Thiam One Shots

prototype hearts

This isn't reaaaally thiam but whatever

Theo awoke to the sound of metal garbage cans falling over. Staring at the roof of his truck in the near-perfect pitch-blackness—broken only by the faint yellow light of a nearby streetlamp—Theo groaned and rolled his eyes.

As he sat up his worn fleece blanket fell and he grabbed for his phone where it was resting on the center console between the front seats. He fumbled for the power button, wincing when his phone turned on and assaulted him with his plain, pale blue lock screen. He must’ve forgotten to turn down the brightness before he fell asleep.

He squinted at it, and eventually the blur resolved itself into numbers. 1:27 AM, the readout declared. Theo groaned again. Despite the all-too-real possibility of danger, Theo just wanted to curl back up under his blanket and sleep for another five hours, or at least until one of Stilinski’s deputies started banging on his windows.

But whatever was out there only continued to make noise. “Dammit,” Theo said, with feeling, and kicked his blanket all the way off.

The night air was cool and strangely damp against his face as Theo cautiously opened the door, locking the truck behind him and pocketing his keys, because he was fucked if whoever—or whatever—was out there made off with everything he had.

A dark flash of movement appeared in the corner of Theo’s eye: a raccoon, scurrying across the street with something in its mouth, probably raiding the bins of the hipsters that lived in the few renovated warehouses in the area.

Theo tipped his head back and said, thoroughly annoyed, “It’s just a fucking raccoon.” He sighed, kicked the toe of his shoe against the concrete, and sighed again, lamenting the loss of a full night’s sleep, it being rare enough as it was.

He’d already turned around, thoroughly intending to get back into his truck and catch a little more shut-eye before work in the morning, when the growling started.

“Why is this my life,” he said, a little louder, just in case whatever higher power was listening hadn’t heard him yet.

He turned around slowly, hands raised and placating, and came face to face with a snarling werewolf.

Okay, so maybe face to face was an exaggeration. She—and Theo was about 90% sure on the she—was about twenty-five yards away, perched on top of a dumpster and snarling at him, wolfed-out and fangs bared, yellow eyes glinting in the dark.

“If you’re living in that dumpster, you definitely have it worse off than I do,” Theo said, matter-of-fact, because the other option was to completely lose his shit (what the fuck was up with Beacon Hills and forever-imminent death, anyways? Theo was starting to see why Stiles had taken off for the other side of the freaking country) and Theo, as a rule, avoided panicking at all costs. He moved a little closer, flaring his eyes at her.

She dropped down from the dumpster, landing on all fours, and stalked towards Theo, teeth gnashing. The girl’s matted, ratty hair swung around her face as she roared at him nonsensically, definitely well below the ear-shattering decibel that most ‘wolves could hit. Theo frowned as her roar tapered off, ending in a low growl.

Usually werewolves could tell what other ‘wolves were trying to say by their roar—like, for instance, that one time at the school, Liam had been roaring back-no-get away and so Theo had left, fully content with the fact that Liam had been forced to reveal his status as not-quite-human to Mason, but that was neither here nor there.