The good Dr. Crazystein chapter 7 (Writer: SqueakyFriend)

Note: The end of this chapter contains a fluffy killing an animal in self-defense, as it was written before the no-animal-harm rule was created.


The good Dr. Crazystein, chapter 7

What’s that, Dr. Crazystein?


Dr. Crazystein shot up to a sit, ears perked as he looked around. His sleep was light and restless, had been ever since a certain incident, though he no longer recalled the details of his dreams. Something had been moving and making noise, however, and it was enough to wake him.

The big, wood-colored fluffy standing by his food bowl didn’t notice for a few moments, then looked to him in evident surprise. “Uh…”

The good doctor sighed vaguely and stretched out his hooves, making sure there were no achy joints. “Gud mowning, Ivo.”

Ivo stared blankly for a few moments before responding: “Hewwo.”

As he walked over to eat his share of the kibble (noting that there was way more left than he could ever stomach), Dr. Crazystein mused to himself. Today was … a day. A not-weekend day, the first one since his new assistant - and the doctor himself - had been brought home. That meant his mother wasn’t home, which meant Dr. Crazystein was in charge of Ivo, and Ivo was in charge of keeping Dr. Crazystein out of danger and away from science. Like a ‘smarty’ and a ‘toughie’, she had explained. The meaning of either was lost on the doctor; Ivo was supposed to listen to and protect him, that was all.

So, Ivo was a lab assistant and bodyguard. He hadn’t really been alone with the larger fluffy until now, but he supposed it’d be okay. Ivo was reportedly a good fluffy, after all.

“Doctah?” his assistant asked. After finding out about the little doctor’s previous assailant he had done his best to separate his voice from Mr. Hyde’s, digging up every little difference in tone and inflection he could. It was appreciated, but not too useful when he didn’t know what Hyde sounded like at all. “Whewe sketties?”

Dr. Crazystein choked. A few moments and a coughing attack later, he looked up to the puzzled-looking toughie with flattened ears. “Nu haf sketties…”

“Bu’ Mummah haf sketties,” Ivo replied. At least he didn’t get angry. “Ivo fin’ sketties!”

And with those words, the large fluffy walked off. The doctor, after some deliberation, followed and soon found him in the kitchen, trying to open a cupboard door their mother had locked up. “Dat’s cwosed, Ivo, nu can–”

The lock broke, Ivo flashing him a proud grin. “Ivo bestest tuffie! Ivo get what Ivo wan!” he boasted, checking through the cupboard and pulling out a big bottle that looked vaguely familiar. White pipes with dirty brown flying off …?

“I-Ivo! Nu eat dat!” Dr. Crazystein hurriedly protested, darting over. “Dat nu gud fow fwuffies!”

“Eh? How Doctah kno dat?” There was that puzzled look again, the toughie shoving his nose against the opening to take a big sniff. “Doctah eat?”

“Weww- nu- eh…” He made a light ‘hmm’ as he thought about it. Well, Ivo was a fluffy, so it wasn’t like he’d get in trouble, but he had to try and keep things simple. “Doctah toss dat into fwuffy’s eyes, an’ fwuffy’s eyes mewted.”

Ivo stared blankly at him. For a few moments the smaller fluffy actually worried that he’d broken him, but then he spoke. “See-pwaces go bye-bye?”

“Dat’s… wight? So if yu eat it, yu mouf an’ thwoat might go bye-bye too.”

“What am thwoat?” asked the fluffy as he shoved the bottle away, tipping it over in the process. Eh, he’d deal with that later.

“Thwoat is pawt of da neck, see? Hewe?” the little doctor tried to explain, tapping at his neck. It felt unpleasant.

“Ooh, otay.” Ivo pulled out another bottle, this one with the familiar rat-and-cross symbol.

“Nu nu nu! Nu eat dat eithew!”

“Why? Dis make see-pwaces go bye-bye too?”

“Weww… Nnnnnu. Fwuffies dat eat it jus’ die.”

“Fowevah sweepies? Dis fowevah-sweepies juice wike tasty bwue foods?”

“… Doctah Cwazystein nu haf any cwue what yu jus’ said.”

Apparently there was a communication issue here. Ivo realized it too, his face scrunching up in thought. “Uh… Weww… Pwetty gween juice bad fow fwuffies?”

“Yus.”

Ivo set the bottle back, then picked out another the good doctor didn’t recognize. “Dis?”

“… Jus’ dun eat anyfing fwom dewe,” Dr. Crazystein concluded. He wasn’t gonna take any chances. His assistant made a dissatisfied noise and tossed the bottle away, causing it to roll in under a chair. The fluffy started to search around again while Dr. Crazystein just watched, not entirely certain if he should try to stop him or not. But he was making a big mess of everything…

Once Ivo managed to open the big white food box and climbed into it, starting to throw out food items on the floor, the little doctor decided he had to intervene. “Ivo! Dat’s enough, stop it!”

“Bu’ Ivo wan sketties,” complained the toughie, his fat bulk nestled on a shelf. “Dis big food box must haf sketties.”

“Ivo haf food awweady,” Dr. Crazystein pointed out and aimed a hoof at the saferoom. “In thewe.”

“Nu! Dat nu am tasty!” came a huff in response. “Dat am poopies!”

Huh. He didn’t think it tasted that bad. “An’ sketties taste bettah?”

There was a long silence. “Doctah nevah haf sketties?”

“Nu…? Is dat bad?”

A jar of something red suddenly crashed to the floor and shattered next to the little doctor, making him jump. “Sketties am gweatest foodstuffs of aww fowevahs!” called Ivo from above. “Much bettah dan poopie kibbwes!”

"Ivo yu bwoke somefing!" Dr. Crazystein shouted, distraught. “Why yu do dat?!”

“Smeww wike sketties!” the toughie yelled back even as he was climbing down, before losing his footing. Dr. Crazystein quickly scrambled aside, barely avoiding being crushed by his so-called bodyguard as he hit the floor. Unperturbed, Ivo heaved himself onto two hooves and gave the red goop a cheerful lick. “Nu am sketties, but am awmost as tasty!”

Dr. Crazystein wrinkled his nose. It looked too much like candy red gore to him, and besides it was full of glass. But if Ivo liked it…

Getting an idea, he trotted forward and carefully picked up the ruined jar in his mouth. He walked back to the saferoom with the red goop carried carefully, Ivo following with a sour expression at the ‘theft’ but true to his role not doing anything about it, and he dumped the red stuff onto the kibble. It had a strange but nice taste, though he wasn’t sure if the cold and the glass were influencing it. In fact, he may have put glass shards in the food along with the sketti-stuff, though Ivo didn’t seem to care as he sucked it all up like a particularly noisy and tail-waggy vacuum cleaner.

So the red sketti-stuff made other things tasty, noted Dr. Crazystein, idly toying with his still-reddened broken glass. That was useful information. Good for kill-fluffy poisons, if he could stop Ivo from eating it first (which was pretty likely to happen, let’s be honest).

Cheerful and with renewed spirit, Ivo stretched his legs and started trotting around the saferoom, looking around at the toys. For a while he contented himself with playing with them, chatting with the stuffy-friend and building with the blocks and throwing around the ball, which allowed Dr. Crazystein to clean up his new piece of glass properly and smooth out the jagged edges as best he could. It could work as a weapon, or maybe for surgery.

“Doctah, Ivo am bowed,” spoke Ivo right by his ear after a while. He flinched and leaned away, nudging his glass shard safely off to the side.

“What am Doctah Cwazystein supposed ta do about dat?” he asked cautiously, turning to face Ivo. God he hated the fluffy’s lack of sense of personal space.

“Doctah wan pway?”

“Nu, nu wike–” And then he was trapped in a big hug. He squirmed and tried to push free with very little success, settling for batting at his body guard. “Ivo! Wet go! What yu doing!?”

“What Doctah doing?” asked the larger fluffy, looking at the glass. “Dat si-ence?”

“Science,” grumbled Dr. Crazystein, giving up on escaping. “An’ nu. Am jus’ pwepawing fow any suwgewy stuffs.”

“What am suwgwysies?”

“SUWGEWY.” He was getting impatient. Ivo knew he hated this! “Wiww expwain if yu put Doctah Cwazystein down.”

With an unhappy sound, Ivo let go and the little doctor backed off. He breathed out, making a distant effort to smooth out his fur(it was beyond any kind of smoothing, even before the hug). “Suwgewy is when yu open up a fwuffy an’ yu fix stuff inside it,” he said. “An’ yu can gif dem new insidies an’ bonesies an’ stuff, too. An’ yu can even put togethah a fwuffy wif pawts of othah fwuffies an’ make it come awive!” Gradually as he talked, the knowledge from his visit at the veterinary clinic was mixed with that of the movie Frankenstein. He considered both equally factual.

Ivo looked starry-eyed, a look that did not exactly fit his rough exterior. “Doctah can gif Ivo wingies wif suwgweys?”

“Suw-GE-wy. An’ yus!” He laughed a bit, waving his hooves before remembering how it was fluffy-speak for ‘hug me’ and planting them firmly back on the ground. “If Doctah Cwazystein haf wingies an’ thwead, can gif Ivo wingies!”

“Ivo wan wingies! Wan fwy!” chimed his body guard, happy as a tiny foal, and rushed out of the room. The little doctor stared after him, then snickered as he followed along.

Apparently Ivo had forgotten all about the ban on science.


Surprisingly, Ivo had stopped by the front door just to make sure he could still watch his protegee, and nudged Dr. Crazystein to leave first. The little doctor popped through the fluffy exit, looking around the yard for its usual ferals as he waited for Ivo to accompany him.

He could only see one, and it was just a little filly in shades of gray. Dr. Crazystein shrugged - subject as subject, as long as it had wings it was good enough. He walked over to the filly, studying her - no wings. A small horn, but that wasn’t what he needed. “Hewwo.”

“Hewwo nice mistah fwuffy!” chirped the filly. “Sketties?”

Why was she asking for sketties? Was this one of his old patients? “If yu be subjet, s–” he started out of habit before catching himself. He DIDN’T need this subject.

“Doctah, who dis?” asked Ivo as he trotted up beside the two. The filly backpedaled, eyes wide. “Nu be scawed, Ivo am tuffie. Keep babbehs safe!”

“Doctah am babbeh?” asked the filly cautiously, eyes flickering between the two. Dr. Crazystein decided not to answer. He decided not to take any notice of Ivo half-nodding, either.

“Am Doctah Cwazystein,” he instead introduced himself. “Am doctah! An’ am wooking fow good subjets!”

“What dat? Sub-jet?” the filly repeated with a tilt of her head. Ivo shrugged. Dr. Crazystein made a mental note to teach his assistant some common scientist terms.

“Subjets awe fwuffies dat hewp wif expewiments,” he explained. “An’ doctahs do expewiments on subjets!”

“What espewement?”

“Is… Science!” He threw up his hooves for dramatic effect, then paused and looked up. What was that? It looked like …

A falcon suddenly landed among the trio with a screech, digging its talons into the screaming filly as it started to take back into the air. Dr. Crazystein just stared at the bird, dumbstruck with awe. Ivo, on the other hand?

Ivo tackled it.

There was a flurry of squawking, feathers and talons as the bird tried to kick off its attacker, but this was clearly not the first time Ivo had fought birds - how could that be? how did you get used to fighting birds? - and after several seconds, everything fell silent. Ivo stood there, breathing heavily over the falcon’s unmoving body. Its chest was caved in, and the blood of both fluffy and bird was everywhere.

“Ivo find wings,” the toughie finally said after catching his breath. “Suhgehwy nao?”

Dr. Crazystein nodded mutely, stunned. The horrified filly all but forgotten, he hurried back into the house to begin his preparations.

At the very least, he couldn’t doubt his assistant’s skills as a bodyguard.



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Ivo took down a falcon? Ivo really is a tuffy

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