VET

Eri innocently asked why they were taking Barney to the vet. Barney had never heard the word before in either of its lives. It had never known the practice of medicine nor its application to non-human species. Yet, the very word made it tremble with fear. It scurried away, squeezed itself under the kitchen table, and whimpered piteously.

Izuku's hand morphed into a chainsaw. "It appears that Household Pet ID:Barney refuses to travel to receive the required medical procedures per Japanese law." The chainsaw started whirring. "If we are unable to transport Barney to the vet, I am fully capable of excising the cancerous tumors here."

Barney evacuated the kitchen and crammed itself in the car so quickly it left behind a dinosaur-shaped dust cloud.

In the clinic's waiting area, every animal, dogs, cats, a horse, and three goldfish, all pressed themselves against the far wall, while the T-Rex whimpered in Eri's lap. When the receptionist called their names, Izuku dragged the T-Rex by its leash, breaking the doorframe in the process.

The clinic smelled of blood and steel. In the periphery of the dinosaur's vision, it saw massive needles, bloodied scalpels, and the discarded fur and limbs of the other wretched creatures before it, but every time it turned to look, the image vanished. The sound of its own heartbeat filled its ears, but even as that rose to a crescendo, it heard the soft click of shoes on tile, like the approach of an executioner. The doorknob turned, the door swung with ponderous, deliberate heft and the tortured creak of ungreased hinges.

The vet froze, adjusting her glasses as she craned her neck up. "Is that even legal?"

"It is now," Inko answered.

The vet braced herself. "Right. Never tried my Quirk on something this big, so be ready to run."

Barney backed itself in a corner as she approached. The vet carefully reached out and patted its neck. "There there," she whispered soothingly. "You're alright."

The dinosaur understood nothing of the terror-monster-mustrun's words, but the intent trickled through its brain like succulent perfume. It was alright. It had nothing to worry about.

As Barney relaxed, the vet drew closer. "That's it. You're a brave little man, aren't you?"

Barney was a brave little man. It wasn't afraid of the malevolent miasma that clung to the vet's scrubs, baked too deep into the fabric for any amount of bleach to cleanse.

"Very good. Now, this little prick in your neck doesn't hurt at all, does it?"

Barney felt the needle sink into its neck, but beneath the perfumed fog in its mind, the needle's presence was more abstract, a sliver of cold and vague sensation pumping liquid sleepiness into its veins.

"Scalpel, please, and a bigger bucket. I got a feeling these are a bit bigger than I'm used to."

When Barney woke up again, it knew three things. Its balls were gone. Everything hurt. And it was never going to trust the vet again.

498

I should have named the vet Fred. That way, I could say that Fred stole Barney's pebbles for a change.