Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.”]

Chapter Text

[Camera slowly eases into the room as STILES, back to it, fiddles with something on the steel table in front of him. It’s a plain room, concrete floor, IKEA-style cabinets and cardboard boxes piled up against one wall. One box is opened to show a stack of vacuum-packed syringes. Camera then pans to the counter, which is spartan by comparison, with just a few glass jars on it, filled with cotton swabs and plastic-wrapped gauze rolls and…a small heap of thin off-white sticks. Upon zoom in, the sticks resolve into bones. That then suddenly assemble into a rat skeleton, skull cocking curiously from side to side.]

STILES: Okay, what’s the damage?

[Camera hastily jitters back, then swivels suddenly as somebody enters from the left. It’s ERICA, a pair of latex surgical gloves thrown over one shoulder, busy touching up her lipstick as she simultaneously scrolls through her phone.]

ERICA: Well, the rush fees on the brownfield permit alone’s gonna blow the contingency fund for this month, and apparently union means you get deli plates from the good grocery, not whatever didn’t move at Trader Joe’s this week, and—

STILES: I meant like the patients? You know? The cute little animals we’re here to help out and their photogenically grateful owners? And—and also, what the hell, brownfield, Frosty’s spitting out pure fertilizer there, we should be charging the organic farmer down the street for access to that stuff.

ERICA: Look, you want to get on the phone and lay your science down with the EPA again, be my guest. All I’m saying is those photogenic pet owners better have property damage coverage this time.

[“Tell Sales to find an insurance sponsor and call me back at lunch,” DIRECTOR mutters to an underling. “We’ll cut a spot with those interns who they keep dumping on me. Their intern’s anxiety face will be perfect.”]

STILES:…yeah, yeah, sure. *staring hard off-camera, at DIRECTOR’S corner* Money money money, keeps you in Urban Decay and us in antibiotics. So let me rephrase: who are we doing damage control for today?

ERICA: You actually know what that is?

STILES: Okay, honestly, can you just—

[As STILES turns around, irritated, the camera catches a brief glimpse of what appears to be half a raw chicken with a squirmy brown-furred lump bulging out of the cavity at the rear end. But just then the surgery doors bang open, causing everybody to whip around. Inside the room, ISAAC is falling off the wall he’s just been thrown into, while something makes garbled but still ear-piercing screeches. Just barely audible over them, SCOTT is shouting something about the worst is over and it’s all right and just let the drugs do their job.]

ERICA: Well, that’s a PSA I never thought was gonna come out of McCall’s angel-boy mouth.

STILES: I don’t even know why you’re around again, you have the bedside manners of a…whatever. *takes a couple steps towards the door, blocking the view of the table* Scott? Buddy? You good there?

SCOTT (off-screen): Yeah! Yeah, we got it out, just it was a real long root and Isaac had to crack it in half. But the worst is over and don’t worry, Frosty, we’re gonna pack it up till your healing can do its stuff and before you know it, you’ll have a nice new bicuspid growing in.

ISAAC (off-screen):…think my spine is cracked, oh, my God…

ERICA: So, anyway, after little Frosty there’s moved to post, we have two annual check-ups with felinoids, one small animal, one semi-corporeal—

STILES: What, is the squonk back? How many times do we have to tell that idiot, stop sponging it up and just let it come back naturally, or no wonder if it’s gonna be missing a couple feathers?

ERICA: Nope, new patient. Dwarf jinni.

STILES: *excited* Seriously?

ERICA: Hey, before you get all up in your bestiary porn, you also have a couple field calls. Jordan’s got a seized kelpie down at the station, and they think they have a hive of quantum honey bees in the preserve.

[“What’s that noise?” mutters SOUND TECH. “Is that still coming from surgery?”

“Well, make it stop, it’s going to cost an arm and a leg to filter it out later and we already got the dragonet footage,” DIRECTOR mutters back. She waits a second and when nobody moves, rolls her eyes and then points over her shoulder.

The unlucky crew member freezes. Then sighs, rolls up his sleeves, and darts into the surgery bay once the camera’s panned to focus fully on ERICA and STILES.

“Hey, wait, you’re not sterilized—” ISAAC croaks, before he’s suddenly and unceremoniously cut off.]

STILES: Still excited! You know daddy loves nothing better than extradimensional healthcare! Quantum bees, this is gonna be so awesome, you know I’ve been dying to see if I can get a tesseract up and down without accidentally inviting eldritch tentacle aliens to town—

ERICA: Also Peter left a message.

[Camera waits expectantly on STILES’ face, which somehow slips from sincere thrill to polite boredom without actually moving.]

ERICA: Peter. Left. A. Message.

STILES: *turns around* Yeah, I know. *reaches around and twists hard, without wincing at the gross-sounding pop noise that ensues, and then holds up a miserable, congealed-blood-smeared rabbit* There you are, that’s better, isn’t it? Now have we learned a lesson about trying to bite off more than we can chew? I mean, sure, I’m all for the impossible dream and all but there’s a difference between that and just being delusional because you have no sense of proportion. None. Like, the Renaissance never happened and we’re all living in a two-dimensional frame on some crappy ancient Greek wine-jar because everything’s got to be such a goddamn classical three-act tragedy with you—oh, shit, okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t fucking die on me, you stupid fucking rab—okay, okay, fine, you’re not stupid, you’re fluffy and cute, I mean, you would be, if you hadn’t decided to breakfast in the trashcan!

ERICA: Oh, my God, here. *marches over and takes the rapidly wilting rabbit*

[ERICA pins the rabbit to the table belly-up, then flips her lipstick around and presses the end of the metal tube against its breast. Meanwhile, STILES, who’d dived under the table, comes back up holding something that looks like a clunky glue-gun with wires trailing out of the gluing end. He pinches the wires together against the lipstick, presses a button, and electric sparks fill the air. The rabbit convulses violently, arching so its ears almost touch its hind feet. Its mouth opens and the sparks glint off rows and rows of tiny needle-like teeth.

Then it flops back down. For a second it can’t be seen as STILES and ERICA huddle over it, and then ERICA moves back, allowing the camera to see that the rabbit, still gore-covered, is now sitting placidly on the table. STILES heaves a relieved sigh. Then, squawking, grabs at the rabbit and drags it back as it starts to nose at the chicken again. He casually maneuvers around its snap at his fingers and drops it into a pet carrier that he pulls up from under the table.]

STILES: I know I shouldn’t say this, but rabbits drive me crazy. All they wanna do is just find an excuse to roll over and almost die. And then you have to save them and it fucks up your whole day.

ERICA: You know this isn’t even transference, right? This is shoving your dirty laundry in my face and asking me why your boyfriend’s a sexy self-destructive sociopath.

STILES:…what.

ERICA: Whatever. *examines lipstick, which is still smoking* Also, I upgraded to Fenty, so remember that when you approve my expenses. I’m gonna check in some patients and then give Donner a bath. Scott! Hitting reception! Also Stiles isn’t talking to Peter!

SCOTT: *comes through the door, still in surgical scrubs* What?

STILES: Hey, I thought we were supposed to focus on the work here.

* * *

“We’ll fix it in post,” Lydia says, eyes narrowed, the stylus dangling from her nails somehow expressing worlds of boredom. Then, as Stiles inhales purposefully, she pushes off the counter and dismissively pivots away from him. “Look, you read the contract. You negotiated the contract. You’re one of three people who’ve ever made it through all of the exhibits without checking into an insane asylum and out of sheer appreciation, you made our Legal give you approval rights on the rough cut. So don’t tell me you didn’t know what you were signing up to.”

“A nice spotlight for this clinic’s good work in treating the hard-to-treat pets out there, when we’re not tackling local wildlife problems,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. “That is what we signed up for. That and getting our mortgage paid down.”

Scott blinks. Then takes a breath and smiles and steps in between Stiles and Lydia, sliding one hand down Stiles’ arm and pushing its glowing tattoos behind them. “Okay, look, we all agreed this wasn’t going to be stage-y because that’s lying, and we wanted this to show the truth, warts and all. And we’re all people here with lives, so that means you’re going to catch things not about work,” he says in a calming tone. “But at the same time, you’re not focusing on it, right?”

“God, no,” Lydia snorts. “I get paid to make interesting things look interesting, not to make dull people less dull. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the market’s glutted with heart-warming cat stories right now and we need the first episode to bring something new to the game, so we’re going to skip the check-ups.”

“But—we got all the releases signed!” Stiles says, jaw dropping. He jerks at the arm Scott is still firmly holding down, then twists towards Scott. Then back towards Lydia, as she continues to walk away and shout at her team to break down except for the interns. “Unedited! And Heather’s dating a lawyer, do you know how much I had to sweet-talk her mom to blow him off?”

“Overdone,” Lydia says crisply. She consults her phone, then a phone shown to her by an assistant. Then gestures for the interns. “Do you or do you not want to make money?”

“Stiles,” Scott says, as steadily as he can. Even without werewolf hearing, he probably could hear the way that the blood is pounding through the other man. Especially that one throbbing vein in Stiles’ temple. “Stiles. Come on. She’s just trying to get a reaction, I’m pretty sure. That thing you did with their lawyers was pretty cool.”

“Not as cool as what I’m gonna do with our sponsorship veto,” Stiles snarls, and low enough that Scott clocks Boyd frowning and hefting the camera in a defensive manner.

“So you don’t want to make money,” Lydia says, abruptly turning around.

She and Stiles stare at each other. Boyd retreats along with the rest of the crew, while Scott desperately looks around for some kind of distraction. They’ve got a patient checking in but from the sound of it, their owner and Erica are taking their time because of some viral video they’ve just got to watch right now. Frosty’s sleeping off the sedation down the hall, and since it's Monday, they’re pretty light on overnight stays so don’t even have much to check up on.

“You’re good,” Stiles says. He straightens up, gives his arms a loose shake—the tattoos have disappeared, so he really has calmed down—and then snorts. “Okay, even for the morning. But you’re riding along for the field calls, right?”

“Do you think I wasn’t shooting B-roll at the police station before you even burped your way out of bed this morning?” Lydia tosses off. “Please. Try to remember who’s the director around here, would you? Now where is that intern of yours, the one with the twitches?”

“I think he’s still explaining anatomy to your gofer in the backroom,” Scott says, and then smiles at Lydia when she raises her brow at him. Sincerely. Because he is just trying to explain to her that they’re all here to work together and if they’ve got to ask Isaac to star in a sponsor clip for them, then of course he’s going to give the man some time to clean up after surgery. “Since if you’re going to help a werewolf realign his spine, I think you really should learn to do it the right way.”

“Jaden’s a werecoyote,” Lydia says flatly.

“So practicals all around! It’s not like we aren’t standing in the middle of tons of muscle relaxants, right?” Stiles says brightly.

Lydia eyes them another moment, then swings her hair dismissively. “Just make sure make-up gets a run-through on him. If we can upgrade this to season sponsor, that’s a guaranteed twenty grand to you.”

That…is a significant amount of money, Scott isn’t going to lie. He also isn’t going to pretend as if love alone keeps the clinic running.

“Damn it,” Stiles sighs, as they both watch Lydia stalk away. He rubs at the side of his face. “You know, when we’re done shooting, I’m gonna have some words with Alan’s sister. Best in the business my ass, I don’t even know why we’re taking showbiz recs from a psychologist anyway—”

“Hey, docs, I got Felicia and Scott’s number two wampus cat waiting in room one,” Erica says, swinging into the doorway. She holds out a clipboard, which Scott takes, and then readies up another one. But when Stiles reaches for it, she keeps it nestled against her chest. “Also, Derek’s lurking in the back.”

Scott glances down at the clipboard, listening to Stiles’ heartbeat spike again. He bites his lip and takes a step away, because he does have a patient waiting…and then turns back. “Look, Stiles, we do have a really long day with the shoot, so do you want to just talk about you and P—I don’t want to know what it is and I’m not going to tell you who’s right or wrong, just—you know how—”

“Lurking?” Stiles says, flopping back into a table, looking everywhere except the back door.

“Well—” Erica starts, and then they all freeze as a pair of howls split the air “—honestly, more like he parked in the handicapped spot and Boyd’s taking issue with it because Boyd’s got a sister with a clubfoot and Derek was all, I’m just here for five fucking seconds for none of your business but get the fuck out of my way ‘cause Peter will murder me so I’m gonna murder everybody else out of being scared of him, so. You think it’s our insurance or their insurance if the camera gets trashed?”

“Oh, for—Scott, just deal with the cat, I’ll go fucking deal with this,” Stiles snaps.

“Odds on Derek actually getting over himself long enough to convince Stiles Peter’s sorry?” Erica suggests, as Scott tries and fails to grab Stiles before he storms out.

“You know, you work here too,” Scott says, unable to help sounding a little exasperated. “You like working here.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s just ‘cause of the animals,” Erica says, grinning. Then she gives Scott a pat on the shoulder. “Oh, calm down. I was chatting with Boyd during the last break and he’s semi-pro MMA now, he’ll take Derek down before anything besides the leather coat gets ruined. Go look at Frankie and I’ll check on them once I get the jinni set up in the system. It’ll be fine, Scott.”

Scott opens his mouth, but Erica has a firm grip on his arm and is pushing him away from the back door. He could break free of her, but that’d just make a mess and he remembers the flaming catering and—

“Frankie!” Erica carols, dragging Scott into the hall. “Your favorite doctor’s coming to shove a thermometer up that furry little butt of yours!”

An unhappy yowl immediately echoes down the hall. Scott grimaces, then makes himself turn around and jog towards it. He’s a vet, he’s got a patient, he needs to do his job. They’re all adults here and can look after themselves, but the animals can’t do that and need him more.

Well. He hopes, anyway.

* * *

[Tight focus on STILES in the driver’s seat, while in shotgun, SCOTT is twisted around to face the camera. They’re both in street clothes, although once SCOTT leans forward enough, it becomes clear that his tee is emblazoned with ‘Beacon Hills Rescue Squad’ over a happy-looking cartoon puppy head.]

SCOTT: We’ve got a good relationship with the local police station, so they call us out whenever they have something to do with an animal.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): So like impounding from drug lords?

SCOTT: *trying not to wince* Beacon Hills is a pretty nice area. I don’t think we have drug lords around here?

STILES: Are you kidding me? Did you totally miss the way Harris got exponentially more cheerful between fifth and sixth period, because of that bucket still everybody knew he kept in the back closet?

SCOTT: I don’t think that’s a drug.

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: Alcohol’s a drug. It comes with an FDA warning on it.

STILES: *mutters* It’s the USPHS, and also, wow, guess you can read labels now. Would’ve been useful to have that before anybody got injected with unnecessary herpes vaccine when we were asking for Nine Herbs.

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: Look, I read the label and it said Nine Nine—a

STILES: Nine nine like September Oh-Nine! Like an expiration date! Like how hard is it—

SCOTT: *alpha snarl, reddened eyes*

[Camera pauses on Scott’s face. The man is staring to the left, lips curled back to show a very impressive set of fangs. The car goes over a bump and things rattle, startling him. He glances over, freezes upon seeing the camera, and hunches up in embarrassment. His hand even goes up briefly to cover his mouth.

Angle then changes—also clearly changing to a smaller handheld camera, given the abrupt increase in shakiness—to show a scowling, tense DEREK slumped in the backseat. His eyes are fading from blue to brown and his leather coat has visible, fresh scuff-marks on it.]

DEREK: I wasn’t going to jump him in the car. On the way to the police station.

SCOTT (off-screen): Oh! Right! So like I was saying, the police call us whenever they have to take custody of an animal. It’s not *pauses as camera switches back to him* really drug lords or anything that exciting, it’s more like if somebody’s calling because they’ve gotten into the garage or a baby’s been abandoned or, um, well, if somebody—somebody’s being charged with animal, um, abuse.

STILES: Unfortunately, assholes exist, and as much as I personally think people who want to adopt an exotic should have to take a test before they get to have one, that’s not how things work. So the police get a report and call us up, and we do what we can.

SCOTT: *warming up* Yeah, so this time, apparently, they got a call from a neighbor that nobody’s been coming in or out of this house for a week but something was moving around inside. It’s really sad but some people, if they move and don’t take their pet with them for some reason, they’ll just lock it in the old house. *eyes start going red again* They don’t even leave a note, or tell anyone, and it’s just—I don’t understand, why wouldn’t you just find out where we are and—

STILES: Okay, okay, let’s take a breath there, Scott. *reaches out and pats Scott’s arm* Assholes are assholes, that’s all. Let’s save all that energy for the poor kelpie.

DEREK (off-screen): Like…those things that try to get you into the nearest body of water to drown you and eat your liver? Somebody had that as a pet?

SCOTT: Well, okay, kelpies aren’t recommended for beginner owners, but when properly trained and housed, they make really great—

DEREK (off-screen): Psychotic homicidal guard dogs?

STILES: Familiar territory there, Derek? Why the hell are you coming along again?

DEREK (off-screen, though one gesturing hand is briefly visible): Because you won’t pick up the phone! Would you just call him back, and then we can all just—

STILES: Why am I calling him.

DEREK (off-screen): Okay. Look. He’s an asshole.

STILES: *suddenly agitated* Do you even know what he did? Or did he just come in, all, nephew, you need to go find Stiles before I land you with a corpse and I know you’ve annoyed both your sisters so you’re gonna have to call Scott to bail you out again?

DEREK (off-screen): Yes! Yes, he did! And no, I don’t know what he did, but I know he was an asshole about it, because he’s still being an asshole about it!

SCOTT: Okay, um, look, I think we’re getting off-topic here and I don’t know if we want Lydia to yell at us because we did the drive over and Boyd didn’t get any usable footage out of it—

DEREK (moves into view, grabbing the headrest of Stiles’ seat and hiking himself up to snarl at the back of Stiles’ head): But whatever the hell it was, he’s sorry, and you know you’re gonna take him back so can you just—

STILES: I’m not talking about this right now, Derek. Peter’s a grown man, if he wants to talk to me, he can come himself instead of sending minions.

[The car takes a sharp turn, causing everyone except for STILES to yelp and flail as they try to swing with the momentum. Even CAMERAMAN grunts before righting the camera; a second later, a startled-looking DEREK is glimpsed banging into the car door. Then the camera refocuses on the front of the car just in time to catch STILES irritably stalking out the door. It shifts over to show SCOTT scrambling to hook up some bags and follows, then pans back around to show DEREK, lips pressed together, still haphazardly crumpled against the door, staring after the two of them.

DEREK raises his hand and presses it against the side of his nose. His brows scrunch together and then he drops his hand. He briefly glances down, breathing out, before glancing sideways and pulling his scowl back together. He starts to say something and the camera bounces up a little. DEREK goes still and what might be alarm passes over his face. Then he grunts something about ‘no time for this’ and yanks open the door and quickly walks after the other two men.]

Chapter Text

“Stiles?” Scott whispers to Stiles as they shuffle through paperwork at one end of the station’s reception desk. “You doing all right?”

“Not really,” Stiles says, holding up one piece of paper. He flicks the middle with his finger, sighs, and then puts it down on the counter and rapidly folds it into an airplane. Then, just as a pair of deputies walk up to the counter, he shoots the paper plane between them and into the copier against the far wall. “Okay, honestly? Honestly? If you’re gonna be all, nah, we don’t need to call you at the scene, we remember our animal-ambassador day just fine and we’re gonna rope that kelpie ourselves, you could at least fill out the seizure paperwork properly.”

The deputy on the left, who’d nearly taken the plane on the cheek, starts to blinks in disbelief. Then straightens up, the whites of his eyes turning black—only to have a hand slapped over his face. “Nope, nope, nope, you’re gonna wrap up that noise citation and I’m gonna take this, and trust me, Brian, it’s not because I like you,” Jordan says, tone somewhere between bored and frustrated. “It’s because I have already made two trips to the hospital today and I’m not making a third. Stiles, Scott, this is our new guy. Brian, that’s Dr. Stilinski.”

Brian blinks again, his eyes going back to normal. He looks at Jordan, a little uncertain, but when Jordan just keeps looking at Stiles, he winces and promptly excuses himself and disappears into the station.

“Hey, you upgraded the hire for once,” Stiles says, blinking in surprise himself. “So he definitely didn’t fill out the paperwork.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the paperwork, I did it myself,” Jordan says. He takes one step back, reaches behind himself without looking to snag the paper plane, and then takes one and a half steps up to the counter, where he snaps the plane apart with one twist of his fingers. “Also, film crew? Scott, don’t we have house rules about this?”

Before Scott can answer, Stiles sticks up his arm. Lets Jordan look at the piece of paper he’s holding, then puts it down on the counter. “All cleared, Parrish, so stop being such a jerk. You and I both know that Dad only put you in charge today ‘cause Tara said hell no to being on camera. So just fix that and we’ll get the kelpie and go already, would you?”

Scott reaches for Stiles, but the other man twists deftly away and just vaults himself over the counter. He lands in front of Jordan, who looks like he’s just about willing his raised brows to not catch fire, collects himself and then walks out of sight.

“Shit. Peter must’ve been a real asshole this time,” Jordan mutters, looking after Stiles. “Well, it’s not like the rest of us are in on it, so what the hell is his problem with the paperwork—”

“Kelpies aren’t fish!” Stiles yells back. “That’s a whole different section of the Code of Federal Regulations!”

“Um, they aren’t. I mean, I know why you’d think that, but they really fall under equinnipeds,” Scott says, stepping up. He scoops up the nearest pen and holds his hand out towards Jordan. “It’s okay, I can just write in what should be there if you don’t mind showing the crew where to set up?”

Jordan’s still looking after Stiles. Scott glances behind himself and stifles a wince at how awkwardly the film crew are pretending to be checking measurements elsewhere in the room, then leans over the counter.

“It’s been a rough morning. Frosty set fire to the catering and I think we’re just getting used to having the crew around, and…look, why don’t we just get the kelpie out to the van and we’ll shoot everything in the parking lot and get out of your hair,” Scott hisses.

The other man moves slightly, so he heard Scott. Then he draws himself around with a little shake and looks properly at Scott. “What the hell did he do?”

“Nothing, it’s just the first day of filming and Stiles spent a lot of time negotiating creative control with the director and…oh, wait, you mean Peter?” Scott says.

“I don’t fucking know, it happened really early this morning,” says Derek from where he’s come up right next to Scott. “You’re the one in the police, shouldn’t you know?”

Jordan rolls his eyes. “Fudging the autopsy reports doesn’t mean I know jack shit, Derek, it just means I know that if it’s between hellhound invulnerability and Stiles’ dad coming back to a wrecked town, I…hey, are they filming this?”

“No,” Boyd says, looking mildly puzzled, as they all stare at him. When Derek jerks his chin at the blinking red light on the front of the camera, Boyd half-turns to show them that the digital display is off. “Light check, not recording.”

“Okay, fine,” Jordan says after a second. He pulls over the paper Stiles had taken out, looks it over, and then sighs. “Right, well, we’ve got it out in a pool in the impound lot. You might want to just go out and around, I’ll get somebody open the back door so you can get to the power outlets. That work for you?”

Boyd gives him a thumbs-up, to which Jordan gives a distracted nod. Then rounds up the crew and they exit while Jordan takes the pen from Scott and starts crossing things out on the seizure report.

“Early morning?” he says.

“Far as we can tell. Last night Peter was over with Mom working on clean-up for last week, and he said Stiles wasn’t going to stay up late because of filming this morning,” Derek shrugs. “Also, if they’d just had the fight when he finally got back, I’m pretty sure you would’ve been to the morgue more than twice.”

Jordan grimaces. “Yeah, true.” He scribbles a few more things, then pushes the paper over to Scott. “That look right?”

“Let me—”

“Also, do you really think you should have a bunch of cameras around when those two are fighting?” Jordan says.

“Stiles is a professional,” Scott says immediately, and he must do it with some alpha stuff showing, given how Jordan raises both hands to show his palms. He winces and takes a deep breath, and then looks back at the other man. “I’ll talk to him and if something’s really wrong, we’ll work it out. We’re not going to wreck your office, Jordan. You know Stiles isn’t going to try and do anything that’d upset his dad.”

Jordan looks skeptical. “Sure, I do. But also, I lived through two of your graduations, Allison taking over her family, and three Stiles-Peter dating anniversaries, and it’s not because I’m a hellhound. So look, I’ll tell you this: I don’t call his dad back from his conference and you call me immediately the second you figure out which asshole Peter made Stiles take out this time.”

“Those weren’t the bodies?” Derek says. When Jordan looks at him, he rolls his eyes. “Your morgue trips?”

“What? No, I said hospital. Nobody’s actually died yet, amazingly,” Jordan says, taking the paperwork back from Scott. He waves off Scott’s attempt to say he hadn’t actually proofread it. “Whatever, I’ll fix it, I did pass AP Bio, I just wasn’t on point this morning because what Peter did do was get the only two baristas who can do my goddamn coffee right to voluntarily check themselves into the psych ward. Seriously, what the fuck is with your family, Derek? Somebody steps on your territory and you immediately break out the mindgames?”

“You want to take this out front?” Derek says, and then cracks his neck as Jordan narrows his eyes. “Hear it just freed up, no cameras.”

“Okay, no,” Scott says, putting his arms between them. “No. This is—you’re right, it is way too early in the morning for this, and I know we all have work to do. So I’ll talk to Stiles and you’ll get the paperwork and when we’ve checked out the kelpie, we’ll let you know which animal-cruelty and -trafficking charges you can add. Okay? And—okay, okay, I’ll call you if Stiles tells me anything. Okay?”

Jordan rolls his shoulders a couple times, half-eyeing Derek, but he finally shrugs and steps away from the counter. Scott keeps his arms up till Jordan is around the corner, then drops his hands to the counter, exhaling.

“So how big is this kelpie?” Derek asks. He’s looking up something on his phone when Scott looks over, his other hand casually slid into his coat pocket. He still smells worried. “You sure they’re paying you enough for this?”

“Derek, they’re not paying us for the kelpie, we’d help with that anyway,” Scott sighs. He runs his hand through his hair, telling himself he’s got to get his energy up. Even half-grown kelpies are as strong as an alpha, and this one’s scared and used to being mistreated. “Listen, whatever Peter threatened you with, I’ll—”

“Don’t tell Stiles to make him back off, that just makes them both annoy me,” Derek mutters. He thumbs his phone to the screensaver and puts it away. “And don’t go see Peter. You’re filming all day. I saw the schedule. Don’t call him either, you know he’s just going to suck you into whatever they’re doing.”

Scott looks at him. “And that’s not what’s happening to you?”

Derek makes a face at the counter. “Well, he’s my uncle,” he mutters.

“You should go home. No, seriously. You talked to Stiles, he didn’t want to deal with it, Peter knows how he is,” Scott says. “So you did what he said and now we just need to get through filming until they work it out. You don’t need to be here.”

That is not the right way to put it, and Scott can tell from the way Derek’s scowl deepens. He bites his lips, then puts his hand on the other man’s arm. Derek moves like he’s going to jerk away and then spins right into Scott’s face instead, with his phone back out and right up in Scott’s nose. “It’s a man-eating fish-horse, Scott. It drowns people.”

Scott pauses, then takes a breath. Reaches up and pushes down Derek’s phone, ignoring the gory kelpie video playing on it. “Derek, I know, I did a whole rotation at the Monterey Sea Watch program, remember? And if things go wrong, Stiles is going to be right there to hit it with a stun-spell.”

“Stiles is fighting with Peter,” Derek says pointedly. He stares at Scott for a few more seconds, then rolls his eyes as he turns away. “Fine.”

“I’m gonna be. Honestly,” Scott says. He presses his lips together. “Anyway, picking a fight with Boyd’s not really going to do anything about the kelpie.”

“I didn’t pick a fight with him, he just—”

“Kicked your ass a little?” Scott says. He checks how scrunched-together Derek’s brows are, then pokes the other man in the arm. “I keep telling you to sign up to that capoeira class Allison goes to. You spend way too much time just running through the preserve and that doesn’t really do much for joint flexing.”

“Well, I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to chase things down,” Derek mutters. He shakes Scott’s finger off, then grimaces and sticks both hands in his pockets. “Whatever. Fine. So get the kelpie already so we can go back to the clinic.”

Just then, Stiles calls Scott’s name from the back. He doesn’t sound alarmed or anything, but Scott probably does need to get back to work. “I thought you were going to skip the shoot,” he says as he rounds the counter.

“That was before Peter fucked up something,” Derek says. “But look, I still don’t want to be in this so you tell them to keep me out of it, or I’ll go for Boyd’s camera instead of him next time.”

“Okay, don’t do that,” Scott sighs. “Please don’t do that, we already burned the catering. We’re trying to pay down our insurance premiums, remember?”

* * *

[Camera pans in a semi-circular fashion around a large concrete lot. One corner has four police cars and a large unmarked van neatly lined up along a chain-link fence, while the rest of the lot is clear, except for a scatter of dead leaves. Camera continues to work its way around the edge as a sloshing noise becomes more audible, and then lands upon two large dumpsters that have been pushed out towards the middle of the lot. The sloshing noises are coming from one of them, and as the camera slowly approaches, a sudden loud bang makes the one on the right vibrate wildly.

Camera cuts to close-up of a thick metal chain wound around the top of the dumpster, then drops to follow water that’s leaking down the side. Then it zooms out to show STILES and SCOTT standing in front of the dumpster, facing it, with worried expressions. SCOTT’S stripped to his waist, while STILES has what appears to be a wet suit on except for the hood, which is pushed down behind his head. Then he bends down to pick up a long metal pole with a flexible metal wire loop at the end, and the light glinting off the wet suit reveals it’s actually made of metal mesh.]

STILES: For the record, it is not recommended to keep kelpies in tanks this size. Even baby ones need at least a tank at least ten times their length, plus access to land. They’re not fully aquatic and if you make them spend all their time in the water, it can lead to a lot of health problems like salt sores and worse.

SCOTT: We normally would’ve gone to the animal, but Jordan, our police contact, told us that the kelpie’s tank was cracked and leaking and the rest of the place was so horrible-looking they thought it was better to just get it into fresh water ASAP.

JORDAN (off-screen): It was a complete shithole. The fish guts were piled a foot high on the filter.

SCOTT: *turns to look off-screen, an outraged expression on his face* What?

DEREK (off-screen): Look, we’ll kill them when we find them.

SCOTT: *freezes as STILES hisses to the other side of off-screen to cut all the self-incriminating bits because this isn’t true crime here* Um, okay, anyway…so we took a peek inside and unfortunately the kelpie’s pretty stressed out and I think we spooked it. Which I totally understand, but if we’re going to help it, we have to get it out of there and to the clinic as fast as we can so we can do a real examination on it and figure out what it needs. It’ll fit in our biggest carrier, luckily, but first we have to get it there, and without hurting it.

DEREK (off-screen): If it bites off something, I’m going to take it out.

STILES: *too loudly* The tricky part of this is kelpies are resistant to most tranquilizers, and the only one we’ve got that works on it only comes in oral form. So while as an animal person, I hate the dumpster, as a vet, this actually works out since it’ll make it easier for us to hold it down long enough to shove a pill in its mouth. Scott’s the werewolf with the awesome healing powers, so he’s going in first.

[Camera zooms in on SCOTT, who takes a few deep breaths, then approaches the dumpster. He puts one hand on the padlocked chains, then freezes as a muffled shriek comes from inside. But oddly, everything goes silent after that, and the only thing that can be heard is the gentle lap of water.]

STILES: *whispering now* Okay, so, this should be kind of obvious if your IQ is high enough to get a driver’s license, but Scott and me are trained professionals and also I’m actually a qualified A-level sorcerer so please don’t do this at home. Or buy a kelpie. I don’t care how cute it looked in that Pixar film, they are wild goddamn obligate carnivores and the biology in that stupid thing is so fucking wrong I don’t even know where to start—

[SCOTT gets a determined expression on his face. He crouches slightly, his free arm raised, and then suddenly rips the chain off the dumpster.

At the same time he leaps up and takes the dumpster lid with him. The camera jounces wildly as the CAMERAMAN runs up, then everything blurs as STILES shouts and swings something towards it. CAMERAMAN is heard cursing, and then things steady just enough to show a black shape thrashing against the end of the dumpster. A mouth is briefly visible, but the sprays of water coming up quickly obscure that and any other detail. Also STILES is running back and forth, waving his hooked pole.]

DEREK (running on-screen, half-wolfed, before being abruptly jerked back): Scott? Where the hell is Scott?

STILES: He’s in the—shit—oh, shit. *abruptly crowds up to the dumpster, driving his pole deep into it as he looks over the edge* Oh, God, Scott, seriously—oh, shit.

[A huge wave of water seems to levitate out of the dumpster. CAMERAMAN is heard cursing again, much more loudly, as camera jogs rapidly backwards. Lens briefly points down to the pavement, then comes back up. Then jerks down and refocuses on a panting SCOTT, blood streaming from one shoulder, wrestling with a vaguely horse-shaped head as STILES sits on a back end shaped like a seal tail and attempts to get his hook into the kelpie’s mouth.

Zoom in, SCOTT’s wide eyes, then jerky camera as the kelpie’s teeth gnash mere inches from his chin. He twists back and then STILES’ head covers up the kelpie. He and SCOTT shout about gag reflexes and then STILES rolls off the kelpie. He drops the pole, then snatches it back up again and uses the hook end to hold down the kelpie’s tail as it starts to go limp.

STILES and SCOTT pin the kelpie for a good minute after the kelpie finally stops moving. STILES’ hoarse breathing can clearly be heard. Finally SCOTT twists himself out from under the kelpie. He stops, gasping, and he and STILES bend over the kelpie’s head. Camera moves in and dips to reveal that the two men are pulling back the kelpie’s lips and examining its gums.]

SCOTT: Not that pale, that’s good. Looks like it at least had something to eat until really recently.

STILES: *pulling up eyelid* Dilation’s okay too. All right, I think we’re good to transfer. Let’s get this little pony in the van and hit the…oh, for fuck’s sake, Jordan.

[Camera swings over, then pulls back as SCOTT leaps up and runs over to where a nonplussed JORDAN is standing over DEREK, who is clearly out cold.]

JORDAN: He was gonna ruin the shot! Your dad told me this show’s gonna pay off some of those tactical vests you trashed, so I was just making sure!

SCOTT: Derek!

STILES: Jordan, so help me, if that’s the leftover kanima venom, I’ll—okay, look, if I’ve gotta have words with somebody, you cut. This is supposed to be a family-friendly show. Or do you want me to call Lydia and check that?

[Camera cuts.]

* * *

[Camera starts off blurry and then gradually focuses the scene into a pair of hands holding a syringe against a wash of dark fur. The syringe is rapidly filling with a straw-colored fluid.

When it hits the halfway point, the hands push a cotton ball dipped in a sticky hot pink paste against the needle and then pull the syringe out. The fur flexes sharply and a low female voice hums soothingly. Then camera backs up to reveal ERICA, one hand still patting at the black cat stretched out on the table, holding the syringe up to the light and peering closely at it.]

ERICA: Looks okay, but we’ll send this off for testing anyway since matagots are notoriously good liars. You can’t even trust their bodily fluids.

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): What do you think is wrong with it?

ERICA: Well, the physical exam was fine, and she’s a little quiet but otherwise her reflexes are good. I also don’t smell anything off on her, which rules out most kinds of cancer. It could be viral or something with the lungs, those don’t come up in the scent until they’re really advanced. *picks up cat, who raises head and rubs it against her hand while purring* Or it could be the fact that her owner told me she got put on a diet a couple days ago and she’s trying to get a medical certification that she doesn’t need to be put on one.

[Cat stops purring and looks up at ERICA in an eerily human manner. ERICA grins fangily at it, then swings its back legs into a carrier waiting at the end of the table. Once she’s placed the cat inside, she turns around, rummages in a drawer, and then comes back with a tiny shriveled thing that she drops into the carrier. A small ‘miaow’ and then some rustling is heard.]

ERICA: She totally does. But hey, I just drew blood, that’s gonna be some calories to make up and a little chicken heart snack never hurt anybody. All right, so I’m just gonna take Dangereuse back out to wait for her owner and check on where the boys are. I’m pretty sure they’re all right.

[Camera pans to counter where a phone, presumably ERICA’s, is buzzing and jumping every couple of seconds.]

ERICA: *carrying cat out of room and down the hall as camera follows* Oh, trust me, if Stiles or Scott were in real trouble, people wouldn’t be calling me. Anyway, this isn’t anything new, we go through the Stiles and Peter drama parade every couple weeks.

[Camera follows ERICA into a medium-size room with opposing walls that are lined with large cages. Instead of the typical wire-screen doors, each cage has a clear plastic door with a line of air-holes studded across the middle. Some of the doors have what appear to be small jelly decals affixed to them; ERICA opens up one of them, inserts the cat, and then casually pokes a decal as she shuts the door. The decal glows and an intricate gold web spreads across the door, just as the cat suddenly transforms into a hideous demonic-looking thing.]

ERICA: *turning back to camera* Whenever they’re out running around, it gets nice and quiet here and I can actually get some work done. The boys make it look all exciting and outdoorsy, but honestly, most of the work we do is in here, sitting around and observing. Animals can’t talk to us, really, so we have to work a lot harder to figure out what’s wrong with them.

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): You can’t talk to them?

ERICA: *stops and stares at camera, while absently tapping her now-clawed fingers against the empty carrier*

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): I’m asking for the non-were people at home. It’s called educational content and it’s our best chance at shopping this to the weekend morning shows, so stop acting like none of you read the fine print. I could believe that of Scott, but not you.

ERICA: Thanks, I’m really flattered. *stoops to stow carrier in a corner, then moves towards door* You know, actually, Scott takes this stuff really seriously. This isn’t like high school where he was just trying to keep up with Stiles because nobody else was gonna talk that guy down from accidentally opening a demonic wormhole. This is his dream. He’s in here on Sundays rotating our drug stock and filling out animal-abuse evaluations. You ask him whether he’d take point on the first hunt-day of the year or spend the day cleaning out bluebird houses, and you know what he’s gonna say?

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): I know I never would have pegged you for a McCall fangirl.

ERICA: Haha, I see what you’re doing there, and if you think I’m gonna bite and dish out some workplace drama for your consideration…that’s what Stiles is for. Me, I’m just here to make things run on time and help out some animals and okay, fine, dish out some facts, like hey, weres? We turn into animals, we aren’t actually animals. I mean, if you put on lederhosen and cooked sauerkraut, that doesn’t automatically teach you how to speak German, does it?

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): Because condescension is absolutely the best way to eliminate damaging stereotypes from impressionable young minds.

ERICA: Hey, seems to work for you.

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): No, I terrify children so they avoid making the same mistake twice. That’s the difference between impressing them and educating them.

ERICA: *laughs, briefly looks startled at self* Okay. Okay, that’s a good line, I’ll give you that. So why are you doing this show, anyway? I thought you were all lined up for another season of Lydia Martin: Make the Trend. What brings you back to slum with us tasteless peons?

[They continue down the hall and then turn into another room. It’s small, but even so, it’s been divided up to serve as office space for at least two people, judging by the computer set-up. One workspace is a cluttered nightmare, with heavy leatherbound books teetering on stacks of overstuffed manila files while plastic test tubes with varying colors of glowy contents roll all over. The other’s organized to within an inch of its life, down to its matching file holders, with the only signs of personality being a digital photo frame that’s currently showing an image of SCOTT hugging a woman with a striking resemblance to him and a small basket of oddly-shaped plush toys.

ERICA picks out a toy and tosses it at the camera, then settles behind that desk and starts to root around in the leg-space.]

ERICA: Then again, you were right up there with Stiles on the grades, and I hear nerds are back in fashion. So you trying to refresh your brand?

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): As the financial brains behind this operation, I think you might want to consider what my on-camera payscale’s going to do to your budget before you try and drag me into this.

ERICA: *head still under desk, arm reaching up to pull the plush toy back* Okay, okay, fine. Jeez, you could just stop talking to me, you don’t have to get all End of Days on us. *waggles toy* That’s what we have good ol’ Yersinia pestis here for. So you want your little character moment from me, I get it.

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): And just because we’re shooting digital doesn’t mean we aren’t running up hard costs for all of this extra useless footage.

ERICA: *bangs around, then pulls head out from under desk* God, bitch much? Okay already, so what did you want to know again? Why I’m working here?

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): If that’s not going to interrupt your snooping?

ERICA: If I were snooping, I’d be on Stiles’ side. I—

[A distant noise catches ERICA’s attention. She puts an arm on top of the desk and pushes herself up, looking off to the side while frowning. Camera begins to turn, then goes back to ERICA as she lets out an aggravated sigh.]

ERICA: Then again, it’s not like you really need to snoop in Stiles’ life when sooner or later, some Hale shows up to yell in your face about it. Jesus Christ. We only went to junior prom and had one handsy session under the bleachers, so why the hell I still basically have in-laws, I don’t—

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: Will somebody get their ass up here already? I’ve got a sick animal here. Legit, it literally just threw up in my car, so you have to talk to me, Stiles!

CAMERAPERSON (off-screen): Is that Cora?

ERICA: *epic eye-roll*

Chapter Text

“Stiles isn’t here. And even if he was, this is a vet clinic, meaning we take care of animals,” Erica is saying as Scott swings the door open. She’s leaning way over the counter and has taken her earrings off, which makes Scott immediately back out of the clinic. “Animals. Animals. Not dumbass werewolves who don’t know better than to shit where they sleep, and then drag their family into it because somehow none of you besides your mom know what to do with a body except call Peter! Peter! A guy who buys surgical-grade hacksaws in bulk!”

“Cora’s here,” Derek says, standing on the sidewalk by Scott and scowling at the door.

“No shit, Brain. Might as well feed Pinky to the cats with that kind of scintillating insight,” Stiles snaps, shoving between the two of them. He does stop long enough to grab the sample case he’d nearly jostled out of Scott’s arms, but then he slams his way into the lobby.

Equinniped blood samples are notoriously unstable and Scott had meant to just go around to the back door, but…he sighs, tugs his dampish shirt away from where it’s sticking to his neck, and turns to the film crew. “Okay, we’ll meet you around the back. Isaac’s going to finish taking Fergus in that way, it’s just Stiles and I need to go adjust the loading dock. Be a couple minutes.”

Boyd flips Scott a salute and then waves the rest of the crew to walk around with him. That settled, Scott pulls the door open. “You want to just meet me over there too?”

Derek really, really wants to, Scott can tell by how the other man’s got his head craned around even as he files in after Scott. “She’s my sister, I’ll get her.”

“You’re getting the bill for the detail job my car’s going to need, is what you’re getting,” Cora hisses at them. “You said you were going to be right back. Is this right back, Derek?”

She holds up a large rubber floor mat. Judging from the shape, it’s from the shotgun side of the car. Judging from the color, stink, and degree of disintegration, it suffered its fate no less than thirty minutes ago.

“What are you even doing here?” Derek snaps back. “You’re supposed to be watching—”

“What the hell did you people do to my baby?” Stiles growls.

Stiles isn’t visible, but from the sound of things, he’s crouched down on the far side of the reception counter. From the way Erica’s standing back, hand on hip, head cocked, it isn’t actually that bad, but everybody except her and Lydia, who’s hanging out in the hallway behind her and frowning at her phone, goes completely still. Nobody moves until Stiles, arms full of a grunting, scaly body, stands up.

“I didn’t do anything,” Cora says defensively. “Derek was supposed to watch her, but no, he dumped her on me and she started barfing all over the place so I took her here. Because this is where you take sick animals.”

“Derek’s not supposed to watch her,” Stiles mutters. He hikes the body in his arms up a little more, patting it as it stirs and lets out a sluggish grunt. “Peter is. That goddamn—Scott, look, lemme just settle her in the back and then I’ll be right out for the kelpie, okay?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Scott says.

Stiles gives him a nod of thanks and then walks off towards the offices. Erica moves out of his way, then moves back and gives Derek and Cora a long look.

“Are you kidding me?” Derek hisses, stepping up next to his sister. “We need him less mad at Peter, not more. Couldn’t you just call me?”

“Oh, sure, I was gonna call you when you’re out chasing your one truuuue alpha around town,” Cora fires back. “Also, look, she started puking. What the hell was I supposed to do? I don’t know how to take care of her! And I’m sure as hell not going to be the one there if she croaks!”

“Okay, okay, look, she’s not gonna croak, she’s fine,” Erica says. More to Scott than to the other two, and she comes around the counter as he comes up. “I did a little checking already, she’s not actually sick.”

Scott looks at the still-smoking car mat in Cora’s hand. She notices and starts to turn, and when the mat bumps against her leg, a few more bits crumble off. “I don’t know, maybe you should go help Stiles get some—”

Erica rolls her eyes. “Scott, love you, but I’m the one who qualified as a vet tech and Cora’s the one who failed two Bio classes even though we are fucking werewolves who can reattach our fingers so long as gangrene hasn’t set in yet and Zilla is fine. She’s just a little pregnant, okay?”

“Hey, I don’t see what the hell were healing has to do with the stupid long-ass Latin names they came up with for bones rather than something easy to remember, like ‘top legbone’ and—wait, what?” Cora says.

“What?” Scott says. “Oh, wow, that’s amazing!”

“Oh…fuck,” Derek says.

Everyone turns to Derek, who just rubs his hand over and over his face, muttering about never, ever asking Peter who died again. Scott starts to ask Derek what’s wrong, but then he hears Stiles yelping in the other room, followed by a small gravelly noise. He takes a step towards that way, only for Isaac to call from the opposite end of the clinic that he thinks the kelpie’s waking up.

“I’m fine!” Stiles yells, reading Scott’s mind. “Go get Fergus in! Zilla just overate because some asshole werewolf doesn’t know how to use a measuring cup!”

“Okay!” Scott says, heading towards the loading dock.

“So that’s a…” Lydia asks as he passes her.

Scott starts to turn back, but then Erica answers her: “Godzilla. She’s Stiles’ mini gojira kaiju.”

“…Godzilla the Godzilla,” Lydia says. “Really?”

“They’re vets, okay? They don’t get paid to come up with creative names,” Erica says irritably. “That’s what you’re for.”

Lydia’s brows rise. “Is that what you think a director does? Well, the day so far suddenly makes so much more sense.”

Kelpie, Scott reminds himself. Kelpie. That one, he can help.

* * *

[A kelpie the size of a Labrador retriever is wading across a no-frills metal tank. When it reaches the end, it hesitates, then slowly rises up out of the water. As its back rises into the air, the part of it still underwater ripples oddly. Then it straightens up on slightly wobbly legs, fishy bits gone, soggy horse-tail clamped tightly to its haunches.

Camera pans over to SCOTT, bare-chested and completely sodden, leaning his crossed arms against a chain-link fence and grinning. It pulls back enough, shaking a little as it hits something, that it becomes obvious that the kelpie is in a pen and the camera had been shooting through a small rectangular opening. SCOTT moves across the camera, which dips to catch him tossing a hunk of raw, bloody meat through the slot.

The kelpie’s head goes up, ears pricked. Then it positively shoots across the pen, and as SCOTT slides a metal flap over the opening and latches it, vicious ripping noises are heard.]

SCOTT: Well, so far, it’s active and hungry and I can’t see anything wrong with how it’s moving. We’ll still do the full work-up later, when it’s calmed down a little and we don’t have to worry about its stress levels, but I’m pretty hopeful that Fergus may have gotten out of this without any long-term issues.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): How’d you figure out its name?

SCOTT: *face blanks out* Um, he—doesn’t he look like a Fergus to you?

STILES (stepping into frame): The asshole who thought he was going to decorate his slumhouse with a kelpie tank sure as hell doesn’t get naming rights.

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Can we please mind the projected rating?

STILES: Okay, fine. *bobs out and then back into frame* The coldblooded son of a brainless basilisk who thought kelpies are wall ornaments doesn’t get to name that poor thing. We rescued him, we’re gonna be rehoming him, we get to name him. And I think Scott’s onto something. He does seem to like the name. Fergus!

[Camera cuts back to pen, where the kelpie is standing over a dark red smear and staring through the fence at STILES and SCOTT. Its lips are curled back and when its long, serpent-like black tongue flicks out and laps away some of the blood, its big, white, sharp teeth look even bigger.]

SCOTT: All right, let’s give him some time to stretch his legs and get used to this place. *turns around, oblivious to the fact that the kelpie is nosing closer to the fence and its tongue is now threading through the links* At this age, kelpies grow really fast and a lot of people don’t realize how big they can get, so unfortunately what happened to Fergus is more common than I’d like. This is why it’s really important to research your pets before you take them home.

ERICA: Yeah. It’s called the Internet, and if you search it, you might come across the Scottish Kelpie Club, which has a great website. I was actually talking to them *casually steps behind Scott and waves what appears to be an iron poker between him and the kelpie tongue* because we don’t have the resources to keep Fergus for very long. They’re making some calls but they already told us that they might have a permanent home for Fergus lined up.

[The kelpie immediately recoils from the poker. Its hooves clack loudly against the concrete. Frowning, SCOTT turns around, only to find ERICA blinking innocently and the kelpie turned half-away, head down and nosing at the little bit of blood left on the concrete. SCOTT shrugs and turns back around. ERICA sighs and the end of the poker peeps over her right shoulder.]

SCOTT: Oh, that’s great! So hopefully, Fergus’ check comes back with a clean bill of health and he’ll get some rest and good food, and then we’ll send him off to his forever home.

STILES (off-screen): Yeah, this is a pretty good ending for an abandonment case…is that the phone?

[Camera zooms out and turns, panning across ERICA, SCOTT, and STILES as they all turn towards the back door of the clinic. It momentarily pauses on ISAAC, huddled up behind a very battered-looking, wet riot shield and still looking shellshocked, then swings over to the door. A second later, the door opens and DEREK leans out, holding his cell out.]

STILES (off-screen): Look, Derek, I know this is a pain in your ass but you’re just going to have to find a spine and stand up to him because I’m not—

DEREK: It’s not Peter, okay? *twitches as a clearly audible, clearly disagreeing response comes over the cell* Fuck. *shoves phone against his shoulder* Your office phone isn’t him, it’s Allison. She was taking one of the trainee teams around the preserve and they found something stuck in one of those runoff pipes, and she thinks one of you should come check it out.

SCOTT (off-screen): Does she know what it is?

DEREK: It’s too far down the pipe so they’re having trouble getting a good look at it, but she thinks she saw one horn so maybe a unicorn.

STILES (off-screen): Well, shi—I mean, yeah, I guess we better fire up the van. Isaac, hold the fort down, would you? All we’ve got is Freda the Jackalope’s ingrown horn extraction, and you’ve done those before.

ISAAC (off-screen): Wha—Erica’s going out too?

ERICA (stepping into screen, poker blatantly over one shoulder): If it’s really a unicorn, you’re lucky we’re not making you go out too. We’re gonna need all the bodies we can get, even with Allison’s team.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): For a unicorn? But aren’t those things supposed to be really friendly? They made that whole movie franchise—

SCOTT (off-screen): I hate those movies. *camera swings back and he doesn’t even register, he’s so busy looking frustrated* I mean, look, movies are movies and while I wish they’d do more research, I get that you’re supposed to suspend disbelief a little. But those movies just—they were just wrong all the way, and so many people have gotten hurt because of them, and I just—well, never mind, we need to get out there.

[SCOTT starts walking towards the door. The camera slides in behind him and STILES, following them as they all walk into the clinic. Once inside, STILES doglegs into a room. ERICA is about to follow, but is caught by ISAAC, who’s run up and who immediately begins asking her a bunch of questions about the jackalope.

Camera moves towards them, then slightly to the side as an exasperated ERICA nudges ISAAC to the opposite side of the hall. Then it flips around, catching SCOTT and DEREK standing together in the doorway. DEREK is hunched over so that the height difference between them is nearly eliminated, and is clearly unhappy.]

DEREK: Look, I’m just saying, she said that before I told her about Peter and Stiles and once she heard, she said—

SCOTT: Derek, she’s going to have to bring it here anyway. There’s the whole tagging program—you can’t just let a feral unicorn run off. So we might as well go and help her out. It’ll be faster, since we all know what to do, and that way it’s a lot less likely somebody’s got to go to the hospital and then Mom’s dragged into this. Because you know how she gets when they’re fighting.

DEREK: I just think you know how Stiles gets, especially now that we know what the hell they’re fighting about. You really want him as back-up right now?

SCOTT: Look, Stiles is a pro and this is an animal who needs help, whatever else is going on. I’ll call you when we’re done, okay?

[He shoulders by DEREK, who starts back, expression frustrated and hurt. SCOTT doesn’t really look that proud of himself, but he’s got the same determined expression on that he had just before tackling the kelpie back at the station.

DEREK shakes his head, then abruptly lunges after SCOTT. He grabs the other man’s arm and the two of them collide with each other. SCOTT stumbles, his head dipping to block DEREK’s face, and then a loud click is heard.

Camera turns around. ERICA is standing in the doorway across from it, one arm leaning against the jamb and tapping a taser against it. She raises her free hand and waggles her finger at the camera. Then twists a little and switches to her middle finger as DIRECTOR irritably drops her hand out of what was probably a ‘turn back around!’ gesture. CAMERAMAN starts to mutter, but then there’s a muffled roar. It’s pitched about the same as a housecat but still has enough power to ruffle some papers tacked on a corkboard down the hall.

Camera goes down the hall a few feet, then pokes into another room and finds STILES squatting on the floor, back to the camera. It slowly rises over STILES’ shoulder until a small, grayish-green gojira stomping around what appears to be the remains of a Lego village is visible. The kaiju kicks over a Lego person, then leans over, mouth open, and nails it with a small blast of what appears to be blue electricity. It tilts back and raises its head into another roar, the snowflake-like spikes on its back quivering, and then abruptly snuggles down amid the Legos. Its eyes close, and its tail goes limp.]

STILES: Yeah, just needed to vent about the asshole who got you into this, I get it. *reaches out and pets kaiju’s head* Okay, well, good timing because Daddy’s gotta work now and we’re gonna have to leave Isaac to mind the office. *chuckles as kaiju shifts sleepily, belly rounding out to one side* He’s a lot better about reading the instructions than Cora, so I kind of don’t want to have to layer him with anti-radiation spells. So be good, Zilla. I’ll be back soon and then we’re gonna deal with that asshole co-parent of yours.

[As STILES stands up, camera quickly backs out of the room and then retreats further up the hall. It turns back towards the other end of the corridor, landing first on ERICA and DIRECTOR arguing heatedly over something on a phone while ISAAC, looking considerably calmer, uses the riot shield to ferry a small stack of boxes into one of the rooms. Then it goes further back to where SCOTT has both hands around DEREK’s cheeks, talking earnestly at the other man. DEREK’s eyes keep trying to roll but he doesn’t appear to mind getting handled by SCOTT.]

STILES (off-screen): Hey, there.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): I’m shooting B-roll.

STILES (walking on-screen as camera turns): Sure, right, and you’re gonna edit it all out later. *raises arm, back to camera, and snaps his fingers*

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): What the—

[Camera field of vision goes sparkly. Very sparkly. Nothing but sparkles, sparkles, sparkles, while the theme song from a well-known series about magical ponies plays. Then footage abruptly stops.]

* * *

“I really don’t see why you’re so upset over this. It’s not like I even broke it, or like you lost the footage before Boyd decided to go TMZ behind-the-scenes, even though that would’ve just be saving us the argument in post-production,” Stiles says, annoyed, as they get out of the van and into the preserve. “I told Boyd, just reboot it and what happened when he did? It works now!”

Lydia is not impressed by the dirt access road they’re on, the thick, dark woods that line either side of it, or the way magical tattoos intermittently weave up and down Stiles’ arms as he stomps back and forth in front of the cars. “Need I remind you that even with creative approval rights, you have an obligation to deliver enough footage to make a thirty-minute episode every week—”

“Okay, no, you deliver the footage, we just walk around doing our jobs, that’s what you—”

The woods suddenly go even darker, except for a flickering reddish halo around Lydia, whose eyes have started to glow an ominous yellow. Scott hears a scuffle behind him and turns to see Boyd dodging around a startled Derek—leaving him to angrily shoulder off the other crew members trying to follow—to scramble back into the back of the van. Then he turns back around to find Stiles looking highly unimpressed and crooking his fingers in a very—

Scott jumps between the two of them, waving his own arms. “Everybody, let’s just calm down, all right? I know it’s been a little rough today—”

“What the—Scott, he’s sparking,” Derek hisses, stabbing one finger at Stiles.

“—but honestly, it’s just the first day of filming and we’re all getting used to this. We’re going be working together for a while, so we’re going to have to learn how to talk to each other,” Scott goes on, trying to ignore the fear-whine undertone to Derek’s voice. “So let’s just figure this scene out and go from there and talk about everything else later, okay? Because Allison’s waiting for us.”

“And she’s kind of got the fiery crown thing going,” Erica says from where she’s calmly screwing an extension onto a rifle. “Look, boss-man, I know what you’re thinking and I’d like to claim that’s in violation of preserve regs on fire-starting outside of designated areas too, but we’re already on an installment plan with the Forest Service, you know? So do you wanna start this?”

Stiles flicks her an annoyed look, then resumes glaring at Lydia. She arches her brow and leans back on her trailing foot, her forward one impatiently tapping against the dirt.

“Also, there’s an angry, scared, possibly hurt feral unicorn?” Scott tries. “Trapped in an old drainage tunnel? When one collapsed just last week, and everybody remembers that one who blew up a dam when it went over the top, right?”

Lydia blinks. “It what?”

“Okay, yeah, you’re right,” Stiles says, suddenly relaxing. He runs one hand—his arm-tattoos have disappeared—over the top of his head, then sighs and swings around to catch a belt of darts that Erica tosses out of the van. “We should get it out before it or anyone else gets hurt, because that’s what’s really important, over some pissing contest over who gets to invade whose privacy. Good call, Scotty.”

Stiles drapes the belt over one shoulder and then walks into the woods, pulling his phone out as he goes. He doesn’t call anybody on it, but instead thumbs at it until the front end shoots out a whitish line of light that points further into the trees. He twists to follow it, then looks over his shoulder.

“So this gonna go over the family-safe rating?” he calls. “I mean, if you want, you can probably stay with the cars and just wait till we carry it back and shoot us loading it.”

“Boyd,” Lydia grits out, without moving. She even still has her arms crossed.

Her hair’s not on fire any more, at least. Scott gives himself a shake, then jogs back to the end of the van, swerving as Boyd and the rest of the film crew pile out of it. “Erica, you’ll—”

“Nobody’s gonna die, Scott,” Erica calls back as she trots after Stiles. “C’mon, I’m sure Lydia remembers your mom and all.”

Scott looks over just in time to see Lydia twitch as she finally uncrosses her arms. He…wishes he was more reassured, but for all her sarcasm, Erica’s generally got a good sense of what’s really dangerous and what’s just their lives. And while he kind of hates to admit it, given Stiles is his best friend, she’s better about telling him which one she thinks a situation is.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Derek mutters, coming up next to Scott. “I think you should call Allison.”

“Derek, we are literally here,” Scott says. Well, snaps, really, and then he winces and sticks his head in the duffel bag he’s got in front of him. Then takes a breath and makes himself push back up—at least the crew have gone after Stiles and didn’t catch that. “Look, I know, after this one we’re going to break for lunch and I’ll talk to Stiles then, okay? But—”

“I actually didn’t mean the whole thing with Peter. Honestly, if Stiles is this pissed off, maybe he’ll just blast the unicorn out of there and that’ll take care of it,” Derek says.

Scott takes another deep breath. Focuses on the tools in the bag, gets the ones he needs, and then pushes the bag up front. He rearranges a few other things so most of the back is clear—Allison said it looked like a small one so they’re hoping to just get away with the van, since they still haven’t had time to buy a replacement large-animal trailer—and then climbs out of the van and closes the back doors.

“Fuck,” Derek says. “Okay, I don’t actually want it dead.”

“Look, it’s fine, we’ve had this talk, I just…can’t do it again right now, okay?” Scott says as he starts after the others. “I know how you feel and all, it’s just…”

“No, seriously.” Derek catches up, but doesn’t quite get to where Scott can see his face, unless Scott wants to turn around and then he’d have to slow down. “This is what you love. I get that, Scott, I just…this is hard to watch when I’m actually here, I don’t know why people want to watch a whole show about it.”

“Well, we’re not actually doing this to be famous,” Scott mutters. Then grimaces. “Okay, maybe Erica is. And Stiles, a little, but I think that’s about teaching people, you know, like Carl Sagan.”

“Yeah, if he blew up so much stuff that you had to go to Peter to find somebody who owes him enough to sell you car insurance,” Derek says under his breath. He pulls briefly ahead of Scott, just long enough for Scott to see he’s more concerned than grumpy, and then drops back again. “Just tell Allison and me where to help this time. Actually help. Not like that time with the cave-in.”

Scott starts to say he doesn’t know what Derek’s talking about, except—he does, even if he can’t remember exactly which cave-in that was. He presses his lips together, then nods.

“Also, seriously, talk to Stiles,” Derek adds after a second. He smells a little less wary, and he’s finally walking next to Scott instead of guarding Scott’s back. “The last time he and Peter had a fight over Zilla, you lost half the roof. And that wasn’t even about babies. Peter is such an asshole.”

“I thought we didn’t actually know what happened?” Scott says, but it’s half-hearted.

Derek looks at him.

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna. I mean, I don’t want him getting more stressed out than he already is, with the film crew around,” Scott sighs. “He was actually looking forward to this, you know? He had a bunch of soundbites written up for each patient and everything, and…well, look, he knows why we need this. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Chapter Text

[Slightly shaky camera pans across the man-size opening to a concrete tunnel. The tunnel’s clearly been abandoned for quite some time, with deep chunks taken out of the rim and one side disintegrating under the invasive roots of a sapling growing just above it. Bars have been installed across the opening, but they are absolutely slathered in rust, except for one corner that’s been busted through, recently enough that the edges glint.

Camera then turns around to show a small group clustered by the opening. SCOTT, ERICA, and DEREK are all listening to an attractive brunette woman dressed in hunting gear and shouldering a much more high-powered rifle than the one ERICA has, while STILES is completely turned away and looking at something on the other side of the tunnel.]

BRUNETTE: So if we’ve got the right map, this one used to bend right and go *points* right up that hill, to funnel the runoff towards the creek. But you can see *points again* where the hillside’s gone all concave? That’s because some of the tunnel has fallen in. I think there’s still enough space for water to run through and that’s probably what attracted the unicorn, but it’s unstable and more of it might have fallen in so now it doesn’t know how to get back out.

ERICA: Yeah, unfortunately unicorns aren’t the brightest things out there, even with the built-in flashlight *curling hand to forehead* here.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Unicorns are stupid?

BRUNETTE: Well, I wouldn’t say that. It’s more like they spook really, really easily, and when they spook, their first instinct is to lash out. So when the walls caved, it probably kicked at them or tried to stab with its horn, and made the walls collapse more.

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Note to self, have interns insert a factoid graphic here. What has a higher IQ than a unicorn, ants, fungi, or three-year-olds?

BRUNETTE:…okay, are they really putting that in there?

STILES: Nah, c’mon, Allison, you know I’d never let somebody make a quiz that blatantly easy. Okay, so I think I have a plan.

[Camera does rapid close-ups of SCOTT, DEREK, and ALLISON’s attempts to not look worried. Then lingers on ERICA, who seems less worried than the others.]

ERICA: If we’re gonna drop some facts, we should also mention that that’s why unicorns need to be intensively trained and socialized from birth. They really aren’t easy pets, and you can really fuck them up by not knowing what you’re doing, and then what happens? Then we’ve got a horse with a really pointy horn, the ability to shoot balls of pure magic out of it, and a complete lack of trust in people. Now does that sound like a good idea? Does it? Do you really want that in your nursery with your precious little spoiled brat who’s going to get their very first lesson in how sometimes, their needs aren’t the only needs, moms and dads?

STILES: *grinning* Erica, I adore you. I haven’t said that today, have I?

ERICA: Nope. Also you still owe me a Fenty lip set.

STILES: What the hell. *no longer grinning* It was one stick.

ERICA: Whatever. So what’s the plan?

STILES:…fucking expense reports are why I’m putting up with a banshee taking tips from Wag the Dog. So the unicorn seems to have temporarily worn itself out, per heartbeat status, and it’s too far back for us to see and the concrete’s messing with our locator spells. But Allison’s team did see it walking around before, so we know it’s not too badly hurt yet. We should try and get it to come out under its own power and then tranq it so we can get it to a safe place and do a full exam. Water’s still running *pointing at rivulet snaking out of the tunnel* and unicorns are drawn to water, so I can cast a couple spells to redirect this near the unicorn so it’ll see and follow that out.

SCOTT: Oh, that’s a great idea! I really think that’ll work.

STILES: So just give me a couple seconds inside to do my stuff.

SCOTT and ERICA: Wait a second.

ALLISON: Why do you have to go in?

[Camera edges over to ALLISON, then past her. Then zooms in on the arm she’s curled around her back to signal to…tracks over to DEREK, then follows his line of sight back to a very annoyed STILES.]

STILES: Well, because we don’t know where the unicorn is in there so how are we going to make sure it finds the water?

ERICA: I dunno, fearless leader, maybe with its ability to hear and the giant glowing horn on its head?

STILES: People, come on. Unicorns are idiots, and that’s when you’ve got special magic flowers sprouting up wherever they need to go. All their energy goes into growing that horn rather than their brains. And anyway, you heard Allison, the tunnel’s filling in as we speak, so we don’t have a ton of time and I don’t really see any other options.

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: Well, you could ask someone who doesn’t need a map to trace these tunnels whether there might be another, less problematic entrance to try. Except that would require you to stop avoiding me, wouldn’t it? And we can’t have that.

STILES: Cut.

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: Oh, come now, Stiles, you’ve gone through so much trouble to get these people up here. Don’t you think they deserve a show?

STILES: Cut. *tattoos begin to scroll down his arms* Now. Before I—

[CAMERAMAN growls irritably and then video cuts off.]

* * *

“You people know we get paid for idle time, right?” Boyd mutters.

“So why don’t you go back and wait in the parking lot, so we don’t have to worry about so many people?” Allison says, a strained smile on her face. Her hands are away from her rifle, but Scott knows that particular attempt at a winsome head-tilt and he about-faces from trying to listen for the unicorn’s vitals. “It is getting really crowded and we’re going to need the room to maneuver.”

“Still getting paid,” Boyd says.

Scott lifts his hand.

“Stiles, I don’t know what you want,” Peter snaps. “I asked you this morning and you said you couldn’t talk about it, and now you’re saying I’m not talking to you about it, which is a blatant—”

“It’s not a fucking lie because with you the fact that words are coming out of your mouth doesn’t automatically mean you’re talking to me,” Stiles snaps back. “You didn’t want to talk about it this morning, you just wanted to tell me all about this magnificent plan of yours that I just ruined and I am so sorry I’m not the kind of masochistic doormat that’s gonna bask in those gaslights.”

Peter doesn’t say anything, but the growl he doesn’t actually let out is still loud enough for Scott’s hearing to pick it up. He’s still standing well away from Stiles, and at this point even Allison’s dad doesn’t think Peter would intentionally charge the other man, short of a bodyswap situation, but Peter gets a lot less caring about the rest of his surroundings when he and Stiles are arguing, and they are standing next to a crumbling access tunnel that has a unicorn trapped inside. Scott turns towards him, sees Derek trying to switch places with Erica to cover Peter’s other side, and—

“As a matter of fact, Stiles, if you’d bothered to listen,” Peter says, dragging each word like it’s on one of those torture racks. “Or answer my messages, or communicate in any way short of my having to call Derek until he was where I could overhear where you were going—”

Derek freezes. “I didn’t do that on purpose!” he hisses.

Stiles twitches towards him. It’s not quite looking over, but it’s enough of a distraction that when Peter steps forward, it catches Stiles off-guard. He twists back around, eyes widening, hands going up with the tattoos all the way down to his fingertips now and Scott immediately adjusts his angle—and then something moves in the cave.

“Because what were you going to say, Peter?” Stiles spits out, anger recovering first. “What? What the hell did I do now? Did I buy something we should’ve gotten via some complicated pack-debt you’re collecting on? Did I accidentally make peace with some asshole who’s been stalking your family for years because you haven’t killed him yet? Did I fucking fix something you actually liked having broken because then you get to grandstand about how goddamn fucking dysfunctional your pack is? Is that why you’re so fucking mad about Zilla?”

“Oh, my God, shut the fucking Hale trauma train down for a second and think,” Erica mutters as she yanks Derek back behind Allison. “Scott, you heard that too, right? Never mind the oversharing, we really need to get in there.”

Allison pauses midway through steadying Derek. “Hear what?”

“Hey,” Scott says.

“Are you…actually…accusing me of being upset about Zilla?” Peter says. This time the delay in getting the words out is genuine shock, right down to the sudden skip in his heartbeat.

Stiles can’t hear that but Peter’s change in expression is enough to throw him. “You telling me the hissy fit this morning was about some other gojira kaiju?” he says, clearly straining to keep his voice loud and harsh. Then he shakes his head. “You know what, I don’t even know why I’m—I know you, okay? I know you think we’re not in a place for it, I know you’re gonna list all of the enemies and threats who haven’t gotten neutralized yet, I know, I know, I know. And you know what, Peter? I know you’re insecure as hell about you but if you wanna give me some fucking credit here—”

“Oh, good God, this is the children argument,” Lydia says. “Stop filming, Boyd. We’re not stooping this low.”

“Wait a—Stiles told you at least five minutes ago to cut!” Allison says, outraged. She jerks her rifle into a more favorable position as she twists towards the other woman.

She’s not loaded with tranqs, Scott can tell by smell. He sucks his breath and changes stance again, only for a distinctive scraping noise to catch his ear. He looks back at the tunnel entrance. “Hey.”

“Stiles, you’re the one who stormed out and left Zilla thinking she’d done something wrong,” Peter snarls, his eyes suddenly electric blue. He doesn’t step forward but he leans as if he has, his arms and shoulders visibly straining the seams of his suit as he tries to stay human. “If you want to talk about my family, then let me tell you, that is exactly what my parents did when Talia came home with Laura—”

“Your parents were bloodline supremacists!” Stiles shouts. “And I didn’t storm out! I just wasn’t gonna fucking call you a fucking asshole in front of her because she got knocked up when I wasn’t home and you didn’t want to take the blame! I’m fine with her, you’re the one who got a second to think and then sent her to the clinic to guilt me into—”

“I didn’t guilt you into a damn thing, Stiles, I had Cora take her over to get her looked at by an actual specialist, since you’ve apparently forgotten you should do that with pregnancies!” Peter roars back. “Just because you think this town is safe enough to let her have that damned pet-flap, when anything can and does come here to take advantage of—”

“Hey! Hey, stop, both of you, you can’t—stop it, this isn’t good for you or Zilla or the unicorn—” Scott shouts.

Before he knows it, he’s windmilling between the two of them. He looks like an idiot, he knows that even before he glimpses Allison and Derek’s staring faces, but they just. They can’t do this. It’s not even the fact that there are so many other things they should be doing, it’s just how vicious Stiles and Peter are being, and they aren’t like that. They really aren’t. The way they are—he’s not going to pretend it all, or even most of it, makes sense to him, but he can tell it makes them better and this is the exact opposite of that. This is—

“Unicorn!” screams Boyd.

Boyd?

Scott is closer to Stiles, so when the two of them whip around to face the scream, Stiles’ arm bangs into him. He sees Boyd halfway up a tree and looking—Scott hisses and spins back around, but the unicorn, magic fireballs pouring off of it, has already slammed its way out of the tunnel.

Then all of the rocks and dirt it also blasted through start to fall and he can’t see it or hear it. He dives at Stiles anyway, catching the other man by the waist and spinning them as far out of the rising cloud of debris as he can.

“Scott, move!” comes Allison’s shout.

“Left!” Erica adds.

Which left—which way is even left, there’s so much dirt in the air—Scott stumbles while trying to figure it out and loses his grip on Stiles. Who promptly runs right back into the cloud, shouting Peter’s name and waving his hands. Scott’s memory rewinds and places Peter several yards behind him and right in the path of the unicorn. “Oh, shit!”

“Don’t you fucking even!” Stiles is yelling.

Then there’s a giant, rapidly expanding dome of light—Scott doubles over, trying to cover his eyes with as many limbs as he can. He holds his breath, feels the wave of heat pass over him, and then pops back up. “Stiles, don’t—”

The dirt’s completely gone and the air is clear, so Scott can see perfectly. He really wishes he couldn’t.

* * *

[When the static clears up, PETER is standing at least five yards away from where he’d previously been, one arm thrown up to protect his face while the other clutches something round and shining and green. He slowly lowers his arm till it’s about level with his shoulders. Then he snorts and drops it the rest of the way, straightening up. He brushes a dead leaf off his suit; that and his tie, which has been blown over one shoulder, are the only signs of disarray on him.

Standing three yards away, facing about forty-five degrees away from PETER, is STILES. He’s breathing heavily, even though his arms are at his sides, and something appears to be wrong with the skin on his arms. Camera focuses in and it gradually becomes clear that the skin isn’t actually crawling, it’s just that his tattoos are vibrating wildly over it.

Zoom out and pan over to DEREK, fallen to one knee and staring wide-eyed at STILES. His mouth is even hanging open, and he doesn’t close it until ALLISON and SCOTT, stumbling and babbling over each other, run into his side in their attempt to check that he’s fine.

STILES blinks hard, as if he’s surprised to be facing DEREK. Then he twitches sharply, his expression suddenly going stony.

Cut to PETER, clearly talking and even more clearly upset. He gestures angrily, then yanks his tie off his shoulder and pivots sharply on his heel, walking away. He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t appear to notice DIRECTOR filming him with her phone.

Oddly, neither does STILES, who after a second’s delay, makes an aborted lunge after PETER. Then he stops and throws his arms out and shouts something. He stares in that direction, then twitches again. Then a third time, which is interrupted when he twists around and angrily speaks to someone off-camera.

ERICA walks into frame, pointing to the side and giving back as good as she’s getting. Frowning, STILES turns around and camera pulls back to show…the unicorn, huddled up against a stump just behind DEREK. When STILES takes another step towards them, the unicorn puts its head down, obviously distressed. DEREK and SCOTT turn towards it—ALLISON also does, but only after yanking her rifle off her shoulder—and then DEREK shakes his head in disbelief as the unicorn scoots around him, its aim apparently to keep him between itself and STILES.]

CAMERAMAN: Goddamn it, come on, I know you’re not blown ou—oh, sound’s back.

DIRECTOR (muffled and crackly, as if coming through a microphone or something similar, and also visibly at the other side of the clearing): Get down from that tree, Boyd. We need to move.

* * *

“I think it’ll be okay,” Scott says, sitting down next to Zilla. “I mean, some of the bloodwork still needs to come back, but it ate a little and drank a little and then did its business in the hay. I want to take a look at that back leg later, but I think the signs are good.”

Zilla is perfectly still except for the slight twitch of her nostrils with each breath. Her eyes are closed and her forelegs are resting easily against her rounded belly, which has canted her slightly backward onto her tail. She’s pretty much the most peaceful thing that Scott’s seen all day.

“I don’t think you’re going to lose your license,” Scott adds. “It was pretty clearly self-defense—I mean, that whole hillside collapsed—and anyway, it is a fact that unicorns spook at pretty much anything. Um, so, anyway, I’m gonna talk to Lydia later about making sure that part’s not edited so it looks like it’s saying stuff we don’t agree with. Or, you know, has the part with Peter in it.”

One of Zilla’s eyes cracks open. Then she hunkers to the left, in three increments, her tail wrapping around her as she turns. She closes her eye.

“Stiles,” Scott says after a second. “Do you—”

“Not really,” says the man lying under the examining table, on the other side of Zilla.

Scott opens his mouth, then closes it. He always wants to say something, make it better, but if being a vet’s taught him anything, it’s that sometimes you learn more by waiting and letting the story be told by others.

Not that that’s actually easier, and he catches himself checking his phone just to distract himself. He grimaces and starts to put it away, but then sees that Allison’s texted him to let him know patrol is set. That makes him frown, since as far as he knows, nobody from her team should be on rotation this week. Then he realizes what she really means and starts texting back that that’s not really necessary, only for another text to ping: I know what you’re going to say but that was the worst I’ve ever seen. I know the show’s important so everybody’s staying off camera, promise. But I can’t just leave now. Derek’s staying too.

This show, Scott thinks, suddenly annoyed. This show was supposed to be easy. Just be themselves and show their work, that was all they were supposed to do.

“That was a fuck-up of massive proportions,” Stiles says abruptly. He lets his arms flop out to either side of him, then pulls his right back up as Zilla lets out a startled noise. “I’m a vet, Scott. I took an oath—I took a lot of oaths, and they all had to do with putting the welfare of others first and not getting wrapped up in my own ego. Because just because I know a lot and have kind of a maladjusted sense of fun—”

“You’re not maladjusted—”

“—and a lot of other people don’t even want to deal with this, they just wanna freak out and call the police and make it somebody else’s problem when stuff like a feral unicorn or a colicky dragonet actually are public fucking health hazards when it’s really bad, and it’s honestly not their fault because we put the poor things in those situations—”

“It’s not your fault either,” Scott starts.

“Yes! Yes, it is!” Stiles half-shouts. “I should’ve told Peter to fuck off and just handled it but I didn’t!”

Zilla scrambles up onto her feet, head swinging anxiously back and forth. Sucking back what sounded like a curse, Stiles rolls onto one elbow and reaches for her, clicking his tongue. Her double row of spinal spikes start to flatten and Scott lets out his breath—too early, since then she skitters away from Stiles. He goes after her, misjudges the height of the table, and bangs his head while she scoots over to a pile of Legos and starts throwing them in his and Scott’s direction.

“Stiles,” Scott starts. He reaches for the other man, then pulls his hand back even before Stiles bats at it. Looks over as a Lego hits him in the arm, then gives himself a shake. Sure, Zilla’s restless but it looks like she’s happy to take it out on the Legos, whereas Stiles…he bites his lip, thinking about what he wants to say. “Stiles, you know that wasn’t gonna help. He wasn’t going to leave.”

For a second Stiles looks like he’s going to argue, and then his shoulders slump. He rubs at his nose. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, I—I was just so fucking mad at him this morning, and I know how we both are, and it had to be the first day of shooting too and I know you and Erica really need to pay off those citations. I just…I was gonna give it a few hours, calm down. But it’s Peter, obviously that was never gonna work.”

“Did you tell him you were going to come back and talk later?” Scott has to ask.

Stiles shrugs limply. “I was mad, Scott. I…” he gestures at Zilla, who’s stopped messing with the Legos and is squatting among them with a spacy look “…you know how he’s been helping Talia out? So he’s coming back late from that, and I’m coming in late from gearing up for the show, and we’re both barely sleeping and Zilla’s just, you know, she wants to go out ‘cause it’s her season and I just was, you know, we could just intro her to a nice boy-kaiju and I was kind of joking, but really, I would’ve—and he flips out about his family, and…and a week later we come home and Zilla’s like that.”

There’s something off about her squat, Scott slowly realizes. He starts to get up, then stops when Zilla looks over at him. Her eyes are almost shut and she’s digging her forepaws into the floor, and he suddenly realizes what it is: she’s trembling all over. “Stiles?”

“We honestly should’ve just hashed it out right then and there, but I don’t know, I just—I do get it about his family, you know? I mean, sure, Laura and Derek and Cora are all reasonably sane and he and Talia are cool too, but there are a lot of bodies in that backyard, you know?” Stiles says. He is hearing Scott, and turning too, but he’s still mostly involved in the conversation. “And I don’t disagree with him. You should think really hard before you commit to having babies. But I wish he’d get past this kneejerk reaction that all babies are gonna lead him to murder people because, well, no. Not babies. Badly-roasted coffee, yes, but babies? No.”

“Stiles, I think she’s—”

“Oh—oh,” Stiles says, head finally swiveling around.

Zilla looks at them like they’re idiots, still squatting between her two brand-new, slightly slimy-looking eggs. She sniffs a little, swipes some fluid off her hip, and shuffles forward. Her head goes down and she shivers sharply, all the way down to the end of her tail. Then she goes stiff; something clamps onto Scott’s arm and he looks over, then reaches out and hugs Stiles.

“Oh, my God,” Stiles says quietly, awestruck. “Awww, Zilla…”

And then he and Scott both lunge for Zilla, just as she tilts her head back and lets out a triumphant roar. Complete with six-foot flame, right into the wall. Fire-retardant sigils instantly bloom all over the plaster and Scott starts to sigh in relief—until the flame moves over onto the freshly-patched part, which they haven’t had time to extend the wards to.

“Okay, never mind, I’ll get the fire extinguisher!” Scott says, about-facing.

Chapter Text

ISAAC: This is a proofing drawer. *pulls open* You’re supposed to use it in baking, but Stiles picked it up at some estate sale and we overhauled it and it’s actually a good size for anything in the small-animal range. Which Godzilla falls into. So we’ll keep her and her eggs in here till the shells harden up. That should only take a couple hours, but while they’re soft, it’s hard to make sure they stay in the right temperature range.

[Camera pans from ISAAC, now pouring large clay pellets into the drawer, to STILES, who is holding a tired-looking ZILLA in one arm and cradling a large plastic bowl with the other. The bowl appears to be filled with cotton. STILES is talking to ALLISON, who keeps looking into the bowl and grinning in between showing him something on a tablet.]

STILES:…really appreciate it. Especially with my asshole moment earlier.

ALLISON: It’s no problem, really, this batch of trainees could use the spellwork practice. City Hall’s being really slow about giving us a controlled-burn permit, so fixing your wall means we don’t have to wait two months. Besides, you know I love seeing the animals.

STILES: Yeah, I think Scott still is hoping he can get you to come be a vet tech like Erica.

ALLISON: Oh, I really couldn’t. *taps tablet* I mean, visiting is one thing, but I don’t think I could sit around and watch them get sick and die like you—okay. That came out wrong.

STILES: It’s cool, we’re *jounces ZILLA as she starts to squirm* friends. I know what you mean.

ALLISON: Good. *looks relieved, lowers tablet* Because Stiles, if a unicorn is charging Scott and you ever block my shot again?

[STILES glances to the side, at the door. Then grimaces and looks back at ALLISON, squaring up his shoulders.

Camera briefly checks in on ISAAC, who is frozen in the corner with the half-empty bag of pellets held protectively in front of him. Then tracks back to STILES’ resigned, wary face.]

STILES: You’ll make Zilla a single-parent gojira?

ALLISON: Of course not, you know I wouldn’t do that to her. *pointedly reaches out to skritch ZILLA’s head* Or honestly, want to deal with Peter. Nope, you’ll have to live, and you’ll have to deal with me, and I know if it comes down to that, you’d rather deal with Derek. Because guess what, Stiles, I care about Scott too.

STILES: Yeah. Yeah, I know, and I know that was a shitshow back there. That wasn’t—

ALLISON: But hey, look, did he really walk out because he thought you let her out to get pregnant on purpose? *disbelieving expression* Because that is a really terrible thing to do.

STILES: What? Oh…Peter’s not—it’s more complicated than that, okay? You know how his family is.

ALLISON: Well, I know that Derek and I both had families who tried to kick out people with small children, and it’s not like either of us act like that.

STILES: You don’t know Peter. Don’t even act like it.

[Camera zooms out just enough to show ISAAC inching along the wall, then whipping out the door the second he reaches it. Then pulls back to ALLISON and STILES.]

STILES:…look, to be honest, we both had kind of—this was all a surprise, okay? *walks around ALLISON, lowers ZILLA and bowl into incubator* We both had a bunch of late nights, neither of us really were paying much attention, and then we…we were kind of having an argument anyway and Zilla got upset and threw up, and I tested her in case it was upset stomach and instead it was…yeah. And this show’s more distracting than I thought it’d be.

ALLISON: Well, you. *stops and looks at camera, then shuffles over to STILES and switches to whispering* Look, Scott’ll hate it, but I can talk to Dad and he can call some people and probably get City Hall to at least write off what you owe them after the bonnacon. I can’t believe they sent you a bill in the first place. It’s not like you were the ones who wanted a goat for the Family on the Green Day and ordered that instead. And why does the mayor need an official bandstand anyway?

STILES: Thanks. Really, but it’s fine, we already cut them a check out of the show’s…oh, goddamn it.

[Loud voices and banging sounds are heard. Camera swings around, only to show an empty hallway. Then some sort of distressed wailing starts up. Camera turns back and picture gets oddly blurry.]

STILES (half off-screen): It’s not Zilla, you can chill out with the riot shield, Boyd. That isn’t even the radioactive-proofed one.

[CAMERAMAN removes something from the front of the camera, clearing up the blur.]

STILES (now on-screen and walking out of the room, ALLISON right behind him): Erica! Erica, is anyone even at recep—Isaac, would you go calm Frosty down?

ISAAC (off-screen): Hey, Boyd, can you hand me the shield?

[Camera pauses for a few seconds. STILES and ALLISON continue walking down the hall until a sudden commotion makes them stop. They’re at an intersection with another corridor. They both turn and look, and then STILES backs up, reaching into his pocket, while ALLISON looks both ways down their corridor, clearly hoping to see someone else.]

STILES: Okay, look, I messed up earlier but I fucking texted Peter this time. He’s got the filming schedule and he knows when we’re done and I can’t just walk off the shoot.

ALLISON: Did Derek leave? Why is she here?

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: No, he’s still here. It’s not like he can leave, what with the feral unicorn you’ve now gotten attached to my brother. Like Scott and Hunter Girl here weren’t already bad enough for his life expectancy.

ALLISON: Laura, nobody needs a lecture on Derek’s life from somebody who set him up with a druid and didn’t run a background check so we didn’t know she’d had her license revoked in three states plus Canada.

STILES: I know. I know, she knows *nods at Allison* and the film crew know and we all know Peter and I are fighting, okay? And I’m gonna talk to him later, and it’s not going to be on you, and if you people can’t just take a day-trip out of town because you’re stupid enough to call him to get you out of trouble and then get upset when he calls the favor back—

LAURA (off-screen): Okay, you know what? I didn’t actually come here to fight. I just came because Peter told Mom he’s pulling out of their next two pack trips and told his legal assistant he’s working from home for two weeks and told my boss, aka Scott’s mom, that he’s bumping up the pack contribution to the morgue fund. Which I thought you all might want to know, before my mom comes down on you?

[Someone else is coming over and camera starts to move away from STILES, but then goes back as he raises his hand and opens his mouth. Then he lowers his hand. His expression is a mixture of exhaustion, annoyance, and something else.]

SCOTT (off-screen, distant): Is that Laura?

DEREK (also off-screen and distant): Yeah, damn it, I told her to wait till I got out to the parking lot.

ALLISON (walking towards camera): Hey, wait—are you still filming? I thought this show was supposed to focus on their work, so why are you always shooting when we’re having private—

LAURA (off-screen): Well, whatever. God knows, as bad as Peter can get, he’s nothing like Mom when she thinks somebody’s been fucking with him.

[Camera retreats from ALLISON, then jiggles as CAMERAMAN bumps into something. Briefly points at wall, then moves around to show part of a doorway, and inside the room, a counter with test-tube racks and lab equipment.]

ERICA (off-screen, very near): Ow! My foot!

CAMERAMAN: Sorry.

STILES (now off-screen): I haven’t been fucking with him. We just—not that it’s any of your business, but we had a disagreement about—

LAURA (off-screen): Yeah, I know, Godzilla got knocked up and you’re both pissed off. Which, I don’t even know how this ends up being what triggers Peter about when he and Mom got tossed out of the pack ‘cause of me, because she’s your pet, okay, and you’re an actual vet and you’re the one who could’ve neutered her and didn’t—

STILES (off-screen): I didn’t want her to get pregnant either! I didn’t know—and you can’t neuter kaiju, that can trigger a mutation and thirty percent of those can be fatal and it was just a goddamn pet flap! I have wards all over that yard, there’s no way another kaiju could’ve gotten in without me knowing, at least not without somebody fucking up my wards. Because they’re not just wandering around, okay, it’s not like they just drop out of the sky. And trust me, when I find out who—

LAURA (off-screen): Well, I thought that that’s why he’s mad. Because if anybody was gonna sneak another kaiju in—

STILES (off-screen): What—are you kidding? I mean, first of all, they’re native to Japan, and good luck getting an appointment to visit because the Japanese are serious about their stud book. Second, I didn’t steal Zilla in the first place, Scott and I got her away from the traffickers—

DEREK (off-screen, still distant): That’s not what Peter said! She’s making up shit! Laura, stop making it worse!

ERICA (head coming into frame): Besides, nobody knocked her up, guys. I mean, did anybody actually look at the lab report I did? Anybody?

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Parthenogenesis? Kaiju can do that?

[Camera rises up over ERICA’s shoulder and zooms out to show DIRECTOR flipping slowly through a stapled printout.]

ERICA (off-screen again): Yeah. I mean, it’s not common, but it’s also a known fact about the gojira breed. I ran the tests twice to be sure, but those eggs are one hundred percent Zilla, nobody else’s DNA markers.

DIRECTOR (off-screen): Sales should look into those pet DNA companies, too. And baby products. Human, not just pets, any kind of baby gets people thinking. I wonder…what’s the incubation time? If it’s within the shooting schedule, this would be a great opportunity for user-engagement like a naming contest—someone call Marketing.

LAURA (off-screen): And who is that sociopath? I mean, seriously, you’re already holed up with Peter, and you went and hired another one?

SCOTT (off-screen): Stiles? Stiles, hey—hey, wait. Hey, wait a second—hey!

ALLISON (off-screen): Erica, was this really the best time for that?

* * *

“Well, because I don’t know if you noticed, but this is still a working clinic and we have patients who need to get helped, and since Stiles and Scott are out, somebody’s gotta keep things moving,” Erica snaps. She yanks the forms away just as Allison reaches for them, then stuffs them into a desktop scanner. “Look, if you’re gonna stand around and scare the wildlife, mind going back into the woods to do it?”

“What are you—I’m just trying to help here, and I don’t even—what wildlife?” Allison says, looking annoyed. She walks halfway into the hall, probably looking for Derek to back her up, except he’s way better at avoiding conflict than Scott is, so then she comes back in. “I’m not scaring anyone, unless it’s you.”

Erica rolls her eyes. “Hah. In your dreams. Also, you’re totally scaring the jackalope. Look at it, poor thing doesn’t even want to come out of its nest.”

Allison starts to say something and Erica just keeps pointing over at the Plexiglas recovery tank in the corner. Doesn’t look at her, just looks at the tank, and after a couple mutters, Allison sighs. Then is quiet. Then takes a couple steps towards the tank, and then is quiet again.

“You know, creeping up on it’s not going to help,” Erica adds. The forms come out of the bottom of the scanner and she sticks them back in their folder, then pulls her laptop over. As usual, their software isn’t working right and has messed up half the fields; she fights back a sigh and flips the folder back open, and starts correcting the information. “At least Derek’s taking care of the unicorn.”

“Derek’s not taking care of it, you’re making him because now he’s worried it’s going to have a heart attack and die and that’s exactly what Scott needs, on top of chasing Stiles down,” Allison says.

She’s not wrong. But Erica didn’t get this job because she couldn’t deal with the truth, and she doesn’t miss a beat when the scanner’s other slot starts to push out fresh forms. “Well, you wanna start the paperwork for him?”

Allison does that thing where she glares at you and breathes a little hard—at least to someone with supernatural hearing—and assumes that that’s all it’s going to take to remind people she’s the current Argent leader.

“I’m just saying, with his track record, chances are good. And you really want him to call Peter for help with this one?” Erica says.

“I just don’t understand you sometimes,” Allison says. Her boot-heel screeches a little as she turns and leaves the room. “I thought Scott offered you this job because you liked it.”

Erica rolls her eyes again. Then glances over, just in case Allison’s caught her at it—the woman’s way too easy to distract with one of her boyfriends, but every so often she manages to stay on the ball.

This is not one of those times. Unfortunately, this is one of those times that Erica forgets about all the other people currently wandering around the clinic. She twitches, feels her shoulders hunch up, and then makes them drop as she deliberately turns back to her laptop.

“Well, so much for the Argent reputation for sharp eyes,” Lydia says, waltzing into the room. So much for the Hales’ reputation for intimidation; it’s been barely ten minutes since she and Laura went outside to have their discussion about misuse of the term ‘sociopath.’ “That jackalope is so full of drugs that even my scream wouldn’t wake it up.”

“Hey, well, it’s not like she opened up the cage and checked its pupil dilation,” Erica says.

For some reason, Lydia looks surprised that Erica’s going to defend Allison. She glances at the IV tube snaking out of the tank, presses her lips together, and then nods tightly. “You know, when I left this town, I didn’t realize it was actually a cult and I’d be ostracized for life by everyone I’d known and never be invited back with an expense account and a mandate to make Stiles and Scott palatable to mainstream audiences. Oh. Wait.”

“Well, when you left, I think we all knew you were a bitch who was just out for herself,” Erica mumbles.

This is maybe not the best idea with an adult banshee and the room at the complete opposite end of the clinic from the one they use for species who can sound off in extra-human registers, but…Erica’s not having the greatest day. Because now her stupid software has just up and frozen on her, and she knows she hasn’t saved once since she started on this form.

“You know, just because the boys have left the building doesn’t mean you have to keep up the incompetency levels,” Lydia says.

She’s way too measured about it, Erica knows that, but for some reason she can’t help taking the bait. “Excuse me? They’ve got the only clinic in Northern California that’s licensed to handle Schedule I restricted species, Scott gets calls from all over the country from other vets who don’t know how to deal with them, and Stiles has an actual fucking gojira that’s asexually reproducing and do you know how comfortable that species has to feel to—”

“Do you know how completely bored I am of hearing about them and their inability to keep their damage bills ahead of their work?” Lydia says. Looking at her phone, and then at a nonexistent chip on one of her nails.

Erica bites down on her first response. Makes herself take a breath. “Well, I guess you can always trash the Netflix money and go back to cable TV. You’ve got enough seasons out, you should be due for the celebrity season.”

Lydia…doesn’t say anything. When Erica looks over a few seconds later, the woman’s still on her phone. She seems to spend just as much time on that as she does actually checking shots and talking to Boyd and the rest of the crew.

Well, if that’s how they’re going to play it, Erica’s got more than enough paperwork to keep her busy, especially with their bullshit electronic records system.

So she grits her teeth and reboots the program, then just enters in all the data manually instead of rescanning and having the program pull it out for her. Her phone buzzes, signaling a visitor at reception, but then she hears Isaac greeting…Jordan. Who sounds sore about getting his shoes soaked. For a second, Erica thinks about getting Allison back to deal with him instead, but then she reminds himself they’re trying for less damage around the clinic, and for all her bitching about blocking her shots, Allison’s precision isn’t always all that.

Lydia’s still checking her phone.

Erica finally gets everything in order for the dwarf jinni—good thing they scheduled that one for the end of the day—and saves and closes her laptop. She walks over and checks the drip on the jackalope, then turns around. Pauses for a second, then walks by Lydia to the other side of the room, where the incubator is.

Nothing.

Zilla blinks sleepily up at Erica, flopped on her side with tail curled around the bowl of eggs. Grinning, Erica gives her a quick scratch on the top of the head, then closes the drawer. Then she turns and faces Lydia again. “What the hell is your problem?”

“I can’t do my job,” Lydia says, looking up. She regards Erica for a second, then taps her phone. “I’m supposed to be filming them working. Well, they’re working, but Stiles has a camouflage screen up so Boyd is filming them from a redwood a hundred yards away with a telephoto lens and magically-enhanced sound. This is not in his job description, and the union’s going to have issues with it. What’s your problem that you people can’t just do your work?”

“We are. I mean, I don’t know if you noticed, but I just went over a new patient file, checked that we’ve got all the appropriate wards in place and don’t need new ones that might require us to notify our insurer, and made some recs for Stiles to look into, based on their past history. That’s work,” Erica snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. She tilts her head. “But I guess it’s not photogenic enough for you?”

“No,” Lydia says. She’s playing it calm but she’s looking for a reaction, and when Erica keeps hers just to a snort, Lydia’s brows rise a little. “No, it’s not. And a dwarf jinni doesn’t show up that well on film, unless you shoot in a special lightbox and we did agree to not do that. Scott wanted everything shot naturally.”

Erica…hadn’t known that about jinn, though now that she thinks about it, it makes sense. “Yeah, well, all of the attitude—”

“The attitude’s what’s going to sell this. And you do care if it sells,” Lydia says. “Do you or do you not want them to pay off their bills?”

“Well, what do you care?” Erica says. “I mean, you don’t, do you.”

“Actually, I do.” Then Lydia rolls her eyes and pulls her phone out again. “Oh, obviously, not about the bills, but I do care about this being my first director job and that it goes well. Because if I’d been happy just being the bitchy judge, I would have stayed and picked up my paycheck, just like if you’d been happy being the vampy one in the pack, you would’ve hung out with Cora and not Scott. But you did score right behind Stiles and me in chemistry, so are you going to explain how we run blood tests on a semi-corporeal being or not?”

For a second, Erica thinks about throwing her out. And then…that reminds her, they’re low on blood-culture tubes and she’s got to do her usual round of calling the insurers to check in on payments again, if that order’s going to get put in any time soon. “Is this going to get you enough film to wrap the day?” she says, sighing. “Because look, today’s just been…they usually make up pretty quick, and once nobody’s got to worry about Stiles being off, you’ll get some photogenic shots, guaranteed.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. He always was good for a show,” Lydia snorts. Then she looks over. “Please tell me you still don’t have that crush on him. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Thanks?” Erica says, before she gets hold of herself. “I guess it takes somebody who’s been there to know?”

Lydia’s brows rise. “I hope you’re not thinking I’m back here for some kind of ridiculous romcom plot, or I’ll have to take back what I said about your IQ.”

“Uh, no, definitely not smelling any of that, and thank God, because I get enough of that with Allison and Derek,” Erica says. The sense-memory alone makes her wrinkle her nose before she can help it, and then she gives her face a quick scrub with her hand. “Seriously, I mean, Scott’s cool and all, but stop it with the newlywed aromas. Or just go on your honeymoon already and get it out of your system.”

“Boyd mentioned that too,” Lydia says.

“Yeah, while filming it,” Erica says, looking sharply at her. “Okay, fine, we’ll get your shots and you—”

“Go away and never come back, until tomorrow when we contractually have to work together again?” Lydia says. She starts to turn, shaking her head, and then stops. “You know, this never would’ve been greenlit if someone didn’t think they were marketable, and by ‘they’ I mean them, exactly as they are. I saw the sizzle reel—hideous editing, but even with that, they have the personalities.”

“Yeah, okay, I got it, we’re taking the money,” Erica mutters. “Selling out, ticking all your marketing boxes, whatever.”

“So bring what people are going to pay for,” Lydia says. “Stop trying to bring some other true alpha and mage idiot. They’re not going to pay for that, and trust me, I’ve spent long enough in reality TV to tell you that that’s a gift, that they won’t pay for the fakery.”

Something in Lydia’s tone makes her take another look at the woman. It’s not like Lydia sounds choked-up or bitter or anything that might mean she feels anything but complete disappointment in you, but…she does sound like she wants a response. “I thought they were paying for Scott and Stiles?” Erica says.

“They are. And while they’re paying for those two, I’m going to shoot a damn show about a vet clinic and exotic pets, because I do, in fact, want the challenge of shooting something about something, and not just something about people acting out,” Lydia says. Now she’s starting to sound as if she wished she’d just settled for Erica jumping to. “Which means I need someone explaining the non-photogenic parts in an interesting and intelligible way, without pyrotechnics or other destructive elements as crutches because I also want to make money at this and I have a profit margin. So do we understand each other?”

“Yeah, sure, fine,” Erica says. “Okay, so we’ll get some lab shots so you don’t have to use Boyd’s blurry-ass papp-style footage. Got it, you can go tell him to get out of that tree already. I’m pretty sure his workers’ comp doesn’t cover that either.”

“Falls out of trees? It’s covered,” Lydia says, frowning.

“Not what I meant,” Erica snorts. “You know, for a second there? You almost had me convinced you all knew what you were doing. Guess not.”

* * *

[Footage of broad, green leaves slowly moving in a breeze.]

SCOTT (off-screen): I don’t think it’s really that bad, you know?

STILES (off-screen): Scott, I realize that as my best friend and co-clinic owner, you have to say that, but—

SCOTT (off-screen): No, I’m being serious, Stiles. And I think I have a pretty good idea of what’s going on, so I’m not saying that because I don’t.

STILES (off-screen): Okay, I love you, I really do, but—

SCOTT (off-screen): You’re stressed out because Zilla’s going to have babies and you and Peter aren’t ready, and I know you wanted to work up to this and make sure he’d be okay with it. I saw the nesting volcano kit on your Amazon wishlist, Stiles. I know you were going to buy it after we paid off the bill for sending that baku to the sanctuary in Japan.

[Leaves continue to wave slowly back and forth. It’s a very boring pattern, and then, as you continue to stare at it, mesmerizing. Then back to boring. And then…

…there is something just a little different about the leaves, but it’s hard to put a finger on it. They look like any other leaves if you pointed a camera at them for minutes at a time. But there’s something off.]

SCOTT (off-screen): And I’m pretty sure you didn’t tell him about that yet—

STILES (off-screen): Well, because first he needs to see that Zilla’s gonna be okay, and just because she has some babies running around doesn’t mean that his whole life is going to be upended because seriously, it’s not, I did do the research and I was going to have everything covered so he wouldn’t even really need to do—

SCOTT (off-screen): Because it sounds like he was kind of upset and then you got upset because he was upset, because it’s Zilla with babies and that’s really cool and you want him to think so to—

STILES (off-screen): But I get why! I get it! I mean, I co-shared burying duties for some of why he’s upset! I just wanted some lead time, but it was late and I was tired and we were gonna shoot so I just wanted it to wait but Peter, he just knows if it’s eating at me and he wants to poke at it and—

SCOTT (off-screen): And you didn’t want to delay filming because the contract deducts the costs from our share of the revenue. So now he’s mad at you because he thinks you blew him off and blamed him for something that wasn’t actually his fault and it’s in a sensitive area for him that you usually don’t blame him for, and you think he’s right.

[The leaves are eyes. They’re eyes, looking right back at you. Hundreds of them, no matter where you look. They’re there, watching you.]

SCOTT (off-screen): But that’s not what’s actually going on. You know that, right?

STILES (off-screen): Scott—look, just. Okay, look, bees.

SCOTT (off-screen): Oh! Right!

[And then billows of smoke suddenly bloom into frame, completely obscuring the leaves. The smoke itself doesn’t behave naturally—at least, those grabby hands that keep forming and plunging back into the billows look way too realistic, right down to the hangnail on one—but there’s something comforting in how obviously artificial it looks, after the eyes.

Bit by bit, the smoke packs downwards. Camera suddenly seems aware that the leaves are beginning to show and hurriedly jerks to follow the smoke. Occasionally patches of bare trunk are visible, but the trunk doesn’t have eyes, and…camera drifts off for a few seconds to contemplate a twig with three leaves on them. They seem normal. One even has a crumpled edge, which the camera zooms in on so belatedly, it highlights how the leaves with eyes had been flawless.

Camera goes back and down, catching up with the smoke just as the last of it curls into an oddly-shaped wooden box with ‘Schrödinger Storage’ stamped on one side. Then a pair of hands wearing heavy leather gloves puts a lid on the box.]

SCOTT (off-screen): Okay, but I’m just saying, Stiles. Peter knows you don’t care about his family history, and he cares just as much about Zilla as you do, and you know he’s not just going to stop. I’m sure if you two just sit down and talk to each other, you’ll work it out. And if you need to take a break from the shoot, Erica and I can come up with something else they can film while you go talk to him.

STILES: (off-screen):…wow. I thought you still didn’t like him.

SCOTT (off-screen): Well, I…honestly don’t think of him as a friend, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think of me as one. But you really love him, and so does Zilla, and I want the two of you to be happy. And to be fair, he did pay for our van.

STILES (off-screen): That’s because his suspected homicide was what got our old one impounded, and even Dad was like, nope, son, we gotta at least look like we’re looking into it.

SCOTT (off-screen): Okay, but you can’t say that about all the stuff he’s bought for Zilla. He was even telling me once about finding a way to ship over rocks from Odo Island, I guess to make her feel at home.

STILES (off-screen):…that’s not what those are for—oh, my God, that—Scott, sorry about this, but the bees are all set anyway. Do you mind driving back to the clinic with them? I gotta take a detour.

SCOTT (off-screen): Sure. Let me know when you and Peter are done, okay? I’ll hold the film crew off.

STILES (off-screen, voice getting distant): You’re the best, Scott! Thanks! Promise I’ll make it up to you out of my share!

SCOTT (off-screen but now clearly the hands picking up the box): That’s not—oh, I’ll just tell him when he’s done. So, hey, Boyd, you wanna come down and film the drive back? I can tell you about the box we’re using here, and how it creates a dimension that folds back on itself so the bees feel at home.

CAMERAMAN:…shit. Wait. I have—could’ve sworn these charms were still good.

SCOTT (off-screen): Oh, they probably are, it’s just a lot of masking charms don’t work on me, between being a true alpha and Allison and Stiles, and sometimes Derek picks up some stuff from Peter. *cheerful* It’s okay, I don’t mind so long as we take out that part that could get Stiles and his dad and Peter in trouble. Also, seriously, let me tell you about the bees. It’s really cool, and I bet I can come up with some good factoids for your graphics.

CAMERAMAN: Okay, I’m coming. *switches to muttering* Fucking promised me this was gonna be an easy three weeks, like shooting a wedding. Jesus.

Chapter Text

Isaac likes his job, most of the time. It’s really diverse and he’s getting to work on animals that most vets won’t get to see in their entire lifetime, except on TV, and the clinic staff are all pretty supportive of each other. Except for the whole thing where they keep insisting that he tackle incredibly dangerous situations without enough training.

“Oh, my God, this isn’t dangerous,” Erica says, as she chivvies Isaac down the hall. “Look, you didn’t want to help Scott relocate the quantum bees—”

“I have a bee allergy! It’s on file!” Isaac hisses.

Unfortunately, he also has to swerve to avoid one of the film crew, who seem to be constantly underfoot even when they’re not actually working. They step back, frowning, and then whip out an iPhone and point it at him and Erica as Erica continues to bang a plastic-wrapped pack of paper towels into the back of his knees.

“Yeah, we know, and that’s fine, Scott says you shouldn’t have to do preserve trips until next semester even though we literally grew up there,” Erica says. “But you still have to earn those credits, Lahey, and if you don’t wanna feed the kelpie or the unicorn—”

“I think I’m also allergic to equinoids who want to eat my liver,” Isaac says.

Erica pauses, then sighs and turns around. As she does, her arm shoots out and she grabs his shoulder before he can move away. “We’re gonna need a fact-drop there about how unicorns are actually strict herbivores and often they’ll refuse to try any non-plant source of nutrients even if they really need them, which is one reason why most of them are cranky, because those unicorn smoothies? Low-fiber, guys.”

“You shouldn’t just feed them flowers either, those are actually pretty low in absorbable nutrients and the ones from flower shops often have been sprayed or watered with preservatives that upset unicorn stomachs,” Isaac says.

Erica turns and stares at him. She’s usually pretty nice to him, and liberal with the warnings whenever Stiles is having something going on at home, but also, he’s seen her wipe the floor with other werewolves and then touch up her eyeliner without even breathing hard.

“Yep, you’re definitely the designated clinic mascot,” Erica finally says, giving him a clap on the shoulder. “Hate to agree with her on this, but Martin’s right, you’re gonna move even more merch than ol’ Scotty with the puppy eyes.”

Isaac makes a face. It’s not that the test spot they’d made him do during lunch had been that horrible of an experience, because it hadn’t been. He’d actually kind of liked getting to tell somebody exactly how he thought standard werewolf-eye filters made him look like he’d been living in a cave, and having them take him seriously, and learning about how to pose to take into account graphics to be inserted later had been interesting. But then he’d overheard their director talking about how sellable he was going to be and it’d just…weirded him out.

“Yeah, I know, but we have to pay for special-waste disposal somehow,” Erica says breezily, as she goes back to pulling him down the hall.

“If that’s a problem again this week, I could probably sneak some bags back to school and just dump it in their chute,” Isaac says. Then jolts as Erica, still with a firm grip on his shoulder, doesn’t move forward with him. “Um, sorry, I just…if that would help? Because I was—I did hear, the other day, when you and Scott were talking—”

For a second Erica’s looking at him and she looks…not mad. A little embarrassed, but mostly, she looks the way Isaac’s aunt had looked when she’d come to pick him up after she’d gotten custody, and he’d apologized for not telling her about his dad’s drinking earlier. She presses her lips together, then starts to say something, when they hear Allison shouting.

Two minutes later, Isaac has a body on his hands.

“Oh, for God’s sake, he’s not even concussed, he’ll wake up on his own in fifteen minutes,” Peter says irritably, as he takes eggs out of a plastic bowl and carefully sets them on an examining table. He pauses as Zilla noses at one, then moves it closer to her. Then takes the last egg out and promptly inverts the bowl, dumping its cotton padding out with an expression of disgust. “Five if you give him a shot of epinephrine.”

“Because of course I want one of my trainees to wake up with a heart attack,” Allison snaps. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Taking care of Zilla? Since you idiots can’t seem to.”

“Okay, look, first of all, Zilla’s fine,” Erica says, shoving past Allison and the comatose hunter into the room. “Second, you’re so not here for her, we all know that. Third, the incubator’s got temperature regulation so cotton’s just fine and subbing in cashmere means you’re unnecessarily handling the eggs. We all know you didn’t read up on whatever research Stiles did, but Stiles isn’t here to know things for you.”

Peter stops fussing with the fabric—which doesn’t look like cashmere, it looks like some kind of padding—he’d been wadding into the bowl and tilts his head back a little and smiles as if Erica is very funny, which the entire town knows is a very, very bad sign. “Yeah, so, I’ll go check on the thing Jordan came in about,” Isaac mutters, starting to back out of the room.

“As much as I appreciate the loyalty, and I do,” Peter says in a very measured tone, as he scoops up the four eggs in his hands and sets them back in the bowl. “I was under the impression that you were the one who actually ran this place.”

“Well, sweet talk like that’s not gonna win back your boy,” Erica says. “Unless you were, what, threatening me? Whaddaya gonna do, take Zilla home?”

Allison’s in the way. Why is she in the way—and giving Isaac a dirty look when he prods her foot and then signals for her to move away from the doorway. It’s almost like she’s expecting him to…back her up if she has to use that taser she’s hiding behind her back? Seriously?

“I could actually do that, as co-owner of record,” Peter says, brows rising slightly. “You’ve no legal right to stop me. Oh, I know, I know, you and everyone else Scott’s ever converted think that good intentions mean you can—Zilla!”

Zilla, very uninterested in this conversation, wants to know where her eggs have gone, and is trying to jump onto the rim of the bowl. Peter grabs her in time, but as he lifts her, she flails her limbs and smacks her tail into his arm, making unhappy croaking noises.

“I’m not separating you, I’m just upgrading the padding. See, they’re all present and accounted for,” Peter mutters. He shoots Erica a glare, then hikes the squirmy gojira under one arm so he can use the freed-up one to pick up the bowl and hold it where Zilla can put her forelegs on the rim. “And now on actual shock-absorbent padding so the embryos won’t bruise. It’s all right, it’s all right, yes, yes, they’re yours. They’re your lovely, lovely little potential destroyers of worlds, darling. Look at them in all their glory.”

Peter is…cooing. This is disturbing. “I mean, I’ve seen him and Stiles before but they don’t do much before somebody gets horizontal, so you can forget about it,” Isaac can’t help saying under his breath.

“I’m going to check on Derek again,” Allison suddenly says. When Isaac turns around, she’s giving Erica the watchful eye, for some reason. “See whether that unicorn’s settled down yet. You know. Since that’s the whole point.”

“Yep,” Erica says cheerfully, eyeing Allison right back. Then rolls her eyes once Allison’s walked out of the room. “Why the hell is everybody acting like I’m the clinic mom? That’s Scott.”

“True,” Peter says. He’s put the bowl back on the table and is bent over it so Zilla can still reach the eggs, because now he’s taking photos of her and them with his phone. It is a train-wreck, and Isaac’s sense of self-preservation has gone down a lot since starting work here because he can’t stop looking. “But, and I say this as the man who shares closet space with Stiles, you make a very good minder for the two of them.”

“I’m not their minder. They both own their dumbassery, that’s why I put up with them,” Erica says. She takes a step towards the door, smelling annoyed, and then stops and looks at Peter. “Can you two just make up already? So things didn’t happen the way you were thinking, but does that really matter? Zilla’s gonna have babies and Stiles wants you to be into it. So what’s the problem?”

Peter looks up, eyes narrowed. His scent is suddenly nonexistent, and Isaac’s been around long enough to know that just because no tattoos have appeared and the lights are still on and everything looks normal doesn’t mean that reality isn’t getting warped. Which is not good, if Peter wants to cover up something. And now Erica’s between him and the door. Shit.

And then Peter lets out a tired exhale, and his scent comes back. “I don’t know where the hell he is,” he says. “They wrapped up the bees twenty minutes ago. I just asked Talia for help.”

Erica makes an impressed noise. “Oh. Damn.”

“Yes,” Peter says flatly. He starts to straighten up, only to cough and have his eyes bulge a little as something catches him up. Then he sighs again and pulls off his tie, letting Zilla hang out of his arms so she can layer it over the eggs. “So I would appreciate it very much if you’d just let me know. Mind you, I could make you tell me, but I’d rather do this peacefully. Zilla’s had enough upsets today and she likes you.”

“Zilla’s a good kaiju,” Erica says absently. She frowns at Peter, pushing the hair back from her face. “But—you know we’re not hiding him from you, don’t you? We’re busy with the film crew, I don’t even have time to catch up on the insurance. He’s been out for a while now.”

“Well, then where is he?” Peter snaps, starting to have a smell again. Which is mostly upset. “Don’t tell me you people lost him and Scott again. Zilla’s expecting! Of all the irresponsible—”

“Um, so, I’m just gonna handle that preserve call and see if that poaching trap’s real,” Isaac mutters. Screw subtlety, he’s just gonna go low and hope Erica snags his shirt and no skin; she did just get her manicure so he’s hoping she won’t be as vicious as usual.

“Wait,” Peter says sharply, eyes going to Isaac. “These poachers. Did anyone mention that to Scott or Stiles yet?”

“Well, it’s not even confirmed as poachers yet and neither of them were in when Jordan came, but I don’t know if he told them—” Isaac babbles.

Something grabs his arm and he screams a little. Erica shakes him again, then pulls him in and loops an arm over his shoulders, which is both comforting and closing off any chance he’s got of getting away. “Okay, you know what, it’s probably gonna be good if we have legal counsel out there too, since it’s part of one of Parrish’s investigations and you know, so, why don’t you go out there with Isaac and burn off some of that homicidal rage, and I’ll find Stiles. Okay?” Erica says. “Okay. Because yeah. Babies. They need a safe, stable environment.”

Isaac should have just fed the kelpie.

* * *

[Camera bounces slightly up and down as it follows SCOTT, who’s toting the bee-box, down a trail. The bits of scenery visible on either side seem very picturesque, but for some reason the camera doesn’t vary from SCOTT’s back. Occasionally, long sighs are audible from CAMERAMAN.]

SCOTT: I know, amazing, right? People think bees are just pests, even quantum ones, but they’re really incredible animals. Oh! Did you know that they orient their cell openings to thirteen degrees off true baseline, no matter which dimension you’re looking at? We haven’t even figured out how to do that, but they can do it and it keeps the honey and jelly from spilling out.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Got it.

SCOTT: And it’s pretty amazing that hexagons are optimal for multidimensional space. I gotta admit, I don’t totally follow the math on why, but Stiles has this awesome graphic back at the clinic—

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Graphic? *perks up* We should look and see if we can work it in. Hang on, I’m gonna call Lydia.

SCOTT: Wait, you can’t go now. *turns around* We’re right by the old water purification plant and they’re still cleaning that up, so it throws off all the cell reception. You’d have to walk at least a hundred yards out to pick up a signal.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): I’m okay with that.

SCOTT: But we’re pretty much there. *moves over and points down the trail* See that vortex—oh, wait, it’s closed today. Well, anyway, when the plant had that leak, it created an eddy in the telluric currents around here and so we have a small vortex. It’ll be perfect for the bees, and this is far enough away from the main trails that I don’t think we’ll have to worry about joggers.

[Camera hangs back. The shot is obviously not being consciously composed since SCOTT’s earnest, hopeful expression is at the extreme top of the frame, with his eyes sometimes temporarily bobbing out of view, while his Beacon Hills Rescue Squad tee is cute, but not that interesting.]

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): How far away are we talking about?

SCOTT: Oh, really close. *comes up close, then backs off, turned away from camera again as he gestures* See that concrete square over there? That’s where the vortex usually is.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): You mean the thing right under that wire star?

SCOTT: What?

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): There’s a big wire star hanging over it, like somebody tried to have a Christmas tree out here.

SCOTT: That’s not what something like that is for. *body tenses up as he stares into the woods* You know what, maybe you should go call Lydia. *setting down the bee box* I’ll be right back.

[SCOTT heads in the direction that he’d been pointing. Camera stays put for a second, then moves forward several feet and pivots to follow SCOTT as he pushes into the brush on the side of the trail. SCOTT pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto a bush, then bends over, slowing but not stopping. A couple seconds later, he straightens up with sneakers in hand. He proceeds to toss the sneakers to the side and then, with an unnaturally fluid whole-body twist, shifts into a wolf.]

CAMERAMAN (off-screen):…shit. Knew I should’ve just taken that job shooting the L.A. homicide squad.

[Camera starts to move forward. It’s going slower than SCOTT so as SCOTT nears the concrete platform, the camera zooms in to track him.

SCOTT stops several yards short of the platform and veers off to the side, then comes up to it from a different angle. His head is mostly pointed down, though he glances twice upwards. The second time, the camera keeps going until it shows a large, star-shaped metal contraption suspended over the platform. A dark thin thing is coming out of one side and snaking back into the trees; the camera zooms in even more and it becomes clear that the thing is a thick plastic cable.]

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Shit!

[Camera bounces once, then steadies. Nothing appears to have happened at the platform, with SCOTT still cautiously sniffing around the perimeter.]

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Jesus, did you want to warn me?

[Again, nothing appears to have changed, at least in front of the camera. Several minutes pass, during which SCOTT briefly trots back into the woods, then returns to the platform with a pair of jeans thrown over his back. He shakes them off, changes human—camera does not neglect his naked backside—and then puts the jeans on.]

ISAAC (off-screen): Hey. *breathing a little hard* Hey, why are you here?

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): I’m filming.

ISAAC (off-screen): Okay, but who are you…Scott? Scott! Hey, Scott!

[SCOTT frowns and turns around, looking up at the camera.]

SCOTT: Isaac? Hey, somebody’s set up a poaching sizzle. You should be careful, I just started looking at it.

ISAAC (moving on-screen): Yeah, we know, the police found it earlier and Jordan called us. He says they powered it down but didn’t touch it.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Poaching sizzle?

ISAAC: Yeah, that star shape, if you electrify it, it creates this electromagnetic field that disrupts a lot of magical stuff *turns towards camera, making circular motions with his hands* so that’s a sure sign somebody’s trying to trap semi- or noncorporeal species.

SCOTT: It’s pretty big. *looking up and grimacing* Honestly, it’s big enough, I’m a little worried this might be used to mess with the local pack patrol, too.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): But wouldn’t you have to drop it on a werewolf to take them out?

SCOTT:…I don’t know, I don’t really like the looks of those spars at the points…

ISAAC: Hey, I got the evidence kits. Want me to bring them down?

SCOTT: Give me a second. I want to get a closer look at one thing.

PETER (off-screen): Of course he does. Notwithstanding all principles of evidence collection and the risk of inadmissible evidence…

ISAAC: I thought so long as we lost the stuff that implicates you, you didn’t care.

PETER (off-screen): I’m sorry, are you suggesting that you have an opinion on the legal liabilities here? Should I just go home and leave your boss to his own devices, since clearly, the intern’s got it covered?

[ISAAC, cringing as if he honestly thought muttering into his hand was going to be enough to block the camera microphone, holds his hands up and stands back. PETER stalks by him, crosses the camera’s field of vision, and then walks purposely towards the platform.

SCOTT sees and starts to say something, then falters as PETER makes a beeline not for the platform, but for a patch of brush several yards to the left of it. Camera zooms in: the brush has been recently disturbed.]

CAMERAMAN (off-screen, starting to follow PETER): Where is he going?

ISAAC (off-screen again): No idea. Hey, speaking about crime scenes and not messing with them—

SCOTT: (off-screen, coming closer): Peter? Um, I don’t know if you should…

PETER: These were my family’s woods *bending over* before you were even a *grunting, yanking at something in the bushes* drunken idea in your parents’ heads. If you *tosses some brush aside* think someone is going to come into them and set up traps and take things out of here without my family—

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Hey, is that someone else coming now? Are the police coming?

ISAAC (off-screen): What are you—oh. Um…oh, hey, Scott? Scott?

SCOTT (on-screen again): Peter, listen, I know it’s really upsetting—I mean, I’m upset too, we have no idea how long this has been out here and what they might’ve already caught, and we’re gonna have to figure that out. But I think it’d be easier to do that if you didn’t rip up the—

PETER: If I have to reinforce that with skulls on posts like in the old days, so help me, I will.

SCOTT: Okay, okay, I think that’s going a little overboard? *pauses, hands rubbing at hips* And…I know you’re probably not in the best mood right now, but I talked to Stiles a little while ago and—

PETER: Scott, I am in a fantastic mood right now. *abruptly stands up, glaring down at something* Utterly fantastic.

[Whatever PETER’s just uncovered, it clearly has a strong smell, since SCOTT recoils a step and a half before he catches himself, and even then, he has to press his arm over his nose to go forward. Gagging noises are also heard from ISAAC and CAMERAMAN.]

PETER: There. *not gagging* A word of advice to the audience: if you’re going to illegally hunt protected wildlife for the black-market organ trade, perhaps don’t bury the leftovers where anyone with a reasonable command of necromancy can reconstruct the body?

[Camera jerks sharply downward, CAMERAMAN yelping, as a mass of leaves and twigs suddenly heaves upward. Focus eventually settles on a Pacman-shaped patch of lichens on a rock.]

ISAAC (off-screen): Um, you know it’s just a ghost, right?

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): What?

ISAAC (off-screen): He’s not actually bringing it back from the dead, that’d be fifty zillion regulatory violations and the Hales don’t own the preserve, they just got their hunting rights grandfathered in by the government. The last time we actually did that, Stiles’ dad got so pissed only Erica and me were allowed into the preserve for a week. A week.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): So…you don’t think it’s weird he knew exactly where it was. Like—

ISAAC (off-screen): I try really, really hard not to think about that kind of thing.

SCOTT (off-screen): Oh, my God. That is so—so horrible. *outraged* Why would anybody even—they’re completely harmless! Who would ever do something like this?

PETER (off-screen): Well, once the flashback powers up, we’ll find out, won’t we? And then—

STILES (off-screen): And then we’re gonna find them and curse them six ways to Azathoth and oh, my God, you wanted her to have eggs too! Peter! Why didn’t you just say so!

[Camera comes up in time to catch blurry movement. It refocuses on PETER’s startled face, just before it gets blocked by a swatch of flannel.

Zoom out. Too far, camera is now showing SCOTT standing in the brush patch on one side, still looking upset about whatever is in it, though he’s starting to look relieved as he watches PETER awkwardly rebalancing as STILES wraps around his torso. At the extreme other side of the frame is an attractive woman who makes being middle-aged look like prime age. The woman looks very smug.]

STILES: Scott told me about you trying to get Odo Island rocks and then I went home and to your office and then checked with Talia who you were taking it out on, but—

PETER: I was *muffled grunts, more teetering, as he attempts to keep up with STILES’ attempts to hike up his chest* lining up contractors to redo our place for the babies and then at the clinic, trying to make it up to Zilla. She needed her—I know I was an idiot for trusting Derek and Cora to watch her even for a second and that’s completely unforgivable—

STILES: It is not. Look, I’m the idiot, okay? I wasn’t paying attention because I’ve been running around so much, but I should, I mean, you won me over by reading my footnotes and citing them and I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to say you didn’t want her now or anything like that, I know you love her, I just—idiot. Yeah.

PETER: I wanted it to be a surprise. I know you didn’t really want to fly her all the way to Japan just to find a breeding partner, but parthenogenesis is so rare and the conditions have to be perfect, and…well, you know my track record with environmental control. I didn’t want you to be disappointed if it didn’t work. And speaking of that, I know work’s been keeping me away too, but I’ve taken a few weeks off and believe me, I will make this town a good environment for her.

STILES: Oh, man, Peter—

PETER: And all of this, yes, is more about me, because if anything, you’ve proven to be the most resilient part of my life. I keep secrets and they inevitably come out, and you’re still there.

STILES: But I mean, that’s you. It wouldn’t be fun if I got all your backstory in one shot, you know I’m a franchise guy. Just like I should know you’re always looking for what I want. I mean, you going on and on about all of the potential loose ends that have to be dealt with first, that should’ve been a dead giveaway. I really dropped the ball there, Peter.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): This doesn’t make any sense. I thought he was trying to keep her from getting knocked up.

ISAAC (off-screen): Not if he was getting Odo Island rocks—oh, you don’t know. Kaiju only breed asexually if conditions are completely optimal. Odo Island’s actually the only place in the world where they’re known to do it regularly, so if he was trying to source rocks from there, he was trying to make it happen.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): But that’s weird, isn’t it? If things aren’t going great, you have sex, and if they are, you don’t have sex?

ISAAC (off-screen): Well, if kaiju have sex, the babies don’t look like the parents. Either of them. It makes sense with evolution, because you want to mix up the genes and find something that works, but some of the photos of offspring I’ve seen are…yeah. Zilla is much, much cuter. And also, we know we don’t have to worry about swarming if she breeds asexually.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Swarming?

ISAAC (off-screen): It’s not a good thing, trust me.

PETER: Stiles, Zilla and her babies are going to have the best, if I have to clean out this preserve myself. You needn’t concern yourself with the details, just know it’ll be done.

STILES: Awww, Peter…you know I’m gonna wanna know which disposal method you use. At least. C’mon, I’m a details man, you know that.

ISAAC (off-screen): Oh, shit, they made up. You’re gonna want to leave now.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Why? Haven’t you been waiting for this all today—I don’t even give a shit, and I have.

[PETER smiles up at STILES, whose arms and shoulders are making small, strangely jerky movements. Then STILES drops his head, obscuring PETER’S face. For several seconds, only STILES’ back and PETER’s hands are visible.

One hand moves from STILES’ back to below the frame, then comes back up, peeling the back of STILES’ shirt up with it. The shirt gets pushed higher and higher, until nearly all of STILES’ naked back is exposed, revealing that those magical tattoos of his extend past the arms. When the shirt drops back, the tattoos are past STILES’ shoulderblades and still inching down.

STILES arches up, the top of his ass coming into frame. PETER moves his other hand to cup it, then starts to rhythmically squeeze one buttock. Something pale flaps out from under STILES’ arms, and then he twists from side to side, moving his thighs up at the same time. PETER’s hand temporarily leaves STILES’ ass, then comes back as STILES pulls his arm off PETER’s other shoulder, hand twisted in PETER’s shirt. Then PETER takes his hand out from under STILES’ shirt, allowing the other man to pull that completely off.

When PETER puts that hand back, he uses it to tug at the back of STILES’ jeans, which promptly pull down to expose a good inch and a half of buttock cleft, as if the jean fly is already open.]

SCOTT (off-screen): Um, guys? Can you…just move over a little? I’ll take care of bagging the evidence—Isaac, you can bring over the kit! I just need you to, um, not…be on it?

ISAAC (off-screen): Shit.

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: He does need to, Peter. Especially if you have small ones on the way, I don’t think either of us want to deal with John when it comes to an open case, so let’s at least let Scott get the evidence and get a posthumous conviction.

[PETER shifts a couple feet. He also rotates as he does so, revealing that his belt has gotten undone at some point, since the end is sticking out from between him and STILES. Then STILES smacks at it as he tries to hike out of his briefs without detaching his mouth from PETER’s.]

SCOTT (off-screen): I don’t think convictions work like that—and what do you mean, posthumous?

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: Scott, you and your clinic do a wonderful job protecting and treating the animals in this area. Absolutely wonderful. And we really do need specialists in veterinary medicine, especially after the trauma the two poor other salamanders have gone through.

SCOTT (off-screen): What? Where? You found them alive?

OFF-SCREEN VOICE: Oh, you’re done bagging? Well, right this way.

[STILES is about three-quarters out of his jeans and underwear now, and as he braces himself and pushes up on PETER’s shoulders, the camera abruptly jerks up. As a result, it ends up pointed exactly on the slightly red blotches appearing on STILES’ neck after PETER’S head has dropped out of the way.]

STILES: You as a dad is so hot, by the way. Way hotter than justifiable homicide.

PETER: But consider…justifiable homicide in defense of our growing family?

STILES:…holy shit, yes.

ISAAC (off-screen): That’s a crime scene. *muttering* Killing salamanders for their skins is really wrong, and I really believe that, and fine, whatever, they probably already dismembered a couple people for it and just forgot to clean up here but this still should get an official…something…you know what, I’m gonna call Erica. And then I’m gonna watch the woods over here to make sure nobody comes and messes with the site before she gets here.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): You do you. I’m not your boss.

ISAAC (off-screen): Are you honestly going to keep filming this?

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Seems like this is part of your day-to-day, and that’s what Lydia said we’re here to get.

ISAAC (off-screen): Okay, fine, your funeral. Talia’s kind of a stickler for not exploiting her pack, you know. And she likes Stiles a lot.

[Camera stops filming.]

Chapter Text

Erica takes the key out of the clinic’s front door and steps back, but doesn’t turn around. She fiddles with her key and phone, doing something that Boyd doesn’t quite catch because her purse swings into the way, and glowing symbols light up all around the doors and windows. Ignoring it, Erica drops her keys into her purse, which she shoves back up onto her shoulder, and then checks something on her phone.

The symbols disappear. Erica and an increasingly fidgety Isaac continue to stand in front of the doors like they’re waiting for something.

“Oh, hey,” Scott says, jogging up from behind. “So did somebody check the kelpie’s overnight feeder—”

“Yes,” Isaac says, shuddering.

Scott gives him a bright smile and starts to step back. Then pauses. “Okay, what about the jackalope—”

“Got picked up,” Erica says, reading her phone.

“Well, the wall Zilla blasted—”

“We’re coming back tomorrow to finish up the wards!” Allison calls from across the parking lot, where she and Derek are hanging around the back of a horse trailer. Derek keeps stepping out of it, grimacing, and stepping back in. “Scott, you coming with us? Dad says he’ll be over in ten minutes with the hay.”

Scott turns towards her, but stops again. “What about the—”

“Filed it,” Erica says. She finally looks up from her phone. “Peter said just put it through and when Stiles’ dad calls him, they’ll talk about expediting the permanent permission to rehab the salamanders.”

“Okay, got it. Thanks for taking care of that,” Scott says. He shifts back, catches Boyd looking, and straightens up.

“Not filming,” Boyd says, nodding at the case in his hand. “I start, it’s overtime, and then Lydia’s got to adjust the budget again.”

Scott’s expression goes slightly pained. Then he takes a breath, summons up another smile, and nods. “Okay. Well…I think it wasn’t too bad at the end today, so good job and thanks, guys. We’ll open up tomorrow.”

“Yep, gotcha, boss.” Erica thumbs her phone camera on and takes out a tube of lip gloss, then starts to touch up her mouth. “I’m good here, you can get back over there before Derek loses his mind and just punches it.”

“Derek wouldn’t do that!” Scott protests. He actually starts towards Erica, who doesn’t even look over. Then backs up and looks at her again. He looks annoyed, then sighs and turns. “All right, I’ll get going. Isaac, have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too,” Isaac says. He returns Scott’s wave and then, as soon as Scott walks off, hustles himself over to his car.

The rest of the film crew is at that end of the parking lot, packing up. A couple of them shout over at Boyd about happy hour downtown, but he waves them off for now. Lydia looks over, too, but doesn’t say anything. Anyway, Stiles appears to bother her about something, with Peter looking on from their idling car, so she’s too busy to pay attention.

“You done yet?” Boyd asks Erica, who is still standing in front of the clinic.

“Gimme a sec,” she says. She finishes her lip gloss and puts that away, then looks at the building again.

She does that for long enough that he starts to wonder, but as far as he can tell, everything seems normal. No smells of blood or bodily fluids, other than a little bit leaking out of the side where the biohazard waste is kept. He can hear things moving around inside but they all match up to the animals that he knows are there.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Erica says, closer than expected. Then she grins, knocking him on the shoulder with her hand, as she walks by him. “You got soft down there in SoCal, V-man. Letting me catch you out like that.”

“L.A. doesn’t have half the shit this town has,” Boyd mutters, pivoting and falling in next to her. “Why I went down there in the first place.”

Erica rolls her eyes and lets him walk her past the equipment that hasn’t been packed up yet. He slows to drop his camera case off with the team, then catches up to her. Stiles notices and frees up a hand from the three different electronic devices he’s trying to shove in Lydia’s face to wave; Erica salutes back, then glances over her shoulder.

“I’m coming,” Boyd says. He looks at her. “If we’re still having that drink.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we are, I’m just wondering why you’re hanging back there. We put all the scary things away, you know,” she says as they come up to her car. She gestures for him to stand off and opens up the front passenger door, then ducks in to move some stuff to the backseat. “Scott won’t tell you about the amazing ways unicorns can get horn-and-hoof disease from here, I promise.”

“I was gonna let you take all of that anyway,” Boyd snorts. “Your job.”

Erica backs out of the car and goes around the front. She pulls open her door, but then just leans one arm on the top, looking back at the clinic. “Yeah,” she says, quietly. “Yeah, it is. It’s not usually like this, you know.”

He stops and looks at her and her expression. Sometimes being a werewolf makes it harder to figure people out; those super-senses can get you distracted with what reactions people are having so you forget that a reaction isn’t necessarily what people are really feeling. Or trying to feel.

“It’s not like an exposé,” he says after a moment. “You know that. We want to make you look good too. That’s how the show was sold.”

“Yeah?” She glances at him, a little skeptical. It kind of stings for a second, and she seems to get that because she shifts awkwardly. But it’s Erica, so the next second, her chin’s back up. “Well, I appreciate that. I know you’re gonna do what you can, but your literal banshee boss there, her I don’t know so much.”

“Oh, Lydia’s not that bad,” Boyd says, getting into the car. Seat’s too damn far forward; he reaches down and adjusts it all the way back, listening to Erica’s disbelieving laugh. “She’s not. She’s got a lot riding on this—she really had to fight to get this job.”

Erica drops behind the wheel. “Yeah, she told me something like that. Not sure why—I can get wanting to get out of being the talent, but this isn’t gonna get her any awards and she’s all about the shiny things.”

“This is practice,” Boyd says. “She’s not dumb. She wants the awards, but she doesn’t want to be one of those actors who jumps right in and puts out something bad and gets laughed at. She wants to do it right. So she’s working up to it.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Erica says after a moment. She looks out the windshield at the clinic, absently tucking her purse against the gearshift. “I like this job, you know. I…my grades were really fucked up senior year, you remember that? So I did the vet tech program at the community college and then Scott talked Deaton into letting me work here, because I told him I wanted to help animals.”

“That’s all you had to tell him?” Boyd says. “With all the shit we put him through in high school?”

She shrugs. “It’s Scott, so yeah. Stiles was a harder sell, but once he realized I actually could follow all the science he spits out, he was cool too. They’re both just…that’s all they want, somebody who cares about what they do. And I like it, Boyd. I like this job. I like learning about this stuff, I like handling animals nobody else can handle. That’s what it’s actually like, most days—when nobody knows what they’re even looking at, I get to go in and figure it out. It’s way more fun than those stupid stunts we used to pull, and when I lock up at the end of the day, and can hear them all settling down for the night and know I’ve gotten them to a good place for the morning…this is what a good day looks like.”

Boyd lets her get that out. Doesn’t say anything, but when she looks over at him, he makes sure he’s looking back so she knows he was listening the whole time. She’s blank-faced for a second—they dropped back to Facebook friends for a while, not either of them’s fault but just life, but he still regrets it, now—and then she gives him a small smile. And starts the car.

“Anyway, you should get a good storyline out of Zilla. Those babies are going to be adorable, let me tell you,” Erica says as she pulls away from the curb. “I’ve already got ideas for stuffed versions to put up for sale at reception.”

“You want us to leave that part in?” Boyd says, startled.

“Well, yeah, c’mon. I’m not dumb, and Stiles and Peter draw a crowd when we don’t want that, so might as well monetize it. Just edit the parts out that are gonna get them arrested, because seriously, you don’t wanna know what those two will do for each other when criminal charges are on the line,” Erica says, shrugging. She swings the car around, since the film crew still has the most direct way out blocked, and starts to circle around the other end of the lot. “Besides, I know it ate up a lot of film today. Which was—I honestly thought when Stiles read the report, he’d get it, but that’s me overestimating his emotional intelligence again. Thank God for Scott, he can work that idiot through it while I get some actual work done.”

Boyd hums in agreement. That earns him another look, but mostly it’s amused. They’re starting to get their rhythm back.

“I think you’re gonna look all right,” he says as they finally exit the lot. “It’s not going to be hard to get a good story out of what you care about. That comes through already. I see it.”

“You think?” Erica asks, distracted, as she checks the oncoming traffic before making a left.

“Yeah. You’re gonna come out good,” Boyd says. Then, when she really looks at him, he offers a smile. “I didn’t come back up to mess you or your gig up. It’s gonna be fine, Reyes. I was watching all day, and I’ve seen a lot of bad shit. It is a good thing here, and I think this is just gonna help. Really.”

For a moment, she looks skeptical. Then she makes that left and settles back in her seat, and he starts to think she might just leave it to be proven, which he can understand. Makes him a little wistful again, for how tight they’d been before he’d gotten that lacrosse scholarship to UCLA, but he gets it and can’t hold it against her.

“I better not look pasty in this thing, because you know what the werewolf filter does to skin tone,” Erica suddenly says. She glances at him, then flicks a finger in his direction. “I can buy Queen Lydia wanting to work for it, but she still isn’t gonna take me looking better than her on camera. So you better, because I do, and she’s just gonna have to suck it.”

“All over it, Reyes,” Boyd says, grinning. Yeah. They’re fine. “All over it.”

* * *

[Camera focuses on the BEACON HILLS VETERINARY CLINIC sign, a modest affair in pale blond wood with slightly darker trim and white lettering. Then it pulls out to show the building behind the sign.

Suddenly, the sign is engulfed in blue-white flames.]

STILES (off-screen): Zilla! Oh, okay, no, just get it all out, cough it up, baby, you’ll feel…there you go. You good now? Go—oh, damn it, Zilla, this is why you need to stop eating Peter’s ties.

SCOTT (off-screen): Yeah, I know you want the protein for your babies, but silk’s not really the right kind, and also they have all those dyes. Let’s get you some salmon candy, okay?

STILES (off-screen): Hey! The anti-scorching wards worked!

[Still smoking, the white lettering now a little gray, the BEACON HILLS VETERINARY CLINIC sign continues to stand tall as the screen slowly fades out.]

Chapter Text

SCOTT: Well, unlike a lot of other equinoids, unicorns actually tend to avoid large groups. A breeding pair will stay together, but most of the time unicorns like to be on their own. That’s why it’s really important to socialize a unicorn early on, otherwise they’ll go feral and it’s really hard to get them comfortable with people after that.

ALLISON: Or honestly, anything bigger than a cat. They’re really territorial.

SCOTT: So for a unicorn as old as Tris to accept us is really rare. It didn’t happen overnight—Allison and I had to spend a ton of time with her, showing her that we really care.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): But it happened immediately with Derek, right?

SCOTT: Um, well…yeah, but that was a really unusual situation and I want to stress that. You shouldn’t think that you can do the same thing on your own. I mean, I’m a trained veterinary professional and I would never assume I could win over a unicorn right away.

ALLISON: Tris thought Derek was protecting her from Stiles, so she kind of imprinted on him. She’s still not quite full-grown so we think that had a lot to do with it.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): So did Stiles make friends with her too?

SCOTT: I, um, I think they understand that we’re all friends.

[Camera cuts to STILES walking by and talking on the phone, ignoring the unicorn standing just a few yards away and baring her teeth at him. Then he stops. He pulls his phone down and looks annoyed at it. The unicorn starts to stamp her feet, but before STILES can really notice, someone else walks up to him: PETER, holding two Styrofoam cups. STILES looks relieved and turns towards him, talking in an animated fashion. PETER hands him a cup, which STILES takes without looking, and then leans in very close to STILES.

The unicorn peers at the two, then snorts and walks out of frame.]

ALLISON: Mostly, I think it’s that Stiles is really, really not interested in Derek, and that’s why the unicorn is okay with him.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Why would the unicorn care about that? I thought that was all made-up that unicorns are attracted to virgins.

SCOTT: Well, it is. Unicorns don’t get themselves involved in people’s sex lives, or anything like that. They don’t judge you based on who you’re seeing.

ALLISON: I…don’t know that I’d put it that way. I mean, it’s true that they aren’t people and they don’t care about all of the cultural hang-ups that we put on sex and relationships. But they do—they care about the people who are approaching their *she holds up both hands and makes quotation marks* ‘people.’ But it’s a territory thing. They look at it totally different from how a person looks at it.

SCOTT: Yeah, maybe that’s a better way to put it. Also probably it helps to know that unicorns are really picky about breeding partners, and they can get very aggressive when they’re choosing mates. They can injure and even kill each other during that period. So I think from Tris’ perspective, she’s really just trying to keep Derek from getting hurt. She doesn’t know that humans don’t approach mating rituals the same way.

[Camera cuts back to the unicorn, then tracks further forward to land on DEREK, who is looking very unenthused about the conversation he’s currently in. Even without sound, the tone is clear from context: a very attractive dark-haired woman in a dress with a plunging neckline is smiling at him, and every so often she’s reaching over to touch his shoulder or arm or hand, which is tightly folded around a coffee mug.]

ALLISON (off-screen): Scott, that’s the director of PR, isn’t it?

SCOTT (off-screen): Oh, yeah. I…don’t know why she’d be talking to Derek, he’s not in the show. We’re supposed to be talking about our promo interviews.

ALLISON (off-screen): Do you just have one director of PR? She wouldn’t happen to be a druid, would she?

SCOTT (off-screen): No, she’s not. *sighs* But let me go over and see what’s going on.

[Suddenly, the unicorn rears up behind DEREK, her hooves kicking out just over his shoulder, angry whinny cutting through the air. The woman recoils, eyes wide. DEREK, on the other hand, doesn’t move, and it doesn’t seem to be out of shock. As the unicorn drops back onto four legs, tossing her head so the light catches on her long, dangerously pointed horn, DEREK casually sips at his mug.

The woman backs off, then startles as SCOTT walks up to her. She grabs at his arm, then points repeatedly at the unicorn as he begins to usher her out of frame.

Camera pans back to DEREK, who, while not smiling, looks considerably less tense.]

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): So Derek’s okay with having a pet unicorn now.

ALLISON (off-screen): It took some adjustments, and let me tell you, when we figured out we could just dress up a dummy in one of his spare coats and leave that in the stall so he could come sleep inside again, we were all really relieved. But I think yeah, he and Triskelion have really bonded.

[The unicorn jabs her horn in the direction of the woman a few more times, then settles down. She pokes at the ground with one hoof, then nudges DEREK’s arm with her muzzle. His head ticks slightly in her direction, and then he reaches into his coat pocket. Still drinking his coffee, he slips the unicorn something that she clearly is happy to munch on.]

ALLISON (off-screen): She’s good for him. I think taking care of her helps him understand what Scott does, too.

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Huh. Wonder if you could stand to get one of those for Scott.

ALLISON (off-screen): What? Oh.

[Cut back to SCOTT and the woman talking. She’s touching his shoulder.]

ALLISON (off-screen): Scott doesn’t need a unicorn. Can you watch my coffee for a second?

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Yeah.

ALLISON (off-screen): Thanks!

[Last shot of unicorn and DEREK, both looking on with mild interest at some commotion happening off-screen.]

Chapter Text

It looks like a peaceful enough scene, still-steaming Thai takeout containers lined up on one end of the living room table because Peter’s crossed feet are propped up on the other. His coat and tie are thrown over the armchair and as Stiles comes around the side of the couch, it becomes clear that Peter isn’t dressed down to save his clothes any suspicious stains. No, the man’s just lounging with his tablet, occasionally poking at it, while next to the table, Zilla fusses with her portable nest.

“But the music,” Stiles says, coming to a stop by the couch arm. “The last time I came home to you playing this on loop, Dad wanted to ‘talk’ to us about abuse of police resources.”

“So suspicious, Stiles,” Peter sighs. He looks up at Stiles, on the off-chance that his slightly-mussed hair and eyelashes are going to do the trick. Then sighs again, and swipes to a different app. “For the record, I haven’t even gone out today. They’re at the tapping stage, and Zilla was so excited this morning that I thought it was best if I worked from home.”

“Really?” Stiles says, immediately crouching down to nest-level. Zilla pokes her snout at him and he grins, then chin-scratches her till she flops onto one side, grumbling contently. “I keep missing all these firsts with the stupid shooting schedule—swear to God, if I’d know they wanted this many dawn-over-the-parking-lot scenes—”

“Don’t worry, I taped it,” Peter says tolerantly. He moves his feet out of the way so Stiles can drop his phone on that corner of the table. “I sent you a few clips, actually. Did you not get to watch them?”

Stiles makes a face as he pulls out his earbuds and portable diagnostic microphone. “I saw them, but was gonna save them for lunch,” he mutters, plugging everything into his phone and then opening up the heartbeat app. “Except then I got into another argument with Lydia about how much blood we can show. We have a surgical center! I mean, what, do people think animals are filled with sprinkles and marshmallow?”

“Mmmm, well, you know I have a standing offer with respect to that woman,” Peter murmurs, sidling up behind Stiles, breath ruffling warmly down the side of Stiles’ throat.

“Yeah.” For a second, Stiles thinks about it. Then he puts one earbud in and pokes the microphone into the nest. “No, that’s okay. Thanks, but then we have to get a new director and at least I remember the type of moves Lydia likes to pull. She…Peter?”

It takes Peter a moment, interested as he is with fingering the hem of Stiles’ shirt. “Hmmm?”

“Peter, the eggs are tapping along to this,” Stiles says. He pulls his phone over to check that the app’s working, then pushes it aside. “Hey, Google, pause.”

The music stops. Zilla makes a curious noise, climbing back onto her feet, and then comes up to the other side of the nest.

“Hey, Google, play,” Stiles says.

The music resumes, and so do the soft clicking noises inside Zilla’s eggs. Stiles takes his earbuds out and slides back into Peter, absently shifting his arm when Peter grunts at a misplaced elbow. He considers the eggs.

“Music therapy is supposed to be very beneficial for neural development,” Peter says, with about twenty-five percent less smarm than he normally would. He’s a little nervous. He’s been that way since they made up over Zilla, no matter how much he’s thrown himself into getting everything ready for her babies. They got her fully-grown so these are going to be the first set for both of them, and Stiles is pretty sure this all dates back to Peter’s parents’ reaction to Talia’s unplanned pregnancy, and once again, wishes he could murder them. “I realize the references mostly suggest classical music, and I’d argue that this is merely an update with real cultural relevancy—”

“Peter, you’re training our babies on the Star Wars original soundtrack,” Stiles says, forgetting about time-traveling homicide. Then he stops and swallows, so he won’t sound so weird. He turns around and grins when he sees the slight sag of relief in Peter’s posture. “This is amazing.”

“I thought you’d ap—”

Stiles plants his hands on Peter’s shoulders and shoves him over, tongue well into Peter’s mouth before Peter’s head hits the carpet. Not one to fall behind on these things, Peter immediately has his hands into Stiles’ waistband and yanking at his pants. Then he suddenly grabs Stiles’ knee, pushing them over—oh, right, the nest. Other way.

Zilla hops over, watching her two odd guardians twining around each other. They’re safely away from her eggs now, but given how energetic they can be—the younger, louder one has an extended flailing range—she decides to nudge her nest back a few more feet. That accomplished, she jumps up onto the table and checks on the little talking stone that’s currently soothing her babies. She squawks, asking if it’s tired, and it just keeps on singing.

Satisfied, Zilla returns to the floor and peers into her nest. All eggs are accounted for, so she settles in beside them for a quick nap, her tail absently tapping along to the Imperial March.

Chapter Text

10:00 AM

What Chris hates about CES are the flashy bells and whistles that everybody puts on, like they don’t trust their product to speak for itself. He’s pretty sure that the migraine he gets every year is from the mental effort of subtracting all of the dress-up to get down to what he really wants to know.

That said, the demo for this smart-fence vendor is actually kind of memorable. They’ve made a scale for various qualities, like tensile strength and magical absorption, and then put it in terms of exotic animals, so the high-strength medium-absorption fence is rated five Sasquatches and one unicorn. “I think that’s better than what you have right now on the back lot,” Chris says.

“Huh,” John says.

Plus the rep’s busy on the other side of the booth, so Chris snags a product booklet. If he feels like he wants a conversation, he’ll come back for it. “The scale’s a neat idea too, might be a better way to get across to newbies what to use for what in your armory.”

“Okay,” John says.

Chris turns around, then stifles a sigh. “Do you need to call in?”

“Huh? No, it’s fine,” John says, shoving his phone away. “Kid’s just arguing with Peter again but they do that every other week, nothing new, and I said this year I was really gonna do it.”

John does not look convincing in the least, from the way his eyes aren’t really focusing on anything to how his fingers keep playing over his jeans pocket. Which…temporarily distracts Chris, because sure, John makes the polyester police uniform look good but he doesn’t have to work to elevate that pair of jeans. They’re doing just as much for that backside as…Chris shakes himself, because yeah, there’s a reason they’re at CES, and it’s not just because he gets John in civilian clothes, away from the ongoing clusterfuck that’s the Beacon Hills PD, and talking about his favorite kinds of tools.

Okay, it’s all of those.

“You want to check out the home security section?” Chris asks. “They’ve got a whole section on doorbell cameras.”

“Sure,” John says. He makes an effort to drag his hand away from the sliver of phone sticking out of his pocket. “Lead the way.”

11:15 AM

“Sir? Sir?” the rep calls, his smile starting to look a little strained. He holds up one hand, but just as he does, John swivels the other way. “Um—”

“Can you turn off that livestream for a second?” Chris asks. When the rep turns around, frowning, Chris points to John. “That’s a private conversation you’re taping.”

“Well, he’s in the middle of the interactive experience,” the rep says.

Chris does not roll his eyes. Instead he puts on his best understanding but slightly disappointed face—this rep’s barely older than Allison—and then casually shows the man John’s badge. “Look, I’ll get my partner out, but you just need to get rid of that footage. It’s part of an ongoing investigation,” he says.

The rep handled, Chris slides over to John and sticks one hand on John’s back, giving the man an extra push when he gets to the end of the area. John hangs up on Jordan, makes an aggravated noise, and then really notices Chris. “Shit. Did I—”

“It’s fine, we just need to look at another booth now,” Chris says, continuing to walk them out of the space.

John’s expression screws up a little. “Sorry. Jordan’s just being…hell. I knew I should’ve tapped Tara.”

“Tara doesn’t want to be on camera,” Chris reminds him.

“Yeah, I know.” Then John glances down at his phone. His thumb twitches, his mouth twitches, and then he jerks his chin up and over. “I said I wasn’t gonna do this. Okay, what haven’t we looked at yet? Have we checked out the 3D printers? Wasn’t Allison saying something about custom arrows?”

12:20 PM

Chris glances over his shoulder, then drops back against the pillar he’s found and presses his forehead against it. “Just tell me how bad it is, Allison.”

“It’s not! They’re just fighting over something and you know how that goes. Derek says they spent the whole morning not talking, but they just had a huge argument in front of everyone, so I think it’s pretty close to blowing over,” Allison says, very unconvincingly, while Derek is audibly complaining about hay in his ass and something trying to eat his leather coat. “Look, Scott knows and he’s trying to talk to Stiles, and I’m here to keep an eye on it too. It’ll be fine. Anyway, I thought you and John were at CES?”

“Yeah,” Chris says. He shifts his head slightly, just enough to look past the pillar at John, who’s been grilling one of the Netflix booth staff for the last five minutes. The poor woman keeps offering him a free beercan snuggie and he keeps taking it and then asking more questions about their productions. He’s got three now. “That’s why I’m asking. It’s getting back to him.”

Allison heaves a long, exasperated breath. “Dad, you’re supposed to be enjoying this. It’s a vacation, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” Chris says. Then straightens up as he spots what’s clearly security coming towards John. “Okay, look, just keep me posted. All right?”

“I’ll keep telling you to not worry about it, sure,” Allison says sweetly, before hanging up.

Chris jerks his phone down and glares at it. Almost calls her back, because fine, she’s doing most of the team-running now, but she’s still his daughter. But—security’s asking John now if he wants to talk about subscriptions or not. Shit.

12:35 PM

Melissa is having none of it. “You’re at CES! He’s the head of a police department on a major magical-creature trafficking route and you’re an Argent! Go get free stuff!”

“I’m trying!” Chris says. He’s not exactly whining, he thinks his voice is still defensibly masculine, but…just barely, he’ll admit. “I’ve been trying! But Stiles and Peter—”

“Oh, my God, I know,” Melissa mutters. She drinks something, loudly enough that he can tell she’s irritated. It’s probably coffee. She doesn’t usually hit the liquor till after dinner. “But Chris, you know, Scott just texted me this morning that that was happening and to let him know if Peter came bothering me, and then he just…hasn’t texted me since. Because nothing is going on. They’re all adults, and they’re working it out. Like adults.”

Chris can’t help rolling his eyes. “Melissa, Scott is Scott. He’s the only one who thinks trying to work it out without property destruction is adult behavior.”

“Well, you could still take a couple tips from that. Seriously, you and John are out in Las Vegas for three days at a fancy hotel with buffets and you can’t figure out a way to distract him?” Melissa says, exasperated. “Do I have to look up the sex toy exhibitors and tell John which ones to scope out for me?”

“You already sent me a list,” Chris says.

“I said I was going to send it to John, not you,” Melissa says. “God, fine, I didn’t want to do this, but obviously, if I want an uninterrupted lunch break, I have no choice.”

“Wait. Wait, Mel—” Chris starts, alarmed. But she’s already hung up on him. “Well, shit.”

1:00 PM

John picks up the fleshlight and peers into the open end at the rhythmically-flexing inner walls, while the booth rep looks on, biting her lip. He hums thoughtfully, then sticks his finger inside and rubs. “So when you say this is made out of organic—”

“It’s as close as we could get to skin without literally skinning somebody,” the rep says, a little too brightly. “We really prioritize user comfort so it was important to us to get the feel right.”

“Yeah, okay, I got that, get the whole feel thing, but what’s the lifetime expectancy on this?” John says, holding the fleshlight up to his eye.

“Lifetime?” the rep says. “You mean the—”

“Not the battery, the materials,” Chris says, as he tries to peer past John at the other booths. “You know, we haven’t looked at—”

“Nah, we’ve done the whole side at this point,” John says, as every single booth rep Chris makes eye-contact with immediately ducks away. “Doesn’t that stuff degrade when you put oil on it? So are you supposed to not use lubricant?”

“Oh, no, we absolutely recommend lubricant,” the rep says. “We’ve got our own optimized line of oil-free—”

John snorts and puts the fleshlight down. “Right, got it, locks you in on the refills. But usually that material performs pretty badly with sunlight exposure, we realized that with the sigbin and the trap covers. Did you test this in natural sun?”

The rep blinks. Then puts out a tentative hand. “Er, sir…you do understand what this is supposed to be for? Or do you want a demo?”

“Yeah, he knows, he just—we’re gonna get lunch,” Chris says, giving up and just yanking John away.

“Lunch?” John says. He’s not trying to get loose, but he is hellbent on arguing with Chris. Which is fine, if it keeps him from noticing that they’re walking all the way off the floor. “Lunch? What were all those samples we had in the cookware section? And anyway, you’re the one who ratted us out to Melissa and now she’s got this list of stuff she wants vetted, with three pros and three cons each, like I don’t go through that every time somebody slips my kid a fancy magical stock catalog—”

“John, would you just,” Chris starts, twisting around to face him.

They stare at each other. John lifts his brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, making up his mind.

And then he shoves John backwards into the little space behind a bunch of plastic carryalls somebody’s left in that corner. They’re stacked just high enough that if John stoops, they’ll hide the two of them from anyone who walks by. And once Chris is on his knees and has John’s cock in his mouth, the man stoops.

1:35 PM

“Well, you started it,” John has to point out, pressed up tight against Chris’ back, panting breath rushing over Chris’ shoulder, steaming its already sweaty skin.

Chris can’t answer because he’s busy chanting the charm that makes the elevator think the doors have opened and people have gotten on when they haven’t, and he has to be busy chanting that because this hotel has too many goddamn floors with too many people trying to move between them. And also, John is an asshole.

So he flexes instead. John jerks against him, nails dragging down Chris’ hips, and then laughs. Then bites Chris at the neck-shoulder join.

3:45 PM

John checks the time. “We still have something like an hour and a half before the floor closes, you know.”

“You want to go back down?” Chris mumbles into the mattress.

“Yeah, well, Tara texted and Stiles and Peter made up, and sounds like Jordan’s stopped pissing off people,” John says. He moves around on the bed, bumping Chris’ leg, and then settles down again. “And we didn’t really get to your stuff. Sorry about that. I know—”

“It’s just their show, I get it,” Chris says.

He does. Doesn’t still mean he can’t sigh and appreciate when John rolls over and starts running fingertips down his back. “I still was doing it again, I know that,” John says. “Look, let’s just get Melissa a photo and go back down. We didn’t just come out here for my team.”

“Okay, yeah, I know, I should, just give me—” Chris pauses “—photo?”

“Well, I didn’t see anything down there I wanted to take a sample back to her, so we’re gonna have to send her something,” John says. When Chris looks up, he’s fiddling with his phone. “Which filter does she like again? Lo-fi?”

Chris rubs his hand over his face, then pushes himself up. And grabs his phone from the side-table and snaps one while John’s still messing around. John looks up, then tosses his phone onto the bed and lunges for Chris.

6:15 PM

They end up getting Melissa some health-diagnostic earbuds, specs on a couple taser models, and a barnacle-goose home DIY kit, which she’ll probably end up having Scott set up but which is tiny enough to fit on her desk. And yeah, photos.

Stream it next year, she texts Chris.

Just come with us, he texts back.

Hmmm. She goes a couple seconds. We’ll have to warn Talia. I’m not coming back to a full morgue.

Chris grimaces. Okay, we’ll stream.

Chapter Text

[Open on STILES, standing in an examination room behind the table, both hands loosely resting on the table. A cluster of pumpkins and colorful, if warty, gourds can be seen on the back counter, half-hidden by his left elbow, while pasted to the wall behind him is a decorative orange-and-black string of pumpkins and what appear to be tiny winged shapes. The tiny winged shapes are fluttering, and it quickly becomes obvious that it isn’t because of a draft or the A/C.]

STILES: Hi, everyone. Today at the Beacon Hills Veterinary Clinic we’d like to give you a few quick tips to make your Halloween, Samhain, or whatever you want to call it a safe, healthy, and happy celebration. Just because you enjoy a few scares doesn’t mean you should ruin the day for your friendly neighborhood first responders!

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): What the hell are those things in the background? They’re going to be a bitch to erase in post.

STILES: *slightly manic* First tip! Our pets are family and anyone who disagrees with that, your poorly-reasoned and misspelled internet rants will be fed to Zilla here.

[STILES briefly drops out of view, then comes back up with a sleepy-looking ZILLA cradled in his arms. He plops her on the table, giving her a quick head-rub, and then pulls out a bag of candy from his pocket. ZILLA perks up.]

STILES: However, treating pets like family comes with responsibilities. The vast majority of you wouldn’t feed poison to your human family, so don’t do it to your pets. Human candy is not pet candy.

[ZILLA reaches for the bag, only to drop her forelegs when STILES tosses it out of frame. Her eyes and the spikes on her back start to glow menacingly. Nonplussed, STILES pulls another bag out and shakes its ghost- and witch-hat-shaped contents onto the table in front of ZILLA. She pauses, sniffs, and then happily stomps on one. No longer glowing, she bends over to nibble at the resulting shattered pieces.]

STILES: Instead, you can always consult your vet about a creature-appropriate snack you can customize to the holiday. That way, you and your vet get to stay home and avoid having to bone up on stomach evacuation techniques. Second tip! I know we all have decorative urges—as you can see, we’ve dressed up the office…

[When STILES turns and gestures behind him, the tiny winged things visibly react, straining against the thumbtacks holding the string and opening little red, fanged mouths.]

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Seriously, also, isn’t this an animal cruelty thing? PR’s gonna have a field day.

STILES: *glaring towards camera* Actually, let’s do tip one point five. You may or may not know a friendly hedgewitch who’ll be more than happy to enchant some decorations for you—

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Oh. Well…they’re pretty realistic.

[A door opens and both STILES and camera turn, catching ERICA as she walks in with something wadded up in her hand.]

ERICA: Hey, Zilla! *lets wad unroll into an appropriately-sized flower costume as ZILLA looks up from her snack* Who wants to be a pretty little daffodil?

[ZILLA considers the costume, then opens her mouth and blasts the costume. At this point the camera focuses in on the heavy-duty welder’s glove that ERICA is wearing.]

STILES: Tip two. I know it looked really, really cute on your friend’s little kitten who’s too fuzzy and uncoordinated to savage you like they’re really wishing they could, but before you dress up your own pet, please consider its temperament and personal preferences. Not everyone’s cut out to be an—

ERICA: *turning towards the camera* Hey, you’re not Boyd.

CAMERAMAN: No, he’s filming Scott. Do you people always break the fourth wall this much?

STILES: What the hell, you just implied I’d tie up animals and abuse them for office decorations!

ERICA: Wait, what? What fucking banned-from-YouTube pile did they pull you out of?

CAMERAMAN: Look, babe, I’m way more—

STILES: *grabs ZILLA and ducks under the table*

ERICA: *visibly angry, takes one step towards camera*

[Camera cuts to black.]

* * *

Lydia clicks ‘pause’ and then sinks back in her chair. “The one day I’m not personally on set this month,” she mutters, rubbing at her face. “Look, I have a call in fifteen minutes with our Labor Relations team, because no matter how justified it was, we still need to loop in the union. So what do you want, Peter?”

“Oh, hardly anything,” Peter says, smiling at her. “Just that raw footage of Stiles and myself from the pilot shoot. We’re in the second season, you can’t possibly have a business reason for retaining that. If it was too inappropriate for your target audience the first time around, it’s not going to be any less so when you’re putting together the outtake reel.”

“Boyd stopped filming when the clothes started coming off. There is no raw footage,” Lydia says, narrowing her eyes.

Peter raises his brows. “Well, then, I’m afraid that Stiles is not going to see his way to signing that joint defense waiver, and I’ll be contacting your assistant about including me in any discussions with the legal counsel for the—”

“Oh, fine, we’ll give you the soundtrack,” Lydia says. “But that’s honestly all there is, Hale. And it’s only a few more minutes of you two cooing at each other, which you can’t possibly want suppressed since you constantly do it in any space, at any time.”

“No, I have absolutely no concerns about publicly expressing affection for my partner, unlike you, a woman willing to do under-the-table deals just to keep me out of your meetings,” Peter says, brows still raised. He dips into the leather satchel by his chair, then pulls out a few pieces of paper and hands them over to Lydia. “I’m actually an excellent lawyer. Your defense probably could use me.”

“If Corporate wants to engage your services, that’s not my call,” Lydia says. She frowns as she reads through the draft contract. “Also, if that happens, it’s not my budget covering your inevitable collateral damage. So you can have your damned soundtrack and—no, I do not want to know what you really want it for, that is part of the deal, Peter. Understood?”

Peter pauses, then shakes his head in feigned sorrow. “Well, if you must. But it’s really quite innocu—”

Lydia is writing in an addendum on the contract. She stabs the pen down for a period, then hands it back to Peter for review. Sighing, Peter glances at the addition, then pulls out a pen and signs at the bottom. He then hands it back to Lydia, who pointedly rereads the contract in its entirety before finally signing herself.

“Thank you very much, Ms. Martin,” Peter says, tucking the contract back into his bag and standing up. “As always, a pleas—”

“No,” Lydia says, pointing at the door. “Out. The tape’ll come over by courier tomorrow morning.”

Peter sighs again, but walks out of the room. Lydia watches till he exits the next room as well, then slouches back in her chair. She rubs one hand over her face before giving the remote control a glance. Then she picks it up, rewinds the footage, and pauses at the beginning. She roots around in her purse, producing a small box of chocolate mints, and opens the box before she hits ‘play.’ As Stiles’ voice once again fills the room, she pops a mint into her mouth.

Chapter Text

[Intro on SCOTT and STILES side-by-side behind an examination table. The room looks as it does on the regular show, except that the animated rat skeleton on the back counter is wearing a tiny red-and-green bow around its neck that it keeps fluffing. SCOTT is wearing an earnest smile and a hideous sweater featuring a unicorn head, snowflakes, and candy canes, all sequined with as many colors as possible. STILES is not smiling, but looks relatively relaxed, and his red-and-green plaid shirt appears to be his only concession to the season.]

SCOTT: Hi, all! There’s no regular episode this week, but we wanted to make sure we checked in with all of you for the holidays and wished you and your loved ones—

STILES: Including the ones who need extra care because they’re depending on you to read up on what you’re getting into, because it is animal cruelty if you’re knowingly ignorant and your fun little holiday purchase ends up dying in the gift box and traumatizing your—

SCOTT: *reaches over without looking, pats STILES vigorously on shoulder* —a happy, safe holiday, and speaking of, we also wanted to let you know it’s now even easier for you to make sure you know how to holiday-proof your celebrations for your pets!

STILES: Yeah, I mean, if you wanna try, we’re gonna meet you with this *suddenly breaks out into a beautiful smile* amazing little thing we call the Internet. And the shiny, thoroughly-researched new website we’ve made to share common tips and tricks about pets from alicorn to ziphius!

[SCOTT and STILES execute synchronized “ta-da” motions towards the empty space between them. They hold the pose for a couple seconds and then STILES’ eyes visibly track something off-camera. STILES drops his arm, then lifts it to bat at SCOTT so SCOTT glances over, mouths ‘oh’ and then also drops his arm. An audible sigh is heard off-camera.]

STILES: So, anyway, our new site has lots and lots of useful info about how to not poison your pets and how to keep their stress levels minimized when there’s lots of new stuff going on in their homes, and how to ignore certain holiday movies whose names we shall not speak that grossly misinform people about exotic animals—

SCOTT: *brows furrow* I really wish they wouldn’t keep running it this time of year. Kids are so impressionable and it’s just so wrong, and so many poor unicorns have gotten impounded or worse because of it.

STILES: *eyeing off-camera* One ten, bro, one ten. But seeing as unfortunately we have no influence over the programming choices of media conglomerates and our lawyers won’t let us serve those soulless corporate drones with the visit from Frau Perchta they really deserve—

[Muffled off-camera conversation, becoming somewhat louder as SCOTT nods and makes a clear effort to cheer himself up again. Then ERICA walks into view, wearing a very short red dress with tiny gold stars dotting it.]

ERICA: Which is totally a joke and not a suggestion for anybody to do Stiles any favors, because he’s not gonna come back from the holiday break any faster if he’s locked up with his lawyer. *stares hard off-camera while STILES, visibly amused, starts to fiddle with the collar of his plaid shirt* Because I don’t blow off Santa to bail people out on Christmas, so I’m definitely not filming this from jail.

STILES: *muttering* Honestly, I could probably talk Dad into it if we promise him it’ll keep everything where he has eyes. Except, you know, maybe when Peter and me need a moment—

ERICA: *loudly* Anyway. Check out the website! It even comes with a moderated discussion forum where you can connect with other fans of the show and learn from each other! But again, nothing in this message is intended to empower or encourage you to harass or stalk any cast members or anyone they happen to mention.

SCOTT: *pained expression* Do we need to say that?

[Off-screen, several voices shout ‘yes!’ with varying degrees of forcefulness.]

STILES: Yeah, listen, we appreciate the love. We really do! But keep it at home with your real-life friends and family, because *leans over, straightens back up with two tiny versions of ZILLA in his arms* they’re always there to support you when you need it, and you owe it to them to be there for them too. *pauses* Also, making sure your loved ones are still willing to speak to you means you have more people to receive the amazing gifts we’ve got in the site shop, which I’m contractually required to tell you has now expanded with a great holiday-themed selection.

ERICA: *rolls eyes* Contractually because those mugs and shirts keep Zilla and her babies in stormtroopers to maul, guys.

[One gojira looks straight at camera, then leans over STILES’ arm and spits out something. Camera zooms in on a battered, deformed but still-recognizable Lego minifigure head, clad in a stormtrooper helmet. Beaming, STILES kisses the gojira on its head and then pops it onto his shoulder, where it starts chewing on his shirt-collar. STILES doesn’t appear bothered and instead undoes the top button on his shirt.]

STILES: I have to call out that for all you Erica fangirls and fanboys and fan others out there, this year we stocked up on the merch for you and now you’ve got all the sarcastic magnets, notebooks, and holiday cards your little blackened heart could want. But even if you don’t buy anything, please do check out the site and see if it can help you keep your exotic pet safe and happy this year. That’s really, truly what we do this for.

SCOTT: *nods* Yes! All we want to do is help you.

ERICA: *leaning in over SCOTT’s shoulder* Just remember, if you have a little too much eggnog and get an itch to do something stupid like drive up to Beacon Hills for a personal visit, Tris does not like strangers—

SCOTT: Wait, Erica—

ERICA: And Stiles and Zilla live with a guy who gets hot and bothered over restraints and blood.

STILES: *shrugs, undoes another shirt-button while looking off-screen* Okay, you know, jail last year was honestly probably one of the best New Year’s Eve nights out, but Dad would kill me if we did it again. And we’ve got the kids now, don’t want to have to get Derek to baby-sit last minute, do we?

[Off-screen shout of ‘hell no’ as SCOTT turns in that direction, looking concerned.]

ERICA: *eyeroll* So, one last time, have a happy holidays, everyone! We’ll see you next year! *pauses, then leans in towards camera while SCOTT and STILES are distracted with different off-screen commotions* Be good and maybe I’ll do a live-stream and give you the dirt on just what Stiles had to do to bribe Peter into being a good little wolfie for Christmas. *bright smile*

CAMERAMAN (off-screen): Shit, I need my break now.

[Zoom out on baby gojira, yawning and snuggling into Stiles’ shoulder, as the other baby gojira leans down to sniff at its head.]