Chapter Text
Theo wakes up in the morgue. Tight, dark, and trapped inside a drawer, kicking his way out.
He tumbles to the tiled floor, trembling on hands and knees as his eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent lights. It’s different this time. The thin white sheet draped over his body has since drifted to the ground, and there's a cardstock tag tied around his big toe. Raeken, Theodore. 19yo.
Theo clambers to his feet on unsteady legs, supporting his weight on a metal table against the wall when his hand brushes against a large plastic bag full of clothing. Same label.
Raeken, Theodore. 19yo.
It’s different this time, but he doesn’t know why. Tears open the bag and slips into his clothing—there’s blood, a lot of blood—and braces himself for what comes next. Old memories surface. Long winding hallways, the echo of his name, heart leaving chest. Raeken, Theodore, 19yo creeps toward the door, grasps the handle with a shaking hand, and remembers his death.
He prepares for his eternal punishment.
*
They initially severely underestimated the size of the hunter group. Even with Derek and Peter showing up to aid the pack’s defense, and Argent packing plenty of firepower, there were too many. Fighting a losing battle.
But, for some odd reason, Scott’s pack has a tendency to beat unfavorable odds. They fall into a rhythm of steering clear of the hunters’ onslaught of bullets while taking them down just the same. The tides begin to turn, thank gods. Even if it’s too late.
Too late for Theo, at least. So much for kicking a few hunters' asses and then piling back onto Scott’s couch with the pack, eating Chinese takeout and watching a shitty movie.
That would’ve been nice.
Another bullet embeds itself just below his collarbone, and within seconds he feels the burn of wolfsbane surging through his blood along with all the other wounds he’s tried not to think about. It’s hard to see straight, a black veil encroaching upon the corners of his vision. He forces himself to his feet, ignores the way the world sways before him, and closes the distance between himself and the hunter aiming a gun at him.
Theo uses the last of his dwindling energy to disarm the human, but his hands are blood-slicked and he can’t properly grasp the gun with numb fingertips. In the midst of their fumbling, just as Theo manages to butt his forehead against the bridge of the hunter’s nose with a sickening crack, the trigger is pulled. They both collapse, Theo with a lovely leaking wound in the center of his abdomen to add to all the others in his collection, and the hunter with a broken nose and a likely concussion.
He thinks this might be how it ends, staring up at the stars in the middle of the preserve as his pack finishes the fight around him. Loose-limbed and hazy, all his warmth seeping out into the ground beneath him.
Dying boy pretends not to know he’s dying even though he feels it in the marrow of his bones. Lets his mouth stretch into a dazzling blood-tinged grin as Liam crumples to his knees beside him. The smile drops into a grimace when Liam’s fingers skirt across the holes in his flesh, only to slacken back out into a dazed numbness moments later when the pain leaks out beneath the beta’s fingertips.
“No. No, you can’t,” Liam chokes out. “Theo, keep your eyes open. Stop.”
He listens, dragging open heavy eyelids just to get rid of all that unnecessary anguish in Liam’s voice. So what, Theo took a couple more bullets than he should’ve. Liam doesn’t need to sound so broken up about it.
“We’re gonna get you to the hospital, and you’re gonna be fine. This is all going to be fine.”
Pained human wails sound out around them as the rest of the pack puts this feud to rest. They’d probably be able to end this stupid fucking battle a bit faster if Liam wasn’t clinging to Theo’s side, crying into his ruined t-shirt.
Theo coughs, and it dislodges a clot of blood that spills past his lips. “Nah, it’s not. S’okay, though.”
“Don’t say that, why are you saying that, it’s not true, you—”
“Oh god,” Brett whispers, joining Liam on the other side of Theo’s failing body. “Shit. Okay, we need to...we need to burn it out. That’ll buy us time. Theo?”
“Mhm.”
“I’m gonna get Parrish. I’m gonna get Parrish and he’s gonna fix this and I need you to stay awake. You’re fucking staying awake, okay?”
The wolf sounds desperate, nearly pleading as he forces himself into Theo’s line of sight.
“Yeah…’kay,” Theo mumbles. He’s relieved when Brett leaves, only because he was blocking Theo’s view of the sky. He used to be really good at spotting constellations, but all the stars are blending together now. Celestial lights streaking across his vision.
Liam is still hunched over him, palms pressing insistent pressure against Theo’s skin even though there’s no pain to take anymore. Feels nice, anyway.
“They still need you. It isn’t over,” Theo forces past his lips, sloppy and garbled but comprehensible nonetheless.
“I need you.”
“Li...you fight best when you’re angry. So,” Theo pauses to draw in a ragged, wet breath, “So stay angry. For me.”
Sappy last words and unrequited love. Huh. It’s almost too noble of a death, more than he deserves. Dying for the same people that he wanted to kill just over a year ago.
A low, keening sound tumbles out of Liam’s mouth when Theo's eyes fall shut again. They don’t reopen. He doesn’t get to see the battered bodies of their enemies scattered around the preserve. Doesn’t make it long enough to see Brett return with Parrish in tow. Doesn’t get to see the rest of the pack crowd around him, broken-hearted howls rumbling through the dense forest.
Doesn’t get to see Lydia, stock-still and stricken, a hand placed against her neck like she’s searching for the scream lodged in her throat as she stares at the dead chimera in front of her.
*
Theo cracks open the morgue door, just enough to look down the hallway. The hospital corridor is far from busy, but it certainly isn’t empty like it normally is in these hell loops. Every so often a hospital attendant walks past and he ducks back into the room. Not dark either, the constant buzz of fluorescent lighting filling his ears instead of eerie whispers of his name.
After a lull in traffic outside the room, Theo sneaks out. Hands clenched in fists by his side, eyes glued to the floor lest they accidentally land on the dead sister he’s running from. Tries to go unseen, though his bullet-ridden, bloodstained attire begs for attention.
When Theo spots the E.R. exit—the glorious red neon sign that he never got the privilege of reaching the last time he did this—he runs. Fast. Like he’ll hit an invisible barrier when he makes it to the automatic doors, or maybe feel a vengeful hand wrapping around his ankle just as he passes the threshold.
There’s none of that. Just a desperate dead boy sprinting out into a quiet parking lot, wondering why he’s allowed to leave this time.
His truck isn’t in the parking lot anywhere, which further convinces him that he’s stuck once again in his own godforsaken hellscape. The sky is dark, the moon bright, and Theo feels like a stranger in his hometown. He opts to walk. Probably an odd sight to any car that passes him, a bloodied young boy traipsing on foot on the side of the road to an undetermined destination, eyes constantly sweeping his field of view as he searches for a hand reaching out to halt his progress.
Scott’s house is closest, and also the last place Theo remembers being before heading to the preserve, so he heads there. He makes it just under twenty minutes later, notices all the pack members’ vehicles in the driveway as he approaches the front porch. All the vehicles except his own. He supposes it’s odd, but this whole loop is odd, so there’s not much else to do than accept it. He’s just grateful his heart hasn’t gotten ripped from his chest yet.
Theo pauses on the porch. There are blatant sobs emitting from inside, loud and grief-stricken and enough to put him on edge. He tries to keep himself steady as he firmly raps his knuckle against the front door.
After a stretch of silence that drags on for entirely too long, Melissa opens the door. Watery, red-rimmed eyes. Rust-colored stains on her scrubs. She stares at Theo and gasps, a horrible, grating sound that gets cut off as she clasps a hand over her gaping mouth. The mother is shaking, taking steps backward from the door without even bothering to close it.
Theo’s starting to think that he might not actually be in hell this time. Just a hunch.
He frowns, whispers, “Melissa? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
He doesn’t get an answer, but steps forward into the house and shuts the door behind himself, instantly cognizant of the other pairs of eyes on him. When he turns toward the living room, the whole pack is there. Wide-eyed with stunned expressions.
They kind of look like they’ve seen a ghost.
The silence is more than unnerving. Most of them have taken steps back, like Theo’s presence in and of itself is a threat. He observes the tremble of Brett’s chin, the way tears well up in Corey and Alec’s eyes. The arm Scott has wrapped around Malia tightens as he pulls her closer to his chest. Derek and Stiles glance between each other and back at Theo, brows furrowed, mouths pressed into a thin line. Argent crosses toward Melissa to wrap her in a tight, grounding embrace. Mason’s got a hand clamped on Liam’s shoulder like he’s trying to keep the werewolf from lunging forward. Lydia looks haunted.
So clearly Theo’s done something wrong. Some evil thing. A gap in his memory where he committed a treacherous act. Unforgivable, even for the McCall pack.
He only manages to utter a broken, “Guys?” before Liam charges toward him appearing both determined and desperate and terrified all in one. The pack, all of them, warn against it. Distressed pleas crawling past their lips that Liam ignores.
Liam doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of Theo, who’s frozen as he tries to figure out why everyone is so scared of him. The palm of Liam’s hand makes contact with Theo’s neck, fingers tightening against the skin just below his jawline. Is he taking my pulse?
The beta closes his eyes and draws in a shuddery breath. He pauses, takes a step back, and opens eyes wide and startled.
“Li—”
He can’t even finish the thought before Liam’s arms are wrapping around his waist, squeezing hard. Enough to make Theo a bit breathless. If he wasn’t concerned before, he certainly is now. The rest of the pack seems to let out a collective sob of relief before they’re crowding him, fingers skirting over his skin and eyes searching his face as if they’re expecting him to disappear.
Maybe not something evil, then. He’s feeling more than smothered and breaks up the impromptu puppy pile with a loud, exasperated, “Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”
That at least snaps the group into attention. They follow Scott’s lead, clambering back into their seats in the den. Theo is dragged down to the couch by Liam, and even once he’s seated the wary, curious glances in his direction don’t stop. He returns each one with a halfhearted glare of his own.
Liam won’t look directly at him and Theo can’t quite discern why that bothers him so much, but his discontent is staved off by the warmth of the beta’s grip against his hand. Both afraid to acknowledge it, risk that contact being taken away, and certain Liam isn’t even consciously aware of doing it himself. The group’s sat too long in a stilted silence before Scott clears his throat and speaks.
“Theo,” he starts, and his voice is rough, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
He tells them. Recounts the pack meeting before they drove to the preserve, the hunters in numbers far greater than they’d anticipated, the fighting, getting shot. A lot. Summarizes everything he recalls happening before he was forcing his way out of a morgue drawer once again.
Liam and Brett look equal parts wounded and horrified at that, being the only two people to whom Theo bothered admitting what happened when he was trapped in the Skinwalkers’ prison.
Scott goes silent, deflates. Smells guilty, confused. So does everyone else, though.
Stiles scrubs a hand over his face as he says, “Theo, man, you were dead over an hour ago.”
It doesn’t sound like a joke, nor is it particularly funny, but Theo laughs. Hard. Gut-wrenching cackles ripped from his throat out of desperation more than anything else, and no one stops him. Not until Melissa steps forward, forehead creased.
“You died on the field, Theo. We tried to resuscitate you for twenty-eight minutes.”
And any amusement is brought to a halt with her solemn agreement. Theo feels short of breath, not in a good way, not from laughing too hard at a stupid punchline to a fucked up joke. The dead silence in the room is enough to back up her claim.
“C’mon,” his voice cracks, “I’m at least worth half an hour of effort right?”
No one even offers up a chuckle. Liam’s hand tightens the grip against his own.
Scott surges forward then, grabbing a hold and inspecting Theo’s arms, legs, even pulls up the chimera’s shirt before the unwarranted hands are swatted away.
He frowns. “Even if...even if your heart started beating again—”
“And it didn’t,” Malia blurts. “We would’ve heard it. On the ride to the hospital...we would’ve heard it.”
Theo squirms, tries not to picture his corpse being driven in the back of someone’s truck to the hospital.
“There was wolfsbane in them. You couldn’t be fully healed right now. Not this soon,” Scott finishes.
He’s not wrong. Less deadly wounds than this and it’s taken Theo more than a day to recover, and even then there’s normally a lingering ache for days after that.
But fully healed he is. Bloody bullet holes in his clothing with nothing but unblemished flesh beneath them.
“Do you hurt? Anywhere?” Liam whispers, although the rest of the pack picks it up. Theo’s sure he already knows the answer, given their hands are intertwined and there’s a distinct lack of black veins trailing up the beta’s arms.
Theo sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “No...my head, maybe. Mostly ‘cause I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this whole thing.”
“When I was down in Mexico I died too. Temporarily,” Derek speaks, green eyes boring into his roommate’s. “Came back as a wolf. It might be a similar thing.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” Theo breathes, sinking back into the couch. A fluke. That’s what it is.
“Well for what it’s worth, I’m really fucking glad you’re not dead, T. Don’t pull that shit again,” Brett orders from the opposite side of the room, all shaky and oozing pent-up stress. There’s a general huff of agreement. Melissa mumbles something about needing to correct his medical records so that he’s no longer legally a dead person, and it’s enough to dispel any remaining tension in the room. Theo shakes off his paranoia, the lingering doubt that Tara’s hand is still grazing the earth below him in order to rip out the organ beating steadily in his chest.
“Glad to know my not-dying was enough to turn you all into a useless puddle of tears, though,” Theo snorts. “I should fake my death more often.”
He’s still getting used to it, feeling this welcome, this cared about. He’d been toeing the line between reluctant ally and official pack member ever since the initial war with Monroe, but after a particularly unfortunate incident—the entire pack finding out about his mobile living situation when Parrish ended up being the deputy that knocked on his window one night—his favor shifted. After an argument-ridden pack meeting with Theo playing the role of defensive dog backed into a corner, Derek offered up the empty room in his loft. Free of charge. Theo took the charitable offer with gritted teeth and damaged pride.
But that’s beside the point. Big bad chimera of death—perhaps now the nickname can be taken more literally—gained the pack he’d always wanted along the way.
Liam lets go of his hand, but only to jab an elbow into Theo’s side. It’s only when the pack resumes less fraught conversation that Liam whispers, please don’t.