Hearing these words, Stiles' world narrows. More than it should. His whole being forces him to turn his head. He can feel Theo’s eyes on him already and holds his gaze. His chest constricts as he sees the soft expression on the other boy’s face. Sorrowful. Helpless. Theo looks almost sad as if he’s worried Lydia might not make it. Maybe he is. 

No.

Clinging to his belief that Theo is up to something is the only thing that keeps him sane. Stiles nods, acknowledging that, yes, Theo did save her life. But at what cost? He turns away, ignoring Scott’s eyes boring into the side of his head. Everything makes him feel sick. His stomach twists painfully, and Stiles takes a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on Melissa again. 

“She’s about to go into surgery. So, it’s going to be a while. Are there any supernatural details I need to know about or do we just stitch her up and hope for the best?” That doesn't sound very professional. Why would she say that? Why—

Oh god.

Stiles forces himself to take another deep breath. They’re at the hospital. Lydia is in the best care possible. It's going to be fine. She's going to be okay.

Kira steps forward, her voice quiet but determined. “It was the tail.” By the sound of it, she’s holding it together as much as Stiles is — barely enough not to break down in the middle of the hospital hallway. Stiles wants to grab her hand, give her some form of reassurance, but he tightens his grip on his own hands instead and reminds himself to breathe. How could he do anything for her if his world is crumbling around him? His best friend has almost been killed. Theo saved her life because Stiles froze in the doorway. He still feels the way he was looking at him, still feels his body shifting underneath the palm of his hand as he pushed past, still sees Lydia’s reassuring smile. 

It's going go be okay.

“Yeah,” Scott cuts in when Melissa doesn’t respond, and Kira struggles for words — or with her voice, “Tracy cut her with the tail. If that makes a difference.” 

Melissa looks at Scott for a moment, not saying anything. It’s hard to tell if she understands the full extent of what it means. But nobody says it. Nobody says that she’s been poisoned by a kanima. They should. They should tell her, remind her, make her understand. “Okay.” Melissa nods and leaves. Maybe she knows. Maybe she does understand. 

Stiles watches her leave.

“But it wasn’t just Tracy,” Malia urges, continuing the conversation she tried to push on Theo and Stiles on their way here. “There were others.” She’s looking at Stiles. He can feel her eyes, feel her gaze pricking like little needles on his skin. “The guys in the masks.” She doesn’t look away, waiting for someone, for Stiles,  to reply. But Stiles can’t give her what she wants. He can’t give her an answer. He doesn’t want to give her an answer because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about guys in masks, he doesn’t care about Tracy, he doesn’t care about anything but Lydia. Everything else can wait. Everything else has to wait. 

Stiles takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, and he curls them into tight fists. He needs to sit down. He needs to do something other than standing around. “I—” Stiles stops, shaking his head. He doesn’t know what exactly he needs other than being alone, other than wanting Malia to stop staring at him like he has all the answers, like he needs to be there for her instead of the other way around. It’s not her best friend that’s currently dying. Malia’s first instinct isn’t to save her or anybody. She still doesn’t care. Not really. 

And Stiles can’t deal with that right now. 

Without another word, Stiles turns on his heels and walks off.  

------

Stiles doesn’t notice immediately that the person sitting down next to him isn’t just another patient or family member. Mostly because his friends would’ve immediately tried to cheer him up or distract him. Aside from Malia. She would’ve told him that he reeks of sadness, would’ve maybe even asked him what’s wrong. It’s a relief to know it’s not her, which probably makes him a terrible boyfriend. But he can’t bring himself to care.

Nurses rush past. A woman has succumbed to her tears. Somewhere, someone is yelling. It’s the usual madness, and Stiles wishes the noises would distract him, but in truth he is way too used to them. It’s one of the perks of having spent more than enough time in hospitals during his childhood. There’s nothing that freaks him out. Not the smell. Not the hysterics of people. 

Just Lydia fighting for her life during surgery.

Eventually, Theo shifts next to him. “You should eat something. Or drink.” He pauses, crossing his arms loosely over his thighs. “It’ll take a while, and we can’t do anything.”

Stiles squeezes his hands together. “I’m not leaving.”

“I didn’t say you should leave. I said—”

“I want to be alone,” Stiles interrupts him, squeezing his eyes shut. He can’t do this right now. He can’t talk to Theo and keep his guard up. He can’t hold his shit together, pretending everything is fine. He doesn’t even have the energy to remind him that they’re not on the same side, and that he’s not going to trust him no matter how often he saves Lydia’s life. 

Theo huffs out a breath. “No, you’re not,” he says, leaning back in the uncomfortable hospital chair. “You don’t wanna be alone. Being alone scares you because there’s nothing that keeps the thoughts away. You just don’t want to talk. That’s why you’re sitting in the lobby of a hospital.”

Stiles grinds his teeth. “Don’t psychoanalyse me.” Being known is scary. Being known means his secrets are out in the open. His fears. His worries. His true feelings about Malia. His thoughts about Scott, this pack, and how it’s slowly falling apart no matter how hard he tries to duct-tape it together. The end of senior year will be the end of them. Right now, Stiles hopes they’ll make it this far. Lydia could be dying. Scott isn’t taking him seriously any longer. Liam and Mason are doing their own thing. Something is up with Kira. 

“I don’t have to,” Theo replies in a soft voice, “you told me.”

You told me. Three little words causing Stiles’ world to shift. Three little words shouldn’t have such an impact. But they have. And they hurt. Because that means this is Theo. The real Theo. His ‘friends forever’ Theo. This is the little boy he shared everything with. This is the little boy who vanished without saying goodbye. This is the little boy he wrote numerous letters to that he never sent but burnt one night when he was home alone. Stiles heard from his father that Tara died. Stiles heard from his father that the Raekens left.

That Theo left him.

Stiles curls his hands into fists, blunt nails digging into his palms. He takes a breath, forcing himself to relax. “Just go.” 

But Theo doesn’t move. “I don’t think you should be alone right now,” he says it like he knows what Stiles needs. It’s bullshit. Just because this really is Theo doesn’t mean he’s going to trust him, or that he knows him, or that everything can go back the way it used to be. These are only a few things Stiles wants to tell Theo, but not now. He can’t deal with this right now. 

Without another word, Stiles covers his face with his hands, trying to ignore Theo shifting into a more comfortable position next to him.

Silence filled the house, crept into every corner of the hallway, into every corner of his body. Stiles crossed and uncrossed his arms, pushed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. Nobody knew about his plan. Nobody knew where he’d gone. Other than Lydia, at least. But she still needed rest. He was alone for what it's worth. After all, he wasn’t on speaking terms with anybody else any longer. He’d broken up with Malia, he’d cut himself off from Scott, and Liam wouldn’t return his calls, too frightened what they might entail. Without the backup of a pack, he went and demanded to talk to the only person who knew what’s coming, the same person who was about to make the biggest mistake of his life, the same person who hadn’t hesitated before murdering Scott.

The last time they had seen each other, Theo had knocked him out on the stairs. It had been the first time he’d lost control over his strength in front of him. Stiles liked to pretend Theo hadn’t meant it. Naively, perhaps. But he couldn’t help himself.

“Listen, I don’t-“

“Theo!” Stiles yelled ignoring Josh trying to make him leave. “I need to talk to you. Get down here!”

Another silence greeted him. Shorter, this time. It took only half a minute and Corey’s anxious, almost inaudible whispers until a door upstairs opened and slammed shut. Footsteps followed, too loud to be Theo’s. It took mere seconds until Tracy appeared at the top of the stairs, skinny jeans in heeled ankle boots, tank top and cardigan too smooth to have been put on hastily, let alone indicate the rough handling sex with Theo would certainly involve. She put her hair in a bun as she walked down the stairs not even bothering to look at him.

Her anger made him crave.

A second time, he found himself hoping against better judgement, but he shook the thoughts off and hurried up the stairs. Out of all doors, only a single one was closed. Stiles licked his lips and stared at it for a few seconds. He had come prepared. He had come ready to get his way no matter the cost. This should be relatively easy. Theo had told him what he wanted, after all. If he gave that to him, at least for a little while, they could solve the problem before Beacon Hills laid in its ruins.

Stiles curled his fingers around the doorknob, disregarded knocking altogether, and pushed the door open. Moonlight lit up the most part of the room, painting shadows on the carpet. He caught a particular scent which hadn’t clung to Tracy before. His eyes flicked from the floor up to meet Theo’s. He sat on the windowsill, legs spread, and bare feet propped on a vintage trunk looking as if it had been remodelled to serve as a seating accommodation and storage. He wore nothing but sweatpants giving the moon enough room to draw on his skin. It rendered him dangerous and handsome at once.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Theo drawled leaning back to knock ash off his joint. Freshly lit by the looks of it.  

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and closed the door. His instincts didn’t reel in utter panic. He felt calm, despite logic trying to tell him otherwise. Although most people would consider him as a rational guy, the one with the plan, the researcher, Stiles knew that every decision he made, he based on one thing and one thing only: his gut feeling. Theo could pretend to be a predator all he wanted, Stiles wasn’t the prey but an equal; something Theo craved as much as he needed.

“I know what you’re planning,” he said crossing his wrists behind his back and leaned against the door.

Theo clicked his tongue. “Straight to the point.”

They were staring at each other in silence. Stiles closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “Don’t do it.”

Theo barked out a laugh, cold and brash, too short to be genuine. “Don’t do what?” He raised his left hand twisting the joint between his fingers. It’s more a demand than an invitation.

Stiles pushed himself off the door and crossed the short distance. On instinct, he surveyed the room. A bed made and untouched. Next to it, a nightstand full of clutter, two empty bottles, an energy drink, an empty ashtray, an AP biology book and a package of condoms; hard to tell if it had been touched or not. Opposite the bed was a drawer, underneath the second window a desk and a chair with a closed laptop, a smartphone, three books and a pizza box with a few slices left. Nothing he could potentially use as a weapon. Nothing personal either.

“Deucalion,” he said coming to a halt in front of the trunk, “stop looking for him.”

Theo smiled. “Smart boy.” His eyes roamed over his face. “How’d you figure it out?”

Stiles shrugged. “You didn’t get Scott’s power, so I figured you’re going for the next best thing.” Although Deucalion was very likely a lot stronger than Scott would ever be. But Theo didn’t know him like Stiles did. Deucalion played in a different league.

“Ah, of course.” There was that smile again, the little tip of his head. “But why, pray tell, don’t you want me to find him?” Theo turned the joint until the glow was directed at his own face. As Stiles reached for it, he pulled it away chuckling quietly. How naïve, the gesture screamed, and Theo offered him the joint again smirking now. It’s a simple game accompanying their conversation, once Theo was bored of it, Stiles had forfeited his chance. If he wanted to keep it going, he would have to continue playing hard to get yet occasionally give Theo what he expected to keep his mood in the clear. It’s a dangerous game with blurred lines. The fox inside his head purred.

Stiles put a hand on Theo’s knee letting his fingertips brush over the soft fabric before leaning forward a little. “Because he’ll kill you and your pack.”

A second time, Theo pulled the joint away as Stiles reached for it. “And you care?” He asked moving his hand in position again.

For a brief moment, Stiles’ grip tightened around Theo’s thigh. His anger was embedded in an oil spill, it didn’t need much to light it. “After he’s done with you,” he whispered forcing his fingers to relax, “he’ll come for my town.” Saying he cared might not be a complete lie, but Stiles knew better than to give up this information. He flicked his eyes upwards meeting Theo’s intense stare as he leaned forward even further. “If you want power,” Stiles added in a low voice, “there’s another way.”

Theo ran his free hand over his scruff, eyebrows twitching briefly, pupils dilated more than normal. “Really?” He asked placing the joint at his open mouth.

Stiles didn’t answer. Instead, he put his free hand on Theo’s thigh, barely higher than the other, and took a pull at the joint. The smoke was harsh and intrusive, unfamiliar but not unknown. The joint moved away from his lips, and Stiles sucked in a bit of air letting the smoke travel down to his lungs. It’s abrasive and unpleasant after such a long time but he didn’t cough. He tipped his head back, deliberately exposing his throat, as he exhaled.

Fingers ghosted over his skin, never touching instead brushing over an invisible wall. “What way would that be, Stiles?” Theo asked flicking ash off the joint. He propped both hands on the edge of the windowsill and spread his legs a bit further, demonstrating his power via absolute indifference of potential risks. 

Stiles decided now was the right time to throw cold water on Theo’s expectations. He pulled away and stretched idly. Instantly, the bittersweet taste of annoyance unfurled in the room. “Deucalion isn’t the answer,” he replied eventually pushing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

Theo’s gaze was palpable as he checked him out. The left corner of his mouth quirked up into a small, almost satisfied smirk. The annoyance ebbed away leaving his fox unsatisfied. Theo dragged on the joint himself, his eyes never drifting from Stiles’ body. Exhaled. “Are you going to be my answer?”

Stiles wet his lips and gestured at the joint, derailed the topic. “That’s a bit unnecessary, isn’t it?” He asked folding his arms over his chest. “It’s not affecting you.”

Theo chuckled quietly. “Afraid you’ll mess up your act?”

“Act?” Stiles echoed trying to keep his voice even.

Theo hummed and stood, dragged on the joint watching him. He didn’t inhale the smoke, however, beckoning Stiles over instead and set the drug in the ashtray. His eyes were intense in the half shadow. It’s impossible not to follow the pull, although he knew all too well what Theo was intending to do. The moment he’d gotten close enough, a hand appeared at the small of his back and Theo guided him closer tipping his head the smallest bit to the right.

Stiles parted his lips ignoring the rational part of him completely; he was too close, it’s too easy to lose control over the situation if he gave Theo too much. But he couldn’t help himself. He had just enough strength left to keep his hands inside the pocket of his hoodie, fingers linked together to make them harder to separate.

Theo leaned so close their lips might as well touch. He was blowing the smoke into Stiles’ mouth as his other hand crept up to the nape of his neck to fist his hair, to keep him in place. His gaze a physical sensation on his skin, Stiles inhaled as much as he could and exhaled, swallowed around the dryness in his mouth. But Theo still didn’t let go of him. “Look at you,” he drawled, eyes glowing amber in the moonlit room, “my little fox.”

It’s the way he said it, possessive, accompanied by a quiet growl, that made Stiles almost come undone.

Theo pushed him laughing, and Stiles caught himself on the dresser, anger boiling under his skin. He turned to lash out, but Theo was in front of him with intent and a gleam in his eyes that he could neither explain nor figure out. Stiles’ back hadn't even touched the wall as Theo pressed his mouth against his, fingers curling around his waist in a loose grip feeling like it meant to break. Stiles opened and closed his fists at his sides trying not to grab Theo, to kiss back as he stole what Stiles had refused to give.

Push him off, was what his mind urged him to do. But a small voice offered, Why? This is what I want, isn't it?

It was.

He wanted it badly.

When Theo bit his bottom lip, hard, in retaliation for his passiveness, Stiles groaned despite the sharp pain. A tongue pushed past his teeth, carrying the metallic taste of his own blood. His hands found their place on Theo’s hips (push him off!) and he drew him close. A satisfied growl churned in the back of his throat, paving a path straight to Stiles’ dick. Theo noticed, of course, he did, and he chuckled.

It broke the spell. Stiles shoved the chimera away. “You don’t get to do that,” he hissed wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as if that would get rid of the taste on his tongue.

“Do you really think, I’ll believe your little fairy tales, fox?” Theo asked stepping closer again although Stiles had both hands still raised. His emotions made a complicated cocktail of anger and something else, something he had never tasted before.

Stiles bared his teeth, straight and white and human. “Don’t call me that.”

Theo laughed quietly. “If you want me to stop going after Deucalion, I need an incentive, Stiles.” Don’t call me that either, he wanted to say. Not when the way his name rolled off his tongue sounded like a prayer. Theo stepped back into his personal space. Stiles’ hands found their places on his shoulders without making an effort to keep him at a distance. He felt his skin and muscles move as Theo reached up cupping his cheek so softly it might as well be a dream although it felt like a threat. “More than the promise of power somewhere along the line.”

It also might be enough for Stiles to lose everything he had worked so hard to keep. Not Scott, he had already burned his bridges. His pride, his heart, himself. He was too afraid to humanise Theo, too afraid that this might be all that’s needed. He took a breath, swallowed his feelings whole and yanked Theo’s hand away. “I’m trying to help you, you ungrateful dick.”

Theo snarled. His fingers curled into the front of his hoodie. “Fine.” He’s aggressive in his movements, violent almost as he dragged Stiles out of the room and down the hallway, back to the stairs. “I never lied to you,” Theo told him, his eyes flickering back and forth between amber and their normal colour as if he couldn’t control it; perhaps he couldn’t, perhaps Stiles had pushed him too far. “I came clean to you about everything and you continue to play your games.” They reached the top of the stairs. Far too easily, Theo lifted him off the ground. Stiles had one shot at mercy, so he took the fall. “Crawl back to your True Alpha.”

He hit the stairs with a thump. The pain barely registered; a dull echo somewhere in the distance. He’d feel it tomorrow, in a few hours. When he hit the bottom of the stairs, unscathed, with the metallic taste of his own blood in his mouth, Stiles kept his head bowed, kept at the ground, at the feet of the chimera pack who’d hastily moved out of the way. He opened his mouth, watched a string of blood drop from his lips to the ground. This was meant to hurt his ego not him. He could taste the tinge of regret from Theo, but the chimera didn’t move.

Stiles looked up, slowly, felt the blood cling to his chin. Theo stood unmoving, arms crossed over his chest, a king in his palace. When they locked eyes, Stiles forced out a choked sob. “I need you,” he breathed, lowering his head to mimic the submission Theo needed. “I can’t do this without you.”

Two sentences, a few seconds of patience and Theo’s composure broke. He landed on silent feet in front of Stiles and crouched down, fingers curling around his chin impossibly soft. Stiles wished he wouldn’t crave his touches so much. “Of course,” Theo whispered wiping the blood off his skin with a soft smile. “I’m sorry.” Words Stiles hadn’t expected to hear, words he wasn’t sure were true. Theo ran his fingers through his hair, and maybe he didn’t care all that much. “Come here.”

Stiles did, leaned up and pressed his lips against Theo’s in a needy kiss, knowing it’s what Theo wanted, what Stiles needed no matter how much he hated himself for it. Theo grabbed his hair and kept him close, pushing his tongue past compliant lips and teeth. Stiles kissed him with everything he had, with more than he should, wondering briefly how much of it was part of his game, wondering if he needed to end things when Beacon Hills was safe again. Stiles was already acquainted with the monster in his head, perhaps having one in his bed was the only logical conclusion.

Theo tugged at his hair, and he moved away. “Do not betray me, fox.”

Stiles looked him straight in the eye, smiled. “I won’t.” And the words didn't taste so bitter in his mouth.