Work Text:
They went through this every time, and every time, it went the same exact way. Phil was beginning to wonder if the headache and injuries were worth it, but a mental tally of the vet bills quickly reminded him that yes, yes , it was necessary.
Tommy had to get his tetanus shot.
The witch sighed and stared at the potion bottles cluttering his workspace. There were alternative treatments for rabies, dragon pox, and the flu, but none so far had been found to work on Clostridium tetani. And with the amount of time his familiar spent stalking around the old outbuildings of the farm, he couldn't risk a rusty nail making him sick.
Ugh, why couldn't he have been a dragon like Techno? Dragons were naturally immune to tetanus! Wilbur had to get the shots twice as often (sheep were highly susceptible to the disease), but he never complained or caused a ruckus. The two older familiars had no fear of needles or medication - they always took it without complaint. Tommy, though…
The raccoon would be the death of him.
Leaning over the table, bracing his arms against the rough wood, he called for his first familiar, sending a ping of magic down the line that tied their souls together. Something shifted in the living room, before the tip-tapping of claws heralded Techno's arrival.
The dragon plodded through the wide entryway to the kitchen, yawning widely. He was roughly the size of a horse in this form, though his blush-pink scales and lizard-shaped head quickly squashed any other comparisons. Not to mention the thin wings pressed to his back, or the long spike-lined tail. Wilbur had called him a flamingo once, before being flung through the stained-glass window of the front room.
Phil missed that window.
Techno shook out his scales before wandering over and sitting on his haunches beside his witch, slumping forward so he could rest his chin on the tabletop, crimson eyes scanning the collected potions. His gaze - calm and scarily intelligent - flickered over the small brown vial without interest, before freezing and darting back. The dragon's head jerked up and he shot his witch a wide-eyed look.
"Yup, it's that time of year." Phil sighed, pulling a shoebox out from under his work table. Wilbur had decorated it for him, wrapping it in bright-yellow caution tape and various bright stickers. A paper taped to the front declared it as 'Tommy's Freak-Out Box', which Phil had lectured him about. He kept meaning to change it, but hadn't yet found the time. (And, well, it was a little funny.) Removing the lid, Phil began gathering the tools they'd need.
A pair of Kirin-scaled gloves, impenetrable even to the sharpest and most determined of pointy procyon teeth. Leather arm braces enchanted to high heaven against blades. A blanket that, while fluffy, was also torn in several places and covered in grass stains, despite a dozen washes and the strongest spot-removal spell Phil knew. And, at the very bottom, a small cardboard box with a picture of a syringe on the front, beside a plastic tube filled with hollow needles. Carefully, Phil picked up those last two items and began assembling the syringe. Techno eyed it with distaste, before huffing and straightening up, pushing his chest out a bit.
It was just one shot for one raccoon, how bad could it be?
🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝
Wilbur watched the old barn burn with a twist of amusement in his lips, absently petting the little blonde raccoon curled up in his lap. His witch was directing water from the well with his magic, dousing the flame, while Techno took advantage of being fire-proof to save what tools he could from inside. The familiar in his lap was completely non-repentant, watching the flames with heavy-lidded eyes and a wrinkled nose. When the wind shifted to blow the smoke in their direction, he sneezed, and Wilbur audibly cooed.
"Awww, precious," he ruffled the fur between Tommy's ears. "You're so adorable - don't listen to Techno, you're not a menace at all." Bending over, he pressed a kiss to the raccoon's forehead, letting out his own soft 'baaa' when the kit began to purr. "But you might be a bit of a gremlin." Draped over him like this, on all sides, there was nowhere for him to run. With a smooth motion, Wilbur grabbed the syringe he'd prepared and slid it into Tommy's hindquarters, quickly pressing the plunger with his thumb. Tommy squeaked in surprise and struggled, but couldn't slip free from the sheep's grasp. In less than a second, it was done, leaving Wilbur with a very sulky raccoon trapped in his arms.
"C'mon, Toms," he carefully set the used syringe on a rock sticking out of the grass, easy to see so no-one would accidentally stick themselves, "You know it's for your own good."
The kit chittered angrily and turned his back on Wilbur as best he could while sitting in the older familiars lap. Chuckling, the sheep began massaging the injection site, soothing away any aches before they could begin. The pair watched as the fire was finally extinguished, leaving a half-burnt barn leaning dangerously to one side. Phil and Techno wasted no time beginning to call forth magic to fix it, growing the timber back from the wood that remained.
"How did you even set the barn on fire?" Wilbur finally asked, wondering if it was an ill-placed lamp, or perhaps a show of magical powers that had gotten out of control. The raccoon glanced up at him and gave a shrug, before nipping Wilbur's finger. The sheep yelped, pulling his hands back, and off the kit went, streaking into the long grass that filled the yard between the house and the out buildings. Within a moment he had re-appeared, scaling the oak nearest the half-burnt barn, and immediately found himself a cozy perch and began heckling Phil and Techno.
Rolling his eyes, Wilbur stood and stretched, before shifting into his own form. He trotted through the grass, curly light-blue wool standing out against the deep summer greens, and settled himself at the base of the tree, folding his legs under his fluff and closing his eyes. Techno muttered something about 'lazy bastards' but he shrugged him off - Phil had plenty of magic at hand, he didn't need Wilbur flooding his ley lines.
By the time the sun began to set, Tommy had grown tired of his jeering and climbed down to curl up on Wilbur's back, sinking into his thick fur with a satisfied chirp. Phil wandered over, wiping sweat from his brow, and sighed at the sight of his familiars lazing away. He flopped down beside Wilbur, leaning against the tree, and rested a hand on Tommy's back.
"Did you manage to give it to him?" He asked, giving a tired smile when Wilbur's head bobbed up and down. "Good. Well, that's done 'til next year, then."
Techno, smelling strongly of ash and smoke, plodded over and stretched out on Phil's other side, surrounding their witch. He grumbled something and huffed, resting his large head on Phil's lap, making the man laugh and stroke his head.
"Yes, I know, it's a circus every time. At least he only partially burnt down the barn this year. Remember the roof last year? And the army of raccoons the year before that?"
Wilbur bleated out a laugh at the last memory - Tommy leading an army of almost twenty wild raccoons, all scrounged up from the surrounding forest, wrecking absolute havoc on the house in hopes of distracting Phil from the shot. Techno (who had ended up wrangling most of the masked bandits and nearly barbequed a few when they got into his horde) shot him a baleful look, huffing smoke his way to show his distaste.
"We only need one raccoon here." Phil gently scooped Tommy from his spot on Wilbur, ignoring the latter's disappointed baa, and cuddled him close. "Isn't that right, Tommy?"
The raccoon didn't respond, just snuggled closer to his witch, basking in the warmth that came from being surrounded by his family.
(And maybe dreaming, just a bit, of rallying his raccoon army once again when this day came next year, and pondering how they'd feel about flamethrowers.)