Chapter Text
Ironically enough, it's the family that turns out to be Chris' downfall.
Once, he'd do anything for his family. His wife, his sister, his daughter - they were his to love, his to protect… His to save. He wasn't able to save anyone, though, not even a single person, including himself.
Deep in the tunnels of La Iglesia, he chases after Kate, trying to contain his sobs at seeing what she's become. Not that he minds that she turned into a Werejaguar; he's long since outgrown such a prejudice. No, what bothers him the most is how carelessly, even mindlessly she takes away lives, how little murder means to her now. Or maybe it's always been that way, but he was too blind to see it.
"You wanna kill me, Chris?" she asks, breathing heavily.
"No, but I don't want to save you either," he grunts as he clutches his wounded torso. "I don't know if you're worth saving."
"You can't see them clearly anymore, can you? They're not heroes, not when they killed Allison."
Her daughter's name - brought up so carelessly and without any understanding of the true meaning of Allison's final sacrifice - infuriates him, but all he can do is to shake in helpless anger and grief.
"Allison died saving her friends. Who would you die for?"
Kate moves so fast that he doesn't react until it's too late. She knocks the gun from his hand and buries her claws in his stomach so deeply and with such a force that he can hear them scratching the bone. He wonders weakly if that's his ribs or spine, and he would've swayed on his feet if it wasn't for Kate's tight grip.
Her breath feels hot on his skin as she laughs straight into his face. "Wrong question, brother of mine. You should have asked who I would kill for, and the answer is: for myself."
Then, she withdraws her arm and he tumbles to the ground like a sack of potatoes while she leaves him like that, without even a single look back.
The ground feels strangely cozy, but its cold is seeping into his bones, deep into the marrow, and even deeper still. His limbs are heavy while his thoughts are muddled and all over the place.
The last thing he remembers is his regret that he was too weak to kill his sister even though she deserved it. Next time he won't make such a mistake, he promises himself as his vision dims and he can't even scoff at himself for having such useless thoughts when it's clear as a day that he's dying and there won't be a next time, ever.
***
Dying feels strangely… ordinary, he thinks to himself as he opens his eyes and stares at the white ceiling. What's even stranger, there's a stain in the corner, which is eerily similar to the one he remembers from his old house in Beacon Hills when they still lived there before switching fully to the nomad mode. He remembers it, because it always reminded him of an umbrella, while Victoria always argued that it resembled a mushroom.
Why were there ceiling stains in the afterlife, anyway?...
He props himself on his elbows with a groan and looks around, taking in his surroundings with interest. Though, admittedly, there's nothing particularly interesting in here besides the fact that this purgatory, or whatever the hell this place it is, looks eerily like his old bedroom, down to every smallest detail.
When he hears a child crying, he stands up at once, a knee-jerk reaction ingrained deep into his muscles. He's out of the room even before he can think, and when he opens a door to an adjacent room from which the crying is coming from, he sees a girl, roughly around nine year old.
He knows that girl. He would recognize her in every possible world, because this is his daughter, and his heart that once had been ripped from his chest the moment he was forced to watch her as she took her last breath, starts to hammer furiously in his chest, again.
"Daddy, daddy, I had a bad dream."
She's so perfect, even covered in tears and snot, that he gathers her in his arms and cradles her to his chest, swaying her little body gently.
"Me too, sweetheart, but it's over now. It was only a dream," he places a soft kiss on her forehead and inhales deeply her scent. She smells of soap, fresh sweat, and bubblegum toothpaste. He doesn't know if he should cry or laugh, so he does both, and feels lighter than air.
***
Allison's here, so this must mean that he's in heaven. He goes along with it, not questioning it even for a second, because he worries that the moment he starts thinking about it too deeply, she'll disappear from his life (or rather, afterlife), again.
He should've known that happiness such as this isn't meant to last, and with his next visitor the reality comes crashing back at him.
"That fucking werewolf killed two of us, he needs to be stopped at any cost," his father's booming voice echo ominously in the house, and Chris stiffens when the front doors are slammed closed.
"What werewolf?" he asks slowly, trying to process the fact that apparently, lycanthropy exists in the afterlife just as it did in real life. And also, that his small, private heaven suddenly stopped being private anymore.
Not to mention, he's starting to seriously doubt it's heaven, if Gerard is in it...
"Damn if I know, but it must be young, the wounds were chaotic rather than precise. Fucking beasts."
"Dad, language," Chris scolds automatically, looking pointendly at Allison who's munching on a banana all the while watching her grandfather with wide eyes.
"Let her learn! She's the Argent future matriarch, after all, she's got to be aware that life's not all sunshine and rainbows," Gerard snorts. "An eye for an eye is not enough when it comes to these animals, we have to make an example out of them to teach them all a lesson they'll never forget."
Chris exhales slowly, trying to make head or tail out of the situation. So apparently, one can die in this version of an afterlife, and doesn't it defeat the whole purpose of having been already dead? He desperately needs the time to observe what's going on, so he decides to go along with his father at this time.
"What do you need?"
"Since Victoria is away, I want you to lead the hunt and the whole operation. Can you handle this?"
He knows that his father is just itching to take charge, but much as it irks Gerard, as per the procedure it's the spouse who acts as a stand-in for a matriarch while she's away, not her father in law. And afterlife or not, Chris is determined to thwart Gerard’s plans as much as he can without raising suspicions.
"I can, just let me find a babysitter for Alli first."
He ignores the unhappy grimace on his father's face and fishes out a notebook from the drawer, trying to find some contact details to a nanny, all the while trying to figure out what's happening and why all of a sudden all of this seems so familiar.
But what's even more important, he needs to think fast about what he could do to make sure that no werewolf gets killed without a fair trial, because no matter what strange world or universe he landed in, while he still believes in protecting humans from werewolves and other supernatural creatures, there's no way in hell that he'll condone wanton killing. Not on his watch.
After handing Allison to a nanny, he goes to the garage to gear up and learns from Gerard that the squad has already started to assemble in the woods, and they join them shortly. He recognizes them all, they are part of the Argent field troop, trained for one purpose: to hunt. Which means that things can go downhill very quickly unless he prevents it, somehow.
"Today we've lost two of our men, but remember that no matter the circumstances, we need to go by the code. No killing unless there's no other choice, is that clear?" he asks and sees grimaces on most of the faces, while only a handful look relieved.
He can work with that; he has to.
Tracking the werewolf proves to be quite easy, seeing as it leaves a trail of trampled plants in its wake, making no effort to move stealthily. It causes Chris to think that either the werewolf is bold, or it's someone young and inexperienced. The latter proves to be true as he sees the runaway, a young male in his early twenties, just before a hunter sends an arrow straight into the werewolf's throat and the body falls to the ground with a loud thud.
Chris catches a glimpse of two other silhouettes before they disappear between the trees, and he feels a foreboding shiver crawl down his spine.
He knows this- all of this. He's lived through this before, once, but he doesn't have the time to ponder this. Instead, he turns to the hunter with a crossbow and scowls.
"Jared, what the fuck, I said no killing! You could've easily shot him in the leg, instead."
The hunter meets his eyes with a heated glare. "That beast slaughtered Zeke, it got what it deserved for killing my brother!"
Chris sighs, he should've never allowed a victim's family member to take part in the hunt, but it's too late for that now.
"You got the revenge that you wanted, but this stops now. From now on, the aim is to catch, not to kill, or there will be consequences. Everyone who disagrees with me can leave, now, or I won't be so lenient the next time someone disobeys a direct order."
Some men mutter unhappily under their breath, but no one seems inclined to leave. Which is… not good, since now he has to send all of them in wrong directions, away from the Nemeton, where - if this is indeed the event he recalls from his past - Peter and Derek will spend the next few days, too terrified to risk leaving their hiding place.