Chapter Text
“You’re late.”
Stiles didn’t bother turning his head. He knew who was standing beside his seat. It had just been a matter of time. If he was honest to himself, he had waited for Theo to arrive eventually. Because that’s how it was; that’s how it had been – at least until retribution had followed his actions. Theo would come to him whether Stiles needed him or not. For whatever obscure reason, he had never stopped. Even when everything he could have possibly wanted had been within reach, Theo had turned on his heels to worm his way even further underneath Stiles’ skin.
Obviously, not even hell could keep him.
“I never meant to come between the two of you.”
When he occupied the seat beside him, Stiles closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk. Not to Theo, not about Scott or Scott-and-Stiles; about what they were now and what they had used to be. He remembered a time where Stiles had been sure they would survive everything. They had walked through thick and thin together – but then the nogitsune had come and gone and Allison died; and suddenly everything had changed. They couldn’t take a breather, couldn’t talk about what had happened – instead, they had needed to save Derek, and Scott had trained Malia, Lydia had mourned Allison. Then Liam had been turned. Malia had climbed through Stiles’ window at night and they had stumbled into a relationship Stiles still wasn’t sure he wanted. He had accepted it because it had distracted him. The assassins, Kate, the Berserkers had followed.
Then Derek had left, and the Dread Doctors and Theo had found residence in Beacon Hills. Chimeras had started rampaging their hometown, Jordan had stolen dead supernatural creatures, Lydia had almost died and La Bête du Gévaudan had slaughtered more people than the nogitsune on its best days.
Luckily, Stiles, unlike Scott, hadn’t missed submitting his applications. Stanford, Amherst, Harvard, Yale, MIT, Princeton – nothing ordinary; only the best. Lydia had made him do it, knowing the grades he had, hoping they could go to college together. But Harvard had declined and shattered Stiles’ hopes with it. What had he been thinking? He wasn’t as smart as Lydia. He was average smart, average everything. What would a University like Harvard want with someone like him?
But every other University had accepted him. With a full scholarship.
He remembered his fingers shaking as he had called Lydia. She had come over immediately, pulled him into an embrace, kissed his cheek, showered him in love and pride and happiness – he had called only Lydia. They had occupied the living room, Stiles almost bursting with energy. The beast was dead, Kira was fine, Hayden survived, and Stiles had been accepted to a shit-ton of awesome universities. He had wanted to call his father, but Lydia had stolen his phone, told him to tell him in person, told him John would be so proud.
They had gone through the universities, made lists, checked for dormitories – Lydia had mentioned switching, mentioned they could live together, study together, start over together. They had listened to music and bickered and cooked a vegan meal for his father. Stiles had felt good.
Lydia had been right, as per usual. His father had been proud and told them over dinner that Claudia had gone to Stanford too. It had been the moment Stiles had known where he had to go; and Lydia had followed him.
Only when Lydia had left, and his father had glanced at him in a peculiar way that Stiles had noticed someone missing during the festivities. But, right then and here, he couldn’t care less. His future had been in bright letters in front of him. He could make his father proud, could visit the same university his mother had been to, he could live with Lydia.
They had started over together.
During the rare moments Stiles allowed himself to let his thoughts wander, he couldn’t help but realise how the whole scenario seemed like a strange dream. Not too long ago, Lydia had neither known nor much cared about him while Stiles had the biggest crush on her. Now they were here, they were their own little pack, best friends, a family. It had been six months since then. Six very calm, very great months in Paolo Alto Stiles wouldn’t trade for anything. Six months in which Natalie, Stiles, Lydia and John had become a family, a family without blood and romance.
Stiles didn’t want his life to come crashing down around him because Theo was back. Perhaps he had expected his arrival ever since Liam had freed the chimera. But to be prepared for Theo was something else entirely; he doubted, sometimes, anything could ever prepare him for his presence.
It took a long time for Stiles to reply. “I thought we’re all telling the truth now.”
A hand dropped on his back, careful and caressing. The fingers dug in a little harder, pressing against skin and bone; not hard enough to produce pain but not weak enough to completely ignore either. Stiles bolted upright because it’s Theo, he pulled away because it’s calming.
If the movement affected him, Theo didn’t show it. “Don’t get me wrong,” the chimera began, self-assurance almost palpable as he talked. “I wanted you in my pack, yet, I never intended to break up your friendship.”
Right, he’d only intended to kill him.
“Great job, Theo. You want some fucking reward on how marvellous you did?”
From the noise the chimera was making, Stiles assumed he rolled his eyes at him. He didn’t look at him to check if his assumption turned out to be correct. “Sometimes it isn’t about what you love but about what you need.”
And what Stiles needed was obviously Theo fucking Raeken. Of course. What else could there possibly be Stiles ought to have? He’s able to write a list with things and people who were more useful to him than Theo could ever be. Lydia was high up there as well as his father, Natalie, Derek and the rest of the Hale pack. He needed his old body back, wanted his old body back. He needed to feel right again. With Lydia here, he felt like he belonged at last. She made him feel needed, wanted. She made him feel loved.
Scott had made him feel like a liability – long before he’d found out about Donovan’s death.
“You’ve changed,” Theo remarked after it became clear Stiles wasn’t going to reply to the psychological counsel. He didn’t even know what he could have said. The statement wasn’t new information or some form of miraculous cure. He had gone through enough bullshit to know he sometimes had to decide against what he craved, what he loved.
Stiles straightened eventually but he didn’t yet turn to look at Theo. His mind still wanted to opt for the theory that the chimera was a sick delusion his subconscious had come up with because it couldn’t believe his life to have become better suddenly. It was far from perfect still, and he would have a long and bumpy road ahead of him. The nightmares only slowly became less frequent. He continued to be wary of strangers, distrusted too easily. Monsters and beasts were expected behind every corner as much as humans craving power.
In the end, it didn’t matter what his brain tried to come up with. His body knew Theo was real, and finally, he turned to look at him.
“You haven’t.”
Theo had stayed the same. His hair was still neatly styled. He still wore pink sweaters and looked ridiculously manly in them. The eyes locking with his were still exceptionally hazel, with the optional blue sprinkled in when the lightning caught them just about right – and the smirk on his lips still begged Stiles to smack it away from the annoyingly handsome face.
No, nothing had changed.
Stiles couldn’t tell if he was glad or extremely pissed off at that notion.
“You want to continue the reunion somewhere more private?” Theo smirked at him in a way that irritated Stiles more than he’d like to admit.
“Did hell toast your brain?”
But Theo seemed so confident his words were hard to consider a bad joke. There was something sincere in the way he looked down at Stiles. The smile blooming on his lips didn’t make him look like a maniac for once. Still, Stiles had to remind himself that this was Theo – and expecting something good out of his words or actions was dangerous territory. “Stiles-“ his name rolled too easily of Theo’s tongue. “You have to trust me.”
“Trust you?” Stiles stared at him in disbelief. “You lied and hurt- you killed people, Theo. People I care about!”
“I’ve made my share of mistakes,” Theo admitted, and he sounded as if he meant it. Believing him was still so incredibly hard. “But I never lied to you. I’ve always been honest with you.”
“How was hell?” Stiles doesn't bother to be quiet, after all, they were the only ones on the late-night bus and the driver, that much he could rely on, was too busy listening to his old music tapes. “I heard Satan doesn’t take too kindly on lying scumbags.”
Theo didn’t look hurt, he didn’t even look bothered by the statement. Which was, to some extent, highly enraging. He wanted Theo to be angry at him, to give him a reason to be an asshole instead of acting like he understood the resentment – not that Stiles cared much about hurting Theo’s feelings. If he did, at least he would know the guy had some.
“You don’t understand-“
“Maybe I don’t want to understand.”
Theo still didn’t look a little hurt or annoyed. He just sat there, expression calm and patient – as if he had expected this reaction all along, as if he had known Stiles would react this way.
“Let me explain,” Theo said after a silence dragging on and on, a silence in which Stiles clung to his anger as if it were likely to kill him as soon as he would let go. “Let me try to explain. If you still want me to go then I’ll go.”
It was a chance too good to pass, hence he accepted. “Shoot.” Stiles crossed his arms. “But don’t expect much.”
“Let me start with a question-“ Theo watched a young couple getting on the bus, giggling and kissing and being so aggravatingly in love- “why are you here with Lydia?”
“What?” Stiles looked away from the couple to glance at his unwelcome seatmate.
“Okay, I’ll rephrase: Why are you here with Lydia instead of Scott?” Theo didn’t smirk although Stiles had anticipated his lips to curl into the familiar position. “Wasn’t it Scott-and-Stiles against the rest of the world forever and ever?”
Stiles rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. Still, Theo had a point. There used to be a time in which Stiles truly believed that nothing ever could come between Scott-and-Stiles. They had been a unit. Truth be told, it was nothing more than memories of the past. They had begun to drift apart long before the nogitsune, and while Scott had made him feel like he hadn’t had a place at his side any longer, Lydia and Derek had carved one for Stiles in their lives. Worst part? Theo’s lie had made Stiles realise how damaged Scott and his relationship had truly been.
“She makes you feel like you belong, doesn’t she?” Theo asked with the smile Stiles had expected a while ago. “Now let me tell you a story about a boy who never belonged anywhere, not even in his own family. Let me tell you the story of a boy who was always a failure even when he was successful at something.” He sounded bitter at the memory, and for the first-time Theo seemed almost human with his fingers curled tightly around the backrest of the seat in front of him. “Then he met another boy at a skate park, who couldn’t stay on a skateboard to save his life.”
Stiles scoffed at the memory but it snuck up on him anyway. Scott and he had had their first fight that day because Stiles had wanted to go skateboarding and Scott hadn’t had any inclination of coming with him because of his asthma. So, Stiles had ended up going alone although he had accompanied Scott to the lacrosse training a few days earlier, which obviously had been less exhausting than skateboarding. It hadn’t been the only time Scott had shot him down during their friendship. Some things, however, would first become clear after ten years had passed, and a companionship ruined.
“They had gotten along great and for the first time, the boy had felt like he belonged somewhere. That is until the other boy’s best friend had come to join them.” Stiles wondered if he could’ve stopped it. If he had seen Scott’s sudden interest in skateboarding as the jealousy it had been- if he hadn’t persisted that he should come, that he should meet Theo, could he have prevented the Dread Doctors from creating their first chimera? Could he have protected Tara, could he have stopped a nine-year-old boy from apathetically watching his big sister freeze to death? He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and focused on Theo’s words instead. “Although friendly, the best friend had made sure to break said connection and as the boy had gone home that day, sad and angry, he had met the Dread Doctors.” Theo tightened his grip around the backrest, knuckles turning white. “They promised to make him better.”
Stiles heard the plastic crunch under the pressure. The sound reminded him that Theo wasn’t innocent. He’d treat another person not any different than the seat in front of him if the situation demanded it. “And you killed your sister. If you are trying to score pitty-points-“
“I’m just trying to make you understand,” Theo interrupted him irritated.
The words caught Stiles off-guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Fine, your childhood sucked. Do you think mine was any better?” He merely glanced at Theo, then continued to stare out of the window. He couldn’t see anything but the bus’s interior. Still better than the chimera’s fucking face right now. “My mother died believing I was trying to kill her. My father drank too much alcohol, neglected me. I was an outsider, a spazz – and yet I managed not to kill someone.”
Until Donovan.
“Until Donovan.”
Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. Although he was aware Theo had heard it, he tried his best act unaffected. “Oh no-” finally, he looked at the other’s reflection, catching Theo’s eye in the process. Why did they know each other so well? It didn’t make any goddamn sense. “I’m talking about hands on murder.” Not the accidental one, the one where someone fell and was impaled on a pipe after a chase in a High School’s library. “You know, the ripping somebody’s throat or intestines out kind of murder.” Because that’s what Theo did, and it’s a difference. Stiles felt bad about it. The guilt made it hard to sleep every single night. He curled his hands into tight fists. "This is my stop.” It wasn’t. In fact, his stop wouldn’t come for twenty more minutes. But he needed to get away from Theo, from the memories. “Crawl back into the hole Liam got you out of.” The side of his fist connected with the button, and he wriggled past Theo without daring to look at him. He didn’t want him to see.
Before he could leave, however, Theo grabbed his wrist, tight and unrelenting. For a moment, Stiles feared his bones would snap under the pressure. “Remember what I told you.” Theo knew this wasn’t Stiles’ stop. He could probably tell Stiles rather walked around half an hour home than to continue their conversation. He was aware Stiles had straight up lied to his face - and yet he didn't do anything about it. No quip, not a single mention of his heartbeat.
“I’m done with the crazies.” Stiles had left Beacon Hills behind for the chance of a normal life. Lydia and he had decided they desperately needed this – even if it meant to move away from their friends and families. His father most likely worried Stiles would never come back to Beacon Hills outside of a visit, which he kept to a minimum. But his dad came over as often as his work allowed. They talked on a daily basis. Stiles swallowed, still looking in the other direction. “Okay? I’m fucking done.”
Theo scoffed because he knew.
Stiles pretended he hadn’t heard him.