#sunel0

But as much as he likes to shit on his family, Stiles has one thing in common with them. He’s selfish, so fucking selfish that the whole world suffers, and he can’t do anything about it. So fucking selfish that he considered letting it crash and burn more than once. 

Right now is one of these moments. It’s just a wish. A single wish. Why isn’t he allowed to have a something he wants come true? All he craves is happiness. 

And he deserves it. 

“No.” Stiles shakes his head, heaving breath after breath. “I gave everything for this world.” His voice is trembling badly. Tears sting in his eyes. He didn’t cry in almost fifty years. He never cared enough. He never gave a shit. Everything he ever cared about was dead, and just thinking about Theo dying again hurts so much more than the bullet buried deep in his abdomen. “I put humans before me. Now, look at them.” At the man threatening his wife with a handgun. At the woman leaving her kid behind. At the kid stealing from an elderly. At the people robbing and killing and hurting each other. 

Theo cups his cheeks, tilting his head up softly. “I don’t care about them,” he whispers, brushing a tear away, “I care about you. You’re dying, Stiles.” 

“So what?” he snaps, trying to push himself up, but his legs barely support him. Everything that’s keeping him standing is the cold wall at his back and Theo right in front of him. He is indeed dying. Quickly even. But he doesn’t care. It doesn’t even hurt. “I’m not letting you go again.” He digs his fingers into Theo’s upper arm. There was a time he would’ve crushed his bones to dust. Now, Theo doesn’t even flinch. He presses closer instead, smearing Stiles’ blood on his fancy clothes as he kisses him. God or no God, Stiles tastes the despair in his kiss, feels the grief in the way he touches him. 

Stiles pushes him off, choking on the tang of copper on his tongue.

“I’m not letting you kill yourself,” Theo whispers, pressing their foreheads together.

Shaking his head, Stiles wraps an arm around his shoulders, kissing him frantically over and over and over again. “And I’m not letting you go,” Stiles breathes, curling his fingers tightly into Theo’s shirt. He’s holding onto him. He’s holding onto his very own world. He’s holding onto everything he’s ever cared about, and he sure as hell is not going to fucking let him go ever again. Not for this world filled his humans no better than the Gods he grew up with. The second they have an ounce of power, they turn into monsters. 

He will not give Theo up for this. 

“If you die, I’m going to die too,” Theo says, shifting his hands to cup his neck. “You will die for nothing.” 

Stiles sucks in a breath. “This is not fair.” 

“I’m not going to live in a world without you.”

"So why should I?"

Theo smiles, brushing their noses together as the world around them erupts in even more chaos. There is screaming, crying, the sounds of a civilization crashing and burning. "Because you already did,” Theo whispers, and he presses his right hand to Stiles’ abdomen. The touch burns, but no broken bones and no gunshot wounds could hurt as much as Theo’s words, “I love you, Mieczysław, and I need to know you’re safe. I need to know you’re alive.”

Somewhere a gun is going off.

“Renounce your wish.” 

It won’t be the last. 

“Let me go.” 

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and grabs Theo’s face, touching every inch of his skin, feeling his smile underneath his fingertips. “Please…” He doesn’t have a clue what he’s asking for, knowing all too well that Theo will never change his mind.  

“Look at me. Stiles, look at me.” Theo tilts his head back, still smiling when Stiles opens his eyes. His eyes are blue, but there are tears glinting in their corners. This cannot be happening. He waited so long, and now he’s supposed to lose him after only two days? “I never thought I could experience true love. I never cared for anything.” Theo presses their foreheads together again. “Until I met you. You are everything and more I could’ve hoped for. Don’t make me leave this world knowing you’re dead.” 

Shaking his head, Stiles cups Theo’s neck. “This is fucking selfish,” he whispers, fingertips pressing against the back of his head. 

“What did you expect?” 

Despite himself, Stiles laughs and cries and crashes his mouth to Theo’s. He presses against him, close and closer, relishing in Theo’s lips against his, the hands pressing to his body, the arms hauling him as close as they can get. Stiles can feel his heart slamming against his ribs as if it wants to leave his body and jump into Theo’s chest. 

A child screams for their mother. 

Stiles pulls away, eyes squeezed shut tightly, and turns around. He walks, fast, blind, hopeless, listening to Theo’s voice reassuring him of how much he loves him. Curling his hands into fists, Stiles quickens his pace. “I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, but for some reason, he knows Theo’s heard it, felt it, can sense it. 

Perhaps his heart did leave his body. 

Stiles opens his eyes and tilts his head back, watching the sky. Are his parents laughing at him? Do his uncles and aunts think he’s pathetic? Maybe. But he doesn’t care. He won’t be going back ever again. He will stay on earth and hunt down every single object his family left here to curse humankind. He will destroy their very influence on earth.

And then he will get Theo back. 

“I renounce my wish.”

Even though he keeps walking, even though his heart keeps beating, Stiles is sure he’s dying too. 

----------

The world is white and cold but peaceful. 

Stiles watches people walk in the streets, occasionally stopping in front of store windows. Laughter reaches him on his balcony. The world has calmed down and peace returned. In the last couple of months, Stiles found and destroyed one of his father’s presents — a gun that would incite violence and make whoever touches it invincible — and another one from his brother Anteros — a ring that kills whoever cheats on their significant other. As adorable and innocent as he is depicted, his brother is just as much of an unhinged bastard as their father. 

There are many more. 

“Knock, knock.” 

Stiles lets out a breath. “Uncle.” He pushes away from the railing and turns around, scrutinizing Hades standing in the middle of his living room. “Still as dramatic as ever, I see.” 

Clearly satisfied with his impact, Hades brushes his long black cloak almost affectionately. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that he’s the God of the dead and king of the underworld. Although Stiles is pretty sure Persephone had a hand in upgrading his wardrobe. It’s hard to blame her. Hades used to run around in old and tattered robes. Now, he looks amazing and probably at least a little imposing to everybody who doesn’t know him. 

“Mieczysław, a little birdie told me about your little faux pas with a certain wish stone.” 

Groaning, Stiles walks back into his flat and shuts the balcony doors firmly behind him. “If you’re here to mock me, I suggest you get in line.” His family considers him weaker than ever. Falling for a wishing stone of all things? Almost losing his God powers because of a mere mortal? He’s going to keep hearing that for a few centuries. 

Yay. 

Hades presses a hand to his chest, looking hilariously offended. “I would never make a mockery of my favourite nephew. In fact, I have done a bit of soul searching and got you a present.” 

The last time Hades gifted him a tiny version of Cerberus. Having a three-headed dog in the world of men has gone exactly as well as one might think. Quirking a brow, Stiles folds his arms over his chest. “Uncle—”

“Oh, don’t give me that look.” Hades waves his hands around. Somehow, everything he does looks overly theatrical. He really needs to get out more. “Trust me,” Hades says, leaning closer winking at him, “you’re going to enjoy this one.” He claps his hand and from one second to the other, his Uncle has vanished in a cloud of smoke. 

Stiles rolls his eyes and sighs. Despite their similarities when it comes to love and monogamy, they’re not really agreeing on what is enjoyable and what is not. “Fucking smoke.” Stiles waves his hands around, trying to disperse the thick cloud before his smoke alarm has the chance to go off. 

Someone coughs. 

“Hades?” If this is one of his jokes, his timing is really off. Stiles isn’t in the mood for pranks and fun and family time. Although he probably should go visit Persephone again soon. She doesn’t like it if they don’t at least see each other once every few months. 

“I must admit he’s got flair.” 

Stiles freezes, staring at the slowly vanishing cloud of smoke. That’s a joke. That cannot— he cannot be real. Hades would’ve never— Another cough. The smoke vanishes completely. Standing there in the middle of his living room stands none other than— “Theo.” 

“Hey.” 

Is he dreaming? He can’t be dreaming. This is— no, Hades would never be that cruel to him. He would never get Stiles’ hopes up only to crush them again. “Theo.” Stiles lunges forward, pulling Theo into his arms, and buries his face in the nape of his neck. “You’re back.”