Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Don’t worry. It’ll be easy. You just have to seduce him.” 

Theo outright chokes on his energy drink. He puts the can down, contents sloshing over the rim onto Stiles’ desk and dangerously close to his laptop. If that sugary mess as much as touches that thing, it's gonna die a slow death. It's barely holding on as it is. Theo coughs with the most indignant expression to ever grace the face of someone basically suffocating on sheer liquid sugar and caffeine, Theo stares at Lydia who pats Stiles’ chest. He doesn't look at all worried about the laptop. Probably because daddy is going to buy him everything. His cheeks are endearingly flushed as he sucks a breath and says, “we’re not in a TV show.”

Despite the clear lack of air, it seems like Theo's brain is still working. “That,” Stiles agrees, jutting his index finger multiple times in the other boy's direction.

Lydia doesn’t acknowledge either of them, instead holds the maroon V-neck shirt up — a shirt Stiles is eighty percent sure he didn’t own before today. But that’s a bold statement since he hardly knows the contents of his own wardrobe. He wears clothes until they have holes. That’s about the extent of fashion sense he has. Lydia knows that, hence why she’s here and enlisted Theo to help him for— for what exactly? Dressing him up to get dirt on the hunter from Brett Talbot? They don’t even know if there's any dirt on the hunter, and if word gets out, this plan can blow up in his face.  

“This color looks fantastic on you,” she decides and pushes the shirt against his chest. “Put it on.”

“Lydia,” Stiles whines, taking the shirt from her, only to drop it on the bed behind him, “I’m about as seductive as a vermin-infected cabbage head.” He doesn't consider himself ugly. If he tries, he can be quite attractive. It's the process of seducing someone that's the fucking problem. He gets nervous and makes a complete fool out of himself. Like, how does one successfully flirt? Is there a book for that? Or a YouTube video? There's gotta be a YouTube video. There's one for everything.

Theo snorts and hops off the desk with an obnoxious amount of elegance and style. If Stiles had done it, the white suspender would’ve probably caught on something, and he would’ve brained himself on the edge of his nightstand. But not Theo. No . Ridiculously hot Theo has to jump off the desk looking ridiculously attractive and his traitorous black t-shirt has to ride up to show off his ridiculously great abs. As if his perfect ass in those tight jeans isn’t already enough of a struggle.

“Sweetheart.” Lydia reaches for her coffee cup and eyes him critically over its rim. “How did you lose your virginity?” 

Stiles loves her, he really does, but there are moments in his life — like this particular one — where he wishes she would've gone on ignoring him for the rest of her life. His gaze darts to Theo, who’s gotten suspiciously still while inspecting the open drawer, and he shrugs. “Accidentally.” That's not the type of story he wants to tell. Especially not in front of Theo. Nobody knows about it aside from those involved. He still doesn't remember the dude's name. Which is the worst part about this. 

“Accidentally?” Theo echoes turning around with a raised brow. “And how, pray tell, does one lose their virginity accidentally?”

Yeah, he’s not exactly proud of that one. But kissing and sex kind of always happen to him. People just suddenly kiss him, and Stiles is totally on board with it like ninety percent of the time — there are always exceptions, though, not all can be winners. “Well, we sat there and—“ he doesn't actually remember. It was a party. He was drunk and then he was naked. Not a great way to lose your virginity. At least the guy was hot. So there's that.

“It just so happened to slip in?” 

Stiles rubs the back of his head. Even if he remembered anything, Theo doesn’t need to know any details. He feels much more comfortable with Theo being uninformed about his sex life, which does exist. Sporadically. He clears his throat. “Maroon’s my color, yes?” This change of topic feels like a perfect decision. He doesn’t know shit about fashion, Lydia loves it, and Theo can roll his eyes about his carelessness. Perfect .

But Theo doesn’t roll his eyes. Instead, he outright scowls. “Is nobody going to mention that we could fuck up the whole case with a stunt like this? Because it’s- what’s the word?” Theo pauses for unnecessary dramatic effect. “ Illegal .” 

Stiles can’t believe that sentence came out of Theo’s mouth after all the shit he's done since they know each other. But it did, and he’s seriously questioning reality. Something about Theo pretending to be the voice of reason makes him determined to go through with it, though. “Only if you get caught.” Stiles ignores Theo’s deepening scowl, so his imagination can’t even begin to believe that the guy is jealous about Stiles sleeping with people that aren’t him. Because he isn’t. Theo’s just worried they mess up this case, and there will be hell to pay if they do.

Lydia gestures in the direction of the maroon-colored shirt. “This isn’t something you’re going to get by asking politely.” Ushering Theo out of the way, she puts the coffee back on the dresser and continues to fish around for pants. “Either you'll be extremely convincing or you distract him. You know," she shoves a drawer shut and opens another, “bat your lashes at him, pout a little, bend over the bar when you buy drinks— oh, perfect.” She conjures up a pair of black jeans. Stiles wouldn’t have believed he owned them if she didn’t just pull them out of his dresser. What the hell? Where are all these clothes coming from? Did she buy those for an occasion like this and hid them in his wardrobe, so he won’t complain?

“Oh, so just invite him to fuck you, that’s better.” Theo scoffs and crosses the room too aggressively to gulp down the rest of his energy drink. Okay, now , he’s overreacting. 

“Don’t be so overdramatic,” Lydia says, tossing the jeans at Stiles. “We have to get more proof of the hunters harassing werewolves. If they infringed on the treaty, we can lock them up. Losing the case will deal a heavy blow against the werewolf community.” 

Lydia is right. They can’t lose this case. They simply can’t. If they do, it’s not just going to affect the werewolf community. It will be a huge step back for the supernatural community as a whole. A lot of people still love to point at them and call them savage beasts. They can’t let that happen. Not after coming this far.  

Stiles sighs and massages his temple. “Okay, but, seriously… why me?” It is a valid question. Both Lydia and Theo are not only potential hook-ups in Brett Talbot's world, they’re also much, much more experienced and a lot more confident than he is. Again, he knows he’s not bad to look at. If Lydia has her way with him, she'll make the most out of him. It's amazing. But Brett Talbot? That dude plays in a completely different league. So does Theo. And Lydia. The three of them are in the same league, why put him in that position? 

Theo rolls his eyes so hard they might get stuck, and Lydia looks at him as if he questioned the existence of gravity. “Because werewolves have a thing for you, Sweetheart.”

This is not the answer he wanted to hear. “Fine, fine .” Stiles throws his hands in the air, grabs the jeans and shirt, and turns to leave for the bathroom — he’s not going to get undressed in front of Theo Raeken, no, thank you. “But I still do it my way. No sex. Not even kissing. Nothing. Communication is key, and I’ll prove it to you, Lydia.”

——————

“Shut up,” Stiles yells, turning around in the passenger's seat, “just shut the fuck up. Oh, my god.” He runs his trembling fingers through his hair and closes his eyes. It’s a choice he regrets almost immediately. Blood. So much blood. He takes a deep breath, that does nothing to calm his nerves, and turns back around, glancing at Theo. When he puts a hand on his thigh, Stiles grabs it, holds on to him as if he’s the only person who can keep him afloat. 

Maybe that’s true. 

Theo squeezes his thigh and glances in the rearview mirror. The roads are empty, but it only takes one mistake for the police to stop them. After a moment, Theo returns his attention to the streets. “What is it, Tate?” Theo speaks like someone who doesn't want to startle a scared dog, low and slow, without sounding too threatening.

“I think… I think I lost my ring,” Malia says into the silence of the car. 

Tires screech and the car comes to an abrupt stop. Stiles holds Theo’s hand in a death grip. His other flies up, grabbing the seatbelt as it tightens around his chest and shoulders. Pain cuts through his torso. Pain that lights up like a wildfire. Everything still hurts . “Fuck,” he spits, and even he doesn't know what he's referring to. Grinding his teeth, Stiles twists his head around to get a better look at Malia. “What do you mean you lost your ring?” 

Theo’s jaw tightens visibly. “Get the fuck out of this car.” 

“And then what?” Lydia intervenes, curling her fingers around Theo’s seat. “If someone finds the ring and the body…” she pauses, taking a deep breath. Yeah, if. Although when seems more likely. They might have buried the body, but that doesn’t mean nobody is going to find it. Eventually, someone will come across it. That’s how these things go. That’s how they always go. And then, they will have the ring, and someone will recognize it as Malia’s. Then the digging starts. “The pictures are out. People know she’s been with us tonight.” She leans forward, not to protect Malia, but to look at Theo and get her point across. Aside from Stiles, she’s the only one who can get through to him. 

“We say she left us,” Theo tells her. “We put the blame on her.” 

“You fucking—”

“No,” Scott says, shaking his head adamantly. “I won’t do it.” 

Theo sneers. “Fine. Then you’re going down as well.” 

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Stiles watches Theo for a few seconds. He can feel Scott staring at him, can feel the demand in his gaze. Surely, Stiles should say something. Surely, he should tell Theo off and remind him that they can’t do it like that. But a selfish part of him wants to agree. A selfish part of him wants to believe it's that easy. 

Especially after what he said earlier today.

The problem is that's it's not that easy. "I touched it."

Theo's head whips around. "What?"

Stiles breathes in and out, feeling dizzy, feeling sick. "The ring. I touched her ring." He doesn't look at Theo but at their hands, at his white-knuckled grip, at his desperation. "I cleaned it and gave it back to her after—" he bites his bottom lip. They don't need an explanation. They know what happened. They've been there. They saw everything.

For what feels like an eternity, Theo doesn't say anything. The air inside the car is heavy, choking. It’s too hot and then not hot enough. Something about the way Theo looks at him makes Stiles want to crawl out of his skin, out of the car, and far away from here. He sucks in a breath as Theo closes his eyes, preparing himself for something. “Okay,” Theo says after another short pause. “Okay, fine.” His voice is calm. Quiet. Almost soft. Even his expression has stopped being murderous. “Let’s get the ring.”

Chapter Text

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck . 

Stiles careens through the courthouse. He’s late. This was so not planned. Not at all.  Jonathan is going to murder him. He’s going to—

“Stiles.” The slick voice of his professor and boss reaches him before Stiles slides around the corner. “Glad you could grace us with your presence.” Jonathan barely reacts to Stiles knocking against then bouncing off the wall. His arm, however, is furious with him. That shit hurt. “I hope there’s a reason for your delay?” It sounds like a question, but it certainly isn’t one. Jonathan doesn’t fuck around. Arriving too late can have some serious consequences on Stiles’ job and studies. “Where’s your suit?”

Yeah, that . Stiles didn’t have time to change into something more court appropriate which Lydia and Theo have taken note of instantly. Her smirk can’t be any more obvious while Theo looks as if his dad just told him he isn’t allowed to drive the family Porsche again. 

“The hunters have been lying about the treaty.” Stiles unfolds the document he’s printed from Brett’s laptop as the guy showered this morning and offers it to Jonathan. This is more important than his outfit.  “There is also a list of every hunter living in or passing through Beacon County.” Stiles briefly glances at Theo, who hasn’t stopped staring at him since he’s arrived. It’s making his skin crawl. “I also found a list of every supernatural creature in the territory. Monroe claims she had permission to pass through Beacon County, but I couldn’t find anything.” He points at the papers in Jonathan’s hands, feeling his excitement bubble up more and more as he continues to go into details. “Based on the treaty, she is already infringing on it by being in Beacon Hills without Satomi Ito and Chris Argent’s permission. We could nail her for that alone, but I also learned that—"

“Mr. Stilinski,” Jonathan interrupts him sharply, and he snaps his mouth shut, stiffening. Although Professor Jonathan Raeken is one of the haughtiest and most unpleasant people he’s ever met, he decided that, as a team, they should call each other by their first names. That he switched to Stiles’ last name isn’t exactly a good sign. 

Ducking his head, Stiles takes a step back. Lydia grabs his hand immediately, squeezing it tightly. She knows full well that if they screwed this up, she is just as responsible as Stiles is. Even more, perhaps, since she’s the one who came up with the idea in the first place. Not that Stiles is going to rat on her. They’re in this mess together. If she goes, he goes with her, and he knows for a fact that it’s the same the other way around. Still, Jonathan would be fucking stupid if he risked firing Lydia. She’s a genius. They won multiple cases together — even those that seemed impossible to win.

After a few moments of silence, Jonathan looks up from the new evidence. His stern expression relaxes into an almost smooth grin. He pushes his fake glasses up his nose, green eyes flashing with interest. “Do I want to know how you got this?” 

Lydia releases her death grip on his hand, and Stiles lets out a breath. Finally . They’ve been working on this shit for days on end with basically no leads on their main target. Unless Stiles’ gut feeling counted as a lead, which wasn’t the case. Jonathan never failed to remind him. As if Stiles doesn’t know he needs evidence. He’s the sheriff’s son. Law isn’t some mystery to him; despite his proclivity to break it every now and then. Not that anybody needs to know.

Stiles clears his throat. “Probably not.” 

“Very well.” Jonathan studies him over the rim of his glasses. “You truly are a peculiar species,” he says after a moment, folding the evidence to slip it into his briefcase. Something about the way he says it doesn’t sit right with Stiles, but he isn’t going to mention anything. Despite the war raging through Beacon County, the world is still in the dark about the supernatural. Some people don’t like it. Most try to keep it that way. Stiles is one of the few humans in the know who didn’t end up becoming a hunter. He’s more interested in becoming the emissary of a pack. That’s why he decided to study law and wanted to work for Jonathan Raeken. It’s the easiest way to get his feet wet. 

Stiles tugs at his shirt. “I did my job.” 

“You did.” Jonathan pushes his glasses up. “Theodore, would you please bring Stiles home?” It’s not a question. Everybody knows it’s not a question, but Theo likes to ignore the obvious. Which is fair. Stiles never walks on eggshells around his dad whether he's wearing his uniform or not. 

Crossing his arms, Theo glares at his father. "He reeks." 

"Precisely," Jonathan says, gesturing for Lydia to join him. "We're about to win this case, I don't need him sitting inside the courtroom reeking like one of the key witnesses." This wouldn't be a problem if no other werewolf was around, but Satomi herself is present at every hearing. Plus, half of the jury consists of supernatural creatures in order to keep the verdict fair. Smelling like Brett Talbot the same day he is supposed to make his statement isn't exactly the best idea. But it was either that or being too late. 

Stiles rubs the back of his neck.

"Why can't Lydia do it?" Theo is more of a spoiled brat than previously anticipated.

Jonathan isn't having any of this. "Because I say so, and besides, I doubt opening a book again is going to hurt you. Your grades are abysmal." Nothing is worse than a disappointed parent. They know exactly what to say and how to say it. Stiles knows it from his own dad, but Jonathan has a special kind of flavor to his tone. It's clear that he's not saying it out of love. Stiles always knew that their relationship couldn't be compared to his and his dad's relationship, but this isn't what he expected. This is worse.

Lydia slips past him, grinning at Stiles over her shoulder, and follows Jonathan into the courtroom. 

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “Listen, I—”

“ Don’t ,” Theo interrupts him with a growl. “Just don’t.” Something crosses over his face, something raw and painful. It has always been obvious that something isn’t exactly right between Theo and his parents. Even his relationship with his sister is strained. He never offered up any information, and Stiles never bothered to ask. It’s none of his business after all. 

He still feels guilty. 

“Well,” Stiles says, clearing his throat a little, “we should celebrate your genius idea.” It’s hard to tell how successful he is, and Theo looks at him as if he’s lost his marbles. “I’m just saying. Without your idea, we wouldn’t have gotten the information we needed. That call for a toast.” 

Theo stares at him in silence for a few agonizingly long seconds. Eventually, his lips curl into a smile. It’s barely noticeable, and it vanishes almost as fast as it appeared. “It was a team effort.” 

“ Right .”

“You still reek,” Theo informs him, turning on his heels, and stalks down the hallway. “It’s disgusting.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles follows him.  

——————

“We should call the police,” Scott informs them for the eighteenth time in the last thirty minutes. Pale-faced and wide-eyed, he stands partly hidden behind a tree. Almost as if he believes that just because he can’t see what’s happening, he isn’t complicit. They are so far past this. There’s no way out.  

Lydia is putting her hair in a tight bun, shaking her head in the process. It’s hard to tell for what reason she is doing it. Her face is a hard mask, eyes blank. Stiles is pretty sure she’s in a state of shock. It’ll be merely a matter of time until she’s going to crash like the rest of them. Although Lydia Martin never has a meltdown. She always has her shit together. Stiles is pretty sure that once she’s losing it, he will not be far behind. 

Not that he needs to see Lydia freaking out to freak out himself. A panic attack has been crawling up his spine for the past hour, and the only reason it hadn’t slapped him across the face is that he has learned how to deal with them in the past ten years. Another reason might be adrenaline. The second he’s alone, things will change drastically. 

Somewhere to his right, Malia is gathering leaves and small branches they can throw over their makeshift grave. 

Theo shovels dirt aside, not really caring where he throws it or who he might hit. “Instead of being a fucking wimp, you could grab the second shovel and help me dig.” His forehead is shining with sweat in the trembling beam of the flashlight.

“We should call the police,” Scott repeats. 

This time, Theo rams the shovel into the loose dirt. He whips his head around to stare at Scott. “You’re dead before you’re going to start dialing.” 

“As if—”

“Don’t test me, McCall!” Theo snarls, grabbing the second shovel and throwing it in Scott’s direction. “Dig.” The authority in his voice almost makes Stiles want to drop the flashlight and get a move on, but Theo reminded him that he would only slow him down. Usually, Stiles would have complained, even though Theo is right. They have three supernatural creatures who can dig this grave three times as fast. He still feels useless, standing here and pointing his flashlight in the general direction of Theo’s feet. 

Scott drags his feet all the way, but he grabs the shovel and walks over to Theo. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Stiles glances at Lydia. With the flashlight still between her teeth, she’s taking off her jewelry. One by one, she puts them in her purse. Her focus remains on the body next to the hole the whole time. Her shoulders are tense. It almost seems as if she expects him to get up again. 

Stiles swallows. “It’s time for a picture,” he says, trying to sound strong, maybe even a little commanding. His voice, however, is barely a whisper. 

Theo looks up regardless. “Whose turn is it?” 

“Ma’ia,” Lydia informs them before taking the flashlight out of her mouth. “She’s the last one.” They decided not to post all their pictures at once, so they could spread them out over the evening. It’s the easiest way to give all of them an alibi. Plus, if people are asked if they saw them, they’re going to agree. Especially when confronted with a picture. Nobody’s gonna doubt them. 

It’s gonna be fine. It has to be fine. 

No.

How the hell can he think this will be fine? They’ve killed someone and are currently trying to hide the body. If this ever gets out, they’re going to have a fun time in jail. Stiles isn’t ready for jail. His dad isn’t going to make it in case he ever goes to jail. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on him. Someone has to, or his horrendous diet is going to kill him. 

But they had no other option. He was supernatural. They couldn't just call the police. That's not how this works.

I could've called the police before something happened.

"Okay." Malia wipes her dirty hands on her shorts and pulls out her phone. 

Something is going to happen on our drive home. 

“Tate, take over.” Theo tosses his shovel unceremoniously in her direction and lifts himself out of the almost finished hole. No. Grave. It’s a grave. With only two long strides, Theo is right in front of him. “We’re almost done.” His words are soft. “It’s over soon.” That’s not right. The worst is just going to start. The moments they look over their shoulders will follow soon. They're going to expect the police at every corner. They're going to check the news, waiting for the body to be found. They're going to lose their minds. 

Stiles glances at the body and takes a deep breath.

They killed him. 

"Don't worry," Theo whispers, hand running down his arm before intertwining their fingers. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and Stiles stares at him, selling dryly. "He's never going to touch you again."

Chapter Text

“Hey.” 

Stiles blinks and stares at Theo. What the fuck? Since when does Theo Raeken venture into the dorms of their university by himself? Two days ago, Lydia had to basically drag him here by his suspenders. Yesterday, he simply dropped him off in front of the doors without another word. Sitting in a car with Stiles smelling like Brett Talbot clearly pissed him off again. Theo is a hard person to please. 

Not that Stiles wants to please Theo in any shape or form. Unless Theo wants him to. He might be persuaded.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me, or can I come in?” Theo asks, glancing down the hallway. 

Stiles is way too stunned to say something. So he steps aside and gestures vaguely. Theo brushes past him like he couldn’t get into his dorm room fast enough. The horror of being seen in the dorms. His reputation would suffer extremely if someone saw him here. 

Fucking idiot. 

He closes the door behind Theo and crosses his arms. “What do you want?”

Theo doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he observes the mess on Stiles’ unmade bed before briefly studying the side of his roommate. Although Stiles wouldn’t call him neat, Donovan is a very particular person, and Stiles should probably try to clean his side of the room before he comes back from his class in an hour. “Dad wants to throw a party,” Theo says without looking at him. Instead, he crosses the room in long strides and bends over Stiles’ desk. 

“So?” Stiles tugs at his shirt absentmindedly. 

“You’re invited.” 

“So?”

Theo turns around, scrunching up his nose. “Why do I smell blood?” 

“Because you werewolves are physically incapable of keeping your noses out of other people’s business,” Stiles snaps. Although he’s spent the last few years with werewolves in his life, he still isn’t used to this constant supervision. Not rooming with Scott was a breath of fresh air in the beginning. He could come and go whenever he wanted, could hookup with whoever he wanted. Nobody made a big deal out of it because nobody smelled it on him. But the more time he had to spend with Donovan as his roommate, the more he wished the only things he had to deal with were Scott’s swooning of whoever he’s currently dating as well as his mildly hypocritical view of Stiles’ one-night stands. 

“That’s not an answer to my question,” Theo replies, sniffing the air again. 

Fucking werewolves. 

“Well, you didn’t answer mine either.”

“As I said, Dad’s hosting a celebratory party. I’m supposed to pick you up.” Again, Theo is reduced to a driver, although Stiles made sure to include Theo in the reason for their success. Jonathan listened in. He must’ve had. It would be the first time he didn’t use his supernatural hearing to his advantage. “After all, you’re our star. Well, technically your dick is, but…” Theo trails off, finishing his statement with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I didn’t peg you as a law-abiding prude.” 

“I’m not a prude.” 

“Whatever gets you through the day, buddy.”

Before he knows it, Theo has Stiles pinned against the door, hand pressed to his chest, and way too close for comfort. By too close he means close enough their noses almost brush against each other, close enough that they’re sharing the same air, and all Stiles wants is for Theo to finally be clear on why he really hated Lydia’s idea so much. He should be happy that they solved and won the case. He usually doesn’t care if they’re acquiring information in a not quite so legal way. That was never the problem before.

Theo bares his teeth, fingers curled tightly into the front of his shirt. 

“What’s your fucking problem?” Stiles asks, both hands firmly pressed against Theo’s shoulders. Not that he could actually do anything against him. The jerk doesn’t move an inch. 

“You are my fucking problem!” Theo snaps, pressing closer. “You and your stupid everything.” He lets out a breath and leans his head forward, pressing his cheek to Stiles’. “You have no idea how it feels to sit next to you, to see you everywhere, to spend so much fucking time with you without being able to touch you the way I want to… to be with you the way I want to.” 

Stiles swallows, squeezing his eyes shut. Oh god. 

“You have no idea how much I want you.” His fingers tighten, “and then you’re fucking Talbot.” 

Despite himself, Stiles shivers. Heat creeps into his cheeks, and he isn’t entirely sure what to make of this. Stiles wanted Theo ever since he’s seen him for the first time at the beginning of the semester. Theo is everything a guy could want, and now he’s standing here, telling him he wants him. That’s not easy to handle.

“You know,” Stiles whispers, “you could’ve just asked.”

Theo whips his head up, staring at him with wide eyes. Swallowing heavily, he parts his lips. It looks like he wants to say something, but Stiles doesn’t let him. Without another second of hesitation, Stiles crashes their lips together. Theo moans in the back of his throat, hands finding his waist immediately. He tastes like everything Stiles could’ve ever wanted. 

Finally. 

—————

“This is insane,” Scott whispers, pressing the balls of his hands to his eyes. 

Stiles bounces his leg. If Scott keeps freaking out, people will notice that something is wrong, and the only reason they’re on this party in the first place is that they’re not suspicious. 

Not that Malia chewing on her nails is of any sort of help. They couldn’t be any more obvious if they tried. 

“We have a dead bod—”

“Quiet,” Lydia snaps, waving at someone in the crowd. 

Perfect. Stiles nods. That’s perfect. If they’re seen here, they’re not going to end up in the circle of suspects. That’s exactly what they need. That’s everything they could have ever wanted. 

“Babe,” Theo whispers, crouching down next to his chair, “you want something to drink?” Although he’s smiling, the crease between his brows is pretty obvious. Theo is always so fucking worried. Before they even started dating, he didn’t stop pestering him about the blood he smelled in his dorm room that one time. He was worried when—

“We should go.” Malia gets to her feet in one swift movement. “Get it over with.”

Lydia purses her lips. “We arrived ten minutes ago,” she hisses after a moment. “Sit down.” Not for the first time, Lydia’s word is the law. It’s hard to say ‘No’ to her, especially not when she’s using that voice. Scott can flash his red eyes all he wants, he sure as hell isn’t going to win against Lydia when she’s put her mind to something. 

And right now, her mind it set on sticking to the plan. 

Stiles looks at Theo again and nods. “Yeah,” he whispers, knowing he’s far too silent for his usual self. Not that too many people would notice. His group of friends isn’t exactly notorious on campus. They usually keep to themselves. It’s only after Lydia, Theo, and Stiles started working for Jonathan Raeken, and consecutively hanging out more, that more people started noticing him. 

Everything was so much easier two months ago. 

Theo straightens again and pulls Stiles to his feet. His hand is warm in his, fingers intertwining easily. It makes him feel safe. Theo makes him feel safe. At this point, Stiles is pretty sure Theo standing by his side is the only thing that keeps him afloat. Because Theo knows what he’s doing. Theo can make this all go away.

“Twenty-six minutes,” Lydia reminds them. Yes, twenty-six minutes until they drive off and bury the body. That gives them 106 minutes to come back here for the fireworks. Their alibi is going to be rock solid. It’s going to be fine. They won’t have anything to worry about. In 106 minutes, his life will go back to normal. 

More or less. 

Theo gently tugs at his arm, and they slip into the mass of people on their way to the kitchen. Alcohol sounds like a fantastic idea right now, but Stiles knows better than to cloud his mind. But it’s not just that. Everything that might threaten the tight control he has on himself right now is a terrible idea. The mental breakdown is already knocking on his door.

Stiles squeezes Theo’s hand tightly. 

“Hey, Stiles!” Lori waves at him, motioning for him to stop. She puts her own drink down before making her way towards them. In-between all these college students, Lori looks kind of out of place. In fact, she looks so young, it’s hard to believe she’s sixteen already. 

Theo’s lips curl into a tight line. 

Stiles tries to ignore that his legs feel like rubber. 

“Hey, Hi. Sorry to jump you like that,” Lori says, without her usual bright smile. “I just need to ask you something.” 

Stiles presses the tips of his fingers against the back of Theo’s hand. He wouldn’t be surprised if his knuckles are white at this point. “Sure.” Stiles clears his throat. “Sure, what’s up?”

Drawing her eyebrows together, Lori twirls a strand of her around her finger. “Brett was supposed to be here an hour ago.”

Oh.

“Uh…” Stiles rubs his left eyebrow. “I don’t know.” 

Theo tugs at his hand, shooting him a look. “Who cares where Talbot is? Let’s go.” 

Stiles bites the inside of his cheek, glancing from Theo to Lori and back again. He didn’t expect her here. Running into her is one of the worst possible things that could’ve happened to them. Because she might notice. She might see them disappear. She might—

“If you see him,” Lori says, pushing her hands in the pockets of her jeans, “will you tell him I’m looking for him?” 

Theo tags at his arm, firmer this time. “I don’t know why we should.” 

“Please?” With her shoulders pulled up like that, Lori looks terribly small.

Stiles nods, swallowing heavily around the lump in his throat. “Sure… sure… I’ll tell him.” 

“Thank you.” 

Theo starts walking again, pulling him along without another word. 

Chapter Text

“You look like someone ran you over with a car.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I look like a lacrosse player.” He glances in the mirror, catching Theo watching him from his bed. If he had the chance, he would never get out of Theo’s bed ever again. It’s so much more comfortable than his own — and his roommate isn’t around. That’s the biggest bonus. If he had the chance, he would’ve moved out already. But it’s not exactly working out right now. Maybe one day, he is going to be lucky enough and get a new roommate. 

Or he’ll stay with Theo for as long as he can.

“That bruise on your back looks like someone punched you,” Theo informs him, frowning.

Stiles quirks a brow. “You’ll get wrinkles.” 

“You’re wearing protective gear, don’t you?” 

“Oh, my god,” Stiles breathes, turning around to face Theo again. “What is this? I have a bruise on my back. It’s not that big of a deal.” Theo pulls his shoulders up and sighs. He acts as if Stiles behaves outrageously. It’s a bruise. Just because he’s a supernatural creature and doesn’t know what a bruise looks or feels like doesn’t mean he needs to panic over it. Plus, it’s not the first bruise Stiles’ had, and it most certainly won’t be the last. Especially not in the near future. “I’m just saying… first the blood, now that bruise…”

“Theo, please...” 

"I know who your roommate is—"

Stiles turns around. "Theo, I don't need to be babied by you.” 

With a huff, Theo gets out of bed. He’s only wearing boxer briefs, and it’s distracting. Very distracting. That body is unfair, and as if it’s not enough that he’s hotter than hell, he knows it too — and he clearly enjoys using it to his advantage. “What happened?” 

“Nothing happened.” 

Theo draws his eyebrows together, gaze darting to his chest and back up again. When Stiles raises a hand, he stops immediately, curling his lips into a disapproving line. “Stiles,” he says, his voice so much gentler than his expression, “you can talk to me.” 

“It’s a fucking bruise,” Stiles snaps, “and I have it because Jackson takes lacrosse too seriously. That’s it.” Curling his hands into fists, he watches Theo’s gaze drag to his chest again. It remains there for a while, expecting his heart to be a traitor. “I’m not lying.” This is exactly what every liar would say, but werewolves don’t care about stuff like that, they care about chemosignals, about hearts skipping a beat. That’s why Stiles learned to control all of that. 

And although he didn’t need to use it for quite some time, his skills hold up. Theo’s shoulders relax a little. “What about the blood?” 

“I cut my finger on fucking paper,” Stiles replies, wriggling his index finger in the other boy’s face. “Any other questions?” This conversation is getting him more worked up than it should. He’s angrier than he needs to be, his heart hammering harder against his chest than Stiles would like. 

Theo, however, smiles and grabs his wrist, kissing the palm of his hand. “I’m just worried.” 

“Because I’m human?” Stiles pulls his hand away, lips pressed into a tight line. No matter how much he likes to pretend that he’s stronger than the average human, he isn’t, and his supernatural friends love nothing more than to remind him. It’s infuriating. “Because I’m breakable? Because—”

“Because I care about you,” Theo interrupts him, gripping his upper arms tightly. The confession shocks him into silence. “Why do you think I was so pissed when Lydia pushed you towards Brett? I couldn’t care less about the fucking case. I cared that you were supposed to wrap Brett around your little finger to get information. You think I didn’t know you two would end up fucking?” Scoffing, Theo lets go of him and folds his arms over his chest. 

Stiles swallows heavily, running a hand over the nape of his neck. This isn’t quite the answer he expected if he’s being perfectly honest. “I didn’t really… I didn’t plan it.” 

“You never plan it, do you?” 

Not really. Sex is… sex. He’s not going out looking for it, and he wouldn’t have minded if the evening hadn’t ended in sex with Brett. Sure, it made sense in how the evening developed but… Stiles pulls his shoulders up. “I… I didn’t plan it.”

Theo taps a finger against his upper arm and draws his brows together yet again. “You wanted to sleep with him, right?” 

“This feels like a trick question,” Stiles says, opting for an innocent smile. He doesn’t want to answer that question for multiple reasons. For one, if he’s being honest, Theo will most likely be pissed off. For another, if he’s really honest, Theo isn’t going to enjoy that answer any more. Sleeping with Brett felt like the right thing to do in the end, and it's not that it wasn’t fun. Brett is hot, and he certainly knew what he was doing. Admitting that is going to end in a disaster. Admitting that he did it because it felt like the logical next step sounds worse. 

Luckily, Theo snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. After a moment of silence, he reaches around Stiles, pulling him close. “Stay the night.”

Oh, fuck. “Uh—” Stiles doesn’t really know what to say to that. He always made it a point to go home after a hook-up. He never stays the night. The only reason he left Brett’s frat house so late was that they’d been out until five in the morning. If he can help it, however, he leaves and goes home to his own bed, or kicks the other person out. It’s easier to deal with. After all that intimacy, he needs to be by himself. 

Theo kisses his throat. “Stay with me,” he whispers. 

————

“Stiles, Stiles.” Theo kneels down in front of him, cupping his face with both hands. “Stiles, I need you to stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay with me.” 

With everything going on, it’s not particularly easy to do that, but Stiles takes a deep breath and focuses on the familiar face in front of him, on Theo whose there for him, whose saved him, whose going to keep saving him. He’s protected. He’s okay. He’s fine. As long as he sticks with Theo. That’s all he has to do. Stiles breathes again and nods. “Sorry, sorry, I just…” he shakes his head. “I’m okay.” He rubs his hand over his face. He can’t wait for this night to be over. He needs it to be over soon, or he is going to lose his mind. 

Steeling himself, Stiles stands up again. 

Theo curls his fingers around his chin. “You can go home. I’ll deal with this.” 

As considerate as this offer is, Stiles can’t do that. For one, being alone sounds like the worst fucking idea Theo has had in a long, long time. For another, he got all of them into this situation. The least he can do is go with them and make sure that, if they get caught, he’s the one to take the bulk of the blame. It’s his fault, after all. They wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t— if he hadn’t—

“We should go.” Lydia grabs Stiles’ hand, her fingers cool against his skin, or perhaps his skin is way too hot. It’s hard to tell. Either or. It doesn’t even really matter, does it? No. No, no. It doesn’t. Not even a little bit. What matters is that they leave. They should leave right now. 

Stiles nods and turns to look at Scott and Malia, who is standing next to the rug. If you didn’t know what’s in there, it almost looks as if they decided to do some late-night renovations. Stiles wishes that would be the truth. It would make everything so much easier, but there’s nothing he can do. Nothing aside from keeping his shit together and getting through this night and bleach his brain. He needs to forget. He wants to forget. He has to forget, or he is never going to be happy again. 

Well, he killed someone. Not being happy is probably going to be his punishment. 

Stiles takes a deep breath and presses his free hand to his face. 

“We can’t do that… right?” 

Malia glances at Scott. Despite everything, she’s been with Theo so far. She helped clean the floor, helped roll the body into that rug. She even seems to be ready to carry the body outside. That doesn’t change the fact that they’re never going to be an item again, but he still appreciates the help. At this point, it seems that Scott is going to be their biggest problem. 

Stiles lets go of Lydia’s hand. “I’ll check if someone’s outside.” 

“There’s nobody outside,” Theo tells him, eyes darting to the front door. Right. Who would be here? They're in the middle of fucking nowhere. 

Lydia twirls a strand of hair around her index finger. “What about Brett?” 

Scoffing, Theo folds his arms over his chest. “He’ll be fine.” Although he probably hopes he’s not. Theo isn’t exactly a fan of Brett Talbot. Considering the situation, Brett can be lucky that Theo only snapped his neck and didn’t rip his throat out.  

“Do you think he saw something?” Stiles picks at his bottom lips, watching Theo brush past him to get to the body. 

“I'm going to kill him if he did.” 

Chapter Text

“Did you know that the Texas Chainsaw Massacre is based on a true story?”

Theo hums in acknowledgment, pressing small kisses to the side of his neck while Stiles is trying to choose something to watch. It’s doubtful that they’re going to manage and watch a movie this time, considering how spectacularly they’ve failed in the past two weeks. Theo can’t keep his hands to himself. Every single time, they met, they ended up having sex. Which makes sense. They’re in the beginning stages of what’s probably a relationship. At least, Theo is great at sex, which didn’t really come as a huge surprise. However, Stiles would like to spend a normal date with Theo. One that doesn’t end in sex. Just to make sure that they’re on the same page. 

“Well, I mean it’s not really based on a true story. But the killer is inspired by Ed Gein.” Stiles scratches the side of his nose, trying his hardest to ignore Theo’s mouth on his neck, his hands on his lower back, and fingertips inching their way into his sweatpants. “So… there’s actually no truth to it. Then again, if you consider that Gein wore masks and Leatherface does too. Maybe it is based on a true story after all. I wonder how much truth— stop laughing . Why are you laughing?”

Theo tries to stifle his laughter, but he fails miserably. Not that it stops him from kissing his neck. Well, to be fair, Stiles could’ve just grabbed his laptop instead of sitting on Theo’s lap. But it’s hard to resist him completely. Especially when he’s smirking at him in his very Theo way. It’s pure sex, and it’s fucking rude that the guy has so much power over him even when Stiles isn’t really in the mood. 

Theo parts his lips, sucking skin between his teeth. 

With a quiet groan, Stiles closes his eyes and tips his head to the side, offering Theo more room. It doesn’t take much more for him to grab Stiles by his thighs and get to his feet. Although he usually makes a point of being extremely annoyed by the werewolves’ blatant display of strength, Stiles cannot deny that it’s hot as hell — especially when Theo uses it for sexy times. It’s hard to complain when he does that. Still, after this, they probably should have a conversation about their relationship. Stiles would enjoy their sexy times a lot more if he knew what’s going on between them. 

Just as Stiles hooks his fingers around Theo’s belt, someone opens the door rather noisily. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Donovan slams the door shut hard enough that everyone on their floor knows exactly what type of mood he’s in. “Can’t you go fuck your callboy at his house?” 

Clearing his throat, Stiles pushes Theo off him immediately. The look of disapproval doesn’t go unnoticed, but Stiles ignores it for now. This isn’t the time for an explanation. Not that Theo needs an explanation. Like ever. Donovan is just a bit complicated. And angry. He’s usually angry. How he’s still on the football team is a mystery to Stiles. Coach would’ve kicked someone with that type of anger issues off the team without batting an eyelash. But Donovan always manages to get around serious punishment. 

For now, at least. 

“Sorry.” Stiles pulls his blanket towards him. It’s not going to do much against Donovan, but it offers him at least a little bit of comfort. 

Theo squares his shoulders. “Chill out, Donati.”

“Oh, piss off, Captain ,” Donovan spits, throwing his backpack across the room. It bangs against his desk. 

Stiles pulls his legs to his chest, trying to relax his shoulders when Theo shoots him another look. “Didn’t you say you’re not coming home tonight?” He could’ve sworn Donovan mentioned something. And besides, it’s Friday. Donovan is never home on a Friday evening. He usually spends his time getting wasted with his gang. 

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?” Donovan scrutinizes Stiles’ side of the room, curling his lips into a clearly disapproving line. “Fucking clean up for once in your life, will you?” 

Before Stiles can open his mouth, Theo has jumped to his feet, curling his hands into tight fists. “Watch it, buddy.” 

“I’m not your buddy, Cap, and I suggest you fuck off before it gets ugly.” Donovan might be taller than Theo, but he’s most definitely no match for him. Still, as much as Stiles would like Theo to give Donovan the beating he deserves, that would come back and bite him in the ass after all. 

Stiles scrambles off the bed and grabs Theo’s wrist. “Let’s go somewhere else.” It’s not like him to tug tail and run, but living with Donovan is already bad, he doesn’t have to make it worse. 

“He can’t just throw me out.” Theo narrows his eyes, gaze roaming over his face. “This is your room as well.” 

Donovan scoffs. “Oh, don’t worry. After he’s put his dick in you or… whatever, he’ll throw you out.” With a smirk that’s so much more unpleasant than Theo’s, Donovan folds his arms over his chest. “You’re not the first.” 

Stiles can feel Theo’s pulse quicken underneath his fingertips. Donovan might be angry all the time, but Theo is very easy to piss off. It doesn’t take more than a single wrong word for him to lose his composure. Seems like Stiles has a knack for finding guys with anger issues. “Theo—”

“Things are a bit different now,” Theo says in a low voice. 

Donovan snorts out a laugh. “I’m sure Heather thought the same thing when she appeared here a week ago.” That’s— Donovan never mentioned anything. Why did he never tell him that Heather has been here? “Don’t get your hopes up, Raeken. Stiles fucks whoever is nice to him.” 

Stiles feels heat rush into his cheeks, and he turns away, busying himself with looking for his backpack. His eyes start to burn. All he wants is to hide under the covers, to hide away from Donovan’s gaze drilling into his back. He needs to get out of this room. Now . “Let’s just go,” he says quietly, pushing a few fresh clothes in his backpack. He’s aware that Theo notices the change in his heartbeat, knows he takes note of every single chemo signal. And he wishes he wouldn’t. Because while Theo isn’t usually that involved in other people’s lives, he’s almost a bit too much invested in Stiles’ — and this won’t be something he’ll let slide. 

“What’s going on?” Theo reaches for his hand, but Stiles pulls away. This room has gotten way too small all of the sudden. It always seems too small when Donovan is here. Luckily, he’s hardly ever around. It didn’t use to be that way. There was a time when they were getting along. But that’s in the past. A lot of Stiles’ relationships ended in the past. He’s not very good at maintaining them, it seems. Well, Lydia is still with him, so he can’t be completely terrible at it.

This relationship, however, needs to be over rather sooner than later. Stiles shoves his laptop into his backpack then lifts his notebooks. His phone. He turns around, surveying the room. Where’s his phone? He’s seen it not too long ago. If he weren’t so fucking messy—

“Hey,” Theo says, grabbing his upper arm, “what is going on?” 

“Yes, Stiles, what’s going on?” Donovan sneers, sitting down on the edge of his desk.

Stiles swallows around the lump in his throat. “I just want to leave,” he whispers, locking eyes with Theo. “Please, let’s just go.” 

————

“Let’s go,” Malia says, snatching her ring from Stiles’ fingers. “Let’s leave now.” 

“And then what?” Theo asks, pulling Stiles close to him, grip tight around his arm. “Let someone else find him?” Him . The body. A body. His body. They killed him. He killed him. He’s actually dead. 

Calm down .

Lydia shakes her head vigorously, causing her red curls to fly back and forth. “We can’t just leave.” 

“Let’s call the police,” Scott says, looking exactly as sick as Stiles feels. “They need to know there was a murder.” 

“Murder?” Theo snaps. “It was self-defense.”

Lydia purses her lips. She doesn’t need to say it out loud. This wasn’t self-defense. Not really. Not in the way Theo is thinking, but Theo knows the full story. Theo knows what happened. Because Stiles told him. Stiles trusts him. But in the end, It doesn’t matter. He killed someone, and his defense might not hold up in court. Why didn’t he call the police? Why didn’t he ask for help? Why didn’t he go somewhere else for the time being? People don’t like street justice when there are other ways he could’ve solved this problem. He’d end up in jail. They all end up in jail if they’re staying here.

Stiles can’t let that happen. They need a plan. They need to do something. They can’t just leave him here. If somebody finds his body… if someone— Stiles suck in a breath, tries to, at least. But his chest constricts, and his throat is as raw as if he screamed for an hour. Maybe he did. Stiles doesn’t really remember. Everything happened so fast. He sucks in a breath. This time, it’s easier. “We have to get rid of the body.” And they have to do it fast. 

Theo wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, and kisses his temple. If he had the chance, Stiles would hide in this embrace and until everything is dealt with. But he can’t. Not now.  

Scott gestures vaguely in the direction of the body on the floor. “You killed someone. We can’t get rid of the body. He’s—”

“Lost his right to live the second he touched Stiles,” Theo cuts him short. 

“It wasn’t self-defense,” Lydia whispers. 

Stiles curls and uncurls his fingers. “It’s justifiable homicide.” He doesn’t know who he’s trying to convince. The body at their feet is telling a different story. The knife, now cleaned and put back where it came from, tells a different story. Fucking hell . Stiles swallows heavily. They already got rid of the murder weapon. They’ve cleaned up the worst. 

This isn’t self-defense.

This is premeditated murder, and he’s not going to let his friends take the fall for what he did. He’s going to find a way to get them out of this.  

Lydia bites her bottom lip, eyes darting over Stiles’ face. He can tell the exact moment her resolve hardens. “Okay.” She nods, more to convince herself than anybody else. “What do we do?”

Scott runs his fingers through his hair. 

Malia keeps looking from Stiles to the body and back again.

That’s a good question. How do they get rid of the body? How do they fix this? They can’t. They cannot fix this. Stiles presses his hands to his face and sucks in a breath, focusing on Theo’s arm around his shoulders as best as he can. He can’t lose it now. All he has to do is remember that Theo is his saving grace.

“Guys, we have to—”

“Shut the fuck up, McCall!” Theo snarls, his grip around Stiles’ shoulders tightening protectively. “Nobody is going to call the police, do you understand?” 

Stiles rubs his eyes, pointedly ignoring the body. Instead, he focuses on Malia twisting her ring back and forth on her middle finger. He blinks. The ring. Stiles widens his eyes. Jewelry . Oh. “Robbery,” he says, turning to look at Theo again. “We could make it look like a robbery. Drop him… the body…” he trails off.

But Theo already understood what Stiles is going for. “You’re right,” Theo says, curling his fingers gently around his jaw. “The nearby forest is a good place for that. Shit’s always going down there.”

“Before we leave,” Lydia says, gesturing around the room, “we have to make sure this room is clean. We’ve never been here.” 

Theo kisses the corner of his mouth. “You’re going to be fine, you hear me?”

Stiles nods.