Chapter Text
Theo sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the side. The forest stretched out below him, dark and endless, the town a cluster of faint lights far in the distance. Lookout Point was quiet this time of night—no kids sneaking beers, no couples making out, no pack members patrolling. Just him, the wind, and the sound of her heart, too loud in his chest.
He pulled in a slow breath, tasting the crisp November air, cold enough to sting. It smelled like pine and earth, like the kind of silence that was meant to last. The moon was climbing higher above the ridge, a bright, cold circle, painting the rocks silver.
His fingers brushed over the vial in his jacket pocket—the glass smooth, the liquid inside gleaming faintly yellow when it caught the light. Wolfsbane. He didn’t take it out. He just felt its weight, solid and sure, like a promise he finally meant to keep.
He’d been thinking about this for weeks. Maybe longer. But tonight made sense. It was the eleventh anniversary. Eleven years since his sister died. Eleven years since he made her die.
The anniversary of the night he stole her heart.
He stared down at the dark forest and thought how wrong it was that he could still remember her face in pieces—the anger, the betrayal, the pain. The Dread Doctors watching, approving. The way she fell.
He was nine. He didn’t even understand what dying meant.
Now he did.
He huffed out a quiet laugh, wiping at his face when he felt tears he hadn’t given permission for. It was so fucked up—how he’d thought about this, planned this, rehearsed it, like it was something logical. Like it was a mission instead of an ending.
He should’ve written Stiles a note. That was the right thing to do, right? Leave a goodbye. A reason. Something to make sense of what he was about to do.
But he couldn’t do that.
He needed to hear him first. One last time. Just Stiles’s voice, that sarcastic, quick, steady sound that could calm him faster than anything. He needed to remember it before everything went quiet for good.
Theo reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen for too long, his chest tight. Then he hit the call button.
It rang once. Twice.
“Yo, you’ve reached the Stilinski hotline, caller number one thousand. Congratulations, your prize is me answering anyway,” came the voice, quick, sarcastic, and warm.
Theo smiled despite himself, despite the shaking in his chest. “Hey,” he said quietly.
“Theo,” Stiles said immediately, cheerful, familiar. “What’s up? You skipping out on game night finally catching up to you? You missing our collective idiocy?”
Theo exhaled slowly, forcing his voice steady. “Something like that. How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know. 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 could hear voices and laughter in the background, the sounds of people who were safe, together, alive. The contrast made his stomach twist.
“That sounds nice,” he said, staring at the moon.
“Yeah, well, it’d be nicer if you were here,” Stiles said. “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?”
Theo almost laughed. It caught in his throat and came out like a sigh. “I just needed some air. Wanted to see the stars.”
That made Stiles pause. “The stars?”
Theo nodded, even though Stiles couldn’t see him. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t even know you liked stars,” Stiles said, teasing but curious. “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 smiled faintly. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“I will,” Stiles said without missing a beat.
Theo went quiet. The wind brushed through the trees below, cold against his face. He could almost pretend everything was fine. Almost.
Stiles noticed the silence. “Hey,” he said, softer now. “You okay?”
Theo swallowed hard, forcing the words out evenly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Theo.”
He closed his eyes. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said, lying through his teeth. His voice was steady enough, he hoped. “You know I love you, right?”
There was silence on the other end. Just static and breathing. Then Stiles’s voice came back, sharper, worried. “Theo, what are you doing?”
Theo’s grip tightened on the phone. “Watching the stars.”
His voice wasn’t steady this time. He could hear it shake, hear the truth bleeding through.
He could also hear Stiles move—the shift of keys, the scrape of a chair, a muffled voice saying something in the background. The tone changed. Panic, fast and real.
“Theo,” Stiles said again, louder now, more urgent. “Where are you?”
“Lookout Point,” Theo said quietly.
There was a curse on the other end of the line, the sound of footsteps, movement. “Okay, I’m coming. Don’t move. Just—stay there.”
Theo’s heart clenched. “Stiles, don’t.”
“I’m coming anyway,” Stiles said, firm. “Now stay on the line.”
“Stiles—”
“I mean it.”
Theo’s throat burned. He wanted to keep it together, to keep his voice calm, but it cracked anyway. “There’s nothing you can do,” he said, and his voice broke on the words.
“Then let me try,” Stiles said, and Theo could hear his voice shake now too. “Just wait. Please, Theo. Wait for me.”
Theo shut his eyes, the wind cold against the tears sliding down his face. He turned his head toward the stars, forcing himself to breathe, to speak, to fill the silence between them before it broke him.
“You shouldn’t come, you’ll just get here too late.”
“Stop saying that.”
Theo laughed weakly. “You’ve always been stubborn.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not making it easy,” Stiles said. “Theo, I swear to God, if you do something stupid before I get there—”
Theo let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a breath. “You’ll what? Hate me?”
Stiles’s voice cracked. “No. I’ll hate myself.”
Theo’s hand trembled around the phone. He looked up at the stars again, at the bright cold sky. “You shouldn’t,” he said softly. “You’ve already done too much for me.”
“I haven’t done enough,” Stiles said. “Because if I had, you wouldn’t be up there right now thinking this is the only way.”
Theo wiped at his face again, his sleeve catching on the wetness there. He couldn’t stop shaking.
“Stiles.”
“Yeah?”
Theo took a breath that hurt all the way down. “You were the best part of my life.”
“No,” Stiles said immediately, voice breaking. “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, low and shaky. “I’m not saying goodbye.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Theo’s hand slipped into his jacket pocket, fingers brushing the vial again. The glass was cold. He gripped it until it hurt.
“That I love you,” he said.
“Theo—”
“And I’m sorry.”
“Theo, stop it!”
Theo’s breath hitched. “I just wanted to see the stars with you one more time.”
He could hear the Jeep engine roaring in the distance now through the phone, Stiles’s voice echoing over it, frantic.
“Theo, listen to me,” Stiles said, desperate now, almost yelling. “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.”
Theo’s chest hurt too much to breathe. His vision blurred as he tilted his head back, the stars doubling in his sight.
He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, trying to focus on the only thing that mattered. Stiles’s voice.
“Please,” Stiles whispered now, almost broken. “Please wait for me.”
Theo rose slowly from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the cliff. The movement felt heavy, every muscle reluctant, like the world itself was trying to hold him in place. The phone was still pressed to his ear, Stiles’s voice shaking through the line, all static and panic and something like fear. The other hand—his right—was deep in his jacket pocket, fingers wrapped tight around the small glass vial that had been burning a hole in his consciousness all night.
The edge of the cliff looked different from up here, standing. Closer. Sharper. The wind whipped his hair into his eyes and carried the pine scent off the trees below. The drop wasn’t endless, not really, but it was enough. And the wolfsbane in his pocket was enough to make sure enough stayed enough.
He looked down, at the black stretch below, the faint glimmer of moonlight catching off the rocks. It wasn’t fear that twisted in his stomach—it was something quieter. Resignation, maybe. Peace, almost. The kind that came when you’d fought for too long and didn’t have anything left to give.
Theo shut his eyes, hand tightening around the vial. Even yellow wolfsbane wouldn’t kill him outright, but it would stop the healing—slow him down, weaken him enough that the fall would finish what the poison started. He hated that he’d learned exactly how much it took. Hated that he’d calculated the dosage like it was homework.
He looked up again. The headlights were faint through the trees below the hill now, twin beams cutting through the dark, growing brighter. He could already hear the faint crunch of tires on gravel.
He didn’t have much time.
He didn’t want to make Stiles watch.
Theo swallowed hard and whispered into the phone, “You shouldn’t have come.”
Stiles’s voice was breaking apart in his ear, louder now, the Jeep engine roaring over it. “You don’t get to tell me that, Theo! You don’t get to decide that!”
Theo’s throat tightened. His hand came out of his pocket, the glass catching the moonlight as he lifted the vial. It looked almost pretty—bright, golden, poisonous.
He could already taste the metallic bite of regret before he even opened it.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, mostly to himself, maybe to Stiles too.
“Theo—”
He twisted the cap off.
“Theo, don’t you dare!”
Theo tilted the vial back and swallowed.
The liquid burned instantly, searing his throat, the heat sharp and biting like swallowing sunlight turned to acid. He coughed hard, eyes watering, the taste of metal and bitterness coating his tongue. His body reacted fast—the trembling started almost immediately, spreading through his hands, his chest.
He dropped the phone. It hit the dirt near his boot, the screen flashing Stiles’s name, the voice on the other end still yelling his.
Theo’s knees wobbled as he steadied himself, the empty vial dangling between his fingers. He turned around slowly, breath ragged, and froze.
Stiles was there.
Ten feet away, headlights cutting around his body, his silhouette backlit and shaking. His eyes were wide, his chest heaving, hair windblown. He looked like someone who’d run through hell to get there.
“Theo,” Stiles said, voice low, trembling, but sharp enough to slice through the air. “What the hell did you just take?”
Theo didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The vial slipped from his hand, hit the ground, and shattered.
The smell of wolfsbane hit the air, sharp and poisonous.
Stiles’s face went pale, horror flashing through his expression. “Theo—Jesus, no.”
Theo stared at him, heart hammering. He hadn’t expected him to make it in time. Not this time. He’d thought he’d be gone before Stiles even got close enough to stop him. He hadn’t thought about what it would look like, what it would do to Stiles, seeing him like this—standing on the edge, poison in his veins, moonlight bleeding across his face.
He took a small, stumbling step backward, his heel grazing the rock’s edge. The movement made Stiles jerk forward like he’d been shot.
“Don’t you move,” Stiles said, voice breaking. “Theo, don’t. Please. Just—just stay right there.”
Theo tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat, his chest tightening from the wolfsbane already clawing at his system. He coughed, hand gripping his ribs.
Stiles moved closer, one step, slow, cautious, like he was afraid Theo might vanish if he moved too fast. “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 answer. His silence said enough.
Stiles’s voice cracked open completely. “You’re such an idiot,” he said, shaking his head, tears in his eyes now, voice trembling but fierce. “You absolute—stupid—self-destructive idiot.”
Theo’s lips twitched in a broken sort of smile. “Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely. “I know.”
“You think this fixes anything?” Stiles demanded, voice trembling but louder now. “You think dying—hell, trying to die—is gonna make it better? It’s not. It’s just gonna—” He stopped, breath catching. “You’re gonna break me, Theo.”
Theo’s breath hitched, the words hitting harder than any punch he’d ever taken. He wanted to step forward, to go to him, but the edge was right there, and his body was already swaying from the poison and the pain.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Theo said softly, his voice barely carrying over the wind.
“Then don’t,” Stiles said, taking another careful step forward. “Don’t jump. Don’t—don’t make me watch this. Please.”
Theo’s eyes burned. The pain in his chest was spreading now, every nerve screaming, his healing sluggish, slow. His breath came short and ragged.
He looked at Stiles, the way the headlights caught in his eyes, turning them to amber and gold. “You shouldn’t be here,” Theo said, voice trembling.
Stiles’s jaw tightened. “You don’t get to tell me that anymore.”
Theo’s legs trembled again, and Stiles took another step, hands half raised like he was approaching something fragile, dangerous. “Theo, you listen to me right now—whatever you think you deserve, whatever you think you did, I don’t care. You hear me? I don’t care. You don’t get to do this alone.”
Theo laughed, but it came out cracked, shaking. “I already did.”
“No,” Stiles said, his voice breaking again. “You survived. That’s not the same thing.”
Theo swallowed hard, his vision swimming. The stars above him blurred together. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
“I know,” Stiles said, his voice raw. “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 looked at him, at his shaking hands, at his tear-streaked face. It hurt worse than the poison.
“I don’t deserve you,” Theo whispered.
“Yeah, well, tough shit,” Stiles said, stepping closer again, his voice trembling but fierce. “You’ve got me anyway.”
Theo’s breath shuddered out. His knees buckled a little, the wolfsbane taking more from him with every heartbeat.
Stiles surged forward a step. “Theo, please,” he said, voice raw, tears slipping down his face. “Step away from the edge.”
Theo looked down. The darkness below called to him like it always did—quiet, endless, merciful. But Stiles’s voice was louder.
He wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that maybe he wasn’t just some broken monster who’d used up all his chances.
Theo’s legs trembled again, his balance faltering. He felt the sharp sting of fear—not for himself, but for Stiles. For what it would do to him if Theo didn’t move.
He took a slow, unsteady step forward.
Stiles’s breath hitched audibly. “That’s it,” he said, voice shaking with relief. “That’s it, keep coming.”
Theo’s vision blurred again, his pulse stuttering. The poison was fast, too fast, burning through his veins like wildfire. He could feel his knees giving out, his body no longer listening to him.
He barely registered Stiles lunging the last few feet, hands gripping his jacket, dragging him backward from the edge just as his legs gave out completely.
Theo collapsed into him, shaking, breath ragged, the wolfsbane already sending shocks through his system. Stiles caught him, barely, both of them hitting the dirt hard, the sound of Theo’s choked breath breaking the night open.
Stiles’s arms locked around him, tight, shaking. “You’re okay,” he said over and over, voice trembling. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
Theo couldn’t even answer. His vision flickered, the world tilting. He could feel his heartbeat slowing, could taste the poison still burning down his throat.
He’d meant to die quietly. Instead, he was in Stiles’s arms, his boyfriend crying into his shoulder, holding him like letting go would mean the end of the world.
Stiles was crying.
Not just tears, not the quiet kind of crying that Theo sometimes caught in the corner of his eye when Stiles thought no one noticed—this was full, broken, shaking sobs that tore right out of him. The kind that hit like punches. The kind Theo had never, ever wanted to hear.
Theo could feel the tremors in Stiles’s arms as he held him tighter, like if he just gripped hard enough, he could keep Theo from slipping through his fingers. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts against Theo’s neck, the sound small and awful in the night.
“You’re okay,” Stiles whispered again, voice cracking down the middle. “You’re gonna be okay. You have to be.”
Theo wanted to tell him he wasn’t sure. That the wolfsbane was burning through him like wildfire, dulling everything else. His skin was cold, his body felt like it was shutting down piece by piece, and every breath came slower than the last.
But he couldn’t say any of that. His throat was too raw, his voice buried somewhere between the heartbeat that kept stumbling and the weight pressing down on his chest.
So he just leaned into the warmth instead. Stiles’s warmth. The heat of his body pressed against Theo’s, his tears soaking through Theo’s jacket, his heartbeat hammering hard and wild under his ribs.
It was the sound of life—messy, human, terrified life—and it broke Theo in a different way.
He hadn’t realized until this moment how quiet his world had become. How much noise he’d shut out. Stiles’s sobs cut through that silence like light through fog. They sounded awful and real and alive, and Theo hated that he’d almost taken them away.
He blinked, slow and heavy, vision swimming. “Stiles…” His voice was barely a whisper.
Stiles pulled back just enough to see his face. His own was streaked with tears and moonlight, eyes bloodshot, jaw tight. “Hey, hey—don’t you dare close your eyes. You hear me? Don’t you fucking dare.”
Theo tried to smile, and maybe he did. It felt weak. “Language,” he rasped, and Stiles let out something between a laugh and a sob.
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, voice breaking. “You think this is funny?”
Theo tried to shake his head, but the motion was slow. “No. I just—” He coughed, wincing. “I like hearing you talk.”
“Yeah? Then maybe don’t poison yourself next time,” Stiles snapped, his words sharp but trembling. He swiped a sleeve across his face, smearing tears he couldn’t seem to stop. “God, Theo, what the hell were you thinking?”
Theo’s breath stuttered in his chest. “I wasn’t.”
“Clearly!” Stiles yelled, then caught himself, pressing a hand against Theo’s chest as if to make sure he was still breathing. His fingers lingered there, trembling. “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 fast enough to grab Stiles’s wrist. “No,” he said, voice hoarse. “Don’t call him.”
“Don’t—Theo, I’m not gonna sit here and just—watch—”
“Please,” Theo said, the word dragging out like a breath. “Just you. I want it to be just you.”
Stiles froze. The anger in his face cracked wide open, something terrified underneath. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not—this isn’t—no. You’re not dying.”
Theo closed his eyes for half a second, feeling the poison like ice under his skin. “It’s just wolfsbane,” he said, trying to make it sound like reassurance. “It won’t kill me. Not right away.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Theo gave a broken laugh that came out as more of a wheeze. “Didn’t say that.”
Stiles let out a choked sound, part laugh, part sob, his hands curling in Theo’s jacket like he couldn’t decide whether to shake him or hold him closer. “You’re such an asshole,” he whispered.
“I know.”
Theo’s voice was fading, quieter each time he spoke, and Stiles noticed. He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, his voice trembling against Theo’s mouth. “Stay with me, okay? Just keep talking. Please.”
Theo’s body trembled, the burn from the wolfsbane eating through his chest. His breathing came shallow, uneven. “You’re crying,” he murmured.
“No shit,” Stiles said, a tear sliding down his cheek, dripping onto 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—like it hurt to hear it out loud. “You shouldn’t,” he whispered.
Stiles pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “Too late.”
Theo’s vision blurred again, the edges of the world softening. “You don’t get it.”
“Then make me get it,” Stiles said, desperate now, voice cracking. “Tell me. Tell me why, Theo. Why tonight? Why now?”
Theo’s throat ached. “It’s the anniversary.”
“I know,” Stiles said quickly. “But you—you told me you were fine.”
“I lied.”
“Then stop lying.”
Theo swallowed hard, breath shaking. “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.”
Stiles went perfectly still. The sound that came out of him wasn’t quite a sob—it was quieter, smaller, like something breaking clean in half.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Theo, no. No, no, no, you don’t get to say that. You don’t—you can’t fix it like that.”
Theo’s eyes fluttered. “It’s the only thing I can give her.”
“It’s not,” Stiles said fiercely. “You honor her by living, Theo. You don’t make it right by dying. You make it right by being better.”
Theo laughed weakly. “Better,” he echoed. “I tried.”
“And you’re still trying,” Stiles said, his hands gripping Theo’s face now, forcing his gaze up. “You hear me? You’re not done. You think this—this pain, this guilt—this 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 blinked slowly, tears catching at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered again, the words slurring a little as his body trembled harder.
“You keep saying that,” Stiles said, voice 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’s lips parted, a faint smile ghosting there. “You’re good at this.”
“I’m good at loving you,” Stiles said, voice breaking. “That’s what I’m good at. So don’t you dare make me lose you.”
Theo could feel it now—the poison slowing everything, dragging him under. His pulse was faint, fluttering like a trapped bird. But Stiles’s voice cut through the fog every time it started to fade, dragging him back to the surface.
“Look at me,” Stiles said suddenly, sharp. “Theo, look at me.”
Theo forced his eyes open. Stiles’s face was blurry, wet with tears, glowing faintly gold under the headlights. He looked terrified, and Theo hated that it was his fault.
“I’m here,” Theo whispered.
“I know,” Stiles said, voice shaking. “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 head tilted, weak, the weight of the words pressing down on him. “Maybe I do,” he said faintly.
“You do,” Stiles said, fierce. “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. “Soup?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, voice trembling but sure. “Chicken noodle. Homemade. It’s what you get for almost dying on me.”
Theo huffed out something like a laugh, weak but real. “You can’t cook.”
“Then I’ll order it,” Stiles said. “Doesn’t matter. Just—stay.”
Theo wanted to. God, he wanted to. The pain was brutal now, the poison eating away at his focus, but Stiles’s voice, his hands, his warmth—they pulled him in like gravity.
His head fell forward onto Stiles’s shoulder, breath shallow. “Hurts,” he mumbled.
“I know,” Stiles said, holding him tighter. “I know, but it’s gonna stop. Just hang on.”
Theo’s body jerked suddenly—a tremor, his healing trying and failing against the poison. His breath hitched, a sharp noise escaping him.
“Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” Stiles said again, panic creeping in. “Stay awake. Don’t close your eyes. You’re safe. You’re here.”
Theo’s voice was barely there. “You’re crying again.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said. “And I’ll keep crying if that’s what it takes to keep you here.”
Theo let out a sound, something small and wrecked, half a sob, half a laugh. His hand twitched where it rested against Stiles’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Stop saying that,” Stiles said, voice shaking. “Stop apologizing for being alive.”
Theo’s lips trembled. “You really love me.”
“Of course I do,” Stiles said, his voice raw, real, unguarded. “I’ve loved you through every stupid, broken, beautiful thing you’ve done, and I’m not stopping now.”
Theo closed his eyes again, a faint, fragile peace threading through the pain. He could feel Stiles’s heartbeat under his cheek, fast and alive. It was the sound of everything he thought he’d never get back.
“Okay,” Theo whispered, barely audible. “Okay, I’ll try.”
Stiles let out a breath that sounded like a prayer. He pressed his lips to Theo’s hair, his voice trembling. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Theo clung weakly to his shirt, the poison still burning, the world still spinning—but for the first time in years, he didn’t want to let go.
He didn’t want the quiet. He wanted this. Stiles’s heartbeat. His voice. His hands. The warmth, the noise, the mess of it all.
He wanted to live.