#and write something else

Stiles’ feet carry him to the bus while Jordan is directing people away from the accident; the accident that doesn’t make any sense. Why would the bus just suddenly roll over while driving normally? There wasn’t a collision. It just did. If there’s another witch in town, Stiles is going to lose it. They came to a truce with the coven in Beacon County. He needs to inform Satomi of his suspicion once everyone is safe and the problem is dealt with.

“Sir?” Stiles places a hand on the shoulder of an older man to get his attention. “Sir, has everyone gotten out of the bus?” 

The man blinks multiple times, the colour of his face too white for Stiles’ liking. Eventually, however, he nods then waves his hand around and points a finger in the direction of the bus. “There’s still a young boy in there,” he says in a trembling voice as Stiles looks him over for any trauma to the head. “I think he’s trapped.” 

“Okay, thank you,” Stiles says, craning his neck to look around. Jordan is still directing traffic and people out of the way, but there’s a woman who is already looking at them. “Ma’am?” Stiles waves her over, and she follows his command immediately. “Ma’am, can you please keep him company? He’s not hurt, but I think he needs to sit down and drink something.” If there’s a kid in there, Stiles doesn’t have time to fuck around for long. If he hadn't come out, he might be badly hurt.

With a smile, the woman leads the old man away from him, and Stiles dashes into the bus. There’s a thin film of water on the ground already, but with the damaged water hydrant, it’s certainly not going to need a lot of time, until breathing can be difficult for everyone lying on the ground. 

“Hello?” Stiles asks, pushing through the damaged bus door. “Anybody in here?”

“In the back.”

For a second, Stiles thinks he knows the voice. Despite the pained grunt, it sounds strangely familiar to his ears. Then again, he grew up in Beacon Hills. It’s actually less likely that he doesn’t know a voice. Still, this one- the tone of it, something is different there. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his neck and scrambles over the luggage and broken chairs to get to the back. “I’ll get you out of there, okay? Hang on."

There's a laugh, followed by a grunt. "This is not how I expected to meet you again."

Stiles' foot catches on a broken part of a seat, and he almost goes flying. Pain shoots up his arm and into his shoulder. "Meet me again?" he asks, trying his best to keep his voice steady. Before the young man can answer, Stiles spots him pinned underneath luggage, the bus's roof and two seats. "Theo?"

Bloody lips curl into a smirk. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asks, trying to focus on the problem at hand instead of his ex-boyfriend, who he is still not over, even after three years, appearing out of nowhere. 

Theo closes his eyes and takes a breath. He doesn't cough, just grunts, so his lungs aren't damaged. That's good. "I missed you." 

"Then maybe you shouldn't have broken up with me." Because the end of their relationship isn't his fault. Not at all. It was Theo who crouched on his windowsill one night and told him that their relationship didn't have a future. It came out of nowhere and during a time Stiles didn't know what to do either. Theo just fucking pulled the rug from underneath him, and Stiles found himself in a new city unsure where to go from there until he found himself in desperate need of the help of a team of firefighters because his idiot roommate couldn't even smoke without setting something on fire. 

Theo looks at him. "I wanted to explain-"

"Can you get this off?" Stiles interrupts. This is probably not the right time to discuss the end of their relationship.

With a quiet grunt, Theo shakes his head. "I can't move my arms."

“Your legs?”

“I broke my neck. Takes a bit to heal.”

Shit. "Anything else I need to know about?" Stiles asks, pressing two fingers to Theo’s throat to check his pulse. It’s weak, but there. That’s at least something. But they don't exactly have a lot of time to get Theo out of here. An ambulance and the fire department will be here pretty fucking soon, and Theo having some sort of miracle healing is the last thing he wants to explain. The good thing is, Stiles doesn’t have to be too careful saving him. He only needs to get everything off him and figure out whatever causes the bleeding. 

Theo’s eyes rake over his cheek. “Did you make it in the FBI?” 

“I’m a firefighter EMT,” Stiles tells him, throwing the suitcases in the far corner of the bus. Glass is stuck in Theo’s side, but other than that, he can’t spot anything obvious that could’ve caused damage to his spine. Which means it must’ve happened during the crash. His body has suffered enough damage that it has trouble healing. This is the worst moment for his supernatural healing to go on vacation. 

"You always wanted to become an agent," Theo says, his voice more a drawl than anything else. 

That's not good.

"I wanted to start saving people," Stiles says, pressing two fingers against Theo's throat again, panic rising in his chest, "I didn’t wanna keep chasing monsters. So I dropped out of the program," he tells him, curling his fingers around the seat, and yanks at it. Luckily, the crash has damaged it enough that Stiles can bend it enough to free Theo from underneath it. 

Theo chuckles weakly. "Risking your life as per usual."

"Isn't that why you fell in love with me?" Stiles asks, ignoring how his heartbreak neatly fits together with the panic; a terrible combination. "Or is that the reason you broke up with me, I forgot." The topic sucks, but he's pretty sure that's what will keep Theo talking, and at this point, that is all he needs. It's too risky for him to pass out, he's losing a lot of blood and he doesn't heal. 

He doesn't answer either.

Stiles looks up. "Theo?" No reaction. Nothing. The blue eyes are closed, the body unmoving. "Theo!" Swallowing down the panic, he presses his fingers against his throat. "No." Stiles leans over his face to check on his breathing. No. No. No. Theo is not dying on him. He's not dying because of a car crash. He is not dying. Period. 

Kicking another suitcase away, Stiles shuffles next to Theo and interlocks his fingers. It's hard enough to do CPR on a human, Stiles has no idea if he has the strength to do it on a supernatural creature. He doesn't even know if it works in the first place. All he knows is that giving Theo an electric shock is the last thing that will help him. He's already not healing, any form of electricity will disturb it even further. Let's hope to do CPR on a chimera will be enough. 

His fingers tremble as he raises them off his chest and pushes down. This is what pressing against a wall must feel like. How the fuck is he supposed to move his chest like that? How is he supposed to save this asshole's life? His muscles hate him after only a few compressions. He's giving all that he has, and he can't even tell if it's helping at all. Theo’s chest is barely even moving. It’s not enough, not even close to enough.

"Asshole," Stiles spits, eyes burning with tears, muscles aching from the strain, "you can't just come here-" his voice is trembling, and he hates it, and he doesn't care "-tell me you miss me-" Stiles straightens a bit so he can use more of his weight "-and then die on me, you hear me?"

He doesn't get an answer, and he won't be able to do this much longer. How's he supposed to? Supernatural creatures are not usually having a cardiac arrest. They don't, because they have fucking supernatural healing. "Theo, please," Stiles pleads, his voice cracking. He can't lose him, not now, not when he's just told him that he missed him. "Don't do that to me. You can't-" A rib gives way under pressure. Stiles never thought the sound of a bone breaking would fill him with relief. But that means he's doing enough, that means- 

Theo's eyes fly open, bright and amber. The growl is stifled by sirens coming closer. Stiles pulls away as Theo bucks off the ground, a hand pressed to his chest, yanking the shard out with the other.

"Are you insa-" Stiles starts, reaching forward as if to stop Theo. The wound is knitting itself together before Stiles can even grab his wrist. He lets out a breath of relief and sinks to his knees. 

Theo eyes his blood on the glass. "That wasn't fun."

Stiles punches him in the shoulder, but his arm is heavy and the hit weak. "Asshole." 

"You broke my rib," Theo tells him, massaging the abused spot for a second, even though they both know it has already healed.  

"I saved your life," Stiles replies, wiping at his cheeks. Hearing a stupid comment about him crying although they broke up three years ago is nothing he needs. This day already sucks. No need to make it any worse. "On my day off, mind you. As per usual, your timing sucks. Not that I was expecting anything else." Grabbing one of the seats, Stiles pulls himself to his feet. He stumbles at his first step, exhaustion and a piece of luggage attempting to bring him back to his knees, but Theo grabs his arm and keeps him from possibly splitting open his head on whatever is lying on the ground.  

Something crunches under his left foot and it sounds like glass, but part of his brain connects that to the rip cracking under his hands. Stiles flinches despite himself. He should be used to the noise, to the feel, to what can happen when giving someone CPR. A rib fracture isn’t too unusual either, but it’s very different when it’s the rib of someone you love, and, fucking hell, Stiles still loves him more than he should three years after the end of their relationship. A world without Theo doesn’t seem right. 

He places a hand against another seat and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Stiles,” Theo says in a low voice, grip tightening just a fraction, “I still love you, you know that, right?” 

Despite himself, Stiles chuckles, pressing a hand to his forehead. He shouldn’t be this affected, he really shouldn’t be. Not after the shit he’s been through. Not after the madness he’s seen. But this is Theo. Unbreakable, invincible, proud Theo, and yet, he almost died in a crash that left everybody else basically unharmed. “I don’t think now is the time to talk about that,” he mutters, tapping a finger against the seat. “But if it’s any consolation, I love you too, and I hate you for almost dying on me.”