Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun beat down hard on the rooftop pool, sharp and merciless, bouncing blinding light off the water’s surface. Theo was sprawled across a lounge chair near the edge, sunglasses on, chest bare, arms stretched wide like he owned the place. He wasn’t doing much—just lying there, roasting in the sunlight, the way cats did when they wanted to look lazy but stay alert.

It had been almost a week since he’d decided to join Stiles in Washington. If you could call it a decision. It had felt less like a plan and more like stumbling into something he couldn’t stop once it started. Stiles had that effect on people. Especially on him.

His thoughts drifted, as they always did when he wasn’t actively distracting himself. First came Liam. Just the name in his head was enough to make his chest feel tight. He forced it away quickly. So his thoughts pivoted, naturally, to Elias. It had been weeks now — Elias on Deucalion’s trail, and Theo on Elias’s. A long, endless loop. And a bloody one, it turns out. Still nothing. Still no word from Deucalion either. That was the main reason he decided to take a break. That, and...

The longer it went, the more Theo felt like he’d probably never see him again. And maybe Deucalion didn’t want to be found either. His pack was scattered. He was practically a fugitive. What would he even be coming back to? Theo? What a joke...

His phone buzzed. Unknown number.

He picked up lazily, not even sitting up. “Yeah?”

Silence. Just breathing.

Theo frowned. “Who’s that? You know I can hear you, right?”

Still nothing.

His pulse picked up despite himself. “…Deucalion?”

The line cut.

Theo stared at the screen for a second, then tossed it back onto the table. “Creepy,” he muttered. But something in his chest itched, something that wouldn’t let go.

A second later, the lounge chair beside him groaned loudly under new weight. Finally. Stiles dropped onto it like gravity had body-checked him. His tie was half-undone, his shirt clinging, his face spelling out don’t talk to me in bold letters.

Theo cracked one eye.

Theo closed his eye again. "So I take your meeting with the FBI didn’t go well."

"No it didn’t," Stiles muttered, yanking the tie the rest of the way off and flinging it onto the ground with unnecessary flair.

He sank lower in the chair, staring at the sky. Theo closed his eye again, smirking faintly.

“When you said you were coming here to help me get my job back, I didn’t picture you sunbathing.”

“Don’t be a hater. I’ve spent months chasing Elias and Deucalion across the country, sleeping in holes and running after shadows. I needed a break.”

“Right. So the great plan to get my career back is you working on your tan.”

Theo slid his sunglasses down just enough to peer at him. “Don’t knock it. It’s working wonders on my stress levels.”

Stiles muttered something, then yanked off his shoes and let them fall with a thud.

"You know, it would do you a lot of good to do the same."

"Except I do need a job. Unlike you, I have bills to pay and I don’t have the luxury of Deucalion’s fortune to just stay unemployed forever."

Theo tilted his head. "Are you suggesting I’m some kind of leech or something?"

"I’m not insinuating anything. I’m telling you."

Theo cracked one eye open, looked at him, then shrugged. “You may have a point too.”

They lapsed into silence, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable so much as inevitable. Stiles undid the top two buttons of his shirt and slouched lower, sighing. Theo reached over without looking and handed him a pair of sunglasses like it was routine. Stiles took them without a word, slipping them on, and for a moment they looked almost like they belonged here—two guys on vacation, not two guys who wanted each other dead a few months back.

A server appeared with two cocktails, bright and sweating in the heat. Theo nodded a thanks. Stiles blinked, a little thrown.

“I didn’t—” Stiles started.

Theo cut him off. “Reception told me you were back. I ordered them. Either to celebrate you getting your job back… or drowning your sorrows.”

Stiles blinked, caught off guard. Theo tilted his sunglasses just enough to flash him a smug look.

“Don’t worry. It’s on my tab. Perks of hanging out with a gold digger.”

Stiles made a face, but took the drink anyway. “Please. All that money’s wasted on you.”

They sat quietly for a while, sipping. The city buzzed faintly below them. Theo pulled his knees up, balancing his glass there, while Stiles stared at the water like it held answers.

Then, almost too casually and not really looking at Theo, Stiles said, “So. Any news from Liam?”

Theo didn’t move. “Why would I? You know I don’t have more contact with him than you do.”

“Except you’re the one who chose to stay away from him.”

"And in your case, Liam won’t talk to you because—surprise—you lied to him. Again." he said, tone dripping with mock concern. “What? Too soon ?”

Stiles shot him a look but ignored it. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Not sure. Around the first full moon after the ritual I think. He lost control and called me. I’m pretty sure he regretted it the second I got there. Awkward night, let me tell you. After that we crossed path once or twice, but eventually he just left. No idea where he went after that, but I’m pretty sure he’s been avoiding me.” Theo told him

“Well, you did dump him. I’d say he has every right.”

“It’s not like I had someone killed or anything.” The words came out sharper than Theo intended—too harsh, even for a deflection.

The words hung between them. Stiles didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Theo could feel the guilt rolling off him, heavy and sharp.

“Don’t go there,” Theo warned.

“Go where?”

“I can smell you, Stiles. You reek of guilt.”

“As I should. Also don’t smell me, you’re not a dog. Creep.”

Theo turned his head finally, squinting at him. “Deaton wasn’t your fault. You did what you thought was best. And if it were me, I would have—”

Stiles sat up, suddenly sharper. “Wait. Is that why you came here?”

Theo’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You wanted to keep an eye on me. Didn’t you?”

Theo shrugged, lazy but not convincing. "Can you blame me? Malia’s gone, Derek’s been out of town for weeks, Scott is still in a coma — which, honestly, is the only good thing happening to me right now. So fingers crossed.”

“What’s your point?”

"My point is, the only two people left in your life right now are me and, god forbid, Peter. Which in reality, makes me your only remaining friend standing. That alone should be a warning about your psychological state. I mean… yeesh."

Stiles exhaled, loud, frustrated, and pushed to his feet.

“Yeah, okay. Good speech, buddy.” He set his drink down, grabbed his shoes, and started walking.

“Oh, come on, don’t pout. Stiles. Come back, I swear I’ll shut up.”

A beat.

“…Eventually.”

“I have to go,” Stiles threw over his shoulder.

“Where?”

“Try to get my job back.”

“Again?”

"Yes, again!" Stiles shouted without turning, arms flailing as he disappeared inside.

Theo leaned back, sighing as Stiles vanished inside. He stared at the sky. There was something wrong with Stiles—more wrong than usual. Maybe his powers. Maybe his ADHD. Either way, he was just off.

“Talk about a honeymoon,” Theo muttered, finishing his drink.

His phone rang again. Caller ID: Derek. Relief flickered, and he sat up, answering quickly.

"And it may get worse," he said, sitting up and answering. "Derek, do you have something for me?"

But the voice on the other end wasn’t Derek’s.

“I found him,” said Argent.

Theo went rigid. “…Where?”

There was a pause. Then:

“He’s here. In Beacon Hills.”

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

The FBI waiting room had never felt so suffocating.

Stiles had been pacing for nearly two hours—circling chairs, flipping through outdated magazines, stacking them into precarious towers, and eventually constructing a crooked little fort out of a deck of playing cards he’d found at the bottom of a side table drawer.

He sat back, admired his “work,” then immediately destroyed it with one swipe when he realized how insane he probably looked.

“Still restless, Stilinski?”

Stiles glanced up to see Mark, one of his old co-workers, leaning against the doorframe with a smug tilt to his mouth. Of course it had to be Mark. Wait, Mark? Mike? Matt? Honestly Stiles never cared enough to really try to care about his name.

“Still here? I thought you would have been shot on the job by now.”

Mark snorted. “You’ve been out of here two months and you come crawling back already? Figures. You always did bite off more than you could chew.”

Stiles bit his tongue, eyes flicking to the clock. Still ten minutes until his ex-boss returned from lunch. Great.

“And,” Mark added, dropping into the chair across from him, “I looked into you while you were gone. Saw the kind of company you’ve been keeping.”

Stiles froze for half a second. His brain screamed werewolves but then immediately dismissed it. No way. Sure, a lot more people knew about werewolves now than five years ago, but still. The wuss couldn’t handle the sight of blood without nearly fainting—if he’d ever learned the truth, he would’ve booked the first flight to Canada. Especially if he knew Stiles life as well as he was suggesting.

Mark leaned in, lowering his voice as though about to deliver a scandal. “Derek Hale.”

Stiles blinked, relief washing through him before the obvious punched him in the gut. Right. Derek had a criminal record. So did others in Beacon Hills, if he really thought about it. To anyone on the outside, it would look bad. Real bad.

He forced a smirk. “Yeah, and? You stalking my LinkedIn and my OnlyFans too?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Just saying… people talk. Not everyone’s impressed by your little… extracurriculars.”

Stiles ignored him, slumping deeper in his chair and focusing instead on his half-collapsed card fort. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Fucking corporate douchebag.

The door clicked open at the end of the hall—his ex-boss finally back. Stiles stood, straightening his shirt, rehearsing his pitch one last time in his head—

Buzz.

His phone vibrated. One new message. From Peter.

Come home.

Just two words, and Stiles felt his chest tighten. He’d been dodging Peter for weeks, keeping himself busy with anything and everything to avoid the pull of that word. Home. A word that felt both too heavy and too dangerous.

He glanced at the hallway where his boss was already walking toward the office, briefcase in hand. Then back at his phone.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

Mark smirked, clearly enjoying the hesitation. “Changed your mind already?”

“Bite me Mark,” Stiles shot back automatically, already shoving his phone in his pocket.

“My name’s Louis, asshole.”

Stiles grabbed his jacket, muttered another curse, and bolted out the door before he could talk himself into begging for a job he wasn’t even sure he wanted anymore.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

Theo knew it was a dream. He knew that dream all too well.

He always knew — the moment his feet touched the floor, the way the shadows bent wrong, the air too still, like it was holding its breath. Like something just outside the edge of the frame was watching. Waiting.

The colors were too sharp. The red of the blood was too red. Bright, almost glowing. Unreal.

But he didn’t try to wake up. Truth be told, any dream, good or bad that didn’t include his sister was always welcomed.

There was comfort in the nightmare. Familiarity.

This memory had claws, and it knew exactly where to dig.

He was fiveteen again and already bathed in blood. Already used to violence. Already learning to stay still when things bled.

Theo wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there. Long enough for the blood to lose its shine on the floor. Long enough for the it to start feeling… comforting.

Theo caught the scent first—blood, smoke, and a faint trace of citrus cutting through the rot of the lab. Ash. He knew it before he even saw him

“You were late.”

The voice came from behind him, smooth as silk and cold as metal. Velvet with a blade underneath.

Theo didn’t flinch. But his breath caught — just barely. Just enough.

He turned.

He was there. Sitting cross-legged on the metal table, elbows resting on knees, chin tilted in lazy amusement. His shirt was soaked in blood — so much that it had turned the fabric stiff. A dark smear streaked across his cheek like a kiss. The body on the floor looked too small. Its neck bent at an impossible angle.

“You were supposed to wait,” Theo said, but there was no anger in his tone. Just… interest.

“I did.” he smiled, slow and deliberate. “Five minutes. That’s more than generous.”

There was no remorse in his voice. No shame. Not even pride. Just satisfaction. Like he’d done exactly what he wanted, and nothing else had ever been an option.

Theo should have been horrified. He should have run. But instead… he stepped closer. Slowly. Mesmerized.

“You didn’t have to kill him. Or the last one.”

“I know.” the boy grinned wider. “But I wanted to.”

He hopped down, boots hitting the blood with a wet slap. It didn’t faze him. Nothing ever did with him. He moved like the room belonged to him. Like the blood did, too.

“He tried to kill you,” he said, tone soft, like he was explaining something to a child. “That’s reason enough, don’t you think?”

Theo didn’t answer. He just stared.

“Also, every other chimera died anyway. This guy would have just ended the same way and you know it.”

“Oh, yeah? Plan on making me join them too?”

“ And loose such a pretty face. Come on. Why can’t you just let me help you, huh?”

“You knew I could handle it,” he said finally, voice quieter. “You didn’t do it for me.”

“Didn’t I?” He replied, taking a slow step closer. “You think I’ll do this for anyone else?”

He started circling him, steps casual but calculated. Like he was orbiting something fragile.

Theo’s chest tightened. Not from fear. Not exactly. Something else.

You couldn’t fear what you also longed for. Not cleanly.

“You say that like you don’t like seeing me like this,”he said, voice lowering. “Like you’re not a little turned on right now. Blood is my color after all.”

Theo’s body stayed frozen, but his pupils betrayed him. Dilating. Just enough.

“There it is,” he whispered, pleased. “That curiosity. That hunger. You hide it better now, but I still see it.”

“You’re insane,” Theo muttered.

“And you’re addicted,” he said, voice like a knife dragged across glass. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why you still dream of me.”

Theo looked away, jaw tight. But he didn’t move. Right, it wasn’t real. It wasn’t him. Not really.

“You’ve gotten better,” the boy went on. “Masking your tells. Covering your scent. Acting like you’re clean. But it’s still there. I know it is.”

He leaned in, close enough that Theo felt the air stir against his skin. Too close. The kind of closeness that carried weight, deliberate, invasive. His fingers rose, smearing a thin line of blood along Theo’s jaw as if marking him. The touch was slow, almost reverent, and it made Theo’s chest tighten for all the wrong reasons.

It was creepy. Wrong. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away—yet he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because beneath the revulsion, there was something else, something he hated to admit even to himself: the pull. The fascination. The way Asher’s eyes seemed to strip him bare, like he was both prey and accomplice at the same time.

“I miss it. The way you used to bleed emotion. I couldn’t get enough. I always knew what you were thinking.” he whispered. “It made you mine.”

Theo’s hands clenched. He wanted to deny it. To step back.

Instead, he said, “I’m not yours.” And hated how true it sounded in his own ears.

The other’s expression softened—for a fleeting second. Something like affection flickered in his eyes. Or maybe possession. With him, it was always hard to tell.

“I know,” he murmured.

And then his smile faltered.

A drop slid from his nose. Not blood. Darker. Thicker. Like mercury turned to ink.

Theo lunged forward, panic clawing at his throat. “Wait—what’s happening?”

His body sagged, knees buckling. “It’s fine,” he rasped, forcing a smirk even as his chest hitched. “Just… time catching up.”

Theo caught him, arms tightening. “No no, don’t leave me, not again” he snapped, voice shaking with a fear he couldn’t hide.

The boy laughed weakly, head falling against Theo’s shoulder. “Always so dramatic,” he whispered. His smile was broken, bloody, beautiful—before it faded altogether. His chest stilled. Breath gone.

“No—no, no, no!” Theo shook him, desperate, furious, until the sound hit—metal boots striking concrete. The air thickened, reeking of chemicals. Shadows slithered in from the dark.

The Dread Doctors.

They moved with surgical precision, faceless masks gleaming as they closed in. Theo snarled, dragging Asher’s limp body closer, trying to shield him. One Doctor reached out. Theo lashed forward, teeth bared, claws ripping through the haze—only to be slammed back, paralyzed by the white-hot surge of their weapons.

He collapsed to his knees, body refusing to obey, even as he clawed at the ground. His vision blurred. Asher’s body was wrenched from his arms, dragged across the floor, disappearing into the shadows.

“No!” Theo’s throat tore with the sound. His body shook, useless against the weight pressing him down. His vision tunneled, darkness closing in.

And then—

A voice. Low. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Wake up, sunshine.”

Theo’s eyes snapped open with a gasp. He bolted upright in bed, sweat plastering his shirt to his back, chest heaving.

The hotel room was silent.

Still. Empty.

But the phantom scent of blood still clung to the inside of his nose. He could feel it — like it was painted under his skin.

He buried his face in his hands.

He hadn’t thought or dream about that day in years.

Hadn’t let himself think about it.

About him.

“Ash,” he breathed. The word slipped out before he could stop it.

His voice sounded small in the dark. Like a confession.

Like a relapse.

His phone rang again. That must be what woke him up, he thought.

Stiles.

Theo wiped his face and answered. “What?”

“Hey,” Stiles said. He sounded tired. “I need to head out. Thought I’d let you know. Are you coming?”

Theo straightened slightly. “Where?”

A beat.

“You mean Beacon Hills?” he asked before Stiles could say it.

Silence. Then:

“Yeah. Peter texted. Said I should come back. Wait—how did you—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Theo cut in. “Just go. I’ll catch up.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve got a stop to make first.”

He ended the call.

Stared at the screen a moment. He had a new message too. Derek : “I know where Liam will be tomorrow. I don’t know why but he’ll be there. Maybe you could tell me why you wanted me to find him this time?”

Then muttered to himself, “Derek and Chris, and now Peter… Things are finally moving.”

Chapter Text

The drive back into Beacon Hills felt strange. Too familiar to be new, too foreign to feel like home. Stiles hadn’t planned to return so soon, but when Peter sent him that simple message, something in him said yes before he’d even thought it through. What he couldn’t wrap his head arorund was the location he had asked him to join him at though.

He’d left Theo just that morning. The two of them hadn’t said much before he left. Stiles could tell Theo hadn’t slept, probably still had nightmares. Not that he would tell him.

The road leading to the old Hale property was quiet. Overgrown in parts, but cleared enough to show signs of recent use. As Stiles pulled up and stepped out of the Jeep, he paused. Blinking.

The house — it wasn’t in ruins anymore.

It wasn’t a replica of what it used to be. It was simpler. Less grand, maybe. But undeniably beautiful in its own way, and still pretty impressive. Clean lines. Warm colors. Solid wood and wide windows. Someone had poured care into it. And clearly a lot of money.

Inside, the house was empty. Silent. But not in a dead way — more like a breath being held.

Stiles wandered slowly from room to room. The layout was the same. He knew that somehow. Like his body remembered a place it had never actually been. The living room. The kitchen. The hallway.

His steps carried him up the stairs without even thinking. He’d never dared to go upstairs back when the house had been a burned-out shell — the floor had looked like it would collapse under a strong breeze.

For a second, Stiles even thought he had just time jumped again, but it couldn’t be. The only good thing Stiles had to report about the last three month was the lack of any power manifestation on his side.

Sunlight spilled into the hallway from an open door at the end. Drawn forward by something unspoken, Stiles stepped inside.

The room was big. Bright. Quiet. And instantly, something inside him loosened. Like tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding just… let go.

It felt like coming home after a long time away.

Like when he used to fly back from Japan and walk into the Sheriff’s kitchen to find leftovers waiting for him and his dad already half asleep on the couch with a beer in his hand. That kind of warmth you couldn’t really phrase out.

The only piece of furniture in the room was a large bed, unmade but neat somehow. Lived-in.

Stiles walked toward the window. There, on a scorched piece of wood still tucked into the frame, was an old carving.

“D.H / P.H”

He reached out and brushed a finger over the letters. Still blackened by fire, but solid. Real.

“You like it?”

Stiles turned, startled.

Peter was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I didn’t know you were renovating the house,” Stiles said. “To tell you the truth, I kinda thought it was all gone by now. Why’d you do it?”

“For Derek,” Peter answered simply.

Stiles blinked. “For real?”

“Why not?”

“Probably because you never do shit for anyone?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “I helped you when your powers were trying to rip you apart, didn’t I? I bit Theo— and put myself at risk to save him, because you asked me to.”

Stiles squinted. “Okay, okay. Fair point. And I feel very privileged, believe me. But this? This is different. This is… big.”

“I know,” Peter said, stepping into the room. “And that’s exactly why I did it. I told you before — once I got the spark back — what I want is to rebuild what Derek and I lost. A real pack.”

“We used to have a real pack,” Stiles muttered. “You know, before everything went to shit.”

Peter hummed. “The only reason you think that is because Scott’s leadership is all you’ve ever known. But none of you know what it really means.”

“And you think you can do better.”

“I did once.”

Stiles tilted his head. “If you’re referring to the last time you were an Alpha, I wouldn’t say ‘successful leadership’ are the first words that comes to my mind.”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Peter said calmly. “I meant when I was Talia’s advisor. Back when we lived here.”

“You?”

“Yes. And I was good at it. If you remember what I told you about that time — Derek and I used to be close.” He reached past Stiles and tapped the old inscription on the window frame. “Derek’s only wish since the fire has always been to feel like he belongs again. Being part of a pack… family.”

“Is that why you wanted the spark back?”

“You’re the one who said once that I never lie to you. Why would I start now?”

Stiles paused, his eyes drifting to the bed again. “Wait… whose room is this?”

Peter smiled, as he walked up to Stiles. “Mine. Why?”

“No reason,” Stiles said quickly, looking away. “It’s just… there’s a feeling in here. Like—”

“Like being home,” Peter finished for him.

Stiles met his eyes. “Yeah.”

They stood there a second. The air calm. Heavy with something unspoken.

Then the front door slammed downstairs.

“Peter?” a voice called. “You there?”

Stiles froze. Recognition hit fast. “Derek?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Perfect timing.”

Stiles and Peter didn’t move. A few seconds later, Derek appeared at the threshold of the bedroom, pausing just long enough to take in the scene. His eyes landed on Stiles, and his expression shifted — not surprise exactly, but something close. Wariness. Hesitation. Maybe even discomfort.

“Stiles?” he said, uncertain. “Why are you—?”

Stiles raised his chin. “Why am I here? What about you? You’ve been gone for weeks. Didn’t return my calls. Or my texts. Or my mail—”

Peter cut in, amused. “You wrote him letters?”

Derek frowned. “Where did you even send them? You didn’t know where I was.”

Stiles hesitated. “That’s… not the point. Don’t turn this on me. Where the hell were you?”

Derek stood there, just inside the front door, eyes locked on Stiles. But he didn’t answer.

Stiles crossed his arms. “You gonna say something, or are we just doing awkward staring contest now?”

Derek’s gaze finally dropped. “I wasn’t expecting you. Here, I mean.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Peter didn’t mention you’d be here.”

“Well, I didn’t know you would be either. You don’t see me getting weird about it.”

Derek shifted, uncomfortable. Not anxious, not guilty exactly — just… unprepared. Like he’d walked into the wrong room and didn’t know how to turn back without making it worse.

“I was with Malia,” he said, a little too fast.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Were you now?”

Derek didn’t answer.

Stiles let the silence hang for a second, then huffed. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

“Not you can’t,” Derek said quietly, still avoiding his eyes.

“Fine, I can’t. Well not right now. But—“

Then, with no further explanation, he turned toward the door.

“I should go.”

“Right,” Stiles said.

Derek didn’t argue. He didn’t even look back as he walked out.

Silence returned, awkward and lingering.

Stiles turned toward Peter. “That was weird, right?”

Peter didn’t even blink. “Definitely.”

The quiet was heavier now, like it had absorbed something unspoken.

Stiles turned around to face Peter.

“Where was he?” he asked. “And don’t say with Malia.”

Peter looked at him steadily. Not defensive. Not even surprised. Like he’d expected this moment.

“I don’t know,” he said simply.

“Bullshit.”

Peter smiled faintly. “He’s your friend, Stiles. Maybe you should ask him.”

“I did. For weeks. He didn’t answer. And now he just shows up, acts like an ass, and walks out without even bothering to lie properly? That’s not nothing.”

Peter leaned against the door frame again, arms folded. "Sure. But Derek isn’t the only one who’s been acting like a ghost lately. You left town too, you know."

Stiles crossed his arms in return, jaw tensing. "I had things to deal with."

Peter raised an eyebrow, amused. "And avoiding me was part of your coping strategy?"

"I'm not avoiding you."

Peter hummed lowly. “No? Because I can't help but notice that every time we’re in the same room, you suddenly remember somewhere else you need to be. Is it because of your powers? Did something happen? Or is it because of me?”

Stiles looked away, scoffing. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Peter’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped just slightly—less teasing now, more pointed. “Tell me, Stiles. Is it regret that’s keeping you away? Or are you just afraid that what happened between us might happen again… because part of you wants it to?”

Stiles frowned. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

Peter pushed off the wall, walked toward the window, and tapped the carved wood like before.

“Because it’s time things change,” he said. “Because you promised me. When the time came, you’d stop clinging to broken leaders and stand with me. I need you. Just as much as I need Derek and eventually Theo. But this one will be a hard one to crack.”

Stiles stayed silent.

Peter turned slightly, watching him. “I don’t need a soldier, Stiles. I want a partner. You can keep avoiding me and think I’ll just let you. You already made your choice — now it’s time to stand by it.”

Stiles swallowed, took a step back.

“I need to go. I’ll call you okay?”

Peter arched an eyebrow. “Sure. Because that’s not suspicious at all.”

Stiles opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something more — but nothing came. He turned around and left without another word.

Peter stayed alone in the sunlight, fingers resting gently against the scorched wood, eyes lingering on the old initials.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The silence inside the factory was too perfect. The kind of silence that pressed against your ears like static, filled with a thousand distant noises waiting to break it. How did Liam found himself in one of those fucked up situation? He had no idea.

For once, the only person he could blame was himself. Well, someone else too, actually. Kudos for makings new friends, Liam thought.

Liam moved through the narrow service corridor, shoulders tense, breath shallow. He didn’t run. Running made noise. Running got you caught. His steps were careful, weight balanced, eyes flicking between corners and ceiling panels. This part of the facility was dark — too dark for regular human eyes, but Liam’s vision adjusted with ease. Fluorescent lights flickered inconsistently overhead, some humming low, others dead completely.

His hoodie clung to his back from sweat. Not from fear — not exactly — but from the kind of pressure that came when you knew you had less than five minutes before everything went to hell.

His breathing was slow. Controlled. Every sense open. Every corner a threat.

He wasn’t supposed to be here alone. Cole was in the building too, or so he claimed. But it had been twenty minutes since they split up and Liam had started to feel like he’d been left behind — again. Once again, new friends was very over weighted.

Footsteps echoed from a hallway to his right. Liam ducked down and crouched low behind a metal crate. The voices were getting closer — two, maybe three guards, armed and alert. Flashlights cut through the dust-heavy air. One beam swept dangerously close to his hiding spot.

"Intruders. Two, maybe more."

They weren’t just looking for him.

Which meant Cole had been seen too.

Great.

He waited until the guards passed, then slipped out silently, keeping to the darker path. He moved through the tight industrial maze — overhead pipes, broken catwalks, shattered windows. The whole factory felt like it was holding its breath. Half its systems were still online — backup power flickering in red warnings and humming electrical cables hanging from the ceiling like vines.

A few turns later, Liam spotted the stairwell to the second level. He didn’t hesitate. He slipped up two steps at a time, keeping close to the wall, every muscle honed to silence.

Near the top, a flashlight beam caught a corner of the landing. Liam froze. He listened.

Two guards, positioned near the balcony. They were watching the lower floor — not expecting anyone above.

He moved. Quick.

The first man didn’t see it coming — Liam’s forearm locked around his throat, dragged him down silently. The second turned just in time to see his partner’s eyes roll back before Liam elbowed him squarely in the temple. One thud. Two bodies.

He didn’t stop.

The observation room loomed at the end of the hallway. But Liam wasn’t after a vantage point. He was after a person. Someone who might still be here. Someone he might murder himself if he finally caught him. Why the hell would Cole leave him behind. Damn bastard.

Every step closer brought more doubt. More danger.

He reached the final hallway that led to the fire escape. The exit. He could leave now.

But his feet wouldn’t move.

Was he really about to walk away empty-handed?

A rustle behind him.

Liam turned — too slow.

Three men emerged, rifles in hand. No words. Just intention.

Liam dropped to the floor as the first one fired — the shot hit metal. He rolled, slammed into the second with a punch to the gut, disarming him in one fluid motion. A third swung a baton — it connected with Liam’s ribs, but Liam caught his arm and twisted. Bone cracked. The man screamed.

He had seconds.

Then came a fourth.

Liam turned, too late. A fifth man had circled behind him, grabbing him in a chokehold.

Liam struggled, elbowed hard — but it wasn’t enough. Black dots clouded his vision.

Then —

A sickening snap. The man behind him dropped like a rock, arm bent at a grotesque angle. Another blur moved through the corridor. Someone fast. Precise.

When his vision got better, he finally recognized him. More precisely, he recognize the smug look staring right at him.

Cole stood above him. Calm, bored, barely winded.

He wiped his knuckles on his shirt like this was routine.

"You're welcome," he said with a smirk.

Liam stepped back, panting. “Where the hell were you?”

Cole rolled his eyes. "Relax. I was close. Thought you had it under control."

"You watched me get jumped."

"Yeah," Cole said, brushing dust off his jacket. "Didn’t want to steal your thunder. Besides, you were doing fine. Mostly."

Liam glared. “This is the last time I do a mission with you.”

Cole snorted. “You say that every time.”

Before Liam could answer, noise erupted outside — tires screeching, more shouting. Flashlights flared through the high windows.

“Guess it’s the backup,” Cole muttered.

Liam’s instincts kicked back in. "We need to go."

"Correction — you need to go." Cole pointed toward the direction they came. “I’ll find what we came for. You go play decoy.”

“Seriously?”

“You’re better at getting punched.”Cole said with a wink.

Liam swore under his breath but turned away. “Asshole.”

Liam growled but didn’t argue. He turned and ran back toward the ground floor, past flickering lights and walls that reeked of old oil and fear.

He moved fast now, down the rusted staircase, every step louder than he liked. The voices were closer. Ten, maybe more. Armed. Spread out.

As he got closer to the entrance, he slowed. Something was off.

He expected gunfire. Movement. Maybe even dogs. The shouting grew louder. Ten men maybe. Armed. Searching.

Instead, he heard groans.

Liam reached the final hallway — and froze.

Bodies. Everywhere. Guards, sprawled out across the ground. Some clutching limbs. Others unconscious. All alive. Barely.

The walls were streaked with impact marks, dented. The scent of blood, sweat and broken metal hung in the air.

Liam’s heart skipped.

He stepped over a groaning guard, eyes scanning the shadows. He didn’t see him. But he didn’t need to. The scent hit him like a brick. Familiar. Impossible to mistake.

Theo.

Liam looked around once more, jaw tight. Nothing.

But he knew. Theo had been here. And now Theo knew Liam was here too.

Liam’s fists clenched. Of course Theo had found him. Of course he’d left a trail. It didn’t matter how much precautions Liam took. In the end, it had been month. It was bound to happen at some point. Someone must have seen him or told his friends about him.

No time to think about it. He needed to get to Cole. He needed to leave.

And more importantly — he needed to make sure Theo never met Cole.

Too many questions. And Liam had no answers to give.

Cole stood in the shadow of a rusted ventilation duct, high above the warehouse’s rear exit, half-shrouded by darkness and climbing vines. He hadn't followed Liam immediately — not out of laziness, but instinct. Something had shifted in the air. Something not normal.

And then he saw him.

A silhouette moving through the treeline beyond the fence, silent and focused. Purposeful. Not one of the guards. Not local. Too calm. Too familiar.

Theo Raeken. Liam had told him about the chimera. Well, ex-chimera apparently. He had been waiting for the moment he would finally see him. And he wasn’t disappointed with what he saw. Far from it.

Cole narrowed his eyes. He was something else entirely. He could feel it all around him, in the way he moved — sharp but smooth. Like a beast raised in a glass cage. Dangerous, but measured. Watching him now felt like watching a storm quietly roll in.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loud. He knew better.

Theo paused.

Cole saw the moment it happened — that slight shift in posture, the subtle lift of his head. The way his body tensed just enough to betray awareness.

He’s not just a predator. He’s trained.

Theo turned slowly, gaze scanning the edge of the woods like a needle through fabric, then to the warehouse and it’s ventilation. His eyes swept past Cole’s hiding spot, narrowed — focused — like he could smell the air changing.

But when Theo turned fully to face the spot where Cole had been seconds earlier, there was nothing.
Cole was already gone.

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

The room had changed over the weeks — no longer a cold, damp cell, but something worse. Cleaner. Clinical. The raw concrete had been replaced with sterile metal panels, reflective and sharp under white ceiling lights. Surveillance cameras blinked red in every corner, their presence constant, silent, judging.

Deaton sat in the lone chair at the center of the room. His hands, well hand, were free now — a false kindness. He didn’t move. Barely even blinked. Shoulders stiff, gaze lowered, posture tight with quiet resistance.

Elias leaned against the far wall, half-shrouded in shadow. The usual tailored coat was gone, discarded somewhere between frustration and exhaustion. In its place: a black shirt with rolled-up sleeves, revealing tense veins under pale skin, twitching faintly like something crawling beneath the surface.

He’d been standing there a long time.

Watching.

Measuring.

“The clock didn’t work,” he said finally, voice like glass — brittle, edged. Deaton didn’t answer.

“Not the way it was supposed to, anyway,” Elias went on, stepping forward.

He let out a short, breathy laugh. Not amused. Unhinged.

“I could have used it if you didn’t push me to go another way.”

He stopped in front of Deaton, looming just out of reach, the way a cat studies a mouse it hasn’t quite decided to kill yet.

“You told me it would lead me to the tether. Because Deucalion is supposed to be able to travel through time, that once it was activated, it would point straight to him. Because they’re—what was your wording again? ‘Entwined by design’? ‘Operating on the same frequency’?”

Still silence.

Elias crouched, elbows resting on his knees. He smiled then — a smile that never reached the eyes.

“And yet here we are. No tether. No spark trail. No Deucalion. Just wasted time. And your precious ‘freedom’ still far away it seems.”

Deaton finally looked up. His voice, when it came, was quiet but firm. “You rushed it. The device wasn’t ready.”

For a second, just one, the light dimmed in the room. Or maybe it was just Elias’s expression shifting.

“You really want to go there?” he said, voice flat.

Deaton didn’t respond.

Elias straightened, slow and deliberate. “You know, for someone who claims to be so wise, you’re doing a piss-poor job of staying alive.”

He turned his back and walked toward the far end of the room, where the broken remnants of the clock sat suspended mid-air, like the victim of some ancient surgical autopsy. Gears floated in stasis, wires looped around themselves, ticking faintly without rhythm. A cracked casing revealed the inner core — scorched, warped, and useless.

Elias stood there, hand hovering inches from the wreckage. He didn’t touch it.

“I’ve been wondering lately…” he began, almost to himself. “What if we were wrong? What if Deucalion was never the one who tried the ritual? What if he wasn’t the one I should be looking for?”

He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes darker now.

“Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way.”

Deaton’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Elijah—”

Elias snapped his head around so fast the cameras twitched.

“Careful how you address me, Alan.”

The weight in those words hit harder than a blow. Deaton flinched — just slightly — but it was enough.

Elias let the silence breathe before continuing, voice low, venomous.

“You had one job. One. To help me find the person who could get me back what I lost.”

“And yet here we are.”

He circled back, slow and calm, until he stood directly in front of Deaton once more.

“Do you know what I think?” he said, tone colder now. “I think you’ve been stalling. Hoping I’d give up. Hoping I’d fail.”

He tilted his head. “You really think I won’t tear through every option until I find the one that works?”

Deaton didn't reply. But something in his eyes shifted — a flicker of unease, maybe guilt.

Elias smiled again. Something inhuman at the edges.

“Well,” he said softly, “maybe it’s time I stop relying on broken machines and broken men.”

He turned and walked back toward the broken clock. For a moment, all was still. Then he whispered: “It was never about the clock anyway.”

Deaton frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Elias didn’t turn around.

“It’s time for plan B.”

He paused. Then, almost absently, added:

“It’s time for me to reconnect some old acquaintances.”

He finally faced Deaton again, smile razor-sharp.

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Deaton didn’t speak. But his expression said enough.

This wasn’t over. Elias was done waiting.

And everyone was about to be dragged into the storm.

Chapter Text

The woods were quiet. Too quiet.

Theo moved through them with practiced ease, steps light, breath steady. He’d been tracking Liam’s trail for over an hour now, ever since he left the factory, but the scent had vanished somewhere along the ridge. Like Liam had disappeared into thin air — or doubled back and wiped the path clean.

Smart. Annoying. At least he was getting better at covering his scent. And maybe Theo was a little proud of Liam for that.

Theo paused near a fallen tree, inhaling deeply. Nothing but pine, damp soil, and—

His nose wrinkled. Something was wrong.

The air had shifted.

He stepped around a cluster of low brush and froze.

Blood.

Not a trail. Not a drop.

A massacre.

Five wolves — real ones, not shifters — laid in a loose circle, torn open like paper. Their fur was soaked red, ribs exposed, limbs twisted at angles that made Theo's stomach churn. One of them had tried to crawl away. Its claws had dug deep grooves into the earth, as if it had been trying to escape something… impossible.

Theo stepped closer, cautious. The scene was flooded with fear — not just the blood, but the smell of it. Chemosignals were thick in the air, overwhelming. Terror, confusion, pain.

It was suffocating.

Whatever had done this wasn’t human. And it hadn’t killed to eat.

It had slaughtered.

“What the hell…” Theo muttered, crouching beside the largest body. The ground was soaked, and the wolf’s face was still twisted in agony.

He was reaching out when he heard it — snap.

A branch behind him.

Theo shot to his feet, spinning fast.

Nothing.

Then—

A pair of amber eyes blinked at him through the shadows.

A fox.

It stood at the edge of the trees, half-hidden in the underbrush. Small, red-furred, unmoving. Watching him.

Staring straight through him.

Theo’s breath caught. The woods suddenly felt colder.

He took a slow step forward.

The fox didn’t move.

Something about it tugged at him — not just familiarity, but memory. The same fox he’d seen that night. The night he’d fled Beacon Hills. The night of the ritual.

He took another step.

Then his phone rang.

The sound shattered the stillness. A sharp, intrusive buzz in his palm.

Unknown number.

Theo flinched, hit decline without thinking. Silence returned instantly — but when he looked back up, the fox was gone.

No rustle of leaves. No sound of paws. Just… vanished.

Theo stood there, heartbeat steady but tight in his chest. The fox just ran away from him, again.

“Seems like it keeps happening today,” he muttered.

Then he turned, eyes scanning the trees, suddenly aware that he might not be alone. Not really. And the fox might not be his bigger problem here.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Stiles sat alone in his parked car, thumb hovering over the call button. He exhaled through his nose, hit dial, and raised the phone to his ear. His meeting with Peter had been useless. He couldn’t just let him drag him back in Beacon Hills. Sure, he promised to support him, but he couldn’t get involved again. He came back not 24 hours ago and he already regretted it. He had to leave. Soon.

"Theo, it’s me. Again." His voice carried frustration, but mostly exhaustion. "You said you would get to Beacon Hills after you were done with… well, whatever it is you had to do. Where are you?"

A pause. He rubbed a hand over his face, glanced out the windshield at the looming hospital.

"For the fourth time, I’m at the hospital to see Scott. I’ll probably leave for Washington soon. Just... tell me when you’ll get here and come pick me up. Okay?"

He hung up and stepped out of the Jeep, shoving the phone into his pocket. The late morning air was thick and heavy, sunlight filtered through pale clouds.

He hadn’t taken five steps toward the entrance before he saw him. Theo, leaned casually against the side of his car, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Would it kill you to answer your phone?"

Theo lifted a shoulder, nonchalant. "I came, didn’t I?"

"And what a sight," Stiles muttered, eyeing him. "What did you have to do, anyway?" They started walking together toward the main entrance.

"Doesn’t matter," Theo said. "What’s important is what I found. Something’s going on in the woods. I found bodies. Dead wolves. Massacred."

Stiles stopped mid-step. A beat of silence passed before Theo noticed and looked back.

"You okay there, Stilinski?"

Stiles blinked, like shaking off a thought. "Yeah… I just remembered something."

Theo frowned. "Something good, I hope. You know, I could go for good news right about now."

Stiles gave an anxious smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Why? Worried we’ll run into a certain someone?"

Theo didn’t bite. His gaze was steady, patient. He knew when Stiles was avoiding something.

"What did you remember?"

Stiles sighed. "Remember when I time-jumped? Back to the first time the ritual happened?"

"Sure," Theo said. "Jolly times. Why?"

"It’s not the only thing I saw. I actually jumped twice. After the ritual, I ended up in the preserve. I think. There was blood everywhere. Something was chasing me. Then I tripped on a body and passed out. I woke up right after."

"Shit… When did that happen?"

"That’s the thing. It didn’t. Not yet. Or at least, not that I remember. I told Peter once. He didn’t say anything. Just asked who the dead guy was. Which I don’t know, before you ask."

Theo shook his head. "Alright. Well, speculations aren’t going to help us now. Come on."

They pushed through the double doors and into the cool interior of the hospital. The fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly overhead. The corridors were mostly empty.

As they neared Scott’s hallway, a figure appeared at the far end.

Liam.

He was standing still, watching them with a closed expression. He didn’t speak. He didn’t smile. He turned and stepped into Scott’s room without a word.

Theo stiffened, already turning away.

Stiles grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

"Away. Far away."

"You can’t avoid him forever."

"Maybe not forever," Theo said. "But right now I can."

"Why?"

Theo looked at him, eyes sharp and tired. "Because the guy is like catnip for me. I can’t stay around him."

Stiles huffed. "What’s the worst that could happen?"

Theo didn’t answer. He just walked away. Seeing Liam right now only made him realize that tracking him down last night had been a huge mistake.

Stiles watched him go, then turned and entered Scott’s room. The quiet beep of monitors was the only sound. Liam stood near the bed, adjusting the sheets. His movements were efficient but tense.

"Liam—"

"Don’t."

Stiles closed his mouth and walked over to the chair beside Scott’s bed. The lacrosse stick he’d left there months ago rested against a nearby cabinet. His gaze lingered on it.

Liam followed his gaze, and for a second, something in his face softened. But it didn’t last.

His phone rang. He picked up without a word, listening silently as someone spoke on the other end. His jaw tensed, brow furrowed. After a few seconds, he exhaled sharply and muttered, “Fine. I’ll be there in ten.” Then he shoved the phone back into his pocket, grabbed his jacket, and turned to leave.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something but didn’t.

Liam reached the door, then stopped.

"I don’t know why you’re here, and frankly, I don’t care. You’ve been gone for months and never came back to see Scott once. And now that Theo found a way to track me down in the middle of nowhere and get in my business again, you show up?"

He turned to glare at him.

"Screw you both. He may have left before I could see him, but I know he was here. So, do me a favor: tell him that if he doesn’t want me in his life, he has no business getting involved in mine. Same goes for you."

Then he left.

Stiles stayed there, watching Scott. He hadn’t said a word to Liam, and yet Stiles felt like he’d just fucked up again.

Later, on the hospital parking lot, Stiles spotted Melissa heading toward the entrance.

Panic hit.

He dove into the car so fast he smacked his knee and groaned in pain.

Theo, waiting in the driver’s seat, arched a brow. "What the hell is wrong with you? Act your age, Stilinski."

He looked in the rearview mirror, then chuckled. "Oh. I get it. Who’s avoiding his problems now?"

“Please keep your remarks for later.”

“You really have a lot more mommy issues than I thought.”

"Just shut up and drive, okay?"

They drove in silence for a while. Then Stiles spoke.

"So. You saw Liam?"

Theo side-eyed him. "Yeah. And so did you. Like, five minutes ago."

Stiles sighed. "No, I mean before. I talked to him. Well, I tried. Wouldn’t call it a good talk. Or even a talk at all. He said you followed him. He didn’t see you, but he’s sure it was you."

"So?"

"Wanna tell me about it?"

Theo gripped the wheel a little tighter. "I’m not sure yet. But something’s going on with him. And I don’t like it."

"How did you even find him? I thought he was AWOL."

"Derek found him. Well, Argent did. Both of them I guess. They told me where to look. I found him in an old factory in a nearby town. The place was crawling with armed men. Not rent-a-cops. Real muscle."

"Why would Liam even break into a place like that?"

"Probably because of what’s underneath it. Used to be a Dread Doctors lab."

Stiles swore under his breath. "Of course it was."

"I don’t know why he went there or how he even knew about it. But I know this—in the past few months, Liam got himself into some more shit again."

Stiles glanced at him. "There’s more, isn’t there? You have that face."

"I don’t have a face."

“Yeah, you do.”

“I don’t.”

"What is it?"

"I don’t think he was alone. I felt someone else there. Not a scent, exactly. Just... a presence."

“Mason?”

“No, Mason can’t hide for shit. Neither does Corey by the way. I would have spotted him.”

"Could be whoever got him into this."

"Maybe."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"Nothing. I can’t get involved. I left Liam for a reason. I can’t risk him again."

"Even if he really does need help?"

Theo hesitated. "Still better than dragging him into my own mess. Not with Elias still out there."
Stiles looked out the window, the town rolling by.

"Is that why you avoided him at the hospital? Well, I get it. My talk with Liam made it pretty clear his business isn’t mine either. I can’t help him. Not sure I can help anyone anymore."

A beat passed.

"So... we just let him crash and watch?"

"No. We keep an eye on him. If things go south, we revise the plan."

Theo muttered, "Doesn’t sound like much of a plan."

"I don’t have anything better right now. Let’s just hope whatever Liam is doing doesn’t bite him in the ass."

"That would be a first."

Stiles suddenly remembered. "You said you found dead wolves, right?"

"So you were listening. Yeah. I lost Liam’s trail after the factory. That’s when I found them. Torn apart."

Stiles frowned. "Liam might not be our only problem then."

Theo didn’t respond immediately.

His mind wandered.

That fox. The one he’d seen outside Beacon Hills a few months ago. The one in the woods. What if it wasn’t a coincidence?

Stiles had started showing signs of something months ago. Some kind of fox power. Kitsune traits. But he’d never brought it up.

What if he didn’t know? What if he was the fox? It was kind of a stretch...

Night walking was one thing. Night shifting? That was something else entirely.

Theo glanced at him but said nothing.

Some secrets were better left unspoken. Especially when they involved Stiles turning into a murdering fox. But it was insane to think that, right ?

 

____________________________________________________________________________

 

The apartment was dark when Liam stepped in, the only light coming from a flickering lamp near the kitchen counter. He kicked off his shoes with a sigh, tossing his jacket onto the hook by the door without much thought. It had been a long day, and all he wanted was to crash and let his mind rest. That plan died the moment he stepped into the living room.

Cole was already there. Splayed out on the couch like he owned the place, one leg dangling off the side, a half-empty bag of chips crinkling in his hand. Liam stopped in the doorway, arms crossed.

"Oh, sure. Make yourself at home," he said dryly.

Cole didn’t even look up. "Don’t mind if I do."

Liam rolled his eyes and moved to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Why did you ask me to meet you here? I have my own shit to do, you know."

"You look like shit," Cole replied, finally turning his head with a smirk. "Were you at the hospital again? Visiting your vegetable friend?"

Liam’s jaw clenched. "Mind your own shit. What do you want?"

Cole sat up slightly, brushing crumbs from his lap. "Well, you did run off pretty quickly yesterday at the factory. Didn’t even spent more than two seconds waiting for me before you bolted."

Liam leaned against the counter, arms folded tighter. "Your point being?"

"Seems like your boyfriend finally found us. Any idea how?"

"What are you implying?"

Cole’s smile widened, sharp enough to cut. "Not implying anything. Just hoping you remember it wouldn’t be good for either of us if he knew what you’ve been doing lately."

"He won’t find out," Liam shot back too quickly, his throat tight. The words tasted bitter. He hated that Cole had this leverage—hated even more that he’d been the one stupid enough to hand it over in the first place. He never should’ve told him about Theo. Never should’ve let himself slip.

Cole let the silence linger, clearly enjoying every second of Liam’s discomfort. Then he leaned in, his voice oily. "Silver lining—I finally caught a glimpse of the famous Theo you’re so protective about."

Liam clenched his jaw, forcing his breathing to stay even. "I’m not protective. And I’m definitely not secretive. I just don’t care enough about you to share my personal life."

"Ouch," Cole replied with mock offense, though the grin that followed was anything but hurt. "He looks good, though. Not just pretty—more like ‘dangerously-close-to-ripping-your-throat-out-if-you-say-the-wrong-thing’ good. So hot. And those muscles?" He let out a low whistle. "Woah."

Liam’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He stared hard at the floor, swallowing the urge to snap. Cole’s smirk said he knew exactly what he was doing—digging, pushing, daring Liam to bite.

“He didn’t see you right?” Liam asked trying to ask the dread in his voice.

“No. Too bad though, he seems like a fun guy to hang with. Or to fu—“

"Okay. Are you done? Leave. I need to sleep. I’m exhausted."

Cole swung his legs off the couch, his mood now entirely different. Almost like a switch had just been turned off. "Actually, I’m not. Yesterday was a bust. The lab didn’t give us anything."

Liam’s eyes sharpened. "Wait—you actually found it?"

Cole nodded. "Yeah. And it was empty. You know what that means, right?"

"Yeah. We’re not done."

Cole stood, stretching lazily. "I’ll call you when I know where we have to go next."

"Lucky me."

Cole raised a brow. "Don’t be so cold. I might think you don’t enjoy our time together."

"Really? I don’t know what gave it away."

"Liam," Cole’s tone changed, not softer, but heavier, "I know we’ve been going at it none stop for a while now, and those leads seem endless. And it's getting tiresome. Sure. But if you don’t want to end up doing this breathing through a straw, try not to get on my bad side so much."

Liam laughed dryly. "You’re one to talk. All you do is getting on my nerves."

"Hey, I’m not responsible for this mess. So stop directing your shitty attitude at me before I decide to fire back. Okay?" His tone was teasing, but the look in his eyes wasn’t.

Liam didn’t respond with anger. He held Cole’s gaze for a long moment, then sighed. The smartest move was probably to let it go. Dealing with Cole always felt like walking a tightrope between acid and fire.

"Okay, fine. I know it’s not your fault. All this shit is getting to my head. And yeah… seeing Theo didn’t make it any better."

Cole smiled again. "See? Now you’re being reasonable. I really do like you better when you’re docile."

Liam scoffed and turned toward the hallway. "And just like that, back to being a douche again. It's honestly exhausting, you know that?"

"Yeah, so you said. Many times. By the way, can I crash here tonight? Not sure you-know-who will take it well if I come back empty-handed again. Failed missions are kinda piling up, and I don’t feel like facing him."

Liam hesitated, then nodded. Cole clearly wasn’t here for a sleep over, but trying to make him talk could very rapidly back fire at Liam. If Liam had found out one thing for sure about the guy in the time they spent together, it was how unstable the was. Plus, there was also a fifty-fifty percent chance he wanted to keep an eye on him. Why though? Who knows.

"Fine. But I’m locking my door and you better be gone when I wake up. And stop eating my food."

"Your consideration is heartwarming, really."

Cole stayed on the couch as Liam disappeared into his room. The lights dimmed, the apartment growing quiet. Hours passed. At some point, Cole sat up. Silent. Focused. He scanned the room, then stood barefoot on the floor, careful not to make a sound.

He started searching.

Drawer by drawer, corner by corner. Every movement was calculated. Not frantic—methodical. It wasn’t until he tapped the edge of the bookshelf that something shifted under his fingers. A hollow echo from the floor.

Cole crouched and ran his hand along the wooden slats. One of them was loose.

He was about to lift it when a creak came from behind the bedroom door. Liam’s steps. Fast.

Cole moved quickly—back to the couch, back to stillness just as the bedroom door opened.

Liam stepped into the living room, scanning the space. He squinted toward the couch. Cole looked asleep.

But something still felt off. Liam’s eyes fell to the floor. Nothing looked disturbed—but he wasn’t convinced.

He knelt, quietly lifting the same loose floorboard.

His fingers reached inside and found the metal shard.

A broken piece of a sword. Kira’s sword. One of the last remaining fragments.

Stiles had most of them. Theo had another. This one was the last in Liam’s possession. Forgotten by most—but not by him.

Liam stood and looked over at the couch. Cole hadn’t moved.

Maybe he was paranoid.

But as someone once said—‘Careful is good. Paranoia keeps you alive’. Maybe avoiding Theo wasn’t the answer after all. At this moment, for a reason Liam couldn’t grasp, he realized how alone he found himself. Running from everyone was his choice. But maybe it was time to get some back up. Just in case.

He turned and went back to his room, locking the door with an audible click.

On the couch, Cole opened his eyes slowly and sat up. His gaze lingered on Liam’s door, unblinking.

And for a moment, the room felt just a little colder.

Chapter Text

The door creaked open as Stiles stepped inside his father’s house, phone pressed tightly against his ear. The line clicked once. Twice.

"Oh! Finally. I’ve been trying to call you all day. Again," Stiles muttered.

"You can be very clingy, you know that?" Theo's voice came through the line.

"Screw you. Where are you?"

"Clingy," Theo repeated, smug.

"You do remember it’s the full moon tonight, right?"

"Oh, really?"

"Don’t be a smart ass. Are you gonna try and find Liam again?"

"No."

Stiles frowned. "Okay."

"What?"

"Where did you spend the last full moons? I thought you were lying when you said you hadn’t seen Liam in months, but now that I know he’s been dodging you too, I can’t help wondering."

"What does it matter?"

"Every full moon, you vanish. No texts. No calls. Nothing. Last month, I actually tried to find you and I couldn’t. It’s like you went off the grid."

"Did it ever occur to you that my whereabouts are none of your business?"

"You might never talk about it, but I know things haven’t been easy since the bite. You shouldn't be going through this alone."

"I know being a mother hen is basically your whole personality at this point, and now that you don’t have Liam to smother, you must be feeling useless. But trying to channel that into pretending you care about me? That’s just pathetic."

Stiles let out a strangled noise. "Oh my god, you’re insufferable! I try to be nice once—just once—and you—"

"Look, I appreciate the concern—wait, no I don’t.” he told him, clearly trying to cut the conversation short.

“Theo...”

"Okay, I’m hanging up now."

"Right. God forbid you actually talk about how you feel."

"Just get off my back, Stiles."

"Can you at least tell me when you’ll be back? Hello?" He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen. Theo had actually hang up on him. "What an asshole."

A voice behind him made him jump. "Who did you piss off now?"

Stiles spun around, eyes wide. He hadn’t heard the door open. "Holy—! Dad, what the hell are you doing here?! You scared the crap out of me!"

Sheriff Stilinski raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You mean, what am I doing in my own house?"

"It’s the middle of the day. Aren’t you supposed to be at work?"

"Aren’t you?"

Stiles blinked, caught off guard. "Okay. Not cool. And unnecessarily mean I might add. You know I got fired."

He headed into the kitchen, muttering under his breath as he grabbed a glass and filled it at the sink. His dad followed him in, leaning against the counter.

"I took the afternoon off, Stiles."

Stiles paused mid-sip. "Wait, you never take time off. Why’d you do that? Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing’s wrong. Stop spiraling." He folded his arms. "I heard from Melissa that you were back in town. Figured the only way to actually talk to you was to ambush you. If something was wrong, I would say, this is."

"So, she did see me at the hospital. Damn it." He sighed and set the glass down, sliding into one of the chairs at the island.

"Yeah, and apparently she was right to think you were avoiding her. What’s going on, son?"

"Nothing’s going on."

"It’s been months since you’re suspension turned into you loosing your job. You’ve been drifting in and out of Beacon Hills. And every time you’re here, you make it very clear you don’t want to be seen. Especially by me."

"No I didn’t—"

The Sheriff raised a hand, silencing him. He stepped closer. "I’m not done. What happened to Scott?"

Stiles’ shoulders tensed. "Believe me, I’m not trying to hide anything from you. It’s just… complicated."

"Complicated, huh? Like when Theo lived here for weeks and you thought I didn’t know?"

Stiles blinked. "Wait, you knew?"

"I didn’t like it, but I figured you must’ve had a good reason. And, newsflash, I’m still the Sheriff. Give me a little credit."

Stiles let out a tired, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Let’s just say a lot has changed. With Theo. With Liam. Derek. And Scott…"

"Tell me."

Stiles looked at his dad — really looked at him. He looked older. Not tired, but worn down. He deserved more than evasions.

"I guess I got so used to lying to everyone that I thought… maybe if I didn’t tell you anything, at least I wouldn’t have to lie to you."

"Sounds bad…"

"Something happened between me and Scott. A lot of things, actually. Bad things. We made mistake after mistake, until we couldn’t trust each other anymore. What happened to him... that’s on me."

"How?"

"A pack came to town. Their leader was after Theo and Deucalion. I wouldn’t give them up. Scott… he couldn’t accept that. He wanted to protect Liam. Us, I guess. And in trying to do that, he sold us out."

"Scott wouldn’t do that. Not to you."

"He didn’t trust me anymore. Something happened to me—something I don’t really want to talk about right now—it brought back too many bad memories. After that… everything got worse. I made a call. I sent him into a situation I thought he could handle. I was wrong."

"Is that’s why you’ve been avoiding Melissa?"

"How can I face her, knowing I’m the reason her son is in a coma?"

There was a long silence.

"You can’t blame yourself, Stiles."

"Believe me, I can."

He picked up the glass again, but didn’t drink. His hands were shaking slightly. He set it back down and stood up. "Anyway, I just came to grab some stuff. I don’t think I’ll be staying in town much longer."

He started toward the stairs.

"You mentioned Derek and Liam. What happened there?"

"Oh. That’s just more problems I brought on myself. To sum up: Liam hates me. Derek’s been avoiding me. And my only friend left is the local psychopath I let crash here without telling you."

"You and Theo are friends?"

"Yeah, just saying that out loud makes my skin crawl."

The Sheriff chuckled. "Alright. I know you didn’t tell me a fraction of what you’ve been through. But I know you, Stiles. And I trust you. You’ll figure it out. Just… don’t leave. Not until you fix what needs fixing."

Stiles gave a slow nod. "I’ll think about it."

He climbed the stairs two at a time.

"Stiles. One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Why are you still in Washington if you’re not working for the FBI anymore?"

Stiles hesitated. "I’m trying to fix that. Trying to get my job back."

His dad tilted his head. "Why?"

Stiles blinked. "What do you mean why?"

"I mean, why do you want that job back so badly?"

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, then paused. For a long moment, he said nothing. The answer didn’t come as easily as he thought it would.

"I don’t know," he admitted finally.

His dad gave him a gentle look. "Then maybe it’s time to ask yourself what it is you really want. Because running away from your problems won’t fix anything."

Stiles didn’t reply. He just nodded, thoughtful, and turned to continue upstairs.

"Please try not to make friends with too many ex-murderers while you’re at it." And with that comment, Stiles mind just shot right back to Peter. One more person he couldn’t avoid forever.

"Yeah… about that..."

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Theo stepped into Deucalion’s and kicked the door shut behind him. It was quiet — not just empty, but hollow in a way that hadn’t faded since Deucalion left. The walls still whispered like they were waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.

He toed off his shoes, shrugged out of his jacket, and tossed it carelessly onto the hook by the door. He could feel the stench of the day stick to him. All he wanted was to get out of his clothes. And his skin. His phone buzzed as he pulled it from his pocket. A message from Stiles.

‘Going to do one last sweep through the preserve before I leave. Meet me?’

Theo stared at it, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He started typing a response — Don’t go alone. I’ll be there in twenty — when something made him pause. A tingle crawled up his spine. The weight of another presence.

He turned slowly and flicked the light switch.

“Fuck!”

Liam was sitting on the couch, casually going through Theo’s stuff on the coffee table, like he’d been there the whole time. And apparently Theo was right about Liam making progress on hiding his presence.

“You know,” Liam said, without missing a beat, “it’s weird. I thought I was the one who was supposed to be avoiding you. You know, on account of me being pissed about being dumped.”

Theo exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto the table. “I’m not avoiding you,” he said, pulling off his shirt and letting it fall onto the floor.

Liam snorted. “Really? Is that why you turned around and left when you saw me at the hospital? Or the factory? Or... take your pick?”

Theo stopped mid-step, clenched his jaw, then sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ve been avoiding you a few times. But, you’ve been doing it for months. And you’re right, I shouldn’t. Because you’re not the one who screwed up — I am. So maybe stop breaking into places you shouldn’t and go find anyone else to talk to.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I need help.”

Theo raised a brow. “Are you in immediate danger?”

“No…”

“Then, scram.“

“Damn it, Theo.”

“Ask someone else.”

“You owe me.”

Theo’s shoulders tensed. “Liam, it’s not a good idea.”

“You. Owe. Me.”

Theo turned, his voice harder. “I left you. Three times. I brought the Bloodhounds to Beacon Hills. I put a target on your back. I put you in danger again when Elias and his pack came after Deucalion and I, and dragged you into the fallout. I lied. I manipulated. And somehow, you’re still stupid enough to show up and ask for my help.”

Liam didn’t flinch. “You. Owe. Me.”

Theo laughed bitterly. “The longer you stay around me, the higher the chances you end up dead. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t be an asshole. I can handle myself.” And the words echoed to strong for Theo’s taste, bringing him back right to the dream he had in Washington.

“You have no idea what I’ve done since the last time we talked.”

“Then tell me.”

“You wouldn’t want to know.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Theo looked away, voice low and tense. “All you’re gonna get from me now is an early grave.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

Liam crossed his arms. “Can you at least wait to hear what I want before saying no?”

“No.”

“I need to do something. Something probably stupid and definitely dangerous.”

“Wow,” Theo said dryly, “way to sell your case.”

“I need you. And I need you tonight.”

“No.”

“Would you rather I go alone? Because I’d rather not. But if I have no other choice?”

Theo glared at him, eyes sharp. Liam didn’t back down. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Theo cut him off with a raised hand as he picked up his phone.

He dialed. Voicemail. Of course.

“Stiles,” he said sharply, “answer your damn phone. You’re not the goddamn president — don’t act like you’re too busy. Ironic and hypocritical, I know. Just... call me.”

He hung up without another word, staring at Liam a long moment before walking down the hall and disappearing into his room.

Liam followed without invitation. When he stepped in, Theo was tossing his undershirt aside and pulling a fresh one from the dresser. His muscles tensed as he moved — not in that controlled, combat-ready way Liam remembered, but something more restless. Something... raw.

While Theo dressed, Liam’s eyes drifted to the far wall. His brows furrowed.

Papers were taped in dense clusters. Maps. Photos. Notes in red and black ink. Dates. Strings of timeline guesses. Details about Elias. Symbols Liam didn’t recognize. It looked like the beginning of a case board. But what case?

It reminded Liam — disturbingly — of Stiles.

Theo turned, pulling his shirt over his head, catching Liam staring.

“Good, you’re ready?” Liam said flatly, masking his thoughts. “Let’s go.”

“You can go wherever you want. I’ve got my own shit to deal with.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what you want. I’m not helping you. Just go home and don’t do anything stupid.”

Liam didn’t move. Instead, he stepped aside, silently indicating that he was still expecting Theo to change his mind eventually, but he would drop it for now.

Theo’s jaw clenched. He stormed out, brushing past Liam, but froze when he noticed something on the floor — a photo had fallen from the wall. He picked it up, stared at it a moment, then set it back on the cupboard as he left without another word, slamming the door behind him.

Liam watched him go, unimpressed.

But then, his gaze fell to the photo.

A man stood with his back to the camera, facing a body crumpled in a pool of blood. Scrawled in black marker across the bottom were two names.

‘Deucalion? Elias?’

Liam stared at it for a long time, throat tight. He had no idea what it meant. But the board, the secrecy, the anger, the paranoia — it all painted a picture of a man spiraling into something dangerous.

What made Liam flinch though, was the second name. Elias.

Maybe Theo had been right.

Maybe Liam really didn’t want to know what he’d been up to these last few months. And maybe, just maybe, staying out of it was the smart thing to do.

But Liam had never been very good at doing the smart thing. If he didn’t do anything, Theo might find himself in the middle of Liam’s own problems and he had no idea what he would step into. He had to make his move before things got out of hand. Or before Theo screwed everything up.

 

_______________________________________________________________________________

 

Theo moved through the woods with determined steps, the cold air biting into his skin with every gust. He was tracking Stiles — or more precisely, the faint trail Stiles had left behind. The further he walked, the more familiar the area became. The gnarled trees, the slight incline of the earth, the rusted metal hatch half-hidden beneath roots and rot.

Another Dread Doctors lab.

"Of course it is," Theo muttered, a bitter edge to his voice. His past refused to stay buried, clawing its way back into relevance, one forgotten horror at a time. One fucked up nightmare after the other.

He checked his phone. Stiles had sent him a text earlier, attaching a live location pin. Theo followed it, picking up speed as the scent grew stronger — smoke, pine, ozone — until he found him.

Stiles stood over a corpse, face grim. Before Theo could speak, his eyes locked on the body.

A man lay sprawled on the ground. His throat was torn open — shredded like paper dipped in red ink.

“What happened to him?”

Stiles didn’t look up. “Looks like an animal attack. Wolf bite, maybe.”

“Bite?” Theo scoffed. “Half his damn throat’s been turned into chutney.”

Stiles gave him a sidelong glance. “How graphic.”

“It doesn’t look like a wolf,” Theo added, crouching to examine it. “Too narrow. Not enough pressure.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Stiles muttered. “Looks like something smaller. Like a coyote. Or—”

“A fox,” Theo finished.

“First, the wolves you found. Now that?”

“Yeah, bodies tends to pile up rapidly in this town.”

Stiles straightened. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

Theo raised a brow. “Really? Still? Is your plan to keep throwing murder accusations at me until one sticks?”

“You didn’t say no,” Stiles pointed out. “And I still have no idea what part of your chimera DNA stuck. Are you a wolf or a coyote now?”

“Not your business,” Theo said flatly. “And you don’t see me accusing you.”

Stiles snorted. “How would I do that? I’m not a shifter, it’s not like I even have fangs or claws you know.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “You sure about that?”

Stiles frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Theo muttered. “How’d you find the body?”

“I didn’t,” Stiles replied. “Argent sent me here. Said you’d want to see whatever we could find here.”

“He contacted you?”

“Yeah. Looks like Derek and Chris are doing their own digging and not really telling us why.”

“Why not just say what’s going on up front?” Theo asked. “Why all the secrets?”

“Feels like everyone’s hiding something since we got back.”

Theo laughed without humor. “Yeah, ironic right? People lying to us. What on earth did we do to deserve that?”

“Alright,” Stiles muttered. “I get it. No need for the attitude.”

Theo crouched, examining the ground. “I’m pretty sure the body wasn’t what Argent wanted us to find though. There’s a trail.”

“Going where?”

He pointed to a narrow path leading into a thicket of thorns. Hidden behind it was the rusted metal hatch leading to the lab.

“Old lab.”

Stiles sighed. "Let me guess—Dread Doctors?"

Theo nodded. "Bingo."

"How many of these places actually exist?"

"No clue. I’m pretty sure I’ve only seen a fraction of them."

“But you knew about this one. And the one Liam broke into.”

"Yeah. Because at some point in my life I have lived in both. Not sure it’s a coincidence.”

“Depends, how many of these did you used to live in? I mean apart from the sewer in Beacon Hills and the old house you and Liam went to months ago.”

“Two. The two Derek and Chris just lead us to. Now, tell me that’s not messed up."

"Please show me one thing around here that isn’t messed up."

They moved in silence. The deeper they went, the more the dark pressed in, wrapping around them like a second skin. Their footsteps echoed against cracked tile, every sound swallowed by the stale air—dust, mold, and something sharper, metallic, like the ghosts of chemicals still clinging to the walls.

Stiles looked… off. Distracted. His eyes weren’t on the floor, or the peeling walls, or the rusting surgical trays—they were somewhere else entirely. Normally Theo wouldn’t have cared, but in a place like this, distraction was dangerous.

“You’re gonna slam into a wall if you don’t watch where you’re going,” Theo muttered.

Stiles blinked, head snapping toward him. “What?” He clearly hadn’t heard. Which was unusual.

Theo sighed. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

“Nothing.”

Theo let it drop—for about two seconds. He was ready to leave it there when, after a few more rooms and a silence thick enough to choke on, Stiles spoke again.

“I was just… thinking about the places you used to live.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Feel like judging me for that too?”

“No.” Stiles shook his head, brow furrowed. “It’s just… when you left—hell, even when you came back—I always thought you were gone. Like far. Out of reach. But you weren’t. You were right here. The furthest place was, what, an hour away? You were just here. And I had no idea.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, the shadows cutting hard lines into his face. “I don’t know what this is supposed to be, Stiles, but now really isn’t the time for you to get touchy-feely about my past. Or about whatever guilt spiral you’re working up over it.”

Of course he had to be a dick about it.

“Fine,” Stiles muttered. “Forget it. Let’s just keep looking.”

“Gladly.”

They moved on, flashlights sweeping broken glass and overturned gurneys. The weight of what wasn’t said still clung between them.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Stiles said finally, veering left. “Shout if you find anything spooky or, you know, medically unethical.”

Theo watched him for a second longer than necessary, then turned right.

The silence that followed seemed even heavier.

And then—soft. Barely there. The sound of something metallic dragging against tile, distant but unmistakable.

Not Theo. Not Stiles.

Both of them froze, far apart but united in the same instant thought.

They weren’t alone.

Theo turned down the right-hand corridor. He walked into an old examination room.

Blood. Smoke. Citrus.

He froze.

The scent gripped him like a vice.

Then—

"Wow," came a voice like honey laced with venom. "Someone got prettier while I was gone."

Theo turned, slowly. And there he was — leaning on a rusted table like he owned the place.

Ash.

"Hello, sunshine," Asher purred.

Theo’s heart slammed against his ribs. His voice was caught somewhere between panic and rage.

"What, No hug? No emotional reunion?" Asher stepped forward slightly. "I know I never called, but come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t miss me."

Footsteps echoed behind Theo. He didn’t turn.

“Cat got your tongue? Or maybe it’s guilt. It looks good on you, you know — that tight little jaw, the way your eyes twitch when you get mad. I missed it, really.”

Theo’s fists clenched. “How can you be here? You can’t be.”

Asher grinned. "Oh good, you're still capable of speaking. I was worried you'd lost that snarky charm of yours."

“Don’t play dumb. You were dead.”

“Dead to you, maybe,” Asher murmured, stepping closer, his voice softer, almost fond. “But I never really left you, did I?”

His eyes searched Theo’s face, smile faint but cutting, before talking again.

“You mourned me. I know you did. I saw it. That counts for something, right? Even if it was short-lived.. Almost made dying worth it.” A beat. Then, cruelly sweet— “Almost.”

Stiles appeared in the doorway behind Theo, pausing at the tension. Asher didn’t look at him, not really. Just a glance. A smile. His attention stayed locked on Theo like a predator stalking something that used to be his.

“Oh?” Asher tilted his head, eyes never leaving Theo’s. “What’s this?” He gestured lazily at Stiles with two fingers. “New partner in crime? Or just here for the trauma tourism tour?”

He stepped closer. Not too close. But enough.

“Who the fuck are you?” Stiles snapped, clearly not taking the scene in front of him very well. Theo looked like he had just seen a ghost. But more than that, his hands were slightly shaking from anger.

“I asked first. Don’t be rude,” Asher replied, still not sparing Stiles a real glance. His gaze remained fixed on Theo — intent, unwavering — like he was waiting for him to flinch. Just a little. Just enough to crack his shell and savor the moment.

“I’m the guy with zero patience for cryptic assholes.”

“Charming. I like him already.” Asher smiled, dismissing the insult without so much as a blink. “You didn’t tell him about me, Theo? I’m wounded.”

Theo’s lips parted, as if to say something—but nothing came out. His entire body was taut with tension, like he was holding something in. Or maybe holding something back. And that’s what did it.

Theo had always been careful—never one to drop his guard. But this time, something slipped. Just for a second. His chemosignals stuttered, uncontrolled. Barely perceptible—but long enough for Asher to catch it.

Asher inhaled deeply through his nose, eyes fluttering closed in mock ecstasy. “Mmm. There it is. You slipped.”

His eyes opened, sharp and knowing.

“Guilt. Grief. You’re usually so buttoned-up, Theo. Did I really surprise you that much?” His grin widened. “You always were a messy liar.”

Stiles turned to Theo, eyes narrowing. “You *know* him?”

Theo didn’t answer.

Asher leaned in just a little closer. “Secrets, secrets, secrets. Guess some things never change.”

“I swear to god—”

“What?” Asher said, stepping back mockingly. “You’ll growl at me? Please. Save it for the full moon. You’re gonna need it.”

He turned suddenly toward Stiles, sharp smile widening. “I found another one of your friends too actually. Liam was it? He must be your new project right? Cute. Nice guy. Smells like IED and unresolved trauma. Theo, babe, you really have a type.”

Stiles’ gaze snapped back to Theo.

“Who is he, Theo?”

“No one.” Theo growled.

Asher’s eyes sparkled. “Lying again. Theo, you’re adorable. Truly.”

“Why are you here, Ash?”

“Because I felt like it.” He stepped toward the tunnel’s exit. “And maybe to remind you that you don’t get to walk away from me. Dead or alive.” he told him with a wicked smile.

Theo couldn’t help but look away. His head was spinning and his self control slowly fading away.

“Anyway,” Asher said lightly, stepping back into the shadows, “I’ll be seeing you. Don’t miss me too much. Or do. I don’t mind being someone’s guilty pleasure.”

He paused at the edge, giving them both one final, wicked look.

“See you soon, sunshine.”

He walked out. Silence fell, thick and sharp. Theo didn’t move. Neither did Stiles. But something had changed in the air, in the space between them. And they both felt it.

Theo stood frozen. Something in his posture cracked—just a fraction—then, without a single word, he turned and bolted down the hallway.

“Wait—Theo!” Stiles shouted, his voice echoing off the metallic walls.

He took off after him, boots slamming against the tile as he weaved through the crumbling corridor.

Dust stirred in the stale air with every step. “Theo, stop!”

No answer. Just the sound of footsteps getting fainter ahead.

Stiles turned a corner, nearly slipping on broken debris, heart hammering against his ribs. He pushed harder, lungs burning, and caught sight of movement just as Theo disappeared through the exit into the woods.

By the time Stiles burst outside, breath ragged and face flushed, the chill hit him like a slap.

And everything was wrong.

The body—gone.

No blood, no drag marks, not even a print in the soil.

Just an eerie silence hanging in the trees like a held breath.

His eyes dropped.

In the grass, scattered haphazardly: Theo’s boots. His jacket. His shirt and pants.

But no sign of Theo himself.

Stiles stood still, panting, confused, and unnerved as his eyes searched the dark around him.

“What the hell just happened?”

Chapter Text

Stiles blinked. It felt like he had only closed his eyes for a second — and yet, when he opened them again, the light had changed. Brighter. Too bright.

Birds, wind in the trees, the air colder… everything screamed that something was off. He pulled his phone out with a sharp movement, and the screen hit him like a punch: three days.

His heart skipped. Three whole days, erased. Swallowed by nothing.

He pushed himself upright, throat dry, breath uneven. His first thought was Theo. The memory of his shift, him vanishing, came crashing back like a nightmare too sharp to ignore. And if it was connected? If something had happened to him during this blackout?

Panic clawed up his chest, instincts screaming at him to search, to dig, to admit what it meant — that his powers were back. But he shook his head violently. No. No, not that. Not again. He refused to go down that road.

“Three days… fuck…” he whispered at his phone screen.

He dragged in a breath, shoving the fear down beneath a flimsy wall of rationalization. It was nothing. A lapse. A breakdown. Exhaustion. Anything but what he feared.

So he did what he always did best: buried it. Ignored it. Pretended it never happened.

But Theo was still gone. And that, Stiles couldn’t ignore.

He shoved his jacket back on, hands trembling, and muttered under his breath:
“Okay… Focus, Stiles.”

Then he walked out, determined to look for him and maybe find help if needed, never once looking back at the three missing days that already pressed on him like a shadow.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Derek walked slowly through the hallway, his hand brushing absently along the banister. He paused at the edge of the living room, silently taking in how much had changed in just a few days.

He had even started moving his things into his old bedroom, without really thinking about it. Technically, he hadn’t moved back in yet. But he knew, deep down, that he wanted to. He let out a quiet sigh, turned, and headed toward the study. Unfortunately, it was time to have a talk with his uncle. And probably not a nice one.

Derek crossed his arms, tone clipped. “What are you skimming?”

Peter didn’t even glance up. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you mean.”

Derek’s jaw tightened. “Chris and I have been looking for Deucalion. Theo asked us to track down Liam. And you? You just keep sniffing around Stiles thinking I wouldn’t notice. Same way you’ve been circling Theo.”

Peter leaned back in his chair, expression bored. “So your grand insight is that we’re all just paranoid wrecks with control issues? Riveting. Should I be worried about you wiretapping my bedroom too?”

Derek didn’t smile. “I get why you’re keeping tabs on Theo. He’s your beta.”

Peter arched a brow. “Not really.”

Derek met his gaze. “But he could be, and you know it. You’re counting on it, right?”

Peter exhaled slowly. “We need him. You know it. This mess with Elias is far from over, and we’ll take all the help we can get.”

“But you haven’t tried to bring him over to your side yet. Why?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Theo won’t trust anything that comes from me.”

“You gave him the bite without his consent. Does that surprise you?”

Peter’s tone sharpened. “He consented.”

“No,” Derek snapped. “He wanted to live. That’s not the same. He was so out of it we would have agreed to anything. And you know it. Stiles is the one who told you to do it. Don’t twist it.”

Peter was quiet for a beat. Then, “Which is exactly why I haven’t approached him. He’ll come to me when the time comes, trust me.”

“Why would he?”

“Because he’s alone,” Peter said, simply. “Eventually, Stiles will leave him too and he won’t have a choice.”

Derek shook his head. “That’s cold. Even for you.”

Peter smiled. “You’re not disagreeing.”

Derek sighed. “I’m saying... Theo’s not a bad kid. He deserves a second chance. He needs a pack to survive, and if we can offer that, I’m not letting him slip through the cracks. We owe him that. Even if your way seems to be to wait for him to finally hit rock bottom.”

Peter tilted his head. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

Derek stepped forward. “But you stay away from Stiles.”

Peter blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I don’t know what game you’re playing with him, but it stops now.”

Peter gave a tight laugh. “That’s rich coming from the guy who’s been freezing him out for weeks.”

“My relationship with Stiles has nothing to do with you.” Derek told him clearly not backing down. “You want us to be a family again? Fine, so do I. You want me to support your decisions? Convince Theo to trust you, somehow? Sure. But don’t screw with Stiles.”

Peter’s voice dropped an octave. “What if he comes to me?”

“Then you send him away. You tell him you can’t help. You tell him to come to me. I don’t care how you do it, but you won’t be manipulating him.” Derek said. “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

Peter smirked. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Don’t screw with him.”

Peter’s expression flickered. “Don’t screw with him, or don’t screw him?”

Derek met his gaze, unflinching. “Can you do one without the other?”

Peter dropped the grin. “What makes you think I’m playing him? Is there no world in which you could believe I actually have his best interests at heart?”

“The day you give me a reason to believe that,” Derek said quietly, “maybe I’ll start listening. Until then, do me one favor—just one. Stay away from him.”

The doorbell rang.

From the other side, Stiles’ voice cut through. “Peter? You there?”

Peter threw a glance at Derek, mouth quirking. “That might be harder than you think.”

Derek sighed, brushing past him. “Stay here.”

He opened the door just as Stiles stepped in, brisk and visibly agitated. Derek closed the door to Peter’s office fast.

“Derek. Good. You’re the one I was hoping to see actually. Didn’t know you’d already moved in,” Stiles said, barely pausing for breath.

“What do you want, Stiles?”

“Straight to business then. Okay. Why did you look into Liam for Theo?”

“Because he asked me to. Said he was worried—”

“No,” Stiles cut in, sharp. “That’s not it. I’d believe that if it was just you. But Argent doesn’t give a damn about Theo or Liam. You two know something. Something about Liam that explains why he’s trying to dig shit up on the Dread Doctors. And why you sent us after him without any real explanation. Or any idea what we would find there either.”

Derek stared at him, caught off guard by the intensity. “Stiles, breathe. You’re about to pass out.” Only then did he really look — the pale skin, the shadows under his eyes, the rapid, uneven breathing. Stiles wasn’t okay.

“I need help finding Theo,” Stiles said quietly. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Three days. I think. Since the full moon. No text. No call. Nothing.”

“I’m not sure I’m the right person to—”

“You know what? Just say it,” Stiles snapped. “Say whatever it is you’ve been thinking. I can take it. Just stop pretending I’m invisible.”

Derek’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.

Stiles stepped closer, voice rising. “I get it, okay? It’s all over your face. The way you look at me—like I ruined everything.”

Still no answer.

“You’re mad. About what happened with Deaton. About what I did. You hate me just as much as everyone else does. So just say it.”

Derek finally looked up, eyes sharp. “You want honesty? Fine.”

He took a step forward, his voice low, raw with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. “I am mad at you. For lying. For going behind our backs. For acting like you’re the only one who gets to carry the weight of all this shit.”

Stiles blinked, but Derek wasn’t done.

“I trusted you. We all did. And instead of asking for help, you decided you knew better. That you had to handle it alone.”

Stiles didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Because it was true.

“But I don’t hate you, Stiles. I would never hate you.” Derek said, quieter now, like the words were heavier than he meant them to be. “The only thing I hate… is that you clearly don’t respect me enough to tell me those things in the first place. Not like I do.”

That hit harder than anything else could’ve.

“You shut me out. Like everyone else. I gave you every opportunity to come to me. And now you want help—again—like none of it mattered.”

His voice broke slightly, bitterness threaded with disappointment. “I can’t keep doing that. Can’t keep pretending I’m not affected. Can’t keep living like I’m supposed to just… watch you crash and do nothing about it.”

Silence stretched between them. Derek turned and left the room, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet.

Stiles didn’t move.

A few seconds later, Peter appeared in the doorway.

“What did you mean by ‘Theo is gone’?” he asked.

“What?” Stiles asked taken aback by Peter’s sudden arrival.

“Where is Theo?”

Stiles looked up, exhausted. “He disappeared three days ago after we searched the lab Derek sent us to, he snapped and fully turned. I haven’t heard from him since the full moon. Well, at least I don’t think I did...”

Peter didn’t respond right away. He simply stared at Stiles, calculating something behind his eyes.

“I can help you find him,” he said finally.

Stiles’s head lifted fast, a flicker of hope in his face. “Really? Oh thank God, I—”

Peter cut him off, tone calm, almost too calm. “But you’re going to have to do something for me first.”

Stiles stilled. His gaze locked on Peter, uncertain.

And knowing Peter—he already knew he wasn’t going to like it.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The night air clung to them like a second skin as Peter and Stiles stood before the towering manor. Both wore tailored suits, dark and sharp. Peter had handed one to Stiles earlier without a word, and to Stiles' quiet horror, it fit perfectly.

What unsettled him wasn’t the sharp cut of the lapels or the fine stitching—it was the unsettling realization that Peter apparently knew his exact measurements. But even more disturbing? That Stiles had said yes to this in the first place.

He fumbled with his tie, fingers trembling slightly. His reflection in the blackened windows caught him off-guard—he didn’t look like himself.

"So, what’s the plan exactly?" he asked, voice tight.

Peter, already straightening the cuffs of his jacket, didn’t glance over. "We’re not going to make the same mistakes Scott and Deucalion did."

"Which means?"

"It means getting introduced to the other Alphas. In the county, the state, and eventually, every place where a Nemeton still holds sway. I’m not sure how tonight might go, but we still have to try. And if we fail with them, we’ll search for others. We need allies more than power."

Stiles blinked. "That sounds exhausting. And impractical. And, you know, potentially suicidal."

Peter turned, eyes flicking down to where Stiles still battled with his tie. With an exaggerated sigh, he stepped forward, brushed Stiles' hands aside, and began to knot it himself. Stiles didn’t resist. He just stared. And for a moment—a brief, disconcerting long second—he thought, Peter looks really good in a suit. Infuriatingly good. And Stiles couldn’t help but mentally slapping himself for that comment, because he was insane to even think like this.

"Exhausting or not, it's necessary," Peter said. "Deucalion may still be one of the most powerful Alphas in the world, but his reputation is in ruins. His pack? Scattered or dead. And all because he didn’t understand the value of alliances."

"And how do you think they’re going to react," Stiles asked, "when they hear we nearly poisoned every Nemeton on Earth with a half-baked ritual just to save two guys? One of them being you. The other being the guy who helped Deucalion wage war?"

Peter paused, his fingers stilling for a second as he tightened the knot of Stiles' tie. He didn’t answer right away — but his silence spoke volumes.

“I didn’t get to ask you before,” Peter said, tone a bit more careful now, “but I’ve been wondering... How are you?”

Stiles didn’t look up but stiffened a little. “If you’re asking how I’m handling my descent into darkness — I’m not. Nothing’s happened since the ritual. No time jumps, no blackouts, no mysterious fox cravings. Looks like you were wrong about me.”

Peter hummed, low and noncommittal. “If you say so.”

Stiles’ gaze had drifted — focused on Peter’s hands, his mouth, the slight tilt of his head — and he didn’t realize what he was doing until Peter’s smirk deepened.

"You’re staring," Peter said, voice smooth and amused, the edge of a smirk playing on his lips.

Stiles didn’t blink. "You wish," he muttered, tone dry but steady.

He didn’t look away — not even for a second. Because that was the thing with Peter. He always waited for the crack, for the hesitation, for the slip that gave him the upper hand. And Stiles had given him plenty in the past — too many, if he was being honest. But not this time. Not here, not now. If this was a game, then he was playing too, and he wasn't about to let Peter see that he might be right. About the staring. About the tension. About his self control. About anything.

"You know," Peter finally said, dropping the matter and straightening Stiles’ collar. "There is one more advantage to these alliances."

Stiles tilted his head. "Like?"

"Getting information. About Elias."

Stiles blinked. "You mean, like, his entire life? We don’t even know if Elias is his real name. For all we know, he could be a thousand-year-old demon in designer jeans."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Right. You weren’t there when Deucalion showed up after the ritual. You and Theo had already gone AWOL. I guess I forgot to tell you. I thought Derek would though."

Peter arched a brow. "Told me what?"

"You know Deucalion tried to trick Elias. Made him think he had my powers or whatever. And he was bluffing, obviously. And it might not have worked if he didn’t say what he did. He called him something that… I don’t know. Destabilized him, I guess.”

“What did he call him?”

“He called him Elijah."

Peter froze.

Stiles didn’t need confirmation. The sharp tension in Peter’s jaw said it all.

"You know that name, don’t you?"

Peter’s voice dropped to a murmur. "We’ll deal with that later. Looks like our presence just got noticed."

Stiles followed his gaze. A woman watched them from an upper window, her expression unreadable. And he finally realized, he knew her. All to well.

They made their way to the door. The manor was grand, a polished cage of politics and hidden claws. As soon as they entered, eyes turned.

Peter wore a sharp, faintly amused smile. Stiles, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to melt into the carpet.

The room was filled with Alphas from all over—some unfamiliar, others infamous. A few greeted Peter with wary nods. Others cast curious glances at Stiles.

"Who’s the human?" someone murmured.

"Human? Are you sure? He doesn’t smell like a regular one," another said.

Before Peter could react, a woman approached them.

"Peter Hale," she said. "Our host would like to talk to you. Alone." Stiles could feel her last comment was meant for him.

“I guess I’ll go look for… the bar” Stiles murmured looking around him and praying no one would talk to him.

Peter followed her into a smaller side room. It was sleek and dimly lit, filled with the soft hum of old power. That’s when he finally saw her. Satomi Ito. The woman hadn’t change one bit.

“Satomi. How long has it been? Years? Decades?” He told her in a false smile, clearly dreading what would come next.

"You should not be here," she said simply. No anger in her tone, but a low, quiet threat in every word. "If the people outside those doors knew what your pack almost did to the Nemeton at Beacon Hills, you and your companion would be dead already."

Peter didn’t flinch. “Why haven’t you told them then?”

“Because I cared for your sister. Talia was one of the greatest Alpha I have ever met. And out of respect for her, I’m giving you the chance to walk away — quietly. I won’t offer it again.”

“I didn’t ask for your help, and I don’t need it. I can handle myself.”

“No, you can’t.” Her voice sharpened. “Your town has had more recorded incidents than any other Nemeton-linked city in the past two decades. You’ve been under surveillance longer than you think, Peter. And the people here tonight? Most of them seem to think your family is responsible for it. This kind of scandal gets out? They’ll bring everything they’ve got to wipe you out. You, your pack, everyone tied to Beacon Hills. You wouldn’t make it out alive.”

She let that sink in before continuing, softer but no less dangerous. “Tread very carefully.”

Peter inclined his head, jaw tight. “Then we’ll leave.”

She stepped closer. "I know why you’re here. You’re looking for information on Elias. You won’t find any here. No one knows who he is. Most have never even heard of him. But the few who have? They all say the same thing: he’s not someone you cross. If he’s targeting your pack, give him what he wants. Stay out of his way. That’s the only way you walk away from this in one piece."

Peter didn’t reply.

She turned and walked out.

When Peter returned to the main room, he found Stiles stiffly navigating small talk with a pair of older Alphas. He was clearly uncomfortable. The moment he spotted Peter, he practically teleported to his side.

"We’re leaving," Peter said simply.

"Thank God," Stiles breathed.

But just as they stepped outside, Stiles froze.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of someone disappearing around the side of the building. A man. Familiar. Could it be though….

Stiles turned, heart racing.

"Peter—"

"Later," Peter said, already striding ahead.

They reached the car, but just before unlocking it, Peter turned sharply.

"Are you sure about what you told me earlier?"

Stiles blinked. "You mean Deucalion calling Elias 'Elijah'?"

Peter stepped closer, voice low. "Are. You. Sure."

"Yes. Why?"

Peter's expression turned grim. "We need to go. Now."

"Where? Why?"

"Find Theo. If I'm right, Elias never left. And if he's there, we need to get to him before he does."

Stiles stared. "What does this have to do with Theo?"

Peter didn’t answer.

They got in the car. Tires screamed against the pavement as they sped into the night.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The hospital room was quiet, sterile, lit only by the soft amber glow of the lamp above Scott’s bed. Machines beeped softly at his side. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath the white blanket. Still. Unmoving.

Melissa sat beside him, nail clippers in one hand, gently cradling his limp fingers with the other. She was humming something under her breath — a lullaby from when he was younger, something half-forgotten. Her voice trembled every now and then, but she kept going, trying to fill the silence with something that sounded like normal.

“I saw Stiles’ dad today,” she said, forcing a light tone. “He still thinks you’re going to wake up and walk right out of here any day now. Honestly, I think he might believe it more than I do.”

She gave a short laugh, too sharp to be real, then wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m supposed to be strong, right? For you. For everyone. But I don’t feel strong, Scott. Not without you.” Her voice cracked. “I need you to wake up. Please. I need you back.”

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “The sheriff told me what he could. What little
Stiles gave him. Sounds like your friends got into some troubles again. Your friends… they need you. I need you.”

Melissa stood, smoothing his blanket. “Okay. That’s enough tears for one day,” she said to herself. “You’d tell me to stop fussing anyway.”

She glanced back one last time before slipping out of the room.

Silence fell.

Then, the door creaked open.

Footsteps — soft, deliberate.

An unfamiliar man entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him. He moved like a shadow, all grace and calculation, until he stood over Scott’s bed.

Elias.

He looked down at the unconscious Alpha, hands clasped behind his back.

“Your mother,” he said aloud, as if continuing a conversation, “is a very emotional woman. She loves you deeply. It’s... touching, really.”

He tilted his head.

“I know you can hear me, Scott. Maybe not perfectly, but clearly enough.”

He reached down and gently lifted Scott’s head, sliding the pillow out from beneath him and dropping it onto the floor. Then he laid his head back down, now without support.

“I need something from you,” Elias murmured, eyes cold and calculating. “Things have gone well so far. For the most part. But I suspect that might change soon. Some of your friends — and let’s be honest, you have too many — are becoming… inconvenient.”

He traced two fingers down Scott’s neck, brushing over the scarred flesh — the same neck he had broken.

“I might need to accelerate things. And for that, I need help. Your help.”

His fingers stilled, resting over a point just beneath the skin.

“Consider this a gift,” Elias whispered, “for your sacrifice. For turning your back on them when I needed it most.”

He smiled, triumphant, as his claws lengthened and slid into Scott’s neck.

Scott’s breath hitched.

“You won’t remember this. Not right away. But you will. Eventually. And when you do… well, it’s going to be quite the surprise.”

His eyes gleamed — a brilliant turquoise edged with flickers of gold.

“And don’t get me wrong,” he added, almost gently. “This isn’t about you. Not really. But people need heroes, Scott. And sometimes, giving them one back is all it takes to fix everything.”

He leaned down, his voice barely audible.

“Because I do so love a good dysfunctional family reunion.”

Then he pushed.

Scott convulsed, a raw gasp tearing from his throat. His back arched, his eyes flared red, blazing with Alpha power — and then snapped to yellow, flickering wildly as his body fought to make sense of what was happening.

He screamed.

Then collapsed.

Elias pulled his claws free and took a step back, wiping his hand on the edge of the blanket like nothing had happened. Scott’s neck already healing back.

The silence returned — just in time for the door to burst open.

Melissa rushed in, breath caught in her throat, panic etched into every feature. She froze.

The room was empty.

Only Scott remained — and the pillow on the floor.

She stepped forward to pick it up, then recoiled as Scott suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, gasping like he’d been drowning. His hands flew to his neck, eyes wide, confused, terrified.

“Scott?” Melissa whispered, her voice trembling.

His head jerked toward her, breath still shallow, chest heaving.

“Mom?” he croaked.

She didn’t hesitate.

She launched forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close as her tears returned in full force — this time, for joy.

Scott clung to her like a lifeline, eyes darting around the room.

Where was he?

Where were Liam, Stiles... Elias?

He was no longer in the woods. No blood. No fire. Just antiseptic air and the rhythm of machines.

A lock of hair fell into his eyes as he shivered.

How long had he been gone?

Chapter Text

Stiles had spent the night searching for Theo with Peter. It had led to nothing. Theo had just vanished. They’d checked everywhere Stiles could think of—every possible place Theo might retreat to in his wolf form. Or coyote form. He still wasn’t sure which it was, and at this point, it didn’t matter.

Peter hadn’t been much help either. Apart from the whole “Elijah” thing still being a mystery. Whatever private conversation he’d had with Satomi at the alpha gathering clearly hadn’t turned into anything useful.

Apparently, no one was going to lift a finger to help them. If anything, Stiles suspected their presence at the event had done more harm than good. They came looking for allies, and instead, it felt like they'd painted a fresh target on their backs. Leaving five minutes after getting there hadn't exactly screamed diplomacy. This little trip had been useless.

Tired, sore, and with a heavy heart, Stiles headed home. He made sure his dad wasn’t there before stepping inside—checking twice this time. The house was quiet. Too quiet. He locked the door behind him, dropped his jacket over a chair, and dragged himself upstairs.

Sleep didn’t come easy. When it finally did, it came hard and wrong.

He was in the woods. Running. Always running. His lungs burned, his legs ached, but behind him the growl kept getting closer, a guttural sound that cut through the night. The trees bent and swayed around him, too tall, too twisted, closing in. Blood streaked the ground where he stumbled. He fell—hard—and when he pushed himself up, his hands came away red.

Then it was on him. A massive weight slammed him to the dirt, claws digging into his shoulders, hot breath against his neck. He turned his head just enough to see it—shadow and teeth and eyes that burned like coals. The beast lowered its jaws, ready to tear him open—

Stiles gasped awake, chest heaving, sweat slick across his skin. His heart pounded against his ribs like it wanted out. It wasn’t the same as his time jump, but it was close. Too close. The woods. The blood. The thing chasing him. It wasn’t just a dream. It couldn’t be.

Yet, his shoulder felt unarmed. He couldn’t help but clench his hand on it to make sure he was awake.

He sat up, trying to calm his breathing, rubbing the dirt from his palms—except there was no dirt. Just sweat. He shoved himself out of bed, restless, unsettled. That’s when he heard it.

A noise.

Downstairs.

Stiles froze, listening. Another creak, soft, from the direction of the kitchen.

He grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the wall and padded down carefully, every nerve stretched thin. The house felt wrong, like someone else’s skin stretched over his own. The hallway was dark. The air colder than it should’ve been.

And then he saw it.

The back door. Forced open, the frame splintered.

Stiles’ grip on the bat tightened until his knuckles ached. He edged forward, every step deliberate, his pulse hammering too loud in his ears.

And then—

He saw it. Or rather, him.

A sharp-eyed coyote stood in the hallway.

"Fuck!" Stiles jumped, heart racing. "Theo, you scared the crap out of me! Why do people keep doing this to me?” he shouts before focusing back on Theo. “Where the hell have you been?"

He stared for a second, then narrowed his eyes, half-annoyed, half-triumphant.

"You gotta be kidding me. I knew it."

The coyote huffed and brushed past him, heading straight for the stairs.

"Oh, don't worry about me, Theo," Stiles muttered, slamming the back door shut. "I have perfect control over myself. What’s a little full moon gonna do to me?" He mimicked sarcastically as he followed the coyote upstairs. "That’s what you’ve been telling me for months—months!”

Theo growled, pushing open Stiles’ door and padding into his bedroom.

Stiles watched him flop onto the bed like he owned the place. "I can’t believe it… You’re stuck, aren’t you?"

The coyote rolled his eyes and turned in a circle before settling down right in the center of Stiles' bed. He smelled the sheets, a curious look in his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing? You're not sleeping in my bed! Stop looking at me like that. It's not like I can help you. I’m not your damn anchor!"

The coyote ignored him, shutting his eyes with exaggerated indifference.

Stiles let out an exasperated groan and dropped onto the bed next to him with a heavy thud. "You so owe me for this."

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned to look at Theo. The coyote cracked one eye open, then the other, slowly lifting his head.

"You know what? This is just poetic," Stiles muttered, dragging himself up on one elbow. "Days—days—I’ve tried to talk to you. But no, Mister ‘I’m totally in control’ had everything handled. Well, clearly not. And now here we are. You stuck. Me venting. And you can’t even talk back unless you magically grow vocal cords and opposable thumbs. Beautiful, don’t you think ?"

Theo let out a low huff.

"Oh, you can be annoyed, but it's not going to stop me."

He let the silence stretch just long enough to feel the weight of it. "What the hell are you doing, man?"

The coyote turned away from him with a grunt and curled up again.

"Don’t do that. You know what I mean. You know why you're stuck like this. The moment you became a real werecoyote, you knew this could happen. You need your anchor."

The coyote snapped his head around and stalked toward him, eyes black and teeth bared.

Stiles didn’t budge. "Cut it out. I'm not scared of your little mad prairie mutt act. Liam needs you. You need him. Why are you pushing him away?"

The coyote loomed over him, low growls vibrating in his chest.

“There’s something you’re not telling me… What happened when you went looking for Deucalion? What happened to you?”

He knew Theo couldn’t answer—not like this. But he had to ask. He needed to say it out loud, needed Theo to hear it.

And just like that, the growl died in his throat.

The tension bled out of Theo’s body all at once. He froze, something strange flickering in his eyes—fear, maybe, or shame—then suddenly collapsed on top of Stiles, heavy and limp like the weight of whatever he’d been holding back had finally crushed him.

"Whoa—hey!"

Before he could squirm away, Theo shifted. In a blink, he was human again, naked, heavy, and glaring down at him with a mix of confusion and irritation.

Stiles blinked. "Well, would you look at that. Maybe I am your anchor."

"You wish."

And then, instead of moving, Theo just let himself drop fully against him, head against Stiles’ chest like he couldn’t hold himself up a second longer. Stiles froze, arms stiff at his sides, every nerve buzzing with shock.

"...Are you serious right now?" he muttered, but there was no bite in it. He was still too busy wrapping his head around the fact that Theo was Theo again. Alive. Here. Human.

“Give me a second, my whole body aches.” he said almost burried in Stiles’ neck. Theo’s voice came muffled, low, without lifting his head. "You smell wrong."

Stiles blinked. "I smell wrong? Have you smelled yourself?"

"You smell like you just had a heart attack," Theo said flatly.

"I had a nightmare, happy? Now move, smelly."

A pause. Then Theo again, quieter this time. "The woods again?"

Stiles hesitated, then let out a breath. "...Yeah."

Theo pushed himself back up, slow, shoulders still slumping from exhaustion. He stayed straddling him without really noticing, both hands coming to rest against Stiles’ stomach like he needed the anchor.

Stiles glanced down at him, then back up as fat as he could when he realize the position they were in. "Totally different subject—could you move?"

Theo didn’t answer. He just sat there, heavy-lidded, his palms steady against Stiles’ abdomen, as if making sure he was real.

"Not that I mind the whole 'naked on top of me' thing," Stiles added, squinting at the ceiling, "but I might have more nightmares if this continues."

And Stiles, still shaken from the nightmare but absurdly relieved Theo was back to himself, decided—for once—not to push him away. His hands weirdly up in the air. Probably scarred of where they might land if he put them down.

Theo groaned softly, not moving. “Why? Afraid you’re gonna get a boner?” he teased, voice rough and sleep-roughened, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth.

Stiles didn't even flinch. "I’ll puke on you. I swear to God."

Theo rolled his eyes and finally pushed himself up with effort, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. He limped over to Stiles’ closet, grabbed the first pair of sweatpants that looked remotely wearable, and tugged them on without ceremony.

"Sure, help yourself. Make yourself at home," Stiles muttered. "Nice ass, by the way. Guess Liam really does have a reason to like you after all — and it’s clearly not your charming personality."

Theo flipped him off without turning around. “Don’t make me sit on you again.”

"You wish you had the energy," Stiles shot back. “Also, you smell like roadkill, and your hair’s a disaster.”

Theo, already crawling back into the bed, groaned. “So is my entire life. Let me sleep.”

Theo dropped back onto the bed—half on top of Stiles, face buried in a pillow.

"Are you for real right now?"

"I’ve been stuck as a coyote for three straight days, Stiles. I need sleep. Please. Shut up. Everything hurts."

"And you don’t have a bed of your own? Why even come here in the first place?"

There was a beat of silence. Stiles assumed he’d fallen asleep. Then Theo sighed and mumbled, "Because I don’t want to be alone."

Stiles didn’t respond. He turned his head slightly to look at him. Theo was already drifting off again, completely spent.

Like the moment he finally felt safe, his body just gave up.

"Theo... Who’s Ash?"

No answer. Theo was out cold.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Theo slipped out of Stiles’s house just before dawn, the air sharp with cold and his mind restless. Sleep hadn’t come—of course it hadn’t. The encounter with Asher gnawed at him like rot under the skin, a whisper that wouldn’t fade, driving him toward something dangerously close to madness. He needed answers, and answers weren’t going to come to him if he stayed still. So he moved. Hunting.

Deucalion’s properties were scattered like bones across the state, remnants of a power that once made the entire supernatural community shiver. Elijah had claimed most of them after Deucalion vanished, turning the ruins into his own hunting grounds. Which, in Theo’s book, made them exactly the kind of places worth searching.

He broke into one of the smaller hideouts, an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. Rusted metal doors, broken windows patched with boards, dust piled thick as snow. The air stank of mold and iron, a sour cocktail of old blood and secrets left to rot. Perfect.

Theo moved through the dark in silence, his senses stretched thin, fingers tracing along cracked walls, eyes skimming shelves cluttered with useless debris. Most of it had already been stripped clean by Elijah’s men—records burned, weapons gone—but sometimes people overlooked details. A symbol carved too shallow to notice, a scrap of paper shoved between floorboards. That was what Theo was after. Anything.

He crouched low by a collapsed desk, rifling through drawers, tossing aside shards of glass and faded receipts. The floor creaked under his boots, every sound echoing back too loud. It felt less like searching and more like trespassing inside a grave.

His jaw tightened. He wasn’t afraid of ghosts. But the thought of running blind while Elijah stayed one step ahead? That was unbearable. He needed a lead. He needed something to keep from spiraling.

Theo straightened, scanning the room again, instincts pricking. That was when he heard it—footsteps. Soft at first, then closer, dragging against the warped floorboards.

He stilled instantly, shoulders tensing, breath locked. Then he moved, quick and silent, ducking low behind the shadow of a splintered cabinet, every muscle coiled, ready to strike.

The door eased open, hinges groaning.

And then—

“Hey, little wolf.”

Liam froze in the doorway. His eyes widened. “Hey… How—why… huh—”

“Very eloquent,” Theo drawled, stepping into view. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here? What about you? Weren’t you supposed to be too busy to help me?”

Theo smirked. “Well, I found the time.”

“And I don’t need it anymore. So you can leave. Again.”

“Please don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“Deflecting,” Theo snapped. “My bolting habits are not the subject here. I told you not to do anything stupid, and yet here you are. After I told you to stay put.”

“Stay put?” Liam let out a sharp laugh. “You’ve got some nerve.”

“You know what they say about kids playing with matches.”

“You’re a hypocrite.”

“And you’re a liar.”

“Pot, kettle, ex-chimera.”

Theo’s grin sharpened. “And what’s you excuse for being here?”

“Nothing that concerns you. And I’m not suddenly gonna start sharing in the next two minutes, so drop it.”

“Why? Scared I might screw things up for you?”

“Theo—” Liam’s voice was low, warning, his body already squaring up as he stepped closer.

Theo instantly shifted back, sliding behind the desk between them. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just figured a little furniture between us might be smart, considering the look you’re giving me.”

Liam frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you’ve got that look. The same one you get when things get… heated between us.”

“You really think I’d try to have sex with you? Here? Now?”

“Screw me, punch me. Like I said—same look.” “You son of a—”

Theo smirked, sliding a hand along the desk to create just enough space between them, taunting. “What? You wanna take a swing? Go ahead.”

The spark hit instantly. Liam lunged, and Theo met him halfway. The clash was quick, sharp—claws scraping, fists striking, their bodies colliding like neither of them knew how to back down. Every move was matched, countered. It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t pretty, but it was raw.

Until Theo caught Liam off-balance. He twisted him around and slammed him hard into the wall, chest to his back, pinning both of Liam’s wrists high with one hand. His other hand clamped firmly on Liam’s waist, holding him in place.

Liam snarled, eyes blazing gold. His growl vibrated against Theo’s jaw, reckless and defiant.

And Theo—reckless in his own way—leaned down and sank his teeth into the side of Liam’s neck, drawing blood.

Liam’s yell echoed off the walls, half fury, half shock. “Did you just fucking bite me?”

Theo didn’t flinch. His breath was hot against Liam’s ear as he muttered, “I wouldn’t have to if you could behave yourself.”

“Wait until I get free, you little bitch—”

Theo cut him off, slamming a hand over his mouth. “Shut up.”

That was when they both heard it—the shuffle of boots in the hallway. The low murmur of voices.

They froze, tension still snapping like electricity between them. Theo’s grip stayed iron on Liam’s wrists for one more second before he yanked him down, dragging both of them into the shadow behind the desk. Their breathing was harsh, hot in the narrow space between them, but neither dared move.

Theo’s fingers flicked, holding up four sharp points. Four men.

Liam’s eyes locked on his. The fight wasn’t over—they both knew it. Not by a long shot. But for now, survival came first. When the footsteps drew closer and the men walked inside the room, they both stilled waiting for the right moment. Finally the men closed in on them, right by the desk, they launched. Theo dropped his opponent fast, claws flashing, heart hammering with familiar thrill, knocking them out swiftly. He turned, ready to back Liam up—

And froze.

Liam was already moving, dismantling the first man with brutal ease. Too much ease. Then he pivoted into the next with a set of sharp, practiced moves that sent a chill through Theo. He knew that style. He couldn’t place it, but his blood ran cold watching it.

The second man shoved Liam back, recognition dawning in his eyes. “I know you. You’re—”

Liam snapped his neck before the name could leave his mouth.

The thud of the body barely registered. Theo didn’t flinch. Didn’t even judge him for it. What he felt had nothing to do with the body Liam had just dropped, and everything to do with how he just did. He felt no disappointment. Just anger, sharp and burning, as Liam turned back to him with eyes like ice—dark, cold, ruthless. For a moment, Theo didn’t recognize him.

And Liam saw it. Saw the way Theo looked at him like a stranger. His chest tightened, just for a beat, before his face hardened again.

“What?” Liam said flatly. “Still think you’re too good for me?”

Theo said nothing.

“I show you a little darkness and you think you can judge me too?” But Theo isn’t even listening to him. Not really. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever, I guess you’re still not interested in helping me.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Fine. Then do yourself a favor and get out before more of them get here.”

Liam stalked off, his scent trailing in the air. But something else lingered under it, faint and ghostly. Something Theo knew, deep down, but refused to let himself name.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Stiles and Theo sat in the car, the silence between them taut until Theo broke it.

"So, let me get this straight," he began, voice dripping with disbelief. "You went on a little field trip with Peter, found out we’ve got zero allies, Elias—sorry, Elijah apparently—is apparently the anti-Christ of every supernatural pack in North America, and your big takeaway is that no one has any useful info?"

"What I said," Stiles replied, rubbing his eyes, "is that nobody’s willing to talk about him. Also, I really need to keep track of who I told what. I really thought you knew about Elijah’s name. It’s hard to keep track when most of us aren’t on speaking terms."

Theo snorted. "Derek, Argent, and Peter seem to know plenty. They're just keeping it to themselves."

"Yeah, and they’re not the only ones it seems."

Theo glanced over. "Me?"

"Asher. Ash. Or whoever the hell he is. Which, by the way, you still haven’t explained."

"And I’m not about to."

"Come on, Theo. Who is he?"

Theo stared ahead, jaw tight. "No one you want to get familiar with. Trust me."

"Fine," Stiles muttered, then sighed. "Are you sure about this plan?"

Theo nodded. "We clearly have no idea what happened here in the last three months. This needs to change. And for that we need to dig on what we already have. And every trail we've followed until now only leads back to one person."

"Liam," Stiles said.

"Exactly. That’s why I put a tracker on him."

Stiles blinked. "When did you manage to do that?"

"This morning. Liam confronted me, twice actually, asked for my help. I told him to get lost."

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because I wasn’t going to let him keep tabs on me while feeding me half-truths. If he thinks I left him hanging, he won’t expect me to be tracking him."

Stiles gave him a long look. "Do you even hear yourself when you talk?"

"Yeah, and I love the sound of it. Why?"

"Just be careful with how you handle all this. Whatever Liam's into, if your first instinct is to light a match, don’t be surprised when we all go up in flames."

Theo nodded once. "I’m not making any promesses."

They arrived at the bar not long after, pushing through the door into low music and warmer air. Theo immediately spotted Mason and Corey.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" he asked, suspicion clear in his tone.

Mason raised his glass. "Liam called us. Said he needed us."

"To do what? Sip cosmos and gossip?"

Corey sighed. "No, Theo. He needs us because—"

"Maybe we shouldn't be the ones to tell him," Mason cut in.

Theo crossed his arms. "Oh yeah? And why's that?"

Mason's eyes narrowed. "Because Liam wouldn’t want us to. After all, you’re the one who refused to help him when he asked. I don’t think you get to ask anything about him now."

"Feisty, aren’t you, buddy?"

Corey raised his hands. "Look, I don’t have a problem with you, Theo. You know that. But you screwed up. And you know it."

Theo didn’t argue. "I know."

Stiles caught a glimpse of Liam at the far end of the bar—and froze. Not the best time for a confrontation. Without a word, he put a hand on Theo’s arm to get his attention briefly before he turned toward the hallway. "I’m gonna hit the bathroom," he muttered, already walking off.

There was a pause. Every nerves in Theo’s body lighting up. Then he pointed toward the end of the bar. "Who's the guy with Liam?"

Mason glanced over. "No idea. A friend, I guess. Why? Jealous?"

"I don't like it."

Mason frowned. "Did I miss the part where you became entitled to judge who he spends time with?"

Theo’s jaw tensed. "I am when a snake tries to wrap himself around his neck to choke him."

Corey tilted his head. "Wait… you know him?"

"I don’t," Theo said too quickly.

Corey gave him a look. "You sure? You're staring at him like you either want him in your bed or buried in your backyard."

"I don’t own a bed. Or a backyard."

"Seriously, Theo. Who is he?" And here it was again, the most asked question in the last 24 hours.

"He’s trouble."

Mason looked uneasy. "Okay... Just—please don’t make a scene."

"Not even a little one?"

Before they could stop him, Theo stepped away from them and into the stranger’s view. The man locked eyes with him instantly, gaze hooking him like a chain. He leaned close to Liam first, whispering something low and poisonous, then peeled away with deliberate slowness, walking toward Theo with a predator’s ease.

“Well, well, well,” he purred. “Aren’t you looking good for someone who just spent three days running in the woods?”

Theo didn’t flinch, though his jaw was tight. “Glade that you’re enjoying my suffering. Shame you weren’t around to see the ten-year breakdown that got me here.”

The smirk that curved Asher’s lips was infuriatingly familiar, the kind Theo used to chase and hate in equal measure. His hand shot out, grabbing Theo’s arm with easy possession, and Theo didn’t pull away. He could have. He should have. But beneath the surface anger, something twisted stirred—a reflex, a hunger, the old current of their games. Asher always knew how to reel him in, and Theo hated how much of him still wanted to be caught.

Across the bar, Stiles reappeared from the restroom, freezing mid-step as he caught the scene. Mason and Corey stiffened, waiting for violence.

But that wasn’t what happened.

Asher slid a hand up the line of Theo’s arm, curling around his nape, and kissed him.

For a second, Theo froze, disgust curling in his gut. He should have shoved him away. He should have broken his jaw right there. But Asher’s mouth was heat and teeth and the promise of chaos Theo used to live for—and part of him caved, helplessly. He kissed back. Slutty, messy, open, like his body remembered how even if his mind screamed no. It was wrong. He knew it. And he hated himself instantly for giving Asher that inch.

The noise of the bar vanished. All that existed was the sharp taste of him, the tilt of power that was never real, the old hypnosis Theo had thought he’d buried years ago.

Then his eyes flicked sideways—Liam. Watching. And that jolt snapped through him like cold steel.

Theo’s hand shot up, gripping Asher’s collar, and he bit his lip—sharp, not quite enough to draw blood, but enough to sting. Asher only grinned, leaning back like Theo had given him exactly what he wanted.

He followed Theo’s glance toward Liam and smirked wider, eyes flashing briefly orange before dimming back to human. “Ah. I get it now,” he murmured, low enough for only Theo to hear.

His grin sharpened. “You sure got good taste, T. But then—I already knew that.” He lingered close, voice dipping darker. “And I don’t care what Elijah thinks of my little games. This? This is going to be fun.”

For just a second, Theo’s mask slipped. Elijah. Of course he knew. Of course he’d send someone like Asher. Before he could even react, Asher leaned in even closer.

"Better keep an eye on this one, he looks like the kind to get himself in trouble" he said with a wink, giving Theo a cheeky pat on the ass before strolling off.

Theo turned before Liam could approach, heading for the exit. On the way out, he passed Stiles, who looked like he'd just been hit by a bus. For a second, he considered saying nothing. Then remembered what Elijah was capable of. What Asher might already know.

"We're leaving," Theo muttered.

"What the hell was that?" Stiles hissed, catching up.

"A fucking asshole. Dead man walking if you ask me."

They reached the door. Theo hesitated.

"Please tell me you're not confessing murder premeditation to an FBI agent."

“You’ve been fired Stiles, you’re not an FBI agent anymore, just an idiot with an unlicensed gun.”

As they stepped into the cool night air, he reached into his back pocket.

"Time to talk. Who is he?" Stiles asked, eyes still fixed on the exit. "Besides being a guy really into PDA apparently?"

"Someone who shouldn't know Elijah's name but does." Theo muttered, jaw tight.

Stiles blinked. "You're telling me he works for him?"

"Or with him," Theo said. "Which might be worse."

They walked in silence for a moment, tension hanging between them like static. Then Theo spoke again, voice lower.

"He was someone I looked up to. When I was younger."

Stiles glanced at him, surprised. "Seriously? Way to set the bar real low."

Theo nodded, eyes unfocused, like the memory left a bitter taste. "I was just a kid. And he… I don’t know, he made it look easy. The strength, the control, the power. I thought he had it all figured out."

"But let me guess," Stiles said carefully, "he was also had a taste for blood and shady stuff."

"Pretty much. I just didn’t see it until it was too late. Or maybe, I just didn’t care."

Stiles hesitated. "When did you meet him, Theo?"

The question wasn’t casual. Stiles knew what kind of childhood Theo had. And more importantly, he already suspected the answer.

Theo didn’t meet his gaze. "When I was with the Dread Doctors."

Stiles stiffened. "...He was one of theirs?"

"A chimera," Theo confirmed. "One of the failed ones. He survived longer than the rest o fthem though.

“How long?”

“7 years”

“So practically the all time you were with them yourself.”

“Yeah, but he shouldn’t be here. He was supposed to be dead. He’s the main reason I convinced myself to get free from the dread doctors in the first place. Because he died, and I didn’t want to be the next one."

Stiles exhaled sharply. "So why isn’t he?"

Theo looked at him now, gaze steady. "I don’t know. I don’t care. What I want to know is what Liam is doing with him."

“Not scrapbooking, I can tell you that much.”

Theo’s hand brushed against the back of his jeans as they stepped into the street. His expression shifted slightly.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “He slipped something in my pocket.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You mean when he groped you like you were a cheap whore?”

Theo shot him a dark look, jaw tightening.

"Okay, not judging," Stiles muttered. "Just saying."

Theo unfolded the paper. It was a note.

Stiles took it cautiously. "Let me guess. Not his number?"

Theo scanned the page. His face darkened. "It’s a warning. Or an invitation. Either way—I don’t like it."

Theo read the note in silence, his expression hardening with each line. He folded the paper neatly, slipping it back into his pocket.

“I need to go,” he said quietly.

Stiles blinked. “Go where?”

Theo didn’t answer. He turned away, already walking. “To get answers.”

“That’s not a location, Theo,” Stiles called after him, but that didn’t stop him. He just raised a hand in a half-hearted wave and kept walking, disappearing down the street with tense shoulders and no explanation.

Stiles stood there for a long second, alone now, the wind tugging at his sleeves. He let out a long breath and rubbed a hand down his face.

“Right,” he muttered. “Of course. Be vague, dramatic, and emotionally unavailable. Classic.”

“Stiles?”

The voice was soft. Familiar. Hesitant.

He froze.

Turned.

And there, standing a few feet away, was Scott. Dressed in a hoodie and a hospital wristband still clinging to his wrist, he looked pale, a little unsteady—but alive. Awake. Real.

His eyes were warm, and his smile was tired, sad.

“Hey, Stiles. Can we talk?”

Stiles didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stared, breath caught in his chest, like his whole world had tilted and he hadn’t caught up yet. Because Scott was here.

And Stiles had no idea what to do next.

Chapter Text

The Hale house had already changed more in the past few days than Derek ever expected it could.

He stood in the center of the living room, taking it all in. There were pictures on the mantel now—new memories trying to grow roots where ashes once settled. Actual furniture filled the space. Bookshelves lined the walls. It still smelled like home—pinewood and old fire—but it wasn’t the haunted, hollow place it used to be.

This was the house he and Peter had lived in before everything burned. Before the screams, the flames, and the silence that followed. Now, for the first time in years, it felt like the wounds had started to scar over.

But it felt different now. Safer. Quieter. And for the first time, Derek thought that maybe staying wasn’t such a reckless idea after all. At least until now.

Inside, Peter and Chris Argent sat across from each other, sharp gazes locked in what had to be the longest, pettiest argument of all time. The air between them practically buzzed with tension, too quiet to be called an argument, too loud to ignore. One wrong word, and Derek was pretty sure one of them would actually throw something—or someone—through a window.

They’d been bickering for an hour. Small jabs, passive-aggressive digs, old wounds reopening like clockwork. Derek hadn’t expected anything less. It was exactly why he’d gone out of his way to keep them apart every time he could since all of this started. Because this, right here, was inevitable.

He sighed and stood from the armrest he’d been leaning on. “This is a waste of my time.”

Peter finally blinked, glancing over with mock offense. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Chris snorted. “Maybe he’d actually listen to you if you weren’t such a backstabbing—”

Peter raised a hand, expression unimpressed. “No name-calling, please.”

“Why?” Chris shot back. “Gonna bite me? Seems to be your thing these days.”

Peter’s smile was all teeth, sharp and deliberate. “Want to find out?”

Chris didn’t flinch. “Careful, Peter. You better change your tone before Theo gets here. We both know how easily he can be pushed the wrong way. If you don’t want him going off the rails again, maybe watch what you say to him—and how you say it.”

That shut Peter up for a second. Not because he was scared—he was never scared—but because he knew Chris had a point. Theo wasn’t the type you could control with dominance or power. He was something else entirely. Volatile, proud, and just stable enough to be dangerous when cornered.

Derek crossed his arms. “Great. That’s the most productive thing either of you have said in an hour.”

He turned toward the door.

“Don’t worry,” Peter muttered under his breath, “I’ll be gentle with the kid.”

Chris gave him a look. “See that you are. Or next time, I won’t be.”

Before the tension could thicken any more, a knock hit the door. Derek moved quickly, relieved for the excuse, Theo walked in and stood in front of them, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.

“I texted you,” Theo said simply.

“I know. Come in.”

Theo stepped inside the office and immediately spotted the tension in the room. “Book clubbing, are we?”

“Depends on your definition,” Peter muttered, arms crossed.

Theo ignored the comment and looked straight at both men. “I want answers.”

Chris straightened. “About?”

“You’ve been following Liam. You know about Asher. I don’t know how, but you clearly do. And now I find out Elijah might have a connection to him. I want to know what it is.”

“Is Asher the guy Liam has been following around?” asked Derek.

“Don’t ry to act surprised when we both know you’ve been tracking them for month now. You must have had a lot of fun acting like you had no idea where Liam was when I asked you to find him for me.” he snapped back at him, clearly not amused.

Peter’s brow furrowed. “We didn’t know about Asher. Not really. We didn’t even know his name until now. Still not sure who he really is. But it seems like you do.”

Theo shot him a glare that clearly meant it was none of his business. Against his better judgment, Peter decided to drop it. One dumpster fire at a time.

Chris nodded. “And we knew you wouldn’t believe us unless you saw it for yourself.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. “Saw what?”

Chris hesitated. “That Liam’s working with Elijah.”

Theo scoffed. “No. Liam wouldn’t—he’d never do that.” Sure Liam was mad at Theo, but not the point of working with the man who wanted him dead, right? Not to mention what he did to McCall.

Peter tilted his head, unimpressed. “Don’t be a moron. And just try get your head out of your own ass long enough to consider it for half a second, okay?”

“Why would he?” Theo snapped. “What possible reason would Liam have to do something like that?”

Chris answered, calm but heavy. “To protect you.”

Theo blinked. “What?”

Peter took a step forward, voice low. “According to our intel, Elijah stopped tracking Deucalion weeks ago.”

“That’s impossible,” Theo said sharply. “I was following his trail too. I saw signs—proof—that he was still after Deucalion until a few days ago.”

Chris nodded slowly. “That’s what we thought too. Until we realized Elijah’s men started tracking you instead.”

Peter crossed his arms. “We’ve been watching you, Theo. And we’ve seen the bodies piling up behind you. Doesn’t take a genius to guess what happened to them when they caught up to you. You really can be a one man wrecking crew when you put your heart into it.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed, voice low. “You don’t know shit. And you sure as hell don’t have the moral ground to judge me here.”

“Then tell us,” Chris challenged. “Why would Elijah be interested in you?”

Theo didn’t answer right away, because apart from wanting him dead, he had no idea what Elijah would actually want from him.

Peter stepped forward again, voice even. “I have another question. Do you actually know where you come from?”

That caught Theo off guard. His shoulders stiffened.

“No,” he admitted. “Not really. I mean—I don’t talk about it, because frankly I don’t see why it matter. But I do know my sister and I were adopted. Either way, blood or not, it didn’t stop them from leaving me when the only child they really cared about died. But what does it have to do with anything?”

Peter and Chris exchanged a glance.

Peter’s voice dropped. “If Elijah stopped going after Deucalion, maybe it’s because he wants to use you to draw him out.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Maybe Deucalion is more than just a mentor to you.” Theo stared at him like he’d grown another head. “I mean, you’re still alive right?” Peter pressed. “Elijah’s plan failed. You and Deucalion wiped out two packs, and the only ones you didn’t kill are working for him—and they obviously want your head. So why not just let them kill you?”

“That’s insane. You think Deucalion is my father?”

Chris shook his head. “It’s not the most plausible theory. The timeline doesn’t fit. When you were born, Deucalion was already a werewolf. You were born human, we know that.”

Peter wasn’t fazed. “That doesn’t mean Elijah isn’t your father. Weird shit happens all the time. You know that better than most.”

Theo just stared at him.

Peter continued. “Elijah’s been tearing through everything connected to your past. Dismantling Dread Doctor labs, digging for records. He’s looking for something. And maybe the only reason you’re not dead—despite being a thorn in his side for three months—is because who you are actually matters.”

Theo’s voice dropped, cold and sharp. “What I am? I’m a fucking mess. And it’s entirely your fault.”

“All I want is to help you, Theo...”

“You’re not my Alpha. You barely know Deucalion. You don’t get to act like you understand any of this. You might have fooled Stiles into buying your responsible alpha act, but we both know it’s all bullshit.”

Peter’s expression darkened. “I saved you. I gave you power—”

“You never gave a damn about me,” Theo cut in, furious. “That wasn’t a gift. That was a debt. One I refuse to pay.”

“Deucalion’s gone. Liam’s gone. Stiles is probably one breakdown away from triggering his powers again and go crazy. Don’t you get it? Things need to change, we need to rallie before the cracks in this group gets us all killed. You need us as much as we need you. And instead of showing the slightest gratitude that I’m still willing to help after everything, you spit in my face.” Peter stepped closer, jaw clenched. “Ungrateful little shit.”

“Oh, is this the part where I’m supposed to feel bad? Because your face says ‘guilt trip,’ but your age says ‘retirement plan.’”

For once, Peter didn’t respond. He just turned and walked to the door, stiff-backed.

Theo stood still, hands trembling slightly.

Not from anger. But because he hated that he felt anything at all.

Peter was a mirror—and Theo hated what he saw.

Peter paused at the door, not turning back. “You know, in the last year, we’ve nearly died together twice.”

“So?”

“Just saying—maybe this time you could tone it down with the power-rage-and-self-sacrifice bullshit, and actually see what’s going on around you.”

Theo gave him a look. “I plan to mind my own business from now on. Why don’t you do the same?”

“Oh, you mean now that we’re not trying to kill each other and I’m the one, as you just said, who’s stuck being the ‘responsible’ guy?”

“Don’t be mad ‘cause I’m doing me better than you’re doing you.”

Chris sighs quietly from his seat.

Peter huffed. “Damn kid.”

Theo turned to leave. But outside, Derek was waiting.

He stepped off the porch, intercepting Theo.

“I want to help,” Derek said plainly.

Theo sighed. “I’m never trusting Peter. Like hell I’ll believe Deucalion would lie to me about something like that! He’s not my father so just drop it. And if you’re smart, you shouldn’t trust me either.”

“I trust what I’ve seen,” Derek replied. “And I’ve seen you fight for people who never gave you a reason to. Peter might’ve taken your power, but even he knows you don’t belong on your own. That’s not how any of us survive. You need a pack, Theo. And whether you like it or not, we’re trying to be one.”

Theo looked away. “And all I’m saying is, you shouldn’t want me in it.”

“Maybe not,” Derek admitted. “But that’s not going to stop me from trying anyway.”

Theo hesitated. “You know what I’m capable of.”

Derek nodded. “I do. And I also know that you regret it.”

And that got to Theo. More than anything Derek had said. Guilt was a trigger Theo wasn’t prepared to face yet.

“You’re sure about that?”

“What do you mean?” asks Derek worried.

“It doesn’t matter, forget it.” Theo exhaled slowly. “Whatever Peter is trying to sell me—I’m not buying it.”

“Good,” Derek said. “Because I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m asking you to give me a chance.”

Theo didn’t answer.

"One more thing before you go. There’s more to it than what Peter told you."

“Shocking.”

"From what we knew, we thought Deucalion was attacked by two packs, and that you and him killed them in self-defense."

"Because we did."

"Yeah, well—rumors are spreading."

"From who?"

"Max. Remember her?"

"Her sister was one of the Alphas Deucalion killed."

"The one you killed."

Theo’s jaw tightened. “What’s the rumor?”

"Apparently, the attack didn’t come out of nowhere. Deucalion started it. He wanted to take control of their territory, he wanted to be an Alpha again—he went after them first. Only, he didn’t realize how outnumbered he was. He would’ve lost… until you showed up."

Theo didn’t speak.

Derek continued, voice steady. "And when we look at the outcome, Deucalion got exactly what she’s accusing him of. After the bloodbath, his pack was stronger than ever. His territory? Bigger than it’s ever been."

"You realize what that would mean, right?"

"Yeah."

"If that’s true, then I…" Theo swallowed hard. “I didn’t save Deucalion after he got betrayed…”

Derek finished for him, quietly. “You helped him carry out a massacre.”

Theo didn’t even try to refute this. He wasn’t about to doubt Deucalion and rethink everything that happened in the last few years for some stupid rumors. Not when Deucalion wasn’t even here to defend himself. He just decided to leave it at that and go. Before he said anything he would regret.

Derek watched him go, the air thick with everything left unsaid.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The silence in the Stilinski living room felt heavier than any argument could have been.

They’d barely spoken during the drive back. Just quiet breaths, an occasional glance, and the weight of everything that hadn’t been said.

Stiles stood near the doorway, keys still in hand. He wasn’t sure if letting Scott in the house had been the right idea — but it felt like the only one.

Scott was alive. And walking.

That part still hadn’t fully landed.

Scott hovered just inside the threshold, eyes scanning the space like it was a museum of a life he used to be part of. Like he didn’t know if he was welcome here anymore.

“You’re really awake,” Stiles said softly.

Scott nodded. “I am.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react here.”

“I didn’t expect you to. I’m not sure I do either.”

They stood in silence for a moment, until Stiles walked forward and pulled Scott into a tight hug. No words. Just the sound of breathing and the low hum of something breaking open inside both of them.

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” Stiles murmured.

“I know.”

Stiles pulled back, eyes already red but steady. “When did you wake up?”

“A few days ago.”

“And you didn’t call?”

“I called Malia. She didn’t answer. Peter barely acknowledged me. Liam… didn’t want to see me. Derek didn’t say much, I think is still pissed at me.”

“And me?” Stiles asked.

Scott gave a small smile. “You deserved more than a phone call.”

That answer made something twist in Stiles’ chest. He nodded, then looked away.

“I saw what happened,” Scott said quietly. “Before everything went black. I saw you. You didn’t know Elias would find out about our plan to save Deaton.. I know it wasn’t what you wanted.”

Stiles didn’t respond. His jaw clenched. “But it was still my plan. I put you in that hospital bed.”

“You didn’t. Elias did.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“No. But I need you to know I don’t blame you.”

“Well, I do.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, then muttered, “Also... Elias isn’t his real name.”

Scott frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah, so here we go again. His real name is Elijah,” Stiles said quietly. “I don’t know what it means yet, but Theo and I—we’re working on it.”

Scott blinked, caught off guard. “You’re working with Theo?”

Stiles gave a tired half-shrug. “Things change.”

Scott let out a small breath. “Yeah, I can see that. Did things change between us too?”

Stiles didn’t answer right away. His voice was quiet when it came. “I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Scott exhaled flashin his eyes yellow at Stiles. “That makes two of us.”

Stiles gave a small nod. He wasn’t an Alpha anymore. And Stiles had no idea what to make of it.

“I didn’t come back to fight, I need you to know that,” Scott said. “Or to take back the lead. I came back because I want to fix what I can.”

“And you think that starts with taking Peter’s Alpha power?” Stiles asked.

Scott hesitated. “If we don’t, he’ll spiral. He’s probably already on edge. We’ve seen this before. You know what power does to him.”

Stiles didn’t argue. He just nodded slowly “Peter knows it too. And he knows he needs the right people around him if he doesn’t want things to end the same way they did last time. He’s been helping me—still is, actually. And not just me. He wants to help Theo. Liam, too.’”

Scott frowned. “You trust Peter now?”

“Maybe,” Stiles admitted. “But Peter’s trying — really trying — to help him, even when he’s well aware that Theo hates him… I think that counts for something. Peter may think I don’t know about it, but I do. And now, so do you.”

“So where does that leave us?”

Stiles looked at him. “Trying to find another way. One where we don’t keep tearing each other apart.”

Scott nodded slowly. “You think Peter deserve to keep that power? That Theo deserves your trust?”

“I think they need it more than we do. I’ve forgiven. I really wish you could too. And maybe taking more from them isn’t the right move — even if we don’t know how things will turn out.”

Scott’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I’ll follow your lead. Just… give me the chance to prove I’m still someone worth trusting.”

The front door creaked open.

Derek’s voice called out from the hallway, “Stiles? You ready?”

Stiles turned.

Scott looked toward the door, then noticed something. A packed duffel bag and a backpack with Stiles’ pillow by the wall. “Wait… you’re leaving?”

“I have to,” Stiles said, voice soft. “Not town. Not anymore. I almost did. Until something pulled me back. But I can’t stay here. I would put my father at risk if I stayed.”

Scott’s voice was cautious. “So where are you going?”

Stiles looked over his shoulder. “It’s time I stop pretending I haven’t picked a side.”

Scott blinked. “What side?”

Stiles didn’t answer. He grabbed the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked toward the door where Derek waited. It didn’t escape Scott that Derek hadn’t looked at him — not even once since he got here.

But before stepping out, Stiles glanced back and added one more thing.

“I’m moving into the Hale house.”

Then he left. Scott stood there in the quiet of the Stilinski home. Everything familiar and yet... everything changed.

And still, despite it all — a flicker of hope stayed.

Chapter Text

Theo was on his way to see Liam, determined to wring the truth out of him one way or another. He’d had enough of half-answers and side glances. Assuming things instead of talking — that was how they’d all ended up knee-deep in this mess in the first place.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to keep running in circles. Not anymore. Not when it felt like everyone else had pieces of the puzzle that were somehow about his life… and he didn’t.

His phone buzzed again. Unknown number. Third time in a week.

Theo snatched it up, jaw tight. “Okay, I’m tired of this. Who the hell is this?”

A familiar voice oozed amusement. “What, forgot about me already? You’re breaking my heart, kid.”

Theo froze for half a second. “Deucalion?”

“Ah, so you do remember me.” The smirk in his voice was almost tangible. “You have been on my trail for months, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Theo’s hand clenched around the phone. “You’ve got some nerve calling me now. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for weeks. I know you’re on the run, I’m not stupid. But maybe checking in once in a while—just to tell me you’re still alive—would’ve been nice.”

“And why would I be dead exactly? Think I can’t handle myself?” Deucalion’s tone sharpened, just enough to sting.

“Screw you.”

“Or maybe,” Deucalion went on smoothly, “you’re referring the trail of bodies that’s been piling up while you’ve been looking for me.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “Are you kidding me?!”

“Relax,” Deucalion said, voice low and unbothered. “I know you didn’t kill them. No need to lose your shit over it. But maybe that should’ve been your sign to stop looking for me—if you weren’t so damn stubborn.”

Theo let out a humorless laugh. “And what am I supposed to do then? Just stand back and wait for your eulogy to land in my mailbox?”

“Yes,” Deucalion replied without hesitation. “Stop looking for me. Stop trying to get to Elijah. Just stay put and accept there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re not responsible for this—I am. And if you don’t stop, you and your friends are the ones who’ll pay the price.”

Theo’s voice dropped, cautious now. “Wait a minute… You know what’s happening, don’t you?”

“You mean Elijah trying to use you to lure me out?” Deucalion’s tone was almost mocking. “Liam and your old buddy Asher playing partners in crime? Or the fact that you have absolutely no idea how to deal with your new powers? Because I do. And I hate that I can’t do a damn thing about any of it.”

Theo’s grip tightened. “And it never occurred to you that maybe I needed to know about all this?”

“No,” Deucalion said simply. “Because I thought you’d eventually figure out there’s nothing you can do and you’d drop it. And I know you would’ve—if it wasn’t for those damn Hales dragging you back in.”

“They didn’t drag me anywhere,” Theo snapped. “I asked them to track Liam down.”

“And now I’m telling you to drop it.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Deucalion shot back, his patience thinning. “If you don’t, you’ll lose a lot more than your little vengeance fantasies about Elijah. There’s a lot you don’t know, and if you really want to help me, the best thing you can do is stay out of it.”

Theo’s voice was ice. “Why? To protect me? Or because you’re scared of what I might find?”

“Care to elaborate?”

Theo didn’t answer right away. He stared at the wall, jaw working. Maybe he should confront him about what Peter had said—about Deucalion starting the war with those packs, about his so-called “heritage.” But the truth was… he didn’t want to. Because he had no idea what he’d do if any of it turned out to be true.

“Nothing,” he said at last. “I’m hanging up.”

“Theo, I’m warning you. Stay out of it.”

Theo let out a sharp, humorless chuckle. “If you’ve got something to tell me, do it to my face instead of keeping tabs on my screwed-up life and just letting me stew in it. Oh wait—you can’t.”

“Theo—”

“Nice talk,” Theo cut in, the words dripping with venom. “Let’s do this again the next time you need to remind me how much of a pain I am to you, okay?”

He hung up before Deucalion could answer.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Liam had gone straight to the place where Elijah always met him. A quiet, out-of-the-way spot that had become their unofficial meeting ground whenever Elijah needed him. The walls seemed to hold on to the cold, metallic scent of every past conversation, and the air carried that heavy kind of silence that promised nothing good was coming.

He waited. Not for Elijah this time, but for Asher. Because if he was going to get answers, it had to be now. And he wasn’t about to let the guy walk away with a smug grin and another round of half-truths.

The sound of slow, unhurried footsteps drew his attention. Asher appeared, leaning against the doorframe with a kind of casual arrogance, his arms crossed loosely, his gaze already fixed on Liam like he’d been looking forward to this.

“Cole.”

“Liam.” The name left Asher’s lips like a private joke.

“Sorry—Ash, right?”

“Asher, actually.” He pushed away from the frame and stepped into the room, each movement unhurried but deliberate. “But Ash works too, I guess.”

Liam’s brow furrowed. “Why can’t anyone stick to their birth-given names around here? You’re not spies, for god’s sake.”

“I didn’t need to be a spy to get what I wanted from you.” Asher’s voice carried a lazy confidence, his eyes scanning Liam from head to toe as if cataloging him.

“And what is that?”

“Whatever Elias needed me to find out.”

Liam’s jaw tightened. “How do you know Theo? You’ve been acting like you had no idea who he was, or even cared what I told you about him.”

“I know.” Asher took another step closer, the space between them narrowing.

“That’s exactly what you wanted.” Liam’s voice dropped, his stance shifting in realization.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much.” Asher’s tone was almost gentle now, but the way his mouth curved made it clear it was mockery. He moved into Liam’s space just enough for it to feel intentional, tilting his head as though studying him under a microscope. “I didn’t learn much from you. After all, I know him better than you ever will.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“Don’t I?” Asher’s smile turned sharper. “I’m the one who made him who he is today. I turned him into a killer. And from what I recall…” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something that felt uncomfortably intimate. “He loved it.”

Liam’s hands balled into fists. “Like I said—you don’t know shit.”

“I know what Theo’s life has looked like since I had to leave him.” Asher’s voice softened again, unsettlingly fond. “Thanks to you, I know his weaknesses, his strengths, what he cares about… who he cares about. And how to get him back.”

He let the words hang in the air, watching Liam’s jaw twitch before adding, “Liquor turns you into a leaky faucet. You should be more careful who you pour your heart out to, buddy. It’s embarrassing, really.”

Liam’s breathing hitched for a fraction of a second. “You’ve been draining me for intel for months. You never cared about the Dread Doctors or finding anything to replace the clock. All you ever wanted was for me to give you every scrap of knowledge I had on Theo. Why? Because Elijah thinks I’m his weakness?”

“I don’t care what Elijah thinks.” Asher’s eyes glittered, and he brushed past Liam just enough for his shoulder to graze his. “You won’t matter when Theo finally accepts me back.”

Liam turned sharply to face him. “So which is it? Did you do it for Elijah or for yourself?”

“I do what I do because I’m loyal.” Asher’s head tilted, mock curiosity in his voice. “What about you?”

“What I do, and why I do it, are none of your business.” Liam stepped forward, closing the gap again, their faces inches apart now. “And as for Theo—I’ll kill you before you even try anything. Got it?”

Asher’s smirk deepened. “Aren’t we feeling like a courageous little shit today, Dunbar?” His gaze lingered a beat too long, like he was weighing just how far he could push before Liam snapped.

“Enough.”

Both turned toward the voice. Elijah stood in the doorway, calm but unmistakably in control.

“Elijah,” Asher greeted smoothly, though his tone carried a subtle edge.

“Leave.”

For once, Asher didn’t argue. He let his eyes drag over Liam one last time, slow and deliberate, before brushing past him on his way out — the ghost of a smirk still on his lips.

Liam didn’t waste time. “We need to talk.” His voice was steady, but the set of his jaw gave him away.

“I’m all ears.” Elijah’s reply was smooth, almost inviting, though his eyes held that sharp, assessing glint that never softened.

“You lied to me. You didn’t want my help. You couldn’t care less about that.”

“You’re not the one I want, Liam.” Elijah’s tone didn’t shift, but there was a cruel edge to it now. “But you gave me access to him.”

Liam’s fists tightened at his sides. “How dare you go behind my back and send that little shit to gain my trust and make me open up.”

“I’m sorry you were somehow under the assumption we were partners on this.” Elijah’s gaze stayed locked on him, unreadable but suffocating.

“Oh, don’t bullshit me.”

“Watch how you talk to me, kid.” Elijah stepped forward, his presence pressing down like a weight. “This isn’t a fucking business transaction. You came to me, not the other way around. And you did it with your eyes wide open. I tell you what to do, and you do it. That’s how it works. Understood?”

“I would have never agreed if I knew about all this.” Liam kept his voice low, careful, though his shoulders stayed squared.

“Knew what? That I’d keep an eye on your friends? That I’d make sure you weren’t plotting something and pretending to play nice just to stab me in the back?” Elijah’s voice dipped lower, colder. “I got what I wanted from you. Consider your services no longer needed. And don’t try running to your friends about this. You might regret what happens if you do. Now leave. Stay away until I tell you otherwise.”

Liam turned for the door, steps controlled.

“Say hello to McCall for me.”

He froze. “How did you—” The shock was immediate; he’d only found out Scott was awake yesterday. How could Elijah already know about it?

“Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Liam had no answer. His throat felt tight.

“You can go now.”

He walked out without looking back. As he stepped outside, his eyes caught a glimpse of something. A file on a desk. Nothing weird except for the fact that Theo’s name was written on it. He decided to just ignore it and leave, hoping no one saw him looking at it.

“Asher?” Elijah’s voice cut through the silence.

Asher emerged from the shadows, hands in his pockets, posture too casual to be natural.

“What happened?” Elijah asked, his tone deceptively calm.

“Things got out of hand, I know. But I’m gonna fix it.”

“What I wanna know is how the hell Liam found out about you.”

“I don’t know. People know shit.”

“People don’t know shit. People get told shit.”

Asher’s mouth twitched. “I know what you’re implying, but I didn’t tell him.”

“I wasn’t talking about him. You went to see him, didn’t you?”

A flicker of hesitation. “You mean Theo?”

“Liam’s been working with you for months and he never suspected anything. Not until Theo came back. Is that really such a stretch? You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“Bullshit, I would never—”

“Watch your mouth.” Elijah’s voice cut like a blade, his eyes flashing with restrained fury.

Asher’s gaze dropped instantly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I told Theo. And the truth is, I didn’t care if Liam found out or not. I shouldn’t have…”

“No. I get it. It was a mistake. After all, to err is human.”

Relief flickered across Asher’s face. “Thank you—”

“So be sure that if it happens again…” Elijah’s voice lowered to something far more dangerous. “I’ll beat that humanity right out of you.”

Silence settled, heavy and unyielding.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Theo was leaning casually against the wall next to Liam’s apartment door when the younger man finally showed up, keys in hand and brows already furrowed. And for a second Liam thought about turning back and just leave him there, but it was his apartment and he had literally nowhere else to go. And as painful as it might get, they needed to talk. So, he might as well do it now. What he didn’t have to do, is be happy about it.

“Nice apartment,” Theo remarked as Liam stepped past him, his tone making it very clear he wasn’t interested really interested.

Liam dropped his bag on the counter, glancing over his shoulder. “How did you even find this place?”

Theo didn’t answer right away, and that hesitation was enough. Liam froze mid-step, realization hitting him. His expression twisted in disbelief.

“You put a tracker on me again, didn’t you? I can’t believe you!”

Theo just looked at him, completely unapologetic. “The first time was my bad, yeah. But you should be ashamed I got you twice with the same trick.” He tilted his head. “By the way, why’d you move out? And how do you even pay for it?”

“I got a side job,” Liam said flatly, “but you already knew that — since you tracked me down there yesterday.”

“You work at that bar?” Theo asked.

Liam turned fully to face him, his patience wearing thin. “What do you want, Theo?”

Theo’s smirk faded, replaced by something heavier. He took a step closer, eyes locking on Liam’s.

“I know you’ve been working with Ash,” Theo said, skipping any kind of warm up. His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it that cut through the air. “But most importantly… I know who both of you are working for.”

Liam’s head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing. “You’re mad at me? That’s rich, coming from the guy who just got tongue-fucked by that same guy.”

Theo’s eyes flared. “You can’t trust Asher, Liam.”

“Why? Jealous I’ll try to take your boyfriend away from you?”

“I’m serious.”

“Of course I can’t trust him. He’s a damn psycho. How stupid do you think I am?”

Theo leaned in, voice dropping. “Didn’t stop you from training with him, now, did it?”

Liam stiffened. “…How do you know that?”

“I saw you fight those guys back at Deucalion’s place. I know how he operates better than anyone. And you—” Theo’s jaw flexed. “You moved exactly like him. That’s not coincidence.”

Liam’s tone was flat, defensive. “You two are very close. Yeah, I got that.”

Theo’s voice was bitter, almost raw. “I don’t know what his angle is, but I won’t let him change you. No way you’re turning into him.”

“It’s not like I let him mold me into a soulless murderer or something.”

Theo’s gaze sharpened, cutting right through him.

“Is that what he did to you?” added Liam taunting any reaction he could from Theo. But none came. None other than the anger rising in Theo’s blood.

A silence stretched, then Liam’s jaw clenched. “You’re looking at me like you don’t know me. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not like him. You know me better than that.”

Theo barked a laugh, humorless. “Do I? What about the guy you dropped in Deucalion’s place, huh?”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“No? You snapped his neck.”

“Yeah. His neck, not his spine. I knew what I was doing, I was careful. He’s a werewolf, he’s fine.”

Theo stepped forward. “Yeah, I know he’s fine. Just like I know who taught you how to do it.”

“He was one of Elijah’s men. I just didn’t want him running telling him he saw me with you.”

Theo’s expression darkened. “Then you should’ve killed him. Because half-dead men who are now ‘fine’ can still talk.”

“It doesn’t matter now. Asher made sure Elijah would sideline me anyways after his little stunt he pulled at the bar with you.” Liam’s voice hardened, final. And the jealous act Liam didn’t seem to want to let go was just too much for Theo to handle.

Theo took a step forward, jaw tightening. “Don’t act like you care. I may have gone insane for a moment there, and maybe old habits do die hard, but I got blindsided. You—” he jabbed a finger toward Liam “—you chose to side with him.”

“So…?”

“So? What the hell, Liam?” Theo’s voice rose just enough to break his usual restraint. “Why would you side with a couple of psychopaths like them? Especially after what Elijah did to Scott?”

Liam shifted his weight but didn’t look away. “I have my reasons. I can’t tell you.”

“And I don’t give a shit,” Theo shot back. “You decided to side with the guy who’s been sending people after me for three months — apparently — and trying to use me to lure Deucalion out.”

“I didn’t know he was after you,” Liam said, his voice steady but his fists flexing at his sides. “I had no idea until I confronted Co—” He stopped himself.

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “Co…?”

“Cole,” Liam admitted. “Yeah. The asshole didn’t even tell me his real name. Shocking, right? Probably because he thought I’d run straight to you and spill everything before he had the chance to do it himself.”

“Barely knowing the guy didn’t stop you from helping him dig into my past, apparently,” Theo said, his voice already tight. Each word came out like it had teeth. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I can’t tell you,” Liam shot back, his own tone sharpening. “You need to stay out of it.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, shoulders squaring. “Stay out of it? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Let it go, Theo.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice rose, raw frustration breaking through. “Why don’t I just go see Elijah myself then?”

“No!” The word ripped out of Liam so fast it almost startled him.

Theo stepped forward, heat in his glare. “Why?”

“If you still care about me — even the slightest — you won’t. And you won’t ask me why.”

Theo tilted his head slowly, voice dropping into something cold and dangerous. “Not good enough. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because, like I said before… you owe me.”

Theo’s breathing had gone uneven, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He took half a step closer, the space between them charged and tense. For a moment, it looked like he might explode — but instead, he forced out a sharp breath through his nose, almost like it physically hurt him to stop.

“Okay,” he said finally, voice low and clipped. “Enough.”

“Enough what?”

Theo didn’t answer — and maybe that’s why Liam moved. In one sudden, reckless motion, Liam grabbed Theo by the collar and crushed their mouths together. The kiss was fierce, almost desperate, and for a heartbeat Theo didn’t pull away — his fingers twitching as if torn between shoving and holding on.

Then the dam broke. With a sharp, violent shove, Theo pushed him back hard.

“Try that again,” Theo growled, eyes shut tight, “and I’ll fucking punch you.” His voice shook — not from fear, but from the effort it took to keep himself in check.

Liam started to snap back — “You really got some nerves to—” — but cut himself short when he heard the change in Theo’s breathing. It was faster. Rougher. The steady thud of his heart now a pounding rhythm Liam couldn’t ignore.

“Theo,” he said, softer now, “what’s wrong?”

“Just… give me a second.” Theo still hadn’t opened his eyes, his voice strained like he was holding something back with everything he had.

“Theo, open your eyes.”

“No. I can’t.”

It clicked. “You don’t want me to see them. They changed after the bite, didn’t they?”

Theo opened his eyes at last, back to their normal color, calmer now but still guarded. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me. Am I right to think you don’t want me to see your eyes because of their color?”

“No,” Theo said quietly. “I don’t want you to see them because I don’t want you to tell me what you’re gonna see.”

Liam frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“I haven’t shifted once since the bite. Except for the full moon — and the only thing I managed to control at the time were my damn eyes. I can’t control anything else… but that, I can. Full moon’s a bitch, let me tell you. Truth is, I don’t even know if they changed.”

“You never looked.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Because you’re scared they turned blue?”

“Because I’m scared they didn’t.”

Liam’s brows knit. “What do you mean?”

“Blue eyes aren’t the mark of being a killer,” Theo said, almost like he was admitting it to himself. “It’s the mark of guilt. And I’m scared that maybe I didn’t change as much as I thought… or as much as you want me to.”

For a moment, Liam said nothing. He looked like he wanted to argue, but Theo cut him off before he could.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” Theo said, stepping past him. “I have no right to dump this on you. I know you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“What? When did I even say that?”

“At the hospital,” Theo reminded him. “You told Stiles he and I had no right to come back into your life, right?”

Liam hesitated, caught.

“It’s okay. I get it. You don’t have to justify yourself.”

“Oh, come on. I was just mad—”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t mean it.”

“Would you just shut up and let me talk?” Liam stepped in front of him, stopping him from reaching the door. “You’re the one who keeps running away from me, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, I know.” Theo said now calmed down before he leaned back against the wall, dragging a hand down his face before finally meeting Liam’s gaze.

Liam smirked faintly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about you… struggling to control yourself because of the full moon. Kinda ironic, seeing the tables turned.”

“You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?” Theo asked, not angry — almost amused.

“Maybe just a little.”

“I need a night off, Liam.”

“From what? Me? Because you’ve had three months of that. Don’t tell me I’ve managed to piss you off that much in the two conversations we’ve had since you came back.” His tone was joking, but his eyes betrayed worry.

“From everything,” Theo said honestly. “Feels like I went from zero to a thousand miles per hour in record time these last few days. I have no idea who to trust or what to believe.”

“Yeah. I get that.” Liam’s voice softened. “Let me ask you one thing though.”

Theo gave him a tired smile. “What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

“Good.” A small, quiet beat passed between them. “Now, do you trust Stiles?”

“I do, actually.”

“Then trust that the people around you do too. And we wouldn’t if you didn’t deserve it. You should know the kind of man you are. All you have to do is look around and see what kind of people are standing beside you. I won’t force you to face the truth about your eyes… but I don’t need to see them to know who you are.”

“You’re smarter than people give you credit for, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do. So please stop acting like a moron and just hear what I’m about to tell you.” He stepped closer. “You’re a good person, Theo.”

Theo let out a short laugh. “Oh, come on, I’m serious” Liam told him a little annoyed.

“I know, I know. I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It’s not even funny actually.”

“Then what?”

“I never wanted to run away from you,” Theo admitted. “But there’s always something in the back of my head — every time you try to pry into my mind. Something I learned from Ash.”

“From Ash?”

“When you’re drowning, you should always make sure what you’re reaching for isn’t what’s gonna kill you. Sometimes a dead weight can look a lot like a life jacket.”

Liam shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“He basically taught me to never trust someone who wanted to help me. You can’t trust someone else to care about your survival. In the end, we’re all alone. I didn’t believe him at the time… because I thought I could trust him. That he trusted me. But I was wrong about that too.”

“How close were you?”

“As close as two people can be when they’ve spent their childhood as science experiments.”

Liam’s expression changed. “He’s a chimera.”

“Yeah. And he wasn’t supposed to leave me. Ever. I had him. I could trust him. So why would I need to be scared of being alone?”

“But something changed.”

“He died.” The silence after that felt heavy. “I’d already lost my parents. My friends. My sister — and yeah, that one’s on me, I know. But I had him. I thought I’d be okay. But he left me too. I hated him for it. And now, turns out he survived. So, maybe I can’t shake him of, but I probably hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone. Back then, his death is what made me realize that if I wanted to survive the Dread Doctors, I had to do whatever it took to stay alive.”

“Even if it meant manipulating people… and killing the ones that got in your way.”

“I am not a good person, Liam. Haven’t been for a long time. Maybe I thought I could be, but let’s face it — I keep running from you because it’s all I know. My survival instinct is wired so deep into me that it makes me dangerous.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I know. You always see the good in people. You’d rather get burned a thousand times by me, or Stiles, or Scott than admit you’re surrounded by wildfire.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Don’t stay in a house that’s on fire. When the flames reach you, you run. You don’t look back. You don’t try to put them out. You run for your life… and you never stop.”

“I can’t run from you,” Liam said firmly. “I don’t want to.”

“I know. That’s why I always do it for you.”

Theo turned to go, but Liam called after him. “Theo.”

“Yeah, little wolf?”

For some stupid reason, the nickname warmed something in Liam’s chest.

“I’m not letting you run anymore. Whether you can trust it or not, I’m not gonna die on you. I’m gonna get you back, and you can’t stop me.”

Theo gave him a soft smile, a quiet laugh. “I’d like to see you try… or not.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know.” Theo’s smile faded to something sadder. “And that’s the problem.”

He walked away, and Liam knew a punch was definitely in his future — but he didn’t care. All he could think about when Theo walked out was kissing him again. He wasn’t letting Theo run, not this time. He meant every word, and he’d prove it, no matter what it took.

Chapter Text

Derek had barely rolled to a stop before Stiles was out of the car. Derek stayed behind to park farther down the road — probably a precaution to make sure no one had followed them back here. Paranoia had become the norm around here.

The Hale house stood ahead, whole and warm, every detail polished back to life. When Stiles stepped inside, it was like stepping into a memory he’d never actually lived.

It was exactly how he’d imagined it before the fire — rich wood, high ceilings, sunlight spilling over floors that didn’t creak or groan. For a moment, it felt like hope. And it hit him why Peter had rebuilt it so carefully. This wasn’t just about Peter’s pride. It really was for Derek. And, maybe, Stiles realized, it was for him too.

He wandered the halls slowly, fingertips grazing the railings, peering into rooms, letting the quiet wrap around him. Eventually, he found himself at the threshold of an office.

Peter was there, half-sprawled along a couch, one arm draped over his forehead like a man from some decadent painting. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled back just enough to show veins and tendons, his chest rising with slow, measured breaths. He looked exhausted. Dangerously exhausted. The kind of tired that stripped people down to their most honest.

“Jeez,” Stiles said, leaning on the doorframe. “You okay?”

Peter cracked an eye, voice low and rich. “I’ve had a rough couple of days. And you moving in isn’t going to make things any easier.”

“You’re the one who told me to stop stalling and help you— as I promised, remember?” Stiles shot back.

“I know,” Peter replied, a smirk tugging faintly at his lips. “And I’m thrilled you finally seem to agree with me. But Derek’s going to be on my back about this. He’s been… judgy lately. Not that you haven’t noticed.”

“Okay, listen,” Stiles said, shifting like he might retreat. “I can just go. I’ll find somewhere else to crash.”

“You don’t want to stay?” Peter asked, and there was just enough softness in his tone to make Stiles hesitate.

“All I mean is, you don’t look so good.”

“Thanks,” Peter replied, mock injury lacing the word.

“That’s not what I meant,” Stiles said quickly. “You know you always look good.”

Peter’s smirk sharpened. “Yeah?”

“I meant — you always look healthy,” Stiles corrected, stumbling slightly.

“Okay.”

“But you don’t look so healthy now. Now you look—”

“Unhealthy,” Peter supplied.

“Yeah.”

“Noted.” His victorious little smile only made Stiles roll his eyes.

“Oh, what? So I said you look good. Fine. You look good. Big deal.” But Stiles’s mouth betrayed him, curving into a reluctant smile that mirrored Peter’s. “Stop staring at me.”

Peter sat up slowly, planting his feet on the floor, elbows resting on his knees. He studied Stiles with patience. Then he stood — unhurried, every step closing the distance with a weight that made Stiles’s pulse trip.

Stiles stayed put.

Peter moved into his space without asking, tilting his head slightly as his hand found Stiles’s hip — the grip light but deliberate, thumb brushing just enough to make it clear this wasn’t an accident. His other hand hovered near Stiles’s side, close enough to feel the heat radiating between them.

Stiles didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. He locked eyes with Peter, almost daring him to go further. Peter noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed it — the want, threaded through the defiance like barbed wire. If anything, Stiles leaned into the moment, practically daring Peter to close the gap.

Then the sound of the front door broke the moment like glass.

Derek stepped in, his gaze sweeping over them. His jaw tightened at the sight of Peter’s hand still resting on Stiles’s hip.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Derek muttered.

“Damn it,” Peter said under his breath, the exhaustion sliding back over his face like armor. Derek walked out again without another word.

“See?” Stiles said, stepping back just enough to break the touch. “That’s what you get for being cocky.”

“Don’t pretend I was the only one enjoying it,” Peter replied smoothly.

“I’m not,” Stiles admitted, lifting his bags. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to unpack. Actually… where am I supposed to unpack?”

“You can stay in my room if you want,” Peter offered. “God knows there’s enough space.”

“Never mind,” Stiles said quickly. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Or,” Peter countered, “you could just join me. Spare me the pain of being ‘unhealthy’ and alone in my bed tonight.”

Stiles gave him a flat look. “What did I just say about being cocky?”

“That you liked it,” Peter replied smoothly.

Stiles shook his head and started up the stairs. “Moment’s gone, Peter. Let it go.”

“Fine. Goodnight, dear.”

Seconds later, Derek appeared in the doorway again.

“What part of ‘don’t screw with him’ did you not understand?”

“I said I wouldn’t,” Peter replied. “But I also said your problem wasn’t about me screwing with him — it was about me screwing him. And you know what?”

“That’s none of my business?” Derek said flatly.

“I guess you do get it,” Peter said with a faint smile, sinking back onto the couch, the exhaustion rolling over him again.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” Derek said quietly.

“So do I,” Peter murmured.

Outside, hidden in the shadows, Theo watched — muscles tight, heart hammering. Trusting Peter was one thing. Watching Stiles flirt with the man who had stolen his power, nearly killed him, and bitten him was another entirely. If Theo didn’t leave now, he wasn’t sure how long he could hold back from putting Stiles through a wall.

 

_______________________________________________________________________________

 

Liam stood in front of Scott’s house, pacing back and forth along the walkway. Twenty minutes. That’s how long he’d been wearing a path into the same strip of grass, debating whether to knock or turn around. He’d just convinced himself to leave when the front door opened.

Scott stepped into the doorway, hair mussed, eyes tired. Seeing him there still hit Liam harder than expected — he’d known Scott was awake, had known it from the dozen missed calls, but the reality still knocked the breath out of him.

“Hey,” Liam said quietly.

“Hey.”

“I…”

“You okay?” Scott asked, scanning him.

“I… shouldn’t be here.” Liam glanced toward the street. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” He didn’t move.

“You don’t have to.”

“…Okay.” The word came out awkward, uncertain.

“I’m not gonna stop you if you really want to go,” Scott said, leaning against the doorframe. “But you’ve been walking in circles for half an hour. So maybe you wanted to tell me something?”

“You lied to me,” Liam snapped, the words sharp and unfiltered. His voice was shaking, but not from fear — from the frustration that had been boiling in him for months. “You lied and you betrayed me.”

“I know.” Scott’s answer was steady, almost too steady, like he’d been expecting every hit Liam could throw at him.

“You sent Theo to his death. You lied again. You pushed Stiles away. And then you handed us over to Elijah like it was nothing.”

“I did.” No defense. No excuses. Just the weight of it sitting between them.

Liam took a step closer, jaw tight, eyes burning. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Scott’s silence stretched long enough that Liam almost turned away. Then—

“That I didn’t want you to die,” Scott said, the words breaking through like a crack in a dam. His voice wasn’t calm anymore — it was raw, frayed at the edges, desperate in a way Liam wasn’t used to hearing from him.

It stopped Liam cold. The anger in his chest faltered, replaced by a sudden, uncomfortable stillness. “…What?”

“You got kidnapped, Liam. We found you two weeks later, strung up in the woods and half-dead. You almost didn’t make it. I watched you slip away for weeks until you almost died in my arms.” Scott’s voice was low, rough. “I couldn’t save you, and it… it messed me up. I couldn’t stop thinking about it — that I couldn’t let it happen again. I was wrong, I know that. You have no idea how sorry I am. But I can’t undo it. What Elijah did to me… it’s nothing compared to what I almost caused. I was scared, and I screwed up.”

Before he could think about it, Liam stepped forward and pulled Scott into a tight hug. For a second, Scott didn’t move — and then he held on, a breath leaving him that sounded almost like a sob, the tension in his body finally breaking. Relief poured through him, quiet but overwhelming, like he’d been waiting months just to feel that weight lift from his chest.

“Please don’t get yourself killed again. I’m not sure I can handle it one more time.”

“I didn’t die, you know.”

“You would’ve, if Elijah hadn’t woken you up.”

Scott leaned back, frowning. “…So I didn’t dream it.”

“You knew?”

“No. I wasn’t sure. I thought I was just out of it when I woke up. But yeah, I guess he did. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Scott hesitated. “I remember something he said, though.”

“When?”

“Just before he woke me. He said he needed me alive for his plan. Something about my friends… and that you’re gonna need a hero. I have no idea what it means, I swear.”

“I believe you.”

“He said one more thing. Didn’t seem like much at the time, but it’s been stuck in my head. Until now I thought it was just a weird dream.”

“What was it?”

“He said he woke me because he loved a ‘good dysfunctional family reunion.’ I thought he meant me and my mother, but I’m not so sure now. Any idea what that means?”

“…Maybe.” Liam’s expression tightened. “I hope I’m wrong, but I think it has to do with Theo. His family.”

“His biological family?”

“You know about that?”

“The first time Theo came back to town, Stiles dug up everything he could. It came up, but it didn’t lead anywhere, so we dropped it. I wasn’t keeping it from you, I guess we just didn’t see the point at the time.”

“No, I get it. It’s just… weird.”

“What is?”

“I thought I knew him. But in the last few weeks, I’ve found out so much I didn’t know about his past. Maybe he’s right when he says I don’t know him.”

Scott gave a faint smile. “You know what I think about Theo… and yeah, I’ve thought about it a lot. But maybe he’s not as much of a mystery as he likes to pretend.”

“What do you mean?”

“For all his bad sides — and God, there are a lot—”

Liam narrowed his eyes.

“One thing’s always been true. More than anything, Theo’s always wanted to belong. Even as kids, even when he was obsessed with Stiles and shadowed him everywhere, even when he came back and stalked you after we pushed him out — he’s always been looking for a connection. And since you two got in each other’s lives, he’s been fighting to keep his place by your side. I think that should matter too.”

“…Wow. Did I have a stroke?”

Scott frowned. “What?”

“I just never thought I’d hear you say anything even remotely nice about him. And this is coming from a world where Stiles and Theo are now basically best friends. Maybe the world really is ending.”

“Okay, dramatic much?”

“Depends… do you smell toast?”

They laughed, the weight between them lightening for the first time in weeks. Liam felt, for the first time in a long while, that maybe things could be fixed. Maybe he could get his life back.

“But seriously,” Scott said, sobering. “You’ll never know if you can trust him if you keep him at arm’s length. Learn from my mistakes. If you tell him the truth, maybe he won’t stab you in the heart with it.”

“And if he does?” Liam asked, half-joking, half-serious.

“I’ll be there for you. I swear.”

Liam didn’t answer right away, just hugged him again. “I’m so glad you finally pulled your head out of your ass.”

Scott laughed, hugging him back.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Deaton barely had time to look up from the small table in front of him before the door creaked open.

When he saw who stepped inside, his expression hardened.

“Asher Moren,” he said flatly.

“Aw, you do remember me,” Asher drawled, stepping into the dimly lit room with that lazy, predatory gait of his. “Guess I should be flattered. Or worried. Haven’t decided yet.”

Deaton straightened, the faint scent of dust and iron in the air reminding him just how long he’d been confined in this place — Deucalion’s little half-lab, half-cell.

“I doubt you came here for pleasantries,” he said.

“Nope,” Asher replied, strolling closer. His gaze skimmed over the shelves lined with vials and instruments before he trailed his fingers across the table between them, as if deliberately leaving his touch behind. “Just thought I’d drop in and congratulate you. Betraying Scott and his little pack? Selling out their secrets to Elijah?” He smirked. “That’s some top-tier moral bankruptcy, Doc. I’m almost impressed.”

Deaton’s jaw tightened. “If you came here to waste my time—”

“Oh, this isn’t a waste of time.” Asher circled the table slowly, forcing Deaton to turn in his chair to keep him in sight. Then, without warning, he leaned in, bracing one hand on the back of Deaton’s chair — close enough that the faint warmth of him pressed against Deaton’s shoulder. “For me, anyway. You, on the other hand…” He then looked down at Deaton arm, noticing the missing hand and his mouth just cracked into a sick smile. “Whoops. Guess Elijah’s not the only one who likes cutting to the point.”

Deaton’s gaze didn’t waver. “Does Elijah know you came to see me?”

The smirk vanished, replaced by a colder, more deliberate expression. He stepped in even closer, his knee brushing the side of Deaton’s chair. “He better not find out.”

The air in the room thickened — the kind of silence that made it hard to breathe. Deaton could feel the threat radiating off him, quiet but very, very real.

“He won’t hear it from me,” Deaton said finally.

Asher studied him for a long beat, measuring him like a predator deciding whether the prey was worth the effort. Then he leaned down, lowering his voice to a whisper right by Deaton’s ear. “I heard a little rumor. About something you whipped up for Theo. A nice little nap time cocktail — wolfsbane and mercury.”

Deaton’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that?”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Asher’s face. “So it’s true.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Deaton replied evenly. “For one, Theo isn’t a chimera anymore. And two, it didn’t even work that well. So there’s no point in me doing it again, if that’s what you were looking for.”

“I don’t care about that,” Asher said, his tone smooth but with that steel edge still there. “I just want to know what else you can do.”

That smile lingered, sharp and knowing. Deaton felt it in his gut — whatever Asher wanted, it wasn’t good. And the worst part was… in here, with Asher close enough to feel his pulse, he had no power to say no.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

But inside Theo’s head, it was chaos — a pressure building, voices overlapping, faces he didn’t want to see. Liam’s voice. Stiles’ smirk. Deucalion’s calm, calculated stare. All of it grinding against the edges of his patience until it felt like his skin didn’t fit right.

His eyes landed on the far wall.

The same wall Liam had seen last time he was here — covered edge to edge in papers, photographs, red string, every scrap Theo had collected while hunting Elijah and looking for Deucalion. Months of work, months of obsession, laid out in perfect, suffocating order.

He stared at it for one beat too long.

And then he moved.

The first paper came down in a single rip, the sound sharp in the still air. Then another. And another. His fingers curled into the edges and tore without thinking, the movements jerky, breath hitching higher with each pull. Soon it wasn’t about choosing anymore — it was about destruction.
Photographs shredded between his hands. Pins snapped and skittered across the floor. A chair went flying into the wall with a crack, bounced, then splintered against the coffee table.

The sound of breaking wood echoed in the room. His chest was heaving now, a sharp, uneven rhythm. The wall was bare. The floor was wreckage.

Silence hit, heavy and absolute.

Theo stood in the middle of it, chest rising and falling, hands still trembling with the urge to keep going. Then his gaze dropped — and there it was.

A single photo of Deucalion, untouched, lying in the middle of the debris as if it had been waiting for him.

He crouched, picked it up, and stared. The rage in his chest cooled just enough to feel the ache underneath. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely audible.

His phone rang.

Liam.

Theo closed his eyes for a few seconds, forcing the air back into his lungs in something that almost resembled control. When he finally answered, his voice was steady — almost casual.

“Yeah?”

“Hey!” Liam sounded lighter than he expected, but with that edge Theo could always hear. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“I’m not working for Elijah anymore.”

“Oh, really?”

“All I wanted was to get enough information to know how to take the guy down.”

“And? Did you?”

“No.”

“It was rhetorical, you know? If it was that easy to find his weakness, we’d have done it by now.”

“Yeah, but I found something else. About you.”

Theo let a smirk creep into his tone. “Oh yeah? What is it — I’m secretly a unicorn? No, wait, I’m a Kennedy.”

“How about you just let me tell you what I’ve been doing for the last three months, and you listen?”

“Fine. I’m listening.”

“I’ve been working with Asher for two months. He barely told me anything, but I knew we were digging into the Dread Doctors’ old experiments. Elijah was looking for a way to make the clock work or replace it — probably with something else that could mimic Stiles’ power. Not that he knows Stiles even has them.”

“Less detail, Liam. You’re losing me.”

“Point is, he lied — of course. But we went everywhere: old Dread Doctors sites, abandoned houses, adoption centers, hospitals, morgues…”

“And from this scenic little road trip, you got… what exactly?”

“At the time, I thought we were just looking into the Doctors, so I didn’t pay attention to all the files we pulled. But…”

Theo’s voice dropped, cutting him off. “But it turns out you weren’t looking into them. You were looking into me.”

“Yeah. Exactly. But since our last stop at the factory, nothing. That was before Elijah basically told me he didn’t need me anymore now that I knew about Asher. The missions had stopped before he even got suspicious of me and I think there’s a reason for it.”

“So, what? You think they already found what they needed?”

“I’m sure of it. When we got back, Asher told me he didn’t find anything — but he was gone a long time. Then he vanished for a day. No calls, no orders from Elijah. Until he just… showed up at my place to spend the night. I thought he was just keeping an eye on me in case I turned on him, but now? I’m sure of it. He found something.”

“Did you just say, he spent the night?”

“Yeah, sure, we had a slumber party and braided each other hair.”

“No need for the tone. Why did he stay?”

“I’m not sure, I thought he wanted to keep an eye on me after we ran into you, but now I think he was searching around for something.”

“Like what?”

“No idea, but when I heard him walking around in the middle of the night I went to check and he pretended to be asleep. Subtle, really. Anyway, just in case, I swiped the sword’s piece I still have and kept it with me until he left.”

“Another cryptic mystery, huh.” Theo said pensive. “And what do you think he found at the factory?”

“A file. With your name on it.”

Theo’s voice went colder. “How do you know?”

“I went to confront him after the bar — at Elijah’s place. I saw it.”

“And where would it be now?”

“Elijah keeps all his intel off computers. Paranoid bastard. Everything’s on paper, locked in the same place. We just need to get to it.”

“We? So we’re a ‘we’ now?”

“The last time I asked for your help, you sent me away. Twice. I wanted to tell you all this the night I came to Deucalion’s place. I even sent Ash away so I could talk to you. But you weren’t exactly in the mood to listen.”

Theo let the silence stretch. And remembered that night. It was the night he found out about Ash. “…Yeah. I know.”

“So? Are you in or out?”

“A half-assed plan that’ll probably get us caught and maybe killed?”

“Are you in?”

“Of course I am.”

Liam’s smile was almost audible. “Good. I’ll let you know where to meet once it’s ready.”

Theo hesitated. “Can I ask what changed since yesterday? Pretty sure you didn’t want me anywhere near this until now.”

“I got good advice from a friend.”

“Mason?”

“Scott.”

“Really? So, he’s actually awake?”

“Yeah. I mean, Mason probably would’ve told me the same thing, but I told him and Corey to go home. It took me a while to convince them, especially after what happened at the bar, but in the end they agreed to let me handle this.”

“You didn’t want them dragged back in.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I get it.”

“Bye, Theo.”

“Goodnight, little wolf.”

Chapter Text

The bass from inside was already pulsing through the pavement, a steady thump in Liam’s chest as he and Theo stood across the street. Neon light spilled from the club’s entrance, cutting sharp colors into the night air. Liam’s mind flicked back to the last time they’d gone into a club on a “mission” — lifting Deucalion’s clock. Yeah… stealing stuff really was their thing now, wasn’t it?

“Why does it always have to be a club?” Liam muttered, eyeing the glowing sign like it had personally wronged him.

“Probably to piss me off,” Theo replied flatly.

Liam frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Elijah’s not stupid. He probably knew we’d come digging for information eventually. No surprise he chose to stash it here.”

“Why here?”

Theo’s gaze swept the street, the faintest flicker of recognition crossing his face. “Because three months ago, this place still belonged to Deucalion. Like half the block we just walked through. So no, Liam — this is not a club. It’s a minefield wrapped in a bad joke and tied up with my nerves.”

Liam’s jaw tightened. “And Elijah’s probably hoping you’ll let your emotions get the best of you so we get caught. So… please don’t.”

Theo arched a brow. “Me? Let my emotions get the best of me? Have we met?”

“Usually I’d agree, but as you said… you’ve been having trouble with control lately. So maybe keep your anger in check?”

Theo let out a humorless laugh. “Wow. That is the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Please don’t make me regret bringing you,” Liam said, his patience already fraying.

“And please don’t push my buttons, since I’m so ‘unstable,’” Theo shot back, dripping sarcasm.

Liam exhaled sharply. “Let’s just go, okay?”

They slipped inside, swallowed by the heat and noise of the crowd. The air was thick with sweat, perfume, and the metallic tang of adrenaline. Bodies moved in waves under flashing lights, but no one seemed to notice the two of them threading their way toward the back.

They found a hallway behind the main floor and began checking doors, each one locked or leading to some storage closet. Their footsteps were quiet, their words minimal — just a silent agreement to keep moving until they found what they needed.

At the far end of the building, they spotted a small metal sign: RECORDS. Jackpot.

They were two steps from the door when the sound of approaching footsteps made them freeze. Theo’s posture shifted instantly, predatory and ready. Liam mirrored him, prepared to drop whoever came around the corner.

But when the two figures emerged from the dim hallway, Liam stopped mid-swing.

“Holy—!” Stiles staggered back, “What the hell?!”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “What are you two doing here?”

“I called them,” Liam said quickly.

Theo turned toward him, incredulous. “You called Stiles?”

“I called Derek,” Liam corrected, his tone clipped. “You’re the one who told me to stop acting alone and I thought we needed back up. Make up your mind.”

Stiles crossed his arms. “I’m sorry, but do you actually have a problem with me being here?”

Theo’s gaze sharpened. “Depends. Do you have anything to tell me?”

“About what? Paranoid much?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Liam stepped between them, already done with whatever history was threatening to boil over. “Okay, I have no idea what this is about, and frankly, I don’t care. Keep it to yourselves until we’re done, okay?”

Derek’s voice cut in, low and firm. “Liam’s right. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we get out.” He glanced at Stiles, then Theo. “We’ll sweep the room. You two keep watch. And behave.”

The corridor outside the records room was narrow, dimly lit, and smelled faintly of dust and spilled liquor from decades past. Derek and Liam disappeared inside without a word, leaving Theo and Stiles face to face in the half-light. Neither spoke.

Theo kept his eyes on the shadows ahead, towards Stiles—cold, assessing, with just enough heat in them to make it clear he was nursing a grudge Stiles couldn’t quite place.

Stiles caught the look and arched a brow. His expression all but said, ‘Please, bring it up so I can tear you apart for it’. The problem was, he had no clue what had set Theo off this time.

“So…” Stiles broke the silence, casual as ever. “You’re working with Liam again.”

“Looks like it.”

“I thought you wanted to stay away from him. You clearly suck at it.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. “Do you have a problem with me not telling you who I’m meddling with?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Because you have no right to.”

“And I didn’t,” Stiles said evenly, “so relax.”

A beat.

“Okay,” Theo said flatly.

“Okay.”

The silence stretched, tense enough to hum in the air.

“Wanna talk about it?” Stiles finally asked.

“Talk about what?”

“The reason you’re acting like I did something to piss you off.”

“I don’t.”

“Fine.” Stiles shrugged. “Awkward silence it is.”

They stood there like two statues in a standoff, neither blinking first.

Then Stiles’ phone buzzed. Theo’s head turned slowly toward him with a look that could only mean, Really? On a mission and you don’t even turn your ringer off?

Stiles held up the screen to show it to Theo—Peter’s name flashing across it—then answered. “I’ll call you back.” He hung up without another word.

Theo straightened, his eyes narrowing. The tension sharpened, no longer vague but specific. Stiles didn’t need to be a genius to realize the issue was Peter. Unless it wasn’t. Only one way to find out.

Theo’s voice dropped to a low, deliberate warning. “Just try to get on my nerves. I dare you.”

“What?” Stiles drawled. “Afraid I’m getting too friendly with the wrong kind of teeth?”

Theo’s eyes turned cold and hard instantly. Obviously he had hit a nerve. Stiles’ answering smile was pure innocence laced with provocation.

The door to the records room opened. Derek stepped out, instantly clocking the charged atmosphere—Theo and Stiles locked in a glare that was equal parts challenge and hostility. He decided, wisely, to keep out of it.

“Did someone see you?” Derek asked.

“No,” they said in unison.

Liam emerged a moment later, scanning their faces. “Did you two fight or something?”

“Just in our hearts,” Stiles deadpanned in clear provocation.

“Well, take it somewhere else,” Liam said, exasperated. “We didn’t find anything. We need to get back to the main room and look for another back door. There’s nothing here.”

“I don’t like it,” Derek said, already moving. “We need to hurry. The longer we stay, the better the odds we get caught.”

They moved back into the thrumming main floor, weaving through the crowd—until Theo suddenly stopped dead, his hand shooting out to grab Liam’s arm.

Asher was here.

Theo shifted in front of Liam, blocking Asher’s line of sight. Derek and Stiles both turned instinctively, angling themselves into the crowd to avoid notice.

“What now?” Derek asked.

“The other back room’s just behind us,” Liam said. “We need to get to it without him noticing.”

“Someone has to distract him,” Stiles suggested, “while the rest of you look for your file.”

“Someone like…” Theo prompted.

“Like not me.” Stiles answered him not missing a beat.

Theo shot him a ‘why am I not surprised’ look, then both of them turned toward Derek.

“Oh, I’m not going,” Derek said flatly.

“Your sense of sacrifice is really impressive,” Theo muttered.

“Fine, I’ll go,” Liam offered.

“No, you won’t,” Theo snapped.

“Okay, then you go distract your boyfriend and I’ll go get your file.”

“Like hell you will.”

“You know when you got to have a say?” Liam shot back. “When we were still together. Bet you regret dumping me now, don’t you?”

Derek let out a low, “Damn.”

Theo glanced at him. “Really?” Then to Liam, sharp: “Don’t even think about—”

“Watch me.” Liam was already moving.

“Liam!”

“I can’t believe this,” Stiles said. “You’re probably the least lovable guy I know.” Theo gave him a look that said, Look who’s talking. “How the hell did you end up in a love triangle?”

“First of all—screw you. Second—this is no love triangle. It’s a fucking corner.” Theo’s gaze shifted past Stiles, tracking Liam as he disappeared into a side hallway, casting one last angry glance toward Asher. “One I’m being backed into, apparently.”

“Well, I’m not sticking around for that,” Stiles said. “I’ll follow Liam. Good luck.”

Derek was already moving. “I’ll go out and call for backup if this goes south. Theo—stay here. Keep an eye out.”

And then Theo was alone.

Ash emerged from the crowd like he’d been waiting for this moment, a smirk fixed in place. “Aren’t we feeling adventurous tonight?”

“No idea what you mean,” Theo said, voice flat.

“Oh, sure.” Ash stepped in close, his breath brushing Theo’s ear. “Right now, you have two choices—either you follow me, or I send the five guys behind me after Liam and Stiles. And if I do that, Elijah will know you came here to dig through his things. How do you think he’ll take that?”

Theo’s eyes scanned the room. The five Ash mentioned were watching him openly, but they weren’t alone—he counted at least a dozen more half-hidden in the crowd. And those were just the ones he could see.

Theo’s jaw flexed. “Lead the way,” he said.

---------------------------------------

Derek was finally outside. He had a bad feeling about all this. According to Liam’s indication, they should have found the file by now. Something was fishy. But more than that Derek had the feeling someone had been watching him and following him ever since he parted from the others. He got his phone out to call Peter. No service.

He shoved it back into his pocket and started down the street, weaving between parked cars. The pounding bass from the club dulled with every step, replaced by the distant hum of the city at night. But the unease in his chest didn’t fade—it sharpened. Every footfall felt heavier, every shadow a little too deep.

He slowed.

Nothing behind him—at least, nothing he could see. Still, that primal itch at the base of his neck screamed at him: Move. Get to the car. Now.

Finally, the screen of his phone flickered—bars. Reception. He scrolled through contacts, thumb hovering over Peter’s number—

Tires shrieked.

A car slammed to a stop directly in front of him, headlights blinding. Derek froze.

An engine roared behind him, blocking his retreat. Sirens erupted, red and blue lights strobing violently against the pavement and his skin.

Four cops emerged in perfect sync, guns already raised.

“Derek Hale! You are under arrest for breaking and entering! Every word you say—”

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath.

Before the thought of running could even form, a hand wrenched his arm back, shoving him down onto cold asphalt. His knees hit hard. Metal cuffs clamped around his wrists with a snap, biting into his skin.

They knew. They were spotted. No warning. No backup for the others.

“You have the right to remain silent—” one cop barked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek grumbled, half to himself. “What’s new?”

“Want to say that again?” another officer snapped, hand drifting to his holster.

Derek just glared. The bass from the club thudded faintly in the distance, each beat reminding him—time was running out inside.

------------------------------------------

Inside, the noise from the club was a distant throb—muted but constant. Theo followed Asher through a narrow hallway, away from the crowd, the air cooling as they went deeper. The floor creaked faintly under their steps, and the walls closed in, shadows swallowing the light the further they moved.

Asher stopped at a heavy, scuffed door and pushed it open, holding it for Theo with exaggerated politeness and that goddamn smirk Theo couldn’t stand.

Theo hesitated. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could walk away. He stepped inside.

“You look tense, sunshine. Something wrong?” Asher’s tone was smug, playful—but sharp underneath.

“That fucking nickname,” Theo muttered under his breath.

“What?” Asher’s grin widened. “You used to like it, back in the day.”

“And I used to sleep in sewers. Things change.” His voice was flat, steady, almost bored. “And for the record—I never liked it.”

“Oh, sure you didn’t.” Asher’s smile didn’t falter.

Theo crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. “Of all the crap you’ve pulled lately, that’s hardly the worst.”

“Got something on your mind? Please, share.”

“I know what you did,” Theo said, his voice like a blade—calm, sharp. “Didn’t hit me at first. But then I found out you were alive, and it suddenly all made sense.”

Asher shrugged. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Theo’s gaze hardened. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to forget what you are?”

“Well,” Asher replied, “I know you’re not like me anymore. I hear chimeras are an endangered species these days.”

Theo stayed silent, letting the tension stretch, his eyes fixed on Asher like he could peel the truth from his skin.

Finally, Asher chuckled. “Fine. You caught me. I’m the fox that’s been following you.”

“And killing everything in sight?”

“You got proof?”

Theo took a slow step forward. “The bodies in the woods. The wolves. That guy.”

“To be fair…” Asher’s grin turned sly. “I lost control with the wolves. You know how it is—the rush when you turn. Guess I enjoyed myself a little too much.”

“You’ve been killing the guys going after Deucalion too, haven’t you?”

“Yes and no.”

Theo’s jaw tensed. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I killed them. Duh.” Asher tapped his temple, still smiling. “But they weren’t after Deucalion.”

Theo’s stomach sank. “They were after me.”

“Ain’t you a smarty cat.”

“Why?”

“You’ve made enemies, T. And maybe Elijah doesn’t want to kill you yet, but he’s not the only one out there with his sights on you. Someone’s gotta watch your back.”

Theo studied him. “What do you want?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“My soul? My heart? My virginity? Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t own any of these anymore.”

“I don’t want anything.”

Theo blinked, taken off guard for a fraction of a second before narrowing his eyes again. “And what does Elijah want?”

“A word with you.”

“Not if it’s my last one.”

“He’s not gonna hurt you.”

“Oh really?”

“Why would he? Dead, you’re useless.”

Theo’s mouth twisted into a humorless smirk. “Very convincing.” After a beat, he stepped closer. “Tell me something. How did you survive? You were just like the others. Maybe it took longer with you, but I know what happened, I know what I saw. Turning you into a chimera failed. Just like the others.”

“Until it didn’t.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Does it have to do with Elijah?”

“Why would it?”

“And why are you working with him?”

“Not your concern.”

“Not an answer.”

Asher’s smirk deepened, eyes glittering. “Just think about it, okay?”

Theo’s lips twitched into a small, unwilling smile. Asher noticed immediately, his expression lighting up like victory.

They’d been toxic, dangerous—family, in their own twisted way. Walking away had been the right call, but it didn’t make it easy. For all his psychotic tendencies, Asher had been the only constant in Theo’s life back then, the only person Theo could truly call his own and turning his back on that wasn’t easy.

But he did anyway. And just like that he turned and walked away.

“Theo, one more thing before you go.”

Theo stopped at the door, hand on the handle, but didn’t turn.

“I know you didn’t come here for my pretty eyes.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.”

“What? Already? Without your friends?”

Theo turned—and saw the detonator in Asher’s hand.

“Ash…”

“Oh, you’re not a smarty cat. You’re a sneaky, sneaky cat. Thought I’d just let you walk out?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Asher’s eyes dropped deliberately to the device, then back to Theo’s face. “Eyes up here, buddy.”

“I don’t know what your plan is, but we’re leaving. I’ll get them out. We won’t come back.”

“Okay.”

Theo eyed him. “Really?”

Asher laughed once, the sound sharp and ugly, before his voice dropped cold. “Of course not. Who do you take me for?”

Before Theo could move, Asher’s thumb pressed the button.

The explosion ripped through the air, a deafening roar. The door rattled, the shock-wave making Theo’s ears ring. Muffled screams bled through the walls. His mind flashed to Liam. Stiles.

That heartbeat of distraction was all Asher needed.

When Theo turned back, Asher was already on him—needle in hand, jabbing it into his neck. Burning liquid surged through his veins, sharp and invasive. The world tilted, a dizzy rush pulling him off balance—and somewhere in the haze, a memory surfaced. Lydia. Different time. Different place. Same trap. Round and round…

Theo stumbled back, one hand flying to his neck, eyes already glowing.

“Wow,” Asher drawled. “Forgot everything I taught you? Guard down, even for one second—you’ve gone sloppy.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Theo growled, eyes squeezed shut, heat boiling under his skin, rage threatening to take control.

“Open your eyes, Theo.”

“Screw you!”

Asher’s hand tangled in his hair, yanking his head back. Theo’s eyes snapped open—fangs bared, a snarl tearing from his throat.

“That’s more like it.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“You should see yourself,” Asher murmured, stepping closer, voice low and taunting, a hand slightly carressing his jaw. “Did I tell you how hot you are lately? Worth getting wrecked for. I mean like, to the point of making me weak in the knees, kinda shaking and definitely wet like….”

Theo shoved him hard, lunging to attack. Asher ducked low, swept Theo’s legs, slamming him to the ground.

Theo tried to rise, but his limbs felt like lead, his vision tunneling.

“Truth be told…” Asher crouched, eyes cold, almost conversational. “I have no idea what I just injected you with. But I can’t wait to find out what it does to you.”

Theo’s eyelids grew heavy, his breathing ragged.

“Nighty-night, sunshine.”

The last thing Theo heard before darkness swallowed him was Asher’s laugh.

Chapter Text

Peter leaned against the counter, fingers drumming an erratic rhythm that betrayed more nerves than patience. His eyes were locked on the door, as if sheer force of his own will could drag Derek and Stiles through it. The kitchen clock ticked too loud. Each second scraped against his skull.

They’d been gone since yesterday. No warning. No plan.

At first, it had just been him—blissfully unaware there even about it. And if he had known? They wouldn’t have gone. Not breathing, anyway. Eventually—against his better judgment—he’d asked Chris Argent to keep an eye out. Chris had found nothing.

Now all Peter could do was wait. And plan punishments. Painful ones.

“Maybe no news is good news,” Chris said from the sink, arms folded.

Peter’s eyes slid to him, a slow, razor-sharp glance that said more than words.

Chris exhaled. “Okay. Maybe no news means bad news.”

“When it comes to Derek, no news means no news.”

The front door slammed open hard enough to rattle the hinges.

Chris straightened instantly, one hand hovering near his gun. “Derek?” His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.

Peter didn’t move. “No. Derek knows better than to kick the door in after the stunt he just pulled.”

They stepped into the hallway—and stopped.

Deucalion stood there. Disheveled. Breathing hard. Eyes blazing like a predator locked on its prey.

“Would you look at that,” Peter said, a humorless smirk curling his lips. “You look like hell.”

“Where is he?”

Peter tilted his head. “Where is who?”

“Theo, you asshole! Where is Theo?”

He took a sharp step forward. Chris had his gun out and loaded before Peter’s pulse even spiked. Cold eyes. Steady aim. Not a flicker of hesitation.

Peter’s voice was velvet over steel. “You think you can just walk into my house uninvited? You’re the most wanted man in the state, risking leading Elijah’s men right to my doorstep. You’d better watch your tone.”

“I trusted you to handle things here. Clearly I was wrong, or I wouldn’t need to be here right now.”

Peter’s laugh was low and dangerous. “Trusted me? You ran away with your tail tugged between your legs. And I didn’t get the lead because you ‘let’ me. I took it. And you will give me the respect I am owed in my own house.”

Something in Deucalion’s expression shifted—control snapping like a dry twig. In a blur, he lunged.

Peter barely had time to brace before they hit the wall, Deucalion’s forearm crushing against his throat. Peter’s claws slid out, swiping for his attacker’s side.

Chris moved fast—shoving his gun into Deucalion’s ribs with one hand, wrenching Peter back with the other.

“Enough!” Chris barked, muscles straining to keep them apart. “Back the hell off, both of you!”

Peter straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt, his smirk razor-thin. “That was cute. You should work on your follow-through.”

Deucalion growled low, but Chris’s grip didn’t loosen.

“I don’t care,” Chris cut in sharply, “whose house this is or which one of you is the bigger red-eyed bastard. Both of you calm down right now, before I start shooting.”

The standoff held for three seconds. Then Chris’s gun clicked. And—reluctantly—Deucalion stepped back.

“Smart choice,” Chris said, voice like ice. “Now. Why are you looking for Theo?”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on him,” Deucalion said, still breathing hard. “Tracking his every move. Making sure nothing happened to him.”

“Father of the year,” Peter murmured, the bait deliberate.

“What did you just say to me?”

“You’re the reason this is happening,” Peter said, stepping forward again despite Chris’s arm in the way. “You started it when you went after those packs. You slaughtered them. You put Theo in the middle of it. You made him a target. And now you come here and threaten me? Me? You screwed this up, not me.”

Chris’s voice cut sharp through the air. “Back off! Now.”

“Don’t push me, Hale,” Deucalion warned. “Alpha or not, you’re no match for me.”

“If you’ve been tracking him,” Chris said, still between them, “why are you looking for him now? Why risk showing up here?”

“Because last night Theo joined your goddamn kids on a suicide mission. And they haven’t been seen since. Just gone.”

Peter’s smirk faltered—barely—but enough. “You think I agreed to that?”

“Either you did, or they kept it from you. Which makes you either stupid or incompetent as their Alpha.”

“Coming from the man who lost his entire pack in one sweep,” Peter said, voice low, “I’d keep my mouth shut.”

Chris’s tone sharpened. “What do you mean gone? Who is exactly?”

“Theo. Derek. Liam. Stiles. They went into my old club last night.”

“Your club?” Peter asked.

“After I left, Elijah took everything—my territory, my power, my possessions. Everything except the apartment I used to share with Theo.”

Neither Peter nor Chris commented, but both clocked the detail.

“They were probably looking for information on Elijah,” Deucalion continued. “They got in. Never came out. Twenty minutes later, there was an explosion. Half the building collapsed.”

“You’re saying—” Peter started.

“I’m saying you better find a way to get Theo safely back in the next twenty-four hours. After that, I don’t care if I have to walk straight into the red zone. I’ll get him myself.”

“And all you’ll accomplish is getting us all killed,” Peter said.

“He’s right,” Chris added. “The only reason Elijah hasn’t killed us yet is because he’s waiting for one of us to make a mistake. And lead him straight to you.”

“Believe me,” Deucalion said, every word deliberate, “if Theo’s dead, you’re all screwed either way. Because nothing will stop me from burning you all to the ground.”

He left without another word.

“Perfect,” Chris muttered. “Just perfect. Did you have to provoke him? Are you insane?”

Peter didn’t answer. His hands were trembling—not just from rage.

“We need to find them,” Peter said.

“You think?”

“No, you don’t get it.” Peter said quietly. “I need to find them.” After everything he’d done to have a family again, he wouldn’t lose Derek. Or Stiles. Not like this.

“Peter—” Chris began, but Peter’s phone rang. He got his phone out and answered.

“What?!”

“Watch your tone, Hale,” the Sheriff’s voice came through.

“What do you want? Now’s not—”

“Now is exactly the moment. Derek’s here.”

Peter froze. “Here? Where? Is he okay?”

“He’s in custody.”

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Derek sat in the interrogation room, one wrist cuffed to the metal table, the other resting loosely in his lap. The walls were painted in that lifeless gray designed to make you feel smaller, weaker. He didn’t. He just felt bored to no end, and anxious to finally get out.

He needed to warn Peter. For all he knew his uncle was driving himself crazy through all this. Not knowing where they were. Peter was a lot of things but Derek knew he cared about him. The part he was actually dreading was Peter’s reaction when he was gonna learn that the others might be currently trapped under a few tons of concrete.

The door creaked open and Sheriff Stilinski stepped inside, shutting it behind him with a quiet click. He wasn’t in uniform—just jeans, a jacket, and that familiar look of tired disappointment.

The sheriff sighed. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

Derek leaned back in his chair. “Please… spare me the lecture.”

The sheriff dropped into the seat opposite him, rubbing a hand over his face. “What were you thinking, Derek? Punching the arresting officer?”

“The charges are bullshit.”

“Yeah? Let’s talk about those charges—breaking and entering?”

“Bullshit.”

“And the fact that the building you allegedly broke into exploded right after you were taken into custody?”

“As you just pointed out, I was already gone by then. Why would I know anything about it?”

“Jesus…if the police hadn’t evacuated everyone inside after they caught you, things could have gone a lot worse.” The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on, Derek? Level with me here.”

“You might want to clarify the question.”

“Does this have anything to do with Stiles? And before you lie to my face, remember who you’re talking to.”

“…Yeah. It does.”

“I knew it.” The sheriff leaned back, his chair groaning. “That kid keeps everything locked up. First this mess with you, Liam, and Scott. Then this… bizarre friendship with that damn kid, Theo. And now some mystery guy who’s got all of you acting like you’ve lost your minds, not to mention the fact he put Scott in a coma too.”

Derek’s jaw tightened. “How do you know about that?”

“Would everyone stop dropping jaws every time it turns out I’m not as clueless as you’d all want me to be.”

“You’ve never been clueless. But this thing? It’s already tangled beyond saving. You’re better off staying out of it.”

The sheriff studied him for a long moment before leaning forward. “How is he?”

“Stiles is fine.”

“I know he’s moved in with you and Peter. I don’t like it—but I trust you to look after him. I guess whatever made him think you hated him is sorted now.”

“There’s a lot I can’t tell you. But I can tell you this—I’ve always been here for Stiles, and I’ll always be. Even if he does everything he can to push me away.”

“He does that a lot lately, doesn’t he?” The sheriff gave a humorless chuckle. “He’s gonna be fine, right?”

“…I hope.”

The door swung open. Peter stood there, framed in the doorway, eyes sharp but with an unmistakable flicker of relief. Derek was surprised—and grateful—that Peter didn’t look like he wanted to tear him apart.

“Peter…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

“Good.” Peter’s gaze flicked to the sheriff, who met it with a steady, measuring stare. “I’ll fill you in on the way.”

“Yeah, huh. Slight detail.” Derek lifted his still cuffed wrist pointedly.

An officer stepped in, uncuffed him, and left without a word.

“I paid your bail. Let’s go.”

They stepped toward the door.

“Noah.”

“Peter.”

The two men held each other’s gaze for a long, tense beat—neither hostile, but not remotely friendly. There was something almost… unsettled in Peter’s posture, an odd discomfort Derek wasn’t used to seeing on him.

Peter finally broke the look and walked out.

The sheriff leaned back, crossing his arms again, muttering under his breath as the door swung shut. “How stupid does everyone think I am, exactly?”

They stepped out into the cool night air, the heavy metal door clanging shut behind them. The scent of gasoline and smoke lingered faintly, even from blocks away. Derek didn’t need to ask where it came from.

Peter slipped his hands into his coat pockets, falling into step beside him. “You heard about the explosion?”

“Elijah’s club?”

Peter gave a tight nod. “Or what’s left of it.”

Derek’s jaw clenched. “And Liam, Theo, and Stiles?”

“That’s the problem,” Peter replied. “No one’s seen them come out.”

“Which means either they’re hiding, or—”

“Or they’re dead,” Peter finished flatly. “But let’s pretend I’m in an optimistic mood and assume the first option is the right one.”

Derek shot him a look. “You don’t do optimistic.”

Peter’s mouth twitched, almost a smirk, but it didn’t stick. “Not often. But I do prefer to know for sure where to direct my anger before I start planning revenge.”

They reached Peter’s car, the distant flashing of police lights painting his face in sharp reds and blues. Derek was about to open the passenger door when Peter stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I’m glad you’re in one piece,” Peter said. It wasn’t sarcastic—just blunt, almost reluctant honesty. “We can argue and tear each other’s throats out later. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten that you and Stiles went on a stupid suicide mission without even telling me. But right now, we need to find the others—preferably while they’re still breathing.”

Derek searched his face for a beat, then nodded once. “Fine. Drive.”

Peter slid in behind the wheel, starting the engine. “You know, you’re surprisingly agreeable when you’ve just been arrested.”

“And you’re surprisingly sincere when you’re worried,” Derek shot back.

Peter smirked faintly as the car pulled away from the curb. “Don’t get used to it.”

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Liam woke up in the dark, lungs burning with dust. The moment he tried to move, a sharp, searing pain shot up his leg, making him hiss through his teeth. Blinking into the dim light, he saw nothing but debris—broken concrete, twisted metal, and the wreckage of what used to be a building. And then it hit him.

The club.

The explosion.

He forced his eyes open wider, looking himself over. His torso and one arm were smeared with blood, but already closing up thanks to his healing. The only thing that wasn’t mending was his leg, pinned under a heavy block of cement. Gritting his teeth, he pushed against it until the weight shifted free, leaving him to wait for the bone to knit itself back together.

A faint, pained sound to his left snapped his head around. But what he saw was way worse and bloody.

“Stiles?” His voice was sharp. No answer. “Stiles!”

“Shhhhhh.”

Liam blinked. “Did you just shush me?”

“Do you mind? I’m trying to die in peace here.”

“Jesus—answer when I call you! I thought you were dead!”

Stiles gave a weak shrug. “Just be patient. I’m sure it’ll happen soon enough.”

“No, it’s not,” Liam snapped. “I’m getting us out.”

“With the number of fractures I’m probably sporting? Your broken ankle still mending? While we’re buried under literal tons of concrete? Yeah, sure, Superman.” He cracked one eye open, smirking faintly through the pain.

“You really are impossible in every circumstance, aren’t you?”

“Believe it or not, I hear that a lot.”

“You know what? Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.”

“Oh, really? Us being trapped here while I’m bleeding out isn’t a bad thing? Please—enlighten me.” He laughed weakly, the sound quickly cutting off into a hiss of pain.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Liam jabbed a finger toward him.

“What? My broken ribs?”

“No—your bullshit!”

“Excuse me?”

“We need to talk.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Why? You gonna break up with me? Thought we already did that part.”

“You know what we’ve also done before? Me telling you to stop treating me like a kid—and you saying you wouldn’t, but then doing it anyway.”

“I didn’t lie to you to be patronizing, Liam.”

“That’s the problem! I have no idea why you lied.”

Stiles tilted his head back toward the ceiling, muttering, “Oh, just kill me already.”

“You stopped talking to me altogether! You went from judging every move I made to pretending I didn’t even exist. You shut me out completely after the bloodhounds. And now?” His voice tightened. “You trust Theo more than you’ve ever trusted me.”

“Don’t try to rewrite history. You’re the one who stopped talking to me after the ritual fiasco, not the other way around.”

“And before that? When you knew Deaton was missing? When you thought you might turn into a Nogitsune? When Theo got taken by Elijah? Our problems didn’t start in the woods that night, Stiles. By then you’d already decided you couldn’t trust me. And I wanna know why.”

“Can we talk later?”

“Wow. Really? That’s how you wanna handle this? And when exactly are we supposed to talk, huh?”

“With any luck, I’ll bleed out in the next two hours and we won’t have to have that talk at all.”

Liam stared at him, silent, the weight of it heavy in the dust-filled air. Stiles kept his gaze fixed away but could feel it anyway. After a long pause, Liam finally looked away.

Minutes passed. Stiles checked his ribs, glanced back at Liam, and finally broke the silence.

“I do trust you, Liam.”

“Then why lie?”

“Because I’m a moron, evidently.”

“And?”

“Because I can’t trust myself to make the right choices anymore.”

“Is that why you’ve been so determined to keep me at arm’s length?”

“When you were dying—”

“It wasn’t your fault—”

“You’re the one who asked me to talk, so the least you can do is not interrupt me, okay?”

“…Sorry.”

“When the bloodhound mess happened, I was so focused on keeping Theo away from you that it almost cost you your life. And yeah, the… whatever this fox thing is, was part of it. I was losing control and I didn’t handle it well.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

“What else?”

“The second you heard Theo was kidnapped, you ran straight toward the guy who did it. No thought for your own life. Nothing happened, sure—but your complete lack of survival instincts scared the crap out of me. I promised I wouldn’t treat you like a kid, so I kept my mouth shut, but when I found out about Deaton… my fear of losing control just hit me like a freight train. It wasn’t about you—it was about me, and the fact that lately when things go bad, I tend to shut everyone out.”

“You were drowning and didn’t know who’d be a life jacket and who’d be dead weight.”

“What? Li, you’re not dead weight. Never.”

“I know. It’s just… something someone told me. I think I get it now.”

“I told you I lied because I wanted to keep everyone safe. That’s true, but it’s not the whole truth. I was petrified that any decision I made, or any piece of information I let out, could get someone killed.”

Liam didn’t respond—just dropped his gaze to the rubble at his feet.

“Didn’t do much good for Deaton,” Stiles muttered.

“…I’m sorry,” Liam said quietly.

Stiles gave him a small, tired smile.

Stiles shifted against the wall, his voice low but still laced with sarcasm. “Well, at least I’m not the one in charge anymore.”

“Talking about that,” Liam said, keeping his tone casual but eyes sharp. “How sure are you about this whole Hale-supremacy system coming back?”

“God… It’s not a ‘supremacy,’ drama queen,” Stiles shot back a little amused. “And… truth be told, I honestly think he could be good at this.”

“This… what?”

“Being a leader. An Alpha. He’s… different now. And yeah—maybe it pisses me off a little to admit it.”

Liam’s mouth tightened. “Scott came to me. He’s probably gonna get worried about Peter doing rogue if he becomes the new Alpha in Beacon Hills. Sure, the Hales had this territory for decades before Scott was even bitten, but Scott’s the one who’s protected it for the better part of the last decade. He has a right to claim it too.”

“How strong is that right if he barely has a pack left?” Stiles countered. “Or any real power?”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Not really. Not for long. I’ve barely seen him since he got out of the hospital. Things are better now, but… I can’t just go back to him. Not yet.”

“You should. He needs to know you’ll forgive him… eventually.”

“I can’t,” Stiles admitted, and for once there was no edge to his voice. “I want to, believe me. But
every time I think about him, all I want to do is punch him.”

“Stiles—”

“He was my brother. Still is, if we’re being honest. But after everything we’ve been through? How could he not trust me? How could he turn on me and risk getting us all killed?”

Liam’s gaze was steady. “Not to pour salt on an open wound, but… most of what you just said? You could apply that to yourself too, you know.”

“...Fuck,” Stiles muttered, realizing he wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah. You should go talk to him.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

“So,” Stiles said finally, “are we good again?”

“Depends. Last time we had this talk, I thought we were good, and then Theo disappeared again and you started lying to me again. So… are we?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I know I need help now.”

“Yeah, I agree.”

That made Stiles laugh—until the movement sent pain spiking through his ribs. He hissed and punched the wall in frustration. The sound that followed wasn’t just from his fist—above them, somewhere in the wreckage, there was a low, unsettling groan of shifting concrete.
Liam froze. “Uh… wow.” Dust began to drift down in thin streams, followed by loose bits of rubble pattering against the floor.

“I swear it wasn’t me,” Stiles said quickly, though he didn’t sound convinced himself.

The noise deepened—grinding, splintering—and then, with a teeth-rattling scrape, an enormous slab of concrete lifted away, revealing a sliver of light.

Derek’s voice called down from above. “Peter! I’ve got them!”

Liam scrambled up, Derek leaning down to haul him out. His ankle still throbbed, but the bone had mostly healed.

Derek crouched at the edge. “Okay, Stiles—your turn.”

“Yeah… about that. I might need a little help here.”

Silence. No Derek.

“Derek?”

Instead, Peter’s silhouette appeared at the edge of the hole, and he dropped down with deliberate, controlled movements. His expression was unreadable—until his gaze landed on the jagged metal rod skewering Stiles’ side. Then his face darkened, the anger there cold and sharp.

“My creepy knight in shining armor,” Stiles muttered. “Lucky me.”

“How bad is it?”

“You know how it goes, you're not really living unless you're close to dying.”

“Don’t move,” Peter said flatly.

“Not sure I could if I wanted to,” Stiles replied, watching Peter assess the wound. The rod hadn’t hit any organs, but it was bad enough.

“I’m pulling it out.”

“No you’re not.”

“Or I can leave you here.”

“…Fine. Un-stab me. Just do it fast.”

Peter braced himself, gripping the metal. He met Stiles’ eyes, waiting for a nod. Stiles grabbed the front of Peter’s shirt, took a sharp breath, and gave it.

One hard, precise pull, and the rod came free. Stiles screamed, pain flaring white-hot. Peter didn’t flinch—it was expected.

What wasn’t expected was the glow.

For the briefest second, Stiles’ eyes burned a brilliant, unnatural green in the dim light. It wasn’t wolf. It wasn’t human. And it was definitely not gone fast enough for Peter to think he’d imagined it. It was foxy.

Peter’s head tilted slightly, expression unreadable. But behind his stillness, something sharp and calculating sparked to life.

Stiles blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” Peter said smoothly, masking the interest with a casual shrug. But he didn’t look away just yet—just long enough to make it clear he’d seen something worth remembering. Something worth keeping to himself.

He pushed to his feet. “Come on.” He offered a hand.

“I’m not sure how much walking I can—”

“You sure about that?” Peter nodded toward the wound.

Stiles glanced down—and froze. The bruises were already fading. The stab wound was closing at an unnatural speed, faster than any human—or even normal werewolf—could heal.

“Oh, fuck me…”

Peter’s mouth curved in the faintest smirk, though his tone stayed neutral. “Might be best to wait until you’re fully healed for that.”

“Not funny, Peter. Not funny.”

“Come on.” He pulled Stiles up, his grip firm, the faintest shadow of possession in the way he steadied him.

When they emerged, Liam’s eyes went wide at the sight of Stiles’ already-healing side. “Woah...”

Peter didn’t even glance at him. “Derek, take Liam back home. I’m taking Stiles to the house.”

Derek was about to argue when something struck him—the raw pulse of fear still clinging to Peter’s chemosignals. It wasn’t controlled, wasn’t hidden like it usually was. For once, Peter hadn’t buried it under sarcasm or calculation. He’d jumped into that hole without a thought for himself, reckless, frantic, consumed only by the need to get Stiles out alive. Derek had never seen him act like that for anyone.

As he watched Peter steady Stiles with more care than he’d ever shown another soul, Derek understood. This really wasn’t just strategy or manipulation. Peter cared—deeply, dangerously. And that realization unsettled Derek more than the their current situation.

“What about Theo?” Derek asked.

Liam’s head snapped around. “What do you mean, ‘what about Theo’? Where is he?”

Peter’s voice stayed cool. “Not here. And not under the gravel from what I can see.”

Liam’s jaw tightened. “He was with Asher when this happened. You don’t think he would—”

“No,” Stiles cut in. “The guy’s obsessed with him. He wouldn’t kill him.”

“And you think that makes him safe?” Derek asked.

“Oh, hell no,” Stiles said. “But at least he’s probably not dead.”

Peter nodded once. “We’ll look for him. But right now, we’re standing in the middle of Elijah’s territory, half of us can’t walk straight or, god forbid, fight. We need to go. Now.”

Derek and Liam moved off, Liam still limping. Peter shifted Stiles’ arm over his shoulders, guiding him toward the car.

“Home first,” Peter said quietly, “then we hunt.”

Chapter Text

The drive was silent.

Not the comfortable kind—the kind that pressed on Stiles’ nerves until he wanted to fidget his way right out of his own skin. He couldn’t read Peter’s mood, which was saying something. Sure, he’d almost died. Sure, they might have just kicked off a new chapter in their war with Elijah. Sure, Theo was missing. All very solid reasons to be pissed.

But Peter hadn’t said a word.

And Stiles’ brain, traitorous as ever, wasn’t focused on any of that. No—it was stuck on Peter’s hand.

He’d taken Stiles hand in his when they left. When Stiles tried to pull away, the grip shifted, fingers sliding down to his wrist in a slow, deliberate claim. Just enough pressure to make it clear: stay still.

Peter looked at him once. That was all it took for Stiles to decide maybe letting him hold on was the smartest move he could make. Every now and then, a few dark line went up Peter’s arm as he took Stiles’s pain bit by bit. And every time he did, Stiles felt his stomach drop. Not from pain, but from something a lot more disturbing.

It would have been fine—normal even—except Peter’s thumb had started drawing lazy circles on the inside of his wrist. A small thing. A dangerous thing. Stiles swallowed hard, wishing he could blame the sharp thump of his pulse on the adrenaline crash instead of… whatever this was.

When the car rolled to a stop in front of the house, Peter released him and got out. Stiles followed—well, tried to. The second he put weight on his legs, pain flared through his side, sharp enough to steal his breath. His knees buckled—

Peter was there. Again.

Warmth and steadiness pressed in on him, the kind that dulled the pain without really meaning to. Maybe. Stiles wasn’t going to ask. Because that mix of ache and heat made something in him tip wildly out of control.

Peter’s smirk said he knew it.

His hand staying exactly where it was said he enjoyed it.

And Stiles—well, Stiles was just screwed.

He pushed Peter back a step, lifting a hand like a warning. Pride demanded he walk inside under his own power. It lasted two seconds before the dizziness rolled in, forcing him back down into the seat.

When Peter’s hand went to steady him, he pushed it back once more. Already overwhelmed by everything else. And for a second of profound insanity Stiles thought he was going to get arousal whiplash from too much physical contact.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“You need help?” Peter’s tone was mild. His eyes weren’t.

“No.” He tried again to stand, failed again. “…Yes.”

“I was going to yell at you for almost getting yourself killed,” Peter said, still not moving to help, “but watching you like this? I think this is better punishment than anything I could have thought.”

“Sadistic. Smug. Perverted,” Stiles shot back. “Could you stop enjoying yourself so much while I’m suffering?”

“It’s not your pain I’m enjoying.” Peter’s voice dipped, low enough that Stiles felt it in his chest. “And you know it.”

“Don’t say it—”

“I’ve never seen anyone so pent up in my life.”

“And there we go.”

Stiles shoved himself upright, leaning on the car until the ground stopped swaying. He even threw his arms up in mock celebration when he managed it, ridiculous and defiant in equal measure. The grin he wore was bright despite the sweat at his hairline. And the smile faded away as fast as it came once Stiles realized he couldn’t go further than that.

Peter meant to mock him for it. He really did. Instead, he stepped forward, sliding one hand to Stiles’ side and the other to the back of his neck. The kiss was deep, unhurried—intentional in a way that demanded his full attention.

Black veins curled up Peter’s arm, creating an intoxicating mix or pain and pleasure making Stiles feel crazy, but for one impossible heartbeat, Peter could have sworn something else flared back at him—bright, unnatural green in Stiles’ eyes. Those damn eyes. So hypnotizing, Peter thought for a second. And maybe he missed them more than he thought.

When they broke apart, Stiles’ gaze was glassy. “I may have lost my sanity for the moment,” he murmured, “but remember—I will come back to my senses. Eventually. And the more you take advantage now, the harder I’ll make you pay for it later.”

“You’re no fun,” Peter said.

“Shut up and help me to bed.”

“You’re not sleeping alone tonight. I’m taking you to mine.”

“Like hell—”

“I need to keep an eye on you. And you can barely stand. Beggars, choosers.”

“Fine. But I’m sleeping in my clothes. They stay on.”

“You’re covered in blood.”

“And so I should remain.”

Peter’s smirk sharpened. “We’ll see.”

They made it inside slowly, Stiles leaning on him more than he wanted to admit. Every few steps, his ribs protested, his breath hitching—but Peter didn’t comment, only adjusted his grip so Stiles didn’t stumble.

Upstairs, Peter didn’t steer him toward his own room but straight to his.

The door shut with a quiet, deliberate click that made Stiles glance back at it. Peter didn’t lock it, but it felt like he had.

Stiles sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched slightly, catching his breath while Peter disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of running water reached him, followed by the faint clink of glass. When Peter returned, he had a damp cloth in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, setting both on the nightstand without a word.

Stiles grabbed the water first, downing several gulps before setting it aside. Then he tugged at the hem of his shirt, grimacing when the fabric peeled away from the half-dried blood caked to his ribs. “Gross,” he muttered, wrestling it over his head and tossing it to the floor.

Peter’s gaze landed on him instantly. No flinch. No apology.

“What?” Stiles asked, tone dry. “Never seen someone trying to scrape off their own blood before?”

“You just look… uncomfortable,” Peter said, voice light but eyes sharp.

"Yeah, well, being stared at like I’m today’s special is even more uncomfortable," Stiles shot back, wincing as he twisted to reach his side.

The jab didn’t stop Peter from watching him work the cloth over his skin—until Stiles leaned forward and pain sliced through him like a hot knife. His breath caught, his hand faltered.

Peter was on him in seconds, the cloth plucked from his fingers without ceremony. “Stop moving,” he said, crouching in front of him, the tone pitched low enough to vibrate in Stiles’ chest.

“Hey! You mind?”

“We’re gonna be here all night if I just let you do it yourself.”

He pressed the warm cloth against Stiles’ side, wiping away the blood in slow, even passes. At first, it was just careful work—clinical, efficient. Then Peter’s knuckles began to brush bare skin more than necessary, and his fingers lingered just a little too long when they passed over uninjured flesh.

“Uh-huh,” Stiles murmured, trying to sound unimpressed, but his body wasn’t moving away.

Peter leaned in slightly, close enough for Stiles to catch the subtle shift of his sweat mixed with the faint scent of smoke and concrete dust.

“You’re getting bolder,” Stiles remarked, his voice low, daring Peter to push further.“You’re really committed to this whole ‘crossing lines’ hobby of yours, aren’t you?” Stiles said, eyes flicking down to Peter’s hand.

“And you’re really committed to letting me.” Peter replied smoothly, his hand trailing lower until his knuckles brushed the waistband of Stiles’ jeans.

Stiles didn’t flinch—if anything, the smile widened, though his voice dropped into something deceptively casual. “Go ahead. I’ll break your fingers before you even think about it.”

Peter’s smirk only sharpened. “Then do it yourself.” He let the cloth fall into Stiles’ lap, leaning back just enough to give the illusion of space while keeping the air between them tight, charged, and deliberately suffocating.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Stiles muttered, resuming the cleaning, though Peter’s eyes tracked every movement like a predator refusing to blink.

“You’ve told me that before,” Peter replied smoothly. “Usually right before you ignore my advice and nearly get yourself killed.”

“Guess I’m consistent.”

Peter’s smirk faded—just a fraction—as his gaze flicked over Stiles, checking for signs of strain. His hand came up, brushing along Stiles’ jaw, tilting his chin slightly as if gauging the steadiness in his eyes. “You’re sure you’re fine?”

Stiles held his stare. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Peter didn’t call him out for lying about the pain still etching in his movements. Stiles didn’t point out the worry burning behind Peter’s calm. There were things they both knew but wouldn’t say—not yet. Words like that had weight, and once spoken, this strange, fragile bubble would pop.

Peter’s hand trailed down again, this time catching at Stiles’ hip to steady him as he shifted. The touch made Stiles’ pulse trip over itself.

“You’re hovering,” Stiles said, trying to cover the way his voice had gone slightly rough.

“Observing,” Peter corrected, leaning just enough that his lips brushed the air by Stiles’ ear when he spoke.

Stiles caught his wrist when fingers skimmed a little higher than it needed to. “Behave.”

Peter’s eyes glinted. “Define ‘behave.’”

Their gazes locked—sharp, heated, daring. Neither blinked.

Finally, Peter pulled back just enough to take the damp cloth from Stiles and place it on the nightstand. “You’ll live,” he said, though it sounded almost like a promise to himself.

“Wasn’t planning on doing otherwise,” Stiles replied.

Peter straightened, offering his hand. Stiles hesitated, then took it, letting Peter pull him to his feet. His legs wobbled once—Peter’s arm shot around his waist instantly, catching him before he could tip forward. And maybe Stiles was healing a lot faster than any human could, but he was still far from what was excepted in a supernatural being.

“Still think you’re fine?” Peter asked, voice deceptively soft.

“Still think you’re enjoying this too much,” Stiles countered.

Peter’s smirk returned. “I really am.”

That earned him a sharp look, but Stiles didn’t let go.

Peter didn’t either.

He kept his arm around Stiles as they moved toward the bed, their steps slow, deliberate. Stiles could feel every brush of Peter’s side against his, the solid warmth of his body—a little too close, a little too easy to lean into.

They stopped beside the bed, neither making the first move to step back. Their eyes met again, the kind of stare that hummed with all the things neither would say aloud.

Peter’s fingers tightened fractionally at Stiles’ waist.

Stiles’ mouth quirked. “You gonna let go?”

“Eventually,” Peter said.

Neither of them moved for a long moment, and it was impossible to tell which one of them was lying more.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The morning light spilling through the house’s wide windows was thin and cold, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. Derek leaned against the counter in the kitchen, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee he wasn’t drinking. His other hand rested flat on the counter top, fingers splayed, knuckles pale from the quiet pressure.

The silence was almost… nice. Almost. That is if Derek didn’t just spend the worst night he had in a while. Theo was still missing. Stiles still healing. And Liam ? Well, last he heard, the beta had spent the whole night looking for Theo.

But the silence wasn’t just nice. It was also suspicious.

He knew better than to trust it.

The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent.

Derek’s jaw tightened. He set the mug down with slow precision, crossed the room, and opened the door.

Scott was there. No smile. No attempt at small talk. Just a tense set to his shoulders and a restless flicker in his eyes.

“Liam called me,” Scott said the moment Derek had the door halfway open. “Told me what happened. Is Stiles okay?”

Derek’s expression didn’t shift. “Yeah. He’s fine.”

“Where is he?”

Before Derek could answer, the steady rhythm of footsteps echoed from the stairs. Peter appeared, gaze flicking over the two of them with a mixture of irritation and boredom.

“Would you both keep it down, please?” Peter’s voice had that casual sharpness he used when he was seconds away from saying something deliberately cruel.

Derek frowned, about to respond, but his eyes caught on something — Peter’s outfit. Not pajamas. Not even his usual lounging clothes. Full attire, coat already on, boots laced.

“Where are you going?” Derek asked, suspicion threading through his voice.

Peter slipped into his coat, smoothing the collar with practiced movements. “I’m going to find Theo. You,” he said, pointing lightly at Derek, “are going to keep an eye on Stiles and make sure he doesn’t follow me. He’s still not at a hundred percent and needs to rest.”

“Stiles is still here?” Derek asked, brows pulling together.

Peter gave him a look like he’d just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “He lives here. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Because when I came to check on him last night after dropping Liam off, he wasn’t in his room.”

Peter didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, because he slept in mine.”

Derek blinked. So did Scott.

“He what?” Derek asked clearly mad about this.

Peter smirked faintly, clearly enjoying himself. “Keep an eye on him. Call me if anything happens.” And without giving either of them a chance to ask another question, he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

For a long moment, there was just… silence.

Finally, Derek turned to Scott. “What do you want, Scott?”

“I want to help,” Scott said simply.

Derek’s tone was flat. “And what makes you think we want your help?”

“I know I screwed up,” Scott said, a little too quickly. “But I’m trying to make up for it. That should matter. Especially after what happened last night. You need all the help you can get.”

Derek’s laugh was low and humorless.

Scott bristled. “What?”

“Don’t take it the wrong way, Scott. I’m glad you woke up. Really. But—”

“But it’s better if I stay away? I can’t.”

Derek tilted his head. “It’s funny how much bullshit you can spout without even hearing yourself.”

Scott exhaled sharply, trying to stay calm. “I know you’re still mad. But what I did to Theo was justified. I wasn’t wrong to be wary of him.”

“Wary, maybe not. But trying to get rid of him was just cold, and you know it. You used to have a moral code—or at least I thought you did.”

Scott’s voice rose. “I’m tired of everyone holding me to a higher moral standard all the time. I’m allowed to screw up too. And none of you have the right to blame me for it. Especially you.”

“Me?” Derek’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”

“From all the years I’ve known you, we both know your moral compass hasn’t always been as straight as it is now.”

“Except that in my case, I’ve changed for the better. You haven’t.”

“That’s not what you used to say.”

“That’s not what you used to be.” Derek’s tone cooled further. “Do you even understand why no one wants to forgive you? Why Malia left?”

“Because I’m a self-righteous asshole. Isn’t that what you think?”

“No. Because you stopped leading. You stopped listening. You stopped talking. You got so paranoid from your grief that you tried to control all of us.”

“Don’t go there, Derek.”

“I know you didn’t mean for what happened to—”

“I’m warning you,” Scott growled, his eyes flashing gold, his voice cracking slightly around the edges.

“Controlling us won’t bring Allison back.”

That was it.

Scott lunged.

The sound of impact was brutal — a collision of claws, fists, and old resentment. Derek caught him by the collar and shoved, Scott countering with a hook to the ribs. They slammed into the coffee table, sending it skidding. Derek’s claws tore into Scott’s shoulder; Scott drove a knee into Derek’s side. It wasn’t a calculated spar — it was years of tension detonating all at once.

They might’ve kept going until one of them didn’t get back up —

“What the hell is going on?”

Both froze, panting.

Stiles stood in the doorway, hair a chaotic mess, wearing an oversized shirt that was absolutely not his. His glare could’ve cut steel.

“Nothing,” Derek and Scott said in unison.

“Uh-huh,” Stiles said slowly. “See, ‘nothing’ doesn’t usually end with bleeding fists and furniture homicide. I swear…” He trailed off, muttering as he turned away, “Damn Neanderthals.” Then louder: “Don’t make me come back down there. Next time, I’m bringing my taser.”

They listened to him shuffle back upstairs, muttering under his breath.

The silence after felt heavier.

“All I want are my friends back,” Scott said finally. “I know I made mistakes. I want to fix them. Please give me a chance.”

“Our relationship was built on mutual trust, growth, and responsibility,” Derek said quietly. “Do you honestly see any scenario where we could get back to that?”

“Yes.”

That answer actually made Derek pause.

“You’re the one who made me the Alpha I am,” Scott continued. “The Alpha I thought I was. But you’ve changed too — because of your relationships with Stiles, Liam, Malia… all of us.”

“How so?” Derek asked, wary.

“I didn’t bring up what you used to be to piss you off. When we met, you were aggressive, secretive, manipulative. But my point is, you’re not anymore. That’s why I know you’ll eventually forgive me. Because no matter how bad I screwed up, you’ll always be there for me. You’re the best man I know… after all.”

Derek’s expression softened, just barely. He opened his mouth to reply —

The front door slammed open. What now?

Theo.

His eyes locked on Scott, and in the next heartbeat, he was on him, slamming him to the ground with a punch that cracked against Scott’s jaw.

Derek moved instantly, but Theo shoved him back with unnatural force before reaching in his back to grab something — and then drove a sharpened, aconite-coated branch into Derek’s stomach. The pain exploded white-hot, forcing Derek to one knee.

Theo leaned over Scott, his breath sharp and wrong, claws flexing.

“Theo…” Scott rasped. “Please…”

Theo leaned over Scott, eyes dark, barely any humanity left in them, and before Scott could push him away. His claws extended, glinting, poised to drive into Scott’s chest.

And then, suddenly, his whole body convulsed. A violent shudder tore through him before he collapsed unconscious beside Scott.

Scott’s head lolled to the side, the pain of the fight getting to him, as he tried to get his wind back.

Derek, panting through the pain, looked up — and saw Stiles standing over them both, taser still crackling in his hand, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

“I warned you,” Stiles muttered, stepping over Scott’s body without a glance.

Derek exhaled, half in relief, half in pain. “Fucking hell.”

Stiles crouched beside Theo, tilting his head to reveal a trickle of black liquid from his ear.

“What’s that?” Derek asked through clenched teeth.

“No idea,” Stiles said. “But I’m pretty sure Theo’s sudden murderous urges has something to do with it. Asher’s doing I would say.” He glanced at Derek’s wound, before getting up and walking away. “Don’t move. I need to cauterize this. I’m getting the blowtorch.”

“Oh, lucky me,” Derek muttered.

The door opened again, and Peter strolled in, eyes sweeping over the wreckage.

“Well,” he said lightly. “Guess what — I found Theo. Not dead.” He crouched, listening briefly for a heartbeat. “Yup. Not dead.”

Derek shot him a flat look. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”

Chapter Text

Theo woke up painfully sore, eyelids heavy, body aching like he’d spent the night getting run over by a truck. He realized he was stretched out on a couch, a blanket thrown haphazardly over him. The scent of cold coffee hung in the air.

“How do you feel?” a deep voice asked.

Theo looked up to see Derek, leaning against the armrest.

“Like I got hit by a lightning bolt.”

“Close enough. You got tased,” Derek replied flatly. “So that’s expected.”

“Tased?” Theo frowned, flashes of memory coming back in shards. “Wait… the club…” His stomach tightened. “How did I get here?”

“Easy,” Derek said, stepping forward as Theo tried to sit up, still lightheaded.

“Where are they?”

“Who?”

“Liam and Stiles. Are they okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. I called Liam but he’s not answering. He’s probably still out looking for you.”

“What do you mean looking for me?”

“Tell me what you remember.”

Theo drew in a slow breath. “The club. You, Stiles, Liam… the explosion… and…” His expression darkened. “Asher.”

“And?” Derek pressed.

“He dosed me with something. After that, it’s just black.”

“Not completely,” Derek corrected.

Theo’s head snapped up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were gone for more than twenty-four hours. And when you finally showed up here, it was to go straight for Scott’s throat. To kill him.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

“Shit…” Theo muttered. “I can’t remember any of it.” A beat. “Did I…?”

“Kill Scott? No. Stiles knocked you out before you could. But you did stab me with a wolfsbane covered branch though. Where the hell did you even get that from?”

“No idea, maybe the Nemeton. Not that I remember. We did leave a lot of shit scattered there after the ritual, after all. So Scott is okay?”

“Yeah, all you hurt was his pride I guess.”

Theo let out a bitter huff. “Guess that’s lucky for him… and me.” He pushed the blanket aside and stood, clearly ready to leave.

“What’s your plan now?” Derek asked.

“Go home. Lay low. Stay as far off Asher and Elijah’s radar as humanly possible.”

“You’d be safer with people. Why not stay?”

Theo shot him a sidelong look. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, Derek. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe so… Look. I know you don’t trust Peter, but unless you know something I don’t, I’ve never given you a reason to doubt me.”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “Why do you even care?”

“Probably because I wasn’t here the first time you came back to this town. I don’t have the history the others have with you. And I know what it’s like to want a shot at redemption.”

A cold smile ghosted over Theo’s lips. “So I’m a charity case now? No offense, but I’m not interested.”

“That’s not what I said.” Derek crossed his arms. “If you need anything, you come to me. No strings. No commitment to Peter or anyone else. But if for some reason you prefer to pass my offer, I’ll have no problem with it. I told you once that this pack owes you, and I meant it. But you don’t owe us anything and maybe I should have told you this before.”

“You really want to help me, don’t you?”

“I do.”

Theo studied him for a moment, then gave the smallest nod. “I’ll keep that in mind. But don’t expect me to take you up on it.”

“Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Yeah. Fine.”

Theo grabbed his jacket, clearly ready to head for the door — and that’s when Stiles appeared at the end of the hallway, hair still messy from sleep, tension sharp in every line of his face.

Theo hesitated in the doorway, one hand on the frame, his jaw flexing like he was weighing whether to say something or not.

Then his eyes narrowed.

He didn’t even need to step closer. The scent hit him like a punch — sharp, unmistakable. Peter. All over Stiles.

Theo’s mouth pulled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He let out a low, disbelieving breath. “Fucking unbelievable…”

He turned on his heel.

“Theo?” Stiles called, stepping out from the hall. “Where are you going? What did Ash do to you?”

“Nothing to do with Ash. Let it go, Stiles.”

“I’m not letting it go. You’ve been giving me shit for no reason, and I wanna know why.”

“Don’t push me.”

“Why?” Stiles shot back. “Because of Peter? Because I decided to move here? You think I’m that clueless?”

Theo stopped dead, shoulders rigid, then turned slowly to face him. His voice was quieter now, tighter. “I am trying really hard to not make this a whole thing. So just drop it.”

“A thing about what?”

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“Please, try making sense.”

Theo’s composure cracked, his voice sharp now. “Peter, Stiles! Peter! The guy has been screwing with my life for months — stole my powers, nearly got me killed, provoked every single mess that led to that ritual, and making Deucalion lose everything. He cut me off at every turn, blindsided me just to steal the sword piece. He and Scott followed you for months when—”

“So what?” Stiles cut in. “He screwed up. We all did. Right now he can help, and he wants to help. Why can’t that be a good thing?”

Theo’s stare was ice. “Fine. Tell me one thing then.”

“What?”

“Where did you sleep last night?”

Stiles froze. “Wh… what? What does that have to do with anything?”

“At least you still have the decency not to lie about it.”

“I can’t believe you.”

“He’s the reason everything went to hell, Stiles! He wrecked my life — completely destroyed it. And what do you do?” Theo’s voice broke into something between a snarl and a laugh. “I know we’ve never been friends. You’ve never really trusted me, you just pity me — and that’s fine, I can live with that. But I trusted you. Even after every mistake you made, I stayed. No one else did, but I did. And you just showed me exactly how much that means to you.”

The silence stretched between them after that. Both men, just looking at each other until one of them broke.

“Feel better now?” Stiles asked, the words like glass, as he tried to process what Theo had just threw at him.

“I told you not to push me.” His tone made it sound less like a warning and more like a verdict — you had it coming. He started to walk away, then spun back, fury still raw in his voice. Apparently, he wasn’t done. “He fucking marked you, Stiles! Like you’re some kind of property. And the least I expected from you was a little self-respect!”

“What makes you think you have a say in who I spend my nights with?”

“I don’t care who you screw. You could turn into a damn gigolo and I still wouldn’t care. I care that Peter is a manipulative piece of shit, and that when you find out how right I am, it’s going to break you. You want to jump off that cliff blind? Fine. But I’m not sticking around to watch you hit the ground.”

“No one’s forcing you to watch,” Stiles snapped. “You want to leave? Leave!”

Theo’s jaw clenched. “Whenever you let your emotions get in the mix, you can’t think straight. And it’s gonna get you killed.”

“I can’t think straight? Tell me, how’s Liam?” Theo didn’t show any reaction, but he walked closer to measure him before speaking again.

“You don’t talk to me about Liam okay? You don’t get to judge me.”

Stiles froze.

“It wasn’t enough to tell him to fucking turn me and make me his beta, you had to go and fuck him too?”

Stiles didn’t think. His fist connected with Theo’s jaw before the words had even finished leaving his mouth.

Theo staggered back, head snapping to the side. For a second, the silence between them was deafening. He didn’t hit back. Didn’t even raise his voice. Just straightened, rubbing his jaw once, his eyes dark with a restrained fury that made the air feel heavier.

“I’m done,” he said finally, voice low, tight.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re on your own, Stilinski. Don’t come crawling to me when everything falls apart around you.”

He shoved past him, the door slamming shut a beat later.

Stiles stood rooted, his knuckles throbbing, pulse hammering in his ears. The silence that followed was worse than any fight.

Because deep down, beneath the anger, beneath the guilt, he knew Theo was right. And that was the part that burned the most.

The sound of the door shutting was sharp, final.

Stiles stood there, breathing in the empty air Theo left behind. It still smelled faintly like ozone from the taser, like sweat, like anger.

His fingers flexed uselessly at his sides. He wanted to be pissed — really pissed — but all that sat heavy in his chest was something colder.

He told himself Theo was overreacting. That Peter wasn’t… whatever Theo thought he was. That he was in control.

But the words didn’t land, not even in his own head.

He glanced toward the stairs — toward Peter’s room — and felt the knot in his stomach twist tighter. But he stopped himself. He couldn’t get back up there. Not in Peter’s room. Not in his room. The simple thought of getting up the stairs was paralyzing him

Instead, he sat down on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, letting the quiet stretch long enough to feel like it might choke him.

Because deep down, under all the defiance, he knew Theo had landed a hit.

And it was already starting to hurt.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Derek stood by the sink, arms crossed, staring out the window like the view might give him answers. Peter leaned against the counter, spinning piece of the branch Theo stabbed Derek with between his fingers. There was no more wolfsbane on it, only derek’s dried blood. And Peter couldn’t stop thinking that things could have ended so much worth than it did if Stiles had stopped him in time.

“You definitely can’t tell Stiles about Deucalion coming here now,” Derek said.

Peter’s brow arched. “Why not?”

“Because Deucalion left twenty-four hours ago, and I haven’t been able to get in touch with him since.”

“The man’s been on the run for months. You should assume, going dark is a given. Isn’t that the all point?”

“Exactly. And now he just exposed himself. What if he got caught after coming here?”

Peter hummed, pensive. “Theo would lose it.”

“So, I’ll say it again. Stiles can’t know. Or he’ll tell Theo.”

“He won’t tell him.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

“Because, as bad as their fight was, And I know you heard it too. He wouldn’t do anything to set off Theo.”

“You don’t know that. He might. And the minute he does, he’s going to come to the same conclusion I just did. Deucalion got out of his whole because Theo was in danger, and he might not have made it back in time. And when that happens, the shit is gonna hit the fan anyway.”

Peter’s smirk tilted just slightly. “You know what? You can be a real asshole too when you want.”

“Yeah, but instead of being pissed at me, why don’t you take a look in the mirror? Because I just held out an olive branch, and after Theo hears this, he’s gonna take that branch and beat the crap out of both of us with it.”

Peter’s eyes darkened for just a breath — not anger, but calculation — before he pushed off the counter and left the room without another word.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Peter found Stiles sprawled on the couch, still in yesterday’s clothes, hair a mess like he’d run his hand through it a hundred times. He had spent the whole night down here. And Peter knew why. More precisely he knew why walking up those stairs was impossible for him. It wasn’t just because of what Theo said. His anxiety, his ADHD paralysis, his fears. Everything messy in his head was dragging him down right now. On the other side, he didn’t walk out the door either, and Peter was thankful for that.

“You’re sulking,” Peter said, tone light but edged. “Not a good look on you.”

Stiles didn’t glance up. “Not sulking. Thinking.”

“Dangerous idea.” Peter moved closer, each step deliberate. “You’ve been avoiding me. I didn’t expect you to stay in my room indefinitely, but a little notice would have been nice.”

“Just been… busy.”

Peter tilted his head. “Busy doing what? Sitting here? Perfecting your thousand-yard stare?”

“I needed some space.”

“From me?” His tone was deceptively mild, but the pause after it was sharper than a blade.

The words landed harder than Stiles wanted to admit. He shifted, like the couch had suddenly gotten too small. “Maybe this thing—whatever we’ve been doing—it’s not exactly the smartest idea I’ve ever had.”

Peter’s smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s adorable.”

“What is?”

“You, pretending you’ve been making smart decisions lately.”

That stung—not because it was cruel, but because it was true. Stiles dragged his gaze up to meet Peter’s, and for a moment the silence between them swelled with something he didn’t have the words for. His pulse was loud in his ears, his chest tight with all the things he wasn’t saying.

“See? That right there.” Stiles finally looked up, frustration flaring. “You talk like you’ve already decided how this ends.”

Peter shrugged, infuriatingly calm. “Because I have.”

Something in Stiles’ chest went brittle. “Yeah. You probably have. And I think I’m done giving you the chance to be right.”

Peter’s brow arched. “Yesterday everything was fine. And now you’re looking at me like I dragged you here against your will. Do you mind catching me up?”

Stiles’ answer came out sharp. “What does marking mean?”

Peter’s gaze narrowed, his tone deliberately measured. “Where is this coming from?”

To anyone else, it would’ve sounded genuinely clueless. But Stiles knew him—too well. For the first time in a while, he felt it: Peter was hiding something.

“I can’t believe it.” Stiles’ voice cracked, rising. “That’s true. You fucking marked me.”

Peter tilted his head, unflinching. “Who told you that?” he asked like he didn’t already know and actually heard it when Theo told him.

“Who told me? That’s what you want to ask?” Stiles barked a laugh that wasn’t funny. “What does it even mean? Did you just look at me one day and think, ‘he looks naïve enough to keep’? What, slap a price tag on me, like I’m some bargain you bagged?”

Peter’s mouth twitched, humor slipping through even now. “Bag you? What are you, groceries?”

Stiles snapped. “Don’t fucking joke. When did you even do it?”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Peter said simply. “It doesn’t happen that often really, and I certainly never expected it to happen with you.”

“When?”

“The first time you kissed me.” He let the words hang, then added, “Or maybe jumped me would be more accurate.”

“The first time—” Stiles cut himself off, shaking his head in disbelief. “I was out of my goddamn mind that night. Half possessed because of those damn powers. I didn’t even know I was kissing you until it I snapped out of it.”

“And clearly,” Peter said evenly, “I lost control too. I didn’t even realize it until a few weeks ago. I guess the mark didn’t fully settled until then.”

Stiles let out a breathless, incredulous laugh. “Un-fucking-believable.”

He pushed up from the chair, ignoring the dull pull in his side, and tried to step past him.
Peter didn’t move.

“Running away?” His voice was cool, controlled—but there was a darker current beneath it now, something heavier, something almost dangerous.

“Not running,” Stiles shot back. “Leaving before you decide it’s easier to push this too far.”

“Except I’m not the one pushing,” Peter countered smoothly. “You are. You’ve been playing hot and cold for months—pulling back, bolting to Washington every time things started to get real. The mark has nothing to do with this and you know it. You’re just using it as another excuse to run.”

Stiles’ jaw tightened. “I’m not running,” he repeated, softer this time.

“Then what is it now?” Peter pressed. “Theo? Scott? Your powers? My attitude?” He leaned in, sharp, merciless. “Please, tell me.”

“I don’t even know what I want right now,” he admitted, voice low, almost reluctant. “But I can’t seem to be able to walk away and it’s driving me crazy.”

Peter’s smirk shifted, slower now, darker. “Careful. That sounds an awful lot like surrender.”

The air between them pulled taut, the kind of tension that made every breath feel louder than it should. Stiles didn’t back away — he stepped in.

Peter didn’t move.

Fingers brushed his jacket. Then the edge of his shirt. Then, almost without thought, the flat plane of his stomach. Peter let him. Let him come close enough that their chests almost touched, that he could feel the uneven beat of Stiles’ heart against the air between them.

“I thought you were leaving,” Peter murmured, his voice dipping lower.

“I am,” Stiles said, but his eyes said something entirely different.

“Stay.” It wasn’t an order. Barely a request. Just a word. But it made something click.

Stiles didn’t answer. He just moved—closing the space between them before he could think himself out of it.

Peter kissed back at first—slow, assessing, like he was weighing the risk—but Stiles pressed harder, chasing the contact. His fingers curled into the fabric at Peter’s chest before sliding up to his collar, tugging until Peter gave ground.

Peter let himself be pushed—back against the couch, then further, until the shift of weight made them both stand and move without speaking. Peter walked him backward and up to the bedroom, every step tight with tension neither of them named.

The backs of Stiles’ knees hit the mattress and he went down, pulling Peter with him in a messy, breathless tangle.

Somehow, Stiles ended up straddling him, knees braced on either side, palms flattening against the sharp lines of Peter’s shoulders. His pulse was a runaway train in his ears, but he didn’t care—not about pace, not about consequences. He kissed Peter like the world had been daring him to for months and he’d finally decided to take the bet.

Peter didn’t fight it. He let Stiles push, let him set the rhythm for a moment—slow, deep, unhurried, enough to burn. His hands settled at Stiles’ hips, the weight of them both grounding and dangerous, like a leash disguised as a caress.

When Stiles rolled his hips forward, just enough to feel the answering shift from Peter, those hands tightened—reflexive, claiming. Peter’s mouth curved against his in something that was half-warning, half-invitation, but he didn’t pull away.

The air between them went thick, syrup-slow. Every push and drag of motion blurred into that place where you stop testing limits and start crossing them. Peter’s hand slid up the length of Stiles’ spine, deliberate and possessive, fingers hooking at the base of his neck before threading into his hair. A firm tug tilted Stiles’ head, giving Peter control of the kiss again.

It wasn’t just kissing anymore. The heat of it curled low in Stiles’ stomach, every nerve tuned to Peter’s slow, surgical precision. Even when Stiles pressed harder, rolling against him in a way that made his own breath hitch, Peter was still the one in control—allowing it, guiding it, savoring the moment like he could drag it out forever.

Somewhere between one kiss and the next, Stiles’ grip tightened in Peter’s shirt, knuckles white, the urge to push further right there—dangerously close to something neither of them could pretend away in the morning.

Peter broke the kiss, not abruptly, but with a slow drag of lips that left Stiles chasing after him. He kept his forehead pressed to Stiles’ like he was catching his breath, though his eyes said otherwise—steady, sharp, utterly present.

“Far be it from me to stop you making another bad decision,” Peter murmured, his voice velvet over steel. “But if you do let me cross that line fully, there’s no way I’m doing it in public.”

It took Stiles a beat to register the words. Another beat to realize the shift in Peter’s gaze wasn’t toward him anymore but past him.

He turned his head, breath still ragged, and froze.

In the mirror behind Peter’s shoulder—Scott. Standing in the doorway, eyes glowing an unmissable, electric yellow.

Stiles froze.

Then he bolted—off Peter’s lap, across the room, out the door.

Peter didn’t move to stop him—just watched him go, something unreadable flickering across his face. He knew, with the tight coil in his chest and the sudden pound of his pulse, that Stiles was running again.

Scott was already after him, calling his name. Both running down the stairs.

In the hall, Scott caught up easily. “Stiles, wait—”

“Don’t.” Stiles’ voice was tight, almost breaking. He didn’t stop, didn’t look back, just shoved past and headed for the front door.

Peter stayed where he was, pulse still hammering faster than it should. He could feel the ghost of that kiss like heat trapped under his skin.

And he hated that. He hated how cold this fire felt.

Chapter Text

Liam had been everywhere. The preserve. The old Dread Doctors’ lair. A few of Elijah’s more discreet outposts, each one checked as quietly and thoroughly as he could. Nothing. Every trail went cold. Every lead ended in dust and silence.

By the time he reached Deucalion’s place, it was more out of stubbornness than hope. His phone had died hours ago, and he had to make sure no one called him about Theo in the meantime. This was probably gonna be his last stop before going back home and recharge his phone.

“Theo?” he called into the empty-sounding space, already expecting nothing. The last two times he’d come here, the place had been dead quiet.

But a voice came from down the hall.

“Bedroom.”

Liam froze, the shock hitting before relief had time to catch up. He dropped his jacket right there in the entryway and moved through the living room—then stopped dead.

The place was wrecked. Not just messy—shards of wood, splintered furniture, torn fabric. Like a storm had been locked inside.

His pulse ticked up as he stepped into the bedroom. Theo was there, calm as anything, folding clothes into a half-open suitcase.

“You’re here,” Liam said, still a little breathless.

“Do you ever knock or breaking and enterring just became part of your charming personality now?”

“You’re...Here.”

Theo didn’t even look up. “Wow, Liam. Observant as ever. What gave it away, me answering you?”

“You’re here??” Liam repeated, louder this time, the disbelief threading with frustration.

“And clearly that’s not a real question,” Theo said dryly, finally glancing at him.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Liam snapped. “It didn’t cross your mind to at least warn me you were alive?”

“Not really. Well, I called, but you’re phone’s dead, so...” Theo’s gaze sharpened as he took Liam in. “Damn, you look wrecked. What happened to you?”

“Oh, not much,” Liam said in disbelief. “A building collapsed on me. Stiles almost bled out in front of me. I spent the last twenty-four hours running around like a lunatic trying to find you. But who cares, right? You’re fine. You don’t even have a scratch.”

Theo stayed perfectly unfazed, which somehow made Liam’s frustration sharper. He gave up arguing and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re packing?”

“I’m not running away, if you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t…” Liam shook his head, then frowned toward the wreckage he’d passed in the living room. “What happened out there? Did someone break in?”

“No.” Theo paused just a beat too long. “I did that.”

Liam blinked. “Why?”

“Spring cleaning,” Theo said flatly.

“Sure. And what happened with Ash?”

“Worried Elijah might come after us because of the mess at the club?”

“No—yes. I mean, there’s always the possibility that Asher acted alone, and Elijah doesn’t know.”

Theo’s mouth curved in something like a humorless smile. “Thin possibility, if you ask me.” He folded another shirt. “Asher told me Elijah wants to meet with me.”

“And you said no, right?”

“I did. But maybe I shouldn’t have.”

Liam’s eyebrows shot up. “And here I was, thinking we’d finally—miraculously—agree on something for once.”

“Don’t be naïve, Liam. I’m not looking to make nice. I’d rather shove his own arm down his throat and push until he can reach his own prostate. But sometimes you have to play nice with murderers if you want to live long enough to kill them yourself.”

“Don’t start with your rude crap just to get me to lose it,” Liam warned. “I’m not being naïve. Or unrealistic.”

“No, what you are is hopeless,” Theo countered, meeting his eyes. “And maybe you could trust my word when I tell you I know what I’m talking about.”

“You’re unbelievable. You’re insufferable. You’re—”

“Please, don’t stop on my account,” Theo said with mock-encouragement. “Go on. What am I?”

Liam exhaled sharply. “What you are is a walking childhood trauma flag.”

Theo’s eyebrows lifted. “Jeez. How’d you figure that out?”

“You always prepare for the worst, sabotage every good thing in your life, and you can’t trust safety when you see it. Your nervous system is wired for survival, not safety.”

Theo smirked faintly. “Real catch, aren’t I? Please remind me. Why would you want to be with someone like that?”

“Why do you think I came back?” Liam asked.

Theo’s expression shifted, just slightly. “Just tell me, Li.”

“Because I know it’s a facade. You can’t convince me you haven’t changed just because you feel too guilty about your past. Stiles wouldn’t be your friend if I was wrong.”

Theo chose to ignore the mention of Stiles. But he did take of mental note that apparently Liam and he were back on talking terms. Nice timing, right? “So what? Am I like dating material now?”

“Something like that.”

“Something?”

“Something like…” Liam stepped forward, voice softening—then kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t cautious, either. Slow, warm, and inevitable, like they’d both been orbiting this moment for too long to pretend otherwise.

Theo’s hands came up, gripping the back of Liam’s jacket before pulling him closer. Liam melted into it, sliding a hand up the side of Theo’s neck, their foreheads brushing between kisses.

When they finally broke apart, Theo’s lips quirked into a grin—right before Liam remembered the last time they’d kissed and what Theo had said he would do if Liam did that again.

“Oh, come on—”

The punch was quick, sharp, and broke his nose.

Liam staggered back with a yell, hands flying to his face. “Fuck!”

Theo set the suitcase aside like nothing happened. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You can be a real asshole when you want to, you know that?” Liam groaned.

“Whatever you say, little-wolf,” Theo said, strolling past him into the living room.

Despite himself, Liam felt the corner of his mouth twitch. He followed Theo, watching as he began clearing the broken furniture.

Theo finally noticed the weight of Liam’s stare and looked up. “Li.”

Liam didn’t answer. His eyes were darker now, but not with anger. He started toward Theo, who stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Liam.”

“What?” Liam asked softly, not backing away.

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Don’t.”

Theo stepped back, putting distance between them like it hurt to do it. Liam sighed, turning away toward the entryway.

“What are you doing?” Theo asked, voice calmer now but watching him closely.

“I’m going home.” Liam’s tone was clipped, his eyes fixed anywhere but Theo.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way.”

“And what way is that?” Liam turned, frustration edging into hurt. “Why can’t you just let me in?”

Theo looked down. “I already told you.”

“No, you didn’t. You said you couldn’t take it anymore. That our relationship wasn’t healthy. That being with me would get me killed. That’s not an explanation.”

“Maybe not,” Theo said, meeting his gaze again, “but I stand by it. I’ve seen more blood in the past three months than in my entire life before. And it’s not just now—it’s always been that way. I’m a trouble magnet. People get hurt when I’m around. Or worse.”

“So?”

“You don’t get it, do you? I can’t count the times I’ve been in something I shouldn’t have survived. And every time, someone else who pays for it. You don’t need me.”

“Except I do.” Liam’s voice cracked just a little. “Do you think I like having you as an anchor? Like I chose this? I can’t anchor myself like the others, Theo. All I have is you. Did you ever stop to wonder why?”

Theo stayed silent. Liam tossed his jacket aside.

“It’s because I can’t breathe. All you ever do is leave. I live with this constant fear that one day you won’t come back. And it’s killing me.”

“Being with me is what will get you killed,” Theo shot back.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Because one of us has to control themselves, and apparently it’s me.”

“I don’t want control. I want peace of mind. I want you to be okay.”

“You’ll get over it,” Theo said flatly, moving toward the front door.

Liam followed. “There’s still something I have to say.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Theo—”

“I know what you want to say.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You want to tell me you still love me.”

“You’re so damn full of yourself,” Liam muttered.

“Am I wrong?”

Liam didn’t miss a beat. “Of course I still love you. Don’t you?”

Theo stepped closer, lifted a hand to cup his cheek, and after a long moment, pressed a soft kiss to Liam’s forehead.

“How could I not?”

He let go, turning toward the door. But before he could step away, Liam caught his arm, spun him back, and kissed him hard.

Theo froze for half a second, the kind of hesitation that felt longer than it was, and then he kissed Liam back. Hard.

It wasn’t the slow, testing kind from earlier—it was sharp, desperate, almost angry. His hands came up to grip the back of Liam’s neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

Liam’s fingers twisted in Theo’s shirt, grounding himself in the heat of it, in the fact that Theo was here and not disappearing again.

The kiss broke for a moment, both of them breathing hard. Liam’s forehead stayed pressed against Theo’s. “I hate you for making me feel like this,” he said, his voice low, almost shaking.

Theo’s laugh was short and bitter. “Good. Maybe it’ll make it easier when I leave again.”

Liam’s hands clenched in his shirt. “Don’t you dare—”

Theo cut him off with another kiss, and they stumbled backward until Theo’s back hit the wall. It was messy and uncoordinated, like they were both trying to win and lose at the same time.

Liam pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Why are you still fighting it?”

“Because I don’t get to keep things like this,” Theo said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His voice cracked on the last word.

“That’s bullshit,” Liam shot back. “You get to keep me if you want me. I’m right here. I’ve been right here this whole time.”

Theo’s gaze dropped to Liam’s mouth again, and for a moment, it looked like he might give in. Instead, he shoved him back—not hard, but enough to break contact.

“You should go,” Theo said, turning away.

“No.” Liam’s tone was sharp. “I’m not leaving until you say you want me to go.”

Theo turned back, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. “Fine. Go.”

Liam felt the words hit harder than they should have, like a punch he wasn’t ready for. He stepped back slowly, watching Theo’s face for any sign of regret. There was none.

“Congratulations,” Liam muttered, grabbing his jacket. “You win.”

Theo didn’t answer, just watched him cross the room. And then, he was gone.

Theo stood there for a long moment, the sound of the door clicking shut ringing louder than it should have. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, took one shaky breath, and then went back to clearing the wreckage—because if he stopped moving, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to start again.

The apartment felt too quiet after Liam left.

Theo cleaned the wreckage without really seeing it, every movement mechanical, his mind replaying Liam’s face, Liam’s words—

He sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the door. Theo’s chest ached with the urge to move—to do something, anything other than sit here drowning in what he’d just done. His eyes drifted to the door. It would be easy. He knew exactly where Liam would go.

For a second, he almost stood.

Almost.

Instead, he sank back down, jaw tightening, and forced himself to stay put.

Because if he went now—if he crossed that line—there’d be no coming back. And Theo wasn’t sure if he was ready to want something that badly again.

He told himself he was doing the right thing. That walking away before it went too far was better than destroying what was left later.

But it didn’t feel like the right thing. It felt like suffocating.

He left the suitcase packed.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

Peter hadn’t seen Stiles in two days. Not since Scott had walked in on them and Stiles had bolted like the floor was on fire under his feet.

Two days. Which, for Stiles, was normal enough—he had a habit of shutting down when he was overwhelmed. But this time felt different. The silence itched under Peter’s skin, crawling like static. He told himself he wasn’t worried, not exactly. But the fact remained: he hadn’t heard his voice, hadn’t seen those frantic, darting eyes. He missed it more than he wanted to admit. Not to mention the constant irritation he was feeling because of it.

Which is why Theo showing up now, vein pulsing in his temple, clearly ready for a fight, was… less than ideal.

Theo jabbed a finger in Peter’s direction, pacing with sharp, restless steps. “You really got some nerves! You know that?”

Peter leaned back against the arm of the couch, deliberately lazy, one ankle sliding over his knee. “I might agree,” he said smoothly, “but I’m going to need a little more information than what your bulging forehead vein is offering me right now.”

Theo whirled on him, hands flexing open and shut. “Stiles has been out of his mind dealing with all the shit coming at him for months. Doing everything he can not to drown. And yeah, he’s a control freak, repressing himself until he breaks. To the point it seems he convinced himself his power just magically disappeared by the sheer force of his own will. But we both know that’s bullshit, just another shoe waiting to drop on him when he finally accepts it.”

Peter raised a brow, smirking faintly. “And apparently while doing all that, he also managed to infect you with his tendency to ramble.”

Theo’s fists clenched. He took a sharp step forward, shoulders tight, jaw grinding. “Are you trying to have him kill himself?”

Peter tilted his head, cool and detached, eyes following Theo like he was a particularly fascinating puzzle. “And somehow, I still have no idea where you’re going with this.”

Theo moved closer, the air vibrating with restrained anger. “You couldn’t help yourself, could you? The second Scott turned his back on him, Stiles isolated himself and you swooped in. Got in his head.”

Peter straightened slightly, expression sharpening into something colder. “If you’re suggesting I’m trying to manipulate Stiles, you’ll have to do better than that.”

Theo let out a bitter laugh, throwing his arms wide. “No. What I’m suggesting is you’re trying to get in his pants, his head, and twist his powers to your own profit.”

Peter’s lips curled, more wolf than man. “Ah. So, that’s what this is all about.”

Theo’s voice dropped low, almost shaking. “I know Stiles has always had a thing for you. God knows why. But he does. It’s written all over his face. I know it, Derek knows it, hell, the whole world probably knows it. Maybe not Scott— guy can barely line up two thoughts on a good day—but still.”

Peter’s eyes glittered. “Did you hear what I said about rambling?”

Theo jabbed a finger at him again, stepping so close their chests nearly brushed. “You don’t get to use him. Not him.”

Peter didn’t move back. He let the weight of silence sit a moment before answering, calm as ice. Theo finally stepped back, trying to calm himself down. “Alright, I heard you. But might I weigh in?”

Theo’s eyes narrowed, shoulders squaring. “Depends. Might I punch you?”

“Maybe there’s something you haven’t considered.”

Theo crossed his arms, defensive. “And what’s that?”

“I lost everything once. My family burned alive in this very house. I barely survived—spent years in a coma, broken, useless. When I finally woke up… I wasn’t myself anymore. I was angry. Mad. Out of my mind. People only remember the monster I became. The schemer. The killer. They don’t remember what pushed me there, what made me unravel.”

“Who’s rambling now?”

His voice hardened, gaze locking Theo’s like a blade pinning him in place. “And if anyone should understand what it’s like to live in the shadow of your past, it’s you.”

Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Boohoo. Spare me the tragic violin solo.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “I don’t need Stiles because of his power. I want him because when he looks at me, he doesn’t see the monster. He sees the man I used to be. And the least I can do is try to be that man again—for him. For what’s left of my family.”

For a second, Theo faltered. His fists unclenched, but his jaw stayed locked. Then he shook his head sharply. “I’m not here to swap trauma stories. I came to tell you not to mess with Stiles. I did. And now I’m leaving.”

Peter’s smile was sudden, sharp. “No, you didn’t.”

Theo froze. “…I’m sorry?”

Peter leaned forward just slightly, like a wolf scenting weakness. “You didn’t come here because of Stiles. You came because you know I want you in my pack. You know why I turned you. And you know I’ve got information you want. You’re dying to know what it is.”

Theo’s eyes flickered, just enough to betray the crack. He shoved his hands into his pockets, scoffing again to cover it. “Doesn’t matter what you think. I’m not getting anywhere near your plans.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Because you don’t trust me? Or because you don’t trust yourself?”

Theo stiffened, mask threatening to slip. For one second Peter saw it—fear, shame, that gnawing uncertainty—but then Theo smothered it again.

Before Peter could press, the door creaked open. Scott stepped in, hesitant. His eyes flicked to Peter, then skittered away, haunted by what he’d seen two nights ago. But when his gaze landed on Theo, torment carved itself across his features, raw and unguarded. He muttered nothing, bolted, and shut the door hard behind him.

Silence.

Theo huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Smooth. You sure he didn’t fry some brain cells in that coma?”

Peter exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing in thought. “I might have an idea what this is about.”

Theo turned, suspicion tightening his posture. “You did something, didn’t you?”

Peter smiled faintly, tilting his head. “I could tell you. But I fear you’d just think I was baiting you into a fight.”

Theo stared at him for a moment, something flickering in his expression before he shook his head. “You know what? I’m done. I actually have other things to deal with today.”

Peter’s voice cut through as Theo turned toward the door. “Have you seen Stiles recently?”

Theo froze, slowly turning back with a glare. “Are you for real right now?”

“Something did happen,” Peter said, his voice quieter, sharper. “He ran away. I just want to make sure he’s fine.”

Theo scoffed, but the sound lacked conviction. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Stiles and I aren’t exactly on talking terms.”

Peter’s expression didn’t soften. His words landed like a blade. “Who’s letting him drown now?”

Theo stiffened. The jab landed deeper than Peter expected. Without another word, Theo shoved his hands into his pockets and left, the door slamming behind him.

But outside, away from Peter’s piercing stare, the words gnawed at him.
He started walking faster, then slower, then stopped altogether, breath coming short. He told himself Peter was wrong. That Stiles could handle himself.

And yet the thought wouldn’t leave him: What if he couldn’t?

For the first time in a long while, Theo felt something colder than anger crawling under his skin—worry.

Chapter Text

Theo had sworn he wouldn’t come. That he wouldn’t meet with him. Not ever, and definitely not like that.

Alone. Waiting. Suspiciously calm.

He should have turned around the moment he caught the scent. Every instinct screamed at him to stay away, to ignore the paper Ash had slipped into his pocket days ago. He’d done his best, weighing it over and over until the weight of it felt unbearable. He wouldn’t have come at all—except Peter’s words wouldn’t leave his head.

He’s not after Deucalion. Not Stiles. He’s after you.

That seed had festered until the only way forward was here, through the forest, following a trail that wasn’t hidden at all. It was deliberate. Designed to lead him right where Elijah wanted him. And Theo hated himself for following it anyway.

The closer he got, the heavier the air became. It wasn’t just the woods—it was this place. The Nemeton. Its roots stretched wide like veins feeding the ground, the stump itself rising like a monument. The closer Theo got to it, the more it pulsed, the wood faintly creaking as though something inside was alive, awake, breathing. Every pulse stole a little more air from Theo’s lungs, the pressure mounting until it felt like his ribs might crack.

And on the massive stump, waiting as if he’d always been there, sat Elijah. Alone.

It was the first time Theo had ever seen him without his entourage. And against his better judgment, one thought flashed in his mind: maybe one-on-one, I could take him.

“You can’t,” Elijah said calmly, hands resting loosely on his knees, as though he’d plucked the thought straight out of Theo’s skull.

Theo froze, narrowing his eyes. “Can’t what?”

“Fight me,” Elijah said simply. “You’re thinking about it. Wondering if I’d let my guard down long enough for you to make a move.” His lips curved faintly, not unkind, but unshakably sure. “Let me save you some time: you can’t. Not here. Not anywhere. So you might as well relax. And listen.”

Theo let out a dry laugh, sharp as glass. “Relax? Right. And when I do, you planning on decapitating me? After all, you already blew up Deucalion’s club trying to take some of us out.”

Elijah’s eyes flickered, a shard of amusement there. “My club. Not Deucalion’s. Nothing belongs to him anymore.” His tone cooled, precise. “And you should be grateful I didn’t slaughter every last one of you for trying to steal from me.”

Theo’s jaw tightened. “Didn’t stop Asher from trying to kill Liam and Stiles. Or drug me.”

A shadow crossed Elijah’s expression—brief, but real. “That… was not meant to happen. There’s a reason I didn’t want Asher involved before. I may have underestimated Asher’s more than… clinical obsession about you.” His gaze steadied on Theo, softer for a fraction of a second. “For that, I apologize.”

Theo didn’t answer immediately. His throat felt tight. Elijah apologizing was wrong, unnatural—yet he sounded sincere. Too sincere.

The calmness made Theo’s skin crawl. Elijah never spoke like that—measured, respectful, almost indulgent. Usually there was threat in every syllable. This time, he didn’t need to remind Theo he held all the power. The Nemeton was already doing that for him.

Theo’s gaze slipped despite himself, dragging back to the wood. The roots trembled faintly, like something ancient was humming beneath it. And every breath Elijah took seemed to make it stronger.

“You feel it too,” Elijah said softly, following his gaze with unsettling accuracy.

Theo’s head snapped back to him, caught off guard by how close his thoughts matched Elijah’s words. “Feel what?”

“The resonance.” Elijah reached down, brushing his fingers lightly over the stump like he was soothing a restless beast. “The Nemeton breathes. Reacts. It always has. You just never stopped to notice. But it reacts stronger to us. To blood. To bond.”

Theo swallowed, heat pressing tight in his chest. He hated that part of him did believe it, because he’d felt it before—the night of the ritual, when the spark had burned inside him until it nearly killed him. “And I’m supposed to think that’s a good thing?”

“You’re supposed to realize it’s not coincidence,” Elijah answered evenly. His eyes, that strange turquoise glow, held Theo’s without flinching. “You sense it because you’re bound to it. Same as me.”

Theo barked a humorless laugh, desperate to push the weight off. “Great. So now you’re spouting fortune-cookie wisdom.”

“Not riddles. Truths.” Elijah leaned forward, hands clasped loosely. His eyes didn’t waver, calm but burning.

Theo’s jaw tightened, fighting back the flicker of unease curling in his gut. Don’t flinch. Don’t let him think he’s getting through to you.

But Elijah leaned forward, calm, steady, absolute. “You think I stand above you because I’m stronger. But the truth is, I stand here because I broke before you did. But I got back up. The Nemeton took everything from me. My wife. My family. My friends. Everyone who thought they knew me lost me the moment this power was tied to me.”

His voice didn’t shake, but there was a depth to it that made Theo’s skin crawl. “Even Peter. Even Deucalion. My real name doesn’t mean anything to them anymore which is why it took them so long to realize it. They have no idea who I am anymore. Because what I became… even I don’t recognize.”

Theo’s breath caught, sharp and unwilling. For a second—just a second—it almost felt like a warning. Like Elijah wasn’t just talking about himself, but about him.

He forced a smirk, covering the shiver racing down his spine. “So this is the pitch? That if I don’t join you, I’ll end up like you? Alone? Crazy? A ghost no one remembers?”

Elijah’s gaze sharpened, but his tone stayed maddeningly calm. “Time for a reality check, Theo. Keep resisting what you are, and you’ll find out the hard way.”

Theo’s throat felt tight, but he forced out a laugh, sharp and scornful. He lifted his voice in a mocking mimic: “I want to travel through time. I want revenge for my pack. I want the clock. I want Deucalion. I want Theo. Maybe now I just want to kill you all.”

He dropped the act with a snap, eyes locking on Elijah. “Months of riddles and threats, shifting your story every other day like we’re supposed to chase after whatever version fits your mood. And I’m done playing along. So here’s the deal—if you’ve got something real to say, lay it out. Why this meeting? Why now? Tell me this. Anything even close to a half-truth will do, really. Otherwise, I walk right now, and you can waste someone else’s time.”

“You are not listening.” Elijah rose, the Nemeton groaning faintly under the shift of his weight. The air thinned as he stepped closer, each stride pulling at Theo’s lungs, dragging the memory of fire back into his chest—the same low burn he felt when the Alpha spark had been eating him alive.

Theo didn’t back away, but every muscle in him screamed to.

Elijah stopped in front of him, close enough that Theo could see the faint shimmer in his eyes—turquoise at first, then bleeding gold, then burning red. But it didn’t stay there. It shifted, restless, unstable. Like a pulse that refused to settle, a spectrum of power cycling under his skin.

Theo had seen red, gold, blue, even that strange glacial silver of the dread doctors’ experiments. He knew what those meant. What they signified. This—this wasn’t any of it. It wasn’t even a glitch or a flicker. It was deliberate. Controlled.

His breath caught, a fire curling in his chest as instinct screamed at him that this wasn’t right. Elijah’s gaze was steady, but the thing behind it was inhumanly fluid, as if the Nemeton itself was bleeding through his veins.

Theo’s thoughts scrambled, trying to force this into a box,, into something that made sense. There wasn’t one. Elijah was as terrifying as he could be deadly and it was really something to behold.

For the first time in years, Theo felt a sick feeling of curiosity flow through his spine—not because Elijah had threatened him, but because he didn’t even know what he was looking at.

“What are you?” Theo demanded, though his voice cracked sharper than he intended.

“I’m what happens when the rules no longer apply,” Elijah said softly. “Alpha. Beta. Omega. You cling to those chains because you think they keep you safe. They don’t. Not for me. The Nemeton is the very sources of your powers, it writes its own rules. Blood too.”

Theo blinked, thrown. “Blood?”

Elijah’s expression changed, just slightly—something flickered, almost tender, almost cruel. “Did no one ever tell you? Why the alpha spark stuck to you when it shouldn’t have? Why Peter’s bite worked on you, when by all accounts it should’ve failed?”

The bottom dropped out of Theo’s stomach. He tried to keep his face stone, but the question hit too raw. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Elijah’s gaze bore into him. “Your blood. It isn’t clean. It’s tied. Rooted. Same as mine. You were never meant to exist, Theo, but the Nemeton doesn’t waste its chosen. It bends fate until you fit.”

Theo’s heart hammered. For the first time since he’d walked into these woods, he had no snark left, no sharp edge to throw back. Just silence pressing hard against his ribs.

Elijah tilted his head, voice low, persuasive. “You want answers? Stop chasing ghosts like Deucalion. He’s not the one holding your leash anymore. You want to know why you survived the impossible? Why you still walk, when by rights you should’ve burned out with the rest? Look no further than yourself.”

Something twisted in Theo’s gut. Deucalion. He didn’t say it outright, but every word pushed the same direction—blood, lineage, survival. For one aching second, Theo almost believed it. Almost believed the man who’d protected him apart was bound to him in ways he’d never guessed.

And the haunting question Theo had been pushing away for days, just punched him once again. Who was Theo to Deucalion? Could he really be… Was it the reason Theo had survived everything until now? Being a chimera, an Alpha, the ritual, the bite. Because his real father was an Alpha, but Theo wasn’t born a wolf.

If it was true, then it meant the Nemeton really was trying to fix him by any means, until his existence made sense. But what did it make him then?

And that was worse than any threat Elijah had made before.

He forced himself to breathe, to anchor his feet. “You want me to follow you because you think we’re the same,” he said finally, his voice rough. “But here’s the thing—I’d rather burn out than turn into you.”

Elijah’s smile was faint, maddeningly calm. “We’ll see.”

The Nemeton pulsed again, and Theo felt it deep in his chest, like a second heartbeat. He hated how much of him wanted to believe Elijah’s words—hated that somewhere, in the part of him he couldn’t shut up, it made sense.

But he shoved it down, hard. When he finally turned to leave, his hands were shaking. Not from fear, he told himself, but from fury.

Because now he knew. He couldn’t do this alone. Neither Peter, nor Deucalion, nor anyone else could hold Elijah back if they stayed divided. The only chance they had was to gather every piece, every fractured bond, every burned bridge—and put it all together against him.

That meant Scott. Peter. Liam. Derek.

And most of all, that meant Stiles.

Elijah’s voice followed him as he walked, low, steady, the sound vibrating in his skull long after he left the clearing.

“You can’t run from blood, Theo. One way or another, it always calls you back.”

Theo didn’t answer. He just walked faster, jaw locked, the taste of iron in his mouth.

But beneath the anger, beneath the resolve, a seed of something darker had lodged deep.

Doubt.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

 

The Hale house was quiet, but not in a peaceful way. It was the heavy kind of quiet that hummed with tension, thick and restless.

Scott stood across from Peter, his stare sharp, unblinking, daring. Peter, of course, lounged against the mantle like he couldn’t be less interested. At what point would these kinds of situations stop exactly? This group had more angry staring contests than any western movie, for god’s sake.

Liam looked between them, chewing on his lip. Finally—because apparently he was just that stupid—he opened his mouth.

“Okay, I know things are tense with the whole Peter’s-an-Alpha-and-Scott-isn’t-anymore thing, but… is this one of those moments that starts with a tensed silence and ends with blood everywhere?”

“No,” Scott said flatly. His voice was tight, clipped. “I don’t have a problem with Peter being an Alpha.”

Chris exhaled, nodding. “Good. Then should we move on—”

“I do have a problem with Peter sleeping with Stiles, though.”

The silence cracked, sharp and sudden.

Liam’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “I’m sorry—WHAT?!”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. “Oh my god…” His tone was half-disgusted, half-annoyed, but not even a little surprised.

Chris grimaced. “Please tell me you didn’t…”

“No, I didn’t,” Peter said smoothly. His smirk undercut the denial. Chris’s glare, sharp as a blade, said he didn’t believe a word. Peter tilted his head lazily. “Well, I would have, if McCall here knew what a closed door means.”

Derek muttered something dark under his breath, his patience already worn thin. “I knew I should’ve stopped this when I found out about the marking.”

“The what?” Liam squeaked, his voice climbing high.

Peter arched a brow, his tone almost amused. “You knew about that?”

“Of course I knew,” Derek snapped, his hand falling away from his face. “Liam and Scott might have the worst noses I’ve ever seen on wolves, but I don’t. Why do you think I was so against it? Why do you think Theo doesn’t want to trust you?”

Peter only shrugged, casual as ever. “Fair. I should’ve shown a little more restraint. But believe it or not, I’m not the one who started it.”

Liam groaned, dragging his hands down his face.“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Scott looked at him a little worried.

“I tell him not to do it. He does. In one ear, out the other,” Derek muttered to himself, clearly done with this entire mess. His voice was dry as dust. “A fart in the wind.”

The door creaked open. Theo stepped inside, his expression sharp as he scanned the room and immediately registered the charged atmosphere. He didn’t look impressed. Or concerned. He actually preferred to ignore it all together.

“Good. Everyone’s here,” Theo said coolly. “Maybe you do have some common sense left.”

Liam spun toward him, cutting him off. “Wait—did you know about this?”

Theo blinked, his face unreadable. “About what?”

Peter smirked knowingly. Theo sighed.

“Yeah,” Theo admitted, his voice dropping. “I know.”

Scott bristled. “You knew and you didn’t stop him from manipulating Stiles?”

Theo’s patience snapped. “Wow, okay—back off. I knew. I hated it. I wanted to scratch my own eyes out at the thought of it. But I did try to stop it, and clearly I didn’t have my word to say about it.” he said offended at the accusation, before pointing at Scott and Liam “Now, if you two don’t mind going through your little mental crisis on your own time, I’d really like to get back to the actual matter at hand.”

“Please,” Peter drawled. “Do.”

“Nope. Nope. I can’t un-hear... that.” Liam groaned again, pressing both hands against his stomach.

“Deep breaths, kid,” Derek muttered dryly. “Try not to visualize too much.”

“Oh, god,” Liam whispered, horrified.

Chris finally cut in, his tone crisp and commanding. “Alright, Theo. Why are we here?”

Theo’s eyes swept across the room, gauging each of them, before finally settling. His voice was steady, controlled.

“I met with Elijah yesterday,” Theo said.

“And the blows just keep on coming.” Liam said in disbelief.

Scott’s head snapped up. “I’m sorry—you what?”

“Of course you did,” Liam muttered, throwing up his hands. “Because why not make things even worse?”

Theo didn’t flinch. “Asher set it up. And considering how screwed we’ve been for months now, I figured… maybe I could get something out of it. Or at least, I had nothing left to lose.”

“Nothing to lose? How about your capacity to breath?” Liam’s voice broke in disbelief. “You’re the one who’s been on my back for weeks because I worked with the guy! And now you just up and surrender yourself?”

Scott cut in, tense but focused. “Did you at least get anything?”

Theo hesitated. His eyes slid toward Peter—and for the barest fraction of a second, Peter knew. Elijah had told Theo something. Something big. Something that fit into the final piece of a puzzle Peter himself had avoided looking at.

Deucalion was his father.

Peter’s throat tightened, but he stayed silent.

“Elijah made me a proposition,” Theo went on. His voice was low, deliberate. “He wanted to know where I stood. He wants me to join him. Maybe to lure Deucalion out, but it’s more than that. He still needs me—the same way he needed me for the ritual. He wants to use the Nemeton. To do that, he needs blood. Mine. Deucalion’s. Maybe the whole town’s.”

Peter’s voice cut in sharp and disdainful. “Tell me you’re not stupid enough to think surrendering yourself is enough to stop him from killing everyone else.”

“Theo?” Liam asked, worry flickering in his voice.

Theo shook his head. “No. I thought about it. But what I saw in him—what I felt—it chilled me. Elijah isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. We’ve been digging for months, and every scrap of info is either a lie or useless.”

Chris’s mouth set in a grim line. “Our methods haven’t worked. But without hard intel, what’s changed? What choice do we have?”

Theo turned then, facing Scott directly. His voice steadied, but his words carried a weight that made the room lean in.

“There was a time when the people around you trusted each other. Worked together. Maybe I’m the reason that fell apart. Fine. But everyone in this room has bled and lost more than enough. You need each other.” His eyes flicked toward Peter. “You need a pack.”

Scott’s jaw tightened. “And how do you suggest we do that?”

Peter and Chris exchanged a look. Chris gave a small nod.

“Maybe it’s time for everyone to start telling the truth,” Peter said.

“What truth?” Liam asked, confusion sharp in his tone.

Theo’s voice cut in. “Peter knows Elijah.”

Scott straightened, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“Not as Elijah,” Chris said slowly. “Not as he is now.”

Peter exhaled, eyes shadowed. “I didn’t even realize who he was until Stiles told me his real name. Elijah lived here once. He was part of some local pack’s circle. Human. Nice enough guy. Pretty wife. Quiet. Forgettable. Then his wife was killed. He just… vanished.”

“And?” Theo pressed, relentless.

Peter’s gaze drifted, his voice lowering. “Years later, something resurfaced. Something that slaughtered a dozen wolves in a single night. At the time, Gerard’s men were already on a warpath against Deucalion. When word got out, everyone assumed the Argents were behind it. Everyone except Talia. She dug deeper. The witnesses said the thing that did it wasn’t human, but it wasn’t a werecreature either. It was something else. A demon. Around the same time… the Nemeton’s energy shifted. Getting it’s powers back.”

Theo’s face hardened. “That was him?”

Peter’s jaw clenched. “The time would indicate it. But no.”

“That was me.” said Derek in a low and tight voice.

The room froze, the silence pressing down like a storm cloud.

“…Paige,” Scott whispered, understanding.

“What does that have to do with Elijah?” Liam asked, his voice sharp with confusion.

“Nothing,” Peter admitted. “Maybe everything. I don’t know. Talia never got around to it, or maybe she just didn’t think she could trust me with this. And after her death– The fire burned everythign. I was in a coma. Elijah stayed a ghost. Until now.”

“All we’ve got are rumors,” Chris said firmly. “And that’s enough to say—accepting his offer won’t save Deucalion. Or anyone.”

“I know,” Theo said softly. His next words cut through the room like a knife. “I can’t save him.”

“What?” Liam blurted, shocked.

“I can’t stop Elijah from going after Deucalion. Or Stiles. Or any of you,” Theo said. “If we want to stop him, Elijah has to die.” He turned to Scott, bracing himself for condemnation—but Scott only met his gaze, steady, unwavering, understanding.

“I agree,” Scott said quietly. “But you can’t do it alone.”

Theo’s throat tightened. “Why do you think I asked you all here?” His gaze flicked toward Liam, who was watching him with a mix of sadness and reluctant fondness. “I’m done running. This ends with us—together.”

Peter’s smile was sharp, but for once, it wasn’t cruel. “Then maybe we have a chance after all.”

“And if we don’t?” Derek asked, his voice hard. “You know what will happen to Deucalion if this turns sideways right?”

“Either he spends his life hiding, or Elijah finally finds him,” Theo said flatly. “Either way… I’ll never see him again.”

Peter leaned forward. His tone was dangerous, edged. “Then understand this—the only other option is you offering yourself up, or giving him Stiles. If there’s even a chance Elijah still wants him.”

Theo’s jaw set hard. His reply was immediate. “I’d surrender myself a hundred times before I let this motherfucker get anywhere near Stiles.”

Scott nodded, resolute. “Good. But no more sacrifices. From anyone. Agreed?”

Theo’s chest loosened when he nodded back. If Scott could move past his grudge, maybe there was still hope.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Chris asked Theo.

“Maybe. He’s not a were-creature. I’m not sure what he is, but I know he got his powers from the Nemeton. He is linked to it. I saw it.”

“How?” asked Scott confused.

“I don’t have a lot more to give you here. He only showed me what he wanted me to see, and tell me what he wanted me to hear. Above that, I’m not sure of anything”

“Then what we need now,” Derek muttered, “is to figure out how to kill a man we know nothing about. Perfect.”

Theo pushed back from the table. “Start digging. I’ve got something else to do.”

He turned to leave. Liam scrambled after him, catching up in the doorway. The others were already trying to plan what would be coming next.

“Where are you going?” Liam demanded.

“I have to find Stiles.”

“How?”

Theo gave him a grim smile. “No idea. But the last time I saw him, I said a lot I shouldn’t have. If we’re going to have even the slightest chance, we need him back. And we need him safe.”

Liam hesitated, then nodded. “Good. Go do that then.”

Theo looked at him, torn apart by the weight of everything he couldn’t say. His chest felt too tight, words choking before they even formed. So instead, he leaned in—hesitant, almost afraid of rejection—cupped Liam’s jaw with a steadying hand, and kissed him. Slow. Grounding. Desperate in the way someone kisses when they’re terrified it might be their last chance.

When he pulled back, his thumb lingered against Liam’s cheekbone, but his eyes searched him like he was bracing for impact. Liam’s stunned face said everything Theo feared and everything he wanted all at once.

“…Not sure what that was for,” Liam muttered, his voice unsteady, still trying to make sense of the ground shifting beneath him. “But by your rules, I get to punch you now, right?”

A rough laugh slipped out of Theo—softer than usual—before stepping back, almost reluctantly. “I meant what I just said,” he said, voice low but sure. “I’m not running anymore.”

“Push, pull, push, pull,” Liam murmured, half-dizzy. “I’m getting whiplash, Theo.”

Theo’s smirk faltered, replaced by something rawer, more vulnerable. “I’ll prove it,” he promised, words carrying the kind of conviction he rarely showed. “Just… give me a little more time.”

“That’s not enough,” Liam whispered, searching his eyes like he wanted to believe but didn’t dare. “You know that.”

Theo swallowed, the sharpness in him dimming to something softer. “I do.” A beat, his voice lowering further, almost a plea. “We’ll talk. Later. I swear. Right now, I have to go.”

For a moment Liam froze, torn between caution and longing, before instinct took over. He caught Theo by the collar, dragged him back, and kissed him again—longer, fiercer, as if trying to test whether this time Theo would disappear when it mattered. Theo didn’t. He stayed, kissed back with equal urgency, until Liam finally broke it, breathless.

He pulled away first, aware of everyone else just a few steps away in the other room, but his eyes stayed on Theo’s, filled with frustration and hope tangled into one.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Liam murmured.

Theo’s lips curved faintly, almost a smile.

“Go,” Liam added in a low voice.

Theo brushed a strand of hair from Liam’s forehead before finally leaving.

When Liam walked back in, Scott was watching him. For a second, Liam braced himself for a lecture.

“So… you and Theo, huh?” Scott asked, his tone deceptively casual.

“Please don’t,” Liam groaned.

“I’m happy for you, buddy.”

“It’s not—wait. Really?”

Scott gave him a faint, almost shy smile. “Yeah. Just, uh… make sure to have him checked for fleas before you let him in your bed.”

Derek snorted. Liam glared, but he felt something loosen in his chest, a weight he’d carried for almost a year finally lifting. For the first time in a long time, maybe—just maybe—he could have it all.