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Theo can’t sleep. He thinks he should be able to like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Curled up on a real mattress instead of the backseats in his truck, buried under real blankets; blankets that are thick and soft, that smell like lavender laundry detergent, instead of a single green sad excuse of something to keep him warm. Some nights it did feel warm, him and that green blanket pulled up to his chin; some nights he felt strangely safe— but now he sleeps under a real roof, with a real bed and real safety.
He opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling, listening to the three distinct heartbeats pulsing throughout the house. Jenna and David sleep soundly in the room down the hall, limbs tangled with one other and the soft sounds of gentle breathing. Liam’s heart beats closer in the room next to his, steady and calm. He snores and Theo can imagine him sprawled out across his sheets, drooling into his pillow. He doesn’t deserve this. After everything he’s done, after everyone he’s hurt, they still held out their hands to help him. Didn’t deserve the look of hurt surprise when they found out he’d been living in his truck for months. Didn’t deserve the second chance, or the third, the fourth. Didn’t deserve anything the moment he crawled his way up from hell, his fingernails filthy with dirt.
He almost wishes Liam left him down there.
Theo could handle Tara’s lifeless eyes staring into him, could handle her ripping into his skin, tearing into his chest. Theo could handle the sound of his ribs breaking, the sound of his heart— Tara’s heart being wrenched from the depths of his body, beating in front of his own eyes. Theo could handle his body hitting the cold hospital floor knowing that he deserved this. Tara deserved her own heart back.
Theo can’t handle the way everyone looks at him, can’t handle radiating waves of anger and guilt whenever he walks into a room. Theo can’t handle people pretending to care about him, wishes that he ran during the Hunt, drove away speeding from Beacon Hills with no turning back. Theo can’t handle Liam sparing him glances whenever they’re together, can’t handle the way he reeks of warmth and concern. If Theo knew any better he would’ve thought Liam actually cared about him.
The thing is, Theo does know better. Theo’s smart. He knows that Liam cares about him, he just refuses to believe it, he doesn’t want to believe it. He knows that 3 am texts from Liam aren’t just him asking for help on Biology homework. Knows that inviting him out with Corey, Mason and Nolan aren’t just him using him for a ride. Knows that opening up his house, his home , wasn’t just him needing to keep an eye on him. Just to make sure he doesn’t go on a murderous rampage. Theo wishes it was that simple, wishes that the truth behind them wanting to hang out so often was to put him in his place as their prisoner. So he tells himself that that’s the truth.
He just wishes he didn’t care so much back.
Theo would’ve been long gone by now, maybe road tripping across the country, towns and states away from the McCall pack: where he belonged. Maybe holed up in a dingy motel— or more realistically, parked hidden away sleeping in the back of his truck. Maybe he would’ve been caught by hunters, tied up and tortured; what he deserved. The only thing stopping him was Liam and admitting that made Theo’s chest throb.
It was like admitting defeat; admitting that he cared for Liam. Because caring means he’s vulnerable, caring means that he’s weak. That if something happens to Liam he’d never forgive himself, that if something happened to Liam it would hurt. A pain worse than his veins being injected with nameless poisons and chemicals at ten years old. A pain worse than the empty cavity where his heart should be, but instead his sister’s beats a false confidence. A pain worse than being single handedly dragged to hell with everyone watching but with no one to help.
A pain worse than knowing I’m not dying for you was a lie.
Because he would die for Liam. He would, he would, he would.
Theo remembers that night in the hospital. In the slow moving elevator, the fluorescent light flickering above them. They both smelled like fear and anxiety, neither of them mentioning it. Both heard the threatening heart beats of every single hunter that awaited their arrival. I’m not dying for you either. Theo remembers the step Liam took, looking up at him, heartbeat steady, and fuck he remembers how much he wanted to kiss him right then and there. His eyes darting down to Liam’s lips, back to his stupid blue eyes. He almost considered it; stepping forward, closing the distance between them, forgetting about the murderous war going on and kissing him. But I will fight with you. And every ounce of certainty he had drained from him, brought back to reality, back to the severity of the situation, of their imminent suicide mission. Then let’s fight.
He hates that Liam is the only thing keeping him from running.
Theo untangles himself from the blankets and stands up. He feels the carpet underneath his feet, the heat of the bed leaving him. He ignores the chill that runs down his arm and leaves the room. It was too loud in there, his own thoughts were too loud. He needed to leave.
The consistent slow thud of Liam’s heart makes Theo stop outside his door. He can’t help but stand there, closing his eyes and listening. Liam’s heart beats steady and strong, pulses with intent, with love and care and purpose . Liam’s heart suits him. It matches his intensity, his spark. Thuds in his chest as he throws a grin towards the crowd during a lacrosse game, one he knows they’ll win. Races beneath his ribcage as claws dig into his palms while muttering the sun the moon the truth, the sun the moon the truth. Skips ever so slightly when Theo’s hand brushes against his as they both reach for the remote.
Theo continues past Liam’s room quietly, his feet padding down the stairs as he drags his fingers against the wall, remembering to skip the creaky floorboard of the last step. The living room is cold but Theo continues, sitting on the couch with a heavy breath. The cushions are old and worn, stained permanently with memories of family gatherings, pack meetings, sleepovers— and probably blood. It feels like home, when it really shouldn’t.
Because this isn’t home. Not Theo’s home.
It’s a temporary place to stay before they decide that he’s useless again and kick him out, send him off with a care package containing pieces of a broken sword and the guts of his dead sister, send him away with a smile and a constant reminder of how he broke their pack apart.
This was Liam’s home. Nothing of his own.
Nothing about him was his own.
He was a chimera. Sewn together as the Dread Doctors’ own creation. A terrifying amalgamation of werewolf, coyote and the tiniest dash of scared teenager. A scared boy who just wanted to live, who was tired of watching his parents stress over hospital bills and tired of everyone around him acting like he was made of glass. Tired of everyone silently avoiding the inevitable elephant in the room that he was dying. That scared boy was almost nothing now, thrown away to the side, pushed down and down for years. He has Tara’s heart now. Theo swallows thickly, placing a hand over his chest to feel the steady thump under his ribs. Feels as her heart pumps his mercury blood throughout his body. Feels as he lies on the cold hospital floor, eyes wide and teary as Tara claws her way in again.
Nothing about him was his own. Not anymore. Theo Raeken is a name that he barely recognizes himself.
Beacon Hills is a home of nightmares, filled with everlasting worry and dread. A town that when broken and whittled down to its very core, was the meeting ground of every single person and thing out to kill them. A town full of looming threats, supernatural and human. A town that he came to what felt like years ago to destroy and conquer. To kill and hurt anyone who stood in his way. To manipulate and steal. To take and take and take. Because that’s all he’s ever known. All he was ever taught.
Beacon Hills was not his home.
Beacon Hills left a sour, dirty taste in his mouth. Something dry and curdled and wrong. Theo came here on his own accord, his own will, his own plan. Thought it out thoroughly from start to finish. He was supposed to become an alpha, supposed to have his own pack. He remembers Stiles in the parking lot that night. Remembers circling him and unveiling his plans. The were-coyote, the banshee, the kitsune, the void. It all meant nothing to him now. They were people. Theo would never let the word friend fall from his mouth, but they were more than he thought they were. They were kids with the weight of keeping their town safe from people like him. They were smart and caring, but of course they were. Scott was their alpha. He had killed Scott.
How could he have deserved to sleep under the roof of his one and only beta.
Theo blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat trying to think of anything else but it doesn’t work. He’s left alone to his own unfiltered thoughts, his brain torturing him inside and out. He never caught a break. Theo looks down at his hands that are cradled in his lap, covered in blood. He knows this dream. This nightmare. This constant reminder of who he really is, who everyone sees him as. He stares at the crimson liquid coating his skin, the grime and dirt caked beneath his claws, listens carefully for his sister’s voice. Hauntingly pained and desperate, reaching out for him, searching for him. I’m right here, Tara. He wants to say. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. Take it. It’s yours.
Tara appears to him in dreams, nightmares, hallucinations on a bad day. Dark hair curling around her pale face like a black mist. Dull, dead sunken eyes that pierce into his. His sister . His sister that he had killed for his own selfish benefit. His sister that he’d watch freeze in the preserve. His sister that he had watched die. And oh , the things Theo would do to take it all back. The things he would do for Tara taking her heart back to be real. She was the one who deserved to live. What Theo was doing now was barely living. He was barely surviving.
Then it’s a blurry pain, something so fuzzy it's sharp. It’s a hand tearing through him, claiming its rightfully won prize. It’s choking and gasping on air, metallic red bubbling in his throat. It’s watching with wide, watery eyes as she holds her heart in her hand, still freshly beating. Gazing at it. At him . His head hits the floor, ready to relive it all over again. Keep it, Tara. He wants to beg before her hand breaks his ribs. It’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours. He wants to cry out, his voice raw as she yanks her arm back. You don’t have to stop.
“Theo.”
Liam’s voice calls out to him and it’s the clearest thing Theo’s heard in days. Tara’s gone. The blood on his hands is gone. The gaping hole in his chest is gone, but he still feels it. Feels his guts spilling out onto Liam’s carpet, even looks down to make sure he hasn’t ruined the furniture. He looks back up to find the source of the voice. The beta is standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at him, waves of anxiety pricking Theo’s nose. He looks away instantly. With careful, quiet footsteps, Liam walks towards the couch, playing with the sleeve of his hoodie. Theo doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. He bites his tongue, keeping his heartbeat steady.
“Are you okay?” Liam’s voice is sweet; low and raspy from just waking up. Theo ignores the shiver that goes down his back and the turn in his stomach.
“Yeah.” Theo says, not making eye contact. He stares at his hands, turning them over and fiddling with his fingers. He feels the couch next to him sink down. Feels Liam’s eyes on him.
“I heard your heartbeat.” Theo gives a tired shrug. “You were talking to yourself.” Liam says this more hesitantly, treading on ice. “Talking to Tara.”
Theo bites the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes. Goddamn super hearing.
“Bad dream. That’s all.” He tries brushing off. Even when he’s not looking he knows that Liam is staring at him with curious eyes, full of care and concern. A look he’s familiar with, but doesn’t deserve it every time. Liam smells like sleep. Warm. Oaky. Like smoking lavender and chocolate over a campfire. It’s odd, specific, it’s comforting. Liam scoots closer to him; close enough to feel the werewolf’s body heat. He fights the urge to lean closer.
He’s never told anyone about his dreams. About what happened to him all those months ago. Underneath the cracks of the ground, under the earth’s core, trapped and caged. It didn’t matter, he told himself. No one really cared; no one bothered to ask. Assumptions were made, conclusions were drawn, and none of them were wrong. Theo was rotting down there. A part of him thinks that he still is.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Liam offers gently, almost awkwardly as if he already knew what Theo was going to say. A firm no is on the tip of his tongue, but he keeps his mouth shut. It’s been too long to bring up old memories. There’s nothing that will take back and erase the feeling of Tara’s fingers twisting through his chest like some fucked up claw machine. Theo looks over and his heart almost leaps at the way Liam is looking at him. A look too soft and kind for someone like him. His eyes glassy, staring up and swimming in genuine concern. Theo pulled his lips into a tight line, shaking his head.
“Are you ever going to talk about it?” Liam asks instead, pushing slightly, the blues of his eyes burning into Theo just a bit stronger. No , he thinks, because even stepping foot into the hospital takes what feels like an eternity for him, because he and Scott sent him down there, whatever happened, whatever keeps him awake at night, he deserved it. The thought of talking about it was off the table, he didn’t want sympathy, not that he’d get any in the first place. In their eyes he was the corpse of a broken boy, filled to the brim with all evil and leaking crimson silver from the lives he had destroyed.
He was still a psychotic murderer to most of the pack, maybe all of the pack. Theo doesn’t know why they haven’t just put the sword back together and strike the ground, opening up his fate, but maybe being used as the pack’s self sacrificial dummy was supposed to hurt more. And maybe it did. Wordlessly trying to prove himself, trying to better himself, trying to earn their trust back over and over again: walking the patrol of the town alone, open and vulnerable to bloodthirsty creatures of the night and brainwashed hunters; jumping in front of bullet after bullet to defend the pack, the white-hot burn of wolfsbane flowing through his system as he forced himself to continue fighting; tearing himself apart from the inside out with no one to notice.
Liam’s smarter than he lets on. Stone cold glances towards Theo that are silently scolding him for being so reckless. Every muscle in his face twitching, begging to ask him the big question of Why? Why do you keep hurting yourself like this? Why do you keep putting your life in danger? But he never does. He knows that Theo’s stubborn. Closed off. He would never get an answer, so he keeps his mouth closed in a frown. After everything he did to Scott, to his pack, to him— and Liam cares. Cares enough to sit, asleep in the stiff uncomfortable hospital chairs right next to the bed that Theo laid on, recovering from multiple bullets of poison launched into his system. Cares enough to wrap a gentle hand around Theo’s arm, siphoning his pain even when he wasn’t able to do the same for Mason. Cares enough to welcome him into his own home, to live under the same roof.
Liam was the one who brought him back. Drenched in the earth’s punishment, crawling his way up to the surface, Liam’s the first one he sees. Listening and watching the metal of the Kitsune’s sword fall and clatter to the ground, Liam’s the one holding the handle, letting the broken pieces sit at his feet. Countless missions and fights, constant pushing, shoving, bickering: it’s all with Liam. It feels like instinct. Side by side with the beta, saving him over and over and over again. Why do you keep trying to save me? A question that makes Theo’s mouth go dry and searching quickly for a response. Because I care about you are unspoken words that die in the air.
Liam was the one who brought him back and something about that weighs his heart down to the pit of his stomach. Something about it makes Theo want to grab Liam and never let go.
And that fucking scares him.
What nearly scares him more is the sudden warmth of Liam’s hand grasping his own, making him jerk slightly in surprise. Theo furrows his brows, looking at the younger boy who’s cradling his hand like it's made of glass. He didn't notice that he had pierced his own palms with his claws until he looked down at his lap, his fingertips digging into the flesh of his hand, drawing blood. A breath gets caught in his throat as Liam pries each finger out. He’s careful, gentle.
“You’re gonna bleed on the couch.” Liam reaches behind him to grab a few tissues from the end table. “Again.” He adds, beginning to clean up Theo’s wound, the smallest smile pulling at his lips trying to lighten the situation. Theo’s quiet, watching soft white turn dark crimson, Liam’s fingers grazing lightly against his healing skin. A small touch that makes a rush of hot, warm heat flush through his body. His fingers twitch, fighting every urge to grab Liam’s hand and intertwine their fingers, to grab his hand and hold it like it was his last dying breath. Theo’s claws retract. His hand finishes knitting itself back together. Liam discards the bloodied tissues.
The digital clock tucked underneath the TV reads a bright red 2:34. Theo leans his head back, closing his eyes. He’s tired. Of fighting, of pretending, of living. Living with himself and everything he’s done. Living just to die every night at the hands of his sister. He’s exhausted. From living, from caring, from doing everything he can to survive. Theo brings his legs up, his heels digging into the cushion beneath him, his hands resting atop his knees. The couch dips again, much closer to him this time, and the overwhelming scent of Liam’s stupid green apple shampoo envelops his senses.
“I care about you, you know.”
Liam’s voice is soft, but the words have Theo in a full body flinch, his eyes springing open. They feel loud and fake, echoing around in his head. Because Theo can handle unsubtle actions and unspoken agreements. There’s no room for expectations, for broken promises, for words without meaning behind them. Hearing them aloud makes his heart involuntarily leap in his chest, skipping several beats. There was no hiding it. Silence hung between them, the heavy thuds of their mingling heartbeats pounding in his head. Liam’s had been steady through every syllable. Theo looks at Liam with a set jaw, biting his cheek, blinking slowly.
“Liam.” He almost pleads. With a single word he hopes that the beta understands. Knows when to stop. Knows that no matter how many times someone tells him, he’ll never accept that truth.
“I don’t know what I have to do to get you to believe me.” Liam says. “Because I know you don’t. You’re too caught up wallowing in your own guilt to notice that you’ve changed, you’re different.”
“Hell will do that to you.” Theo tries joking, his mouth dry, voice quiet. His eyes flicker across Liam’s face, searching for anything but the grim seriousness that he’s almost drowning in.
“You didn’t deserve hell.” There’s a beat of silence, letting the phrase fizzle and fade. “I don’t know what happened to you down there, and I don’t know if you’ll ever tell me… But you didn’t deserve it.” Theo’s ears start to ring, and his hands flinch and twitch, desperate for something to ground themselves on. Liam catches him before he can start falling, grabs his hand before he draws his claws, laces their fingers together and squeezes . Theo takes a shaky breath. He hates this. Hates not being in control, hates letting his feelings get the best of him, to let them take over every inch of his being. Hates the only thing that makes him human. He hates that the heat of Liam’s hand alone is enough to ground him. To make the fucked up animal inside him retreat. To anchor him back to reality.
“ Liam. ” Theo repeats, choking on his name. He doesn’t trust his voice not to completely fall apart on him if he tries to say anything else. He doesn’t even know what to say, his mind completely blanking, filled with cotton, unable to think about anything other than the comforting warmth of Liam’s hand in his.
“I know you feel guilty about everything, I know that you have nightmares, I know that you feel like you don’t belong.” Liam’s observant. He’s not the clueless werewolf he used to be. He’s able to break through Theo’s skyscraper walls he built up; able to listen to the slightest change in his heartbeat when it picks up involuntarily, able to tag his chemosignal reeking of nightmare memories, able to read his body language that pleads anyone who bothers to look to stay away from him. The thing is, Theo is able to read Liam just as clearly. Listens to his constant, steady heartbeat like it’s his favorite song, smells the spike of anger in the air when he starts to lose control, memorizes the curve of his lips when he smiles and notices the way his eyes brighten with excitement.
“Theo, I care about you.” The words burn him, they eat him alive like the flames of a bonfire, stretching and reaching higher and higher, scalding him from head to toe. Unspoken words come to life with Theo’s name spilling from Liam’s mouth, an oddly sweet taste. The chimera’s eyes are wide, staring into Liam’s whose eyes are nothing but soft and genuine. Pleading for Theo to let someone in, to let someone care about him, to believe it when he says I care, I care, I care. “You’re pack.”
A high, lupine whine crawls its way out of Theo’s throat. It’s an embarrassing sound and he immediately ducks his head down, his cheeks burning along with the rest of his body. His fingertips go numb, fuzzy and tingling in Liam’s grip. The two words echo in his head almost achingly. Pack. It feels dirty in his own mouth. Unsuited for a power hungry murderer. Unfit for a failed, artificial alpha who killed his own pack. Undeserving for someone who tore apart the very pack he was seemingly a part of. But Liam looks at him like he’s worth something and Theo wants to cry, wants to believe him, wants to swallow up everything he tells him and drink it down with his warm, comforting touch, wants to bury himself in the werewolf’s scent until the venomous words of You’re pack become familiar.
Liam’s voice hangs heavy in the silence. Theo doesn’t say anything, instead, he looks back up at Liam whose intensity hasn’t worn off, whose bright, stern eyes stay glimmering in the darkness, whose hand is starting to get a little sweaty but Theo doesn’t mind. He finds himself squeezing his hand back in place of the words that he can’t manage to work up.
“I hurt you.”
“You hurt me.” Liam admitting it sends daggers through Theo's chest. “But I forgive you.” He lets out a sigh, settling in on his words. “It’s taken me a long time. A lot of thinking, and going back and forth. But I do. I forgive you.” The blades are twisting and pushing as Theo’s head struggles to keep up. He had broken up his pack, had tried to get him to kill Scott, killed Scott himself. It was impossible to forget that. Everytime he looked at himself all he saw were tired eyes; an ex-murderer with too much blood on his hands.
“I don’t forgive myself.”
“I know.”
“How could you forgive me?”
“Because I know you’ve changed. You’re not that person anymore, you hate that person you used to be. You regret it, you feel guilty, and that shows that you care.”
He does. He does care. Theo cares so much that it hurts.
“And I trust you.” Liam’s heart doesn’t skip, doesn’t falter and stumble like Theo’s at the confession, because Liam trusts him. After everything he’s done, after his brutal betrayal and his alpha’s phantom blood drenching his hands, he trusts him. Liam cares about him.
“You shouldn’t. I’m not a part of your pack… Scott’s pack.” Theo says, heavy and full of self loathing. Liam shouldn’t trust him, shouldn’t care about him, shouldn’t be holding his hand, grounding him back to consciousness.
“Theo.” Liam almost snaps, “We forgive you. You did horrible things, but you changed. You’ve helped us, helped me. Even when you didn’t have to, you did. You wanted to help. You deserve good things.” The numbing feeling spreads through Theo’s fingertips again and he stares back into Liam’s intense gaze, filled with a certain softness that felt odd, out of place, full of truth. Liam trusts him, forgives him, cares about him. It’s almost dizzying.
You deserve good things. Theo wants to believe him, he does. Wants to carve the words over and over in his skin just to watch them fade and heal. To breathe in his voice, inhaling it and burying himself in the warming comfort of being taken care of. To take it and run with it, run so they couldn’t take it back and those were his words to keep, to believe with no doubt. A shaky sigh escapes from Theo and he closes his eyes, worn and drained, his head tipping forward. He strains to think of something, anything to say to deflect, to make Liam stop talking, to go back to I should’ve put you back in the ground. You deserved it. If Theo deserved anything it was hell. Not Scott’s pack looking at him like he belongs, not the roof over his head, not Liam’s fingers intertwined with his, not Liam’s all too caring look with wide doe eyes, staring at Theo like he matters.
“Liam.” Theo says exasperated, like it’s the only thing he knows how to pronounce.
“Theo.” Liam echoes, and it’s a warm, bright, golden sound that nearly melts him down to nothing. The pit in his stomach pulls and churns because it’s been nothing but the truth. The steady pulse of Liam’s heart thuds at the back of Theo’s head, right in his ears, drowning in it, almost enough to break him. And Theo, Theo’s so fucking tired that he might just let himself crack. Because Liam cares. Liam cares too much and it’s unbearable, it’s suffocating, it’s addicting. He feels the heat radiating off of Liam, sweet and comforting, feels their hands tangled against each other. All too aware of the way Liam rubs his thumb against his every now and then, of the way Theo squeezes his hand as if any second Liam was going to let go— a silent plea for him to keep holding on, of the way Liam made him feel safe.
Theo is tired. Theo is exhausted. He wants the ground beneath him to open up once more and for scrambling hands to wrap around his ankles and to pull. Being back in hell means that no one was there to care about him the way they do now. Being back in hell means that he can go back to feeling next to nothing, just the taste of blood in his mouth and an open cave in his chest. But he’s here, walking the surface of the earth in Beacon Hills. Feeling every emotion at a fleeting pace that even he couldn’t keep up with. People only feel one emotion at a time, Liam. What a fucking lie. I only feel one emotion at a time. Because feeling is the hardest thing he’s had to do. He stopped feeling at nine years old when the Dread Doctors convinced him to kill, to murder his own sister. Wading through muddied regret, crying into his pillow because Tara was dead because of him. He stopped feeling because everything got worse after that. Mercury tears during the Doctor’s tests and trials, blank slate stares watching everyone around him die, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, a wide toothed grin that blinds and covers up lie after lie, unwavering eyes as he watches everyone around him die.
He feels too much nowadays. Overbearing and headache inducing. The lifeless corpse of a boy with too much blood on his hands starts to learn how to feel again. Learns how to feel the gnawing guilt that’s built up for the past ten years, to remember the faces of Tara, Tracy, and Josh, to grieve and mourn and cry. Learns the way his sister’s heart lurches and stretches in his chest as he chokes on air, screwing his eyes shut until tears run and they don’t stop running, staining his cheeks. Learns the twisting ache of being scared for the first time since he was nine, learns to let himself be afraid because he’s not strong enough to hide the fact that his heart leaps when he hears the phrase send him back , when the name Monroe is brought up; hesitant and careful, like some sort of curse, when he opens his eyes and all he can see is Tara, crawling towards him, cold and determined. Emotions leak and seep into one another and Theo starts to wonder where one ends and the next begins, and he’s scared; scared because he’s finally starting to learn how to care; dizzying fear clashing with the warmth of soft eyes in his direction. He learns how to feel an odd happiness when Liam invites him out on a midnight McDonald’s run with Mason and Corey, the four of them tucked in a booth in the corner, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile when Liam lets him pick off his fries.
And for a fleeting second Theo thinks that he should let himself be happy, but suffocating guilt always seems to take over.
He’s tired.
They share a look that reminds Theo all too much of the night in the hospital. Something dreadful and heavy in the air; the heartbeats of dozens of hunters waiting for them past metal doors mirrors the static buzz of loud self-deprecating thoughts. The quiet rise and fall of both of their chests, eyes locked onto one another, waiting and waiting for something to fill the silence. Theo opens his mouth, about to say something along the lines of we should probably go back to sleep but then Liam is reaching out, letting go of Theo’s hand and wrapping arms around him, pulling him in. The chimera goes stiff, still and awkward against Liam’s chest. You deserve good things replays over in his head and the warmth of the werewolf’s body against his is almost enough for him to believe it; the hands splayed across his back, fingertips burning through his shirt is almost enough to forgive himself. Theo decides that Liam is enough for the stones of his towering walls of protection to crumble just the slightest.
With wavering hands, with a lump stringing itself together in his throat, with the most hesitation he’s ever had in his life, Theo sinks into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Liam’s waist and burying his face into the soft fabric of his hoodie, into the safe space between Liam’s neck and his shoulder, and lets out a heavy, defeated sigh. Because it was only a matter of time before he broke, a ticking time bomb since he crawled out of the sword struck ground, a pent up bottle of masked fear and anxiety, rotting regrets and mercury-infused blood begging to explode. It was the exhale of a thousand breaths and Theo almost felt free. He leans further into Liam, grasping and immersing himself in the warm lavender comfort, letting his senses be filled with soft fleece, burning hands, and the heavy pressure of Liam’s chin resting over his shoulder— and he feels true comfort.
He adds it to the list of things he’s afraid of. The trailing hands in his hair reminds him all too much of his mother. His memory is fuzzy, blurry— something taken from him, but he remembers soft, delicate hands cupping his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. A motherly smile with twinkling eyes as they sat in his hospital bed, a somber silence filling the room that smelled all too much of rubber and medicines. A gentle kiss pressed to the top of his head, a quiet murmur telling him It’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay. It was never okay, he learned. Theo remembers his inhaler tucked into his pocket at all times as he sat in class, hand steady as he wrote the alphabet in cursive. Remembers the stickers littering his chest with wires connected to a small box that monitored his heart rate as he scrawled down the word illusion. It was that week’s vocab word. Remembers watching his sister reach out to him as she shivered and froze in the river. The faint plea of his name on her frost blue lips. Nothing was ever okay.
Liam is warm and Theo finds himself hugging him tighter, trying to rid once forgotten memories. You’re okay. The beta whispers into his hair, just like his mother, and Theo swallows a broken noise that forms at the back of his throat. It’s confusing; the way Liam holds onto him, pulls him close with no intention of ever letting go. It’s something full of care and comfort and Theo is pulling at threads trying to convince himself that he deserves this. He steadies himself, listening to Liam’s heartbeat, heavy and fast but not skipping a single pulse. He wonders how Liam could be so gentle with him, rubbing circles in his back like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like Theo wasn’t the reason there was a rift in their pack, something torn and jagged breaking up a close knit bond. He doesn’t know how Liam can look past the blood on his hands and the lives on his conscience, he doesn’t know how he can look at him like he’s a good person.
Then he remembers flashing grins, fond smiles and lingering eyes. Hesitant, careful glances turning into a bright trust. Unspoken words and not-so-hidden feelings behind playful banter and three punches to the nose. A peaceful silence in Theo’s truck as they drive around Beacon Hills with no real destination, just a break from the supernatural ultraviolence, ignoring the way their arms were pressed against each other over the console, fingers brushing against one another and eyes glued to the road. A spark in the air when Theo enters a room and Liam immediately perks up, patting the spot next to him as an open invitation, the gleaming smile and overwhelming scent of joy drowning Theo in the unsaid I’m glad you’re here. The quiet, eerie hospital floor that reeked of wolfsbane and blood, Liam reaching out for Theo, grabbing his arm. You took his pain. He nods without looking back at Liam, ignoring the heavy feeling in his chest and ignoring the implications of a silent I’m proud of you.
Theo breathes in the scent of Liam, letting himself fall and relax. Letting himself carve out a small opening through his cement exterior, letting himself be cared for. He tangles his legs with Liam’s, pushing further into the soft fabric of his hoodie, trying to crawl his way into his warmth. He hears the younger boy’s breath hitch as Theo burrows his head into his chest, searching for where his heart resided, pounding away something just shy of a lullaby. Just for a second, just for a moment, for one passing night, one early morning, Theo lets himself go, opening himself up and prying his ribs apart to make room for his own heart, slotting it right next to Tara’s. To make himself listen and to let people in. To believe the voice that tells him You deserve good things, that tells him I care about you, that tells him You didn’t deserve hell.
“I care about you too.” Theo murmurs, muffled into Liam’s chest that even he strains to hear it with his werewolf hearing. But Liam does hear it, and Theo hears the way his heart stutters. Feels the way Liam holds onto him just a bit tighter, feels him smiling into his hair and the patterns he traces on his back with his fingers.
Feels at home.