#steo fic

It means coincidences aren't a thing anymore. Everything has reason. Nothing's an isolated event, Stiles has been learning, everything always comes back to itself in one ridiculous deux ex machina. Which means, Theo's no goddamn coincidence either. Means Theo, no matter how many times he smiles, laughs, tears up at the mention of his weirdly vague past, is no coincidence. He's back, and Stiles, on everybody's lives except for his own, is going to figure out why.

"I guess. What's up, are you gonna try to convince me that you're not full of shit again? 'Cause I'm not buying what you're selling, sorry bud." Stiles pats him on the shoulder, relishes in the brief flash of annoyance that flickers over Theo's face. Good. Theo-before used to get pissed off pretty easy, Stiles remembers him storming off when stuff went awry. He was a little rebel like that, little outcast. Not as put-together as he is now.

So maybe Stiles is weirded out by it. How he did a one-eighty. How he's all, cool and funny, charismatic, winning personality, insincerely sincere. 'Cause the Theo that Stiles used to know was a little fucked up, but he was proud of it. Wore it like a badge of honor.

Stiles probably can't admit this to anyone ever, but he misses that kid. Not whoever's standing in front of him now, who tries to cover it all up with perfect-toothed grins. Stiles liked being screw-ups together. Now he's the one left in the dust, left with all of his dumb problems.

Maybe that's what this all really is. Huh.

"Look, Stiles, you don't have to believe me. I get it, it's a weird... coincidence that I'm back in town. But I just---I wanted to, I dunno, truce?" Theo looks the exact same as he did in the fourth grade. Like okay, not literally, but his smile, it reaches the same part of his cheek, his eyes crescent the same way. Lips pull back like they did during Field Days or anti-bullying presentations. Face all lit up like it did when they were little and camping in Scott's backyard and saw fireflies on the Fourth of July.

Stiles used to like, look at him a lot, and he's back to the habit. This time it's not out of, uh, whatever it was back then, though. This time it's only analytical. Calculations. Gears-spinning.

Wait, that sounds kind of weird. Stiles isn't weird for that. Looking at your friends is like totally normal.

"Truce? Yeah, sure. Theo, pal, listen up." Stiles shifts his books under his left arm so he can express himself with the right. He's an animated guy, sue him, he's gotta make his point. Especially to Theo, who he for some reason feels like he's losing this argument to, that there was never even an argument in the first place, and that really pisses him off. Stiles likes winning things and being right, Theo gives him neither. He's like a contradiction to every single one of Stiles' habits, which is scary in a way it shouldn't be. "I would've believed you if you weren't like, a completely different dude. You're like if aliens abducted you and swapped you out when you were nine. I'm not trucing with someone I barely know, you kidding?"

Something about his words must've rang just a smidge too true, because something in Theo's carefully pleasant expression breaks. And Stiles sees it, knows Theo sees that he sees it, knows there's significance in how he reconstructs his surprise into placidity so quickly. He adds it to his little mental checklist of why-we-shouldn't-trust-Theodore. The first thing on the list had been that he showed up when it was simply too convenient. The second had been that he's way less funny now.

"Stiles, I don't know why you'd think that. It's just me. You remember me, right?" Theo has this thing he does, fully body lie. Gets his eyes to shine and his laugh to come out shaky in just the right places, meant to tug at your heartstrings and get you all vulnerable. Stiles is not falling for that shit. He's not. He's really fucking not.

"Yeah I remember you, Theo. And you came back different. You used to be more of a dick and now you're not, so." Stiles tries to shrug. He tries to play it off. But Theo's fucking conniving, so he hears the hesitancy in the other boy's voice anyway, smiles a little as he figures it out, that Stiles is just as trusting as he is guarded, which is some serious irony. God, what a joke. Stiles wishes he was more of an asshole. Wishes he wasn't a big softie deep down. Would save him so much trouble, and Theo Raeken is definitely trouble.

"Different? What do you mean?" Theo asks, leaning against the concrete of the stairwell's sides. This is such a bad moment to be properly alone, no students rushing down, everyone preoccupied with their respective work. Stiles swallows. He swallows his spit and other stuff like uncertainty, 'cause he's never uncertain. Theo's not gonna change his opinion on him, it's not possible. Stiles is a total brick wall. Nothing's getting past him.

"Like... you used to be a lot easier to read, I used to know you for real. Now you're all, like, fake. It's fucking weird man, it's like you're hiding shit. And I know you are, 'cause I know you." Stiles takes a step forward, and now they're close enough that he can feel Theo's body heat radiating off him. Makes him think about sleepovers at the McCall's when they were kids. Makes him think about couch closeness. Dozing off to Shark Boy and Lavagirl. Head on shoulder, arms hot against each other's. Liking it.

If he didn't know any better he'd think Theo was remembering that shit too. Got this look on his face that nearly, nearly breaks out of his act. Almost honest. Not quite there yet, though. Stiles doesn't know if it ever will be.

"You don't know me, Stiles," Theo says, and it might've come out a shade too cold because he hesitates, clears his throat and tries again. "I mean, you do, but not in the same way. I'm still that kid, I keep telling you, but stuff happens, you know? I grew up. I went to... therapy." His voice catches here, actually catches, it might be the first genuine thing he's ever done. Little shred of hurt poking through. Rawness. This, Stiles thinks, this is him. "Things happened, I was a rough kid. Then I got better." He shrugs, offers a wry smile. "Might be why you're finding it hard to recognize me, but I promise I'm still the same. I'm just Theo. Tripped over his shoelaces in kindergarten while handing you a roly poly, that's me."

And Stiles, he remembers this. Blinks a little rapidly as he does, tries hard to not make his breath stutter. Because yeah, Theo'd done that, had laughed it off even though his eyes were kinda wet and his knees were skinned. Had handed Stiles a roly poly and proclaimed that its name was Frederick, because he just looks like a Frederick, it's super formal, and he's a polite roly poly, he let me hold him. Hey, stop, you're scaring him! Put him down Stiles, you meanie.

Stiles swallows again. Looks up into Theo's green eyes, tries to pretend he's not searching for something. Theo just lets him. Doesn't blink or look away, just lets him find whatever it is that he's trying to. "Frederick," offers Stiles, though he doesn't mean to, it just kinda spills past his lips.

And Theo stares back. Stares and stares. His eyes slightly widening is the only sign that it'd caught him off guard, that he wasn't expecting Stiles to still have that memory too. And maybe Stiles shouldn't have had it, maybe it's something dumb and young he should've forgotten ages ago, but Stiles, he's nostalgic. Keeps these things like dollar bills in his back pocket. Might build himself a fortune.

Theo looks like this singular memory is his fortune. Frederick and an underfunded elementary school playground. How he looked up at Stiles from his place on the concrete all shy through his lashes. Seems like that singular moment is worth a million, the way he's all quiet now.

"Frederick," Theo says back. Neither of them move. There's about a million things unsaid but Stiles isn't about to start wringing them out. Stuff like, why'd you move away, really? What the hell were you doing in Maine? Why does your mom look so different? Why do you look so different? Why'd you come back? Was it just for Scott? Was it for me?

Stiles is going to voice precisely none of that.

"You don't have to trust me," Theo tries again, this time a lot more soft-spoken, morose. This time, Stiles doesn't say anything too smart back. This time, he listens in. "You don't. But, I guess... Remember me. That's enough."

And for a second there, Stiles almost believes him. Almost resigns himself to admitting that he was too quick to judge, that Theodore Karl Raeken is exactly the same kid as he was when they were nine. That this is just rooted from Stiles' own fucked up version of childhood events. That he's crazy.

Almost.

Almost, almost almost, that word could kill him if it tried to. Because when Theo looks up again there's that glint in his eye again, there, the one he got when he was up to something, like knocking Stiles' sandcastles over or pushing him when he was winning at Mario cart or stealing the last few French fries off his plate at crummy second grade birthday parties. Like Stiles said, he knows him.

This guy's too good and Stiles is too smart. For a moment there he wishes it wasn't like that, but then he thinks better of it.

Stiles almost believes him, but he knows better. Always has, from day one. Theo is no different, even though Stiles kind of wants him to be. "Maybe," is all he says, and Theo's smile is candy-fake.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

THIS WAS SO FUN HAHAHA dear god they're both such freaks #lovethem

It’s not really all that simple. Stiles isn’t the only reckless idiot in this relationship, and there isn’t a way to change that. It’s not like Theo will suddenly stop throwing himself into danger just because Stiles asks very nicely. The same thing is true the other way around. They’re just not wired like that. Chuckling softly, Stiles turns away from Theo and reaches for his phone, but Theo’s phone lights up at the same time. Stiles glances back to Theo and then again to his phone. He’s not— pressing his lips into a thin line, he folds his hands in his lap. He’s not going to check Theo’s phone. That feels wrong. But it’s the middle of the night, and Theo is resting. Everybody knows that. So… what if it’s something important? He’s probably freaking out over nothing. But he should check it out, just in case. It could be urgent. Maybe the chimera pack needs help. Not that he thinks they can’t handle themselves. They can. Stiles is sure they can. He’s seen them fight. But it’s Donovan. So, maybe…?

Stiles bites his bottom lip.

Okay. Theo would probably do the same. He’s just checking. It’s really just to make sure. Theo’s not going to be mad. He’ll understand for sure.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles reaches for Theo’s phone. It’s gonna be fine. He’ll tell Theo about it in the morning, and he’ll explain that he just wanted to make sure everything is okay with the pack. He taps on Theo’s phone, squinting as it lights up. The wallpaper is black, making the two bright white notifications from Corey and Tracy stand out even more.

Stiles taps his finger against the edge of the phone. They’d call in case of an emergency, right? Or maybe Theo asked them for updates. That’s entirely possible. Stiles glances over his shoulder. Fuck it. He pulls the notifications down.

>> Don’t listen to Tracy. We have…

We have what? Problems? Stiles grinds his teeth. Great. He can’t read it without full access to Theo’s phone, and Stiles doubts Theo doesn’t have a password or a passcode. Theo is just as distrustful as Stiles, and he’s most likely not using facial recognition to protect his phone from prying eyes. That’s too easy to get around.

Stiles taps on the message anyway. As expected, the phone demands a password. Shit. This is going to drive him insane. Huffing, he puts the phone back on his nightstand and turns to Theo. This already didn’t feel right without Theo’s permission, and he's not going to try and guess his password.

“Theo?” Stiles cups Theo’s cheek, brushing his index finger over the warm skin. “Misiu,” he tries again, louder this time.

Theo makes an indecipherable sound and scrunches up his face.

“Misiu,” Stiles repeats, “wake up.”

Theo scowls, then blinks his eyes open slowly. Waking him up isn’t really what Stiles wants to do, but this is kind of urgent. It’s more urgent than talking to Theo about how he gets stressed out when sensing his pain. Donovan cannot walk free. Not again. So he needs to know what’s going on with the chimeras right now.

It takes Theo a few seconds until his eyes focus on him. “What’s wrong?”

“You got a text message.”

“What does it say?” Theo squeezes his eyes shut then opens them again with a yawn. Although his voice is less slurred than the last time, he doesn’t look any more awake at all. In fact, he almost looks a lot more tired.

“I—” The question took him by surprise, and Stiles doesn’t know what to say at first. “I don’t know.” Although it’s not technically a complete lie, Stiles still feels guilty saying it.

Theo closes his eyes again. “Read it.”

Again, this isn’t at all the reply he expected. “You… want me to read it?”

Theo hums in agreement. “If it’s Tracy, tell her to shut up.” Although he keeps his eyes closed, Theo curves his lips into a small smile.

Chuckling, Stiles brushes his fingers through Theo’s hair. His forehead still feels warmer than it should be. “I don’t know your password.”

“’s your nickname.”

Stiles blinks. “My nickname?”

Again, Theo hums in agreement, but he sounds as if he’s almost asleep again.

Stiles runs his fingers through Theo’s hair for a few moments longer, then turns back to Theo’s phone. It’s not Theo allowing him to go through his phone that surprises him. It’s that he gave him his password and that he doesn’t even bother to stay awake long enough to hear who texted him — or what the message is even about. He isn’t exactly used to it. Both Theo’s trust and the fact that he uses his nickname as a password make Stiles feel stupidly giddy. At this point, he should be used to Theo being his boyfriend, but somehow he keeps surprising him.

And it doesn’t change the fact that Stiles feels weird going through his phone despite having Theo’s permission. Either way, he taps the notification again and, when prompted, types in the password. Miecio. Stiles can’t help but smile. He didn’t peg Theo to be this sentimental.

The phone unlocks immediately and opens up to Corey’s message.

>>Don’t listen to Tracy. We have everything under control.

Stiles furrows his brows. Having everything under control doesn’t mean everything is okay. It’s especially not really calming when Donovan is involved. He taps on Tracy’s text message, and when the chat opens, the first thing Stiles notices are a bunch of messages that have been left unanswered. It fills him with more glee than it probably should. Part of him wants to know what else Tracy texted him or what they used to talk about before Theo cut her off, but he doesn’t want to be that person. He trusts Theo, and hating Tracy isn’t reason enough for him to snoop through Theo’s phone any further. He focuses on the last message instead.

>> Need you here. We’re running into trouble with Donovan... Please come.

Stiles tightens his grip around the phone. Need you here. This— Stiles grinds his teeth and takes a deep breath through his nose. We have everything under control. Are there problems? Have there been problems? Maybe it’s just Tracy trying to get Theo to come over. Maybe she’s telling the truth. Swallowing, Stiles stares at the message. We’re running into trouble with Donovan.

Stiles locks Theo’s phone and gets to his feet. There’s only one way to figure out the truth. He’s got to go down there and see for himself. Biting his cheek, Stiles glances at Theo, who looks to be fast asleep again, then turns to look at his desk. He has to go. He has to make sure the chimeras are okay. Theo called Lydia to tell her what happened the night at the party. They weren’t even dating then. Stiles knew Theo would do it again. He’d go to check on Stiles’ friends. Theo puts up with Isaac and Brett all the time even if he’s complaining about it. So, Stiles will do the same to make sure the other chimeras are okay. He will make sure that Tracy is okay for as long as she’s in Theo’s pack no matter his feelings about her. But it’s not just about Theo. Stiles doesn’t want anybody else to get hurt because of Donovan. Not Corey, not Hayden or Josh… not even Tracy.

Maybe it’s time for him to put an end to this nightmare.

Stiles closes his eyes for a moment. Okay, okay. He takes a deep breath and reaches for his daggers.

----------

It’s cold in the tunnels, and with every single step he makes towards the operation theatre, it seems to become colder. Stiles folds his arms over his chest, feeling goosebumps run up and down his arms and back. He doesn’t know if it is actually getting colder or if it’s just a reaction to what he’s planning on doing. Stiles knows that killing Donovan is the only way to stop him once and for all. The Dread Doctors don’t usually give second chances. They’ve learned that much. If you’re a failure, they will do nothing to help. But Donovan showed potential, and the Dread Doctors are running out of time. So they brought him back. Stiles doubts they’re going to do it a second time after Donovan failed at providing them a vessel with potential and the nemeton.

Stiles takes a deep breath, following the ley lines towards the chimeras. Towards Donovan.

Stiles swallows dryly, twisting his fingers around the daggers in the pocket of his hoodie. He knows what he’s about to do is the right decision. It is. So why does he feel bad about it? He shouldn’t, but after all these years, Stiles can’t shake Scott’s words. We can’t kill people we are trying to save. Stiles knows there is no saving Donovan. Not without risking the people he loves. He’s always been ready to go above and beyond to protect his own. Still, he never thought he would have to go this far. He doesn’t want to kill Donovan. He doesn’t want to become a murderer. Again. But he needs to. Someone has to do it, or Donovan will come after them relentlessly. He’s not going to stop until he’s had his revenge on Theo. And Stiles won’t let that happen. Not as long as he can help it. Stiles takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. But that’s not all of it. He’s the new nemeton. He has to protect the balance. Donovan couldn’t care less about the balance, but that’s exactly what makes him and his alliance with the Dread Doctors so dangerous. Their goal is to create a successful beast, and they’d destroy everything in their way to achieve their goal. Donovan’s ambivalence to everything and everyone aids them in their way of destruction. “Hey.”

Stiles startles, throwing one of his daggers in the direction of the sound before he can think better of it. The sharp edge sinks into the pipe with little to no resistance — right above Corey’s head. “Fuck—” Stiles sucks in a deep breath, watching as Corey straightens again, wide-eyed and worryingly pale. “Don’t…” he swallows, shaking his head. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

Corey chuckles nervously. “I’m sorry.”

“No—” Stiles lets out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just… tense.”

“And armed?” It’s not really a question, even though it sounds like it. Furrowing his brows, Corey pulls the dagger out of the pipe. He studies the blade for a moment, lips pressed into a tight line, then smiles a little. “I guess you’re not here to see if everyone’s fine.” A small smile curls around his lips as he offers Stiles his dagger. “I probably should’ve expected it.”

“You thought I’d come?” Stiles takes his dagger, tapping a finger against its sharp edge.

Corey pushes his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Theo told us that you might want to kill Donovan.” Of course, he did. Corey ducks his head, smile turning almost sheepish. “He also said to make sure that you don’t get yourself killed… which… well...” Right. Corey glances at him out of the corner of his eyes.

Luckily the last thing they have to worry about is Donovan killing him.

Stiles rolls his eyes, twirling the dagger between his fingers. Either Stiles is way too predictable, or Theo knows him a little too well. To be fair, neither would be surprising. Killing Donovan isn’t a particularly new idea. Stiles has mentioned it before, and he will continue to mention it until it’s done. It needs to be done. This nightmare has to end. Donovan came after him, and now he’s after Theo too. That’s where he draws the line. Maybe he should’ve drawn it earlier. Maybe he should’ve made sure that Donovan’s life ended way sooner than today.

Because last night could’ve ended in a massacre. Donovan sacrificed his friend to the Dread Doctors. He is the reason the beast existed. He could’ve been the reason for the death of so many people. This is about more than just him. This isn’t just about himself. No. It’s about protecting the people of Beacon Hills as well.

Corey follows him almost immediately. “So, you’re going to kill him?” He sounds way too casual about this, and Stiles doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“That’s the plan.”

Their footsteps echo in the quiet of the hallway. Stiles can feel the chimeras in the distance. A few more minutes, and they’ll reach where Donovan is being held. And then what? Kill him. But… how? What exactly kills a wendigo? They don’t heal like other were’s. Then again, he’s not a normal wendigo, and Theo said that every single chimera is part werewolf. How big that part is remains unclear.

Corey rubs his hands together. “And you don’t think there’s another way?”

“Do you think there is one?” Stiles glances at Corey out of the corner of his eye, and after a pause, he shakes his head. “I don’t like this either, but I’m not taking any more risks.”

Stiles takes a deep breath through his nose.

“I’m sure Theo would—”

“I know,” Stiles interrupts him. “I know Theo would kill Donovan if I asked him to.” He’d probably even kill him without Stiles having to ask because Theo is more than aware of what needs to happen to finish this. The thing is, Stiles cannot rely on Theo forever. He won’t ask him to do his dirty work just because Stiles is too afraid to do it himself. The Dread Doctors used Theo more than enough. He’s not going to stoop to their level. Theo deserves more than that. So much more. And besides, this mess started with him, and that means it’s on him to put an end to it.

And he’s going to do just that.

Corey slows down and pulls the door to the operation theatre open. The first thing Stiles notices is that the chimeras look way too comfortable in this dusty old horror basement. Josh is chilling on a table, looking up from his phone with a yawn. Hayden is sitting on a blanket in the corner, not even acknowledging them from behind her book. Tracy, who is sitting right next to her, has a very different reaction.

“What,” she spits, slamming her phone onto the blanket, “the fuck is he doing here?”

That’s precisely the reaction Stiles expected her to have. He twirls the dagger around his index finger again, watching her closely as she rises to her feet. “You said there was an emergency.” Stiles folds his arms over his chest, tapping a finger against the dagger. “You don’t look very stressed.”

“Emergency?” Josh asks, scrutinizing Tracy.

Corey closes the door behind him. “There is no emergency.” He crosses his eyes as well, and the expression on his face can only be compared to absolute parental disappointment. “There’s never been one.”

Hayden slams her book down. “Do not tell me you told Theo we have a problem.”

“And him reading Theo’s messages is okay?”

“Tracy!” Hayden stands up as well, narrowing her eyes. Besides Theo, Hayden is the only one who has an ounce of influence on Tracy’s behavior probably because Hayden never hesitates to put her in her place by breaking her nose.

Josh gets off the table and pushes his phone into the pocket of his jeans. “Dude, he’s healing.”

“That’s why he should be with us,” Tracy hisses. “We’re his pack.”

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. It irks him to say that she has a point. Under completely different circumstances, Stiles would’ve insisted on staying at Theo’s place with the other chimeras. It’s hard to judge how much of a real pack they are, but with the werewolf DNA, they might have pack bonds. So, being together while one of them is healing could strengthen their bonds, and by the looks of it, that’s exactly what they’re in need of. After all, they’re still a very new pack. As it is, this isn’t a safe place for Theo to heal. Stiles would have never let him stay here with nothing more than a door between him and Donovan. That Tracy thinks it’s a good idea is astonishing. “He’s doing fine,” Stiles says, trying to sound neutral about it. The last thing he needs right now is to cause a scene. “You can check on him once I’m done here.” To be perfectly honest, Stiles doesn’t want Tracy anywhere near Theo, but he’s still her alpha, and she does have a right to see him, no matter how much Stiles hates it.

Josh raises a hand. “Done here?”

“Yeah, I—” Stiles takes a breath, “I’m going to kill Donovan.”

Hayden closes her eyes with a sigh. “I hate it when he’s right.”

“Kill?” Josh echoes.

Tracy shoots him a look. “Are you a parrot or something?”

“Dude,” Josh breathes, completely ignoring her, “are you sure about this?” That’s a very good question. Stiles was one hundred percent sure about this when he left the house, but now that Donovan’s only one room away from him, the whole thing looks a bit different. It’s not that he isn’t sure about killing him any longer. It’s just… he’s much more anxious right now than he was before arriving here. Still, Hayden questioning him isn’t going to change his mind.

It ends tonight.

Stiles licks his lips. “Yeah.”

“You’re going to kill him,” Hayden repeats with a nod and exchanges a quick glance with Corey. Something passes between them that Stiles can’t really decipher, but their conversation is cut short when Hayden’s phone vibrates yet again. Her eyes narrow slightly as she checks her text message. “Maybe…” she shakes her head and lowers her phone. “Maybe we should ask—”

“I’m not going to ask Theo.” Stiles gets it. Theo is her alpha, and, chimera or not, they share some sort of bond. He understands that nobody in this room wants to go against Theo’s orders for multiple different reasons. And yes, Theo entrusted them to make sure Donovan isn’t going to run off again. That’s all fine. Stiles gets it. He’s still not going to ask Theo for help or permission.

Josh raises his hand again. “Wait, you can’t kill him, can you? Like, your mojo doesn’t work like that, does it?”

Theo really informed them about everything, it seems. Stiles doesn’t know if he’s happy about that or not. “I don’t need magic to kill him.”

Tracy scoffs. “Are you going to talk him to death?”

Her voice is getting on his nerves. The next chance he gets, Stiles is going to shove her off a cliff. “I have something better.” Stiles pulls out his daggers. “Wanna see how they work?”

“Okay!” Hayden raises her hands. “This does not need to happen.” She shakes her head again, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh. “Let’s wait-” Let’s wait. The next person to tell him that he should wait for Theo to deal with this shit is not going to have a fun time.

Stiles twirls a dagger around his finger. “I’m—”

“Waiting,” Hayden interrupts him with a raised finger, “if you get yourself kidnapped, who do you think your dear boyfriend is going to blame?” To be fair, she’s got a point, but before Stiles has the chance to agree or disagree with her, she continues, “exactly. So, you wait here until I’m back from yelling at my boyfriend.”

No, no. Stiles doesn’t like that idea. Mostly because he doesn’t want to spend the whole night in the tunnels. “Listen, I appreciate the help, but I wanna be back home before Theo wakes up.”

Hayden scoffs. “Theo is going to be mad either way. You can wait fifteen minutes.”

“You—”

“We’re not discussing this,” Hayden hisses without even looking at him and walks out of the room.

Stiles snaps his mouth shut. What the hell?

“Josh,” Corey says, “she—”

“On my way.” Josh pats Corey’s back and slips out of the room. That’s… surprising. Did Theo already make Corey his second? To be fair, Corey is the best person for that position, but Stiles didn’t think that Theo would be willing to give up a portion of his power so soon. Plus, the pack isn’t exactly stable enough yet. Not with Tracy still being this cruel.

“Next time,” she says in a low voice, twisting a strand of hair around her finger, “send me.”

“I won’t reward you after acting like a child,” Corey replies sternly, glancing at Stiles because they all know that having to spend time with him is essentially her punishment.

Stiles hopes she hates it.

“Theo—”

“Theo is healing!” Corey says with much more authority than Stiles would’ve thought he had. “You either visit him tomorrow, or you don’t. Your choice.”

Tracy narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t continue the conversation. Instead, she turns on her heels and walks to the table Josh previously occupied. “Everything was fine until you got yourself involved.”

Stiles doesn’t have to be a genius to know she’s addressing him right now. “Got myself involved?” Stiles presses her lips into a thin line. She’s really pushing it. This girl— Stiles shakes his head. “I’m sorry I developed feelings for Theo. I’m sorry he likes me back.” He’s not sorry, not even in the slightest. He might have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t acted the way she did. “I’ve been in your shoes before. It sucks… but I didn’t act like a fucking asshole.” He’s not even here for this. Why is he wasting all this time? In and out. That was the plan. He is not getting into a fight with Tracy of all people.

Tracy scoffs. “Oh, don’t act innocent.”

“If you thought I’d roll over and take it, you don’t know shit about me.” Stiles tightens his grip around the daggers.

“Is that why you’re here?” Tracy drawls, turning away from them with a roll of her eyes. “Because you don’t wanna take it anymore?”

No. He’s here to finish what he started. He’s here not to be afraid anymore. He’s here to protect Theo, his dad, the people he cares about. In the end, it doesn’t matter why he’s here. The result stays the same. Donovan is going to die tonight, and nothing and nobody is going to stop him. “No, I’m here to protect my territory, and I’m here to protect Theo.”

Tracy whirls around. “Oh, don’t act all—” All color drains from her face. Her eyes widen, and she freezes, staring at something past him.

Stiles has just enough time to turn around before Donovan slams into him, sending them both crashing to the floor. The impact hurts, pushing the air out of his lungs. Fuck. He gasps. The dagger goes flying out of his right hand. Out of instinct, he tightens his grip on the other one, feeling steel cut into his skin. But that turns out to be the least of his problems.

Donovan wraps his hands around Stiles’ throat. There’s nothing left of his arrogance, nothing left of the sneer. He’s anger, and violence, and silver eyes.

And Stiles is staring up at him, heart slamming almost painfully against his chest.

But he doesn’t have time to think about that because every second he spends hesitating is a colossal mistake. He knew it even back in the library. He hesitated to run, but he never hesitated to fight. He didn’t hesitate to pull that little pin. Perhaps he didn’t know what would happen. Maybe his plan wasn’t to kill Donovan back then — but he did, and he’s going to do it again. He has to.

Stab him.

Stab him.

Stiles slams the dagger into Donovan’s side, but the only reaction he gets is a pained groan. The fingers around his throat tighten further. Despite knowing better, Stiles reaches for Donovan’s hands. His mind starts getting fuzzy. He can’t— he needs— to get out of here. The library. No. The tunnels. No. Fight. He needs to fight. Stiles twists the dagger. This time, Donovan lets go of him — and then he’s completely gone. Stiles struggles for breath, pressing a hand to his throat, and tries to scramble away. But his body feels too heavy. He can’t move.

He just can’t.

Corey is wrestling with Donovan a couple of feet away, but it’s a very one-sided fight. Before Corey has the chance to get to the dagger, Donovan has gotten control back. He slams his fist into Corey’s temple. Almost immediately, the chimera crumples to the floor.

Stiles swallows. Corey’s not a fighter, never has been, might never be, but right now he needs him to be. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. Donovan was supposed to be paralyzed. This should’ve been easy. But Donovan is— he is—

Looking at him.

Shit.

Get up. Get up!

But his legs refuse to work, and he feels small and helpless without his daggers and his powers suppressed by the light— Stiles throws his hands up regardless.

Donovan stops walking. His laugh cuts through the operation theatre. “Cute,” he drawls, but he’s not up for jokes today. The anger returns with a vengeance. It clouds the air, heavy and thick and uncomfortable. Stiles can feel it pressing against him as he struggles to his feet, both hands still raised in defense. The magic he feels is weak. The light is too bright for him to do anything of substance, and Donovan probably knows that too. Donovan knows everything about him. The Dread Doctors made sure of that. With a curl of his lips, Donovan pulls the dagger out of his side. Blood drips from the edge, and he studies it with a curl of his lips.

Stiles swallows, glancing at Corey, who is still not moving. Neither is Tracy, Stiles realizes as he’s looking at her standing next to the table, absolutely shell shocked. Her text message was a lie, that much is clear, but that brings up so many more questions Stiles doesn’t have the time for now. He needs to do something before Donovan decides to attack again, but with the light— maybe he should run. Get somewhere safer. Somewhere darker. Somewhere—

Wait, the light.

Stiles focuses on the dagger lying on the ground. Moving his fingers in a beckoning motion then swings his arm up. The movement catches Donovan’s attention, but before he has the chance to move, the dagger crashes into the lightbulb. It bursts, shards flying everywhere, and plunges the room in sudden darkness. Now, the only light comes from the other room and the tunnels. But it’s not nearly enough to stop Stiles’ magic from rushing back into his veins.

Donovan tackles him again. Although Stiles isn’t fast enough to dodge him, he’s prepared enough to counter. He catches Donovan by the wrist, baring his teeth. For the first time, he’s fully aware of the fox working with him. It gives him strength, enough to stop Donovan for a little longer. A few more seconds is all he needs. His muscles ache, and the bloody dagger is inches away from his face. But he’s not afraid of it because Donovan can’t kill him. He can hurt Stiles, maim him, but he cannot kill him. That gives Stiles the opportunity to be a little more reckless.

And reckless he needs to be.

“You’re going to die tonight,” Stiles says in a low voice. He swallows, struggling to keep Donovan’s hand, and with that the dagger, still. This is going to end. Now. Stiles tightens his grip, fingertips pressing tightly against the inside of Donovan’s wrist. Slowly, Stiles leans up, using his free hand to push himself off the ground. The blade of the dagger cuts into his cheek. It hurts, but Stiles doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break eye contact. “I’m going to kill you.” Stiles can feel the pulse quicken underneath his fingertips.

Deep inside of him, something stirs, excited by the prospect of the pain death brings. For once, it doesn’t scare him either.

Donovan stares at him, gaze darting back and forth of Stiles’ face, almost as if he’s searching for something. Stiles has no intention to wait any longer. He shoves Donovan off. The dagger clatters to the floor. Neither Donovan nor Stiles moves to grab it. They get to their feet instead, never breaking eye contact. Stiles is the first one to attack this time. His first hit lands, so does his second. It’s hard to tell why. Maybe Donovan is too slow for him at full strength. Maybe he didn’t expect to be met with this much resistance. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. He can do this. With a kick to the gut, Donovan slams to the ground again.

He’s back on his feet almost immediately.

And he’s angry.

But his movements are sluggish, slow. Maybe it’s Tracy’s venom still coursing through him. Good. Because Stiles is fast. He blocks two of Donovan’s punches, feeling the pain echoing deep in his bones. This is going to hurt, and it might even bruise. Tomorrow. Not now. It doesn’t matter. Stiles grinds his teeth, watching closely. If he uses his advantages, this fight can be over soon. Donovan may be strong, but he’s blunt, straightforward. He doesn’t think. Stiles does. So he watches as Donovan lunges out, aiming for his face. Trusting his instincts, Stiles shifts to the side. He hooks his right arm around Donovan’s left and kicks his legs out from under him, throwing him to the ground.

This time, Stiles is on top of him immediately.

Donovan’s movements are too slow, and Stiles gets two punches in before his hands are up. Stiles’ knuckles ache, skin split and raw as if he’s punched a stone wall. There is blood on Donovan’s face that could belong to either of them. He cannot waste any time. He cannot hesitate. He can’t— Stiles brings the dagger down, sinking it deep into Donovan’s throat then yanks it to the right. For a moment, time stops, and he stares down at the dark wide eyes, at the pale face, at the boy he’s about to kill.

And then there’s blood. So much blood. It covers Donovan’s throat and mouth and cheeks. Some got up to his eye. It’s drenching his grey shirt.

Stiles pulls the dagger out. His fingers refuse to cooperate. It clutters to the floor, and Stiles hears the sound of metal against stone, hears the sound of Donovan’s rattled breathing; a dying breath, a quiet growl. He’s dead. Dying. Stiles did it. He did it. He sucks in a breath, staring down at Donovan, and he struggles to his feet. With Donovan finally dead, all his energy leaves him at once. His legs don’t want to cooperate, but he needs to check on Corey because Tracy still isn’t moving.

He collapses next to Corey, carefully grabbing his shoulder. His chest is rising and falling slowly but steadily. Just knocked out. He’s gonna be fine. Finally. It’s over. Donovan is dead, and he doesn’t feel the same burden of guilt. He didn’t have a choice.

You weren’t supposed to do this. None of us are.

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut.

You think I had a choice?

Sitting back on his heels, Stiles lets go of Corey and presses his hands to his face. He doesn’t want to think about that. Not now.

There’s always a choice.

No. No, there is not. Not for people like him. Like them. Normal rules don’t apply to the supernatural world. Stiles swallows and looks back down at Corey. He’d do it again. If he really had to kill Donovan a third time to protect his family and friends, he would do it without hesitation. Stiles didn’t have a choice the first time he killed Donovan. He made the right choice today. That’s the harsh reality Scott refuses to understand. No prison could hold Donovan. Not as long as the Dread Doctors are around. Not as long as they can find his body. He needs to get rid of the body. And the blood. There’s so much blood. Stiles wipes his own chin with the back of his hand, unable to look away. Maybe he should call Jordan. Maybe he knows what—

A groan cuts to the silence of the room.

Stiles blinks then whips around.

Something’s wrong. Something is wrong with Donovan’s neck. It’s… moving. No. Not moving. Healing. Donovan is healing. How is he—?

Wendigo.

Wendigo.

Stiles stares at him. Not dead. Donovan’s not dead. He’s alive because he needs to stab his heart. Stiles curls his empty hands into fists, watching as he heals. And Stiles doesn’t have his daggers. He needs to get his daggers. He needs to get up. Come on. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Get up.

Donovan’s eyes focus again. His lips twitch, and he takes a deep breath. It still doesn’t sound right. He still isn’t healed.

There is time. Stiles is fast. He can get to his dagger. He can grab his dagger and return to Donovan. He can kill him before he’s fully healed, but he can’t get up. His body doesn’t listen to him, refuses to cooperate. His fingers curl around nothing as he keeps watching Donovan come back to life. He returns like he always does.

This is never going to end.

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” Donovan says, and he sounds almost impressed. Almost. “But the fun ends now.” His features harden, eyes flashing silver for the flicker of a second, and he gets to his feet. “You’ll regret that.” Donovan picks the dagger up, weighing it in his hands. For a second, nobody is moving, and Stiles is pretty sure he isn’t even fucking breathing. Then Donovan looks up and right at him — and throws the dagger.

Stiles doesn’t even think. The knife isn’t meant for him. Too dangerous. Donovan isn’t stupid, and they all know that Stiles wouldn’t regret getting hurt. He’d regret someone else getting hurt because of him. Stiles surges forward, turning his body away from Donovan, and crashes into Tracy. She yells, more out of surprise than the dagger flying her way. He wraps his arms tightly around her—the dagger sinks into his side. Pain zaps through his body. Hot, piercing, and he doesn’t feel hitting the ground again. He doesn’t feel Tracy’s nails burying into his shoulder as she drags him across the floor.

Swallowing heavily, Stiles presses a hand to his side.

Donovan laughs again. “They’re still going to die,” he says, walking towards him ever so slowly. “Her—” he points at Tracy, “— your little friend, Theo.” He curls his lips into a smirk, amusement back in place. “And you’re going to wallow in your guilt while you’re rotting aways as the Dread Doctors’ new favorite pet.”

Stiles yanks the dagger out of his side.

Tracy makes a high-pitched sound then presses her hands against the wound. It burns. It hurts so bad, but he’s not going to roll over and let Donovan kill everyone he cares about.

“You can’t even stand,” he drawls, “what are you going—” Donovan cuts off, surprise and pain cross over his features. But he’s still standing.

Corey’s eyes widen.

Donovan is still on his feet because Corey missed his heart. Stiles isn’t even sure he can reach it, from that angle, with a blade that short. Donovan is dancing on the edge of death, but he’s never falling. He’s a nightmare that Stiles cannot seem to wake up from, and every second it gets worse.

Slowly, Donovan turns around.

And worse.

“Fine, let’s start with you.”

And worse.

Donovan yanks the dagger out of his back, and Corey vanishes into thin air. But it’s not going to work. Not against a wendigo. A wendigo’s sense of smell is far superior to that of a werewolf.

Facts.

Stiles knows all these fucking facts, and yet, he’s too weak to kill Donovan. What good is knowing all of this when he can’t use it to his advantage? When he’s sitting here next to Tracy with a dagger in his hand and—

A cry of pain cuts through the air. Corey flickers back into view, a dagger in his shoulder. He’s trying to get away, but he’s stumbling over nothing and falling and Donovan is on top of him in a heartbeat.

Get up.

Tracy’s fingers dig into his side. Pain shoots through his body. Tears spring into his eyes. Nightmare. This is a nightmare.

Get up! Do something.

And somehow, he does. Stiles pushes Tracy off, stumbles to his feet, and lunges forward. He’s crashing into Donovan before he knows it, throwing him off Corey. They’re both hitting the ground hard, slamming into the wall underneath the stairs. But he doesn’t feel any pain. It doesn’t hurt. Not now. Not right now.

Donovan tries to get to his feet.

“Stay down,” Stiles orders, and Donovan’s head slams against the ground with a sickening crunch. Every muscle in his body aches within seconds, but Stiles keeps his magic working. Maybe he can’t kill Donovan using his magic, that doesn’t mean he can’t use it to help kill him. Loopholes. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. Stiles curls his fingers tightly around the handle of the dagger, holds onto it as if his life depends on it, and leans over him until they’re almost face to face.

Donovan locks eyes with him. There’s no fear in his eyes when he says, “we’ve been here before.”

“No,” Stiles replies. “No, we haven’t.” And he thrust his dagger deep into his chest with as much strength as he can muster. A rib cracks as he drives the dagger deeper, further up, and right into Donovan’s heart. He can tell the exact moment it hits.

Donovan’s facade cracks. Panic sets in, lasting for only a few seconds. Not long enough to fight against Stiles or say something else. His eyes widen and then Donovan stills underneath him.

Stiles pulls the dagger out, watching new blood mix with the old, watching it pool around them as Donovan’s spark flickers like a dying candle. For the first time, Stiles can sense Donovan on the ley line the same way he can sense Brett and Lori, and Satomi. His spark is distorted, not quite right, and yet not wrong. It’s like that of the other chimeras, a radio signal that’s not coming through, but there’s a high-pitched sound to it — a shriek that’s bouncing around inside of Stiles’ skull.

And then, it’s gone.

Donovan is dead.

“Corey,” Tracy says, kneeling down next to him, “are you okay?”

Almost as if on autopilot, Corey nods, but he’s not really looking at anything or anyone. His eyes are far away, and he doesn’t cry out when Tracy pulls the dagger out of his shoulder, just sinks against her.

“You did good,” she whispers against his hair, wrapping an arm around him carefully. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Stiles collapses against the side of the stairs. He’s bloody and cold and everything hurts. For a moment, he allows himself to close his eyes, to let the ley lines wash over him, and listens to the low rumble of Theo’s spark. It’s over. The nightmare is over. Stiles opens his eyes again, studying Donovan’s lifeless frame in the dim light from the tunnels. Part of him wants to laugh, to scream, to fall apart. But he doesn’t. He takes a breath and looks across the room where Tracy is still hugging Corey. “That didn’t go as planned,” Stiles mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

To his surprise, Tracy laughs. “You don’t say.”

Corey raises his head with a weak smile. “Hayden is going to be so pissed.”

“I wouldn’t be so worried about Hayden,” Tracy remarks, looking at Stiles with something that could be a smile. Yeah, Hayden is the least of his worries. Theo will not be thrilled when he learns that Stiles snuck out and got stabbed in the process. The only person who might be even more pissed than Theo is probably his dad. “Guess that’s the downside of being Theo Raeken’s boyfriend,” she adds, and this time, there’s a real smile curling around her lips. She doesn’t say sorry for the way she’s behaved. And that’s okay because Stiles isn’t going to apologize either.

Stiles chuckles. “Yeah, I guess.” He looks back at Donovan and sighs. It’s over. It’s finally over.

The door to the operation theatre flies open again. “What the—”

Stiles flips to another page with only the candle on his altar providing illumination in the room. Theo suspects Stiles doesn't need his book to recite the names any longer, but he says nothing. He crosses the short distance to his bed and sits, watching and waiting for Stiles to finish.

When he eventually does, Stiles gently closes the worn book, a testament to the numerous times that Stiles opens and closes it, and places it on top of the table, cleared of any other object apart from the black notebook and the glass candle. He rises from his kneeling position and finally looks at Theo.

Wordlessly, Stiles sits on one end of the bed and taps on his lap. Theo follows and reclines on the mattress, his head pillowing on Stiles. Automatically, Stiles's fingers card through Theo's scalp, their eyes finding each other in the darkness.

"How many names?" Stiles asks, voice a little rough from lack of use.

"One," Theo replies. He reaches inside his pocket for a paper scrap and gives it to Stiles. "There's an alpha that might be a threat since he's close to the age of the targets."

"And his pack?"

Theo shrugs, "We can immobilize the four of them - one beta, a banshee, a werecoyote, and a kitsune. We'll distract them and use them to our benefit." Theo's hand curls around Stiles's arm, running his thumb against the pale skin. "And if they become a nuisance," he holds Stiles's gaze, always trying to search that hint of hesitation but never finding it. Of course, he won't. It is Stiles's nature. It is what he is despite the deceitful innocent disposition. The Dread Doctors knew this when they plucked Stiles from under his father's nose and whisked both him and Theo, the first and still only Chimera, away from Beacon Hills years ago. Theo smiles, "then there may be more than one name I will have to add to your list."

Stiles slowly returns the smile, eyes showing that familiar glimmer of excitement whenever the prospect of job arises. He lifts the paper and reads the name written inside. "Scott McCall..."

"Do you remember him? We knew him in 4th grade." Theo asks, now affectionately scraping the claw from one of his fingers on Stiles's arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Stiles continues to stare at the paper, cocking his head slightly to the side. "He used to be my best friend," he says thoughtfully, reaction lacking the warmth that is typical when speaking about an important person. If anything, Stiles seems ominously delighted. And in a matter of seconds, Stiles becomes something else.

Theo can't look away from the beauty that is Stiles's shinigami taking over. It always leaves him breathless when Stiles shifts from sweet to sinister so effortlessly. The Dread Doctors may be terrible foster parents, but they are excellent at their jobs - coaxing out the evil lurking inside their subjects and handing the reins to them.

No one has made an equal of their demon as perfect as Stiles.

So, Theo muses, maybe he isn't praying for the souls of the dead when he recites their names from the book. Maybe he is condemning them to an even worse afterlife.

Stiles gestures with his fingers and the book sails through the air to his hand. He grins down at Theo, mad and dangerous, his irises completely blown black. He pushes the notebook into Theo's hand, his heartbeat drumming so fast in sick giddiness.

Theo takes it, like he did many times before, to write down the names of people that Theo wants dead. And Stiles will shiver as the name binds to the book, for another duty to fulfill, then he hunts them down and ends their lives like Theo's personal angel of death.

When he adds Scott McCall's name after countless others before him, dooming the Alpha who is none the wiser of his fate, Stiles stands and offers his hand to Theo. Like always, he takes it.

For he is the only one touched by the hands of Death and lives to tell the tale.