Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

An hour later, with Lydia, Stiles, and the hunting party—including Liam, who’d given Scott a look that had just dared him to try and make him stay behind, and Corey, who’d refused to stay if Liam was going—halfway to Visalia, Theo leans against the front edge of his table, staring in distracted silence at his map, and tries to pin down why his gut won’t stop churning and his instincts won’t stop screaming.

He’s not any closer to an answer thirty seconds later when his front door rolls open and Alec steps through, looking a little exasperated when Theo glances over at him. Alec slides the door back shut and pads over to the table, stands next to it for a beat and then rolls his eyes and jumps up to sit on it at Theo’s side when Theo just turns back to the map without acknowledging him further.

“You want to tell me what the hell is going on with you?” He finally says, “You’re giving off so much nervous energy that my jaw was starting to ache all the way over in my place from keeping my fangs from popping out.”

“It’s not nervous energy,” Theo protests resentfully; he’s not some B-movie damsel-in-distress.

“Stoic agitation then, whatever,” Alec substitutes dismissively, “Look, even Nolan and Mason can tell something’s wrong and they don’t have to suffer through hearing your teeth grinding from across the hall.”

There’s a part of Theo that very strongly wants to tell Alec to fuck off, every muscle in his body strung tight with low-grade, nameless, directionless fear; it’s why he’d banished Alec, Nolan, and Mason to Alec’s apartment in the first place, their easy demeanor—so sure everything would be fine, so blissfully confident in Scott and the others—burning like salt in an open wound. But he knows Alec is just trying to help, can smell the worry he’s trying to bury under his casual slouch and bad attempts at humor. And besides, Theo knows that if he sits here alone any longer without doing something about the dread eating away at him he’s going to lose his goddamn mind.

“Something’s wrong,” He finally grits out, frustrated that that’s all he can seem to state with certainty.

Alec stiffens, loses some of his admittedly faked nonchalance, “Did you hear from Scott and the others, what happened? Are they okay?”

“They’re fine,” Theo snaps—too loud, too vicious—so he takes a deep breath, exhales it out slowly, repeats in a quieter, softer tone, “They’re fine.”

And they are fine, at least as of five minutes ago when Scott had texted to say that they’d just passed Chico. So what the hell is wrong with him? Theo can feel Alec’s confusion and desperately wishes he could put it into words for Alec. If he could do that, he might be able to put it into words for himself.

“Then what’s wrong?” Alec presses, gently this time.

“I don’t know, Alec,” Theo snarls, suddenly unable to sit still anymore; he shoves off from the table and stalks over to the windows, braces his forearms against one of the panes and stares out over Beacon Hills, repeats, almost to himself, “I don’t know.”

Alec seems to consider this for a few long seconds; Theo can see him biting his lip in the reflection of the glass. He watches as Alec glances at the map, back at Theo, then slips off the table to come stand next to him looking hesitant but determined.

“So what do you know, Theo?” He says, then holds up his hands in a placating gesture when Theo pushes back off the window and rakes his fingers through his hair, obviously frustrated with Alec’s questions, pleads, “ Theo. Whatever it is, whatever you’re thinking, just because you don’t know everything, doesn’t mean you don’t know anything. So tell me what you do know.”

That brings Theo up short; he stops and looks at Alec appraisingly, impressed in spite of himself. Then he touches his tongue to his bottom lip, glances back out the window, tries to organize the mess of thoughts in his head; what does he know?

“The timing is too perfect,” He finally says, unsure before the words leave his mouth of exactly what he’s going to say.

“The timing…” Alec repeats carefully, “The timing of Lydia’s vision?”

“Prediction,” Theo corrects absently, something tickling in the back of his mind as he does so: banshees predicted death, but sometimes they were just that; predictions.

“Prediction,” Alec says, clearly humoring Theo for what he must see as unnecessary grammatical fastidiousness, “Okay, so the timing of Lydia’s prediction is too perfect. What makes it ‘too perfect?’”

Theo can hear Alec’s air-quotes around the last two words. What did make the timing too perfect? Theo remembers staring at the map, at the assembled McCall pack, when Lydia had first identified Visalia, when she’d said whatever it is, it’s going to happen there. And then, when Scott had asked when, she’d looked out the windows and said tonight. But why tonight, what was so special about tonight?

Theo whips around, looks at the map. Specifically, he looks at where he’d slapped a post-it note over Redding: Rosser/Preston Trial, CA Eastern District Court, 12/16-12/22. Nolan was going to have to testify, but only towards the end of the trial. The first few days involved Agent McCall, laying the groundwork for the prosecution to tie Rossler and Preston to Monroe’s ‘cult,’ and then the Sheriff and Parrish testifying about the cult’s genesis in Beacon Hills and the attack on Nolan. The first few days.

Now, Theo realizes. The first few days meant now.

The trial had started two days ago. Agent McCall, the Sheriff, and Parrish had all gone to Redding and would remain there through the end of the trial. Scott and the majority of the pack—Theo excepted; he needed to stay behind and keep an eye on Beacon Hills while they were gone—had planned to escort Nolan to and from Redding in two days.

Theo had paid attention to the trial, but only absently; Rossler and Preston were off the board, safe in Agent McCall’s hands with the entire force of the California FBI behind him, and Monroe wouldn’t be able to touch Nolan with Scott and the others there with him. The trial had been so neatly sewn up that Theo had set it aside, all but forgotten about it, more concerned with what might happen in Beacon Hills while they were gone; he’d already asked Shohreh in Yreka and Nathaniel in Carson City to send him a few betas to help him protect the town, the county, during the McCall pack’s absence. But they weren’t going to arrive until the day after tomorrow, not tonight.

“Everyone’s gone,” Theo realizes as the suddenly, stunningly obvious truth begins to fully dawn on him.

“What?” Alec asks, confused; Theo’s silence followed by his sudden pronouncement must have seemed like a giant non-sequitur.

“Everyone’s gone,” Theo repeats forcefully, gesturing to the map; when Alec just continues to stare at him, Theo stalks over to the map and rips down the post-it note, holds it out, “The trial, Alec. Agent McCall, the Sheriff, Parrish—they’re all at the trial in Redding.”

God damn it, Theo thinks, amazed at his own idiocy; how could he have missed this? His fist closes around the note, crumples it; he brings it clenched in his fist up to his mouth, then turns and throws it into the middle of the room in a sudden burst of frustration.

“They’re gone, and now so is Scott, and Malia, and Lydia, and Stiles, and Derek. Argent is on his way to Visalia from wherever the hell he’s been. Even Liam and Corey are gone,” Theo explains in a low, furious rush.

“But they’re gone because of Lydia’s vision. And she only had that a few hours ago, how could Monroe—how could anyone—know that she’d have a vision?” Alec counters slowly, not disagreeing so much as pointing out a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit.

But it does.

“Prediction,” Theo corrects again, this time deliberately, “Banshees don’t see the future, they predict it.”

And predictions could be wrong. Predictions—predictions could be gamed.

“Get Mason and Nolan,” Theo orders Alec. When Alec doesn’t move he snarls, knows his eyes are flaring and his fangs are lengthening, can’t help it, “Right now, Alec. Go.”

Alec, who’d been looking at Theo like Theo had, in fact, lost his goddamn mind, who’d startled backwards badly at Theo’s sudden aggressive change in demeanor, his own eyes flaring and his claws lengthening defensively, goes. His scent, gone sharp and sour with fear—fear of Theo—burns in the back of Theo’s throat but he shoves it down, forces himself to move. He grabs his keys, his jacket, his phone, heads out into the hallway to meet Alec, Mason, and Nolan already unlocking it, preparing to call Scott. His thumb is hovering over Scott’s name when his head jerks up, hearing the sound of the elevator creaking, straining under a heavy load. He flares his nostrils, scenting the air, and feels the bottom drop out of stomach: they’d tried to disguise it, but it’s there; gunpowder and wolfsbane.

He darts a look up at the panel above the elevator doors, sees the floor indicator starting to turn from the floor below to Theo’s own just as Alec comes out of his apartment, followed by Mason and Nolan. Alec’s already opening his mouth, probably about to demand a better explanation for Theo’s completely uncharacteristic behavior, but Theo—who’d turned his senses to the stairwell, hears the steady pounding of feet but only a few—whirls on him, shoves his truck keys into Alec’s hands and then grabs Nolan and Mason, all but bodily throws them down the corridor towards the door leading to the stairs.

“The stairwell, get into the stairwell, hurry,” He shouts, grabbing Alec and shoving him as well, “Alec, there are hunters in the stairwell, you’re going to have to get past them. Keep Mason and Nolan behind you, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Theo—” Alec starts, but Theo cuts him off.

“There’s no time,” Theo snarls, “Go.”

Alec goes with one last, desperate look back. Theo watches as he runs to where Nolan and Mason are stood uncertainly next to the stairwell, murmurs something to them and precedes them into it. Then Theo turns his attention back to the elevator, mind racing; it had already come to a jolting stop on his floor but there had to be a way to stop it opening. He runs his eyes frantically over the frame, thinking come on, come on. In the end, the only thing he can think of is born of pure desperation.

He takes a deep, bracing breath, curls his hand into a fist, and then drives it against and then through the metal of the right-side elevator door, right next to the frame.

He can feel the muscles of his forearm shredding as he does, the metal giving way to sharp, jagged edges. Gritting his teeth against the pained moan that wants to tear its way out of his throat—and noting, absently, the confused, panicked voices of the hunters inside—he rips his hand back out and dives for the other side, takes a few panting breaths and then braces himself, repeats the process on the left-side door. Then he staggers back, his arm dripping blood, to see if his batshit idea had worked.

The elevator doors strain, trying to open, but he can hear the ruined metal grinding against the openings, the peeled-back edges from where Theo punched through them preventing them from doing so. Holy shit, Theo thinks incredulously, that worked.

But there’s a four-inch gap where the doors had managed to open before Theo reached them, and one of the hunters sticks the barrel of his gun through, fires. Theo yells as a bullet rips through his left calf, dropping him down to his right knee, just in time for another bullet to slam into his right thigh and a third into his right shoulder. Cursing, Theo throws himself to the side to avoid another spray of bullets, extends the claws of his left hand and digs them into his thigh to rip the bullet out, then does the same for the wounds on his calf and in his shoulder. He darts a look up at the elevator as he does, hearing the hunters inside as they snap at each other, start to work on prying the doors open.

God damn it, Theo swears; bullets or no bullets, he can feel the wolfsbane already starting its slow spread. Groaning, he forces himself over onto his knees and then pushes himself onto his feet, starts running raggedly towards the stairwell. The hunters in the elevator would get out eventually, there isn’t anything more he could do about that but get to Alec, help him get Mason and Nolan out of the stairwell and to his truck, onto the road and away.

He rips open the stairwell door, pulls it shut behind him and then glances around quickly, looking for something to jam it with. The railing is made of cast iron bars: he wrenches one out of place and shoves it through the door handle; it won’t hold long, but seconds might matter. Then he turns and starts sprinting as fast as he can down the stairwell, occasionally slamming into the walls as his injured legs buckle.

And then, the sound he’d dreaded to hear; gunfire.

Somewhere below him, Mason and Nolan gasp and Alec roars. It gets at something primal in Theo even through the cacophony of gunfire and splintering concrete and his steadily dwindling strength, and he snarls—the best he can manage in his condition—hopes Alec can hear him. He runs faster and turns a corner just in time to spot Mason and Nolan, huddled back as far as they can get in one of the stairwell landings to try and get out of range of the hunters two landings down. Alec is between them, crouched low with eyes flared and clawed hands extended, ready to attack.

Theo takes advantage of the hunters’ preoccupation with Alec to swing up onto and then over the stairwell railing, leaping down to catch them unawares. He slices his claws through one of their necks, slams the other against the wall with his shoulder—feels more than hears his ribcage as it cracks, gives way—and then drives his clawed hand through the last one’s gut. Jerking his hand free, Theo stands over the three dead or dying hunters, waiting to see if they’re able to move, to keep fighting; they’re not.

He looks up at Alec, who’s staring at him through wide golden eyes, fanged mouth open in shock. Theo’s left leg buckles the next second, his calf screaming, and he catches himself against the wall, snarls at himself and forces himself back upright, looks back at Alec.

“Come on,” He barks out, “We have to keep moving.”

That seems to snap Alec out of his reverie; he turns to check on Mason and Nolan, who’ve already started towards him. The three of them reach Theo and step gingerly over and around the hunters; Alec and Nolan keep going, Alec placing himself deliberately in front of Nolan, but Mason stops, runs his eyes over Theo’s bloody clothes, his shredded sleeve and the bullet holes pocking his jeans, his shirt.

“You’re hurt,” He murmurs, eyeing the black blood oozing slowly from Theo’s bullet wounds.

“I’ll live,” Theo snaps, “Go.”

Mason hesitates a second longer and then goes, following after Alec and Nolan. Theo gives himself a split-second, just one, to lean back against the wall, his entire body one long line of agony, and then he surges after them. They make it down a few more sets of stairs, but just as Alec is about to bypass the second floor landing, Theo barks out no.

“There’ll be more hunters watching the lobby,” Theo explains breathlessly, falling back against the wall as a spasm of pain locks his muscles, “We need to—need to get into the second floor apartment on the left, it’s on the side of the parking lot. Go out—go out over the balcony.”

“You don’t think she’ll be watching your truck?” Mason asks; there’s a definite undercurrent of worry in his voice but Theo could kiss him for staying focused.

“That’s why I’m going out first,” Theo tells him, “I’ll take care of whoever’s waiting and then you follow.”

“I’m going with you,” Alec states, only a slight tremor in his voice; good kid, Theo thinks hazily.

“No, you’re not,” Theo counters, then louder when Alec goes to protest, “No, you’re not. Someone has got to get Mason and Nolan out of here.”

“Yeah, both of us,” Alec insists, but he doesn’t sound convinced, and Theo snorts out a humorless laugh, rolls his head along the wall to look at him.

“Alec,” He says gently.

He means, come on, look at me. Whatever strain of wolfsbane the hunters had used in their bullets, it’s potent; Theo has maybe—maybe—ten more minutes left on his feet, and then he’ll be down for the count.

Immediately there are three loud protests, Mason and Nolan and Alec all swearing variations on we’re not leaving you here, but Theo just shakes his head, cuts a hand through the air. Shockingly, they all fall silent; christ, Theo thinks in response, I must really look terrible.

“You can’t help me. They only thing you can do is get captured, too, and used against Scott and the others,” Theo tells them quietly, and watches their faces crumple; he’s right, and they know it, “But if you get out, you can go get help and come save my sorry ass.”

He tries for a smile but another spasm of pain turns it into a grimace. Alec moves forward like he’s going to reach for his arm, take some of his pain, but Theo jerks out of reach, shakes his head.

“Save your strength,” Theo orders, not unkindly, then he tilts his head back, closes his eyes and sharpens his senses past the overwhelming tides of pain that keep cresting over him; either the hunters from the elevator would break through his makeshift barricade or the ones in the lobby would start wondering at the lack of noise and come check on their stair-bound colleagues, but either way, they couldn’t stay here, “Go. Apartment on the left side.”

Alec, Mason, and Nolan hesitate a second longer and then they go. Theo takes a deep breath—or tries to, anyway; his lungs seize up and he chokes on air, then manages to gasp, finally. Just a bit farther, he promises himself, forcing himself up and off the wall and through the door onto the second floor after Alec and the others. Just a bit farther, and then Alec and Mason and Nolan would be out of the hunters’ reach; they could call Scott and the others from the road. The McCall pack would be safe, and Theo...Theo could just—stop.

He could stop.

Alec breaks open the door to the apartment on the left, thankfully unoccupied, and leads Mason and Nolan at a quick jog over to the balcony door, Theo following as quickly as he’s able. He puts a hand out before Alec can open the door, warns him back, then gently opens it and steps out himself, moving carefully. When he gets over to the balcony railing and looks down—fifteen feet, uncomfortable but survivable for Mason and Nolan—he sees a trio of hunters arrayed around his truck, more twenty feet away by the entrance to the building. Doable, Theo thinks, and then he eases back inside, gestures to Alec.

“You’re going to need to follow me down almost immediately,” He tells him, “They’re going to know the second I hit the ground what you’re trying to do. I can keep the three by my truck occupied while you three get in the truck and go.”

“Theo—” Alec tries, Mason and Nolan looking equally stricken behind him.

“Alec, stop,” Theo orders, as forcefully as he can. He hooks Alec by the back of the neck, draws him in some so he look into his eyes, so Alec can see how deathly serious he is, “Once you get on the road, you drive to Shohreh, okay? You drive to Yreka and Shohreh and you don’t slow down or turn around or stop for anything until you’ve gotten Mason and Nolan safely to her. Alec,” Theo says forcefully, shaking him a bit with the hand he’s still got wrapped around the back of his neck when Alec’s expression twists, “I don’t care what happens, or who calls to say everything’s alright—Scott, Argent, me—I don’t care. You don’t stop until you get them to Shohreh. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” Alec assures him quietly, then again, more loudly, when Theo tightens his hand, “I understand.”

“Okay. Okay, good,” Theo breathes out, starting to pull away.

But Alec brings him up short; he clamps his own hand over Theo’s on the back of his neck, holds it there so Theo can’t pull away. When he speaks, his voice is choked and there’s nothing but heartbreaking vulnerability in his wet eyes as he whispers, quietly enough that Mason and Nolan won’t hear, “Please don’t ask me to leave you here to die.”

So Alec had realized the score after all. Theo closes his eyes and pulls Alec back in so that they’re forehead to forehead, holds him there for a long few seconds. There’s nothing he can say to make it better, and there’s no other way out.

“I’m sorry,” He tells him, and means it.

It feels like he’s spent the last months of his life being nothing but sorry; sorry for what he’d done to the McCall pack, and sorry for what he’d done to his own. Sorry for his sister, and for everyone else who’d wound up as his collateral damage. He’d sworn he’d do better, had desperately tried to do better. He doesn’t want to do this to Alec now, but there’s nothing for it.

He pulls back from Alec, his own eyes wet, “Get them to Shohreh safely.”

Alec’s whole face crumples but he nods, “I will, I swear.”

Theo smiles brokenly at him, squeezes his hand one last time on the back of Alec’s neck, then lets his hand fall away, his gaze drift back over to the balcony. He can hear the crackling of radios as the hunters regroup, try and figure out where they’ve gone, how to find them.

They’re running out of time.

“Okay, everyone know what they’re doing?” He asks, looking back at Nolan and Mason and Alec; Alec won’t—can’t—look him in the eyes, but he nods, and so do Mason and Nolan, “Let’s go, then.”

He leads them out onto the balcony quietly. Behind him, Alec is whispering instructions to Mason and Nolan, the best way to drop without hurting themselves. Theo tunes him out and checks the positions of the hunters again, calculates his best angle of attack; if he could drop onto the one closest to the back, it’d clear the way for Alec and the others while he then dealt with the ones further up.

“Ready?” He turns back; Alec nods sharply.

Then Theo smiles, one last time, at Alec, at Mason and Nolan, and then he launches himself over the railing and comes down perfectly positioned on top of the rearmost hunter. He can feel the hunter’s spine snap under the force but ignores it, ignores the sound of Alec and Mason and Nolan hitting the ground shortly after him—Mason landing awkwardly with a bitten off cry—to focus on the two hunters turning towards him in surprise.

He gets the first with a lunging tackle, slashes his throat when they both go down; behind him, he can hear Alec dragging Mason to his feet, yelling at Nolan to unlock the truck and open the door, get inside. Theo snarls at the third and final hunter as he wheels on Theo, gun raised; he fires, and the impact shocks through Theo’s gut as the bullet rips through his intestines. But the sound of his truck engine revving gives Theo just enough strength to surge forward, rip the gun out of the hunter’s hands with one clawed fist while he swings the other around to slice through his throat. The last hunter goes down just as Theo’s truck all but leaps forward, Alec gunning it.

But then the engine idles, and Theo turns as best he can to see Alec leaning out of the open front door a dozen feet away, his whole expression pleading. For a second Theo’s tempted—there’s wolfsbane in his bag, he could make it—but then he hears the sound of the hunters by the door yelling, feels shards of asphalt start to slice through the unprotected skin of his face and hands as they start firing.

“Alec, go! ” He shouts, and turns back to face the oncoming hunters.

He hears the pained sound Alec makes, the slam of the driver’s side door, and then the blast of heat and noise as the truck speeds away. The hunters keep firing at it, and a handful break off to try and get back to their own SUVs, give chase, but Theo just grins, mouth bloody; Alec knows Beacon Hills almost as well as Theo, at this point.

They’ll never find him, and they’ll never catch him.

But that’s it. That knowledge, that Alec and Mason and Nolan are gone, are safe, it takes the last of whatever had been keeping him standing, and Theo drops to his knees, crumples sideways and catches himself with an outstretched hand. Or he tries to, anyway; his arm, connected to the shoulder that’d been shot earlier, collapses, and Theo hits the asphalt, hard.

He rolls over onto his back just as a handful of hunters come into his line of sight, surrounding him, automatic rifles strapped to their chests and their fingers on the triggers. Theo can’t help but laugh at their pinched, furious expressions, even as it makes black blood bubble up between his lips, as his shredded gut screams and his whole body shrieks with agony.

“Sorry,” He tells them insincerely, practically gasping out the words, “Did we mess up Monroe’s big plan?”

But one of the hunters just smiles nastily at him, “Ask her yourself.”

And then he raises his rifle and slams the butt of it down on Theo’s temple.

---

Theo wakes up.

That’s probably the biggest surprise. Theo wakes up and he’s not dying of wolfsbane poisoning anymore; someone has tended to his bullet wounds, and from the singed smell to the air, they’d done it by burning the wolfsbane out of him. Fuck, Theo thinks groggily, his whole thought process moving sluggishly, so sluggishly, that in the next instant he realizes he’s been drugged, somehow.

And that’s when he gets his second biggest surprise.

Monroe leans over him, upside-down and with her arms braced on either side of the table that Theo now realizes he’s laying on. She looks depressingly well, considering how faithfully the McCall pack and their allies had been trying to run her into the ground the past few months; her mouth is as red as ever, her black curls as silky. Her smile widens when she sees him looking up at her and she leans back some, out of his field of vision, and then comes back into view by his side.

“Hey, Theo,” She tells him softly, gently; gently like a spider creeping towards its captured prey, “Good to see you awake.”

Fuck off, Theo tries to say, but can’t, his tongue heavy and his jaw refusing to cooperate. Monroe must see him struggling because she frowns some, reaches over to fiddle with something nearby. Theo forces himself to focus enough to tip his head, just slightly, and sees the vat of bubbling, light blue liquid sat on a shelf nearby, a thin rubber tube leading from it and straight into Theo’s strapped down left arm.

“Wolfsbane, of course,” Monroe explains when she notices him looking, like a teacher giving a lecture to a shy student, “A special breed that I’ve been working on. Not as virulent as the typical strains, meant to keep your kind down rather than dead.”

She smiles at him, walks two fingers up his trapped arm to tap lightly at the needle taped to his skin. Theo somehow finds it in himself to try and jerk away, but all he really manages is to make his fingers twitch.

“It’s a little more complicated with you chimeras,” She confesses, then grins at him mischievously, “But considering there are only three of your kind left in the whole wide world, I don’t think it’ll be too much of a problem.”

Corey, Theo thinks, Hayden, eyes widening before he can himself; god damn Monroe’s mad scientist drug. Monroe laughs at him, pats one of his strapped down legs.

“How funny that you’re so protective now. Where was that instinct when you were their alpha?” She wonders.

That stings, but it also jolts Theo back to himself, some. Stop, he tells himself, stop rising to her bait. He forces himself to take a few deep, calming breaths, aware even as he’s doing it that Monroe is watching him the way one watches a caged zoo animal; curious, intrigued, a little revolted.

“You know what’s interesting,” Monroe tells him, when he’s managed to relax as much as he can and started determinedly staring at the ceiling, refusing to look at her, “I didn’t even know you were with the McCall pack until Rossler and Preston called the first night they got into town. I figured Scott would have run you out of town the second the Anuk-ite was dead.”

You and me both, lady, Theo thinks, but doesn’t say, but Monroe doesn’t need this conversation to be interactive, apparently.

“I didn’t get it at first, at least until Rossler and Preston failed to come back with Nolan in tow,” Monroe admits.

‘In tow,’ Theo thinks skeptically; Rossler and Preston would have killed Nolan before they ever got him to Monroe, intentionally or not.

“But then they didn’t come back,” Monroe looks back at him, and Theo can’t help it. His eyes slide instinctually to her; tracking the predator in the room, “And then...and then,” Monroe pauses, like she can’t believe what she’s about to say, “Not only did I lose two of my best lieutenants, but suddenly—at every step—McCall was there.”

She shakes her head, but Theo can smell her rising ire even through the burning of wolfsbane in his nose, the dulling of his senses; she’s putting on a show, sure, but she’s also angry.

“I thought it was Argent, at first,” Monroe confesses, “But I knew his father, and Argent men aren’t master strategists like that. Argent women, maybe…”

Monroe smiles at him again, like they’re sharing some private joke. But then the smile falls off her face and she steps forward until she can grip Theo’s jaw, force his head to turn, his eyes to meet hers.

“So it’s been you, all along,” She murmurs, studying his face. Then she abruptly releases his jaw, shoves it away with enough strength that Theo’s neck strains, “My men brought me your map, and your research.”

She disappears for a few long seconds and Theo takes advantage to try and take stock, see which parts of his body might feel up to cooperating. The answer is a very depressing none; even if he wasn’t being drugged with wolfsbane to within an inch of coherency, his legs and arms are strapped to the table. He’s not going anywhere.

Monroe reappears and smiles at him like she knows exactly what he was trying, thinking, while she was briefly away. In her hands is Theo’s laptop, a few of the notebooks that he’d kept around to scribble idle thoughts, tactics; sometimes they came together, sometimes he tore them out and Liam made paper cranes out of them.

Liam, he thinks, his chest going brutally tight, then forces his thoughts away; it wouldn’t do him any good, and with Monroe hovering over him with a giant question mark over her intentions for him, it might do a whole lot of harm. Monroe doesn’t seem to notice his temporary distraction, just hums idly to herself and sets down the notebooks and Theo’s laptop on top his stomach, smirks when he jerks a bit in his bindings.

“We couldn’t get into the laptop, of course. You’re too smart not to have it locked and encrypted,” She smiles at him again, like she’s giving him a gold star for an assignment well done, “But the map and your notebooks were...revealing.”

She flips absently through a few of them, then sets them down once more on his stomach with some force, sighing.

“I wasn’t going to hurt them, you know,” She tells him, sounding frustrated and a little hurt to be so misunderstood, “My men had very strict orders not to kill them.”

They didn’t listen, Theo thinks bitterly; he doesn’t give a shit about his own wounds, he’d signed up for that, but the hunters firing in the staircase and in the parking lot could very easily have put several holes into Mason and Nolan, huddled on that landing and then in the back of Theo’s truck. And the fact that Alec had gotten out unscatched was a minor miracle.

“I just figured it was time for some of us to talk, you know? Clear the air,” She continues, like she’s describing a perfectly reasonable course of action and not a hostage-taking, “Scott and his merry little hunting party wouldn’t have agreed to listen without...leverage.”

She tilts her head at him thoughtfully, then glances back up at the vat of bubbling wolfsbane keeping him poisoned. Leaning over him, she deliberately plants her hand against his sternum, compressing it and constricting the ability of his lungs to expand while she fiddles again with the vat’s controls. Theo stares up at the ceiling and swallows back every sound his throat wants to make, determined not to give her the satisfaction of hearing him struggle to breathe.

“There, how’s that?” She asks once she’s dropped back down flat on her feet, sounding genuinely interested in his comfort.

“Fuck you,” Theo tries again, and this time he’s able to spit it out, though his voice sounds raspy and kitten-weak.

“Charming,” Monroe comments, but seems satisfied with his ability to speak, “Anyway, they only had wolfsbane in their bullets for you. I knew the chances you’d come quietly were slim.”

“So, what?” Theo asks hoarsely, “Kill me and take them, and then do what? How did you see this ending, ma’am?”

He adds the honorific at the end to mock her hunters’ fanatical devotion to her, and from the narrowed-eyed look she gives him, she knows it. But she smiles after a beat, relaxing.

“Very simply,” She tells him, planting her hands and leaning over him some as she speaks, “They’d tell me everything they knew about their irritating little pack, and then I’d offer to trade them to Scott.”

Theo scoffs, “Right.”

“Oh, I assure you,” Monroe disagrees, her eyes glinting in the light as she meets Theo’s eyes,  “I had every intention of returning their corpses to him.”

Theo can’t help it; he snarls at her, straining up against his bonds. She jerks back instinctively but then laughs, delighted.

“There it is,” She laughs again, “That’s the right dose. Just enough to keep those claws and fangs of yours sheathed, but enough to make you a winning conversationalist.”

Theo forces himself to settle back down, swallow his anger; maybe if he could piss her off enough, she’d kill him in a fit rage before she could do whatever it is she’s planning to do to him, “Your plan failed. They’re safe, out of your reach, and so is the rest of the McCall pack. And if you thought Scott was coming for you hard before, just wait until he finds out you tried to murder some of his pack in his territory. He’s going to hunt you right into the ground.”

But Monroe just frowns at him, “Failed? I think it went better than I could ever have imagined.” Her eyes glint, and she leans down again, “Not only did I get one of Scott’s betas, I got his left-hand man. I got his spymaster.”

Theo can’t even concentrate on the absurdity of her last two statements; he’s still caught on the absurdity of her first, “One of Scott’s betas?” He snorts out a genuine laugh; so Monroe isn’t as all-knowing as she seems, “Hardly.”

But Monroe just laughs at him, a little disbelievingly, “Oh, please, Theo. I thought you were supposed to be a good liar.”

Theo just smiles at her, nastily, “Whatever you want to believe.”

Monroe drifts back from him some, thoughtfully. Then she shrugs and gestures at someone out of Theo’s eyesight; god, how many more people were even in the room? And how big was it? What was it? Theo’s senses are so muted by the wolfsbane he hadn’t even realized they weren’t alone, though it seems obvious in hindsight.

“Well, Theo,” Monroe tells him as one of her hunters steps into view and hands her something, a small wooden box that smells uncomfortably sharp, “Fortunately, I’m not going to have to take anything you say on faith.”

She holds out the box in her hand, grins at him, and Theo feels the first slow stirrings of dread—kept at bay through sheer force of will and the steadily burning knowledge that Alec, Mason, and Nolan had gotten away safely—in his gut. He doesn’t know what the hell she’s holding but he’s one-hundred percent certain he doesn’t want to find out.

“Tell me something,” He tries, a little desperately now, but he can’t help it, “Getting Scott and the others out of town, Lydia’s prediction—how’d you fake it?”

“I didn’t,” Monroe answers distractedly; she’s pulled a rolling cart over to her, full of instruments and objects that Theo can’t fully see from his vantage point on the table.

She sorts through them for a moment, looking for something in particular. After a long few seconds—Theo dropping his head back down to stare fixedly at the ceiling, trying to control his mounting panic—she finds what she’s looking for, pulls it out and comes back to lean over Theo. She holds what turns out to be a clear capsule of some kind, about as big around as her pinky finger and an inch long, over his face so he can see it.

“Veterinary capsule,” She explains, voice silky and self-satisfied, “Meant just for large animals like you.”

He bares his teeth at her and she grins, pats him condescendingly on the cheek with her free hand. Then she straightens and returns to the cart; to the mysteriously sharp-smelling wooden box. He can hear it as she opens it—the smell getting sharper, teasing at his sense of awareness; he knows that scent—and then a metal clatter as she picks something up from the table, a soft shir as she dips it into whatever’s in the box.

“To answer your question,” Monroe suddenly says as she continues to work, “I didn’t ‘fake’ Lydia’s prediction. I simply gave her something to predict.”

“What if she hadn’t reacted?” Theo comments critically, trying to keep her talking, “Risky.”

“Not really,” Monroe disagrees, unperturbed. She sets down whatever she’s working on and comes back over to lean her hip against the table, arms crossed loosely, studying him, “Did you know, there have only been a few recorded instances in history of banshees joining werewolf packs? I found the data in Gerard’s archives.”

“Good for you,” Theo sneers.

Monroe just smirks at him, her expression clearly saying she knows what he’s trying to do, “This is interesting, Theo. You should listen.” She waits, like she’s checking to see if he is; when he just glares at her she laughs, continues anyway, “Apparently, banshees who join packs become particularly attuned to the pack’s members.”

Theo’s brow furrows before he can force his expression still; was Monroe implying…? But there aren’t any McCall pack members in Visalia, as far as Theo knows. Or, he realizes, Monroe’s smirk widening in lazy satisfaction as she watches the realization break over his face, not current ones.

“I always did wonder where Isaac Lahey ended up after he left Beacon Hills. Who would have thought Visalia, of all places?” She muses, then shrugs and returns to her cart with its veterinary capsule—meant for large animals like you—and its mysterious box, “Anyway.”

But she doesn’t continue right away. Instead she fusses a bit more with the items on her cart; if Theo had to guess, he’d say she’s working on putting whatever is contained in the box into the capsule.

A capsule she almost undoubtedly means to make him swallow.

Shit, he thinks desperately, helplessly. He pulls at his bindings again, but even with the added strength from Monroe lowering the dosage of the wolfsbane drug further, he’s still too weak to do anything about them. Whatever was coming, he wasn’t going to be escaping it.

Finally Monroe comes back over to him, clear capsule in hand. Theo looks at it and sees that it's now full of...something. Monroe sees him looking at it and smirks, holds it between two fingers directly over his face so that he can see it better. Theo wants to glare, or look away—he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction—but he’s morbidly curious, and more to the point wants some sense of what’s coming, how to try and prepare himself. So he squints at the capsule, flares his eyes best he can, and feels his brow furrow, confused.

The capsule looks like it’s filled with tiny pieces of wood.

“Poor Theo,” Monroe murmurs sympathetically, “That drug really must be messing with your head.”

She rolls the capsule into the palm of her hand, out of sight, and straightens. Then she motions again for her waiting hunter to come forward. He does, stopping directly behind Theo’s head; Theo resists the urge to tilt his head back to look at him.

“It’s mistletoe,” Monroe finally explains, “Splinters of mistletoe. I’ve found it’s a little hardier than wolfsbane, lends itself to some...less traditional uses.”

She nods at the hunter, who takes hold of either side of Theo’s face between his meaty palms. Theo tries to jerk out of his grip but the hunter just tightens his hands, slams Theo’s head back straight. When Theo has blinked the resulting bursts of color out of his eyes and managed to flick them back over to Monroe, she looks pensive.

“Believe it or not, I’d really rather not do this,” She tells him, and strangely enough Theo hears a ring of sincerity in her voice, “It’s incredibly effective, but even for your kind...”

She hesitates, runs her eyes over his immobilized hands—at his currently human nails—flicks her eyes up to his mouth, full of blunt human teeth, as much as he might wish for his fangs.

“Even for your kind, it feels a little gratuitously cruel,” She finishes.

“So don’t do it,” Theo grits out, “You’re not some helpless puppet here, you’re the puppet master.”

“Maybe,” She allows with a small smile, then adds, “But I just can’t bring myself to believe you’ll betray the McCall pack without some incentive.”

And she’s right, and they both know it, and there’s nothing to stop what’s coming, so Theo just bares his teeth at her in a vicious smile and says, “Even with an incentive, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“No,” Monroe assures him, quietly confident, and Theo can’t help the despair that surges through him, “I’m not.”

She nods to the hunter, who starts to dig his fingers into the hinge of Theo’s jaw, forcing it open. Theo—who has nothing to lose, at this point—struggles as much as he can, actually manages to slip out of the hunter’s grip for a split-second before he’s caught again, slammed back flat. Thirty more long seconds of manipulating Theo’s jaw and the hunter gets it open, drives his fingers against the edge of the bone so Theo can’t close it again.

“Listen, Theo,” Monroe tells him, almost regretfully, “We haven’t figured out how to...undo this particular conversation starter, so there will be no ‘healing’ you once we start. But I promise you, once you tell me everything I want to know, I’ll end it.”

She smooths her free hand back over his forehead, looking deeply into his eyes.

“Okay? Just tell me what I want to know and I’ll end it.”

Go fuck yourself, Theo thinks at her, viciously, unable to say it out loud with his jaw held forcibly open. Monroe gives him a rueful smile and then takes hold of his chin with her free hand, forces it sideways—her hunter lackey moving with her—so that she can raise her right hand, capsule clasped within it, and drive it into his mouth. He chokes at the intrusion but Monroe is relentless, keeps shoving until she can force the capsule into the back of his throat. He desperately tries to keep his muscles from contracting around it as she withdraws but it’s a losing battle; he can feel it as the capsule starts to work its way down into his stomach.

Monroe gestures and the hunter releases Theo, who jerks his head to the side, coughs harshly; he can’t feel anything yet but he knows it's only a matter of seconds before the capsule dissolves. Shit, shit, he thinks wildly, helplessly panicked. He’s so focused on the phantom feeling of the capsule that he nearly misses it when Monroe orders the hunter to release the straps, when she removes the needle of wolfsbane from his arm.

But he doesn’t miss it; the second the last of the straps are released and the needle is removed he rolls, off the table and away from them. But Monroe and her hunter don’t look worried, just watch with mild interest as he manages to stumble a few feet away, runs into the rolling cart Monroe had used to assemble her torture capsule. The wheels squeak backwards a few inches and Theo staggers, tries to keep his feet but falls to one knee.

And then the capsule must finish dissolving.

Jesus chr... Theo starts to think as the first slivers of mistletoe hit his system, and then he can’t think anymore. He can’t help the howl of pain that tears from his throat, is equally helpless to stop his body from gagging, trying to reject the foreign objects. But that just makes it worse, drives some of the splinters back up into his throat, where they stick, burning like acid. Theo falls to his hands and knees, barely able to see his fingers as they clench against the floor, white with strain, his vision blurry.

He moans in pain and is barely aware of it when Monroe drops carefully to her knees before him. She reaches forward and takes his chin, tilts his face up so that he’s looking at her; he coughs, and can feel blood starting to run over his lips, down his chin.

“Theo,” Monroe tells him gently, brings her other hand forward so she can stroke it over the side of his face, “I can make it stop.”

That brings him back to himself just enough that he can yank his head out of her grip, but all it does is cause him to topple backwards, unbalanced. He hears Monroe sigh and sees it through blurry eyes when she steps over him, digs her hands underneath his shoulders and drags him into a sitting position up against a wall.

“Theo,” She repeats, more sharply this time, “I can make it stop. I can,” She repeats when Theo just makes a pained sound and tries again to jerk away from her, “Just tell me what I want to know. Tell me about the McCall pack.”

“Fuck—fuck you,” Theo manages to pant out, then has to turn his head to the side as his stomach heaves and he vomits up a mouthful of blood and bile.

“This is pointless, Theo,” Monroe reproches him gently, “Your body can’t dissolve those splinters in time to save you, and even if it could, you’d end up dead of the released poison. So tell me what I want to know and let me end it.”

No, Theo thinks forcefully, but there’s a desperate corner of his brain that knows that he isn’t going to be able to take much more of this; eventually the pain is going to break him, and he’s going to tell Monroe anything she wants to hear—everything she wants to hear—just for the chance that she’ll keep her word and end it quickly.

“What is it with you McCall pack supernaturals?” Monroe wonders, sounding equal parts amused and annoyed, “Not a sensible bone in any of your bodies, I swear.”

Theo just closes his eyes, tells himself, as long as possible. He’d hold out as long as he could, as pointless as he knows it’s going to be; he’d do it in thanks to Scott, and Lydia, and Alec, and Nolan, and all of the rest of the McCall pack, for giving him the last few months. For letting him stay, for giving him some semblance of a home, a pack, even if in trade for Theo’s help with Monroe. As long as possible, he swears, and fills his mind with thoughts of the pack: dinners at the McCall house with Ms. McCall ribbing him companionably; lacrosse nights with the Sheriff and his dry sense of humor; patrols with Malia and Derek and Scott, laughing and whooping as they chase each other through the Preserve. Nolan, touching his scarred neck and grinning at Theo, alive and well and happy. Stiles and Lydia, camped out on his couch and eating all his food. Corey and Mason, unapologetically monopolizing his table and quizzing him on famous battles for their history exams. Alec and his apologetic grin when Theo would come downstairs to find him once more on Theo’s couch, his perfectly good apartment with its perfectly good bed ignored.

And Liam.

God, Liam, Theo thinks, and feels a spasm of pain that has nothing to do with the mistletoe splinters currently burrowing their way into his stomach, his throat. The thought of him is almost too much to hold, too painful, but Theo latches onto it, lets himself get a little lost in the memory of him and Liam on the lacrosse field after Scott and Liam’s fight, or Liam kneeling by Theo when he’d been dying of wolfsbane poisoning. Of Liam, climbing into his bed some nights with his scent hot and stinging with grief, how some mornings they’d wake up pressed against each other, Theo’s nose buried in Liam’s ridiculous hair and Liam’s legs tangled with his.

Sorry, Theo tells his mental Liam helplessly, even though he’s not sure for what, exactly; I’m so sorry.

Another spasm of pain wracks his body and he chokes on another mouthful of blood, brought forcefully back to the present, his eyes snapping open. But when he manages to focus them through the haze of agony lighting up his every nerve, Monroe isn’t looking at him anymore. Her face is twisted in a furious expression, lips peeled back from her teeth in a savage snarl as she stares out and away at something Theo can’t see.

What, Theo manages to think, blearily, just as Monroe says, low and disbelieving, “No. No, it’s not possible.”

But whoever she’s talking to doesn’t bother to respond; instead, there’s a loud crack of gunfire and the hunter next to Monroe—who had started reaching for the rifle strapped across his back—stumbles and then collapses next to Theo, a perfect bullet hole torn through his heart. Theo stares at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, the shock dulling some of his pain, and then the room erupts into chaos.

Theo tries to follow it, tries to sharpen his senses so he can pull apart the cacophony of sound, the sudden choking scents, but all he can hear is his own frantic heartbeat, his own labored breathing; can only smell his own blood and sweat and bile. Another spasm of pain locks his muscles and Theo gasps, mouth locked open in a pained grimace, and he feels himself falling sideways, barely registers it when he hits the ground and the back of his skull cracks against the hard concrete. He just lays there in senseless agony and gives up on trying to figure out what’s going on, just waits and thinks, please, make it stop, unsure who he’s asking, or what he’s asking for.

“Theo!” Someone suddenly shouts, and Theo stirs some, tries to open his eyes but can’t.

There’s a scrambling sound next to him and then the barest feeling of warmth like balm against his agonized skin, like someone has kneeled close enough next to him for Theo to feel their heat.

“Liam, don’t!” Someone else orders, “You don’t know what she did to him, you could make it worse.”

Liam…? Theo repeats hazily, and that’s enough to get him to open his eyes, just a crack, just enough to see Liam’s face hovering over his own, his expression broken open and terrified.

“Derek, come here, smell this for me and tell me if it is what I think it is.”

Lydia…?

“Mistletoe,” Someone confirms harshly; Derek. Derek confirms harshly, his voice low and furious.

“She forced him to swallow splinters of mistletoe, look at these capsules—they’re gel, they dissolve in the stomach, release whatever’s inside.”

“Jesus christ,” Someone else says weakly, while another unknown person whispers, “Oh, god.”

Stiles, Theo realizes, Corey, and then another spasm hits him and his whole body cramps, and he can’t help the pained, broken moan that escapes.

“We have to do something,” He hears Liam say frantically, “Scott, we have to help him somehow.”

“I don’t—” Someone—Scott—Scott says, “Derek, Chris, do you know…? Have you ever heard…?”

“No,” Derek admits, tone hard but dripping with regret. Argent echoes him a second later.

“The hospital,” Liam interjects, “Scott, your mom. My dad. They’ll know—they’ll be able—they’ll think of something.”

“Liam,” Scott tries, gently.

“I don’t care!” Liam shouts, and then he puts his hands on Theo like he doesn’t give a shit about Derek’s previous order anymore; Theo feels some of his pain draw away and he gasps, helplessly, then moans as it comes roaring back, overwhelming Liam’s ability to take it, “We have to try something, we can’t just let him die like this!”

“I might—” Lydia starts, then pauses, hesitant, like she doesn’t want to give anyone false hope, “I have an idea, I can talk to your mom and Liam’s dad about it. I don’t know if it’ll work, but…”

She trails off, and Theo can almost feel her heavy gaze. Nowhere else to go but up, Theo thinks, a little hysterically, drunk and senseless as he is with pain; Liam’s hands on his skin feel incredible but it just sharpens the feeling of agony everywhere else.

“Okay,” Scott decides quietly, and then again, more firmly, “Okay. Derek, can you take him? Lydia, Stiles, Corey, grab everything that you think might be relevant to take with us, who knows what might help.”

There’s a rush of sound and movement as Lydia and Stiles move to obey, and then Theo feels the air around him shift as, presumably, Derek kneels down next to him.

“Liam,” Derek says softly.

“I’m taking his pain,” Liam snaps, and doesn’t take his hands away.

“Okay,” Derek tells him soothingly, “Then keep doing that, but you’ve got to let me take him.”

Theo gasps out a wordless sound of agony as he’s jostled, as he’s slowly lifted up and off the ground; Liam keeps his hands glued to him the entire time, but as Theo’s pain crests with the movement he gasps, too. Don’t, Theo wants to tell him, don’t do that. But he can’t get his lips to move.

His head falls back far enough that he can see some of the rest of the room through his blurry vision. He sees a few crumpled forms, some of their clothes shredded like they’d had claws ripped through them, blood pooling under their prone bodies. But it isn’t until Derek starts to move, starts to head wherever he’s heading—following Scott, Argent, and the others as they hurry out—that he sees something that briefly overcomes the pain tearing apart his body enough to let him sharpen his gaze, focus on the sight.

It’s Monroe, flat on her back, sightless eyes staring upward.

Her throat is slashed and there’s an expression of unadulterated hatred on her face. But it’s the hole in her chest that really catches Theo’s attention; too big to be a bullet hole. Someone—someone had put their clawed fist through her chest and shredded her heart.

Oh, Theo thinks as he stares at the sight.

And then the pain comes roaring back, and he doesn’t remember anything else.

---

Theo wakes up, again, and it’s even more of surprise this time.

Something is beeping, repetitively and monotonously just a few feet from where he’s lying. He tilts his chin up to look at it, something soft giving way below his head as he does, and sees a heart monitor. As he watches it beeps again, a steady spike driving its way up on the screen before leveling back out. He watches it for a long stretch of minutes, groggy and a little hypnotized, before he realizes that it’s synchronized to the heartbeat he can feel in his own chest.

What, Theo thinks, and tilts his chin back down, the beeping of the heart monitor picking up pace as his pulse spikes with his confusion. The change in tempo is apparently enough to wake Scott, sprawled out in one of the hospital’s poor excuses for armchairs, one hand over his face. He jerks and looks around, a little frantically, until his eyes come to rest on Theo—who’s squinting at him, bewildered—and then he relaxes some.

“Christ,” He mutters, sounding exhausted and not at all well-rested for all that he was just asleep.

Then he sits up, groaning, and rubs his hands roughly over his face. When he drops them, he grins softly, warmly, at Theo.

“You’re awake,” He finally says.

From the badly disguised relief in Scott’s voice, that was maybe not a guarantee. Theo shifts some in the hospital bed—hears his heart-rate monitor spike again as he does—and feels various parts of his body protest, but overall he feels...well.

Overall he doesn’t feel like he’s dying, which is a significant improvement from the last time he remembers being awake.

“What happened?” He rasps out, throat feeling dry and raw but like it’s from dehydration, and not because a psychotic werewolf hunter shoved a gel capsule full of mistletoe splinters down his throat.

Scott frowns and looks around a bit, holds up a finger and then disappears from the room briefly. When he comes back, he’s got a cup full of water, a straw bobbing merrily within it as Scott pads over to the bed and holds it close enough to Theo that he can take a drink. Theo gives the straw, and then Scott, an incredibly dry look, but Scott just raises an eyebrows and waits. Eventually the burning in Theo’s throat overcomes his pride and he catches the straw with his lips, takes a few drinks, and protests when Scott draws it away.

“You gotta go slow, Theo,” Scott chides him, setting the cup down on the side table near Theo’s head. Then he seems to catch himself and he laughs, helplessly and a little disbelieving, before collapsing—gently—onto the side of Theo’s mattress, “God, how weird is this? Even with all the insanity that’s struck Beacon Hills over the years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a werewolf in a hospital bed. Well,” He stops, a thought apparently striking him, “There was that one time with Derek, but he was technically human, then.”

“Yeah, so I repeat,” Theo says in response, voice still rasping but sounding a little better, “What happened?”

Scott frowns at him thoughtfully, then asks, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Theo considers. Pain, mostly. The last thing he remembers is pain, overwhelming and all-consuming, but that’s not what Scott’s asking. He closes his eyes, ignores his mind’s attempts to shy away from the memories—drenched as they are with agony—and then opens them again, a vision coming back to the fore.

“Monroe is dead,” Theo says slowly, almost testing it; he glances up at Scott as he does, sees a flicker of fierce satisfaction cross his face, “I saw her as Derek was carrying me out of...wherever the hell we were.”

“Warehouse, of course,” Scott answers, rolling his eyes like Monroe’s lack of creativity in criminal lairs personally offends him, “A few miles over in Forest Ranch. She must have been using it just for the attack, there were no long-term signs of occupation.”

Which would explain why neither Theo, any of his contacts, or the hunting party had previously identified it. But that begs a different question.

“How’d you find it?” Theo asks curiously, meaning how’d you find me, but; to-may-to, to-mah-to.

“Now that,” Scott tells him dryly, “is an interesting story. Have you ever been simultaneously yelled at by four separate, equally-panicked people at the same time?”

“I don’t...think so,” Theo replies, a little lost as to what this has to do with Scott finding Monroe’s heretofore unknown, temporary warehouse.

“Lucky you,” Scott mutters. Then he sighs, “We found the warehouse—found you—because just past Yuba City, Isaac Lahey called me, completely out of the blue.”

“Ah,” Theo says, that particular puzzle-piece clicking into place; Scott gives him a strange look, so he explains, “Monroe, back before the—” Theo waves his hand at his own prone body demonstratively, “—she strongly implied that she’d triggered Lydia’s prediction by going after Isaac. So he got away from her hunters?”

Scott snorts, and there’s a hint of pride in his expression when he says, “Didn’t have to. He found them. A few hours before they were supposed to start their attack, apparently. Isaac…” He pauses, his gaze going distant, his mind somewhere else, “He’s pretty good at staying ahead of hunters. Had a good teacher.”

There’s a story hidden in the heavy shadows of Scott’s simple statement, one that Theo doesn’t know the full shape of but is almost positive has something to do with a certain Argent archer; rest in peace. He waits, gives Scott the time he needs to pull his head back out of whatever memory he’d fallen into. It takes almost half a minute but eventually Scott shakes his head, gives Theo a quick, apologetic smile—Theo shaking his head gently; don’t apologize—and then continues his explanation.

“Isaac managed to capture one of the hunters, and Monroe must not have sent the A-team after him because this hunter broke like a cheap vase, just started babbling about some crazy plan to attack Beacon Hills. Isaac didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but it’s Beacon Hills, so he called.”

“And he was...one of the four?” Theo hazards, remembering Scott’s earlier statement.

“The first of them,” Scott confirms wryly, “Because just as soon as I’d pulled over to try and figure out what the hell Isaac was ranting about, Mason called Corey in a blind panic, and Lydia started screaming.”

Theo blinks, hearing in his head Monroe saying apparently, banshees who join packs become particularly attuned to the pack’s members. The thought ignites a weird flurry of emotion in his chest, which Theo feels completely incapable of handling at the moment, so he forcefully sets it aside.

“Who was the fourth?” He asks, partially for the distraction but also because he’s curious.

“Parrish,” Scott replies, “He called Stiles—well. First he called Lydia, but she was—”

“Screaming,” Theo cuts in wryly; Scott smirks at him appreciatively.

Then he continues, “Anyway, once we managed to piece together enough of the different stories to figure out what was going on, we all turned around and headed straight back for Beacon Hills. My dad, Stiles’ dad, and Parrish had already left Redding.”

Theo nods, but then he stops, frowns, “The hunter told Isaac where the warehouse was?”

Why would Monroe have told a throwaway-hunter—which the ones going after Isaac had clearly been—about the warehouse she was going to use?

Scott shakes his head, “No. We had to track it down by following a handful of the hunters that went after Alec and the others, after the hunters turned around. That’s why it took us a while to get to you.”

“Alec,” Theo suddenly realizes, and goes to sit up; behind him, his heart-rate monitor shrieks a warning as Theo’s pulse spikes.

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Scott assures him, diving forward so that he can press Theo back flat, keeps his hand there and squeezes Theo’s shoulder gently, “Mason, Nolan, Alec—they’re all fine.”

Theo lays back down stiffly, closes his eyes and forces himself to breathe in slowly through his nose, trying to calm his pulse. He still feels so damn weak. Scott eyes him like he’s considering whether he should stop filling Theo in, so Theo speaks, tries to distract him.

“They got to Shohreh okay?” He asks.

Scott gives him a narrow-eyed look like he knows what Theo is doing, but answers anyway, “They did.” Then his expression goes a little rueful, “In fact, we had a bit of trouble getting them to leave Yreka. Apparently you gave Alec very clear instructions.”

Theo smirks, but it’s a little wobbly, “In my defense, I had very good reasons for being such a dick.”

But Scott doesn’t take him up on the offered joke. He studies Theo carefully, his expression sobering, “You saved their lives.”

Theo shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny, reaches for another distraction, “You never finished telling me why I’m in a hospital bed. And why do I still feel as weak as—”

“A human?” Scott offers wryly. Then he glances at the room, he eyes flicking from the heart-rate monitor, to Theo prone on the bed, to a set of machines near his side that Theo had noted earlier but has no context for, “The mistletoe splinters...there was no way to get them out of you, but as your body slowly dissolved them, they essentially turned your blood into poison.”

Jesus, Theo thinks blankly.

“Lydia…” Scott starts, “She had an initial idea—blood transfusions—and then Dr. Geyer and my mom refined it a bit, added kidney and liver dialysis to help get the toxins out faster.”

That...had been a surprisingly elegant solution. Theo would have to thank Lydia and Ms. McCall for it, next he saw them. And Dr. Geyer too, of course, though…

“Liam told his father?” Theo asks.

“And his mother. And Nolan and Mason told their parents, Malia told her dad...” Scott confirms, adds; his expression twists a little bit, and Theo isn’t sure where the disappointment he sees there is directed, but he bets it’s inward, “We’re done trying to keep secrets from the people closest to us out of some misguided attempt to protect them.”

Theo doesn’t know what to say—he doesn’t have any clueless relations to tell, after all—so he doesn’t say anything. Scott shakes his head like he’s clearing it, resettles on the mattress.

“Speaking of Dr. Geyer, he should be in any minute,” Scott tells him, “You’re due for your last round of transfusions and dialysis soon, and then he and my mom think your healing should be able to take over, finish clearing the last of the toxins without further damage.”

“Fantastic,” Theo mutters, but only half-sarcastically; being used as a human pincushion was an irritation he’d rather avoid, but he’d suffer significantly worse indignities to finally get the last of Monroe’s poison out of his body.

They drift into companionable silence for a few minutes, Scott’s attention caught by something happening elsewhere in the hospital. Theo’s senses are still out of whack so he can’t hear much beyond the room, though even if he could, his thoughts are so syrupy he’s not sure he’d be able to absorb much. He’s just starting to drift off, his eyelids getting heavy, when Scott speaks again.

“They were all here, you know.”

Theo blinks a few times, coming back to fully awake, and then squints at Scott, “Who was all where?”

“The pack. They were all here—Derek, Stiles, Lydia, Malia, Nolan, Mason, Corey, Alec, Chris,” He hesitates a second, adds, “Liam. Stiles’ dad, Parrish, and my dad would have been here, too, but they’re out dealing with the crime scenes. Dr. Geyer and my mom wouldn’t let any of them in here with you while they were working, so they colonized the third floor waiting room.”

That same slow-burning maelstrom of something starts up in Theo’s chest again and he swallows, has to look away from Scott for a beat.

“Everyone was pretty much falling asleep standing, though, so once Dr. Geyer and my mom announced that you’d pull through around three o’clock this morning, I made most of them go home to get some rest,” Scott continues, “Even then, they wouldn’t agree to go until I swore I’d stay and send them regular proof-of-life videos of you breathing, like some criminal negotiating a ransom. Speaking of…”

He pulls out his phone, unlocks and points it at Theo, who gives the lens a dry look and tells it, “You’re all insane.”

Scott just barks out a laugh and then turns the camera around, gives it a goofy thumbs-up and announces, as if the rest of the pack would somehow miss it otherwise, “Theo’s awake!”

He’s silent for a few seconds as he works on sending the video, and then he locks his phone and slides it back into his pocket.

“You said ‘most of them,’” Theo asks once he’s done, curious, “What did you mean?”

Scott sighs, rubs the tips of his fingers over his brow, gives Theo a rueful grin, “Liam and Alec wouldn’t go.”

“Oh,” Theo says stupidly.

Scott gets an exasperated look on his face, which Theo thinks is patently unfair; Theo didn’t refuse to leave the hospital after learning that he’d be perfectly fine. He’d been out cold for the whole ordeal.

“So where are they?” Theo wonders, and silently curses when his heart-rate monitor speeds up in its beeping.

Scott snorts a laugh, sounding equal parts amused and long-suffering, “Around about seven, my mom threatened to turn Alec into a throw pillow if she tripped over him one more time, and Dr. Geyer threatened to ground Liam for life if he didn’t stop pestering him about your condition. I figured the best thing to do was get them out and distracted.”

“And they cooperated?” Theo replies skeptically.

“Of course not,” Scott says dryly, “But they didn’t have much of a choice once I called Malia and Derek to come get them. Malia took Alec to run the Preserve. Like, several times.” Then Scott pauses, looks pensive, “I...don’t actually know what Derek did with Liam.”

Theo can only imagine; Derek’s patience for Liam’s more volatile bouts of temper was impressively vast, but often took on...creative casts. He laughs quietly to himself as he considers it, thinks about Liam’s no-doubt sour expression and Derek’s completely unmoved, and immovable, response.

“Hey, Theo?” Scott says, sounding suddenly tentative.

“Hmm?” Theo hums absently.

“Can I ask you something?” Scott asks, and Theo focuses, intrigued and a little a concerned by Scott’s sudden shift in demeanor.

“I don’t see how I can stop you. I’m a pretty captive audience,” Theo points out, trying to lighten the sudden turn in mood.

Scott flashes him a distracted smile, but almost immediately pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, bites it.

When he speaks, finally, it’s to ask, “You know Beacon Hills is your home, right?”

“What?” Theo replies blankly, and his goddamn heart-rate monitor spikes again.

“Beacon Hills is your home,” Scott repeats, forcefully, all traces of tentativeness gone from his voice. He studies Theo’s face—Theo has no idea what it’s doing, so he has no idea what Scott’s seeing—and then he continues, “You know you don’t have to, I don’t know, earn your place here, right?”

Now Theo is really lost; his mouth drops open a bit and he just stares at Scott, speechless. Scott stares back at him, his expression slowly twisting to become equally stricken, and then he groans—it’d be a far more comic sound if Theo wasn’t slowly panicking—and buries his face in his hands.

“There’s a long line of people that are going to kill me,” He mutters through his fingers, “Starting with Lydia and my mother and ending with Liam. They kept telling me... God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Scott, I—” Theo tries, and then stops; he doesn’t know what the hell to say.

But Scott’s on a self-flagellating roll now, apparently, “And I can’t even blame you! Back at the house all those months ago, when I asked you to stay... Christ—it must have sounded like I was cutting you some kind of deal.”

You weren’t? Theo thinks, but has the good sense not to say.

“I knew,” Scott confesses, and Theo would be concerned with the frustration clearly laced through his words if it wasn’t so clearly directed at Scott himself, “I knew something was off even after that first conversation, but there always seemed to be some—some... emergency, something that had to be handled immediately, and I always forgot. And then you’d make some comment and I’d realize it again, but…”

He trails off, and his frustration just seems to drain away to be replaced by a weighty, heavy sadness. He looks away from Theo, ostensibly down at the singularly- unfascinating hospital floor, but Theo knows he’s not seeing anything actually in front of his face. When he raises his eyes and looks back at Theo, his expression is somber, serious; Scott facing down a  life-changing situation with focus, determination, a calm so settled as to be bedrock.

“Theo,” He says, quietly but implacably, “You are a part of this pack. Not a contact, or a friend, or even an ally—you’re a part of it.”

“Scott…” Theo starts, but trails off almost immediately.

But Scott just closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, they’re flared alpha red, “Theo.”

He waits; he just sits, and watches Theo through his red eyes, and waits. The maelstrom in Theo’s chest, reignited by Scott’s words, has demolished all of Theo’s clever distractions, his usual cache of rationalizations—you’re here because you’re useful, you’re here because they need someone to do their dirty work—and behind him, his heart-rate monitor is going wild. Theo meets Scott’s red-eyed stare and feels his own eyes flare in response, even through his exhaustion, even through the last remnants of the mistletoe; he feels his own eyes flare golden as he meets Scott’s—his alpha’s—steady gaze.

“Okay,” He finally says, helplessly, meaning it with every bone, every fiber of his being, “Okay.”

Scott watches him for a second longer and then he blinks, looking a bit surprised at himself, and the moment breaks under his own weight. But it’s not gone; the ember that Scott ignited all those months ago flares to a flame, something steadily burning and tucked—but not hidden, not kept safeguarded from the world—inside Theo’s ribs. When Scott smiles at him, looking a little embarrassed at his own intensity, hand going to scratch awkwardly at the back of his own neck, Theo finds himself smiling just as wide, just as helplessly back.

They probably would have continued dopily grinning at each other for a while after that, but Ms. McCall steps into the room, glances between them, and raises an eyebrow, “Do I want to know what the two of you are smiling about?”

“Just...clearing up a misunderstanding,” Scott explains, flashing Theo another grin as he looks at his mother.

“Oh, finally took care of that, did you?” Ms. McCall asks her son dryly; Scott colors some, but Ms. McCall just smiles fondly, wraps an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him. Then she looks at Theo and her smile softens some, “Welcome home, Theo. Glad to have you back.”

Theo feels his breathing hitch, embarrassingly enough, but he manages a wobbly grin, “Glad to be here.”

Ms. McCall laughs a little under her breath and then releases her son, pushes him gently towards the door, “Alright, go wait outside while Dr. Geyer and I finish the last of Theo’s treatments. I’m not above turning you into a throw pillow, either.”

Scott grins and goes, but he stops at the door, one hand on the jamb to look back at Theo, “I’ll see you when you’re done, okay?”

Theo nods once, his whole chest warmed by that flame held between his ribs, “Yeah. See you...see you then.”

---

Theo makes Scott take him home once he’s done, even though Ms. McCall and Dr. Geyer want to keep him under observation until they’re sure his healing has fully taken over. Theo plays dirty, considering Scott’s earlier confession, tells Scott I want to go home with just enough emphasis on the last word that Scott crumples like a cheap suit even though his expression clearly says he knows what Theo’s doing.

Dr. Geyer watches from the doorway as Scott helps Theo out of bed, Theo’s arm over his shoulders; he’d tried arguing, even after Ms. McCall had assured him it’s not going to do you any good and left to go deal with her other patients, grown resigned to the fact that ignoring the advice of trained medical professionals is practically a McCall pack membership requirement, “I wasn’t aware pig-headedness was another werewolf special ability.”

Theo snorts absently as he concentrates on shifting his weight onto Scott, not falling over, “I highly doubt your son needed the bite to display that particular characteristic.”

He winces immediately after he’s done speaking and glances up at Dr. Geyer, but Dr. Geyer isn’t insulted or annoyed; his expression is twisted like he’s trying to hold back laughter.

“No, he really didn’t,” He says, then he sighs and gestures to the doorway; fine, fine, “Just so you know, you end up back here because you, I don’t know, fall out of bed and crack your head open, I’m going to be merciless in saying I told you so.”

“Fair enough,” Theo agrees, then says wait to Scott just as they’re about to pass Dr. Geyer in the doorway. Theo bites his bottom lip, meets Dr. Geyer’s steady gaze, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dr. Geyer tells him, then grins, “Though, considering how many times you’ve apparently saved my son’s life, maybe I should be thanking you.”

Theo laughs a little, “Let’s call it even, then.”

“Deal,” Dr. Geyer agrees, and claps Theo once—gently—on the shoulder, “Go on, then. At least get home to your own bed if you’re not going to stay here.”

Theo falls asleep in Scott’s—Stiles’? Whatever—Jeep on the way back to Theo’s apartment, his head tilted against the window. Scott wakes him up when they arrive and gets his shoulders back underneath Theo’s arm, and they shuffle their way slowly through the lobby and to the elevator. Once inside, Scott props Theo up against one of the walls and hits the button for the floor below Theo’s; Theo frowns, but then he can’t help the spill of—admittedly, probably inappropriate—laughter that escapes him.

“Doors still broken on my floor?” He comments mirthfully.

Scott gives him a dry look, “Derek said he’ll send you the bill.”

“Might as well just send it to directly to Peter,” Theo replies, closing his eyes and sagging some more against the wall, “All things considered.”

They get out on the floor below Theo’s and then head for the stairwell, where Scott helps Theo laboriously work his way up the stairs until they reach Theo’s floor. Theo sharpens his senses but doesn’t hear Alec across the hall; Scott notices his attention as he’s pulling out his keyring to unlock Theo’s door.

“Malia still has him out in the Preserve, I think. He was pretty badly shaken up,” Scott explains quietly.

“Shit,” Theo mutters, wincing, thinking of the last few minutes before his capture, of Alec pleading, please don’t ask me to leave you here to die.

“He understands why you did what you did,” Scott assures him gently, then he makes a face, “Mostly, anyway. He was having trouble letting Mason and Nolan out of his sight at the hospital, but once my mom let him into the room once you’d recovered enough, he relaxed some.”

“Still going to be awhile before he forgives me,” Theo predicts grimly.

Scott smiles sympathetically as he gets Theo’s door unlocked and rolled open, “He’s probably not the only one, fair warning.”

He almost definitely means additional pack members beyond Liam, but Liam is still the first one Theo thinks of; he doesn’t know how Liam is going to make him pay for nearly dying in front of him—again—but he knows Liam will, somehow.

“Well,” Theo concludes finally, “They all know where to find me when they want to start yelling.”

He tilts a tired grin at Scott and Scott smiles back; yeah, they do. They hobble their way inside the apartment and Theo stops dead, Scott obliviously rolling the door shut behind him. When he finishes that and notices Theo’s stock-still posture, though, he turns back to look at the apartment and then full-body flinches.

“Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot you hadn’t seen it yet,” Scott apologizes, “We were going to clean up while you were still at the hospital, but, well…”

Theo’s apartment is a mess. The map is gone, which makes sense—Monroe had said that her hunters had brought it to her—but apparently the hunters had decided to be very thorough in their search for additional research; a good portion of the tchotchkes and other random items given to Theo by the pack and stuffed into his bookshelves are strewn across the floor, the fragile ones among them shattered. Theo spots Malia’s ‘pack’ of wire coyotes in the middle of the room, some of their limbs bent at awkward angles. Lydia’s terrifying M.I.T. beaver mascot is lying forlornly on its side, its stuffing spilled out like Monroe’s hunters thought he’d hidden something inside of it.

Theo’s scent must be doing something dramatic because Scott’s suddenly tanks and he says hotly, “I don’t even know why they did all this. They already had your map and notebooks.”

“They did it because they enjoyed it,” Theo tells him lowly, exhausted by the whole...everything, “They did it because they could.”

“Well, they’re dead now,” Scott mutters viciously, and Theo looks at him in surprise; usually that fact would bother Scott, not bring him comfort. Then Scott brightens some, grins, “Guess this means we’re going to have to go on a lot more road-trips to help you restock.”

Theo just snorts, but the ache in his chest subsides some. Scott must notice the minute shaking of Theo’s limbs, then, because he makes a small sound and gets them moving again towards the World’s Most Impractical Staircase. It’s made significantly more impractical now given Theo’s condition, its winding nature and narrow design complicating Scott’s attempts to help Theo up it. Halfway up, Scott mutters who the hell designed this thing, anyway, and Theo starts laughing, which nearly unbalances them; Scott makes a wild grab for the railing and catches it, his other hand clenching in the back of Theo’s shirt. Sorry, sorry, Theo apologizes breathlessly, still laughing, but Scott just rolls his eyes and finishes getting them up the stairs, then deposits Theo on his bed with a gusty oof.

Theo lays flat on his back, his legs still hanging off the edge of the bed, and strongly debates whether the effort to move the rest of the way up his bed is worth it. Scott glances around like he’s trying to determine if Theo might need anything else, so Theo kicks out a leg until he can smack Scott lightly on the thigh with his foot, get his attention.

“I’ll be fine, really,” He assures him when Scott looks down, “Your mom and Dr. Geyer said it’d take a few more hours for my healing to finish clearing my system, but that all I really need to do is sleep it off.”

Scott looks conflicted, “I don’t like the idea of just leaving you here alone.”

Theo lets his head flop to the side so he can give Scott a skeptical look, “You’re telling me you really don’t have anything else you need to be doing? Like helping your dad and the Sheriff clean up Monroe’s mess, maybe?”

That lands; Scott grimaces. Theo takes a deep breath and then forces himself to slide the rest of the way up the bed, wrestle the covers out from underneath and then over himself, drops his head onto his pillow. He looks at Scott once he’s settled; see? Everything’s fine.

“Alec will be back soon, I bet,” Theo offers to try and sweeten the deal, “And Derek, too, probably. I won’t be alone that long.”

Scott bites his lip, but he must really actually need to go help his dad and the Sheriff because he gives in soon enough, “I’m going to text Derek and Alec on my way out, let them know you’re here, have them come check up on you.”

“Fine, okay,” Theo agrees, his eyes already slipping shut.

He must fall asleep almost immediately because he doesn't hear Scott leave. The next thing he knows he’s blinking himself slowly awake, his supernatural senses back, apparently; he can hear arguing out in the hallway in front of his front door. A few seconds later and he’s tagged the voices as Derek and Liam.

“Liam, stop. Your dad and Melissa were clear that Theo needs to sleep, not deal with you glowering at him,” He hears Derek say.

“I’m going to use his shower, not challenge him to a duel,” Liam responds, and there’s a sound like Liam trying to get past Derek to the door.

“Liam—” Derek starts, his voice starting to take on a hint of frustration, so Theo sighs, flips back his covers and scoots over to the edge of the bed, stands up on wobbly legs; he feels significantly better, but not one-hundred percent.

“Derek,” Theo says simply to the empty air, knows Derek will hear him, “It’s fine.”

There’s a pause out in the hallway, which Theo takes advantage of to shuffle his way over to the loft railing so he can look down, get a sightline of the front door. A few seconds later the door rolls open and Derek leans in, one hand extended out back into the hallway and planted on Liam’s chest. Liam isn’t looking at Derek, or at Theo; he glares mutely forward and doesn’t say a word.

“Good to see you awake,” Derek tells him honestly—Theo quirks him a tired smile; thanks—and then Derek adds, “You sure?”

Theo drops his head onto his folded forearms on the railing and nods, repeats, “It’s fine. I’ll probably just pass out again the second he hits the shower anyway.”

Derek studies him for a minute and then shrugs, drops the hand he’d been using to restrain Liam and steps aside, “I’ll be in my apartment if you need anything.”

He clearly means if you need a rescue; Theo doubts it’ll come to that, but in his current condition, it’s true that Liam could probably take him. But no matter how angry Liam might be, Theo’s not worried about it; he raises one arm, elbow braced on the railing, and waves it dismissively. Liam doesn’t wait for any further agreement, just pushes past Derek and heads straight for the impractical staircase; Theo can hear him working his way upwards. He turns back to Derek and smiles tiredly at him again.

“Thanks,” He says quietly; he means for more than just the past five minutes, and from Derek’s solemn stare and quick nod, Derek knows it.

Liam finishes cresting the stairs just as Derek rolls Theo’s front door back shut. Theo turns to look at him but Liam just walks right past him towards the bathroom. His clothes are ripped and torn in places, stained with mud and dried blood; so apparently Derek’s chosen distraction was fight club, probably out in one of the clearings in the Preserve. Theo winces; if Derek had felt that no-holds barred sparring—with “sparring” in pretty massive quotes—was necessary, then Liam must have been a few steps beyond upset.

“Liam—” Theo tries, but Liam ignores him, gets into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

Theo sighs and lets his head drop back on a suddenly-boneless neck; shit. He knows he should stay standing for the inevitable confrontation that’s going to follow Liam getting out of the shower, but he can’t muster up the energy, so he shuffles back over to the bed and drops back onto it. He really does intend to stay upright, awake, but clearly the universe is set to keep its habit of the last twenty-four hours of not giving a particular shit about Theo’s wishes; he falls back asleep within minutes.

When he blinks back awake however long it is later, he sees Liam leaning against the loft railing across from him, arms crossed as he watches Theo. Liam is dressed in a pair of Theo’s sweatpants and one of his tanks, both of which are just slightly too big; the sight sends a bolt of heat through Theo that he ruthlessly smothers.

“Were you watching me sleep?” He asks, voice rasping, tilting his head some so that he can see Liam better.

Liam’s expression had been worryingly blank; at Theo’s words it twists some before Liam gets it back under control and he responds off-handedly, shrugging, “Fourteen hours ago I was watching you die, so.”

Theo swallows a sigh and brings his hands up to his face to scrub at it, then crunches himself upwards into a sitting position; he’s not going to want to be prone for this conversation. Liam watches him mutely, his pulse relatively steady but his scent spiking all over the place, though he’s clearly trying to control both. Theo blinks some, trying to soothe the tired, dry feeling in his eyes; god, is this what humans deal with all the time? When he finally looks back up at Liam, his jaw is working and his fingers are white-knuckled against his biceps.

Theo knows better than to speak, even though the silence is starting to itch underneath his skin. Eventually Liam looks away from him, his jaw clenching. When he looks back, his expression isn’t blank anymore, but it’s also unreadable; shifting too quickly through an array of emotions that Theo finds he can’t follow.

“Do you…” He finally starts, stops, starts again, “Do you really give so little a shit for your own life?”

Theo’s brow furrows and he looks up at Liam, “What? ”

But Liam just sneers, “Seriously? This is the second time you’ve kamikazed it during a confrontation with hunters. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“That’s not what happened,” Theo denies, feeling his own temper starting to rise, “The building was swarming with hunters—who were already trying to shoot Mason and Nolan, by the way—and I couldn’t see any other way out.”

Liam glares at him, “Alec said you could have made it to the truck in time to get out with them.”

“Alec is suffering from a guilt complex,” Theo counters, and ignores the guilt that spikes through his own system as he does; whatever Alec was feeling was pretty inarguably Theo’s fault, after all.

“Oh yeah?” Liam replies hotly, “Is Alec’s guilt complex bigger or smaller than your martyr complex?”

“Liam, c’mon, that’s not fair,” Theo protests.

“No, really,” Liam insists, his voice rising, “You’re going to have to explain this to me, because fourteen hours ago I had to watch you trying to breathe around your own liquifying esophagus after you practically gift-wrapped yourself for Monroe.”

“I didn’t want to die!” Theo shouts before he can help himself, “Jesus christ, Liam!”

Theo can’t sit still anymore. He surges to his feet but deliberately stalks away from Liam; god knows if he got within arms’ reach right now, he might try to strangle him.

“Monroe shoved that fucking capsule down my throat, and all I could think about was how much I was going to miss the pack,” He stops, glares at Liam, a part of him desperately trying to keep his next words from leaving his mouth, but he’s too pissed off, “How much I was going to miss you. That’s what I was thinking about when you all found me, you understand? How much I didn’t want to die.”

He’s not sure if he meant his words as a barb, a verbal weapon to make Liam flinch back, realize the absurdity of his own accusations, but they come out more like a confession. Theo winces and turns away from Liam, drops his head back and covers his face with his hands; fuck. He’s trying to figure out how to salvage the situation when he hears movement behind him; he looks back over his shoulder just in time to see Liam, his arms now loose by his sides, his expression stricken. He doesn’t look angry anymore, he looks gutted.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Theo tells him quietly, turning back to face him, “Not for saving Alec, Mason, and Nolan, I’d do that again in a heartbeat—” Liam goes to open his mouth so Theo talks louder, over him, “But I’m sorry that you had to...that I nearly…” He can’t get his mouth to form around the shape of the words, so he just finishes, some of his frustration leaking into his voice, “I’m sorry.”

Liam just keeps staring at him. Theo doesn’t know what to do, what else to say, and he’s about to pivot so that he can drop back down onto the bed, suddenly exhausted again, when Liam speaks.

“You son of a bitch,” He whispers hoarsely, and surges towards Theo.

Theo startles some but manages to catch him. Or catch him to an extent, anyway; they still slam into the back wall of Theo’s loft with enough force that Theo’s ears ring, briefly, but he does get his hands on Liam’s biceps. They just do him very little good when Liam uses his momentum to pin Theo to the wall, to crush his mouth over Theo’s.

Theo isn’t sure whether his mouth drops open because of the shock of hitting the wall or the shock of Liam kissing him; either way, Liam takes ruthless advantage to lick into his mouth. He moans, helplessly, and kisses back instinctually, slides his hands up and off of Liam’s biceps to wrap one around his shoulders, the other dropping to his waist to pull Liam more firmly against him. Liam takes advantage of that, too; he presses his hips hard against Theo’s, and the resulting spike of heat that jolts through Theo makes him drop his head back, breaking the kiss.

“Jesus,” He gasps, his head a whirling mess of arousal and confusion; if Liam is trying to punish him, it isn’t working.

“You don’t know what it was like,” Liam snarls against the skin of Theo’s throat, where he’s buried his face. He opens his mouth and bites at the muscle there, not gently; Theo jerks and hisses, his hips jerking against Liam’s, who just presses forward harder to pin Theo’s hips still with his own, “Coming into that warehouse, seeing you coughing up blood and barely conscious, Monroe standing over you. I thought you were dead. I thought we were going to have to bury you.”

“I—” Theo starts, but Liam doesn’t want to hear it, apparently; he surges back upwards and covers Theo’s mouth with his own.

Theo gives up on trying to talk, just opens his mouth against Liam’s and meets Liam’s tongue with his own. He slides the hand that he’d had around Liam’s shoulders up to cup the back of his head, tangling it in Liam’s ridiculous hair; Liam moves like he’s trying to simultaneously press back into Theo’s grip and press forward harder against his mouth. His hands are clenched in Theo’s shirt, twisting the fabric, and in the next second he uses his grips as leverage points, takes a half-step back and pivots so that he pulls Theo off the wall and off-balance enough that he can shove him back against the bed.

Theo’s knees catch the edge of the mattress and collapse. He’s still holding on to Liam, though, so they go down together, Liam putting his hands out at the last moment to brace himself over Theo. It breaks the kiss again but Liam doesn’t move immediately to restart it, just hovers over Theo on his hands and knees and stares down at him silently. Theo meets his eyes, feeling like a hot mess; his mouth feels raw and undoubtedly red and his chest is heaving. He hesitates, and then slowly brings his hands up so he can slide them back over the sides of Liam’s face, get them cupped around either side of his head. Slowly, slowly, waiting for Liam to pull away or otherwise deny him, he gently encourages Liam’s head downwards until he can press his lips against Liam’s; just a closed-mouth, gentle kiss.

Liam makes a hurt sound and surges against him again, just flattens himself out on top of Theo and gets his hands around Theo’s head so he can position his face, his mouth, as he wants it, his hips jerking in helpless, small movements against Theo’s. Theo moans again and opens his mouth, lets Liam turn the kiss hot and hard again, gets his feet planted flat on the mattress so that he can press his own hips up harder against Liam’s, too, grinding his achingly hard cock against Liam’s ass.

Liam breaks the kiss to gasp, pressing back hard against Theo. He pants against Theo’s jaw for a moment and then sits up, yanking at Theo’s shirt, “Off, off. Get this off.”

Theo sits up enough that, between the two of them, they can strip off his shirt. Liam shoves him back flat immediately once it’s gone, tossed away somewhere. Liam plants his hands flat on Theo’s pecs and then curls his fingers, digging furrows into Theo’s skin. His nails are blunt and the pressure isn’t hard enough to break skin, but Theo still gasps, his fingers spasming on Liam’s hips. Liam, who’d been watching Theo’s face avidly, grins fiercely and keeps going, rakes his hands down Theo’s heaving stomach, leaving ten red, quickly fading lines as he goes.

“Liam, Jesus,” Theo pants, dropping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, the twist of arousal in his gut winding tighter.

He feels rather than sees it when Liam’s hands reach the thin sweatpants that Scott had found for him to wear home from the hospital, finds himself holding his breath as he feels Liam curl his fingers in the waistband. But then Liam stops and Theo blinks open his eyes, tilts his head forward so that he can meet Liam’s steady gaze. Apparently that’s what Liam wanted; he smiles slowly and—his eyes never leaving Theo’s, like he wants to see Theo’s reaction, has to see Theo’s reaction—starts to peel them down.

Theo resists the urge to drop his head back down, close his eyes, somehow knowing that Liam will stop if he does. He makes a bitten-off sound and keeps his eyes on Liam, raises his hips so Liam can pull the sweatpants down and off; Liam quirks an eyebrow at Theo’s lack of underwear and Theo wants to respond, wants to say something biting, but he can’t, just clenches his jaw to keep another high-pitched sound from escaping. Liam laughs quietly at him like he knows exactly what he’s doing, but finishes pulling off the sweatpants and lets them fall to the floor before he gets a knee back on the bed next to Theo’s hips, slides upward. He drags one of his hands up Theo’s thigh as he goes, so that by the time he reaches Theo’s lips to kiss him again, his hand is close enough to Theo’s cock that he can wrap his hand tightly around him.

Theo gasps against Liam’s mouth and bucks, feels his cock slide smoothly through Liam’s grip as he does and can’t help but buck again. But that’s all Liam allows him; he brings his other knee up and pins Theo’s hipbone down. His other hand is up by Theo’s head, clenched in the sheets, and he’s got his own hip pinning Theo’s other hip down. It means Theo is pretty immobilized, unless he wants to start fighting Liam for a better position, and shocking himself, some, he finds he doesn’t; he sucks in a deep breath and then lets it out, forces himself to relax back as he does it.

He looks up to meet Liam’s gaze afterwards and Liam is watching him through heavy-lidded eyes. When he sees Theo looking at him—when he feels Theo relaxing under him—he gives a slow, satisfied smirk and starts to tighten his hand, starts to move it. Theo’s stomach clenches and his hips want to buck but he doesn’t let them, holds them still; his eyes want to close but he doesn’t let them either, keeps them firmly on Liam’s even as the pleasure in his gut starts to wind tighter and tighter, let’s Liam see it, see everything.

God, Liam, please, he thinks desperately, mouth falling open as his chest heaves, but just as he’s about to tip over the edge Liam stops. He doesn’t just still his hand, he lets him go completely, and Theo groans in protest, reaches up a hand before he knows what he’s doing to try and catch Liam’s retreating arm.

But Liam just catches his hand and forces it back down, shakes his head when Theo looks at him, brow furrowed and brain feeling too scrambled to try and do anything but stare at him stupidly.

“I want you to fuck me,” He explains simply, bluntly, like he’s describing the goddamn weather. Theo can’t even moan he’s so simultaneously gut-punched by surprise and arousal; he just stares at Liam wordlessly.

Liam likes that response, apparently; he gives him that same slow, satisfied smirk and kisses him again thoroughly. Now that Liam isn’t working him, some of Theo’s brain power is coming back online and the first thing he thinks is Jesus Christ—Liam is going to be the death of him—and the second thing he thinks is that whether Liam wants Theo to fuck him or not—Liam wants Theo to fuck him, Jesus Christ—Liam is overdressed. Still kissing him, Theo winds his fingers in Liam’s shirt—Theo’s shirt, actually, and his hips buck before he can stop them—and he starts tugging it upwards. Liam pulls back and frowns at him like Theo is misbehaving, but Liam made a critical error in giving Theo the time and space to get his head back in the game; he releases his hold on the shirt but slips his hands underneath, slides them upwards until he can dig his fingers into the muscles of Liam’s back, Liam’s mouth dropping open on a gasp.

“Unless you’re expecting me to fuck you through your clothes, you’re going to need to take these off,” Theo points out, his voice low and heated.

He’s not sure if it’s the words or the tone, but Liam groans and his hips jerk against Theo’s. Theo can feel Liam’s hard cock through his sweatpants and he can’t help himself; he slides his hands down from Liam’s back and underneath his sweatpants until he can palm his ass, encourage Liam to ride his hip. Liam cries out and collapses down to bury his face in Theo’s shoulder, his hips working, Theo’s hands helping him move.

“Okay, okay,” He pants after a long minute, his hips trying to slow in Theo’s grip, but Theo just grins savagely and jerks his own hip up against Liam’s cock, Liam bucking in response again before he can help himself.

Theo noses at his jaw, keeps up the steady motion of his hips as he murmurs directly into Liam’s ear, “C’mon, Liam. Let me feel it.” He gets Liam’s earlobe between his teeth, bites down, “I want to feel it.”

Liam cries out again and buries his face harder against Theo’s shoulder, Theo releasing his earlobe but turning his head so that he can press his forehead hard against Liam’s temple as Liam starts to move again. He tightens his grip on Liam’s ass, gets his foot flat so that he can push back harder as Liam rides the crease of Theo’s hip, his movements becoming jerkier and jerkier as he gets closer.

“That’s it,” Theo tells him, “That’s it, Liam. C’mon.”

Liam stiffens with a wordless cry and Theo feels Liam’s cock jerk against his hip, the slow spread of wetness as Liam’s hips start to slow, still bucking erratically as aftershocks hit him. Theo gentles his grip on Liam’s ass, starts nosing at the side of his face again, murmuring mindless praise as Liam slowly comes down. Eventually Liam groans and tips to the side, off of Theo and onto his back. He brings up his arms to cover his face, his chest heaving. Theo rolls over onto his elbow so that he can watch him, the sight him so undone—the smell of him so undone—like a gut-punch. Theo reaches his free hand forward until he can slide it underneath Liam’s sweats, feel his fever-hot skin, wet with his own release. Liam shivers but doesn’t stop him, moans a weak protest when Theo runs featherlight fingers over his spent cock.

“Jesus, Liam,” Theo whispers, takes his hand back out so that he can grip Liam’s hip instead, bury his face in Liam’s neck.

Liam wraps his arms around him immediately, nosing at Theo’s jaw until Theo turns his head and Liam can kiss him. They stay like that for several minutes, until finally Theo pulls back, shifts so that he can prop his head up on the hand he’d been bracing himself with. Liam looks up at him and grins, a little wobbly in his post-orgasm haze. He reaches forward with one hand until he hits Theo’s thigh, runs it upwards until he reaches Theo’s cock, still hard.

“You made me a deal,” Liam tells him, taking him in hand in a loose grip.

Theo sucks in a sharp breath but manages to keep his head, reaches down to still Liam’s hand, “First off, if we made a deal, you still wouldn’t have fulfilled your end since you’re still dressed—” Liam makes a face and mutters whose fault is that, which Theo graciously ignores, “—but even setting that aside, we don’t have lube.”

The lack of appropriate supplies doesn’t really bother Theo; seeing Liam come undone, feeling Liam come undone, was really almost enough for him. Maybe Liam will let Theo get himself off on the crease of Liam’s hip, just like Theo just did with Liam, once he finally gets out of his—Theo’s, Jesus— sweatpants. But Liam just gives him a strange look, which Theo returns, because, seriously, what?

“There’s lube in your nightstand,” Liam finally says.

“...what?” Theo replies blankly.

Liam keeps looking at him strangely for a few seconds, and then it must slowly dawn on him that Theo really doesn’t have any idea what he’s talking about because his expression scrunches up and he starts laughing. He lets go of Theo—Theo swallowing back a disappointed moan at the loss—and reaches up to cover his face with his hands, now practically giggling to himself. Then he scrambles upward—Theo leaning back out of the way to avoid a truly unfortunate accident—until he can reach Theo’s nightstand, open the drawer and start digging around in it. Theo can’t really focus on it; Liam’s sweatpants have slipped pretty far down his ass and Theo’s a little distracted. Eventually, though, Liam emerges from the nightstand drawer victorious; he turns and tosses a little bottle of lube on to the sheets.

“You really didn’t know?” He asks, starting to laugh again, probably at the absolutely bewildered look on Theo’s face.

“No!” Theo answers, “How in the hell did you?”

Liam shrugs easily, leaning back against Theo’s pillows. He looks positively obscene, his skin sheened with sweat, hair in disarray, his knees bent and dropped open to perfectly frame the wet patch on the front of his sweatpants. Theo swallows, feels his own cock jerk, Liam’s eyes dropping to it. But after a second he remembers to answer Theo’s question.

“Found it a few weeks ago looking for something, I don’t remember what,” Then he grins a molasses-slow grin at Theo, gets one of his bare feet on Theo’s thigh and flexes it, “So, was the lack of lube your only excuse, or did you have a few more that you wanted to try out?”

Theo narrows his eyes at him, catches Liam’s wayward foot in one hand and then gets ahold of Liam’s other foot, yanks him down the bed until Theo can cover him with his body, just lower himself on top of Liam.

“You can be a little shit sometimes, you know that?” Theo tells him conversationally; it’s ruined somewhat by the way he can’t stop his hips from moving against Liam’s in helpless little jerks.

Liam beams up at him, endlessly amused as he always is by his own antics, “It’s one of the reasons you love me.”

“Maybe,” Theo allows, ignoring the way his pulse spikes at Liam’s words.

He doesn’t give Liam a chance to respond, just gets his hands underneath Liam’s shoulder blades so he can sit him up, strip the tank off of him. Liam shivers as the fabric drags over his skin and bites off a sound when his bare back hits the sheets; Theo leans down to lick at Liam’s abused lip, his hands sliding down Liam’s sides until he can get his fingers wrapped around the waistband of Liam’s sweatpants.

Then Theo leans back some to give Liam an unimpressed look, tapping at the waist of the sweatpants—which have nothing underneath them—pointedly, “I’m sorry, weren’t you giving me shit earlier for this exact thing?”

Liam just rolls his eyes, “You’re in your own house, I’m just a guest here.”

“Right,” Theo snorts, “Because you’re always so respectful of other people’s property rights in general, and mine in particular.”

Liam just grins and rears up to catch Theo’s mouth again, gets Theo to chase his mouth as he lays back down so that Theo is once more covering him. Back flat, Theo raises up some on his knees to give Liam room to lift his own hips, Theo stripping the sweats down and off of him. It takes a bit of maneuvering since Theo doesn’t want to leave Liam’s mouth—and Liam probably wouldn’t let him if he tried—but eventually he gets them off and tossed...somewhere.

Theo deepens the kiss further as he gets his hands underneath Liam’s knees, gets him to crook them on either side of Theo’s hips. He waits until Liam groans and seems to lose himself in the kiss, and then he reaches out a hand, searching the sheets until he finds the bottle of lube that Liam had retrieved. With his thumb, he flicks it open; Liam must catch the small snick it makes because he makes a small sound, his hips jerking against Theo’s, his head turning to try to look. Theo doesn’t let him, follows his mouth, manipulating the bottle in his hand as he does so until he can squeeze some into his palm one-handed. Then he drops the bottle and rubs his fingers through the lube to get them wet.

Theo’s attempts to keep him distracted or not, Liam drops his legs open wider, his hands clenching on Theo’s back. Theo shifts some to give himself room, brings his lube-wet hand to Liam’s entrance and rubs over it; Liam makes a choked sound and his spent cock twitches against Theo’s stomach. Grinning, Theo noses at Liam’s cheek, keeps rubbing one finger over Liam’s entrance.

Then, just as he goes to push the first one inside, he bites Liam’s jaw and murmurs, “You’re going to be like a rabbit, I can already tell.”

The distraction works, to a certain extent; Liam snorts out a laugh and Theo’s finger slides in smoothly, though Theo can still feel Liam’s thigh muscles twitching against his hand, his hip. He bites again at Liam’s jaw as he starts to work his finger in and out, noses it upward so that he can lick over Liam’s throat, pull a fold of skin beneath his teeth and worry at it. After a long minute of the simultaneous stimulation Liam’s thighs start to relax and he turns his head towards Theo’s, obviously looking for a kiss. Theo indulges him and keeps working him with just the one finger, waiting.

“Okay,” Liam finally gasps a minute or so later.

Theo pulls his finger out, rubs it and the others back through the lube still on his palm, then repositions his hand at Liam’s entrance. Slowly, he starts to press two inside, Liam’s stomach muscles fluttering; Theo turns his head so that he can rub his mouth over Liam’s shoulder, pulls his lips back so that he can press the tips of his blunt human teeth around Liam’s collarbone. Liam gasps and jerks, and Theo fully seats his fingers as he does.

Liam’s making a sound that definitely classifies as a whine—though Theo has no intention of ever telling him that—his fingernails scoring marks across Theo’s shoulders. There’s just a hint—a hint—of claws to his grip, Liam struggling to keep control, and Theo can’t help it; he buries his face against Liam’s neck and moans, his own hips helplessly jerking. But he keeps working Liam with two fingers, Liam steadily adjusting to the intrusion.

“You’re going to be insufferably careful, I can already tell,” He finally pants, and it takes Theo a minute to realize that he’s trying to respond mockingly to Theo’s rabbit characterization earlier.

Theo just smirks and brushes his lips over Liam’s brow, murmuring, “Not an insult.”

But he also takes the comment in the spirit that it was meant and pulls out his fingers, repeats the process of getting them and a third finger wet with the remaining lube on his palm before he returns his hand to Liam’s entrance. Liam is practically vibrating as he does, his cock already starting to harden again against Theo’s stomach. Theo raises up some on his braced elbow so that he can meet Liam’s eyes, study his expression; Liam’s chest is heaving, and when he notices Theo’s attention he makes a face.

“What are you waiting for?” He demands, knocking Theo’s bent elbow with his knee.

Theo just grins at him, replies, “That.”

And then he starts slowly pressing in with three fingers. Liam sucks in a breath, his back arching, but when he feels Theo’s arm flexing like he’s maybe thinking of withdrawing, Liam reaches down and grabs Theo’s wrist, holds it in place. He glowers at Theo, and Theo, fighting back a smile that would, in all likelihood, only serve to infuriate Liam more, gives in, keeps pressing forward. Liam bites off a sound and tips his head back, but doesn’t let go of Theo’s wrist. He gentles the grip some, though, like now that he’s assured himself that Theo isn’t going to stop he just wants to feel it as Theo moves, as Theo works him open. Theo studies his pleasure-slack face and has to bite his own lip, forcibly still his own hips; soon, he promises himself.

He works Liam thoroughly with three fingers, paying attention not only to the steadily-fading twitches in his thighs but also the way that Liam bites at his bottom lip, the way he jerks every now and then as Theo changes the angle. Theo keeps going, and has to pull his head quickly to the side when he hits the spot he was looking for and Liam all but jackknifes upward with a gasp.

“Jesus,” He moans, falling back flat, his back arching.

Theo keeps at that spot for a half-minute, until Liam whines—straight up, no ambiguity this time—and knocks his arm with his knee again.

“I said—said I wanted you to fuck me,” He’s trying to sound normal and completely in control of the situation, but between his desperately jerking hips and the way that he’s about to rip Theo’s sheets between his clenched fists, it’s not working, “You know what—what I meant.”

Theo grins at him and skates his nose up Liam’s cheek, then sits up, withdrawing his fingers carefully. Liam’s eyes pop open and he gets a look on his face like he’s about to protest, but at Theo’s pointed look he desists, his expression going mulish.

“You’re enjoying this,” He accuses, loosening his grip on the sheets to reach forward and scratch his nails down Theo’s lower stomach, following the trail of hair there down to Theo’s cock.

Theo inhales sharply and pulls away, making a face down at Liam, “Isn’t that the point?”

But Liam’s crafty; he’d used the distraction to retrieve the bottle of lube, and as Theo watches he gets a glob of it in one palm, then reaches forward and takes Theo’s cock in hand. Theo gasps and falls forward onto his hands and knees over Liam, his mouth falling open as he pants, as Liam works him steadily. Liam grins up at him like he’s gotten some of his own back, and Theo grits his teeth, forces himself to reach for Liam’s hand and still it, ignoring Liam’s protest.

“Hey, I’m just following orders, here,” He tells Liam, notes with interest when Liam’s pupils dilate at his words.

But he lets go of Theo. He lets go and resettles himself pointedly on the bed, his legs dropping open wide around Theo’s hips. Theo bites off a helpless sound at the sight and closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, reaching for control. A few breaths later and he opens them again, reaches forward and skates his fingers lightly down Liam’s sides until he gets to his hips, then curls his fingers around Liam’s hip bones, tilts them upward. Liam bites his lip and watches as Theo takes one hand off of his hips to take himself in hand, positioning himself at Liam’s entrance.

He keeps his eyes locked on Liam as he starts to push in, as he feels Liam stretch around him. Liam whines but doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t tip his head back; sensing, maybe, that Theo wants to his face, his expression. It’s a struggle for Theo, too; his eyes desperately want to close as he sinks into Liam, the heat and feeling of him incredible. By the time he’s fully seated he’s panting, braced over Liam with both hands planted and twisted in the sheets by Liam’s head. Liam stares up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, his own mouth open and his chest heaving. As Theo watches him, forcefully keeping his hips still, Liam very deliberately brings his legs up to wrap around Theo’s hips, his hands coming up to slide up and over Theo’s shoulders until he can dig his fingers just under Theo’s shoulder blades, and this time there’s a very careful, and very deliberate, prick of claws.

“C’mon,” Liam orders Theo quietly, forcefully.

Theo groans and buries his face in Liam’s neck, drops his body down onto Liam’s so that he can move his hands to wrap them around Liam’s hips, hold him steady as Theo starts to move. Liam cries out as he does, his hands spasming on Theo’s shoulders, and Theo feels the tips of Liam’s claws pierce his skin, ten points of quick, brief pain in counterpoint to the pleasure overtaking him. In the next instant Liam’s nails are blunt again but he rakes them down Theo’s back regardless, and then he brings them up above his head, bracing himself as Theo continues to move over him, in him.

“Liam,” Theo gasps helplessly, turning his head so that his face is right over Liam’s collarbone; he can’t help it, he leans forward until he can close his teeth around the bone, Liam inhaling sharply as he does it.

He takes one hand off the wall above his head and clamps it over the back of Theo’s neck, so Theo keeps his teeth where they are, worries at the skin but doesn’t break it. Liam raises his hips to meet his thrusts, the two of them falling into a rhythm as the pleasure winds tighter and tighter in Theo’s gut, as Liam’s cock rises fully hard against his stomach.

And then Liam uses the hand on Theo’s neck to force his head upwards. Theo looks at him and Liam’s eyes glint, and then in the next second, he’s dropped his legs from around Theo’s hips and shifted just enough that Theo slips out of him. Theo hisses at the sudden loss, brow furrowing, but he doesn’t have long to wonder; Liam executes an acrobatic move and gets them flipped, Theo landing hard on his back with Liam now straddling his hips.

Liam plants his hands on Theo’s chest and smiles that slow predator smile down at him and then deliberately reaches back, takes Theo in hand as he raises up on his knees and gets Theo positioned back at his entrance. Theo presses his head back hard into the mattress but doesn’t look away, entranced by the sight as Liam slowly lowers himself back onto Theo’s cock, his eyes falling closed and his head falling back as he moans.

He takes a few panting breaths and then drops his head back forward, plants his hands once more on Theo’s chest and starts to move, raising and lowering himself on Theo, his eyes fixed firmly on Theo’s. Groaning, Theo gets his feet planted flat and starts to push up into Liam when he lowers himself, gets his hands on Liam’s hips to help him raise himself.

It doesn’t take long for the pleasure in Theo’s gut—briefly interrupted by Liam’s sudden position-switch—to roar back with a vengeance. As he feels the first stirrings of his orgasm in his gut he reaches out the hand he’s used to open Liam up, still slick with the last remnants of the lube he’d used, and wraps it around Liam, starts to work him in time with his and Liam’s hips. Liam shudders and cries out, his head dropping loosely forward, and in just a few more thrusts, he spills with a sharp cry over Theo’s hand and Theo’s stomach.

The sound of it rockets through Theo and he gives a few more quick thrusts, and that’s all it takes; he stiffens and arches into Liam, feels himself spilling. As the last of the overwhelming wave starts to fade, he relaxes back down, panting, still tucked inside Liam. Liam doesn’t move yet, either, just flexes his hands spasmodically on Theo’s shoulders, his thighs twitching against Theo’s hips.

Eventually Liam shifts just enough that Theo’s spent cock slips out of him, Theo jerking helplessly, oversensitized. He expects Liam to lay down, then, but Liam doesn’t, just stays over Theo’s hips. Theo opens his eyes to study him and feels his brow furrow at the solemn expression on Liam’s face, Liam’s eyes focused with laser-intensity on the smooth skin of Theo’s left shoulder. He’s about to ask when Liam raises one hand and places his fingers gently over Theo’s mouth, shaking his head.

Theo nods, slightly, trying to communicate he understands, though he really doesn’t. But Liam doesn’t keep him waiting long; he looks at Theo, then peels back his lips from his teeth so that there’s no way that Theo can miss his fangs lengthening. When Theo glances up at his eyes to try and catch some clue as to what Liam’s doing, thinking, his eyes are flared golden. Theo feels his breath hitch and his pulse spike, unsure of Liam’s intentions, but Liam just leans down slowly, slowly, his golden eyes on Theo’s, until finally the angle makes him drop them. It means that Theo is staring at the top of Liam’s head when he feels Liam’s fangs open against his shoulder, just over the meat of his pec underneath his collarbone. Liam waits, and as the seconds tick by Theo realizes he’s waiting for permission.

“I—” He starts, but he has no idea what Liam’s planning. In the end he just closes his eyes, drops his head back flat, breath coming out harshly through his nose, and he says through gritted teeth, “ Yes.”

In the next instant he feels Liam’s fangs pierce his shoulder and Theo sucks in a huge breath, his whole body jerking. Liam’s meticulous about it, using just enough force to create a bite but no more, and when he withdraws, he very carefully opens his mouth wide so that he’s not tearing any skin or flesh. Theo stares at him as he sits up, Theo’s blood streaking his mouth like war paint, his bite already healing, already healed.

“Liam, what—” He begins to ask, but then he freezes; as he’d talked, Liam had reached down with his right hand, claws extended, and placed them directly over Theo’s abdomen, the tips pricking at Theo’s skin.

Theo stares up at Liam, his chest heaving, completely out to sea. But then Liam leans down again, eyes still flared and mouth still fanged, and opens his mouth gently, so gently, over Theo’s throat, and the truth hits Theo like a freight train. The shoulder Liam had bitten was the one that Preston had shot, the one that had blackened and festered and nearly killed Theo when he was trying to save Nolan. And the claws poised over his stomach, the fangs over his throat; those are the two places that ended up pierced with dozens of tiny slivers of mistletoe after Monroe made him swallow her poisoned capsule.

“Jesus, Liam,” He gasps, and feels his heaving stomach press harder against Liam’s claws, feels the skin of his throat pull under Liam’s fangs as he talks.

His whole body is a confused mess of arousal and something else, something heavy, darker, and just a hint of fear; he has a werewolf’s claws poised over his gut and a werewolf’s fangs closed over his throat, after all. His hands, still wrapped around Liam’s hips, clench, hard, as he feels Liam’s claws and fangs against his body, poised. Waiting.

Then Theo closes his eyes and deliberately relaxes his body, drops his head back further to bare his neck.

“Do it.” He tells Liam firmly, then, suddenly desperate, “Liam, please.”

Liam does. He presses his claws carefully but relentlessly down until they pierce skin, muscle. At the same time, he closes his fangs over Theo’s throat, and Theo can almost immediately feel thin trails of blood trickle down his neck, has to resist his instinctive response to fight, holds himself still, so still, as Liam withdraws both his claws and fangs and sits back up.

He doesn’t know what to say. He feels completely broken open, completely gutted, Liam staring down at him with Theo’s blood in his mouth and Theo’s blood on his hands. Liam just sits and waits as Theo pants underneath him, waits until Theo’s breathing starts to slow and his hands on Liam’s hips start to relax. Then he reaches forward with the hand that he’d used to pierce Theo’s stomach and scrapes his fingers lightly over Theo’s lips, then down over his bloody neck.

“You have to understand something,” Liam finally says, his eyes flicking up to Theo’s from where they’d been following his hand’s progress on Theo’s neck, “Theo. You have to understand something.”

Theo goes to speak, realizes his throat is too tight, and just nods. Liam studies him and Theo wonders what he’ll do if Liam doesn’t believe him, doesn’t think that Theo’s listening; he has to hear what Liam has to say, needs to hear it.

But Liam must see something to satisfy him, because he continues, voice low, “You know you’re part of the pack now, you can’t act anymore like you don’t know that.”

So Scott had told Liam about Scott’s and Theo’s conversation at the hospital, Scott saying, there’s a long line of people that are going to kill me; Ms. McCall saying, so you finally cleared that up, did you? But Liam doesn’t give him time to dwell on it, rubs his thumb over the ridge of Theo’s adam’s apple steadily.

“So you have to know,” His thumb pauses in its sweeps to press down, but just lightly, “You have to know that you don’t just belong to yourself anymore.” He narrows his eyes when Theo jerks at his words, presses down harder with his thumb, “You’re part of the pack, you belong to the pack now, too.”

Theo’s chest feels too tight, heaving under Liam’s splayed-out other hand, but Liam isn’t done.

“You belong to the pack, so you have to take care of yourself like you’d take care of the pack,” Liam tells him, his hand slipping down Theo’s neck to rest at its base, pressing just lightly at Theo’s throat, “You have to protect yourself like you’d protect the pack.”

Liam’s hand on Theo’s throat clenches, just briefly, just a bit, and Theo can’t help the small sound that escapes him. But he doesn’t look away from Liam, keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Liam’s. The wounds that Preston and Monroe inflicted are long gone, and the wounds that Liam replaced them with are gone, too, but Theo stills feels their phantoms, burning like brands everywhere that Liam had claimed him, had re claimed him. He thinks of Liam saying, you’re part of the pack now, and, you have to protect yourself like you’d protect the pack.

“Okay,” He tells Liam—and tells himself—reaching up with one hand to touch trembling fingers to Liam’s red-streaked lips, Theo’s blood in his mouth, “Okay.”

---

Theo wakes up sometime later with his nose buried in the back of Liam’s neck, his bare chest pressed up tight against Liam’s equally naked back, his arm draped over Liam’s waist. He blinks a bit and then huffs to blow some of Liam’s ridiculous hair out of his mouth, trying to figure out what woke him.

Voices.

Voices woke him, right outside of his door. And they’re voices he recognizes, too, a whole cacophony of them; Scott and Malia, Stiles and Derek and Lydia, Nolan and Mason and Alec and Corey. The whole McCall pack—or it’s younger members, anyway, Theo thinks, certain that somehow, somewhere, Argent was just irritated and didn’t even know why—is stood outside of Theo’s front door and very clearly about to enter his apartment.

Shit, he thinks, eyes widening. There’s no way that the apartment doesn’t reek of sex, and very possibly of blood, and there’s absolutely nothing that Theo can do about either of those things in the seconds before the door rolls open. Also, he and Liam are both naked, but as long as no one comes bounding up the staircase—not entirely unlikely—that’s a more immediately surmountable problem.

He’s proven right about the smell seconds later when Scott suddenly says, “Oh, jeez...Stiles, wait!”

But it’s too late; Theo can hear the door rolling open, even as the conversation falls silent, everyone curious about Scott’s warning.

“Wait? Why?” Stiles asks, though the point has already been mooted.

Then there’s a few seconds of loaded silence and Theo wonders what Scott’s face is doing—wonders what Derek’s, Malia’s, Alec’s, and Corey’s are doing, too—and feels Liam finally start to stir beside him. Their expressions must be revealing in some way because Stiles suddenly whoops.

“You mean…? Did they…? Oh my god, did they finally screw each other’s brains out?” Then he raises his voice, presumably for the benefit of Theo and Liam, who could hear him perfectly well at his previous volume, “Do you two assholes know how long we’ve all been suffocating in your haze of unresolved sexual tension?!”

So Stiles had put the lube in Theo’s nightstand; at least that was one mystery solved.

Liam turns to look over his shoulder at Theo, his expression a mixture of horror and unwilling amusement, and Theo can’t help it; his face scrunches up and he starts to laugh, helplessly. Liam follows suit seconds later, rolling over so that he can bury his face in Theo’s shoulder, his laughter quickly turning to snorts as the true absurdity of the situation takes him over. Theo tilts his head so he can bury his face in Liam’s hair and laughs with him.

Downstairs, there’s a flurry of hissed whispers—Theo catches Scott responding to Stiles’ earlier question by saying, I don’t know, probably as long as we all had to suffer through yours and Derek’s, followed by Malia adding, not to mention yours and Lydia’s—while Mason, Corey, and Nolan all break out into helpless giggles and Alec shakes with silent laughter; Theo is familiar with it, because Alec has spent a lot of time since coming to Beacon Hills trying not to laugh at Theo. Which, in hindsight, he thinks, glancing down at Liam’s bent head, was maybe entirely deserved.

“Okay, look,” Theo finally announces, loudly enough that the humans can hear him, too, “If you assholes would just exercise some goddamn manners for a moment and stay downstairs, we will come meet you.”

Stiles’ only response is to wolf-whistle, but from the sound immediately afterwards, Derek smacks him upside the back of the head.

“Sure, Theo,” Scott says, sounding an unfortunate mixture of contrite and gleefully amused, “We’re going to start cleaning up, okay?”

Theo assents and waits until he hears the sound of the door rolling shut, the stomp of feet as the pack troops in, stepping gingerly around the broken glass and strewn tchotchkes covering Theo’s floor. Someone opens the closet with all the cleaning supplies, and Lydia—bless her—starts planning the most efficient cleanup, and all in all it means that Theo feels comfortable enough that he and Liam aren’t going to be ambushed by dickish pack members to flop his head back and then tilt it to smirk softly at Liam. Liam grins back at him, his arms folded underneath his head, and then he leans forward and kisses Theo.

He probably means it to be brief but Theo catches his head, holds him there so that he can deepen it, lick into Liam’s mouth. The sound of the pack downstairs falls away and Theo starts to lose himself in it, Liam shifting some to more fully cover Theo’s body, when something clangs hard against the loft railing and they both jump, breaking apart.

“No,” Theo hears Malia say forcefully, “Absolutely not.”

He and Liam both freeze, and then both immediately crack up with laughter again. Downstairs, he can hear the commentary start up as the pack draws the obvious conclusion, and eventually Liam turns his head and yells god, fine, rain on my parade, then turns to grin at Theo.

They get up after that, pad into the bathroom. If the sex was all they had to worry about, Theo would feel perfectly comfortably just pulling on clothes and going downstairs to torture the other supernatural-sensed pack members in retaliation for their once again breaking into his apartment, but his shoulder, stomach, and neck are all covered in streaks of dried blood, and while Theo had done his best to lick it all out of Liam’s mouth, there are still hints of Theo’s blood in the corners of Liam’s lips. Theo hops into the shower first, planting a restraining hand on Liam’s chest when he tries to join him.

“Malia will actually kill us,” He says regretfully.

“Fine,” Liam huffs, but then he runs his gaze down Theo’s body and smirks, molasses-slow, “But you’re going to make it up to me later.”

Oh, Theo could do that. As it is, he risks Malia’s wrath to tug Liam in for a quick and dirty kiss, then pushes him back—ignoring Liam’s indignant protest—and finishes getting in the shower. He’s in and out within five minutes, leaves the water running so that Liam can head in directly after him; Liam retaliates for earlier by pushing Theo up against the sink and kissing him thoroughly, Theo’s cock starting to harden and twitch against Liam’s stomach, before he pushes away with a grin and darts into the shower. Theo groans and covers his face with his hands, willing his erection away, and then goes to get dressed, find something— including underwear—for Liam to wear.

When they descend the World’s Most Impractical Staircase ten minutes later, it’s to raucous applause and cheering. Theo just rolls his eyes, but Liam raises both middle fingers, though his uncontrollable smirk ruins it a bit. After they hit the main floor he jogs forward a few steps to catch Corey in a headlock, Corey having been one of the most obnoxious clappers. Corey laughingly protests and Mason comes to his “rescue,” jumping on Liam’s back. They all go down in a tumble, Nolan and Alec dodging back out of the way, Alec catching Nolan’s waist as he stumbles, Nolan tossing him a warm and completely besotted smile.

Theo leaves Liam to his fate and heads to the kitchen, where Derek is depositing a dustpan of broken glass into the trash. Derek looks up at him as Theo comes in and makes for the cabinet with the glasses, and even he can’t hide his amusement.

“Yuck it up,” Theo mutters, “We still beat you and Stiles by a good year.”

Derek barks out a laugh and just claps him on the shoulder as he heads back out to the living room, broom in hand. Theo gets his glass of water and drinks it, listening to the sound of the pack outside in the main room. He closes his eyes for a moment, savoring it; back in Monroe’s warehouse, choking on his own liquifying esophagus, Theo had been sure he’d never have the opportunity to do so again.

When he opens his eyes and turns to head back to the living room, Alec is standing in the doorway, one hand on the jamb. Theo stops and stares at him, Alec’s scent hot and his pulse racing.

“Alec,” Theo starts, completely unsure what he’s going to say, but Alec moots it.

He surges forward and Theo catches him, wraps his arms around Alec just as tight as Alec wraps his arms around Theo. Alec isn’t crying—Theo can’t smell tears—but he’s shaking, his head buried in Theo’s chest.

“I’m never going to forgive you for making me leave you there,” He swears, even as his scent and pulse give lie to his words.

“I know, Alec,” Theo murmurs, tightening his grip and pressing his temple against the top of Alec’s head, “I know, I’m sorry.”

They stay like that for a few long minutes, and then eventually Alec’s shaking subsides and he pulls back from Theo. His eyes are red but dry, and Theo can’t help himself; he reaches forward and clasps his hand around the back of Alec’s neck, pulls him in so they’re forehead to forehead, just like they were before Theo’s capture, before Theo made Alec leave him to Monroe’s nonexistent mercies.

“Think of it this way,” He tells Alec, his voice attempting to be light but mostly failing, “Now that Scott’s taken away my ability to pretend like I don’t know I’m part of this pack, you can make me spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Alec laughs brokenly, “Oh, I promise you. I will.”

Theo pulls back from him but keeps his hand on his neck, looks at him for a few long seconds, then just says, softly, “Good.”

Theo waits in the kitchen for a few minutes with Alec while Alec waits for his healing to erase the evidence of his red eyes, for his pulse to calm and his scent to return to baseline. Taking a chance—and genuinely happy for him—Theo makes an offhand comment about Nolan, breaks out into a wide grin when Alec just colors and ducks his head, smiling happily. Theo pulls him back in for another hug, but this one is congratulatory, warm, contented. Alec laughs and hugs him back, then lets him go, says, I guess I better get back out there to him, huh?

“Guess so,” Theo agrees, and laughs quietly as Alec grins and goes.

But Nolan appears in the doorway after Alec leaves, Mason hovering just over his shoulder. Theo’s expression sombers and he bites his lip, meets their twisted expressions.

“God, come here,” He finally orders, and they both rush him.

He catches them both, one arm around each of their shoulders. He cups the back of both of their heads with his hands, presses his forehead first against Mason’s bent head and then Nolan’s. They’re squeezing him hard enough, one on each side, that he’s actually having some trouble breathing, but Theo doesn’t care; he really, really doesn’t care.

“We begged Alec the whole way to Yreka to turn back,” Nolan tells him face buried in Theo’s shoulder and his voice thick, “But he just kept saying that if we did, we’d just get captured and then you would have died for nothing.”

Theo tightens his arms around them both, his eyes starting to burn. He drops the hand he’d had on the back of Nolan’s head to his neck, feels the thin, raised scar there. They stay like that for a good few minutes, and then Mason pulls back some, his cheeks wet.

His grin is a little broken, but there’s genuine amusement in his voice when he says, “Shohreh is really pissed at you, by the way. When we told her what had happened she said that was a stupid way to die and went off to start yelling at all of her betas to get ready to go to Beacon Hills. After Scott called to say that they had you, that you were going to be okay, she, uh…”

He trails off, looking a little embarrassed, but Theo just smirks, “No, please. What’d she say?”

Mason grins, and even Nolan, who pulls back from Theo some, but only enough so that he can see Mason’s and Theo’s faces, is smiling.

“She said you have to come see her now so that she can give you remedial lessons in how to not be, um. ‘A fucking strategic catastrophe,’” Mason finishes, coloring some as he repeats Shohreh’s words.

“Great,” Theo mutters, but as he says it he realizes he means it sincerely, and he’s pretty sure it shows in his voice.

Mason laughs and steps back into Theo’s grip, and Theo tightens his arm back around him, does the same to Nolan when Nolan does the same. And then Stiles, being Stiles, interrupts the moment.

“Hey, you three can’t avoid cleanup duty by having touching reunions in the kitchen all night!” He yells; almost immediately afterward, there’s the sound of Lydia sighing and a small twack as someone—Derek? Scott?—smacks him in the arm.

Theo rolls his eyes but lets go of Mason and Nolan, smiles at them softly when they step away. Mason scrubs at his wet cheeks to get rid of the tear tracks, while Nolan presses the heels of his palms briefly against his eyes and then drops them. They grin at Theo one last time and then turn to head back out into the living room, Mason pausing briefly in the doorway to kiss Corey, who’d come in at some point to lean against the brick. He watches Mason and Nolan as they rejoin the others in the living room, and then he turns back to Theo. At Theo’s raised eyebrow, he grins.

“I heard there were touching reunions happening in here,” He says breezily, but underneath his scent spikes, just briefly.

Theo laughs wetly and reaches out a hand, uses it to pull Corey in when Corey takes it. Corey’s hug isn’t as desperate as Alec’s or Mason’s or Nolan’s—there’s a part of Corey, and likely always will be a part, that can’t help but see Josh and Tracey every time he looks at Theo—but it’s tight, and it’s relieved.

After a minute or so Corey pulls back, quirks a smile. He searches Theo’s eyes for a moment, his jaw working, and then he pulls his lower lip into his mouth, bites it and releases it, then seems to make up his mind about whatever he’d been wrestling with.

“You were a seriously shitty alpha,” Corey tells him bluntly, and Theo winces even as he can’t help but snort of a laugh—talk about a massive understatement—but Corey’s not done. His lips are twitching like he’s fighting his own smile at Theo’s reaction, and then he adds, softly, truthfully, “But I honestly don’t know what we’d do without you now.”

Theo’s chest clenches and he smiles, a little brokenly, replies, “I’m going to do my best from now on to make sure you don’t have to find out.”

“Good,” Corey says, then, grin going mischievous, adds just a little louder, “Because Liam would be frankly unbearable otherwise.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Liam’s answer comes floating in from the living room; both Theo and Corey snort with laughter.

Corey studies Theo for a few seconds longer, Theo standing still under the scrutiny, and then he smiles one last time and turns to leave. Theo closes his eyes and sags back against the counter, and then thirty seconds later he sighs and cracks one eye open to look at Stiles.

“So we’re doing kitchen confessionals, huh?” Stiles asks.

Theo just squints at him, “Why does everything you say sound dirty?”

“Hey,” Stiles tells him imperiously, pointing at him, “We both know you should be thanking me for that little gift I left you, don’t act like you don’t appreciate my insight.”

But Theo just hides his amusement, asks Stiles seriously, “You spend a lot of time thinking about my sex life?”

Stiles makes a face, “Only when I have to spend months and months watching the world’s most awkward mating dance. Seriously, you two were pathetic.”

Theo just laughs, shakes his head, comments, “This touching reunion of ours is not very touching.”

Stiles snorts, dismisses Theo’s statement with a wave of his hand, “Maybe you need someone to keep that ego of yours from getting too big. Might prevent you from single-handedly taking on two dozen hunters again like a moron.”

Some of the humor drains out of the situation and Theo sobers, some, meets Stiles’ eyes seriously, “Maybe it will.”

Stiles looks at him for a moment and then mutters Jesus; he steps forward until he can grab Theo’s shoulder and yank him in for a brief, but tight, hug. Then he steps back and punches Theo in the shoulder.

“You realize you have responsibilities now, you know that? As my temporary replacement as McCall pack chief strategic genius, you can’t keep pulling this shit,” He says.

Theo makes a face, unsure which part of Stiles’ statement he wants to challenge first, settles on repeating skeptically, “Your replacement?”

“Yes, my replacement,” Stiles repeats, “That map of yours was totally a play on my brilliant whiteboarding skills.”

“You’re delusional,” Theo assures him, but his wide, amused smile is probably ruining the effect somewhat.

“You’re in denial,” Stiles quips back, “Now, c’mon, I wasn’t kidding about the hiding in here with the touching reunions, let’s go.”

He grabs one of Theo’s arms uses it to drag him forward far enough that Stiles can get behind him, push him forward. Theo deliberately locks his knees and stands still, just to prove he can, just to make the point, but when Stiles huffs and rolls his eyes—Theo can’t see his face, but he knows he did—Theo deliberately starts to move, lets Stiles finish pushing him out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

It already looks significantly better; most of the unsalvageable items have already been cleared away, while the ones that we’re in okay shape or harder to destroy have been rearranged back on Theo’s bookshelves. Alec, Nolan, Mason, Corey, and Liam seem to be in some involved argument about optimal placement; Liam is saying something about feng shui like he knows anything about it, Mason making a disbelieving face next to him. When he sees Theo exiting the kitchen he breaks off, grins widely at him; Theo returns it, ignores Stiles behind him sing-songing, pa-thet-ic.

Stiles lets him go once they get far enough away from the kitchen that he’s apparently confident Theo isn’t going to run back into it, makes a beeline for Derek, who’s emerging from the cleaning supplies closet with a wet mop. He makes zero effort to actually help Derek as Derek gets the cleaning pad attached to the base, just starts pestering him until Derek pauses to yank him into a hard kiss and then push him away again, Stiles grinning like he just won something. But he does leave Derek to clean up the last of the broken glass, the mop meant to pick up any slivers, and goes to join Scott on the floor, who has the pack of wire coyotes in front of him and is carefully working their limbs and figures back into place.

Theo watches as Stiles picks one up and starts working on it, then glances up when Malia appears on silent feet next to him. She’s holding his collection of markers in her hands—they’d been strewn across the floor when one of the hunters tossed the mug they’d been held in off the shelf—obviously looking for a place to put them. He’s about to suggest just throwing them on his kitchen counter until he figures out what to do with them—he arguably doesn't need them anymore, what with Monroe dead—but Malia just switches them to one hand so that she can pull him into a somewhat awkward, just a shade too-aggressive hug.

He blinks, a little taken aback, but reaches out to wrap a reciprocal arm around her waist. Malia drops her arm but doesn’t move away, just frowns at him. Theo stays still and waits.

“Don’t do that again,” She finally tells him simply.

Good old Malia, Theo thinks, fighting back a grin, always cutting straight to the heart of the matter. This time he reaches for her, pulls her into a proper hug, though her hand with all the markers in it gets caught between their chests, their caps digging uncomfortably into his sternum. He lets her go soon enough and pulls back to smile at her.

Malia nods sharply, apparently satisfied, and heads towards the kitchen; she’d apparently had the same idea about where to put the markers as he did. He realizes Scott is watching him and quirks a smile at him, Scott returning it and dropping his eyes back down to the figurine in his hands.

That just leaves one pack member.

Theo slides into the seat next to Lydia at the table, who has a pile of glass pieces in front of her, multi-colored and variably-shaped; the remains of the strange, twisting figure that Scott had seen at some craft market on one of their hunting trips and picked up for Theo, and that Theo had placed on his table, finding that he’d liked messing with it while working with the map. She’s carefully fitting it pack together, a tube of superglue at her elbow. When Theo joins her at the table she raises one perfectly-shaped eyebrow but doesn’t look away from her work.

“What, is it my turn?” She asks dryly, and Theo could choose to take her tone personally, he guesses, but he knows better.

Instead he just laughs quietly under his breath, answers, “Guess so.”

She snorts and doesn’t reply, just picks up the tube of glue and squeezes a small amount onto one of the glass pieces, matches it to one of its fellows. Theo waits, content to watch her work in silence; he’s got the sound of pack surrounding him, the scent of it filling his lungs, and her hands are mesmerizingly graceful as she pieces the figure back together.

“That’s the second time you’ve made me watch you die,” She finally says.

Theo bites his lip, “I know. You and Liam could start a club.”

“No,” Lydia says, suddenly severe; she sets the pieces in her hands down gently, but firmly, turns to look at him, waits until he looks at her, a little surprised, “Liam had to watch you dying. I had to watch you die.”

Oh, Theo thinks, understanding: a banshee’s predictions; she’d seen the whole scenario play out, including how it could have ended. Lydia’s scent goes hot and she looks away, though her expression stays mostly serene, just a hint of a distressed wrinkle between her brows. Theo feels his chest clench, guilt saturating his veins. But Lydia gets control of herself again soon enough, takes a deep breath and lets it out, picks the pieces of the figure back up and gets back to work. They sit there in silence for a few more minutes, enough time that Lydia manages to piece the full figurine back together; nearly perfect, just a few chips missing here and there.

Theo looks at it when she sets it down gingerly, then up at her. She meets his eyes and studies him thoughtfully, then says, “You ready to stop being an idiot and admit you’re a vital part of this pack?”

Theo can’t help it; he drops his gaze away from her penetrating stare. But he doesn’t look at the table or the floor; he looks out at the pack. Scott and Stiles working on the figurines; Malia taking the mop from Derek to go clean up a different section of floor; Corey and Mason alphabetizing his books for some reason; Nolan and Alec sitting pressed against each other, Nolan looking up at him and then darting in to give him a quick kiss, Alec coloring happily.

And Liam, who notices Theo’s attention and smiles at him, his whole face lighting up with it. He bites his lips to try and control his smile but it doesn’t work, just crinkles his eyes further; Theo smiles helplessly back, his pulse spiking and his whole body prickling with warmth. Then Liam looks away, back to his conversation with Alec and Nolan, and Theo watches him for a moment, then turns back to Lydia, who’s studying him patiently.

“Yeah,” He tells her, that fire in his ribs burning strong, “Yeah, I am.”