#steodiscord

Liam bounces on his heels, clearly sharing his best friend’s excitement. They’re infuriatingly happy about absolutely everything. It’s terrible.

“No,” Stiles says, gesturing back and forth between Theo and him – because, yes, Theo joined this trip as well – “why are we here?” This isn’t an emergency, especially none that required Stiles and Theo. Together. Joining Liam and Mason on their stupid little exploration. They’re not friends. Never have been. Lydia asked Stiles to keep an eye on these shitheads during their visit to the Conjuring House. That does not mean he’s required to be around all the time whenever they go to some shady sounding places.

It's not that he wouldn’t, Stiles simply hates that Theo is here too after he finally stopped being pissed at him.  

But, hey, this is what he gets for taking a gap year and deciding to live closer to home again. Not that Los Angeles is that close. Ever since the Conjuring House adventure, Stiles isn’t sure he wants to become an FBI Agent. That was his dad’s dream until a kid was in the picture. Stiles gets the appeal, and part of him still wants to help the living. The more time he spends away from Harvard, working jobs most people don’t even know exist, he wonders if perhaps the dead and other creatures not fit to be around the living are his forte – and it pays more than well. People are giving him surreal amounts of money even if he just tells them they have rats in their walls instead of a poltergeist.

Mason exchanges a quick glance with Liam. “Well,” he says because the latter decides that his camera is a lot more interesting than the conversation, “you’re brilliant and mysterious and can see dead people, and you—” Mason cocks his head to the side a little and shrugs, “you’re hot.”

Theo raises his brows. “You mean I have the money.” That he's ignoring the comment about his appearance says a lot about what type of mood he's in. Although Stiles doesn’t have any idea why Theo is mad. He’s not the one who’s been ghosted for seven fucking months.

“Our viewers don’t exactly care about that,” Liam says barely loud enough to be heard.

Stiles folds his arms over his chest. “There’s no costume party.” Mason is a terrible liar, but Stiles agreed to this because as angry as he’s been with Theo, part of him wanted to see that asshole again – either to draw a line in the sand officially, or to give this another shot. He’s not quite sure yet. He’s not exactly proud of it – and he's even less proud of allowing Lydia to put him in these ridiculously tight jeans.

But it’s working; he’s caught Theo looking more than once.

Mason tugs on his own costume – Count Dracula, judging by the impressive cloak he keeps stumbling over – and pulls his shoulders up. “It’s a Halloween special.”

“It’s a—" Theo cuts himself off and turns away with a roll of his eyes.

“You didn’t even come in costume,” Liam snipes, who – very lazily, mind you – threw on a pair of scrubs and a doctor’s coat.

Theo bares his teeth, fangs looking as deadly as always. “I don’t need one.”

“I think the more pressing issue is that you guys lied to us.” Stiles isn’t the biggest fan of being used. It’s fucking rude in general, but after being a meat puppet for a 1000-year-old fox demon, shit like this hits very differently. “You could’ve just asked.” Although Stiles isn’t entirely sure he would’ve agreed after the disaster the Conjuring House ended up being. He really didn’t appreciate being flung around like a ragdoll.

Fucking demons and their audacity.

“I wouldn’t have come—”

“You agreed the moment I mentioned Stiles,” Liam shoots back, clearly done with everyone’s attitude.

Stiles glances at Theo, who resolutely stares in the other direction. Even his gnashed teeth don’t hide the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. Fuck. What the hell does that mean? Theo never called after the night they spent together, and Stiles gave up after his second text went unanswered but read for months – and that’s why he should have said ‘no’ instead of ‘sure, why not?’ the moment Mason brought him up.

Yet here he is.

Sighing, Stiles raises his hands in mock defeat. “Fine,” he says, trying his hardest not to sound as delighted as he feels, “we’re already here. Give me your research.” He beckons for the phone Mason has been clutching to his chest like his prized possession.

The huge grin on his lips certainly proves that he’s been waiting for his request. “The story is wild,” Mason tells him as he hands over his phone.

Stiles draws his brows together. “The first sentence states that—"

“I know.” Mason waves his hand around dismissively. “But every legend has a kernel of truth, right?”

“I mean… in theory, I guess, yeah…” Stiles trails off, understanding why they wanted him to come so desperately, they dragged Theo here as well. They want to figure out the truth, or rather, they want someone to confirm this research. Frowning at the phone, Stiles sighs. He’d like to be a bit more optimistic, but everything Mason found points in a very different direction. Nothing is known about this place, not even who built it; the best guess is some random tycoon living in the late 1800s. They can’t even say what it was used for — only that Robert Atkinson apparently owned it at one point. Otherwise, the usual rumors are attached to these ruins, dark rituals, satanism, secret tunnels, and— “fucking hell.”

“400 kids?” Theo asks, startling Stiles as he leans even closer to continue to read. “They flew them back and forth and nobody noticed?”

“Not at once.” Stiles rolls his eyes. Still, Theo does have a point. “Also, it’s the ritualistic assault that’s concerning me more, but good to know where your priorities lie.” Shaking his head, he hands the phone back to Mason. There’s not really anything in there that’s remotely helpful. It sounds as if people are desperately trying to fill the history of ruins that should have plenty already. Of course, they want to believe that means some bad shit went down here. People are wired that way. But the ruins are part of somebody’s backyard, and it doesn’t look particularly decrepit. So, whoever owns it, takes pretty good care of it — and unless they’re a Satanist, too, it’s hard to imagine something’s going on here.

Besides, Tara, who once again decided to follow her brother around, has no qualms inspecting the place. She’s been quite nervous at the Conjuring House. She’s completely different here. Perhaps, she is enjoying the view as well.

The Rim of the World is undoubtedly breathtaking.

Staring at the horizon isn’t going to get him any faster to the party, though. Stiles sighs again and heads towards the ruins. “This better not be a waste of a good costume.”

“And my priorities are out of whack?” Theo asks with a snort.

Stiles shoots him a look over his shoulder. He grimaces a little when he spots Liam already handling the camera. There’s no way he’s ever going to enjoy or get used to being always filmed.

“Are you seeing anything?” Liam asks.

Now that Stiles has stopped ignoring every single ghost, it has gotten significantly easier to see and hear them. It’s quite unsettling, if he’s entirely honest, because blocking them out becomes increasingly harder. Here’s to hoping the same doesn’t go for anything else. “Aside from the ‘No Trespassing’ signs?” Or the aggressive neighborhood watch sign informing them that the police will be called immediately. Stiles is very glad his face is obscured by paint because there are most likely more cameras around.

“Ghosts,” Liam deadpans. “Demons. Entities?”

“Take your pick,” Theo adds with a bark of laughter.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No, there’s nothing.” Well, aside from Tara roaming the grounds, but she hardly counts. Her relaxed state and the absence of other ghosts can only mean one thing; nothing happened here. If there had been as many satanic rituals as the research suggested, the place would be crowded. They are dawn to evil places, to places with a brutal history; all those lingering negative feelings are like catnips to the spirits who refuse to move on — or to the entities who have no business being here.

“We’re not even there yet,” Mason mutters, sounding more than annoyed as he walks off the street and heads towards the field, his cloak swooshing dramatically after him.

Liam follows his friend, panning the camera slowly away from Theo and Stiles, over the ruins, and to where Mason is now awkwardly stumbling downhill. Someone clearly has no intention of getting too close to the person owning the castle. Probably not the worst idea. If they have to trespass, it’s most definitely smarter to do it from below. They’re taking a risk, overall, and it would suck if they did so for nothing.

But Stiles doesn’t want to play pretend or straight-up lie, and he doubts they would want that either. He doesn’t know the guys very well, but their final product about the Conjuring House has been pretty honest. It was more of a documentary than a scare-fest, littered with solid history spoken over beautifully shot B-roll of the house. Maybe that’s why people enjoyed it so much. There was no script, no weird sound effects — just the raw footage cut together into a mostly coherent narrative. They’re probably planning to do the same for this place.

“You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“Keep your nose out of my chemo signals, Theodore.” Stiles narrows his eyes and studies the other boy for a few moments; the fact that he looks amazing in his leather jacket, tight jeans and skintight purple tank top suddenly pisses him off, although it’s not Theo’s fault Stiles got his hopes up. “You lost that right when you couldn’t pick up the fucking phone or text me back.” He’s not usually this aggressively honest about his feelings, but Theo’s behavior really got to him. It felt different. He didn’t sound like the usual dickhead trying to talk his way into someone’s pants.

And usually, Stiles is a magnet for those exact dickheads. He should’ve listened to his gut, but no. Trust the jock with the sad childhood story, why would he end up as a cliché? Clearly, Stiles was very wrong about that, and he’s not planning on making that mistake again.

“Okay,” Theo amends, the smirk betraying his apologetic voice, “I know, but I—"

Stiles holds up a hand and turns away. “Save it.” This discussion can wait, or even better yet, it does not need to happen. It was clearly a misunderstanding, although Stiles isn’t entirely sure what could be misunderstood when they’d both exchanged numbers. Theo changed his mind, or maybe he simply did it to placate Stiles, thinking he’d never see him again.

Whatever.

Stiles turns away and heads down the hill to join Mason and Liam. The last thing he needs is being alone with Theo any longer than strictly necessary. They’ll have enough time to pass between each other when Mason and Liam gather some B-roll.

The hill is a lot steeper than it looked from up top, and the ground underneath his feet isn’t exactly sturdy. Rocks and dirt roll down the hill. Neither his Vans nor the tight jeans Lydia forced him into are helpful in this endeavor.

What was he even thinking? That Theo would magically change his mind just because his ass looks great? He’s such an idiot, and soon, he might be an idiot rolling down a mountain on camera. This evening is going swimmingly. But at least he’s not sweating his ass and makeup off.

“Fuck,” Theo curses softly. A moment later, he falls past him, a bunch of rubble joining his tumble down the hill. He ends up on his ass and slides a bit further down until he manages to stop himself on a bigger rock jutting out of ground.

Stiles presses his lips together, trying his best not to laugh.

Heaving a breath, Theo glares at him over his shoulder.

Liam and Mason are still engrossed in a conversation, checking something on the latter’s phone.

“Pay me enough, and I didn’t see a thing,” Stiles tells him, carefully continuing down the mountain. If he falls, his pants are toast, and he’s certainly not going to be on camera with his jeans ripped in unfortunate places.

Brushing off dust and dirt, Theo huffs out a breath. “Name your price.”

“You wouldn’t be able to afford me,” Stiles shoots back instantly, although he’s not entirely sure about that. Judging by all his comments, Theo seems to be loaded. He’s usually the one driving, and he was the one paying for the hotel back in Rhode Island.

He’s almost reached Mason and Liam standing by the tower when something catches his eye. It’s a flurry of motion, drained of color like ghosts usually are. Stiles cranes his neck to see where it went, unsure if it’s Tara or someone else. In this moment of inattentiveness, he puts his foot on rubble and dirt that instantly gives way underneath him — his balance goes straight out of the window. Stiles curses under his breath as he frantically looks around for something to catch himself on.

There is nothing.

Of course.

Liam turns around, probably alerted by noises of stones rolling down the hill right behind him. His eyes grow wide, and he presses the camera into Mason’s hands. Before he has the chance to move, however, strong hands grab Stiles’ waist, stopping further disaster from happening.

“Careful now, we don’t want you to ruin your costume, do we?” Theo’s voice is barely a whisper. It’s sending shivers up and down Stiles’ spine.

He loathes the effect this guy has on him regardless of the months of frustration he suffered. But that’s in the past. Stiles let his guard down once, he’s now learned from his mistake, and he will not do it again — although Theo’s hands on his waist feel amazing regardless of his current resentment of the guy. He certainly wouldn’t complain if his hand slipped under— no. Absolutely not. “I think I saw something.” Stiles straightens himself, his foothold just secure enough that the ground won’t give away under him, and elbows Theo in the ribs. Sharp pain travels up his arm. He grimaces.

Fucking werewolves.

Mason’s eyes light up. “Where?” he asks, pushing the camera back in Liam’s hands.

“Somewhere over there.” Stiles points in the opposite direction of the ruins. “It might’ve been Tara. I’m not sure.”

“Where’s she now?” All the playfulness has left Theo’s voice. His sister remains a sore spot. It probably hasn’t gotten any easier now that he knows she’s following him around; if he believes it, that is.

Stiles shakes his head. “I can’t see her right now.”

“And that’s a good sign?” Liam inquires, glancing around the mountain.

“I don’t know yet.” Although the place doesn’t necessarily feel as evil as the name Satan’s Castle would suggest, now that Stiles is up close and personal with it, something feels… weird. Not inherently evil. This is nothing like the Conjuring House, but there is something. He just can’t tell if it’s bad history or something entirely different.

Mason rubs his hands together. “Could fire cleanse this place?”

“You mean ‘burn it down’? Theo asks, stepping so close his shoulder bumps against Stiles’.

It’s almost impossible to shut down the shouting match between his brain ordering him to move away and his body begging to step closer. Instead, Stiles crosses his arms. “That depends on how they did it.”

“With fire?”

Stiles turns to glare at Theo. “Do you ever shut up?” Despite everything he went through at the Conjuring House, he’s still a fucking shithead. Unbelievable. How the hell can he still be so doubtful regarding everything that’s going on?

The grin spreading on the other’s lips doesn’t bode well. “Feel free to use kisses as a method to shut me up any time.”

Stiles has never been so happy to wear makeup because nobody can see his cheeks flushing under all that white covering his whole face and throat. Maybe he should consider wearing costumes more often — especially when he’s around Theo. He’s not at all interested in giving the guy any inclination about his feelings for him. Once this is over, the first thing Stiles is going to do is teach himself how not to be hung up on people who only give a shit about him whenever he’s conveniently around.

After a moment of silence, in which even Mason and Liam stared at Theo in surprise, Stiles merely shrugs. “If they salted the place, then yes, they might have cleansed it.”

Although the evening sun is still having enough strength, a shiver runs down his spine. It’s too quiet for something to be here. Maybe it’s just the place itself that gives him the creeps. Ruins often have this effect on him. There’s something strange about being in a place that used to be full of life, that was a home to someone; its history lost, and all that’s left are rumors that can’t be disproven. The tower with its five points — so easy to believe it’s meant to be a pentagram — does the rest. Stiles wonders if it’s the shape that gave birth to all the horrors people believe happened here.

“So…” Liam trails off, the camera still facing Stiles and Theo. “It’s not haunted?”

Stiles sighs. “It might not be no.” It’s not the answer either of the boys wants to hear — Theo most likely won’t care — but it’s the only one he can give them if they keep standing beneath this goddamn tower. Seeing a stray ghost, that may or may not have been Tara, isn’t proof for anything. “Wait here.”

“What? Why?” Mason asks, his voice stuck between frustration and hope.

Raising his brows, Stiles gestures past the scrub surrounding the tower — probably to keep people out. “Because I’m going to go there.”

“There’s a ‘No Trespassing’ sign right next to us,” Theo points out, raising his brows and looking at Stiles like he’s seen him for the first time.

Stiles snorts out a laugh. “Aw, are you worried? That’s so sweet.”

Unsurprisingly, that hits a nerve. Theo narrows his eyes. “It’s your trespassing charge. Have fun.” He really acts as if he’s never done anything wrong before in his life. That sounds insanely boring.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Stiles promises, watching as Liam and Mason exchange a look that’s more than a little loaded. It’s not like they could technically stop him from “I’m just going check for any activity. If anyone asks, you tried to stop me.” It’s not the first time Stiles trespassed. So far, he hasn’t been caught, and now, he’s got a few more tricks up his sleeve. He’s going to be in and out. Well, not really in. Still, he should probably remind them to cut this part out. Although nobody can see his face, his trespassing doesn’t need to be on video for the world to see.

Giving the two boys a thumbs up, Stiles presses as closes to the tower as possible to shimmy between the scrub and the wall. He’s not interested in going any further down that mountain with his tight jeans — even this is a terrible idea.

“Theo!” Liam snaps.

“Go get some B-roll,” Theo calls over his shoulder.

Stiles glances at him. “Shut up.” Although people are most likely aware that they’re sneaking around here, they really do not need to announce their trespassing. Carefully, he pokes his head around the tower and surveys the area. The castle must’ve been huge before they burned it down, but the thing that interests him the most is the doorway across from him. He doubts that’s where he’s going to find the entrance to a tunnel, but for now he at least wants to check if this place even has graffiti that could potentially be satanic. The tower itself is suspiciously clean for an abandoned and allegedly haunted location.  

With Theo right behind him, Stiles hurries along the old path, his steps silenced by the overgrown grass. He ducks under the ivy covering the top of the doorway and steps into the room. The drop in temperature is noticeable, but that’s pretty much the most exciting thing. It doesn’t take more than two people to make this room almost a bit too claustrophobic for Stiles’ taste. The charred walls don’t exactly ease the tight feeling in his chest.

This part of the history is plain to see. People have burned this place down. Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat while brushing his fingertips over the cold stonewall. Nobody burned, at least not in here.

“Well, that’s anti-climactic.” Theo steps next to him, nudging the leftover chain-link fence on the floor. “Anything on the ghost radar?”

For a moment, Stiles contemplates elbowing Theo in the face, but it’s not going to be worth the pain he’ll feel. “If you think it’s so funny, try living with it.” Stiles turns away from the unused fence and furrows his brow at the graffiti on the opposite wall. ‘Spikey Kelly’ in bright red. That’s really the only thing of note in the whole place. All the other graffiti is worn with age.

Stiles has no idea what that even means. Is that a name?

“Sorry.” Theo offers him an apologetic smile. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around your whole thing.” He gestures around, and for what it’s worth, he seems genuine.

Stiles opens his mouth, tempted to ask, ‘is that why you never called me back?’, but he shakes his head instead. “There’s nothing here.”

There’s absolutely no way he’ll have this conversation in the burned down ruins of an allegedly satanic castle — a satanic castle with no satanic symbols whatsoever. An evil place is easy to recognize by the shit all over the wall. Spikey Kelly, however, doesn’t exactly invoke fear. Stiles shuffles around Theo and pushes the ivy away.

“At least the view is great.”

That’s hard to deny. The view from up here is breathtaking, almost like they’re in a completely different world with the sky and a picturesque landscape as far as the eye can see. It’s hard to imagine Los Angeles is just a little over an hour away. They’re standing on top of the world, free, ready to fly at a moment’s notice.

Stiles wishes it were that easy.

Theo steps next to him, his body warm. “I bet the sunset is beautiful up here.”

Yeah, it’s probably worth the drive.

Ignoring the loaded statement, Stiles turns towards the tower. There’s a white wooden door leading into it, so new it ruins the image of the castle — as does the light just above it. This would be the first place Stiles prefers to be by day. “Let’s check out the tower.” Knowing his luck, the door is locked.

“Stiles.” Theo grabs his arm and pulls him back in, pulls him almost too close. “I know you’re mad—"

“I’m not mad,” Stiles interrupts, and he’s very clearly lying. The thing is, he is more pissed at himself for falling for the same bullshit over and over again. “You made your choice, whatever. Just don’t expect me to fucking swoon because you’re gracing me with your presence.” He pulls his hand free, not ready to admit out loud that Theo is still very successful at working his magic, and Stiles very much could swoon every time he simply smiles at him. That pisses him off even more than Theo not having the balls to tell him he wanted sex and nothing more. “Let’s go. I don’t want to hang out here any longer than I have to.” There is still the risk of being found, after all.

Without waiting for a reply, Stiles turns on his heels and hurries towards the white door. Here, he is very much out in the open. The light above his head turns on, but the door doesn’t budge.

Fuck.

“Why does that lamp have a motion sensor?” Theo asks, hovering directly behind him. Looks like he still doesn’t have any respect for personal space or boundaries.

Stiles covers most of the door with his body, brushing his thumb along the lock. “Try sneaking in at night when this place lights up like a Christmas tree.” Anger and spite have been surprisingly great teachers. Instead of wallowing in self-hatred, Stiles spend his time leaning into what he can do post-nogitsune. If he didn’t accept himself for who he is, how are other supposed to take him seriously? So, he buried his nose in books and has gotten the hang of little magic tricks, like opening and locking doors. It has worked on his apartment door every time so far, and this can’t be too complicated a lock.

He hears a soft click.

Yes.

Stiles pushes the door open just enough to slip into the room behind it.

“How,” Theo asks, closing the door swiftly behind him and plunging them in total darkness, “did you do that?”

A moment later, light illuminates most of the room and confronts Stiles with an almost disappointing reality. He didn’t exactly have his hopes up high, but he still hoped to find something. This? This is a waste of everybody’s time. No doors, nothing that even hints a secret door. No pentagrams, no 666, no graffiti that could even remotely been considered satanic. But the room isn’t looking too clean either. There are random graffiti smeared all over the walls, and the room itself looks like a bomb went off on it. Clutter is lying all over the ground, and the shelves are filled with it as well. It’s a miracle they didn’t step on anything.  

It’s nothing more than a storage room.

Stiles scrunches up his face. “That was a bust.”

“Excuse me?” Theo snaps his fingers in front of Stiles’ face. “How’d you get that door open?”

“It was stuck.”

“I heard the lock click.”

Stiles makes a dismissive gesture. “You imagined that.”

With an exasperated sigh, Theo points the flashlight directly in his face. “I get it. You’re still mad—"

This again. “Put the fucking flashlight down.” Stiles cannot believe he has to tell him that. He blinks and squints a little, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room.

“Stiles—”

“Fine.” He barely resists to throw his hands in the air. “I thought you giving me your number meant we’d stay in contact. You didn’t call or text me back. I moved on.” Quite literally, in three occasions. Well, four if he counts the thing with Lydia and Jackson. It took him longer than he’d care to admit, but it’s not like he broke down crying. His mind simply liked to play the ‘what if’ game. What if Theo did call back? What if Stiles just tried one more time? What if he visited Beacon Hills and accidentally bumped into him? Endless possibilities, none of them happened. “I thought you were different. That’s why I was mad at first, but if you think I cried my eyes out because a jock doesn’t want me back, you’re dead wrong.” And that’s the truth. As angry and a little heartbroken as he was, his dignity wouldn’t allow to shed a single fucking tear for Theo Raeken.

Theo raises his hands defensively. “I want you, but the whole thing with my sister…” he trails off, staring at the ground for a moment.

Stiles stares at him in shocked silence. I want you. Three simple words that shouldn’t stun him, that certainly shouldn’t get to him. But they do because he can’t shake his attachment to people no matter how much he likes to pretend that’s not the case. He swallows drily. Those three words aren’t what he should focus on. He takes a deep breath. “You think I wouldn’t have understood if you told me?”

Theo glances up at him, smiling apologetically. “I regret ghosting you. No… no pun intended.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles carefully steps away from Theo. He’s pissed. Again. This time because Theo is essentially opening the door, Stiles fully intended to keep shut. “Yeah well, I regret a lot of things too,” Stiles mutters, trying his best to shut his feelings off. “Having this conversation? It’s at least in the top five.” It’s uncalled for, Stiles knows that, but he’s not interested in talking about this any longer — even less inside this disappointed, entirely non-satanic storage room.

Theo stares at him, opening his mouth before deciding against whatever he’s intended to say first. A mask slips onto his features as he steps closer, a hand reached out to grab his arm. “I wanted to see you again, desperately, so I could apologize.” The smirk returns in full force, eyes flashing almost mischievously as he inches closer. “But maybe my tongue can do a better job of saying sorry than my words can.”

Stiles’ heart stutters in his chest, cheeks flushing hotly once again. Fucking hell. Theo shouldn’t be allowed to have this much power over him still, but it’s like his body is drawn to him, impossible to get away, impossible to fully let go. Get it together, Stilinski. “Tempting offer,” he replies, hoping that his voice won’t give away how he really feels about the words — even though it doesn’t matter, Theo can probably smell how bad he wants him too, “but I’m not going to waste this costume on you.”

The response startles the smirk off Theo, and he lowers his arm, brows drawn together. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Relieve flushes through Stiles when he realizes control is firmly back in his own hands. Now, all he needs is to get out of here. “We’re going to a costume party.”