Evan

Theo’s vision tunnels, sharp and suffocating. His pulse spikes— and for a dizzy second, all he can think is it’s hers. Her heart. Her heartbeat.

It’s hers it’s hers it’s hers—

He can’t breathe. The world flickers at the edges, too bright, too loud.

Why? He wants to scream it. Wants to ask why she can’t just leave him alone— why she can’t just stay buried in the nightmares where she belongs. Why does she have to haunt his waking life too?

I’m going insane, he thinks, a touch hysterically, although he’s almost certain he’s been going insane ever since he was nine. I can’t do this again. Please don’t-

She doesn’t disappear when he closes his eyes and reopens them.

Just watches.

She’s the same age she was when he last saw her (alive), same curls draped along her back, same unimpressed expression she used to wear whenever he pitched one of his terrible ideas, back all those years ago.

She doesn’t speak— just like she didn’t in Hell.

Just like she didn’t before ripping his heart out of his chest and watching it throb in her hands— slick, trembling, still beating for her even as he fell.

Fuck. Fuck.

Theo goes very still. The dripping faucet clicks in rhythm with his (her) heartbeat.

For a long, unbearable moment, they just stare at each other. Him, soaked in neon slime, and her, the ghost of a girl he once murdered.

He swallows hard. “...Not now,” he says. It comes out like a plea.

Not now.

Tara doesn’t move.

“I mean it,” he tries again, quieter. For fuck’s sake, how has he reached the point in his life where he’s trying to console a hallucination? “Go away.”

Her silence feels heavy, judgmental. Disapproval radiates off her like heat.

Alec finally looks up from his phone, frowning, “Theo?”

Theo jerks his head toward the wall. Blinks fast.

Tara’s gone.

He turns back to the sink, watching water bead and slide off his fingers. The water is warm, but his hands are frozen.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

He’s fine.

──────────────

The next time she shows up again, it’s three days later.

Theo’s in the middle of an argument with Liam—if it can even be called an argument when Liam’s doing that quiet, infuriating thing where he tries to understand him instead of being unreasonable.

“I’m saying you can’t just disappear for a week and expect everyone to be fine with it,” Liam hisses, hands cutting through the air, “You’re part of a pack, whether you like it or not.”

“Correction,” Theo snaps, “Everyone in the pack barely tolerates me until I do something useful. Big fucking difference.”

Liam’s expression tightens. “That’s not—”

“Don’t,” Theo warns, the word sharp and tired, “Don’t lie to me just because Scott’s whole brand is forgiveness. It doesn’t work on me.”

He knows he’s being cruel. Knows it in the split second of silence that follows, in the way Liam’s throat bobs when he swallows whatever retort he has ready.

And that’s when he sees her.

Standing just behind Liam’s shoulder. Arms crossed. Expression flat. That same faint, unimpressed look that used to make him feel eight and reckless again.

Theo blinks, jaw tightening, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Liam blinks back. “Excuse me?”

“Not you.” He drags a hand down his face, “Just… never mind.”

Liam’s frown deepens, worry flickering behind irritation, “Are you— are you okay?”

Like you care.

“No,” Theo mutters under his breath. “Obviously not.” He glances at the hallucination again, “You’re not helping.”

Tara raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t speak and doesn’t vanish. Just stares.

Theo groans, ignoring the way his heartbeat races involuntary, buried memories drifting upwards (he hates it, how he isn’t in control of himself anymore). “You’re seriously doing this right now?”

“Who are you talking to?” Liam asks slowly, the worry in his expression more apparent. 

Theo freezes. There’s a long beat of silence. Then: “...No one.”

Liam stares at him in confusion and indignation, before demanding, “What do you mean, no one? Who the hell were you just talking to?”

“I said no one, didn’t I?

“Theo—”

“Drop it.”

“But—”

“Drop it.”

Liam’s brows knit together, and Theo can see the moment he wants to argue, wants to push (because the beta never knows when to shut the fuck up, and it’s going to be the death of him), but something in Theo’s voice makes him stop.

“Fine,” he mumbles, and Theo stares at him in surprise. 

It’s strange. Liam never drops things that easily. Never leaves him alone when he probably should.

They stand there in silence, a fragile standoff built out of things unsaid.

Finally, Liam sighs, the sound quiet but heavy, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Theo lies, “Don’t worry about me.”

When he finally looks back, Tara’s gone.

──────────────

It becomes a pattern.

She appears when he’s mean. When he’s petty. When he’s about to say something he doesn’t mean.

Sometimes she appears when he’s pushing too hard, or staying up too late, or pretending exhaustion is a personality trait instead of a symptom of extreme sleep-deprivation.

He’s halfway through his third cup of coffee at two in the morning, sitting on Liam’s guest bed, when he feels it— the weight of being watched— a feeling that isn’t so sudden anymore. It settles slowly, like pressure at the base of his skull. Familiar. Predictable.

Tara is perched on the edge of the desk, face contorted somewhere between disapproval and mild boredom.

For a moment, he just stares at her, unmoving. The air hums faintly with static— like the air right before a storm— but it’s not scary this time. Not that suffocating, skin-crawling panic that used to seize his chest whenever he saw her.

He’s long since burned through that.

At some point, her constant appearances stopped ripping open the scar tissue in his mind and just… flattened out. No racing heartbeat, no flicker of hellfire behind his eyelids, no phantom echo of her hand closing around his ribcage, no “you don’t have to stop”. Just a dull, persistent awareness.

Now it’s mostly irritation. Mild, biting, almost therapeutic, actually.

He likes this Tara more than the one in Hell.

Still doesn’t like her, though.

Theo glares at the hallucination, “You’re not my mom.”

She doesn’t react, of course.

“I’m serious. You don’t even sleep. You can’t tell me what to do.”

Nothing.

He sighs, leans back in his chair, “Fine. Five more minutes.”

Still nothing.

Goddamnit.

He meets her gaze, “...You’re not fucking funny.”

When he wakes up an hour later with his head on the desk, the coffee cold and the lights still on, she’s gone.

──────────────

By the time the pack starts noticing, Theo’s too tired to care.

Corey catches him muttering in the corner of the kitchen and nearly drops his backpack. Mason asks if he’s “maybe talking to someone on the phone?” Alec just grins and asks what imaginary friend he’s fighting with this time.

Liam, though— Liam’s the only one who doesn’t joke. The only one that just looks at him like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. Confused and angry because he doesn’t know how too.

And sometimes, however…

Sometimes he looks at Theo with something akin to fondness.

And that’s the thing that finally gets under Theo’s skin. Because every time Liam looks at him like that— soft, worried, too kind— Tara shows up again.

Standing there in the corner.

Watching.

Judging.

And all Theo can do is mutter, “You’re not subtle, you know,” before turning away from both of them.

──────────────

Theo doesn’t even look up when Liam speaks. He just keeps rinsing his hands under the tap, jaw locked, pretending he doesn’t hear him.

“Theo.”

He ignores it.

“Theo.”

 There’s that edge now— sharp and fed-up.

“What?” Theo sighs, spinning around.

Liam’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes bright and stormy, like he’s been pacing himself into an argument. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Theo blinks, then snorts. “Define ‘what the hell.’ You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Don’t start with me,” Liam cuts in, voice rising. “You’ve been—” he gestures vaguely, frustrated, “—talking to walls, spacing out, disappearing, and now you’re telling people to ‘go away’ when there’s no one there!”

Theo’s stomach drops, but he covers it with a scoff, “Jesus, are you keeping a diary on me or something?”

Liam steps forward, “Don’t twist this around. You think nobody notices when you start losing it in the middle of a conversation? Theo, we need to do something about this. We all want to help you.” He’s begging, voice rising every word.

“Oh, so now it’s an intervention?” Theo laughs, sharp and humorless, “What’s next, you gonna call Scott? Maybe hold hands, talk about feelings?”

“I’m serious!” Liam shouts, and it echoes. His claws are half out now, his control cracking, “You think this is funny? You think we’re not scared you’re—” He stops himself short, jaw snapping shut.

Theo tilts his head. “Finish that sentence.”

Liam hesitates. It’s the wrong kind of silence.

Theo takes a step closer, smiling, but it’s all teeth.

“Go on. Say it.”

Liam’s voice drops low, “We think something’s wrong with you.”

Theo laughs again, but it’s too thin, “You don’t say.”

“No, I mean—” Liam drags a hand through his hair, trying to find words, “Scott’s been talking to Deaton. You’re seeing things that aren’t there, right? You’re…”

He stops again, breath uneven.

“You might be…”

“What.” Theo’s voice is cold.

“...schizophrenic,” Liam finishes, quiet but heavy.

It hits like a slap.

For a second, Theo can’t even breathe. The word hangs there, sharp and clinical, like it doesn’t belong to him but somehow still fits too neatly. Like he’s back with the Dread Doctors, listening to them talk about his body like he isn’t bleeding out in front of them. Cardiomyopathy, he hears. 

Weak, he hears.

“Wow,” he says finally, voice flat, “That’s cute. You can diagnose me now? What, did Deaton hand you a little medical badge on your way out?”

“I’m not—” Liam starts, but Theo’s already talking over him.

“You think this is some human thing? Some little brain glitch you can patch up with meds and therapy?” He’s pacing now, laughing, furious, “You think I don’t know what’s real? You think I want to see her?”

Liam flinches at the word her. “Who?”

Theo’s hands curl into fists, “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Liam shoots back, “It matters if it’s—”

“Drop it,” Theo snaps, “Liam, fucking drop it.”

Liam doesn’t.

“Oh,” he whispers, eyes wide and piercing. “It’s Tara…. of course it’s Tara.” He mutters to himself, brows furrowing, “How did I not realize?” 

Theo goes still. Completely still. 

A few mind-numbing seconds pass, as they both stare at each other.

Suddenly, abruptly, Theo looks up at the beta and laughs, voice catching in his throat, “Yeah, Liam. It’s Tara. Of course it’s Tara.”

Then he walks out.

The door slams hard enough to rattle the frame.

Behind him, Liam stands frozen in the kitchen, chest heaving, unknowingly staring at the space where Tara had been watching the whole time.

──────────────

Two days later, and Theo’s fucking done.

He’d left his truck at the Preserve, foolishly, but he finds that he doesn’t really care. 

At least the night air is nice. Cold, damp, grounding. Theo doesn’t stop walking until his lungs start to ache. Until his legs threaten to give out. Until his reflection in some dark puddle stops looking like a person and starts looking like a ghost with a pulse.

A pulse that isn’t even his. 

He could go anywhere else. Somewhere, anywhere, he can breathe without someone looking at him like that. But he’s tired— so, stupidly, inevitably, he goes home.

Alec’s on the couch when he gets in. Curled up under a blanket, ice cream tub balanced on his knees, something flickering across the TV. The kid looks up when the door slams, blinking wide-eyed.

“You look like shit,” Alec announces helpfully.

Theo drops his jacket on the floor, “Thanks, kid. Great to see you too.”

“Rough night?”

“Define rough.”

Alec considers it, “You didn’t kill anyone, right?”

Theo chokes out a laugh, “Why do you always ask me that?”

“Just making sure,” Alec says, spoon in his mouth.

Theo exhales through his nose, somewhere between exhausted and fond. He wants to yell, or laugh, or sleep for three years. Instead, he rubs a hand down his face and mutters, “Go to bed.”

“It’s like ten,” Alec checks the time on his phone, “You go to bed.”

Theo doesn’t respond. He just moves toward the kitchen, flicking on the dim light above the sink. He doesn’t go near it though— recent incidents have made him a bit wary of sinks.

The kitchen is nice though, apart from the fact that it smells like mothballs. 

Honestly, the whole apartment does.

It’s technically Peter’s— one of the properties he “doesn’t use anymore”— and when he’d tossed Theo the keys, he’d said something about “needing space” and “not bleeding all over Liam’s carpets again.”

Theo hadn’t argued.

Mostly because Peter wasn’t wrong– he needed the distance.

Needed to prove (to himself, mostly), that he wasn’t just some half-domesticated monster orbiting Liam Dunbar’s gravitational pull. That he could live alone and function like a normal human being. 

God, he’s done it for years, it shouldn’t be this hard. 

He’s just standing there, staring into space, thinking about what the hell his life has become, when he feels it again.

The weight. The shift in the air. That dull, crawling pressure that means he’s not alone.

And of course, there she is: Tara, sitting on the counter, swinging her legs like she owns the place.

For a moment, he just stares at her.

Then, flatly: “You’re really committed to this haunting thing, huh?”

She tilts her head. The look on her face says God, you’re pathetic loud enough that he can hear it without sound.

Theo grabs a glass from the drying rack, “Don’t look at me like that.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“I mean it,” he mutters, filling it with water, “Don’t.”

From the living room, Alec’s voice drifts in, “Are you talking to yourself again?”

Theo’s grip tightens around the glass. “No,” he rolls his eyes, “Just practicing my stand-up routine.”

“Cool,” Alec says, not looking up from the TV, “You’re not funny.”

Theo stares at the ghost, “See? He agrees with you. Happy?”

Tara’s expression doesn’t change, but something in the air feels smug.

He downs half the glass, sighs, and mutters, “You can go back to Hell now.”

Nothing.

He sets the glass down harder than necessary, “I’m serious. What do you want? Name it. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Just… go away afterwards.”

She crosses her arms and stares at him in exasperation.

He hates it.

After a long silence, he mutters, “You’re not even scary anymore.”

Tara looks pointedly toward the hallway.

Theo follows her gaze, and finds Alec watching from the doorway, frowning.

“Theo?” the kid asks, cautious.

“Yeah?”

Alec shrugs, almost resigned, “Nothing. You… you just went somewhere again.”

Theo opens his mouth, then closes it. When he looks back to the counter, Tara’s gone.

“Right,” he mutters, “Guess I did.”

Alec hesitates, like he wants to say something else, then just shrugs again, “You should sleep. You’re worse when you don’t.”

Theo snorts, “You’ve been hanging out with Liam too much.”

“Maybe he’s right sometimes,” Alec fires back, and he sounds so stubborn but Theo can smell the worry radiating off him. 

Theo pauses, just long enough for the jab to hit deeper than it should, “Go to bed,” he repeats quietly.

Alec rolls his eyes and disappears down the hall.

When the apartment finally goes quiet again, Tara reappears, sitting cross-legged on the couch.

Theo glares. It’s futile, but he says it anyway:

“Go away.”

But suddenly— right in front of him, although he can hardly believe it, she does. 

What the fuck?

There’s a knock at the door, and Theo looks up in surprise, then back to where Tara was sitting. Did she really just… listen to him?

…. What the fuck?

He hears another knock, sharper and way too loud for the hour.

Jesus Christ. “This better be important—”

He reaches the door and stops.

Liam’s standing there, hoodie damp from the rain, hair plastered to his forehead, looking like he’s been outside for a while before deciding to actually knock.

Theo’s mouth opens, then shuts again, “What are you doing here?”

“I—” Liam starts, then hesitates, eyes flicking past Theo’s shoulder like he’s half-expecting someone else to be there, “You didn’t answer your phone.”

Theo rubs the back of his neck, “Maybe because I didn’t want to.”

Liam exhales slowly, irritation and concern warring in his face, “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Theo laughs, bitter, “Newsflash, Dunbar, I’ve been alone for most of my life. I’m pretty good at it.”

“Are you?”

The question hits harder than it should.

Theo stares at him. Liam doesn’t look smug this time— doesn’t even look angry. Just… tired. 

He swallows hard, “You came all the way here just to play therapist?”

“I came because I was worried,” Liam says quietly, “Alec texted me.”

Theo glances toward the hallway, “ That little shit.”

Liam almost smiles, “He’s worried for you.”

“He doesn’t need to be.”

Liam steps closer, “You’re shaking, Theo.”

“It’s cold.”

“You’re inside.”

Theo exhales sharply, hand gripping the door handle, “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to care just because it makes you feel better.”

Liam catches his wrist— not hard, just enough to make him stop closing the door, “That’s not it. Theo, please. I’ll stop pressuring you about your hallucinations— about your sister. Just… just stop pushing me away.”

He sounds agitated, and Theo feels sick.

“Stop acting like you care.”

Liam snorts, getting louder, “Acting? Have you ever once thought that maybe I do care? Maybe you matter to me? Maybe I don’t want to lose you, Theo? Or are you so stupid that you can’t seem to understand that I’m hopelessly in love with you and you keep pushing me away? I’m trying to help you and be there for you and protect you, even when you make me want to claw my throat out, yet you act like I don’t give a shit when you’re all I give a shit about and I don’t— I don’t—” 

His voice breaks, and he looks up, lost. “I don’t know how to tell you how much you mean to me. I don’t know how to make you see it.”

Theo freezes. His breath stutters in his chest.

For a second, neither of them moves. The rain outside fills the silence, steady and endless.

Then, just barely above a whisper, Theo says, “You can’t.”

Liam’s expression softens, “Maybe let me try anyway.”

He wants to pull away, wants to scoff, to turn it into another argument. But his pulse betrays him— loud and unsteady, echoing in his ears.

It’s almost funny, how easy it is to forget that Liam can hear it too.

He sees the moment Liam notices. That flicker of realization, of something like affection.

And of course, that’s when Tara reappears— behind Liam, faint and silent. 

Watching.

Theo’s throat tightens.

“Stop,” he whispers, though it’s not clear who he’s talking to.

Liam blinks, “Stop what?”

Theo shakes his head, “Nothing.” 

He doesn’t even know if he’s lying to Liam or himself.

Liam studies him for a long moment, then lets go of his wrist, exasperated, “I should go.”

Theo doesn’t answer— just watches him turn away into the rain.

But then— Tara steps closer to Liam, just a fraction, her expression softening into something strange. There isn’t any judgment in her expression this time, but something gentler. Sadder.

Theo’s chest twists painfully.

“Wait.”

Liam turns back.

Theo swallows hard, “You could… stay. Just for a bit.”

It’s the closest thing to an apology he’s managed in years.

Liam hesitates— then nods, “Yeah. Okay.”

They end up sitting on the couch. Neither of them speaks, and Theo notes faintly that they do that a lot. The thing where they both stare at each other without talking. It should feel more awkward than it does. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can still make out Tara’s shape, sitting cross-legged on the floor now, watching them both with something that almost looks like approval.

He doesn’t say a word, just leans back into the cushions, noting how Liam scooches closer— close enough so their hands are almost touching.

And for the first time in a long time— Theo feels almost calm.