Chapter Text
Stiles was laughing when his phone buzzed against the table.
Lydia had just crushed Scott at charades—again—and everyone was mid–mock outrage, pizza boxes littering the table, half-empty soda cans everywhere. Malia was half-shifting just to snarl at Jackson for gloating. The whole thing was a mess, loud and stupid and exactly what pack nights always were: chaos with love underneath it.
And then his phone lit up with Theo’s name.
He didn’t think much of it at first. Theo sometimes called when he got bored of pretending he didn’t like people. Stiles grinned, grabbed the phone, and answered on the second ring.
“Yo, you’ve reached the Stilinski hotline, caller number one thousand. Congratulations, your prize is me answering anyway,” he said, loud enough for Scott to roll his eyes.
Theo’s voice came back, quiet. Too quiet. “Hey.”
That was the first crack in the noise around him. Stiles straightened a little. “Theo,” he said, easy, automatic. “What’s up? You skipping out on game night finally catching up to you? You missing our collective idiocy?”
There was a pause—just long enough for Stiles’s grin to fade a little—before Theo answered, “Something like that. How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know,” Stiles said, leaning back in his chair, trying to fill the air, “Lydia’s wiping the floor with everyone at charades again. Scott’s pretending he’s not cheating with werewolf hearing, which, by the way, total lie. Malia’s eating all the pizza. Jackson’s being Jackson, which means everyone hates him but he’s somehow still winning. Typical pack night.”
Theo didn’t laugh. Stiles could hear him breathing, slow and uneven. “That sounds nice,” Theo said finally, voice faint.
“Yeah, well, it’d be nicer if you were here,” Stiles said, smiling again even though something in his chest tugged wrong. “You know, for moral support. Or at least to give me a chance to beat someone at something. Come on, you ditched early. What’s got you so busy you can’t come get destroyed at Monopoly?”
For a second, there was silence on the line. Then Theo said softly, “I just needed some air. Wanted to see the stars.”
Stiles frowned, glancing at Scott, who was mouthing who is it? across the table. Stiles waved him off. “The stars?”
Theo nodded on the other end; Stiles could hear the faint sound of wind. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t even know you liked stars,” Stiles said, voice light again, teasing but gentle. “You’ve been holding out on me, Raeken. You know there are great places to go stargazing in Beacon Hills. You can’t just pick the first big cliff you find and call it astronomy.”
Theo’s voice was soft. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”
Stiles smiled. “I will.”
And then there was silence again. Long enough that he noticed it. The kind of silence that felt wrong. He stepped away from the table, toward the kitchen, lowering his voice.
“Hey,” he said, quieter now. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Theo said. But it didn’t sound like yeah.
“Theo.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Theo said quickly. Too quickly. “You know I love you, right?”
Stiles froze.
The words hit differently this time—like they weren’t just words, like there was something heavy under them.
“...Theo, what are you doing?” he asked, his heart suddenly thudding fast, his voice tighter than before.
“I’m watching the stars,” Theo said, but his voice cracked, just a little.
Stiles didn’t think. He just moved. His hand shot for his keys, chair scraping loud against the floor. He could feel the pack watching him now, Lydia already standing.
“Theo, where are you?” he asked, already halfway to the door.
“Lookout Point,” Theo said quietly.
Stiles cursed, hard, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. “Okay, I’m coming. Don’t move. Just—stay there.”
“Stiles, don’t.”
“I’m coming anyway,” Stiles said, firm. “Now stay on the line.”
“Stiles—”
“I mean it.”
He was out the door, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his hands. His Jeep roared to life before anyone could stop him. He heard Lydia calling his name as he sped off, but he didn’t slow down.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Theo said, voice breaking through the speakers of Stiles’s car.
Stiles gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles went white. “Then let me try,” he said, his throat burning. “Just wait. Please, Theo. Wait for me.”
The sound of Theo’s breath came through the line, shaky, uneven.
“You shouldn’t come,” Theo said, and he sounded tired. “You’ll just get here too late.”
“Stop saying that,” Stiles snapped, flooring the gas pedal. The road blurred past, trees flashing under the headlights.
Theo laughed weakly. “You’ve always been stubborn.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not making it easy,” Stiles said, voice shaking now despite him trying to keep it steady. “Theo, I swear to God, if you do something stupid before I get there—”
“You’ll what? Hate me?”
Stiles’s throat closed. His eyes stung. “No,” he said, voice cracking. “I’ll hate myself.”
There was a silence that made the whole world seem to go still. Stiles swallowed hard, blinking fast, forcing himself to breathe.
Theo’s voice came soft, almost like he was talking to the night instead of to him. “You shouldn’t. You’ve already done too much for me.”
“I haven’t done enough,” Stiles said, gripping the phone tight against his shoulder as he shifted gears. “Because if I had, you wouldn’t be up there right now thinking this is the only way.”
He could hear Theo sniff quietly, his voice small. “Stiles.”
“Yeah?”
“You were the best part of my life.”
Stiles’s whole body went cold. “No,” he said immediately, almost yelling. “No, don’t you dare start saying goodbye. I’m not—Theo, I’m not losing you, you hear me? Just stay there. Please.”
Theo laughed—a small, shaky sound that hurt more than silence. “I’m not saying goodbye.”
“Then what are you saying?” Stiles demanded, but his voice wavered, panic crawling up his spine.
There was a pause. He could hear movement, maybe the wind. Then Theo said it:
“That I love you. And I’m sorry.”
“Theo, stop it!” Stiles’s hands trembled on the wheel. His heart felt like it was splitting in two.
“I just wanted to see the stars with you one more time.”
Stiles’s breath caught, the sound tearing out of him. The Jeep roared up the winding road, gravel spitting under the tires. He could see the glow of the lookout ahead, faint through the trees.
“Theo, listen to me,” Stiles said, voice breaking now, desperate. “I’m close, okay? Just wait. You can hate yourself later, you can cry, you can scream, you can throw things, I don’t care—but you do not get to do this. Not tonight.”
He could hear Theo’s breathing falter, a quiet sound, broken.
“Please,” Stiles whispered, almost broken himself. “Please wait for me.”
The silence that followed made him want to scream. It stretched too long, too deep, and he gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white. Every second felt like a lifetime he didn’t have to spare.
He didn’t even remember the drive up to Lookout Point being this long, but the road kept twisting, the trees crowding close on either side like they wanted to hide Theo from him. Stiles’s mind was spinning with flashes—Theo’s laugh, the way his eyes looked when he let himself smile for real, the quiet way he said I love you like it was always a risk.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Stiles muttered, pressing harder on the gas. He kept glancing at the phone screen in the passenger seat, where Theo’s name glowed faintly in the dark, the call timer still running. He was still there. He had to be.
The road crested, and the trees broke apart, spilling open to the clearing. The cliff came into view.
And there—outlined in the glow of moonlight—Theo stood.
Stiles’s stomach dropped so fast it felt like falling.
He was on the edge. One hand holding the phone, the other still tucked in his pocket. His shoulders hunched like the weight of the world was sitting there, crushing him down.
“Theo,” Stiles breathed.
He didn’t even remember stopping the Jeep. The tires crunched to a halt on the gravel, headlights flooding the cliff’s edge in harsh white. The beams hit Theo, turned him to shadow and light all at once.
Theo turned his head slightly, but he didn’t look back. His voice came soft through the phone speaker, even as Stiles killed the engine. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“You don’t get to tell me that, Theo!” Stiles said, the words torn straight out of him, shaking. He slammed the door and started toward him, his boots crunching on the dirt. “You don’t get to decide that!”
His breath caught when Theo’s hand came out of his pocket. A small glass vial glinted in the light—bright yellow liquid swirling inside like something that shouldn’t exist outside nightmares.
Theo looked down at it. His voice was soft. “I’m sorry.”
“Theo—”
“Theo, don’t you dare—”
But it was already too late.
Theo uncapped the vial and tilted it back.
Stiles moved. He didn’t think. He couldn’t think. His body just reacted—running, tripping, stumbling over the uneven dirt.
Theo coughed hard, the sound sharp and guttural.
Stiles stopped short, chest heaving, eyes wide. “Theo. What the hell did you just take?”
The vial slipped from Theo’s hand and shattered on the ground, the smell of wolfsbane hitting the air—bitter, acrid, unmistakable.
Stiles’s face went pale, horror flashing through his expression. “Theo—Jesus, no.”
Theo turned toward him then, slowly, like the air itself was dragging him down. His eyes met Stiles’s—and God, they were glassy, too bright, too empty.
He was swaying.
And behind him, the cliff.
“Don’t you move,” Stiles said, his voice breaking. He didn’t even realize he’d dropped his phone until he heard the dull thud somewhere behind him. “Theo, don’t—please. Just stay right there.”
Theo’s mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“You didn’t want me to watch you jump,” Stiles said quietly, voice shaking, understanding dawning in every syllable. “That’s what this was, wasn’t it? You were gonna wait until I—”
Theo didn’t deny it. He didn’t have to.
“You’re such an idiot,” Stiles said, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He was crying now, though he couldn’t even feel the tears. “You absolute—stupid—self-destructive idiot.”
Theo smiled, just barely, weak and uneven. “Yeah,” he rasped. “I know.”
“You think this fixes anything?” Stiles snapped, the words sharp with panic more than anger. “You think dying—hell, trying to die—is gonna make it better? It’s not. It’s just gonna—” His voice broke. He swallowed hard. “You’re gonna break me, Theo.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them. But they were true. God, they were so true.
Theo’s breath hitched. He looked at Stiles like he was trying to memorize him. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t,” Stiles said, taking a shaky step forward. His voice trembled, but he forced the words out anyway. “Don’t jump. Don’t—don’t make me watch this. Please.”
The wind was sharp, cutting through the silence. The smell of wolfsbane hung heavy between them, poison and regret tangled in the air.
Theo’s voice came again, low and trembling. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Stiles’s jaw clenched. “You don’t get to tell me that anymore.”
Theo swayed again, and Stiles’s heart stopped for half a second. He moved forward, hands raised, trying not to startle him. “Theo, listen to me,” he said, softer now, desperate. “Whatever you think you deserve, whatever you think you did, I don’t care. You don’t get to do this alone.”
Theo laughed once, the sound raw, broken. “I already did.”
“No,” Stiles said, his voice rising, cracking. “You survived. That’s not the same thing.”
Theo’s face twisted like the words hurt. His knees looked unsteady, his breathing uneven.
“I don’t want to hurt anymore,” Theo whispered.
“I know,” Stiles said, his voice breaking right alongside his heart. “I know, baby. I know you don’t. But you will. You’ll heal. You’ve been healing. And if it hurts, I’ll hold you through it, okay? You don’t have to go through this again. Not like that.”
Theo stared at him like he wanted to believe it, like maybe, if Stiles said it enough, he could.
“I don’t deserve you,” Theo said, voice soft, slurred a little now.
“Yeah, well, tough shit,” Stiles said, half-sobbing through a weak laugh. “You’ve got me anyway.”
Theo’s legs wobbled, his balance faltering. Stiles’s stomach dropped. “Theo, please,” he said, stepping forward, voice trembling. “Step away from the edge.”
Theo hesitated, looking down at the drop below. The moonlight glinted off the rocks.
And for a second—just a second—Stiles thought he was going to fall.
Then Theo shifted, a slow, trembling step forward.
“That’s it,” Stiles breathed, every nerve in his body wired and burning. “That’s it, keep coming.”
Theo looked so pale. His body was trembling, eyes glassy. He took another breath, shallow and shaky—and then his knees buckled.
Stiles didn’t even think. He lunged forward, the world narrowing to the space between them, hands grabbing at Theo’s jacket just as his legs gave out completely.
They hit the dirt together, the air leaving Stiles’s lungs in a rough gasp. Theo’s weight collapsed against him, all shaking and uneven breaths.
Stiles’s arms came around him instantly, holding tight like the universe depended on it. “You’re okay,” he said, the words coming out over and over, desperate, trembling. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
But the sound of his own voice broke him. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close. Theo wasn’t answering. His body felt too heavy, too cold. The tremor running through him wasn’t fear—it was the poison working its way through his veins, tearing him down from the inside.
Stiles could feel it. The way Theo’s heartbeat stumbled under his palm. The shallow rise and fall of his chest. The faint smell of wolfsbane still sharp in the air.
And Stiles—Stiles was crying.
Not the quiet kind, not the kind he could brush off or hide behind sarcasm later. No, this was raw, ugly crying. The kind that tore through him, each sob a jagged sound that came from somewhere too deep to control. His shoulders shook as he held Theo tighter, like maybe if he just didn’t let go, he could keep him tethered to this world.
“You’re okay,” he whispered again, voice breaking. “You’re gonna be okay. You have to be.”
Theo didn’t respond, not at first. His breath hitched every few seconds, shallow and slow, and it terrified Stiles more than anything else ever had. He could feel his own heartbeat hammering in his ears, too fast, too loud. Everything was spinning, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop holding him. Couldn’t stop repeating the words like maybe saying them would make them true.
He’d seen a lot of bad things. He’d seen death up close, blood and claws and monsters and everything in between. But nothing—nothing—looked as wrong as this. Theo, his boyfriend, the person who had finally learned how to laugh again, lying limp and trembling in his arms.
And it was wolfsbane. Yellow wolfsbane. Of course Theo would find a way to hurt himself that poetic.
Stiles pressed his forehead against Theo’s, breath shaking so hard it hurt.
Theo made a soft noise, barely audible. Stiles froze, heart leaping. Then he heard it again, a rasp, weak and low. “Stiles…”
That one word hit Stiles like a blade and a lifeline all at once. He pulled back just enough to see Theo’s face. His own vision was blurred from tears, but he could see enough—Theo’s half-lidded eyes, unfocused, his lips pale, trembling.
“Hey,” Stiles said quickly, his hands cradling Theo’s face. “Hey, don’t you dare close your eyes. You hear me? Don’t you fucking dare.”
Theo’s mouth twitched, and Stiles saw the ghost of a smile there. “Language,” he rasped, and Stiles let out something between a laugh and a sob.
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, voice cracking. “You think this is funny?”
Theo tried to shake his head, the motion slow, clumsy. “No. I just—” He coughed hard, pain etched across his features. “I like hearing you talk.”
“Yeah? Then maybe don’t poison yourself next time,” Stiles snapped, though his voice trembled so hard it barely counted as anger. He wiped his sleeve across his face, smearing tears he couldn’t stop. “God, Theo, what the hell were you thinking?”
Theo’s breath hitched. “I wasn’t.”
“Clearly!” Stiles yelled, the sound raw, breaking in his throat. He caught himself and pressed his hand against Theo’s chest, feeling the faint, uneven rhythm there. His voice softened instantly, terrified. “Okay. Okay, we’re gonna fix this. You’re gonna be fine. Just—don’t move. I’ll call Scott, he can—he’ll know what to do—”
Theo’s hand shot up, weak but sure, fingers curling around Stiles’s wrist. “No,” he said, voice hoarse, almost gone. “Don’t call him.”
Stiles’s throat closed up. “Don’t—Theo, I’m not gonna just sit here and watch—”
“Please,” Theo said, the word dragging like it hurt. “Just you. I want it to be just you.”
That stopped him cold. His whole body froze, his lungs forgetting how to work for a second. The words landed heavy, terrifying, final.
“Don’t talk like that,” Stiles said, shaking his head, his voice breaking. “You’re not—this isn’t—no. You’re not dying.”
Theo closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, and Stiles felt panic crawl up his spine. But Theo’s voice came again, soft. “It’s just wolfsbane. It won’t kill me. Not right away.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Theo made a sound that was almost a laugh, broken halfway through. “Didn’t say that.”
Stiles let out a half-sob, half-laugh, shaking his head as tears dripped down his face. His hands trembled where they gripped Theo’s jacket. “You’re such an asshole,” he whispered.
“I know,” Theo said, faint, his voice a shadow of itself.
That scared Stiles more than anything—the way it kept getting quieter. He leaned closer, pressing their foreheads together, his voice shaking. “Stay with me, okay? Just keep talking. Please.”
Theo’s body trembled, a violent shudder that tore through him. His breath hitched again, uneven. “You’re crying,” he murmured.
“No shit,” Stiles said, trying to laugh, failing. A tear slid down his cheek, landing on Theo’s skin. “That’s what happens when the guy I love decides to reenact a fucking tragedy on a cliff.”
Theo flinched at the word—love—and Stiles saw it, saw the pain twist across his face like it cut deeper than the poison. “You shouldn’t,” Theo whispered.
Stiles’s eyes burned. He cupped Theo’s face tighter, forcing him to look up. “Too late.”
Theo blinked slowly, his vision glassy, unfocused. “You don’t get it.”
“Then make me get it,” Stiles said, desperate, voice cracking. “Tell me. Tell me why, Theo. Why tonight? Why now?”
Theo’s throat worked as he swallowed, his breath shaking. “It’s the anniversary.”
“I know,” Stiles said quickly, nodding, frantic. “But you—you told me you were fine.”
“I lied.”
“Then stop lying.”
Theo’s voice dropped, barely a whisper. “It’s her day,” he said softly. “The night I took her heart. I thought… maybe it should be the night I gave mine back.”
The words hit Stiles like a punch. His breath left him, a soft, strangled noise escaping before he could stop it.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice breaking completely. “Theo, no. No, no, no, you don’t get to say that. You don’t—you can’t fix it like that.”
Theo’s eyelids fluttered. “It’s the only thing I can give her.”
“It’s not,” Stiles said fiercely, shaking his head, voice trembling with anger and grief all at once. “You honor her by living, Theo. You don’t make it right by dying. You make it right by being better.”
Theo laughed weakly, a hollow sound. “Better,” he echoed. “I tried.”
“And you’re still trying,” Stiles said, gripping his face, his hands shaking but firm. “You hear me? You’re not done. You think this—this pain, this guilt—means you failed? It doesn’t. It means you care. And that’s more than the guy who killed her ever could’ve done.”
Theo’s eyes filled, tears spilling over even as he blinked them back. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered again, voice slurring slightly now, his body trembling harder.
“You keep saying that,” Stiles said, his own voice shredded, raw. “But you do. You’re not a monster. You’re not that kid anymore. You’re here, you’re fighting—god, you’re fighting right now.”
Theo gave him a faint, almost delirious smile. “You’re good at this.”
“I’m good at loving you,” Stiles said, the words torn from somewhere deep and real. “That’s what I’m good at. So don’t you dare make me lose you.”
Theo’s breath stuttered. His skin was too cold. Stiles could feel the wolfsbane still burning through him, slowing everything down. But when he started to fade, Stiles’s voice pulled him back.
“Look at me,” Stiles said suddenly, urgent. “Theo, look at me.”
Theo’s eyes opened, heavy-lidded, unfocused. Stiles’s face hovered above his—tear-streaked, pale, desperate. “I’m here,” Theo whispered.
“I know,” Stiles said, his voice trembling, almost breaking. “Just stay that way. Please. I can’t—god, I can’t lose you like this. Not when you finally started to believe you deserve to live.”
Theo’s lips moved, barely forming the words. “Maybe I do.”
“You do,” Stiles said fiercely. “You do, and you’re gonna keep proving it. You’re gonna make me yell at you tomorrow for being a dumbass, and you’re gonna hate how much soup I make you, and you’re gonna be alive for it, Theo.”
Theo’s breath shuddered, the smallest smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “Soup?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, voice cracking but sure. “Chicken noodle. Homemade. It’s what you get for almost dying on me.”
Theo let out a weak sound, half laugh, half breath. “You can’t cook.”
“Then I’ll order it,” Stiles said, nodding once like it was fact. “Doesn’t matter. Just—stay.”
Theo’s head fell forward, resting against Stiles’s shoulder. “Hurts,” he whispered.
“I know,” Stiles said, his voice barely holding together. “I know, but it’s gonna stop. Just hang on.”
Theo’s body jerked suddenly, a tremor shaking through him. Stiles’s heart seized. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” he said, voice high and breaking. “Stay awake. Don’t close your eyes. You’re safe. You’re here.”
Theo’s breath came in shallow bursts. “You’re crying again,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, tears falling freely now. “And I’ll keep crying if that’s what it takes to keep you here.”
Theo made a small, wrecked sound, something between a sob and a laugh. His fingers twitched weakly against Stiles’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Stop saying that,” Stiles said, his voice shaking, cracking. “Stop apologizing for being alive.”
Theo’s lips trembled. “You really love me.”
“Of course I do,” Stiles said, his voice raw and open, the truth pouring out like it had been waiting too long. “I’ve loved you through every stupid, broken, beautiful thing you’ve done, and I’m not stopping now.”
Theo’s eyes fluttered shut, his breathing shallow but steady enough to count as hope. Stiles’s arms tightened around him.
“Okay,” Theo whispered, barely audible, like a promise. “Okay, I’ll try.”
Stiles let out a breath that came out like a sob, relief shattering through him. He pressed his lips to Theo’s hair, his voice trembling. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Theo’s hand curled weakly in his shirt, gripping what little strength he had left. His breath still shook, but he was breathing. Alive.
Stiles held him close, rocking slightly, whispering into the night like a mantra that maybe—finally—he believed.
“You’re here,” he said softly. “You’re alive. I’ve got you.”
And he didn’t let go.