Gut Instinct (Teen Wolf)

1:18 I Need You To Burn Me

Warning: Swearing, deliberate vagueness, mentions of injury, slight fluff, a lot of small scenes but they are also very worthwhile. Enjoy

She walked up to the front door of the animal clinic. She knew Scott worked here. That was why she came here on a Wednesday, before school. She didn't want to run into the boy. She looked around quickly before she opened the door and walked in. 

The waiting room was simple. Uncomfortable chairs, magazines on the endtables, and blue-gray paint on the walls. There was a divider that ran parallel with the hallway that went further into the clinic and an open doorway on the right side of the hallway. 

A man walked into the doorway. He was broad shouldered with a goatee being the only hair on his head. His dark skin watched his eyes, the kind of eyes that said they knew a thousand years of knowledge and they weren't about to be intimidated by her. 

"Was my closed sign not viewable?" he asked, his tone light. But she had a feeling that could change in a second. 

"It was," she said. "I just didn't care about it." 

"What can I help you with then?" he asked. "Do you have an appointment?" 

"Sort of," she said. "In September, you got a call from a man named Lucas Jacobs. I'm here to follow up on the call." 

"And why did Luke send you to follow up?" he asked. 

"Because I'm the only that knew of the call that isn't dead," she told him. "And because the call was about me." She looked him in the eyes when she said this. He nodded in understanding. "Luke wanted answers and I want them too." 

He opened the divider for her. "How about we take this conversation to the back room?" he suggested. She nodded and followed him. The room was simple. There was a brick wall on the far wall that had three windows near the roof. There were silver cabinets and cupboards along the nearest wall. She took in the double doors near the brick wall and the different veternary supplies along the shelves. 

Deaton stood around the table, his back to the different shelves. She stood on the other side of the table. "Why don't we start with your name?" 

"Vic," she told him. 

The man smiled like he knew something she didn't. Which was more than likely. "My name is Alan, but a lot of people call me Deaton. Now, let's get started, shall we?" 

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She looked up from her homework when she heard the door open. She smiled at her dad when he walked in. Stiles waved. Vic had about two weeks left of eigth grade till summer and she still had a fair but of homework. Noah had a dozen or so white envelopes in his hand, showing he had just gotten the mail. 

He kicked off his shoes as he shuffled the envelopes. The two siblings watched as he stopped on one and furrowed his brows. 

"What is it, Dad?" Stiles asked, concerned. 

"Vic," Noah said, confusion filled his voice. 

"Yeah?" she asked, cautious. 

"Any idea why we have a letter from the First Republic Bank of Boston?" he asked, showing her the envelope. 

She reached out for it and took it from his hands. There, stamped on the front of the enevelope in official words and black ink was the words, 'Victoria Stilinski, Beacon Hills, California.' The adress was to their post office, the postal code was even right. 

"I don't know," she confessed. She pulled the knife out of the pocket of her jacket. She flipped it open, not noticing the stares from her family. She tore the envelope with the knife until she could pull out the paper. She placed her knife inside her pocket once more and freed the paper from the envelope. She read it with furrowed brows. Until her eyes went wide and she jumped up. "Holy shit!" she yelled.