap to the face. Fuck… what am I turning into?

“F-focus, Sam…” I whispered, locking my gaze onto the lines. “Read out the incantation… drop the ritualistic focuses… enjoy.”

I grimaced. This felt like such a waste of time…

“Ritualistic focuses…” Doesn’t mean I won’t give it a shot. “Objects of power to mold the universe to your will... Well, damn, now I want them. I’m just not a big fan of the Temple of Doom. Because of course, that’s where I need to go to find the stuff, right?” I said to no one in particular. It just made me feel a little better to voice my bitterness like this.

To prove my point, I made a show of reading the exact requirement for that… ritual.

To say I was shocked was an understatement. “The three required objects are a cone, earth and wings. Any object vaguely resembling these will do.”

My brain would not process the information. It had come to a halt. To be more exact, before my eyes, all I could see was one thing, so out of place, under Tom’s bed. I remembered the sickening sensation of a piece of food cracking under my fingers.

Eyes wide open, a burst of mad hope flared through my chest and spread like wildfire.

I jumped to my feet so fast I flung myself headfirst into my bed stand. The pain briefly dissolved into my forehead before being reduced to nothingness by my excitement. Not caring in the slightest, I dashed outside for the pantry. If Tom had gotten it here…

My heartbeat got staggeringly powerful when I caught sight of a blue box, with a picture of ice cream cones on one side. The world started to spin as it caught up to me that this might be it! This could be what I was looking for all along!

Blazing hope still coursing through my vein, I grabbed the whole thing with me and turned around to get to the front door. The list echoed in my mind. Conic object… earth… wings…

Vaguely, I knew what this was meant to be. I had an inkling of the true meaning of those objects and a part of me was opposed to it. The rest however violently put those thoughts to rest. I would not allow myself to pass up on this chance.

The lack of response to my mad stomping all around the house raised some suspicions, it made me wonder... until…

“You’re a disappointment!”

No. I shook my head. No distractions were allowed. Not when I was so close…

With a rough yanking motion, I lifted one of my dirty shoes from the rug and went back into my room. The clicking noise of my lock could be heard the next second.

In my manic state of mind, I surprisingly found the restraint to put the items down delicately, with the care of a parent cradling his newborn child. In a way, the comparison was not quite unrealistic. Those had resurrected my hope, right as it was becoming but a shadow and a luxury I would not dare look for.

The last thing I needed was already in my room; all I had to do was reach out for it.

My hands closed down on a soft plushy.

For a brief second, my lips twitched upward. I had quite a few fond memories surrounding it. All of them involved a convention I had had the luck of attending when it had been hosted in the next town.

Succumbing to a small bout of nostalgia, I let my hand ran through the plushy’s yellow fur and its pink mane. The softness of the touch had me truly smiling.

It was going to be okay…

I grabbed a marker. The hardest part was coming right now. I had to copy what appeared like runes and geometrical figures. Memories of my previous attempts at drawing such a complex symbol flashed in my mind, having my guts tied up in a knot. It wasn’t a very comforting thought.

Cracking my knuckles, I took a long time to stare and memorize every detail of the drawing. Then, I got down on my knees, cleaned up the floor and bit the cap off my marker.

The first line came off as shaky and improper. One furious stroke later and the line was twice as thick, but much more straight. Good, that was precisely what I had to do in this point.

Slowly, sneaking glances at the reference in the notes every so often, I worked on the symbols and the forms needed to perform that ritual.

The muscles of my face had started to hurt a while ago, stiff and rigid with extraordinary focus. I could not mess this up, I had to do it right. With every line I was making though, I ran the risk of ruining everything. After a certain amount of time, I noticed I had drastically slowed down into the creation of this piece of art.

Beads of sweat pearled in the far corner of my eyes and an uncomfortable numbness paralyzed my legs from my knees down. My fingers were black with ink at this point.

“Next comes a parallel line…” I muttered, staring at the intricate drawing on the floor. If by some terrible play of fate this wasn’t the right solution, then this would be a real pain to clean up. “Aaaaand… done.”

The final dot of ink had been put into the right place.

My eyes alternating between the notes and the lines on the floor, I did not notice a single dissimilarity.

I almost collapsed in relief. This had been hard... Draining too.

“All I’ve got to do now is sing some ominous lyrics…” I whispered, feeling light-headed.

Almost there.

Clumsily, I went through the three ‘ritualistic focuses’, reading the instructions one more time. They were rather explicit about it. It had to be only a horn, a pair of wing or earth. For the ice cream cone, that was easy as pie. I did not blink either at the prospect of scrapping the dried up mud under my shoes.

I felt a small pang of dismay at the idea of destroying my Fluttershy figure.

Are you serious, Sam?! That plushy means nothing! I chastised myself.

Closing my hands around it, I held the shoulders securely, with a firm grip. Nonetheless, to destroy all the stitches at once was harder than I expected. Think of it as if that was the author of that story.

The wings came off in an instant, a terrible ripping sound accompanying the deed.

And that was the end of that.

More violently than I should have, I shoved the wings into their own circles. A death glare was sent their way, even as I turned back toward the instructions once more. The words would not leave my mind. I could see Tom suffering at Pinkie Pie’s hooves.

What is next? I read over the chanting. That much would need me to read it. There was no way I could pronounce those words without constantly having them under my eyes.

Steeling my resolve, I took one last deep breath and started chanting.

It wasn’t mystical. Disappointing as it was, no sudden sense of enlightenment was offered to me. The words just flew out of my mouth while I put my whole soul into this.

More than half the incantation had been uttered out loud by now and no discernible event had happened. No signs of magic or mysticism to alleviate this growing pit of despair in my stomach.

Let this be real… Grant me this favor, whoever is listening.

Things had fallen apart. What we had was no more, but it could be salvaged. Our family might recover from this hardship, but not without him… and if it could, I wouldn’t want to be part of it.

T-Tom... I just want to see you again… I miss you.

The fear grew stronger, as I felt the last few words roll off my tongue. So many memories came flooding back into my head, times I just had fun with Tom, times when I gave him those small advices big brothers are meant to, times when we never saw eye-to-eye, times when we shared a wink while Mom and Dad wondered how we managed to replace every piece of furniture in the living room without tipping them off.

Wet spots started to appear on the scroll. It had to work, it had to!

The last syllable echoed in the air.

Frozen, I was staring wildly at the lines on the ground, hoping to get a glimpse of it… of anything…

Nothing. Everything remained the same.


No, no, no, no, NO!

This couldn’t be true, this couldn’t have been just another FALSE LEAD!

I lost my balance, overwhelmed by a crushing despair.

The world started darkening. It grew cold.

It had been pointless! It hadn’t worked!

I hid my head into my knees, shoulders shaking and sobs escaping my mouth. I had been so sure… I knew it had to be the right one! WHY?!

I only wanted to sink into the ground.

I did.

At first, I thought I had just messed up what little coordination I had left, but the second I glanced at my legs, I realized they were halfway through the wooden planks. N-nothing had been broken, my feet were simply going through the floor as if it had been mud.

Under me, the ground seemed to shake, moved by an invisible shockwave. I could not move anymore.

And I was swallowed into the pentagram.