Author's Note

I don't know what I had thought this chapter was going to be like, but this was not it. Most of it was unplanned, and wrote itself. I was not expecting this. I like it, don't get me wrong, but still. Wow. Just wow.

I hope you guys enjoy this and hopefully alleviate my mixed feelings on where it went.

Somepony Else Was Pulling Strings

Thunderlane awoke the next morning with his usual grogginess, but he woke up with a smile on his muzzle. Last night’s dream had been so nice. Somepony looked at him with no disgust about his condition, or judgement for that matter. They just played with him and took care of him. It had been comforting. He sighed, but was brought out of his contentment by a wet diaper. His face scrunched up. That was his least favorite part of mornings. He sighed, and got up to take it off. He made his way to the bathroom, where his changing supplies were under the sink now. Ever since telling his teammates about what had been going on with him, he had become somewhat less paranoid about hiding it. At least, that part of it. The pacifier and bottle were still hidden in the hatch under his bed. But the changing supplies were all here. And it made things easier on him that way. He took a shower, put himself in a fresh diaper, got on his onesie and uniform, packed his saddlebags, and he was ready to go to work.

He flew there without incident, and decided to head to the mess hall since he hadn’t had breakfast yet. He got some eggs, pancakes, and some fruit, along with milk, before sitting down to eat. As he ate the rest of it he got a look at the fruit. It seemed so big. He wondered if it would be easier to eat mashed. He shrugged, and decided to give it a shot. He mashed it all up and started feeding himself. He got into it enough that he got some of it on him. Thankfully a napkin was there to catch it. Kind of like a bib. I should get one of those… He mused as he ate. Normally that kind of thought would horrify or terrify him, but he was too involved with his breakfast to care. He ended with the milk. As he took a sip, he thought about the dream from last night.

Mommy’s moo moo was better. He thought. That time he caught his mistake, but for some reason he justified it. Maybe partly because he didn’t want to sully his memories of the dream. Unconsciously, he wrapped his mouth around the small carton’s opening and started suckling. It wasn’t the same and he pouted to himself. It had tasted better in his bottle. But he didn’t have any more time to dwell on it as he saw the clock strike 8:45. He had practice in fifteen minutes. He downed the rest of his milk in one go, threw away the carton, put the dirty dishes and tray in their rightful places, and headed off.

He arrived five minutes before practice was scheduled to begin. He chatted with Soarin and Rainbow Dash about inconsequential things, and then Spitfire came down, and they all started stretching. After that there were a few drills and endurance tests, which all of them passed with flying colors (pun intended). Then, it came time for their practice of their routine.

They began with the Icaranian Sun Salutation, in honor of the Princess, who was expected to attend their next show in Canterlot. Then they did a barrel roll. They made a star formation, and used smoke to make it look like it was bursting forth. They flipped, dived, and tumbled through the air with the grace attainable to only the best of fliers. Finally, it was finale time. The Wonderbolts formed themselves into the shape of a lightning bolt. Rainbow Dash was at the very bottom of the bolt. She broke apart from the pack, streaking downward as fast as she could. The rest of them filled in the gap where she had been, then moved as one down toward their teammate, but much slower. In a burst of color, she performed a sonic rainboom.

For a second Thunderlane was focused on formation, but when he saw those colors, his mind went blank. All he could think about was touching them. He broke formation, and started flying toward the pretty colors. He reached out to touch them, but his hoof went right through them. That made him unbelievably sad. His lip started to quiver and he sniffed.

Spitfire, who from her place at the top of the lightning bolt, had been supervising the formation, saw Thunderlane break pattern. For a half second, she thought he might be going to get changed, but when she saw him try and touch the aftermath of the rainboom, she knew something was up. Her ears, highly trained and perhaps overly sensitive to noise, caught the sniffling sound. It didn’t take her more that a second or two to figure out that the Thunderlane before her was not the one she knew. And for a short while, her shock numbed her actions. It was one thing for Thunderlane to tell her about having foalish behavior, but to actually see it was like seeing a cheap remake of a piece of art and then seeing the actual thing hanging in a museum. It was so much more real. The shock pretty much wore off for her when she saw his eyes well up with tears. She sighed. She was not dealing with Thunderlane, the Wonderbolt, who was the biggest jokester she knew. She was dealing with a foal. And she had been around them enough at signings and events to know how to deal with them. She landed next to Thunderlane and softened her expression, taking off her aviators glasses.

“What’s the matter?” She asked. Her voice was kind, interested.

“I wanna touch the pretty colors!” He sniffed.

“I know you do. But that’s why there are crayons, right? So you get to touch them. And you get to make cool pictures with them.” She empathized.

He sniffed again. “Yeah…”

“I bet you can draw some really cool stuff.”

He smiled a little. “Yeah. I like making birds.”

“Birds, huh? Is it because they fly like you?”

He nodded excitedly now. “Yeah! I like things that fly! Mommy says I’m a good flier!”

That stopped Spitfire short. Thunderlane had expressly told her that he hadn’t told anypony about this just yesterday. And with how far away his family lived and how late he had left last night, there was no way he could have told them. “Mommy?” She parroted. He nodded with vigor.

“Uh huh! She says I’m really good.” This gave Spitfire an idea.

“You think you can draw me a picture of her?” She asked. He nodded, practically bouncing up and down. She looked to her teammates, gave them the signal for a break, and then took Thunderlane to her office, where she kept some different colored pens. About fifteen minutes later, the picture was done. A pink and white maned pegasus mare was on the paper, labeled “Mommy” in a child’s clumsy writing.

Spitfire had possibly gotten a glimpse into who was doing this to him. Now the question was, who was she?