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The pack meeting is in full swing when Stiles joins in by Zoom.
He’d already been having a rough day in DC (three essays plus ADHD exuberant happiness does not make) and being left fifteen minutes - FIFTEEN, SCOTT - in the ‘waiting room’ with Peter has not massively improved his mood.
See, the only benefit to Zoom should be that he doesn’t have to interact with Peter, but no , Peter had TEXTED him, so Stiles had been forcibly made aware that they’d been left in virtual limbo together. Just like old times, Peter had texted, with far too much smug familiarity.
SO, when Stiles is finally let into to see the rest of the pack, he is far from impressed to see that all the important updates re: Monroe have already been dispensed with, and instead he’s been left as an unwilling virtual eavesdropper to several random and boring side conversations from his slightly lopsided view of the Geyer living room. The puppy pack is being loud as hell (mostly Liam and Mason, not Corey, whose familiar snideness is at least quiet ) and it’s then - THEN, that Stiles sees it.
‘Hey, hey, EXCUSE ME, hey - what is THAT?’
Everyone swivels around to stare down at the tiny screen of Scott’s laptop, which would be gratifying if Stiles wasn’t currently suspended in a state of confused horror.
‘What’s what?’ Ah, Scott, you sweet summer child. Scott. Scotty . See, this is what happens when Stiles isn’t around to be the voice of level-headed reason!
‘THAT.’ Stiles jabs a finger at the screen and watches the chaos as they all swivel around with varying degrees of pre-emptive alarm, to stare at -
Theo Raeken.
Freaking Theo. Raeken. Dressed in what Stiles can only describe as a pink, fluffy monstrosity . A wolf in sheepskin - horrible, pink sheepskin, at that.
Theo, the traitorous dick, just blinks back at him confusedly from the back of the room. Even from several feet (and statelines) away, Stiles can see his stupid little face with its look of supposed innocence. As though he’s not probably actively planning their murder(s), all while dressed like a pink canary had vomited on him.
Lydia, his dear, lovely Lydia, who would never disagree with him (Stiles has an excellent and not at all mildly selective memory, why would you ask), blinks slowly in his general direction. ‘Which part, specifically, is escaping your understanding, Stiles?’ she says, patiently.
Stiles stares back at her, aghast (traitor!). ‘THEO, love of my life. THEO.’
If Stiles had hoped this would clarify matters and win the star of his heart over to his extremely logical side (he had), he was soon (immediately) to be proven wrong.
The star of his heart and light of life just blinks slowly at him. ‘And?’ Her perfect eyelashes bat delicately, once.
Stiles, possibly, loses it, just slightly. ‘THEO. THEO RAEKEN. YOU KNOW THAT GUY. THE FREAKING CHIMERA OF - OF DEATH. THE GUY WHO BETRAYED US ALL AND - ’
Stiles takes a deep breath and counts to ten. Then again to fifteen. He thinks he sounds like the picture of calm, really, absolutely, dead calm. Hey, funny thing about dead - ‘WHY IS HE HERE?’
He rears back slightly a moment later when Lydia’s beautiful face disappears, blotted out by - Liam? He appears like an unpaid extra in a slasher flick - first a wave of floppy hair, followed suddenly by FACE in front of Scott’s camera.
Stiles stares. Liam’s eyes are gold.
‘Huh- hey, Liam, buddy! Tell me you’re going to back me up, here,’ Stiles says gratefully. He’ll take his allies where they come. No doubt, Liam’s also worried about Theo.
Kid’s always had a good head on his shoulders, at least when he’s not hulking out during the full moon, in a boathouse, or in a forest or in a moving vehicle, inches from Stiles and Derek’s collective necks. You know, other than that.
Faintly, from offscreen, he hears someone (who sounds like Malia) say, ‘Oh, boy. Here we go.’
Liam growls, low and threatening in his throat, one clawed hand appearing in the foreground of the screen. Oh good, raring to go, Stiles thinks.
Then, without warning, the screen goes black.
What the fuck.
Stiles re-dials.
This time there’s a short delay, then the screen blares on, Zoomed in to Scott’s harried expression and what sounds like distant chaos in the background. ‘Buddy! What the hell? What’s wrong with your internet connection?’
‘Hey, so, uh,’ Scott says, sounding like a henpecked mother of many children. ‘Stiles, this may be not the best -’
Stiles scans the room, looking for - ‘He’s STILL THERE. Scott, man, what-’ Wait, he thinks. Wait. Is that Liam ? Standing next to Theo, heads bowed together. In like. Commiseration?
Holy shit, is Liam comforting him??? Stiles throws up a little in his mouth.
Never has he been so disappointed, so betrayed, never . Not when Scott took his last packet of special edition Star Wars pop tarts, or when Scott kissed Lydia (oh yeah, that happened) or when - hey - when Scott believed Stiles had MURDERED A GUY. In COLD BLOOD.
Because of Theo. Yeah.
‘Scott,’ he says, quietly, reasonably, ‘Scotty. Scott . What have you done. Please - please - tell me you haven’t fallen for that snake in the grass, again . Scott, I don’t have time to come up there and fix this, man. You’re going to have to get rid of him yourself. Maybe Noshiko can help you put that sword back together! I believe in you.’
Distantly, he hears Liam growl. Then, not-so-distantly.
‘HOLY SHIT, could you stop doing that with the camera?’ Stiles yelps and Liam looms large on his screen, all pointy lil fangs and golden eyes. ‘And put those away.’
Sheesh, next he’s going to be saying ‘young man’. He’s turning into his dad. Next he’ll be grounding him for dating someone inappropriate.
Lucky that isn’t a problem.
Lydia has never - over a long career in being exasperated at Stiles - felt more like wringing his neck. Over by the laptop, Scott is trying to remonstrate with him, and meanwhile, in the corner of the room Theo is looking like he wants nothing more than to crawl away and hide, but Liam seems to be talking him down, Mason and Corey hanging around him as well.
Lydia, however, has other responsibilities to deal with.
‘Scott,’ she says gently, and when Scott turns away from the screen, relief already gathering on his face, she simply holds out her hands for the laptop. ‘I’ll take him,’ she says. She loves Stiles, she really does, but sometimes it feels like wrangling a child.
When she has the laptop, she turns the screen, deliberately blocking out Stiles’ view of Theo (who had been slowly sidling away as though to escape the camera) and Liam. ‘Stiles,’ she says, sternly, and watches with satisfaction as the wind escapes his sails.
‘Lydia! My darling,’ he says, adoringly, and it’s nice - she loves him, of course - but right at this moment she can’t help feeling fairly irritated. Well. More than usual.
‘You need to stop,’ she informs him tartly, not for the first time, and settles in for a long argument.
Corey thinks this all could have been avoided.
Mostly through not inviting Stiles to a pack meeting by Zoom (who saw this as ending badly? Corey did, not that anyone asked, other than Mason).
‘I told you this was a bad idea,’ he intones to Mason, who nods in a way that indicates he has heard this many times before, but loves Corey anyway and respects his opinions.
Theo, and since when had Theo Raeken, become Theo and someone Corey felt vaguely concerned about? And not concerned in the he-might-slash-out-my-throat way and more in the oh-he-looks-sad. And droopy. And a bit like Mason’s dad’s ficus after Corey forgets to water it for a few days (Mason forgets for weeks ).
Theo is looking particularly droopy at the moment. And kind of wilted, just like Mason’s dad’s ficus. The image is helped by the fluffy hoodie thing Liam had bought him, despite Corey and Mason’s well-meaning advice.
Which to Corey’s eternal vague surprise, Theo had apparently loved. To the point where he literally never seemed to take it off. Mason and Corey had begun to take small bets on whether Liam had, in secret, purchased multiples of the fluffy thing so that Theo could never been seen without his armour of pink polyester.
The reaction of the pack to Theo’s new outfit had been one for the ages. Corey has vivid memories of Liam hulking, arms crossed like some kind of mafia enforcer, behind Theo as though daring - daring - anyone to say a word against it (or Theo), resulting in a chorus of voices proclaiming in high, falsely bright tones (with only occasional bemused, darted glances at Liam), ‘hey, looking good, Theo!’
Corey, himself, is actually still sort of horrified that something like that hoodie thing even exists in the realm of possible, wearable human garments. To his eternal confusion, however, Malia had appeared intrigued by it and the next thing Corey knew, Scott had bought her a matching slate grey one and Theo and Malia were what could only be described as bonding over the things.
Liam has yet to let Corey forget it, or to stop expounding, with glowing smugness, how soft and silky and comforting it is, Corey, come on, stroke it. Corey may no longer specifically fear or hate Theo, but he feels no inclination to stroke or pat Liam’s boyfriend. He has his own, much superior boyfriend, thank you. Who hasn’t murdered anyone (well, not deliberately! The Beast thing doesn’t count!)
At the moment, though, Corey is quite enjoying the sheer chaos that’s evolving.
‘You can’t expect meeting the parents to go perfectly every time,’ he says helpfully, patting Theo’s fluff-covered forearm. He’s quite pleased by Theo’s tiny half-hearted glare. ‘I’m sure he’ll hate you less soon.’
(He’s really not, but, comforting, right?)
‘That thing really is fluffy,’ he says to Mason.
Malia is hungry. This meeting was supposed to be over half an hour ago and Liam’s mother had promised them cookies when they were done and now they’re not done and there are still no cookies. So. She’s hungry. And a bit pissed off.
‘I’m hungry,’ she informs Scott. ‘And this is annoying. Are we done yet?’
Scott sighs, offers her a tired smile. ‘I think… nearly?’ He lowers his voice. ‘I don’t want to go over and check on Stiles in case I set him off again.’
Malia nods knowingly. ‘Yeah. I get that.’ This had been so much easier when she could just have sex with Stiles to make him shut up about his weird fixations. But apparently that’s frowned on when you’re dating someone else. She’s still kind of learning all these stupid rules.
She could understand him being fixated on Theo, though. Sexually or because of the murder thing. And being fixated on Lydia too, honestly. Sexually that is, Malia doesn’t think that he’s worried that Lydia is going to kill them. Well. Not literally. Point is, Malia gets it, about Lydia.
She gets a little distracted for a few minutes, thinking about Lydia’s skin, and hair and eyes. And curves. And boobs. It would be so much simpler if they could all just have sex, she thinks. Maybe she should suggest it.
She’s looking at Lydia contemplatively, when Stiles’ voice breaks in, now about 70% more plaintive (aka: whining). ‘Come on, though, Lyds. He tried to kill us.’ Yup, there it is, the whining.
Malia moves closer to Lydia. ‘Well, I wanted to kill him and nobody let me. I could have torn out his throat and everything.’
There’s a faint growl from Liam on the other side of the room - which she ignores - as well as the fond scent of Scott’s amusement. ‘But now , we’re all friends, so if I have to put up with him you do too.’
Stiles’ face is doing that stupid wrinkled thing it does when he’s wrong but doesn’t want to admit it. ‘Nice hoodie,’ he says pointedly.
Malia stares him down. He wavers. ‘What about it?’
Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it. ‘I like the grey,’ he admits. ‘Better than Theo’s ,’ he adds pettily.
Malia sighs. ‘Why, because it’s pink?’ she says bluntly.
‘Well, yeah!’ Stiles bursts out. His hands wave frustratedly. ‘And mainly because it’s him . In a pink hoodie.’
Malia practically feels Scott’s frown as he comes up beside her, hand automatically finding hers. ‘Stiles, Theo should be able to wear a pink hoodie if he wants.’ His eyes are wide and earnest. ‘There’s no need to feed into,’ he hesitates, fumbling a little for the words Malia knows he’s been reading in one of his improving books, ‘the existing, damaging patriarchal hegemony of our society. We don’t need to do that.’ He levels Stiles with a gentle, rather disappointed gaze.
Stiles stares up at him. After a long moment, he says, flatly, ‘What.’
Malia sighs. ‘Basically, he means don’t be a dick, Stiles,’ she tells him and beams as Lydia snorts. ’Now are we done? I was promised cookies.’
Sure, Mason used to distrust Theo deeply and enduringly, it’s true, mostly because of the entire ill-fated and increasingly-bizarre-with-time plot to infiltrate the pack and then murder them? Take over as alpha? (Mason is unclear on the specifics, and at this point it feels weird to ask).
But a lot of water has passed under the bridge since then (eighteen months!) and right now he’s honestly feeling only concern at the weird faraway look in Theo’s eyes and the way his hands are curling back into the sleeves of his hoodie so that only the fingertips are visible, his shoulders visibly hunched and tight even beneath the thick fur.
It’s clear Liam shares the concern, and more, his eyes worried and intent on Theo’s pinched face. ‘Just ignore him,’ he’s saying, his hand curled gently around Theo’s wrist. He shakes it a little. ‘Ignore him, okay? I won’t let him do anything - Scott won’t let him - and he’s in DC anyway.’
‘He’s right, though, I shouldn’t be here,’ Theo says in a low voice. He doesn’t seem to be able to meet anyone’s eyes, and his face is far too angsty and tragic for a nineteen-year-old boy wearing what’s essentially a ball of pink fluff. ‘You should probably listen to him.’
‘What the hell, Theo!’ Liam hisses, sounding like an angry goose. ‘No, we shouldn’t!’
‘You should ,’ Theo insists. ‘I’ve done - you know what I’ve done, Liam.’ His voice goes quiet and defeated. ‘He’s right . I am a chimera of death.’
‘Does the chimera of death want a cookie?’ Jenna Geyer says gently, behind him, with the distinct air of someone who has been hearing this for the past several months. Everyone’s eyes snap up, a dutiful chorus of ‘Hi, Mrs Geyer’ going up from the whole pack, even Stiles from the laptop. She’s carrying a plate full of warm, slightly melty choc chip cookies, and even to Mason’s regular human nose they smell like heaven.
Theo’s whole body seems to slump under the hand she puts on his shoulder. ‘Yes, please,’ he says in a very small voice, and Jenna smiles at him softly as he takes one - the smallest one - from the very edge of the plate. He proceeds to stare down at it without taking a bite, his eyes shadowed and faraway.
‘Oh my god,’ pipes Stiles’ voice tinnily from the laptop. He sounds calmer now, seemingly resigned to the whole situation. ‘Just eat the freakin’ cookie, dude.’ The exasperated sigh that follows from the computer is audible across the room.
‘See,’ Corey tells Theo out of the side of his mouth, ‘told you he’d forgive you.’
Epilogue
‘We’re here!’ Peter announces grandly, bursting through the doors. A much less hurried and unimpressed Derek trails behind him. ‘Come on, what did we miss?’
He’s rather disappointed to see the pack all in one piece, eating cookies. Given that this was to have been the first time the intrepid Stiles and Theo ‘Chimera of Death’ Raeken were to interact in a pack meeting, Peter had been hoping for sparks. He had even made popcorn.
‘Don’t tell me we missed the fun ,’ he complains. ‘I was hoping for murder. A maiming, at least.’
‘Peter,’ Derek says flatly.
‘What?’ Peter says unrepentantly. ‘A man’s got to get his kicks somewhere.’ Honestly, Scott McCall heads the most irritatingly well-regulated pack he’s ever seen. It’s always ‘let’s talk things out this’ and ‘peace summits that’ and ‘ diplomacy’ and never a good, old-fashioned fight with claws and fangs and flying fur. No wonder Peter suffers from such incurable ennui .
He swivels to eye Theo, in all his fluffy glory. ‘Theo. Still intact, I see.’ He ignores the way Liam visibly bristles at the comment. It’s not like he means any harm by it. He likes Theo, actually.
‘Peter,’ says Theo, and Peter - who is more observant than most people give him credit for - wonders if he’s the only one who notices the way Theo’s fingers slip into Liam’s and squeeze gently, placating. Aww.
‘Derek,’ Theo adds, nodding.
‘Theo,’ Derek nods back. They have the most boring, professional relationship. Peter cannot relate.
‘Stiles ,’ chirps Stiles from over on the laptop, pointedly. Derek sighs.
Peter watches fondly as Derek sneaks a cookie off the plate and walks slowly over to loom in front of Scott’s laptop. There’s at least a 30% chance, he thinks, that one day Stiles and his unforgivably dense nephew are going to work things out. And if (when) they do, Peter will be the one to say he saw it coming all along.
Stiles shuffles awkwardly on his bean bag as he squints at Derek via the screen. Derek is munching one of Jenna’s cookies in complete silence, and they share a mutually peaceful moment. Then, Stiles says:
‘Hey Derek, do you think I’m sexist?’
Derek stops munching, eyeing Stiles warily. ‘Why would you ask me this.’
Stiles shrugs. He wants one of Jenna’s cookies.
And maybe a fluffy thing like Theo’s.
He wonders if he can convince Derek to buy him a purple one.