Taken in Snapshots: A Thiam One-Shot Collection

The Power of Sweatshirts, Car Keys, and Little Metal Pieces

A/N Warning: This one-shot contains blood, gore, death, swearing, violence, mention/implication of torture, breaks in mental health, hallucinations, and discussion of mental health issues. If any of these themes are triggering for you, read with caution or skip over this one-shot. There will be more, so you can always come back for a different one. As always, take care. <3

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There was blood. There was so much blood. It was pooling on the pavement, soaking into Theo's sneakers and staining the bottom half of his dark blue jeans. It was on Theo's shirt. It was in his hair. It was on his hands, completely covering his fingers and palms. It was wet and sickeningly sticky against his skin.

There was so much blood.

Theo was kneeling in it, staring down at the body it was pooling from. It was a girl, barely any older than eighteen, with bleach blonde hair that was now stark red. There was a deep cut right below her hairline. She also had a bloodied lip and several other facial lacerations. Theo, however, was more concerned with her torso–with the blood pooling from it. There was a piece of glass lodged in her stomach. Other small pieces were probably cutting into skin as well, somewhere.

She wasn't breathing anymore. She hadn't been for awhile. Even still, Theo's hands were held tight to her forearm, desperately, desperately trying to take her now non-existent pain.

There were sirens in the distance. Blue and red lights lit up the otherwise pitch black night.

Theo couldn't stop staring down at the wound, his hands trembling.

His heart was beating against his chest, thunderous and violent. It was beating against him, beating against his chest like fists. The beat was roaring in his ears, like a voice screaming out from inside–a voice an awful lot like Tara's–screaming, murderer, murderer, murderer!

"I'm sorry," Theo said, frantic and hysterical, tears falling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Murderer, murderer, murderer!

Theo brought the back of his forearm up to his mouth, blocking a sob that threatened to slip out from his lips.

She was dead. She was dead, she was dead, she was dead!

"Theo?"

Theo's head snapped up, eyes wide. The blue-red lights were closer, now right in front of him. There was a figure in front of them, the lights casting them in shadow. Even still, he knew that shape: he knew the long wavy hair, the tall but thin frame... Knew that chest, with broken out ribs that protruded out and to the sides.

"No," Theo gasped. He pushed away from the girl on the ground, fumbling backwards. "No, please. Please."

"Thee-ohh," his sister sing-songed.

Theo whimpered, his vision blurring. "It was an accident. It was an accident."

"Thee-ohh," his sister repeated in answer, taking slow steps towards him.

"No... No, no, no." Theo fumbled frantically to his feet, his whole body trembling. "Stay... stay away from me."

She didn't speak–just kept creeping closer, and closer, and closer.

"Tara, please," Theo sobbed brokenly.

Tara stopped. Tilted her head to the side. Even without being able to see her face, Theo could feel her deadened eyes staring into his–like she was staring into his soul.

Theo slowly backed away, panic seizing his whole being. She wasn't going to stop, he realized. She was going to get him–drag him back down to the Skinwalker prison just to kill him over, and over, and over again.