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When Scott holds his hand in the nurse’s office, it’s warm and sweaty. Theo’s entire body trembles. His fingers shake violently underneath Scott’s palm and his chest heaves with a rippling breath. It crept up on him in the middle of class, his lungs tightening in his ribcage, the air punched out of him suddenly and unexpectedly. Theo wasn’t a stranger to asthma attacks, keeping his inhaler shoved deep inside his pockets along with his balled up fists; but this one consumed him, stealing every trying breath with each gasp. It’s all a blur in that moment, but he focuses on the hand holding his, the words of comfort and promises of Hey, everything’s going to be okay. Theo squeezes his hand, their fingers moving together clumsily, he looks at Scott like he had just saved the world, and for now, he believes him.
It’s almost as if he has no control over his body as he watches himself push Tara over the edge and send her tumbling down into the river. Theo’s hands feel dirty with regret and starts to wonder if he had made a mistake; but he finds himself on the wooden bridge, his fingers running against the railing. He feels it splintering underneath his cold skin. His eyes stay still and jaded and he can only think about three tall figures clad in metal, leather masks voicing deep instructions and promises of a better life. Promises of It’s okay. She wanted you to have her heart. You’ll be strong. You’ll be powerful. Theo shuffles his hands into his pockets, the cold air beginning to nip and numb; but it was nothing compared to the blue shiver of Tara’s skin.
Theo nearly blacks out when the Doctors poke and prod at him, injecting him with liquids he’s learned to stop looking at, because at this point not knowing was better than seeing the tray of needles and chemicals feeding into his veins. He can feel his gums ache, sharp canine teeth breaking through. The Doctors told him he’d get used to it. He tastes blood and bites back the urge to vomit; he doesn’t believe them. Eyes screwed shut as he’s cut open and sewn back together over and over again. Hands curled into fists at his sides, tight leather cuffs keeping him in place. Hands restrained and trembling, fingernails pushing into his palms, nails turning into claws and gasping as skin breaks and he’s bleeding. He hears the buzz and clicking of the three Doctors surrounding him, heavy breathing from behind the masks. They pay no attention to him, goggles fixated on handing each other metal instruments as they continue to build him from the inside out. They promised to make him stronger, to make him perfect. Theo wants to believe them.
Blood stained palms turn into dark, ragged paws crunching beneath him in the black forest. Theo doesn’t look where he’s going, his instinct tells him run, run, run and that’s all he can manage to do; doesn’t think about where he’ll end up, doesn’t think about escaping. It’s clumsy and reckless, the way his paws scuttle through overgrown roots, digging into the earth, covering his hands in filthy grime. He pushes off the ground, creating a rhythm in his head, relearning how to walk, to run, to be in this new state. New bones reconstructed from a boy who learned how to kill before learning how to multiply fractions. It was useless knowledge, anyway.
The Dread Doctors keep Theo around after that. They make sure he’s in control, that his hands heal and return to slender, clean fingers after his rouse in the woods. The tests become less frequent, Theo hears them murmur to each other words of success and first chimera, hears them say more powerful and The Beast. They turn to him in sync, staring at him through their steampunk disguise expectantly. Anything for power, Theo thinks. Anything to become stronger. The excruciating pain was worth it, he begins to believe. So were the serums, the seemingly endless trials and tests, and the feeling of cool metal cutting into his skin. He burns it into his head that killing his sister was worth it. That his hands getting dirtied with cold-blooded killer was worth it.
The dirt of betrayal and grime of manipulation leave his fingers drenched with blood. He spent weeks flashing charismatic smiles and shedding crocodile tears as every piece of his grand plan fell into place. Theo’s mind buzzes with anger and adrenaline as he strides across the Beacon Hills High library, throws Mason to the floor and focuses his undivided attention on what he came for all along: a true alpha. His claws find no hesitation or remorse as he digs them into Scott’s stomach, watching the power flicker from his eyes. The power that he wanted from the start. He ignores the crawling image of Scott holding his hand in the nurse's office, the bright smiles they shared as kids, the matching friendship bracelets they wore everyday. Theo’s head rings with You’re barely even human, and maybe he’s right. Maybe he is just a monster created from disregarded parts and maybe his blood runs with mercury, but it doesn’t matter now. Theo has other things to worry about.
He feels himself radiate complete and utter power as he walks away from the Nemeton with his pack following him. His pack. The pack that the Dread Doctors promised him; it’s no corrupt Nogitsune tied to a boy who knew how to get his hands dirty, it’s no Beta with a short fuse ready to explode at any moment, it’s no ear-splitting shrieks from an all powerful Banshee— but they’re his. A pack of undead Chimeras, a certain darkness rooted deep within them: one of the side effects of the glimmering mercury that surged through their veins. Theo teaches them how to use their powers, how to control their shift and how to act pretty and poised, a lesson that he was taught when he was young and naïve. Claws dripping venom, eyes blazing purple, the mesmerizing image of someone disappearing right in front of him, an array of jaguar spots; this was his pack. Theo’s hands itched with want . The want for more power never went away, and the Beast is just within his reach, the final, missing puzzle piece of his perfect, fucked up pack.
Theo spends hours scrubbing at his hands, watching the water run red, swirling down the drain. Josh is dead. Claws buried in his stomach, twisting and turning and overwhelmed by his power hungry greed. He ignores the ear piercing screams that echoed throughout the tunnels, the painful terrifying cry emitting from the other boy. It had to be done, it needed to be done. A twitch of electricity jolts through his arm, a reminder of the power he had, the life he took. He looked down at his hands rubbed raw, they were spotless, wrinkling from the water. His own stomach lurches and he chokes on his own bile. All he can see is Josh’s blood, dripping from his fingers, staining his skin. A part of him is back on the hospital roof with Stiles; watching his own body move on auto pilot, claws digging into Josh’s throat and ripping. He was covered in his blood. He was small and inexperienced. Tracy’s voice shakes. Theo’s hands shake with something just short of the truth, wanting to believe her, wanting to justify what he had done. Josh lays dead across the room.
It’s a vicious cycle he realizes. He’s known it ever since he was ten years old, but the heavy weight of crimson dripping from his hands shocks him every time. Tracy’s body falls to the ground, her hair curtaining over her face. Theo’s glad he doesn’t have to look at her eyes; dead and empty. Completely still, unmoving. A corpse. It’s become white noise, a fuzzy static, at this point. Her broken pleads and gasps wash over him like tap water rinsing away his filthy guilt. You can give me one thing. Your power. He gets up on tired feet, his body still healing, his body still taking in the powers of his dead chimeras. His dead pack. Theo breathes out, the feeling of venom coursing through his body. He’s almost there. He’s almost powerful. His hands don’t stop shaking. He tells himself it’s the adrenaline.
The ground beneath Theo opens up and he watches in horror as a hand reaches up and crawls its way out of its grave. His heart leaps in his chest as he sees his dead sister’s face staring back up at him. He feels like a little kid again, terrified and glued to the floor as she wraps a cold hand around his ankles and yanks. Theo drops the act, drops the façade and cries for help, even begs for it as he tries grasping onto anything to keep himself from being pulled into the Earth’s core. His yells echo back at him and he closes his eyes as his time runs out and the ground closes above him like nothing had ever happened. Everything goes dark.
His hands are cold, his whole body runs cold. The hospital is a pitiful and dark place, his feet carefully stepping out on ice tiles. The fluorescent lights flicker and die above him and he sees her standing at the end of the hallway. Crooked head, black hair swirling and framing her face; it's unnerving. So is the gaping hole in the middle of her chest, bones and flesh cracked and ripped open. She mutters his name and he feels her hand ripping through him. Nails tearing into his skin, fingers digging through his body and searching. He almost feels like a science experiment again. She grips around his heart and yanks, finally taking back what’s hers. Theo’s hands hang uselessly at his side and he falls.
Theo wakes up, fear racing through him as he pushes himself out of the morgue. The hospital again. He knows what’s about to happen, knows his fate. All the doors are locked, trapping him inside with the monster he created, the dead girl he created. His voice falls on empty ears and she doesn’t listen to his pleading cry and shoves her hand into his chest once again. He falls.
It’s a never ending loop he realizes. Some nightmare to remind him of what he did all those years ago, of how he killed his sister all those years ago. Left freezing and shivering in the river just to rip out her heart and claim it as his own. Staring into Tara’s eyes makes him realize that nothing was worth the power he desperately wanted. Staring at her broken ribs and the cavern nested in her chest makes him realize that he deserved this. Whatever this was. This punishment brought on by Kira and her sword. Theo surrenders himself. Surrenders his stolen heart and gives it all back to Tara. He stands in the morgue, open and vulnerable as Tara slowly makes her way towards him. He looks at her with shaking hands, wavering eyes full of regret and an unspoken apology. You don’t have to stop. She doesn’t.
There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, rubbed deep into his skin, dusted into his hair. Theo crawls his way up from the depths of the earth, claws scraping at the sewer floor and gasping for air. His clothes hang on him uncomfortably. He feels heavy. Liam and Hayden are staring at him with piercing eyes. Bile rises in the back of his throat and he moves involuntarily, flight or fight response kicking in. Liam’s body is warm— he becomes hypersensitive to it as he pins him against the wall, scrambling for answers while threats spill out of his mouth. His hands curl into themselves, grime and filth dripping from his palms. He’s nervous, His hands clam up. Venomous words make him lightheaded with every send him back . He doesn’t want to go back, he can’t go back. Going back makes him feel; makes him feel all the destruction and death he had caused along with the gnawing regret. It’s almost numbing. His hands are useless there. His hands shake there and they never stop shaking. He feels sick.
He’s kept on a lousy chain and cuffs, courtesy of Liam Dunbar and his prior inability to stay calm during a full moon. Theo would almost laugh at the thought of Scott tying him up like a rabid dog, but the cooling metal digging into his wrists reminds him all too well of cold bindings as he’s strapped to the Dread Doctors’ operating table. He knows how to ignore it. Push down the past and all of the nasty, traumatic experiences that come with the name Theo Raeken— because right now that doesn’t matter, when has it ever really mattered? His feet start to drag along in the dirt and his whole body trips forward as Liam pulls on his leash. The rattle of chains and pressure around his hands remind him of who he is: a prisoner.
He finds himself back at the hospital, mood turned sour and bitter from Liam’s complete stupidity. He didn’t mean it, but the words are heavy in the air. He knows he would do anything to save Liam, but admitting it aloud was dangerous, so he keeps it buried in the back of his mind and replaces the feeling with the cold, uncaring face he wore before Hell. Staring out into the abandoned hallway brings him back. Tara is in front of him with the same stoic expression he wore that cold night she died, her hand digs into his chest and takes what’s hers. It’s Liam’s voice that reminds him of where he is, grounds him. He hates it.
He finds himself back at the hospital, doing something stupid and selfless. He presses the elevator button in a panic, willing it to open faster and runs back to where Liam bares sharp teeth and bright golden eyes. Before he thinks about it, he’s wrapping his arms around him and pulling him away from the approaching Ghost Riders. Theo doesn’t think about how warm Liam is, his body heat seeping through his t-shirt. He doesn’t think about his hand clutching at Liam’s chest, right where his heart beats frantically, right where Liam places a hand right over his. He throws the beta into the closing elevator, watches as he scrambles to sit upright with confusion scrawled across his face. What are you doing? Theo flashes a grin at him, his claws pricking beneath his skin. Being the bait.
Theo is hesitant with his resurrection. Treads on ice and tightropes on a wire while shoving his hands in his pockets. At least it stops everyone from staring at him. Malicious glares remembering the boy who picked apart their pack one by one with careful fingers tugging at tight knit threads. He picks at the ratty, old, green blanket draped across him as he stares at the roof of his truck. Hands gripped around the fabric. Hands full of violence, muscles built on manipulation, blood pumping mercury, bones that shift beneath his skin, craving to break down and reconstruct. It’s cold in his truck and he nearly jumps at the feeling tickling at his hand. It’s a rarity for him to feel peaceful, to be careful, to be gentle. It’s almost graceful the way the spider crawls across his palm; and for the first time since he can remember he allows himself to relax. To smile fondly at the only company he’s gotten that doesn’t want him dead and buried. The bug wraps himself around his fingers— the same fingers that dug deep into Scott’s stomach, into Tracy’s back. He lurches up in his seat as he feels the spider burrow into his hand, and he remembers that he’ll never be allowed to be gentle.
Liam’s hand burns underneath his fingers. He’s pulling, dragging, retreating to somewhere safe. Because all he can think about when he’s with Liam is to stay safe. To keep him safe. Liam’s eyes singe yellow, demanding to be let go. What’s going on with you? Theo’s fingers squeeze around his wrist and he’s met with the same request. He lets go, the warmth radiating from the younger boy leaving him cold but his eyes still swallowing him up in hot flames. The type of heat that sears a bright ocean blue and he doesn’t know if he’s being burnt alive or if he’s choking on salt water. The type of heat that eats at his skin, burning a cage around his heart and through overpowered waves, anchors him to the ground. He’s so lost in the tension sizzling around them that the young hunter’s shout almost startles him. It’s become more frequent after his time in Hell— the whole scared thing. It’s out of his control, and the idea of not being in control of himself ate at his insides. He watches as Liam tackles the hunter to the ground, sharp fangs and bright eyes on display. Theo’s hands twitch just before knocking him out.
His hands feel dirty. This time, not in a metaphorical sense. The sewers overwhelm him. His delicate, knock-off Chimera senses cloud with nothing but the rotting stench of leaking pipes and for lack of better words, shit. His nose twitches and he fights the urge to pull the neck of his shirt over his face. Although, he doesn’t need supernatural abilities to tell that the energy between him and Mason is full of untrusting annoyance. They had their banter already; their obligatory You Tried Killing All Of Us speech, their I Don’t Like You But Unfortunately We Have To Work Together lecture. Aimlessly walking through the maze of twisting and turning tunnels reminds him of the Dread Doctors: remembers trying to run, left, right, left before getting lost and waiting to be found. The heavy clunking of their boots and clicking frequency as he was dragged back to the operating room. He feels fangs threatening to pierce his gums, the glow of his irises flickering beneath his eyelids, his claws on the verge of flicking through filthy fingertips.
Mason is laying in front of him; Mason is laying in front of him and he’s hurt and he’s only human. It’s an unfamiliar feeling that he’s repressed and pushed down but he feels it rise and bubble at the back of his throat as he looks at him with wide, panicked eyes. His brain is frantic and his body still aches from their unsuccessful fight. But he’ll heal quickly. Mason won’t. Words are exchanged in a blur between them and he can only think about getting the hell out of the sewers but he can’t do that without Mason. Mason who’s leaning against the wall, huffing out in pained breaths, eyes winced shut. His hands reach out to grab the other boy’s arm, pushing up the sleeve of his jacket and wrapping his fingers around warm skin. He’s warm and fleeting thoughts of comforting buzz at the back of his head but he shakes it off; Mason is hurt. He needs to focus on helping . He’s never done this before, never taken pain, never tried to anyways— he’s always been on the end of the spectrum that inflicts pain. He’s seen Scott do it, seen Liam do it, it couldn’t be that hard. Theo’s clutching his arm, eyes wide as he readjusts his grip. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t work and he doesn’t understand why. Mason’s voice is the knife that plunges through his chest. You can’t take pain if you don’t care. Theo lets go.
He pretends not to think about it; pretends that his heart didn’t skip a beat and pound harder in his chest once he took it in (it’s not like Mason would’ve picked up on it anyway). It rings out in his ears when it’s quiet. Takes in notes of disappointing judgment laced with the tone of his voice. Mason had said it as if it was an obvious fact: of course you can’t take pain, not when you’ve done nothing but cause it. Theo ignores it. Ignores the logic behind Mason’s words because since when did his emotions dictate his powers. If that was true his eyes would be a bright glittering blue with the pool of lost lives under his hands. Theo blames it on his chimera status; his eyes shine yellow, although never red like he hoped they would. His hands stay weapons of a killer, because that’s what he was built to be, not a healer— never a healer.
It’s becoming restless, it’s becoming tiring; and Theo is fucking exhausted. It’s a never ending war, really. A constant battle in order to stay alive even at ten years old. He doesn’t remember when he’s ever gotten even a moment of spare relaxation; between experiments that changed everything about him to plotting the thousands of ways he could kill the one and only true alpha to bending over backwards to regain trust and become worthy again. It's a miracle that he doesn’t sport dark bags under his eyes. He feels it though. The rugged, heavy feeling of straining to keep his eyes open, to stay awake and alert. He stares at Liam in the elevator as the werewolf listens for each and every hunter’s heartbeat. I’m not dying for you. I’m not dying for you either. Theo ignores how he can hear both of their heart’s skip a beat, how the air tanks with a hot, syrupy thickness that drizzles them both in the unspoken care for one another. But I will fight with you. Theo’s claws twitch underneath his fingernails. Then let’s fight.
The hot metallic stinging in his shoulder is a feeling that would go away. He’d dig claws into his skin, tearing it open and plucking the bullet out from its hiding place, sighing in relief when the wound would stitch itself back up. The sour stench of fizzling fear and dead bodies pricking his nose is a feeling that he’d never escape. There’s a weak, slow heartbeat crawling its way into his ears and he stands up on shaky legs. Gabe sits on the ground, propped against a wall, stuttering and gasping for air. He was just a kid. Theo’s fingers twitch as he swallows back Deja Vu, makes his way towards him, crouches down in front of him. Gabe looks at him, syrupy waves of fear and sadness oozing from his eyes. It hurts. Theo feels like he's looking back at his own face, a scared kid who suffered from the consequences of following the wrong people, thinking about doing what he thought was the right thing. Theo’s hands are shaking and he can feel the rest of the room’s eyes burning into him. He picks up the boy’s arm, ignoring the storm in his head that thunders You don’t care enough, that shocks him with You’re barely even human.
Theo’s grip on Gabe’s arm tightens the slightest once he feels the pain of a phantom gunshot burrow through him. He stares down at where their arms meet and watches ink black veins trickle up his arm, watches as Gabe’s chest relaxes with a shaky breath. The pain isn’t overwhelming, but he feels every second of it— warm blood pouring from a fresh wound, searing metal firing through him; a bullet crafted from silver and betrayal. Theo doesn’t recognize his own voice as it scratches up his throat. Does it hurt anymore? Gabe’s eyes pool with the memories of his life, stumbling down the paths of where he went wrong, staring at Theo as if he wasn’t the monster he thought he was. He shakes his head, murmuring out No. Theo gives his arm one last squeeze; a comforting touch, a goodbye, or maybe it was his fingers syncing with his heart as a beat lurched in his chest. Good. Theo watches as Gabe’s eyes close peacefully and thinks about Tracy, thinks about Josh, thinks about Tara. There aren’t claw marks buried in Gabe’s stomach, no claws straining up into his back, no bridge he watches from as someone loses their life.
Theo drops his arm and his hands shake.