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Language:
English
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Published:
2019-12-28
Completed:
2023-12-24
Words:
37,005
Chapters:
13/13
Comments:
270
Kudos:
610
Bookmarks:
161
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12,708

Stiles and Scott, Rescue Vets

Summary:

In this heartwarming show, when Drs. Stilinski and McCall aren’t busy running a clinic specializing in the more unique pets out there, they’re helping to rescue and rehabilitate local wild animals in their own quirky way.

(Also, property damage. So much property damage. Because you and Peter need to talk already, oh, my God.

Shut up, Erica.)

12/24/23: Added a Christmas PSA from Beacon Hills Veterinary Clinic.

Chapter 1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It’s another fine day at the Beacon Hills Veterinary Clinic, sunny with just a hint of a fresh breeze to keep the air moving. Scott takes a deep breath and his eyes stray to the still-shiny brass plaque with his name on it, followed by ‘DVM.’ Some days he still can’t believe it, that this is really his life. His dream job, in his beloved hometown.

“Scott!” comes a shriek from across the parking lot. When he whips around, Isaac is windmilling wildly next to the open back doors of the clinic’s van. “Scott, oh, shit, I’m so glad you’re always early—”

Then he’s grabbed back behind the doors, and a second later, Stiles appears in his place, wearing heavy-duty gloves, a welder’s mask on top of his head, and what smells like a lead-filled apron. “Hey, I told you, keep the—”

Stiles’ eyes go wide and then he drops into a squat, flipping the apron over the top of his head just in time to protect against the yards-long plume of blue-white fire that goes shooting across the parking lot. Isaac shrieks again, but before Scott can do more than leap into the air towards the van, the other werewolf comes skittering around its front end and bolts for the clinic doors.

“It’s on fire! It’s got fire!” Isaac screams as he runs.

“Well, yeah, because it’s a dragonet,” Stiles snorts, sitting up. He squints into the van, then snaps down the welder’s mask and swings up a pair of metal tongs. He stretches the tongs into the van, twists something, and then gets to his feet, grumbling, as Scott finally arrives next to him. “And it’s got a healthy working digestive tract, which, great, because God knows the only thing more likely to drive up our catastrophic damage premiums than a dragonet who needs a tooth extraction is one who’s got a gastric blockage…hey, buddy! How’s it going? I think we might have lost the intern again, but on the bright side, this is gonna be great for the show.”

Stiles flips the mask back up, grinning, and then sees Scott’s expression. He blinks, frowns, and then neither of them get to say anything because a glass-shattering screech fills the air.

“Fourth wall, fourth wall, fourth wall,” shouts Lydia, stalking over the bits of windshield and headlights now strewing the parking lot. “I’m sorry, did someone say this was going into the self-aware-comedy section of Netflix? No, I don’t think so. And why is that? Because we are not being paid for self-aware comedy, we are being paid for heartwarming reality TV featuring animals! Animals!”

“Um. So, yes. Aware of the contract. But also, let’s have this discussion about the definition of reality TV, shall we?” Stiles says. He’s still blinking, but he puts up his finger, which is more than the…

Scott pushes the other man over and rushes into the back of the van. He pries open the latch Stiles just locked, then gathers the woozy dragonet in his arms and checks vitals. Both hearts are pumping like mad, unsurprisingly, but the eyes are clear and its tongue slurps immediately back into its mouth when Scott flicks it. His fingers burn for a second—brimstone residue—and he waits for the skin to grow back before heaving the dragonet out of the crate and turning around and giving its belly a sharp, short push with his interlocked hands.

The dragonet wiggles uncomfortably, then goes limp. Distantly, Scott’s aware of someone yelling at him, but he ignores it in favor of listening to the increasing gurgling in the dragonet’s stomach. He hikes it against himself again and the dragonet jerks, stiffens, and then belches a half-melted chunk of brimstone onto the ground.

“There, feel better?” Scott says, as the dragonet flutes its relief, sagging in his arms. It bobs its head around, sees him, and then coos again, bumping its snout against the underside of his chin. “Awww, I know. That tooth of yours isn’t letting you chew right, so your poor stomach just can’t process those chunks, can it? Well, let’s get you inside and fix you right up, all right?”

The dragonet burbles and begins to sniff at Scott’s hair. He gives it a skritch between the wings and turns around, and Stiles is staring at him. Scott frowns.

Stiles opens his mouth, then shuts it. Looks a little pained, the way he does whenever…Scott is twisting back before Stiles even waves for him to.

“Oh,” Scott says, staring at the new bonfire in the parking lot. “Oh, God, was that—is that your stuff?”

“Just the catering,” mutters Boyd as he pulls the Steadicam harness off his shoulders. “It’s cool, not like anyone wanted breakfast. Or like Lydia doesn’t have to call the union now.”

Lydia, when Scott finally manages to look back at her, is eerily calm. She’s standing there, pose now relaxed, just considering the bonfire. Which is so terrifying that they all just let her, even Stiles.

“We’ll use it. Ethan can clean up the soundtrack in post, especially if it ends up the cold open,” she finally says. She nods at the bonfire, snaps her fingers, and then starts walking towards the clinic. Then, when she realizes only the film crew is moving, turns around. “Well? Did you think that was the only shot we have to get today?”

“Okay, okay, I mean, not like we don’t have a patient here or anything that we need to look after,” Stiles says, rebounding into his usual sarcasm. He goes over and gets out the dragonet’s carrier, then shuts the van doors. By then Scott’s reached him and he falls in line so they can walk up to the clinic together. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll talk to her while you and Isaac are prepping Frosty.”

“Frosty?” Scott says.

Stiles shrugs. “White body, orange muzzle, little black eyes. I guess I can see it.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, I guess,” Scott says. The dragonet yawns, then lets out a little hiss of pain as its jaws shut and he soothes it with a belly rub. “Okay, but seriously, Stiles, we’ve got a full day to get through. I’m really sorry I didn’t see the food table but they’ve got to get this is a working clinic.”

“Totally, I got that into the contract, we can make them step out whenever we deem it’s necessary to prioritize medical care over Lydia care,” Stiles whispers, leaning into Scott. When Lydia turns around and glowers at them, he slings an arm over Scott’s shoulders and kisses the top of Frosty’s head. She turns back around and Frosty snorts smoke rings into Stiles’ face so he doubles half-over, coughing, and Scott’s hauling him into the clinic for a few steps. Then he straightens up. “Look, Scott, it’ll be fine. You do your vet thing, we save some animals, and then the show pays for our student loans. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

“Okay,” Scott sighs. He still has some doubts, but…Frosty hiccups and some sparks come out with the smoke.

He and Stiles freeze. Then, glancing at the scorch-edged hole in the reception counter, Stiles flips up the bar and swings over for Scott to hurry into the main surgery area.

No more time for chat; the day’s started.

[“How much of that did you get?” DIRECTOR hisses.

“All of it. Lenses held up,” CAMERAMAN replies. He turns around to show her the front of the camera.

“Well, at least one investment today’s paying off,” DIRECTOR mutters. She studies the front of the clinic, arms folded across her chest, and then spins on one heel to regard the still-raging bonfire. Then she frowns. “What are you doing?

The crew members holding up fire extinguishers falter. “Putting it out?” one says uncertainly.

“Wait,” DIRECTOR says, holding up her hand. CAMERAMAN pivots too, filming as the bonfire grows higher and higher and finally collapses in on itself in a flameout that sends crew members running in all directions. “Good. Print that. And someone tell art we’re going to redo the entire title sequence before they go blow our SFX budget on fake flames.”]

Notes:

This isn't inspired by any one rescue clinic show I've watched, because I've watched a lot of them. Sometimes I think my plot choices reveal way too much about my TV habits.