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“Happy birthday to me,” Theo mumbles with an index finger and thumb buried knuckle-deep in his gut, rifling around for the last of three bullets lodged somewhere in his abdominal cavity.
The other two lie on his dashboard, staring back at him with a bloodstained gleam beneath the evening sun. He’s got a cartridge he managed to nab from the ground in the hopes of giving it to Argent for identification up there too. Thinks he might keep the bullets, though. Turn them into a necklace or maybe a dashboard ornament, consider it a present.
He uses his free hand—the one not prodding around in his insides—to text Scott that patrolling went fine. Carefully omits the part where he’d been chased back to his truck by two hunters and only narrowly escaped capture by tossing one of their untriggered flashbangs back at them. Stunned them long enough to get away mostly unscathed. Until two of his tires gave out and left him stranded on the side of the road. Turns out you’re not supposed to drive with bullets lodged in the rubber. Huh.
His hands shake, fingers slip and send patroling webt fin. Follows the message with a thumbs-up emoji just in case Scott doesn’t believe it. But it’s close enough, Theo thinks. He also thinks he should probably burn out the wolfsbane from his three gunshot wounds before the darkness encroaching upon the edges of his vision becomes a permanent thing. His claws make contact with the bullet and he lets out a sigh that breaks the silence of his truck interior. Thick, dark blood trickles sluggishly from the hole in his stomach as he draws his hand back out. He sets the third musketeer between the other bullets and the cartridge he aptly named C’Artagnan.
He’s humming, he belatedly realizes, when he reaches over into his glove compartment to grab a lighter. Something like the happy birthday song. Perhaps he’s delirious. It’s not a familiar strain of wolfsbane pumping through his veins, he thinks. Slows down his mind more than his body unlike the blue or yellow kind, and doesn’t make him as dizzy and nauseous as the purple type does. Turns his brain all light and fuzzy instead.
It’s nice, if he ignores the way his heartbeat rattles in his ears, the tremor settling into his limbs, or the slow-witted sludge his thoughts have turned to. He tries to measure his heart rate but forgets to count past nineteen.
Theo flicks the lighter to life with a clumsy thumb on the seventh try. Would’ve been the sixth if he hadn’t blown it out like a birthday candle and wished for new tires. He holds the flame in front of his face, close enough to feel its warmth, before bringing it toward the first of the open wounds in his abdomen.
His cake smells like burnt flesh and clotted blood. Theo’s stomach slowly stitches itself back together and growls at the thought.
It takes an hour of deep-breathing through bouts of what he can only describe as internal floatiness before Theo decides he’d rather not die alone from some novel wolfsbane strain on the side of the road sitting inside his truck. On his birthday. That’s sad, even for his standards.
The driver’s seat cushions him like a marshmallow and his dazed brain is half-convinced it’ll swallow him whole if he sits in it any longer. There’s an incessant rumbling beneath him. Theo thinks it might be an earthquake, sometimes those happen here. But when he makes an effort to stand—not before swiping the bullets from his dash and placing them in his pocket—the rumbling relocates to his backside so he figures it’s probably his phone ringing in his jeans.
By the time he propels himself out of the truck—stumbling to the pavement only once, but it’s okay because he laughs about it—he forgets to answer. Lead-feet carry him somewhere without his brain’s input. Perhaps towards a party.
┌iii┐
Theo knocks on the front door along to the tune he’s humming this time. The door swings open faster than he can draw his fist back. Knocks the end of the melody onto Liam’s forehead by accident. He ended up on Liam’s doorstep by accident too, now that he thinks about it. Muscle memory, maybe. Theo can’t say he isn’t thrilled to see the beta, sloppy smile tugging at his lips, and all.
Liam doesn’t seem to feel the same, mouth pulled back into a scowl as he catches Theo by the wrist.
“The fuck are you doing—”
“It’s my birthday.”
Liam’s expression softens. Theo thinks he’s pretty like that. Mouth parted and brows raised into something resembling surprise. Surprise. Here’s the party, his feet say. The beta’s gaze trails downward toward the tapestry of dirt and blood smeared onto his t-shirt, the red staining his fingertips, and back up. Blue eyes gone all gooey and concerned, illuminated by the dying rays of sunset. Surprise. Here’s your present.
Yeah. Delirious, maybe.
“C’mon, I was waiting for you,” Liam sighs, stepping aside to usher Theo inside.
Doesn’t let go of his wrist, though. Drags Theo along like he’s convinced he’ll wander onto someone else’s front porch and sing happy birthday if left unsupervised. The chimera follows Liam and writes off the fluttering in his chest as a side effect of the wolfsbane.
“My parents will be home from their dinner soon, so can we maybe put you in some clean clothes to make you not look like a crime scene?”
Crime scene, and Liam’s leaving his fingerprints all over the evidence. He could leave more, maybe. Theo would like that. They could be accomplices in this.
“Theo,” Liam whispers, tugging lightly on the chimera’s wrist. “Coming?”
Theo does his best impression of a bobblehead, stumbling up Liam’s steps and trying not to swoon at the sensation of Liam’s warm, steadying hand sliding up from his wrist to rest against his bicep. The beta yanks him into his bedroom, sits Theo down on the edge of his bed like a gentle thing. He’s talking, the words floating in and out of Theo’s awareness as Liam rifles around in his drawers.
“—you didn’t answer any of my calls, either. You freaked me out. Your truck’s not even outside, did you walk here?”
Liam returns with a lacrosse hoodie in his hand, DUNBAR emblazoned on the back of it.
“I was looking for a party,” Theo mumbles, brow furrowed as he takes the change of clothing. His head snaps upward, the motion briefly turns Liam’s face to water. “You called me? Thought it was an earthquake.”
Another bout of floatiness. Theo buries his face in the hoodie, grounds himself in Liam’s scent.
Liam lets out a little disgruntled noise. He kneels, eye-level with the chimera. Cradles Theo’s face in his hands as he draws nearer. Liam’s hands are warm against his skin. Or maybe that’s his cheeks heating up, like the lighter flame is still in front of his face.
“What are you—”
“Just shh, look at me,” Liam murmurs. It’s a reminder. Tells Theo to tear his eyes away from the beta’s pink lips or the curve of his nose and to meet the gaze set intently on him. This feels like something special, maybe. Theo gets a renewed urge to make that bullet necklace, blood and all, and give it to Liam instead.
“Theo, are you high?”
He takes it back. He’ll definitely keep the necklace for himself.
“No, I’m poisoned. I’m dying. It’s my birthday,” he argues. He shoves a hand into his pocket and brandishes the treasure inside as proof. Three warped bullets held in his outstretched hand, grimy with dried, clotted blood. “Here. For you.”
Closest he can get to giving Liam his insides. There’s some romantic gesture in this, maybe.
Liam recoils, releasing the chimera’s chin. “Jesus, Theo, I don’t want your bloody bullets. Gross, dude.”
“You can turn them into a necklace. It’d look nice on you, I bet. Everything does.”
Theo pauses, bleary eyes widening as his own words reach his ears.
“I think I’m dying. I’m pretty sure I’m dying.”
Of embarrassment, probably. It lessens when Liam does take the bullets from his hand, gets replaced with a tingly warmth. Even though he promptly drops them onto his nightstand with a grimace.
The edges of Liam’s lips twitch upward when he turns back around and asks, “You burned the wolfsbane out, right?”
“Mhm. Don’t think it worked, though.”
“Well I’m pretty sure you’re not dying—”
Theo’s stomach rumbles. This, he knows, is not an earthquake.
“But, I do think you’re hungry,” Liam finishes. “Change and come downstairs. I’ll make you something.”
“Cake?”
“Change and find out,” Liam shrugs, disappearing out the door. Calls out from the hallway, “And wash your fucking hands, they’re filthy.”
┌iii┐
The smell of something sweet and buttery wafts up to Liam’s bedroom and snaps Theo out of his stupor. He’s been locked here, in front of the mirror. Craning his neck to get a glimpse of the DUNBAR written across his back. Arms stretched behind himself to run his fingers over the letters. The hoodie’s too tight—clings to his arms and pinches around his shoulders—but if Theo closes his eyes, it feels like a hug.
He resorts to flipping the hoodie around. It’s backwards in the mirror, spells out RABNUD instead of DUNBAR but when he lets his head flop down—after moving the front-facing hood out of the way—Liam’s name stretches across his chest. This unwavering grin on his face must be another side effect. He thinks the fluttery sensation in his stomach might kill him.
“Theo, if you’re dead up there I’m gonna be really pissed off,” Liam yells from the lower level. “And I’m gonna eat your sandwich.”
He’s clumsy with this, his trip downstairs chasing Liam’s voice and the smell of food. Skips a step and nearly brains himself on the banister but rights himself on shaky limbs and manages not to get lost on the way to the kitchen.
“Geez finally, you…”
Liam trails off, face going slack as his eyes land on Theo. He draws his lower lip between his teeth, averting his gaze like it burns him.
“You’re uh,” Liam clears his throat, “You’re wearing it backwards.”
“I like it this way. Can see your name on me,” Theo says, running his fingers over the letters like an afterthought.
He glances down. There’s an oozy sandwich sitting on the counter between them, looks like a fancy-ass peanut butter and jelly. Theo’s not sure when the last time he had one was, at least ten birthdays ago, probably. And even then, it wasn’t warm and gooey like his insides, wasn’t grilled and toasty like this.
Maybe he should get shot more often.
“I can’t really cook for shit,” Liam mumbles, pink-cheeked and bashful. “But uh, when I was a kid my mom would make these for me on my birthday. So, yeah. It’s probably weird, sorry. She, uh, makes the jam herself, though. Strawberry. S’really good, actually—”
“Do you have candles?”
Liam exhales a relieved sigh, tension dropping from his face as he rummages around in the cabinets. Comes back with a box of matches instead. He strikes one, sticks the end in the middle of the sandwich, and approaches Theo with the plate in hand.
“I hope you don’t expect me to sing to you.”
The small flame flickers between them, one much larger burning inside of Theo.
He’s dizzy, blinking owlishly at the boy before him. And maybe it’s the wolfsbane or maybe it’s their proximity or maybe it’s his shaky realization that no one has done this for him in a decade, but it has him clutching his chest, fingers scrunching up Liam’s name beneath his grasp. Balloon guts, he thinks he might float away on this feeling.
“You alright?” Liam whispers, taking one hand off the plate to rest against the chimera’s arm.
Theo nods, doesn’t trust his mouth to say the right things.
“Good. Happy birthday, Theo. I’m glad you’re not dead.”
The match has nearly burnt to the end, so Theo’s quick to blow it out, eyes locked on Liam the entire time. A reminder. Something to wish for. Something better than new tires, maybe.
“You’re supposed to make wishes with your eyes closed, dork,” Liam grins, blinking past the smoke wafting from the extinguished match between them.
“What if I wanna look at what I’m wishing for.”
The beta freezes, the tips of his ears going red. A prettier red than what was on the bullets Theo offered him, though. Makes him want to reach forward and grab them, share that warmth.
Theo thinks he might be floating again.
“Eat,” Liam shoves the plate toward him. “Before you give me any more blackmail material to use against you once this wears off.”
Theo obliges, hopping up onto the kitchen island. It’s quiet, little airy silence as he chews.
“You’re being so nice, though,” Theo mumbles around a mouthful of lukewarm PB&J. “Don’t want it to.”
“Do you think I’m not...nice? Normally?” Liam frowns. Theo doesn’t like that, wants to smudge it off his face. Swallows down the urge to follow through on that thought with the last few bites of his sandwich.
“You are. Just feels like I’m special today, maybe ‘cause I’m dying,” Theo half-shrugs. “Thanks for the sandwich, it was good.”
“You’re not dying. And...you are special. It’s...your birthday, of course you are, today,” Liam mumbles, taking Theo’s empty plate and tossing it in the sink.
He hums, asks, “What about when it’s not?”
“Sure. You’re special then, too,” Liam nods, adding a little embarrassed grumble of, “What, you fishing for compliments from me or something?”
Mostly he’s just fishing for more of these soft words and softer looks that make his stomach feel light in a good way. Feels like a gift in and of itself.
Theo and his mush-mouth say, “Sorry.”
But he’s not. He thinks it might be the only lie he’s told tonight. The effort sapped all his energy out of him, too. Has him flopping back onto the island, half-lidded eyes turned toward the ceiling. He hears Liam’s frantic steps draw nearer.
“What are you—no, don’t lie down on the fucking counter! Wait, are you passing out? You’re not passing out, right?”
“It’s fine. M’fine.”
His legs dangle off the ends and the granite is cold against his skin where the hoodie rides up but he doesn’t feel like he’s melting into the ground. That’s a plus.
“No, it’s not,” Liam grunts. “I have a couch you can sleep on. Or even a bed—”
“Those are marshmallow-soft. Don’t want to get swallowed up.”
“What?”
“Join me. It’s my birthday,” Theo says, blindly reaching out for Liam’s arm. He tugs the beta closer the moment his hand latches onto his wrist. Scoots over on the island until there’s a sliver of empty space beside him.
“You’re loopy. I should probably take you to Deaton, that’d be the responsible thing to do.”
“Be irresponsible, then. Please.”
Theo punctuates the words with a light squeeze of Liam’s wrist. There’s a moment of contemplation before Liam lets out a little flustered sigh.
“I’m gonna kill you if you’re faking this, you know,” Liam warns as he lies on his side on the counter. Props himself up on an elbow as Theo curls toward him.
“Be kind, aim for my heart,” he says. Idly wonders if he should’ve brought in C’Artagnan to show Liam, as well. Or if he should’ve returned that copy of The Three Musketeers he’d borrowed from Liam and never returned.
“Incoherent is a good look on you, I think,” the beta huffs out, drawing Theo closer. Tight-squeezed onto the island in a way that feels even better than the hoodie-hug does.
“What about your sweatshirt?”
“Yeah,” Liam breathes. “That too.”
“You said earlier you were waiting for me,” Theo mumbles into Liam’s chest. “How’d you know I was coming?”
“You texted me, dumbass.”
“No,” Theo shakes his head, adamant. “I texted Scott.”
“Patrolling ‘webt fin’ yeah?” Liam smirks. “And a thumbs-up. You don’t even use emojis. That’s how I knew you got fucked up.”
Theo lets out a noncommittal hum, eyes drifting shut as his body gives in to the soporific urge it’s been fighting since he escaped the hunters.
“Guess I’ll tell Scott how patrolling went, then,” Liam sighs, fingers carding lazily through Theo’s hair.
Selfish passion at the end of this hazardous adventure. Theo thinks he’s never had a better birthday. Even if it took busted tires and bulletholes and drifting through the town half-dazed to find Liam.
“Tell him my birthday party went better.”