A blood on the stone

by bel_e_muir

Summary:

Being killed in the tunnels of an Aztec temple by his sister's hand was not Chris' plan. Neither was waking up in the past, right before everything went downhill.

Can Chris stay true to himself while at the same time assuming the life of a staunch werewolf hunter that he had once been?

Or: Another time travel story, because the author is so obsessed with this trope she can't stop writing them.

Notes:

Hello dears, this will be a multi-chapter story, but nowhere near as long as my other time-travel fic (khem, montrosity) "Nothing to fear". I hope you'll like it!

Chapter 1

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.

 

Chapter 2

Chris sends the troop on a wild-goose chase in various directions while he claims the part of the forest where the Nemeton is for himself.

 

"You should take someone with you," Gerard comments as the hunters start to pair up and spread over the area. 

 

"I'm a grown up, I can handle myself just fine. Besides, we've got an uneven number of people and I'd rather everyone else had a cover. Go with Jared, if anyone can keep him in check it's you." 

 

He's long since learned that there's some truth in saying that flattery will get you everywhere, and it certainly works now as intended as his father nods and joins Jared, then starts walking south.

 

So far so good, Chris thinks to himself, then heads north where he recalls the Nemeton should be. He finds the stump quickly enough, but instead of barging in he goes still and focuses all his senses on trying to detect any movements in the area. He doesn't want to risk encountering any hunter and be forced to either run or explain what he's doing.

 

After five minutes or so of complete silence - not counting the insects chirping and birds trilling - he opens the trapdoor, then carefully steps down into the basement.

 

When he sees Peter and Derek crouched beside the tree roots, Peter's arm curled protectively around Derek's shoulders, he's stunned by how young and terrified they look. And it's no wonder, they've recently witnessed one of their own being killed by a hunter, he'd be terrified too if he was in their place.

 

They're not ordinary teenagers, though, they're werewolves, which means that they're the most dangerous when backed into a corner… That's why he's not even remotely surprised when Peter growls and lunges at him, but this younger version of the man he knows from the future is not a killer yet, nor was he trained to fight. This Peter's attack is more impulsive than effective, and Chris manages to flip him onto the back, then straddle him so that the young man's arms are pinned to the side, unable to harm him with his claws.

 

Peter struggles against his weight, trying to wriggle from underneath him, and to his shock he sees a couple of stray tears flowing down the young man's cheeks, showing a vulnerability that he's never seen in the older version of him.

 

"Let him go!" Derek demands, though his clawed hands are shaking and his eyes are wide from freight.

 

"I will, but first control yourselves, both of you, no fangs or claws, is that clear?" Derek looks torn, so Chris adds: "If I wanted to kill you I would've done it already. I didn't even take out my gun and your uncle still attacked me. So, calm down and show me that you can control yourselves."

 

Derek exhales slowly, then nods and the golden yellow glow of his eyes dims and then disappears. Chris looks at Peter, who still struggles underneath him, and raises his eyebrow expectantly.

 

"How can we be sure that you don't want to capture and torture us before you kill us?" Peter demands, covering his earlier vulnerability with anger.

 

Chris shrugs. "I guess you'd have to trust me."

 

"Trust a hunter?!" Peter chokes up, looking at him incredulously.

 

"I know that it might be a foreign concept to you-"

 

"Fuck you!"

 

Chris tsks. "Language, boy. You're not exactly my type, so thank you for the offer, but no thanks. Now can you stop making such a ruckus? There's a bunch of other hunters in the area, and all this noise is going to lead them here. And believe me, after having lost two comrades to werewolf's claws, they're not going to be nearly as friendly as I am."

 

Peter gulps audibly before he goes limp, suddenly looking impossibly young and defenceless. Chris wonders if this is some kind of an act, a trap designed to lull him into a false sense of safety, but on the other hand… This Peter is at most in his early twenties, Chris reminds himself. This might not be an act at all, but with Peter it's always hard to tell, even in the future.

 

He stands up and offers the young werewolf a hand up, but Peter only sneers at it and stands up on his own.

 

"So if you're not going to capture or kill us, why are you here?" Derek asks hesitantly, his eyes darting nervously between Chris and Peter, as if expecting them to resume fighting again, which is not that unlikely.

 

Chris dusts himself off, then looks back at the two of them. "That's quite simple, I'm going to escort you home."

 

***

 

Peter usually considers himself quite a good judge of character. He's always been good at seeing through other people's acts, maybe because he's acting all the time, too. 

 

But this strange hunter who found them hiding in the basement… Peter just can't figure him out. The man smells of violence and gunpowder, and the ease with which he carries himself tells Peter that this is a fighter born and bred. And yet there are moments when the man looks at them and his eyes become distant, almost reminiscing, and this just doesn't make any sense. As far as he can tell, they've never met; he's pretty sure he'd remember meeting a werewolf hunter, especially someone as striking.

 

He's an opportunist, though, and doesn't have a habit of looking a gift horse in the mouth, so when the hunter offers to escort them home, Peter accepts, if only to buy himself more time to observe the man. He marvels at how focused and alert the hunter is, observing the woods with senses far more inferior than that of a werewolf, and yet Peter has a suspicion that nothing escapes the man's notice. This must be an effect of many years of gruelling training, he guesses, and can't help but admire the end result.

 

This is ridiculous, he thinks, irritated at himself. So what if he wishes he has half the skills and grace this hunter possesses; they are still enemies, that's not going to change no matter how envious Peter is and how often he glances at the man's muscled body and compares it to his own thin, willowy one. 

 

Suddenly, the hunter pushes them against a tree and presses his body against them with a quiet "Hush, I saw a flashlight", then puts his gun out of the holster.

 

Peter can scarcely breathe, both because of the risk of being found, but also because of the muscled thigh pressing into his, applying just the right amount of pressure to make him feel hot and lightheaded. He doesn't dare to move, doesn't dare to breathe or even blink, when he hears two hunters searching the area around sixty feet from where they're standing, plastered against the tree.

 

He doesn't know how long they keep standing like that, unmoving, almost frozen, as the hunters move further and further away until they can no longer be seen or heard. Only then the man holding them still relaxes, takes a step back with a long exhale and puts the gun back to the holster.

 

"That was close… Let's keep moving, the sooner you're home the better."

 

This is when Peter realizes that neither he nor Derek were leading the way this whole time, that the man knows exactly where he's heading, knows where the Hale house is. Which is a huge red light, because the whole point of living in the wilderness is that no one is supposed to know their house's location.

 

"You know where our house is," he says breathlessly.

 

"I do," the hunter confirms with a nod. "Now move your feet, you're not out of danger yet."

 

They spend the remainder of the way in silence, deep in thoughts. Peter is so focused on various scenarios and ideas on who the hell the stranger is and why he's helping them, that he doesn't even realize when Derek starts to sniffle miserably. It's the hunter who notices it first and approaches the boy.

 

"Hey, are you alright?"

 

"Y-yeah, I just-" Derek stutters. "That werewolf who got shot with an arrow, if he wasn't standing there…"

 

"You'd be shot instead, I know. And I'm sorry you had to witness it," the hunters murmurs ruefully.

 

"Why do your people hate us so much?" Derek asks and wipes his wet cheeks.

 

The man sighs. "It's not supposed to be that way. The hunters are supposed to protect civilians from rogue, feral werewolves who can't control themselves, but when dead bodies begin to pile on both sides, this quickly turns into a conflict of us versus them. That werewolf who got shot, he killed two hunters, so it wasn't exactly an unprovoked kill. But you… You didn't harm anyone and you don't deserve being hunted simply because of what you are."

 

Hearing that, Derek sniffles again and starts to rub his eyes, trying to fight off tears. It makes Peter deeply uncomfortable, because his nephew has always been too sensitive and too emotional for his tastes. Not to mention, such a pitiful display of weakness and vulnerability in front of a stranger, and a hunter no less, leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth, and he wishes Derek saved his breakdown for the moment they were both safe at home.

 

It seems that the hunter is equally as uncomfortable as Peter is, but he still pats Derek's shoulder in an attempt to comfort the boy. To both of their surprise, not only Derek doesn't reject the gesture but buries himself in the stranger's arms, sobbing and shaking.

 

What surprises Peter even more, though, is how the man's expression softens and he embraces Derek, rubbing his back gently. The sight of it causes his stomach to clench, but he tells himself that it's anger at the fact that Derek would rather be comforted by a stranger than his own uncle and friend. This must be it, he convinces himself, and promises himself that he won't allow Derek to fall for the man's benevolent act, because surely this is what it is: only an act.

 

Chapter 3

Witnessing Derek's breakdown isn't the easiest for Chris, for various reasons. The most obvious is that the older version of this teenage boy became his tentative friend and ally over the years. Or should he say: 'will become'?... Damn, but this time travel or whatever this is, makes it really difficult for him to get the tenses right. But the point is, Derek was, or will be, a friend, and seeing the younger version of him so distraught… It's heart wrenching.

 

That's why when Derek leans towards him, his body shaking in a delayed reaction to what must've been a terrifying experience, Chris embraces and comforts him to the best of his abilities. He hopes that by letting Derek cry on his shoulder and let go of all the pent up emotions, it'll help the boy get better in the long run.

 

The sudden surge of protectiveness he feels while he hugs this young Derek is unexpected, but not unwelcome. He hasn't felt that way about anyone besides three people: Allison, then Isaac, and later, also Scott. It's good to feel like that again: protective, parental even.

 

He can't help but compare the two versions of them, though: the older Derek was sullen, grumpy and closed off, and while Chris can see the glimpses of him in this boy, the teenage Derek is just that: a teenager, who just witnessed another werewolf being shot right in front of his eyes, which makes his breakdown more than justified. 

 

It's his own reaction that worries him, though. He's so used to seeing death that most of the time it leaves him indifferent, and that's a scary thought. He has to remind himself that life matters - he can't just shrug off the fact that a young werewolf ended up dead today, even if it was, at least to an extent, justified. He also needs to remember that seeing someone being killed is not a normal occurrence, and that it can leave the people who witnessed it traumatized.

 

When the sobs finally subside, Derek takes a step back, his face bright red from embarrassment.

 

"Sorry," the boy mumbles, not meeting his eyes. It makes Chris want to smother him with care, but he knows that that moment has passed.

 

"It's alright," he says instead, then gives in to the temptation and messes the boy's hair playfully, earning himself an angry scowl. Now that is an expression he's utterly familiar with, and it makes him grin. "Come on, kiddo, let's get you home."

 

"I'm not a kid," Derek grumbles, but Chris can tell it's half-hearted at best.

 

Once they start walking, from time to time their arms bump lightly into one another. It's comforting rather than awkward, though, especially knowing that Derek purposefully allows that to happen, rather than put more distance between them. Chris certainly doesn't mind it either.

 

He notices the scowl on Peter's face, though, but any time he attempts to draw the young man into a conversation he's met with a wall of angry silence, so he simply allows him to sulk in peace. He knows from experience that if Peter doesn't want to do something, there's no power in the world able to change his mind. 

 

When they reach the Hale House, he marvels at how different the building looks like when it's still untouched by the fire. It has an inviting, comfortable look to it, and - judging from the sounds coming from the inside - it's definitely inhabited, not desolate and abandoned as Chris is used to.

 

He stops within some distance to the house, feeling that he's already encroached on the Hale territory quite enough and not wanting to enrage anyone any further.

 

"Alright, stay safe boys," he says and turns around to leave.

 

"Wait, you're leaving, just like that?" Derek asks with disbelief. 

 

"I doubt that your mother would be happy to see me…"

 

"But- you saved us!"

 

"Oh please, he didn't do anything of that sort, he was just an escort," Peter rolls his eyes. "And even if he wasn't, we would've been just fine."

 

"You mean hiding in a dark, damp cellar for God knows how long?" Derek scoffs. "Seriously, Peter, what's your problem?"

 

"What's my problem?! He's a werewolf hunter, or have you already forgotten that tiny little detail?..."

 

The boys' argument must have attracted some attention, as the door to the house opens and Talia Hale walks out of the building, freezing for a second at the sight of him. Chris can almost catch the exact moment when she sees his guns and realizes that he could be a threat, so he raises his hands for a second and calls out: "I mean no harm."

 

She walks up to him, watching him like a hawk. "I'll be the judge of that."

 

"Mom, the hunters, they killed a werewolf in the woods, but then this man came and made sure we got home safely-" Derek frowns. "I'm sorry, I didn't even catch your name."

 

"It's Chris," he supplies.

 

"Chris who?" Talia presses, looking suspicious. 

 

He looks her straight in the eye as he replies: "Chris Argent."

 

He can almost taste the shock in the air, and a second later he can feel Talia's sharp claws digging into his neck, thankfully not drawing blood - yet.

 

"You've got some nerve, showing your face here," she murmurs.

 

"Mom, stop it, he's on our side!"

 

Derek's exclamation is not entirely true, since Chris dislikes taking sides on principle, but if he's forced to pick one, he'd choose the Hales over hunters anytime.

 

Talia doesn't look convinced.

 

"And why would Gerard Argent's only son and heir be on the werewolves' side, hm? That seems like a plot, one that's way too thick, by the way."

 

"Believe what you want, I don't care," he says as calmly as he can with wickedly sharp claws so close to his jugular vein. "Peter and Derek are safe now, so my task is done here. If Ennis wants to retrieve his Beta's body, he can contact me. Now if you'd be so kind and take your hands off of me, I have things to do."

 

After a moment of hesitation Talia lets him go, but Peter seems to be even more stubborn than his sister and sneers at him.

 

"What things, meddling in other packs' matters or maybe plotting with your fellow hunters?" 

 

"Going home to my nine year old daughter, actually," he deadpans. "So unless one of you is interested in babysitting, I'm going to take my leave."

 

He sees a flash of disappointment on Peter's face, but it disappears almost immediately, and he can't be entirely sure if he didn't just imagine it. Derek's disappointment, on the other hand, is very much real, almost palpable, and he pats the boy's shoulders.

 

"Hey, you're going to be fine."

 

Derek grimaces. "How can you be so sure?"

 

"Because you have an entire family who loves and supports you, that's how I know," he says softly. His arm is curled loosely around Derek's shoulders, so he applies just the tiniest bit of pressure with it to bring the boy closer to him and gather him into a one-arm hug, not wanting to embarrass him too much in front of his mother, but still wanting to offer some comfort.

 

Derek leans eagerly into the hug and curls his arms around Chris' waist for a few seconds before he lets go.

 

"Thanks," the boy mutters with a slight blush, but he's smiling now, so Chris counts that as success.

 

"You're welcome, kiddo. Take care, both of you. Talia," he nods slightly in her direction, then turns around and leaves. 

 

No one stops him, and this time it's him who feels a sting of disappointment for a change.

 

***

 

Once the hunter is gone, Talia ushers her son and brother inside. She sends Derek to the kitchen to eat something, and the boy goes eagerly, being permanently hungry at his age, so she uses the opportunity to question Peter regarding what happened. Then, she finds Derek and asks him about it too, and their recollection of events is mostly the same, if one doesn't count their entirely different attitudes: Peter's mistrust and Derek's hero worship towards their savior.

 

It intrigues her, because ever since her husband, Dirk, died in a skirmish with a rival pack, Derek has usually been the mistrustful one. Losing a father made the once bright and happy child into a rebel, not listening to anyone and refusing any help or comfort, even from his own family, with the rare exception of his uncle Peter. Seeing them so at odds with each other as they are now is a rare occurrence; but seeing Derek hugging an almost complete stranger out of his free will, it's even rarer, almost miraculous.

 

She doesn't know if it should make her trust Chris Argent more or less, seeing how almost effortlessly the man managed to worm his way into her son's heart. She knows that she should be grateful for his timely intervention and escorting Peter and Derek to safety, and she is, but there's also something in that man that just rubs her the wrong way, and she can't shake that feeling off. He's hiding something, that one is obvious. She just doesn't know what it is, and it makes her nervous.

 

And now she has to contact Ennis and inform him about his packmate's death… She doesn't look forward to that particular conversation.

 

Chapter 4

When Chris goes to retrieve the Beta's corpse from the woods, he isn't even surprised to find it already gone. He has a suspicion - or rather a foreknowledge, to be more precise - just who exactly got their hands on the body and for what purpose, so he hurries to the abandoned distillery, recalling his father's eagerness to cut werewolves in half with every given opportunity.

 

He manages to get there just in time to see the corpse hanging from the roof on a rope, while Gerard gives a speech to his sycophants gathered around, using his broadsword like a pointer stick. Chris exhales with relief that not all Argent hunters are present, only those hell-bent on exterminating werewolves at all costs.

 

"We're not cutting dead bodies in half, so you can put that sword away," Chris calls out to his father as he approaches the group. Without waiting for his reaction, he takes out a knife from his ankle holster, then cuts the rope, causing the corpse to fall to the ground.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" Gerard scowls. "This beast killed two of ours, we need to retaliate!"

 

"He's dead now, so for me the case is already closed. Mutilating the body would be a declaration of war, and we're not doing that."

 

"And why should I take orders from you?" Gerard sneers at him, suddenly bold when surrounded by his staunchest supporters. Maybe once Chris would've been intimidated by him, but that time has already passed.

 

"Because Beacon Hills is my home, and I won't tolerate anyone causing dissent here. You want to wage war on werewolves, do it somewhere else. This town, this county, is mine."

 

He left everything behind him the moment he decided to return to Beacon Hills and ally himself with Scott’s pack, and to this day, he doesn't regret his decision, even knowing that ultimately it led to his own death. Beacon Hills is, and always will be, his true home.

 

Gerard scoffs. "A bold statement, but I think that your bark is worse than your bite."

 

"Go on, try me. I guarantee that you won't like the result," Chris grins nastily as Gerard tries to stare him down and fails. If this is really his second chance at life, he's determined to avoid making any of his past mistakes, including ever letting his father take charge.

 

"This isn't over, I'll be taking this matter up with Victoria," Gerard warns him, but gathers his men and leaves.

 

***

 

Only once Chris is sure that he's alone in the distillery he allows himself to exhale shakily. He might've won a single battle, but an all-out war is still looming over the horizon.

 

He rubs his face tiredly with his palm and crouches beside the corpse lying in a heap on the ground, when he hears a faint rustling of leaves outside. He immediately stands up, takes out his gun and points it at the exit. "Who's there?"

 

A giant silhouette appears at the door, one he recognizes immediately.

 

"When you told Talia that I should contact you, you forgot to leave a phone number. I had to track you by the scent that you left on the Hale boy," Ennis glowers at him, then his face darkens even further as he sees the body at Chris' feet. "You- you fucking monsters, he was so young…"

 

"And a killer," he reminds him coldly. "Don't forget that two men are dead because of him."

 

"It was an accident!" Ennis spats.

 

"Then it's your fault that he's dead, because as his Alpha you should've taught him better control before you let him roam freely."

 

Ennis growls and lunges at him, but Chris points the gun straight at his head and the werewolf immediately freezes.

 

"Go on, prove me right," Chris goades him. "If you can't control your own urges, then you shouldn't be allowed to turn other people into werewolves. This is your responsibility to teach them, and your fault if they fail to control themselves."

 

Ennis lets out a low, heart-wrenching sound that is closer to a whine that a beaten dog might make, than a werewolf's growl. "I know, alright?! I know that it's all my fault, you don't have to rub the salt into the wound, damn it!"

 

Within seconds all fight leaves Ennis, and Chris watches warily as the Alpha kneels on the ground, then closes his dead packmate's eyes with gentleness that Chris wouldn't have thought him to be ever capable of.

 

"You can take the body with you, under two conditions," he says, still on his guard. A single moment of vulnerability doesn't change the fact that Ennis is a predator, one of the most dangerous of his kind.

 

The look that Ennis gives him is full of pure, unadulterated hatred. "You fucking prick-"

 

He raises his hand, stopping the tirade. "First: you have to swear that you'll never bite anyone without their full, explicit consent, which includes informing them beforehand about all the risks involved."

 

The man's look turns calculating. "Sounds reasonable. What about the second condition?"

 

Chris remembers the Alpha pack and their method of enhancing their power by killing their Betas, and hopes that this time around, this will never happen.

 

"Be a better Alpha to your pack," he says finally. "Train them, protect them, help them if they struggle with anything."

 

For a split second, Ennis looks completely stunned, before he controls himself. "What are you playing at? You're a hunter, this is not something that you should care about, so what's your angle?"

 

"If your Betas are well-trained, it means less work for me. It's a win-win situation for everyone involved," Chris explains. It's not even a lie, just a partial truth, since he doesn't want to get into the topic of how future Ennis has slaughtered his entire pack. "Look, I don't enjoy killing your kind. In fact, I'd rather avoid it as much as possible, and treat it only as a last resort, but it only applies if werewolves don't pose a threat to humans. Do we understand each other?"

 

The Alpha nods slowly, then gathers the body and lifts it up, before glancing back at him. "You better not shoot me now."

 

Chris considers him for a long moment, then puts his gun back in the holster. "I'm not your enemy, even if you think of me as one." The man sneers at him and turns to leave, when Chris calls out after him: "Wait, can you tell me what your packmate's name was?"

 

Ennis squints at him suspiciously. "What's in it for you?"

 

He raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "You don't have to tell me, it's not a part of our deal. I'd prefer to think about him as a person, though, rather than a nameless corpse."

 

The Alpha’s red eyes flicker for a moment before they return to their human, brown shade. "Thomas. His name was Thomas." 

 

Chris nods with thanks, then watches as the man leaves the distillery, cradling the lifeless body to his chest.

 

***

 

Ennis is perfectly aware of his bad reputation, and what's worse, he knows that most of it is true. He's a hardass, short-tempered, easy to anger and extremely prone to violence, he's never denied that. But while being a giant doesn't make him stupid, being a tough guy doesn't make him unfeeling.

 

True, he doesn't care for a majority of people - humans and werewolves alike - and wouldn't blink an eye if they all died suddenly, but he does care for his pack. It's hard not to, considering the fact that he can feel their presence via their packbond, and when one of them dies, it's like a gaping hole in his chest.

 

Sometimes, he wonders if it's all worth it. What use having a pack has, when it makes him this… vulnerable, this fucking sensitive to their deaths. And sooner or later, they're all gonna die, one way or another. If he's going to feel this shitty each time it happens, is having a pack really worth it?... He looks at Thomas' lifeless face, and grimaces as he feels yet another bout of pain and guilt which feels like an acid in his stomach.

 

Then, he recalls the deal he just made with Chris Argent. It's not like he has to keep it, since he doesn't give a shit what any hunter will think of him if he breaks his word, but now he's starting to consider if Argent's idea might have some merit, after all. He's feeling so awful now because he feels like he has let Thomas down by not teaching him enough, that he didn't give the boy enough time and attention after the bite. If he did, would Thomas be alive still and none of this would've happened?

 

He scoffs, suddenly irritated with himself. All of this… thinking, and feeling, is a pile of stinking shit. If he wants to train his Betas better, he'll do it, but only because he wants them to be better prepared to fight the hunters, end of story.

 

***

 

The mood in the room is somber, and Talia thinks with regret that it wasn't supposed to be that way.

 

When she contacted other packs in California to meet together in Beacon Hills, she only had in mind fostering better relations between them. In the past, each pack fended for themselves, and other packs were regarded as a competition at best, and enemies at worst. She wanted to change that, still wants to, but as a result they attracted the Argents' attention and now they have a corpse on their hands.

 

"Did you encounter any problems with retrieving your Beta's body?" She asks Ennis.

 

"If you discount the nuisance of having to deal with an Argent, then no."

 

"You talked with Gerard?" Deucalion raises his eyebrow, surprised, but Ennis shakes his head.

 

"No, not the old geezer. His son, Chris."

 

"And what's your opinion of him? Does he seem more reasonable than his father?" Deucalion asks and Talia leans forward attentively, interested in the answer as well.

 

Ennis considers the question for a long moment, which is quite unlike him, since usually he's all violent temper and brute strength. Instead of replying, though, he asks them if they know what was the name of his Beta who's been killed by the hunters. Deucalion shakes his head and Talia feels her cheeks redden a bit as she realizes that she doesn't know either. 

 

Kali shrugs without a care, though. "He was one of yours, not one of mine. Why should I care what his name was?"

 

For a moment Ennis looks like he wants to hit her, he even extends his claws, but then he controls himself and says coldly: "Chris Argent asked me what my Beta's name was, because he didn't want to remember him as a nameless corpse. What a fucked up world we're living in, if a bloody hunter shows a dead werewolf more consideration than either of you... I'm fucking done here, don't contact me again."

 

When Ennis storms away, Talia can only watch with regret, as she doesn't have a single word in their defense.

 

Chapter 5

When a few days later Chris notices Deucalion across the street observing him keenly while trying to look inconspicuous about it, he's not even that surprised. He considers pretending to be oblivious, but then decides he's not in the mood for playing games, so he approaches the man in a brisk step, immediately catching the Alpha’s attention.

 

"Deucalion," he nods, and notes with satisfaction that the man seems taken aback by the greeting.

 

"While I'm a little flattered to be such a well-known figure, I don't recall us having been introduced, much less being on a first name basis," Deucalion comments in his cultured, mild voice with a distinct British accent that makes Chris recall the older him with a vivid clarity, even though in the other life they had met only briefly. 

 

"I must admit that I don't know your last name, so I didn't have that many choices to pick from, and I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate being greeted with 'hello, werewolf'," he deadpans, and he's rewarded with a short chuckle.

 

"Point taken. Deucalion Emery, pleased to meet you," the man offers his hand and Chris shakes it without hesitation. Deucalion's grip is rather light, and Chris is glad that they've both outgrown juvenile power plays, like squeezing the other's hand too hard.

 

"Christopher Argent, likewise. But please, call me Chris, I'm afraid that being called Mr Argent makes me think about my father, and it's far from a pleasant association."

 

Deucalion's expression is a mix of intrigue and curiosity as the man raises his eyebrow, not even attempting to hide his surprise. "I sense quite a story behind that… But it seems that you got me in a bit of a pickle, since now I can't not let you call me by my first name without coming off as arrogant or bad-mannered. Well played," there is an honest admiration in the Alpha’s voice and Chris suppresses a smile, though the corners of his mouth twitch the tiniest bit.

 

"God forbid a Brit is caught being impolite."

 

"We can be quite impolite when we want to, thank you very much, it's just that we prefer a smart way to do it. A well-placed, sarcastic comment here and there gives us more satisfaction than the worst insult," Deucalion's points out.

 

It's such a perfect opening that Chris can't resist teasing him a little: "So what would it mean if you called me an arsehole?"

 

"Why, it might mean a variety of things, it can even be a term of endearment between two friends. It's not only important what you’re saying, but also how you're saying it," Deucalion's eyes are gleaming with mirth, and this time Chris can't contain a grin, which the man returns with a smile of his own.

 

It lasts only for a second or two before they remember, almost at the same time, that they're from two different worlds currently at war with each other, and how out of character they're acting. 

 

The problem is, this isn't an act on Chris' side. He's not even sure he can ever go back to hating werewolves on principle, nor does he want to, not after everything that had happened before- Well, before he died.

 

Not to mention, this Deucalion seems like a completely different person, compared to the bitter, power-driven monster that he's familiar with from his earlier life. No werewolf could ever be called soft or harmless, but this younger Deucalion seems milder, in a way, more polite and courteous, with a sense of humor that is hitting just the right buttons with Chris, and he can't help but start to actually like this man.

 

Deucalion clears his throat. "I apologize if that was inappropriate-"

 

"It wasn't," Chris interrupts him firmly. "I can have a friendly conversation with a werewolf if I want to. After all, being a hunter doesn't define me."

 

The man considers him carefully for a long moment. "But being a werewolf does define me," he admits.

 

Chris remembers the talks about full moons, about feelings and urges and instincts that Isaac had described to him during their stay in France, and he thinks that he gets what Deucalion is trying to say.

 

"I understand, and it's fine," he says simply, then shakes himself out of his thoughts. "Was there anything you wanted to talk to me about? Assuming that this wasn't a chance meeting, of course."

 

Deucalion blinks, then nods slowly. "I admit that I've gotten curious after your encounter with Ennis and I wondered- But maybe let's talk about it next time, I've taken enough of your time as it is. I wouldn't want to impose."

 

Chris' knee jerk reaction is to say that it's not a problem, but then he remembers that he promised Allison that he'll be back soon.

 

"Do you have a phone with you?" he asks instead. "I'll give you my number, so whenever you want to talk, just give me a call."

 

The man looks dumbfounded for a second, before he takes out a cell phone from his pocket, unlocks it, then hands it to him. Chris quickly types his own number and gives himself a call, then as soon as he feels buzzing in his back pocket, he hangs up.

 

"Feel free to share it with the other Alphas, if they want to contact me for any reason," he adds as he hands the phone back, which seems to stupefy the werewolf even more.

 

In the end, Deucalion settles for an exaggerated sigh. "And here I was, thinking that you and I share some kind of a special connection, but it looks like I'm just another werewolf… How foolish of me."

 

He snorts. "It's your decision whether to share my number or not. I'd say that's pretty special, considering that I haven't given it to any other werewolf yet."

 

"Not even Talia or Ennis?"

 

"Nope," Chris confirms and watches as a satisfacted smile blooms on Deucalion's face. "Wow, you Alphas are such a competitive bunch…"

 

"You have no idea," the man mutters under his breath, then adds: "It was surprisingly nice to meet you, Christopher. I wasn't exactly expecting this."

 

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered by that, or offended that you'd think of me as some kind of uncivilized ogre, but I guess that considering my father's well deserved notoriety, I shouldn't be surprised," he says with an easy smile to show that he's not, in fact, offended. "It was nice meeting you too, feel free to call me any time."

 

They shake hands once again and Chris goes back home where his daughter is already waiting for him, pacing impatiently at the door.

 

"Dad, you're back!" she exclaims and gives him a hug, which he returns just as enthusiastically. There's no way he could ever get tired of this, not when he knows what it is like to lose her. "Why are you smiling?"

 

He thinks about his encounters with Derek, Peter, Ennis, Deucalion, and most of all, about having the opportunity to spend time with this young version of Allison once again, and realizes he has more reasons to smile now than he's had for quite a long time.

 

"I'm just happy, sweetheart," he murmurs, then starts to tickle her, causing her to shriek with laughter.

 

God, how he's missed the sound of it… He only wishes that Isaac and Scott were here to witness it too.

 

***

 

Rather than go back straight to his pack, Deucalion goes on a stroll in the forest. Even before he became a werewolf, he'd always enjoyed walking in the woods, but ever since the bite, it became quite a habit of his. He doesn't even care whether it's a primal instinct or simply his own personal preference, he's happy to indulge it as long as it calms both the human, and the wolf side of him.

 

He's walking aimlessly through the woods owned by the Hales, deep in his thoughts in an almost meditative state, when his enhanced senses alarm him the second he catches the smell of another Alpha in the air. Once he recognizes the scent, though, he immediately relaxes and waits for Talia to catch up to him.

 

"So, how did the meeting with the hunter go?" She asks the moment she joins him.

 

"Am I really that transparent?" He makes a face, and she laughs.

 

"Not that much, I simply know you better than most. You've been itching to get in contact with Chris Argent the moment Ennis walked out of our meeting in such a huff. So, spill the beans, how was it?"

 

He doesn't respond at once, just continues walking at a leisurely pace, thinking about how he should answer the question.

 

"I think Chris Argent is a very dangerous person, but not in the way most hunters are," he finally says.

 

Talia frowns. "What do you mean?"

 

"He's self-confident and seemed to be totally at ease in my presence, even though he knew exactly who I was. He's also very perceptive, and seems not blinded by hatred that is so common amongst other hunters."

 

"But that's got to be a good thing?" She asks, confused.

 

"It is, but only if it's genuine. Talia, we spoke maybe for about five minutes, and I've started to like him before we even finished our conversation. Not even once did I manage to catch a sense of dishonesty or deceit, and he made me lower my guard with a surprising ease."

 

He sees understanding slowly dawning on her, and her brow furrows. "So either he's the most friendly hunter we've ever encountered, and could be our greatest ally, or he's such an accomplished liar that even with our senses and skills we can't tell if he's as open and sincere as he seems."

 

"Exactly," he nods. "But the worst part is that I want him to be genuine, I want him to be trustworthy. So I'll need you to remain objective at all times where he's concerned, because it might happen that - at some point - I won't be."

 

She looks concerned as she asks: "Did he do anything to make you say that…?"

 

He smiles crookedly. "He gave me his number and told me to call him anytime. Needless to say, I'm going to take him up on his offer," he says, and laughs at her flabbergasted expression.

 

It's good to know that he can still surprise her, even after all these years they've known each other.

 

Notes:

There might be something brewing between Chris and Deucalion, but more casual than serious, and I still plan Chris/Peter to be the end game here, so no worries!

Next: Victoria returns to Beacon Hills 😏

Chapter 6

Next Friday, Victoria comes back home.

 

At the sight of her, Chris freezes, assaulted by so many conflicting thoughts and feelings that his mind works overdrive to process them all at once: happiness, resentment, guilt, regret…

 

He doesn't love Victoria, not like husband should love his wife, but they'd known each other for more than twenty years and had been married for nearly so long - before he was forced to assist with her suicide - that seeing her alive again leaves him in a turmoil. How is he going to pick up their life together when he already grieved and moved on?...

 

Thankfully, before Victoria can sense that something is amiss, Allison comes rushing down the stairs and throws herself at her.

 

"Mom, you're here! I've missed you!"

 

"I've missed you too, little bunny."

 

Chris smiles wistfully at the old nickname. In a few years Allison will rebel and declare with that haughty seriousness only a teenager can muster that she is not a bunny and she doesn't want to be called that anymore, thankyouverymuch.

 

But for now… she's still their sweet little girl.

 

When Victoria finally looks at him, he's still overwhelmed by the fond memories of easier, happier times, so much that he crosses the distance between them and kisses her on the lips. His spontaneous gesture takes her by surprise and for a few seconds she stares at him, her face unreadable.

 

"Welcome home," he adds, and she gives him a curt nod before she grabs her suitcase and starts dragging it upstairs.

 

"Here, let me help," he offers.

 

"I can do it," she insists stubbornly.

 

"I know that you can, but you shouldn't have to."

 

After a moment, she relents.

 

***

 

The dinner is a quiet affair, and afterwards, when Allison is asleep, they retire to their bedroom. He can sense that Victoria is tense, almost apprehensive around him, but he doesn't know why. Did they have a row before her trip to San Francisco? He tries to remember, but all his memories from that period are fuzzy at best.

 

This is the time when they decided to take a more active approach with the werewolf hunts, and started moving from town to town, that much he remembers. But Victoria's coldness around him? He can't recall it happening the first time around. Is it because he simply doesn't remember, or because in that first life he didn't notice it?... In all honesty, he isn't sure which would be worse. 

 

Trying to cross this invisible gap that grew between them, he approaches Victoria, wraps his arms around her waist and starts putting small kisses on the back of her neck, but somehow it causes her to stiffen even more.

 

"What's wrong?" 

 

Her voice is toneless, almost wooden as she replies: "I'm tired, let's just go to sleep."

 

He considers letting it go, putting his head in the sand and pretending that everything is okay, but that has never solved anything, has it?

 

"If we go to sleep now, will you tell me in the morning what's wrong with you? Honestly?"

 

She twirls around and glares at him. "What's wrong with me? How about you tell me what's with this sudden… touching, and kissing? You never do that! So why don't you tell me what's changed?"

 

"Is it really so bad that I want to be a more attentive, caring husband?" 

 

"But why now, now that I-" she suddenly freezes and looks away, not finishing the sentence.

 

"Now that you- what?" 

 

She wavers uncertainly, before he gathers her resolve and looks him straight in the eye. "I don't want your touches or your kisses, to have sex with you or even to lie in the same bed as you anymore," he must be looking incomprehensibly at her, as she sneers and adds: "Don't you get it? I don't want you, at all."

 

It takes a few moments before the words sink in and for several seconds he can't breathe, he can't think, he can only stare at her in silence. When he finds his voice again, he croaks rather than speaks: "Are you seeing somebody else?"

 

"I'd have to be an idiot if I actually responded to that question. I'm not giving you any ammo to rob me of everything that I've worked so hard for."

 

He blinks. Then blinks again, but still he fails to understand why he would ever want to rob her of anything.

 

She scoffs impatiently. "Look, this marriage, being the Argent matriarch, means everything to me. If I could have it all without you in the picture, I would," she looks at him challengingly, as if daring him to do something, but he's not sure what that is. Does she expect him to rage, to scream at her?... But how could he, if it's the most honest he can recall her being, in either life?

 

He sits down on the bed and looks at her, so daring and proud, and he wonders if there's any universe in which their life together doesn't end up in one disaster or another - but then he guesses not.

 

"We could live separately, if this is what you really want," he suggests after a moment. "It doesn't even have to be a legal separation, just… moving apart while still staying married." 

 

For the first time during their conversation he manages to surprise her rather than the other way around. 

 

"Are you serious about it?"

 

He nods. "I don't want us to live a life that we'd both hate. We deserve better than that, both of us. So either we'll try to build a true, loving, long-lasting relationship, or we can… allow ourselves to grow apart, without legally ending the marriage, if it means so much to you."

 

She bites her lower lip. "But… What about Allison?"

 

"We'd need to come to some sort of an arrangement, but we don't have to decide straight away, since it's a huge change," he reasons then adds hurriedly: "but if you'd rather sleep in the guest bedroom rather than with me, it's fine. We can talk about it in the morning."

 

"Why are you so- so considerate about it all?" She squints at him suspiciously, as if him being considerate was just a smoke screen hiding his true intentions. 

 

Suddenly, he feels so very, very tired, as he finally admits to himself that their whole marriage is a fake, and maybe it has always been.

 

"Maybe because I don't want to live with a woman who is so disgusted with me that she doesn't even let me touch her. Maybe I want a different life too," he says honestly.

 

Her eyes widen, and she gives him a bitter, joyless smile, that is gone so quickly that he might've imagined it. "Let's talk in the morning, then. I'm going to the guest room."

 

She grabs her sleeping clothes and some toiletries and leaves, while he keeps sitting motionlessly on the bed, staring at the doors she just closed behind her.

 

***

 

In the end, it turns out that Victoria wants to move out of Beacon Hills altogether. He shouldn't be surprised, she's never liked the town in the first place, it was always too small, too stifling for her. But it causes a major argument in their discussion, because Victoria also wants to take Allison to San Francisco with her, which is a big 'no' for Chris.

 

He didn't get his baby girl back just to let her be taken away from him.

 

"Our split up is going to be enough of a change for her, and she's going to need a constant, a stability in her life," he argues. "She has a school here, her friends… Don't take that away from her."

 

Victoria sighs. "Alright, let's keep it that way, for now at least. She's going to middle school next year, so we'll discuss it again then. But I'm going to take her on the weekends."

 

"Every other weekend," he counters.

 

"Three weekends a month. Don't hog her so much, you're going to spend a majority of time with her anyway."

 

With a heavy heart, he agrees.

 

"What about the hunters?" Victoria asks next.

 

"Take them with you, if you want. I can keep an eye on the Hales here, we don't need an entire hunter squad for a single pack."

 

"I heard from Gerard that there's more than a single pack in the area. And that you don't have what it takes to keep them in line," she says sharply, and it's the matriarch talking now.

 

"The werewolf responsible for killing our men has been killed. I simply stopped Gerard from mutilating the corpse by cutting it in half, since it would only serve to escalate the conflict even further," he says, growing angrier by the minute. "My father's greatest wish is to slaughter every single werewolf he can get his hands on, and that's against the Code, so I'm not going to stand for it!"

 

"Shh, don't speak so loudly, Allison will hear you," Victoria hisses at him.

 

"Gerard didn't have any qualms about barging into the house the other day, demanding that we kill that werewolf," he says snidely.

 

Victoria's eyes narrow. "He did what?" Then, she calls Allison, who comes running from upstairs. "Sweetheart, did you see grandpa last week? Was he nice?"

 

Allison fidgets a little. "He was a bit scary. He said that we need to kill the beas- beasties? What it means, mom?"

 

"'What does it mean' is the correct way to ask," Victoria reminds her. "And don't worry about it, little bunny. I'll talk with grandpa so that he doesn't scare you like that anymore."

 

When Allison goes back to her room, Victoria turns to him and says: "I'll talk with Gerard. I don't care much for werewolves, but he needs to start acting like a hunter that he is and not a goddamn vigilante. We have a reputation to uphold, and the way to do that is by following the rules to the letter."

 

For the first time in his life (both lives, actually) Chris is glad that Victoria is such a stickler for the rules, because for once it actually turns the tide in his favor.

 

Chapter 7

The next few days, Chris tries to distract himself from thinking about Victoria and how their marriage crumbles right before his eyes - or at least he attempts to. It turns out that cleaning the house until it's spotless clean doesn't work as intended, because while it keeps his hand busy, it doesn't apply to his mind, which is very much hyperactive and stubbornly falling back to the thought of their separation despite his efforts to make it stop.

 

When the week passes and Victoria has her stuff all packed and ready for the move, she declares that she's taking their daughter with her for the weekend and that he shouldn't expect Allison to be back before Sunday evening. He grits his teeth and says that this is all happening too fast, but Victoria argues that there's no point in delaying the inevitable, and the sooner they all get used to the new arrangements, the better. It's like a loose tooth, she says, it's better to pull it quickly rather than let it hang by a thread forever.

 

Since she's been more than reasonable about the whole issue with Gerard, he reluctantly agrees. Despite his misgivings, he tries to put up a good front for Allison's sake, since it's better if she considers the trip to San Francisco as something fun, an adventure even, then something to be dreaded. However, it doesn't change the fact that after he gives her a hug goodbye and watches as Victoria's car disappears around the corner, he goes back to the empty house, with nothing to distract him from how miserable and useless he's feeling at the moment.

 

He finds himself something to do - making a full inventory of all the weapons in the garage - but it doesn't help at all, that's why when his phone rings, he picks it up almost immediately.

 

"Hello Chris, it's Deucalion, I hope that I'm not interrupting anything?"

 

The man's deep, cultured voice is like a balm on his soul.

 

"Hi, I could really use a distraction at the moment, so please, do interrupt me," he replies, a hint of pleading entering his voice.

 

"Some more context wouldn't be amiss," Deucalion comments, his tone gently curious, but not prying.

 

"Let's just say marriage issues and leave it at that. I'm actually trying to think about anything but my wife at the moment. So enough about me, how are you doing?"

 

"I have no wife to speak of, so… quite good, thank you."

 

Chris snorts. "You're wiser than me, then."

 

"I'm afraid that it has nothing to do with my supposed wisdom, I'm simply not much of a ladies' man," Deucalion confesses quietly, and the softly spoken words leave Chris breathless for a moment. Apparently, he fails to respond for a second too long, as the man asks carefully: "Is this… alright? Or was that the wrong thing to say, and you're going to politely say that you're busy and can't talk, after all?"

 

"What? No, no, of course not," he finally finds the words. "I was just surprised, that's all."

 

This time, Deucalion's voice is sharp and cutting like a knife: "Because an Alpha couldn’t possibly be a bender?" 

 

He furrows his brow in confusion. "Do you mean gay? What's you being an Alpha has got to do with this? No, I just didn't expect this topic to come up in a phone conversation, that's all."

 

"Oh… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed-"

 

"It's alright," he assures the man. "I guess that if you're so defensive about it, you probably have a good reason for it. So, how about you drop by my place and we can vent to each other about everything that is bothering us?"

 

"You're aware of my… proclivities, and you're still inviting me into your home?" Deucalion sounds stunned, almost disbelieving. "Do you want me to promise that I'd keep my hands to myself?"

 

The image of the man putting his hands on him leaves Chris slightly lightheaded, before he shakes himself. "No need, I can take care of myself just fine. So, what do you say, should I start preparing dinner?"

 

"A homemade meal in a good company, how ever could I decline such a generous offer?" Deucalion teases him.

 

"You better not, because then I'll be forced to eat the whole lasagne all by myself, and that's way too much carbs for one person, much less a human without accelerated metabolism. I'll grow fat, and then no one will look at me twice, man or woman."

 

The man chuckles into the phone. "Oh no, we can't have that!"

 

"I'm glad that we're on the same page, then," Chris deadpans. "How about we meet at six? I'll text you the address."

 

"Sounds perfect. See you at six, then."

 

When the call ends, Chris leaves the garage, goes to the bathroom to wash his hands, all the while wondering if he has all the ingredients he'll need to prepare dinner. Only once he's in the middle of it, stirring the sauce in a pan, he actually realizes that he didn't think about Victoria and their failed marriage for nearly an hour now.

 

I can do it, he thinks to himself. I can be happy without her.

 

That's quite a bittersweet thought, but still, it gives him hope.

 

***

 

Deucalion stares at his phone, not quite believing that he's just gotten himself a date with a hunter who also happens to be very fit… The term is 'hot', here, he reminds himself, still in a habit of falling back to British slang from time to time, even though he's been living in the States for over a decade now.

 

What if it's not a date, he wonders. What if it's just a friendly dinner, and he's reading too much into this? The man has a wife, after all. 

 

But she's not at home, otherwise Chris wouldn't have said that he'd be forced to eat dinner all by himself. Which means that they're going to be alone… How could this not be a date, after Deucalion has blurted his sexual preference over the phone, and Chris still asked him to come over?

 

Growling with irritation at his own maudlin, useless thoughts, he opens the wardrobe and curses that he's taken so few clothes with him when he packed for the trip to Beacon Hills. Suddenly, he wishes he owned more fancy clothes, maybe something more colorful than the browns and greys he wears everyday. He wants for Chris' eyes to linger on his body, maybe even shine appreciatively at the sight of it…

 

This is not a date, he repeats to himself. Still, he goes to the bathroom and makes sure that every part of him is thoroughly clean and that all the superfluous hair is taken care of.

 

It never hurts to be prepared, after all.

 

***

 

When Chris hears the doorbell, he can't help the way his heartbeat quickens with anticipation. It's been a while since he's been this excited about meeting with anyone, and if anything it makes him feel more like himself. He's spent so much time disconnected from his emotions, compartmentalizing every single feeling, that he almost forgot how it is to feel so alive.

 

Maybe this is because he can drop the act of a strict, hardened werewolf hunter with Deucalion? He can't be entirely honest with the man, especially when it comes to the fact that it's his second chance at life, or whatever this world is, but at least he doesn't have to pretend anything. He doesn't know if it's a sign of their growing friendship or maybe something more, but he decides right here and there not to overthink this, and just… be himself.

 

When he opens the door, he's momentarily stunned by how good-looking Deucalion is, especially now: cleanly shaved, wearing a plain button-up shirt which tailored fit only accentuates his slim but muscled body, with a small smile dancing in the corners of his lips. Then, that smile falls as the man frowns, looking at the door frame closely.

 

"Is that mountain ash?"

 

"Yes, I'm sorry but the whole place is literally fortified with it. But please, come in, you're definitely welcome."

 

Deucalion takes a step forward, and exhales softly once the barrier allows him to cross the doorstep. Then, he takes a tentative step back, and Chris realizes that the man wanted to test if he can leave as easily as he just entered. He doesn't know why, but such a blatant show of mistrust leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth. 

 

"I wouldn't trap you like that," he says quietly. "Do you really think so lowly of me, that I'd use such underhanded methods?..."

 

"Being cautious is what's kept me alive all these years. It's not personal,  I promise." The man's eyes beg him to understand, and he recalls how one instance of being too trusting had cost the other Deucalion his eyesight, and he inclines his head. 

 

"You're right, caution is generally a good policy to have. And in all honesty, I'd rather you were overly careful than not careful enough, since I'd hate to see you getting hurt."

 

Deucalion looks away for a moment, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Thank you. Does it mean that I'm still welcome inside?"

 

Chris nods without even a moment of hesitation.

 

Chapter 8

When Deucalion takes the first bite of the lasagne, Chris watches him like a hawk, trying to gauge from the man's expression if he likes it or not. As if sensing this, Deucalion's face doesn't give anything away as he takes the second bite with the same carefully neutral expression.

 

Finally, Chris can't take this anymore.

 

"Is it good? Is it bad?" Deucalion still says nothing, so Chris groans with defeat. "It's awful, isn't it?"

 

The man finally cracks and chuckles into his hand. "I apologize, but the way you waited with baited breath for my opinion… It was priceless. But honestly, the meal is delicious, so you can lose that frown already and dig in."

 

"You're evil," Chris mumbles under his breath, giving Deucalion a dirty look, but still he grabs a fork and a knife and starts to eat.

 

The man's twitching lips are proof that he's not apologetic in the slightest.

 

"'Evil' is such a strong word. You can't fault me for some good-natured teasing, now can you?"

 

Chris points his fork at him. "Only if I get to tease you in return, and so far you haven't shown any weaknesses that I could exploit."

 

"... I believe that I have."

 

He takes a look at Deucalion's suddenly guarded expression, and he sighs, putting the utensils away. "Alright, I didn't think it would need to be said, but apparently I was mistaken, so I'm going to say this only once: I don't think less of you because you're gay. I don't consider it wrong, or dirty, or something to be ashamed of. In fact, I've had my own share of sexual experiences with men, but even if I haven't, it still wouldn’t give me any right to judge you. So, are we good?"

 

Deucalion ducks his head and resumes eating without saying a word, but his shoulders relax just the tiniest bit, so even if it's not a full success, it is a start.

 

For the rest of the meal Chris makes sure to keep the conversation light and avoid any heavy topics, and watches as the man relaxes gradually. After dinner he asks if Deucalion would like some wine, and once he receives a confirming nod, he fills two glasses and hands one to the man.

 

"For new friends," he says as they clank their glasses.

 

Deucalion echoes his toast and takes a sip, then smiles wistfully. "I don't know if it's funny or sad, but one of the very few things that I miss from being a human is getting inebriated. Staying sober whether you like it or not can be quite miserable."

 

"Actually, I know of a method to get a werewolf drunk."

 

Deucalion perks up at once. "Really? How?"

 

Chris hesitates for a second, before he admits: "A drop of wolfsbane added to a glass of alcohol will have that effect. It would need to be diluted, though, otherwise you risk getting sick from wolfsbane poisoning."

 

Deucalion stares at him for a long moment, then shots a quick look at the red wine twirling in his glass. "Did you add anything-"

 

"No, of course not," he hurriedly assures the man. "Not without your knowledge and permission. I'm just saying that if you ever want to get drunk, there's a way to mimic that effect."

 

Deucalion looks guiltily at him. "I'm sorry, I keep assuming the worst of you…"

 

"Look, I'm a hunter, so I get why you feel like you have to be constantly on guard around me, but I promise that you don't need to. I wouldn't harm a werewolf unless they went rampage and posed a real threat to humans, and even then I'd first try to incapacitate rather than kill."

 

He wonders if it's ever going to get any easier to convince the werewolves that he's not out to get them, that he's more of a guardian by nature than an executioner…

 

Deucalion clears his throat. "I must apologize, then. It seems that I'm just as guilty of falling prey to stereotypes as those hunters who blindly persecute werewolves without any other reason than their species."

 

"It's alright," he says easily, even though Deucalion's earlier suspicion still stings a little, then gives the man a lopsided grin. "Besides, I've learned about this method from a French werewolf pack, not from other hunters."

 

"Oh?" 

 

Chris' smile turns reminiscing as he remembers the time he spent with Isaac in France. The longer the boy stayed so far apart from Scott, the more his packbond strained until it finally gave in and broke, leaving Isaac an Omega, and forcing him to search another pack that would take him in. When they finally found an Alpha willing to hear them out, the man proposed a trade: he would accept Isaac into his pack in exchange for a wolfsbane infusion. Chris was highly suspicious and reluctant to agree, until Jean-Paul explained what he needed it for.

 

He shakes the memories away and focuses on Deucalion, instead. "It turns out that French werewolves missed drinking wine too, and have been experimenting with various wolfsbane species for years. For example, yellow wolfsbane acts as a tranquilizer and calms down the drinker, purple wolfsbane makes you tipsy and lightheaded, while blue wolfsbane causes dizziness and hallucinations."

 

The Alpha takes a deep breath before he hands him his half-empty glass. "I'd try some of that yellow wolfsbane, then, if you have it."

 

This time, it's Chris' turn to be shocked. Knowing that Deucalion trusts him to such an extent fills him with hope that maybe it's not such a losing game, after all.

 

***

 

When Deucalion takes the glass filled with the spiked wine, he wonders if he's just making the greatest mistake of his life, but then he throws caution to the wind and takes a small gulp, then another.

 

"Let's move to the sofa, we'll be more comfortable that way," Chris suggests and Deucalion nods, because he's already starting to feel as if he's been given a muscle relaxant and sitting upright on a chair suddenly poses quite a challenge.

 

They end up half-sitting, half-lying on the sofa, with Deucalion leaning against Chris' chest as his muscles turn into jelly. The feeling is quite tranquil, though, similar to that moment after a massage when one feels drowsy and deeply relaxed, almost boneless.

 

After a moment of comfortable silence Chris circles him with his arms with a quietly spoken: "Is this alright?"

 

In response, he mumbles something intelligibly into the hunter's chest and snuggles even closer into that warm, comfortable body. It feels so good to just let go of everything and simply be, no thoughts or worries, just two people sharing body warmth and giving comfort to each other… 

 

Feeling as if he's floating, he starts to put small kisses on Chris' torso, only bemoaning the fact that it's claded in a T-shirt rather than naked. He's barely even aroused, though; he's much too relaxed to feel any kind of tension, even of the sexual kind.

 

"Deucalion…" Chris breath hitches. "Please stop, I'm not made of stone."

 

He blinks slowly, finally taking note of the tell-tale stiffness pressing into his thigh. When he gets his brain to work for long enough to form a coherent sentence, it's nowhere near his usual level of eloquence: "You want me."

 

Chris shakes his head. "Not like this, not when you're under the influence... Let's talk about this once we're both sober."

 

"Alright," he agrees easily, then closes his eyes, focusing on the man's steady, if slightly increased heartbeat.

 

It's enough to know that he's wanted. 

 

***

 

When he wakes up, the artificial calmness in his body is gone and he props himself up, his heart racing.

 

"Whoa- Really, Deuc, what's the point of relaxing if you tense up so quickly afterwards?" Chris complains, blinking drowsily at him.

 

"We slept together," he blurts out.

 

"'Slept' sounds just about right. We didn't have sex, if that's what you're worried about…"

 

"No, you don't understand. I fell asleep in your presence, which means that you could've done literally everything to me, I was in no state to stop you or defend myself," seeing the hunter's wounded expression, he huffs, frustrated with himself: "I apologize, I'm not explaining myself clearly enough. What I mean is that you could've done anything, but you just let me sleep."

 

"Well, yeah. Wasn't it the whole point of giving you that spiked drink, so that you could let go of all the stress and just relax?"

 

It was. And despite having the perfect opportunity to use it for his own gain, Chris didn't. The realization takes his breath away for a second, because he knows with perfect clarity now that he's truly and absolutely safe in the man's presence.

 

"You're right, it was relaxing," he murmurs. "I can think of something even better, though…"

 

Then, he leans down and catches Chris' lips in a soft, tentative kiss, but instead of being pushed away as he half-expected, Chris kisses him back for a few precious seconds, before he breaks the kiss and looks seriously at him.

 

"Deucalion, I like you, I really do, but I need to know what it is that you want from me. Because if it's romance or relationship that you're after, my private life is much too complicated for that to happen."

 

He considers the question for a moment. "How about friendship, sex, companionship and comfort?…"

 

Chris smiles. "Sounds perfect, actually. No drama, though. I don't think that either of us need any of that in our lives."

 

Deucalion lets out a surprised laugh. "No drama," he promises with a grin of his own, feeling lighter than he's had in quite a long time.

 

Then, they kiss again, and this time, neither of them leans back for quite a while.

 

Notes:

Next: we'll get some Peter & Derek, as well as Derek & Chris interactions.
So if you're not much of a Deuc fan, don't worry, there's going to be more focus on the Hales in the next chapters.

Chapter 9

Derek barely even registers that his mates have finished their lunch and walked away, since he's too busy drinking his slushie while pretending that he's not staring at Paige.

 

"Why does she eat alone, doesn't she have any friends?" 

 

He stares at Peter appearing out of nowhere and taking a seat on the bench right in front of him.

 

"What are you doing here?"

 

Peter smirks. "Looking out for my favorite nephew, making sure no one has a crossbow aimed at your throat."

 

Derek rolls his eyes. "I can get you banned from school grounds. You know that, right?" It seems that Peter liked acting as his self-proclaimed guardian a little too much if it made him come all the way here…

 

"No one can get me banned from anywhere, I'm too good looking," Peter says with a grin, then shoots a look at Paige. "Speaking of, that one is a perfect match for you. It would worry me too, though. I'd probably be thinking about it all the time."

 

That confuses Derek. "Thinking about what?"

 

"Her finding out, of course. You know that always happens, and once she sees your fangs and claws, you can say goodbye to your blissful, teen romance."

 

He shakes his head in denial. "No, she loves me, she wouldn't dump me just because I'm-"

 

"A monster?" Peter sneers at him, and it makes him raise his chin proudly.

 

"We're not monsters."

 

This is what his mom has been telling him ever since his very first transformation into a werewolf: that they are predators, but they don't have to be killers.

 

"You know that, I know that, but for humans, we're little more than beasts. Only another werewolf can truly understand what it is like to be one of us. So if you don't want her to turn her back on you the moment she learns the truth… turn her," Peter says intently, looking him straight in the eye.

 

"Whoa- What are you talking about? I'm only a Beta, and mom would never agree to bite her."

 

"Laura told you about the packs being here, didn’t she? There are more Alphas than I've ever seen in one place, not to mention Ennis just lost one of his Betas, he's probably looking for a replacement as we speak. It's a perfect opportunity for you to ensure that Paige won't leave once she sees you for what you are. And if that's not enough, thanks to the bite she'll never get sick again, she'll stay young and beautiful for a very long time... You'd be doing her a favor, really."

 

His words make Derek wave in his certainty that getting Paige turned would be a wrong thing to do.

 

What if Peter is right, after all? As a born werewolf Derek doesn't get why human bodies have to be so weak and frail. Why would anyone choose to stay human if they could be stronger, faster and resistant to all illnesses?...

 

He licks his lips nervously. "I need to think about it."

 

"Of course. But don’t think too long, the packs are going to leave soon, and with them, your only chance to be with Paige for real, without having to hide your true nature out of fear of losing her."

 

Peter stands up, pats him on the back and leaves. Derek doesn't watch him go, since he has his eyes fixed on Paige's silhouette as the girl turns the page of the book she's reading avidly, totally oblivious to her surroundings.

 

They love each other, he tells himself, so surely she wants to be with him forever - this is what love means, right?... But what if something goes wrong? What if she hates him afterwards?

 

Then she never loved you in the first place, a voice sounding suspiciously like Peter taunts him. In that case it’s better to know now rather than later, don’t you think?

 

He bites his lower lip, undecided, before he realizes that he needs some serious advice. And not from just anyone, but from someone trusted and experienced who would hear him out and not judge him for even thinking about getting his girlfriend a bite.

 

Which means that his mom is out, since she'd immediately get mad at him and he won’t even get the chance to explain anything in the first place. Laura would tell mom, that little tattle-tale, so he can’t trust her either. Peter… it’s his idea in the first place, so there must be something in it for him as well, Derek just can’t yet figure out what that is. But either way, Peter’s already involved, and what he needs right now is getting advice from someone more objective-

 

Wait, maybe Chris would agree to hear him out? The hunter seemed fair and unbiased when they met, and didn’t seem to hate werewolves on principle, rather the opposite.

 

And he seemed to like me, he thinks to himself.

 

The human part of him scoffs at how needy and childish it makes him, but the wolf side of him recalls the feeling of safety, of being protected in the man’s presence, and seems approving of the idea. The animal’s instincts are rarely wrong, and he’s long since learned to trust them, and this time it’s no different.

 

Chris it is, he decides. The only problem is: how to find the man?

 

***

 

In the end, it turns out to be quite simple - Derek remembers that Chris has mentioned having a nine year old daughter, so the next day he ditches his first class and instead strolls from one elementary school to the other, hoping to catch the man’s sight or scent. 

 

When he finally sees Chris, the man is helping a girl with a cute little ponytail to put on a bright yellow backpack with bees and a honeycomb pattern, then waves at her as she runs towards the school. Derek hesitates, suddenly unsure if this is all such a good idea as he initially thought, when the hunter turns around and spots him, then walks towards him with a frown on his face.

 

“Hi Derek, is everything alright?”

 

“Um, hi, and yeah, everything’s fine,” he fidgets a little, before he gathers his courage and says: “There’s this one thing I needed advice on but I couldn’t ask anyone at home, so I wondered… Can I talk to you?”

 

Chris watches him for a long moment and Derek suppresses a wince at the sudden scrutiny. I’m not doing anything wrong here, he reminds himself. I just want his honest, professional opinion.

 

“Does your mom know that you’re here rather than at school? Does anyone?”

 

This time, he can’t help the guilty wince at the question. “No, no one. I’m sorry, this was stupid of me to come here, I’ll go-”

 

A hand on his shoulder stops him before he can leave. 

 

"If you went through all this hassle to find me, then the least I can do is to hear you out. But maybe next time just call or text me, alright? I'll give you my number, just in case. Now, what did you want to talk to me about, is it supernatural-related?"

 

"Yeah, it is."

 

The hunter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Then maybe let's not have this discussion in the open. Come on, my house is just two blocks away from here, we can talk there."

 

Derek nods with agreement and walks beside him as the man leads the way. 

 

"How have you been doing after that… incident in the woods? Are you doing alright?" Chris gives him a concerned look, and it makes him feel warm on the inside. Maybe his instincts were right, after all, and this man really is as trustworthy as he seems to be to his inner wolf.

 

"I'm fine. Thank you for leading us to safety, by the way."

 

"Peter wasn't impressed much, though." The hunter cracks a smile.

 

That draws a surprised laugh out of Derek. "Is he ever? Impressing him is even harder than impressing my mom, and that means a lot."

 

Chris rolls his eyes. "I'd say that I'd have to try harder, then, except for the fact that making an impression on your uncle is hardly the top of my priorities."

 

"You don't like him, do you?"

 

The man shakes his head. "No, it's not like that. I suspect that he's quite likable once he ceases all the posturing and unnecessary power plays, but so far it's all that he's shown to me."

 

Derek doesn't get to respond as the next moment Chris opens the door and invites him in. Once he crosses the doorway, a strange feeling washes through his body, as if he's being… warned? Judged?

 

His face must show his alarm and surprise, as the hunter smiles at him calmingly.

 

"Don't worry, it's simply the mountain ash barrier. You're welcome in my home, so it won't stop you from coming or leaving."

 

Mountain ash, he's heard of it but hasn't had the chance to encounter it - up until now. Curiosity getting the best of him, he squats beside the door and traces the doorstep with his fingers. His fingertips tingle at the contact, but it's not an unpleasant feeling.

 

"Do you have to say out loud that you invite me in?" He looks up at the hunter, intrigued.

 

"No, it doesn't have to be a verbal invitation, it can be nonverbal too, a gesture or a nod, so the intention is actually more important than the method itself."

 

"That's so cool, almost like magic," he prattles with excitement, and Chris chuckles.

 

"Derek, you grow fangs and claws at will. Your mom can change into an actual wolf. If there's anything resembling magic in the world, being a werewolf definitely qualifies."

 

That reminds Derek of the reason why he sought the hunter out in the first place, and he stands up.

 

"Do you think that turning someone into a werewolf is a good thing or a bad thing?"

 

Chris huffs. "You don't ask easy questions, do you?" The man leads him to the living room. "Come on, sit down and explain."

 

Derek sits down on the sofa, exhales slowly, wiping his suddenly clammy hands into his sweatpants, and then tells the man everything. 

Notes:

Sorry for the small cliffhanger, but I promise that you won't need to wait too long for the next part ☺

Chapter 10

Chris isn't much surprised by Derek's story, having heard about Paige in his first life, so instead he uses that time to observe the young werewolf. He's pleased by the fact that this time, instead of following Peter's advice blindly, Derek sought him and wanted to get his opinion on the matter. 

 

But as much as he's pleased by the Beta's trust in him, he can't shake the feeling that maybe Derek is too trusting and putting a lot of faith in someone who is essentially a stranger to him. And while Chris isn't, in fact, a stranger, no one else knows about this, and were he a different person he might be tempted to use Derek's gullibility against him. 

 

"So, what do you think, should I ask Ennis to give the bite to Paige?" Derek asks hesitantly, as if wary of his reaction.

 

Chris hums thoughtfully. "Do you love her?"

 

"Of course! She's funny, and beautiful, and I love spending time with her-"

 

"But that only means that you're infatuated with her, maybe even enamoured of her, but does it mean that you love her?" Chris argues. "Because truly loving someone means that you accept them as they are, with all their weaknesses and flaws. And what's even more important, it means that you want them to be happy, even at the expense of your own happiness."

 

Derek stares at him as if Chris said something groundbreaking, while it is, in fact, a very simplified definition of love as he understands it. Then, the teen frowns. "Why does it have to be a choice between her happiness and mine? Can't we be happy together?"

 

"Most of the time it wouldn't be an issue, but there are moments in life when we have to make that choice, and these moments are the measure if we truly love another person, or do we simply enjoy how they make us feel... I don't expect you to actually give me the answer, as this is a very private matter, and you can keep it to yourself. What isn't private, though, is a question of consent. Did you consider the fact that maybe Paige wouldn't want to be turned into a werewolf?" Chris asks gently.

 

"Sure, maybe she would be angry at first, but think about it… She would live longer, never get sick, she would be stronger, faster, have enhanced senses-"

 

"So you're saying that it's alright to do something against her will if it gives her some additional benefits?" He raises his eyebrow.

 

"Well, it sounds awful when you say it like this, but yeah, it would be for her own good, maybe she would even thank me once she's gotten used to it," Derek says stubbornly, and Chris sighs at the arrogance which the boy probably isn't even aware of.

 

"Alright, let's consider this from another angle," he suggests. "I know for a fact that there's a family of Wendigos in Beacon Hills. Let's pretend that Paige is one of them. How would you feel if she arranged that someone from her family turn you into one?"

 

"Whoa, but how's that better? I'd be forced to eat human flesh, that's awful!"

 

"An average Wendigo has a strength equal to an Alpha werewolf," Chris counters. "You would be stronger, and you'd be a part of her family, her pack, so to speak, and you'd get to live together forever. You love each other, right? So you should be thankful to her for making you a Wendigo."

 

Derek grows angrier by the minute. "But what if I don't want it? What if I prefer being a werewolf? Besides, how could she do something like this to me, don't I get to decide who I want to be? If she really loves me, she wouldn't- Oh."

 

Chris sees the moment Derek's own words drive the point home, and he squeezes the boy's shoulder comfortingly.

 

"No one likes being robbed of their right to choose their own path," he says gently, trying to soften the blow. "The problem is, we often forget about it until something like this is done to us. But there's a third matter you should consider before making a decision."

 

"What is it?" Derek looks at him uncertainly, as if dreading the answer.

 

"That by arranging Paige to be bitten, you're essentially endangering her life. If her body rejects the bite, she will die because of it, and it would make Ennis a killer, while you and Peter would be accomplices in murder."

 

"But Alphas turn humans into werewolves all the time, and very few people die because of it. So if the chances of her dying are so small…"

 

"But it could happen. Can you really play with her life like that? With anyone's life? This is too serious to be taken lightly," Chris says gravely. "I'm not saying that Alphas should cease turning people into werewolves. I'm only saying that it should never be done without full knowledge and consent of the humans. It's their lives that are at stake, after all."

 

Derek grows silent as he grabs a pillow from the sofa and spoons it, looking miserable.

 

"I'm quite sure I can give you a better hug than that pillow," Chris offers with a teasing smile, but Derek shakes his head.

 

"I bet that you now think that I'm a bad person, so why would you even want to-" the boy's voice breaks and he looks away, but if it's due to guilt, shame, or something else entirely, Chris can't tell for sure.

 

"Then you'd lose that bet, because I don't think that at all. You had enough of a good sense to seek someone's advice before making a decision that could end in tragedy. That was very responsible of you and you should be proud of yourself, not ashamed."

 

Derek sniffles and looks at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Do you really think so?"

 

"I do," he confirms.

 

The next moment Derek's stomach lets out a loud gurgle, making the boy blush hotly, so Chris chuckles and pats his knee.

 

"Come on, I'll make you breakfast and then I'll drive you to school. Sounds good?"

 

Derek nods eagerly, so Chris leads him to the kitchen. He keeps the conversation light, asking the boy what he'd like to eat and what classes he has today. He doesn't comment when at some point Derek shuffles closer to him and presses his forehead against Chris' chest. Instead, he puts his arm loosely around the boy, hoping to offer some comfort without making it too awkward or forced.

 

At some point, he'll need to talk with Derek about being more cautious around strangers, but after the difficult conversation they already had today, he decides that now is not the best time. Besides, he really wants Derek to trust him, but at the very least the boy will need to be warned about Kate, because the last thing Chris wants is the repeat of the Hale House fire.

 

***

 

In the afternoon, when Derek gets home after school, his mother is already waiting for him with a grimace on her face suggesting that he's in Deep Trouble. 

 

"The school just called to inform me that you missed two classes in the morning. Care to explain yourself?" she asks sternly, hands propped on her hips. 

 

For a moment he considers making up an excuse, but he quickly discards that thought, since his mom would immediately sense a lie.

 

"I was with a friend, we were talking about, um, a girl that I like," he says vaguely, hoping that it will close the subject, but the effect is exactly the opposite.

 

"You skipped classes because of a girl? And what friend, should I expect a call from his parents scolding me that their son played hooky because of you?"

 

"No, no, he's not in school anymore-"

 

His mom frowned. "Wait, you have an adult friend? What age is he, is he much older than you? How do you know him anyway?"

 

Derek groans exasperatedly. "I was with Chris, okay? I needed to talk to him, and he really helped me, mom. Now can you just let it go? I won't skip any more classes, I promise."

 

Talia stares at him, shocked. "You went to talk with a werewolf hunter without telling anyone where you're going? Do you even realize how reckless that was? You could've been hurt or kidnapped, and we wouldn't even know what happened to you!" 

 

"Chris is not like that," he protests. "I trust him."

 

"And you're such an expert on who can be trusted or not, hm?" she sneers. "You're fifteen, for gods' sake! And what did you talk to him about, because don't think for a second that I bought that girl excuse."

 

It angers Derek, and he curls his hands into fists. "Actually, it was about a girl. And I went to talk to him, because ever since dad died I don't have anyone else to talk with without ending up scolded or treated like a kid!" He drops his backpack to the ground, then turns around and runs into the forest as fast as he can, eyes blinded by hot tears.

 

He's aware that in her wolf form his mother is way faster than him and could catch up to him easily. A part of him even hopes that she will, but a larger part of him thinks that even if she does, it would be only to berate him, again.

 

It makes him feel angry and bitter, because he's not a small child to be told what to do, he wants to make his own decisions, even if they won't always be good ones. His mother, she just doesn't understand it, she's too… bossy, and thinks that she always knows best, without giving Derek any space to learn and to think on his own.

 

That's what he likes about Chris, though: that the man talked to him without forcing his opinion on him, which allowed Derek to draw his own conclusions. What's even better, Chris said that he was proud of him, or rather, that Derek should be proud of himself. Recalling those words makes him feel unbelievably good, knowing that someone actually respects him.

 

That's the one thing that he actually lacks in his family, because while he's certain that his mom, Laura and even Peter love him, they don't think much of him, and that knowledge hurts. Sure, he might not be as intelligent or clever as them, but he's not stupid. He just wishes that they could see it, too.

 

Chapter 11

As Talia watches her son running away, for a moment she considers following him, but then she decides to give him some space - and if she's being honest with herself, they could both use it.

 

As much as it's painful for her to admit it, their argument brought some uncomfortable truths to light, and she needs to think them through first. Has she really been acting as Derek accused her of, patronizing and condescending?... She doesn't think so, she just more often than not needs to curb some of the more ridiculous ideas her children tend to have, at least that's how she sees it.

 

For a moment she fumes, offended by the accusation that she's been acting like a bad parent, before her wounded pride gives way to worry and guilt. If Derek feels that he can no longer talk to her about everything, then there must be at least some truth in his words, even if they were a little too harsh. But the question is: how can she tell how much of Derek's behavior is nothing more than a teenage rebellion, and to which extent he truly feels that way?

 

She takes a calming breath, then another, and calls Deucalion.

 

"I need your advice, can you come over?" she asks without preamble.

 

"Is this about the hunters? Did something happen?"

 

"Nothing life-threatening, so it's not urgent or anything. It's about my wayward son, I need to get a second opinion on one thing, but more importantly I need to ask you about Chris Argent," she admits and he snorts.

 

"Why is it that suddenly I'm an expert on the man? Just because I snogged him doesn't mean that I suddenly know all his deepest, darkest secrets."

 

So they kissed already?... That's not exactly a shock since Deucalion mentioned being interested in the hunter, but she didn't expect it to happen so quickly, and she whistles, impressed. "Wow, I see that you didn't waste any time."

 

"What's the point in waiting when both parties want the same thing?" He asks rhetorically, then adds: "And sure, I'll be at your place in half an hour."

 

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

 

Even through the phone she can sense his amusement. "No need to thank me. After all, a chance to brag to you about my blooming love life is an incentive enough."

 

"I'm not sure that I want to hear about that -" she makes a face at the mere image, but he sniggers openly into the phone.

 

"Too late, you've already invited me, remember?" Deucalion says with way too much satisfaction, then hangs up. 

 

"Prick," she mutters under her breath, but there’s no heat in it.

 

She’s truly happy for him, since he sounded happier and more carefree than she recalls him ever being. Love and romance tend to have that effect on people, she reminds herself, but it's a bittersweet thought, as she hasn't much luck in that department.

 

No matter how much Derek tends to idealize his late father, Dirk was quite a womanizer and when he was still alive Talia had been forced to turn a blind eye on his flings since she wanted her children to have a father. But Dirk was as quick to pick up fights as he was to flirt with every woman that was at least somewhat attractive, so when he died in a fight with a rival pack, she was as much saddened as she was relieved by the fact.

 

Derek was inconsolable then, though, as he almost worshiped the ground his dad walked on, and wanted to be exactly like him. Even to this day, that's Talia's one of the biggest, hidden fears: that her son will turn up to be just like Dirk…

 

She shook herself, trying to focus on the matter at hand, which is Derek's stunt. Did he really meet with Argent to talk about a girl, of all things? It seems ludicrous, but it's exactly the kind of a crazy idea her son is capable of coming up with. And what's worse, if it is true, then it means that Dirk's death truly left a void in their son's life, a void that Derek now tries to fill without considering if that person is trustworthy and a good father figure material in the first place.

 

She huffs, suddenly irritated by the fact that recently everything seems to be revolving around Chris bloody Argent. What's so special about him, anyway?...

 

***

 

Deucalion falls silent for a moment once she asks him that same question later in the day, and considers the answer with more seriousness than she expected him to.

 

"I can't speak for your son and why did he choose Chris to speak with about his issues, but what I can tell you is what attracted me to Chris. The way he looks at me, speaks to me, it's as if he knows me. And I don’t mean that he's aware of some facts about me, but it feels as if he has some kind of a deep, inner knowledge of who I really am. It's hard to stay unaffected by that," Deucalion's eyes lose focus for a moment as he stares ahead, before he shakes himself and gives her a serene smile. "It's like an invitation to discard all masks, since there's no need for any when I'm with him."

 

"And do you feel comfortable, baring yourself like that in front of someone you barely know?” she asks skeptically.

 

“Was it anyone else, it probably wouldn't be the case, but there’s something about Chris… I can’t find the right words to describe it, and you know how rarely that happens.”

 

She snorts. “I know, you’re the eloquence personified, gods forbid you’re ever caught lost for words.”

 

“Indeed,” he gives her a wry smile, before his expression turns serious. “Why don’t you talk with Chris and form your own opinion? I can give you his number, you can request a meeting, I’m fairly certain that he won’t object to that.”

 

She grimaces. “I’ll probably have to do that, after all… “ 

 

“Good. Now since that’s decided, let me tell you about our date-”

 

“I really don’t want to know,” she interrupts him quickly, but he ignores her and proceeds with the tale anyway. She pretends that she’s not interested in the topic, while in all honesty she’s actually quite curious about what happened between those two.

 

“... I woke up, relaxed and rested as I rarely have the chance to be. And then, I kissed him,” Deucalion admits, looking both embarrassed at his boldness and proud of it at the same time.

 

“Just like that?” 

 

“Just like that,” he nods, his lips stretching in a gentle smile.

 

“Stop looking so bloody besotted, you’re not a teenager anymore!” She huffs, but Deucalion only laughs at her in response.

 

She doesn’t tell him this, but she can't help but feel a little envious. Not because she wants the hunter for herself, of course, since the man is not her type, and much too young for her anyway, but because she misses that feeling she now sees reflected in Deucalion’s eyes, twinkling with mischief, but most of all - with happiness and joy.

 

She could use some of that, too.

 

***

 

When Peter walks by Talia’s office and overhears Deucalion speaking about his little rendezvous with Chris Argent, he grits his teeth so hard that his jaw starts to ache. He forces himself to listen to the entire tale, but when he hears about the kiss, he curls his palms into fists, wishing that he could punch the Alpha in the face and wipe the self-satisfied grin off it, because even though he doesn’t see Deucalion, he can hear the satisfaction in his voice and it infuriates him to no end.

 

He walks away quickly, not wanting to risk that someone will notice that he’s eavesdropping, but the hot anger still boils inside him. Then, a sudden thought makes him stop in his tracks. Maybe, just maybe, it’s not such a bad thing, after all…

 

If nothing else, this is a proof that Chris is at least bisexual, and isn’t above making out with a man, and a werewolf at that. What’s even more, the hunter seems to be quite easily seduced, if Deucalion’s words are anything to go by. If all it takes to get into Chris’ pants is a drunken conversation and a kiss to show his intentions, then Peter’s more than up to it.

 

It’s not even going to be much of a challenge, which is a pity, but it’s nothing surprising. After all, he’s younger and better looking than Deucalion, so the hunter would have to be stupid or blind to turn him down. Not that he even considers getting rejected, because he always gets what he wants, always. 

 

He grins to himself and starts to whistle cheerfully as he resumes walking down the hall, imagining all the things that he’s going to do once he gets into bed with the man who’s been haunting his thoughts ever since their meeting in the woods. And maybe by fucking Chris, he’ll get over this stupid infatuation and get back to being the one who’s desired and obsessed over, not the other way around.

 

Notes:

I know that Peter's acting like an arrogant ass at the moment, but I promise you that at some point he'll change for the better... But not just yet 😋

Chapter 12

"How about we go to the playground?" Chris suggests once he's picked up Allison from school.

 

"Are there going to be swings?" She asks with a serious expression that looks absolutely adorable on her, and he suppresses the urge to coo. 

 

"Let's find a place with swings, then," he says, instead. 

 

He has an ulterior motive besides wanting Allison to have an active afternoon: he hopes to catch a glimpse of Scott, that's why he takes her to a place near Melissa's house. For a good portion of an hour he doesn't have much luck and he almost gives up on his plan - consoling himself with the thought that Allison has had some fun, at least - but then he sees two boys running into the playground and his heart starts to beat faster.

 

"Whoa, slow down!" A pale, dark-haired boy calls out, breathing heavily, and his moles stand out even more on his flushed face.

 

The other boy laughs, his distinctive crooked jaw immediately catching Chris' attention. "At least try to keep up, Stiles!"

 

For the next few minutes he observes the boys while still pushing the swing absentmindedly, until Allison declares that she wants to try the climbing wall next. 

 

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" He eyes the wall in question critically, having a strong suspicion that it was built with older kids in mind.

 

"Daaad, I can do it," she rolls her eyes at his concern and jumps off the swing, landing on the ground gracefully like a cat. 

 

Not wanting to act too smothering and over-protective, he lets her climb but hovers beside her just in case she slips. She doesn't, and he hugs her once she's back on the ground safely.

 

"You were brilliant, you have a knack for it," he says, impressed. He doesn't recall taking her to climbing walls in the past, and he promises himself that this time he's going to nurture all of her talents, whatever they might be.

 

"Can I go again?"

 

Her huge puppy eyes are begging him to say 'yes'... However, in the corner of his eye he sees that Scott is fidgeting slightly, so he turns to the boy. "Did you want to go next? Allison can go after you."

 

"No, my mom said that I can't do it without an adult," Scott says dejectedly, while shooting the wall longing looks.

 

"I am an adult, you know," Chris winks at him. "I can make sure that you don't hurt yourself. Your friend too, if he wants to give it a go."

 

"Really?" 

 

"Absolutely. Allison, you won't mind waiting for your turn, right?" For a second she looks like she might rebel, not quite being used to sharing, but then she shrugs and nods. "Alright, what are your names, boys? And who wants to go first?"

 

They mumble their names and look at each other, before Stiles pushes Scott forward with a muttered: "It was your idea."

 

Scott looks a little nervous, so Chris gives him a pat on the back.

 

"You can do this, buddy."

 

With a few words of gentle encouragement, Scott slowly climbs up the wall, while Chris watches his moves and makes sure that he doesn't fall. At one occasion he sees that the boy's foot starts to slip from a climbing hold, so he steadies him, allowing Scott to adjust his position.

 

"I did it!" the boy exclaims with a glee once he's climbed down.

 

"Good job, Scott! How about you, Stiles? Do you want to give it a try?" 

 

Stiles looks at the wall with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, with the latter much more prominent. "I dunno… It looks hard."

 

"Come on, you can do it!" Scott encourages him, but Stiles shakes his head mutely.

 

"Maybe next time, then," Chris suggests gently.

 

"Maybe," Stiles mutters with a shrug, and before long both boys run to whatever their next adventure is, Scott giving Chris and Allison a cheerful wave in lieu of goodbye. 

 

Chris considers calling the boy back and engaging him in a conversation, but he doesn't want to come off as overbearing or too intrusive, so he abandons the idea. To Scott, he's nothing more than a helpful adult, but still essentially a stranger. It doesn't matter that Chris had once known him, had even come back to Beacon Hills just to help him deal with yet another deadly threat - this Scott doesn't know him and doesn't have any reason to spend more time with him. 

 

He wishes it was different, but for now… These few moments spent together will have to suffice to fill his heart with enough warmth to make it last. After all, he can’t expect anything more than that.

 

Then, his daughter tugs at his sleeve, demanding his attention, so he stops thinking about Scott for the time being, his mind set on simply enjoying spending some more quality time with Allison.

 

***

 

Later in the afternoon, an unknown number calls him, and after a few rings he picks it up. It turns up to be Talia, which he's not entirely surprised by.

 

"What are you playing at?" She asks brusquely, but instead of being offended he's quite amused. Who knew that the great Talia Hale has such a temper?

 

"Hello to you too. I'm assuming that you're not referring to the playing ground I spent the last two hours at with my daughter? But in that case you need to be a little more specific."

 

"Don't play dumb, I know that you're perfectly aware to what I'm referring to," she snaps. "What are your intentions towards my son?"

 

Oh, that explains it, then. He's not talking with a pack's leader at the moment, but with a concerned mother, and mothers are usually the most vicious when feeling threatened on behalf of their children.

 

"Derek is a brilliant young man with the potential to become an even greater adult," he says sincerely. "But at this time he seems quite uncertain of himself, and lacking direction."

 

"And you think you can mold him as you want? Who do you think you are?"

 

"Someone he trusts, and believe me when I say that I don't take that lightly. The fact that I managed to win him so easily is worrying for me too, because that means that there's a gap in his life that he tries to fill. And while I'm honored by the fact that he chose me for that, we need to warn him against trusting random strangers in the future, so that he doesn't get hurt."

 

She's silent for a long moment and he lets her digest his words.

 

"Can we meet and talk in person?" She asks, sounding more subdued and thoughtful than before, so he agrees and they iron out the details before hanging up.

 

He exhales slowly afterwards. A meeting with Talia in her house means a chance to meet the rest of the pack, at least that's what he hopes for. He can't hide the fact that he’s curious about them, since in his first life almost the entire Hale family had already been wiped out of existence as a result of Kate's vendetta. This time around, he's determined not to let that happen.

 

***

 

By the time Derek cools down, it's already started getting dark and he wonders what he should do now. For a moment he considers bunking at his friends', but then he'd be in even more trouble than he already is. Not to mention, he's really hungry, so he drags his feet back to the house, mulling over what he should say to his mom.

 

Should he say that he’s sorry? Adults like it when kids apologize for their actions, but he doesn't feel like he's done something he should apologize for. Especially not for talking to Chris, nor for finally speaking his mind to his mom.

 

Well, maybe he could've handled that one a little bit better, but the point is, he meant everything he said, so he can't take it back. He doesn't want to take it all back, not when he finally started to say out loud what's been bothering him for ages.

 

As he opens the door and sees his mom standing in the hall, he expects her to scream at him or ground him, or both. But instead, she draws him into a short but tight hug.

 

"Why did you turn off your phone? Do you know how worried I've been?"

 

"I didn't feel like getting yelled at," he mumbles awkwardly.

 

"But I never yell-"

 

"You kinda do, mom. Like, all the time, at me, at Cora… But you're right, you never yell at Laura."

 

His mom presses her lips, and he sees the effort she puts into controlling herself. 

 

"Well, maybe if you behaved more like your older sister-"

 

"Are we done here?" He interrupts her. He doesn't mean to be rude but he's so fed up with hearing how perfect Laura is, that he would rather be punished than just stand here and listen to it. "If you want to ground me, fine, but guess what, I'm not Laura, and I don't want to be!"

 

Talia's nostrils flare and he can only guess how much his words angered her, before her brow furrows.

 

"I know that you're not like her, I just meant that maybe you could be…" she hesitates.

 

"Different than I am? Thanks, mom. That's exactly what I needed to hear," he says bitterly, then walks past her and upstairs to his room, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore.

 

Chapter 13

"Please, come in," Talia invites him inside, and Chris enters the house, looking around curiously. He remembers the shell of a building it was after the arson, and the difference is staggering. 

 

There is a line of shoes standing by the wall, from cute pink child sandals to a pair of battered trainers that obviously have been in use quite frequently. He even spots some toys discarded on the floor, and he can't suppress a smile.

 

"How old are your kids?"

 

A proud smile blooms on Talia's face. "Laura, my oldest, is twenty two, Derek will turn sixteen next month, Cora is eleven, and my youngest, Emily and Alex, are nearly five."

 

"Oh, a glorious age when they'll resort to literally everything to avoid bedtime," he recalls when Allison was that age, and gives the Alpha a commiserating smile. "Have their teeth started to feel wiggly already? I remember that it was a nightmare for my daughter, she hated the feeling like they could fall out at any moment."

 

"No, not yet. Though I guess that as a mom to born werewolves I have it much easier than human parents, since our kids can't wait to lose their baby teeth."

 

That piques his interest. "Oh, and why's that?"

 

"Losing them is a sign that the child becomes ready to transform into a werewolf for the very first time," Talia explains. "The kids await it with as much excitement as Boxing Day, if not more."

 

"Wow, I didn't know that. Thank you for sharing," he says sincerely. 

 

She raises an eyebrow at him. "What, no comments about how awful it is for such young children to turn into monsters?"

 

"It's a part of their natural growth, of who they were born to be, so I can hardly have a problem with that. If an Alpha would bite a human child that age, then I'd want their head, but your children are a completely different scenario."

 

Talia nods with agreement as she leads him upstairs. "Giving someone a bite is generally a sensitive subject, though. There are humans who would do literally everything to become one of us, you know."

 

"Those people, are they good werewolf material, though?" He asks dubiously. "If it's power they want, they might be a threat to their Alpha and want the position for themselves."

 

Talia grimaces, then opens the door to a room which looks like a study and gestures to him to come in and sit down. "You're right, I tend to avoid anyone who cares more about power than the pack."

 

He falls silent, as their conversation reminds him of his own pack: Isaac, Scott, Derek… They are forever lost to him, and even if he manages to connect with the younger versions of them, it won't be the same, since everything they went through together will exist only in his memories.

 

And a memory, if it's not shared with anyone else, is nothing more than a fantasy, he thinks to himself bitterly. Who knows if - in a few years time, once the memories begin to fade - he will still be certain that that first life ever happened in the first place?

 

***

 

Talia watches a smile slowly fade from Argent's face as the man's scent becomes filled with sadness and longing. She wonders what has caused it, and she asks before she can suppress her curiosity: "Did I say something wrong?"

 

He shakes himself and focuses back on her. "No, of course not. When you mentioned a pack I simply recalled another one which I was once close to."

 

Oh, so Derek wasn't the first werewolf he befriended? She considers asking what pack was that, but then decides against it. After all, if Argent wished to share those details, he would have already done so without her pestering him about it. 

 

"I wonder how a hunter became acquainted with a werewolf pack," she says, instead.

 

"By sharing hardships, I guess," he shrugs, but she can sense that it's only an act and that he's still moved deeply. 

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring back painful memories."

 

He shakes his head. "No, it's fine. They're people worth remembering, so there's no harm done."

 

They are silent for a few moments, before Talia decides to broach the subject she actually invited the man here for. "I know that we've already touched on this during our phone conversation, but I wanted to ask you this in person: why have you allowed Derek to become so attached to you? You must see how unhealthy that is." She observes Chris avidly as he considers her question.

 

"What choice did I have? Would you prefer it if I've let him down, instead? Who knows how that would have affected him, and how long would it take before he trusted another adult again. But I can only assure you that I have his best interest at heart, now and in the future."

 

"But why?" 

 

She still doesn't understand it. What's so special about Derek that it made a hunter, and an Argent no less, become so invested in him? 

 

"You may think that you werewolves are the only creatures with heightened instincts, but in all my years as a hunter I've learned to trust mine, and it tells me to help and protect Derek, so this is what I've been doing."

 

"And if I ask you to stay away from him?" She raises her chin in a challenge, but he deflects it deftly.

 

"Then you'd need to explain it to Derek, because I don't want him to believe that pushing him away was my idea."

 

She feels the stirring of anger at the hunter's words. "So you want him to blame me?" 

 

"If that's your decision, then I'll respect it since you're Derek's mother, but you need to take the responsibility for it. It's only fair, since I wouldn't ever cut contact with him if it was up to me."

 

She stands up and starts pacing around the room. "You're insufferable, has anyone told you that?"

 

"On an occasion," he deadpans. "Honestly, what are you so afraid of, that I'll influence Derek in a way that you won't like? Because you can't truly believe that I'll cause him harm."

 

She presses her lips, torn. In truth, she doesn't really think that Argent has some hidden agenda here, since by saving Derek and Peter he already proved that he can go against other hunters if needed. No, what she's truly anxious about is that Derek will prefer to confide in him rather than in her… But the man doesn't need to know that.

 

"I don't want him to become dependent on you," she says finally. "He needs to grow up, and for that he doesn't need a crutch."

 

"Support and a willing ear are hardly a crutch," he counters, then demands: "Tell me the real reason."

 

She bristles, the Alpha in her growling lowly at the man's audacity, but Argent meets her furious gaze head-on, and her inner wolf pauses as she considers the man carefully.

 

"You're dangerous."

 

He gives her a sardonic look. "Aren't we all?"

 

She snorts, finally relaxing her stance a little. "You've got a point here... Alright, I'm not going to forbid Derek from seeing you, but I am going to observe you closely and see where it leads. One wrong move-"

 

"And you're going to rip my throat with your claws, I know," he interrupts her with a roll of his eyes. "And don't think that I'm not aware of the fact that you deflected my question."

 

"My concerns are my business, not yours."

 

"Fair enough. Do we have an understanding, then?"

 

"I guess we do," she concedes, then barks a short laugh. "I can't believe that I'm actually saying this, but you might be a good match for Deucalion, after all. So far he's been the only man able to argue with me so boldly while staying collected and rational at all times, but it seems to me that you could give him a run for his money in this regard."

 

"I wouldn't know, since arguing with Deuc is the last thing on my mind when we're together."

 

She makes a face. "I don't need any details, thank you very much-"

 

"I actually meant that he's a great man, and that I've been enjoying his company so far," Chris looks calmly at her, and she blushes slightly at her assumption. A second later she hears a commotion outside the room, though, and realizes that her progeny probably reached the limit of their patience waiting for the both of them to finish their conversation.

 

"Speaking of company… Do you feel ready to face a bunch of over-excited werewolf kids with too much energy to spare?" 

 

To her surprise, Argent's whole face lightens up and he gives her a radiant smile. "Absolutely!"

 

In that moment, she finally understands why Deucalion felt the instant attraction to the hunter, and it only reinforces her earlier assessment that Chris Argent is a dangerous man… And not necessarily because of his fighting skills.

 

Chapter 14

Notes:

First, let me address a common question in the comments to the last chapter: Why Talia didn't react with the same level of caution when Kate has seduced and manipulated Derek, as she did now when Chris befriended him.

In all honesty, I don't believe that Talia was even aware of Kate meeting Derek. In all probability, Kate asked Derek to keep their relationship a secret, because no one would understand it, and that it needed to stay their secret etc.

That's how I imagine it happened, anyway. I honestly don't believe that any mother would not be suspicious of a grown woman suddenly befriending her 15 year old son, without at least trying to learn her motives.

And now that's out of the way, here's a new chapter - I hope you'll like it!

"So you're this guy Derek can't stop talking about," is the first thing Chris hears once Talia opens the door, revealing a small flock of kids of all ages hovering in the hallway.

 

“And you must be Cora,” he can see the resemblance with the young woman she was - will be - at eighteen. She is exactly as blunt and strong headed as Cora that he’d once known, and her dark eyes are as stubborn and relentless as ever.

 

“How did you know?” she squints at him suspiciously. “Were you spying on us?”

 

“Cora!” Talia rebukes her, but Chris only laughs at the suggestion.

 

“No, I didn’t have to spy, since your mom has already told me your names and ages. You’re too young to be Laura, and too old to be Emily, so it was the only logical conclusion.”

 

“What is conlu- conlusion?” A small boy asks him.

 

Chris squats so that he’s on the same level as the kid. “To draw a conclusion means that I was able to guess your names with the hints your mom gave you. Like when you can guess what the weather will be by looking at the sky and the clouds.” 

 

The boy thinks deeply for a few seconds, his forehead furrowed in concentration, then nods. “Okay. I’m Alex, and this is Emily. We’re twins.”

 

“Pleased to meet you both,” he tries to keep a straight face at all that seriousness that only a six year old can muster.

 

When he turns to a little girl wearing a pale pink glossy dress, she gets flustered and hides shyly behind her older sister. He marvels then at how different Emily is from Cora, who looks like a typical tomboy in her oversized clothes, knees covered in dirt. And yet, by the way the older girl immediately surrounds Emily with her arm, he can tell that Cora is a caring and protective sibling, even though she doesn’t seem like a doting type at the first glance.

 

Then, he glances at Derek standing behind the rest of the kids, looking uncertain and hesitant in a way that makes his heart ache, so he smiles at the boy. “Is that true, that you’ve been gossiping about me?” 

 

“What? No, of course not-”

 

“He wouldn’t shut up about how you saved his and Uncle Peter’s lives,” Cora rolls her eyes. “Now, can we eat dinner already? I’m hungry.”

 

Talia looks like a cross between outraged and exasperated at her daughter’s lack of manners. “Not in these dirty clothes, you can't. Go change, and the rest of you go clean your hands," the children protest loudly, but she cuts their grumbling with a stern: "What are you waiting for? I'm not gonna ask twice."

 

"I see that you have your hands full," he comments once the kids disperse.

 

"Sorry about that," Talia murmurs apologetically. "You're invited to dinner, if you don't mind spending even more time in a werewolves' den."

 

"I'd love to. Besides, I haven't had the chance to meet Laura yet. Is she home?"

 

"She and Peter are in the kitchen, meaning that whatever they've been cooking, let's hope that they've been more focused on making it edible rather than annoying the hell out of each other," she sighs heavily.

 

"Well, it's not entirely unexpected if there's some rivalry going on between them…"

 

She shoots him a questioning look. "What do you mean?"

 

"Well, try to put yourself in Peter’s shoes. You've chosen Laura over him to be your right hand, so it's normal if he feels bitter about it. He's older than she is, and he probably thinks about himself as the more capable one. On the other hand, Laura might feel the constant pressure to prove that you've made the right choice… No wonder that there's some tension between them," he explains his reasoning with the hopes that Talia doesn't take it the wrong way.

 

She does.

 

"If you’re criticizing my choices…"

 

"I don't," he interrupts her before she can wind herself up. "I haven't got the faintest idea who would be a better Alpha, and even if I did, it would still be your choice to make, for better or for worse. I'm just saying that until Peter actually finds something that allows him to prove himself, there's bound to be some tension, and he might be acting out."

 

She presses her lips. "I appreciate your comments, and even though it's not any of your business or concern what's going on in my pack, I'll– consider your advice."

 

"Thank you, that's all I ask. I wanted to give you an outsider perspective, in case you needed it, but I won’t mention it again,” he promises. “As you said, it's your pack, your call."

 

She watches him shrewdly for a long moment, probably weighing his sincerity at the very least, since she can't exactly discern his motives, before she nods with acceptance.

 

"Thank you, I appreciate that. Now, let's go downstairs, dinner should be ready shortly."

 

***

 

Werewolves’ houses, especially those belonging to bigger packs, are all built quite similarly, with acoustic plasters and panels, and insulating plates, all to ensure maximum privacy, at least as much as possible when taking into consideration their enhanced senses. The sound still carries to an extent, but not as much as in normal houses, and while eavesdropping is not impossible, all of those precautions ensure that people don’t overhear anything unless they're actively trying to.

 

But hallways… hallways are free game, and everything said outside closed doors is considered public knowledge. That’s why when Peter overhears the hunter’s and Talia’s discussion, he stiffens and shoots a look at Laura, who is stirring the stew in the pot with her back to him.

 

"Stop pretending that you didn't hear that," he hisses lowly.

 

"I'm not, I simply don't care what some hunter thinks about me even before meeting me. But he's already met you, so does it mean that he's right and you're desperately trying to prove yourself?" Laura turns around and sneers at him, while keeping his voice low. "Poor uncle Peter, so overlooked and misunderstood by everyone…"

 

He is tempted to snap back at her, but he can hear the approaching footsteps and the last thing he wants is to look like the bad guy - again.

 

"I'll get you back for this, just you wait," he says under his breath, equally as quietly.

 

For a few seconds he daydreams about a day when he finally knocks her down a peg. That's why when he turns to greet the hunter and smiles, he's not even pretending.

 

Nor can he ignore the way his heart suddenly beats faster at the sight of the man, from his strong legs, perfectly flat abdomen, broad chest, to a handsome face with a perfect five o'clock shadow beard that makes him curious how it would feel to have it scratching against his skin… He simply itches to find out.

 

After all, kissing Chris worked out well for Deucalion, didn't it?

 

***

 

Dinner is awkward at first, but Chris is happy to note that the children seem to act naturally in his presence. The same can't be said about the adults, though…

 

"So, I've heard that you've taken our little Derek under your wing. Any particular reasons for that?" Laura asks, her face portraying nothing more than innocent curiosity, but Chris isn't fooled by the act, especially once he sees how Derek's face darkens at being called 'little'.

 

"What can I say, he's an impressive young man and he's earned my respect," he says evenly.

 

"Whoa- Derek?" Laura snorts. "Are we really talking about the same person?"

 

"What, don't you think that he deserves the praise?" He raises an eyebrow at her, hoping that she'll catch on to the fact that her careless words might be hurtful, but it doesn't seem to have much effect, as she only shrugs.

 

"He's a good kid, I guess, but I wouldn't call him 'impressive'..."

 

"I'm not little, or a kid, so don't call me that," Derek grumbles, then settles down as Chris squeezes the teen's arm gently, partially to convey his support, and partially to keep the teen from arguing with his sister. 

 

"Derek is quite smart, and also surprisingly resilient for someone his age. He might yet surprise you," he comments mildly, but his eyes are sharp as he sends Laura a look to stop this before things escalate even further. "I'm sure that all of your siblings have features or skills that they can be proud of… what about you, Cora, what are you good at?" He asks the younger girl, who immediately brightens up at the attention.

 

"I like to exercise-"

 

Laura scoffs. "You mean, getting into fights with everyone at school? Yeah, that sounds quite right."

 

"At least I'm not a spineless suck-up as you are!" Cora shouts back.

 

Suddenly, Talia slams her hand on the table.  "That's enough!" She hisses, then turns to him. "I apologize for my kids, could you please give us a moment?"

 

He nods, wipes his mouth on a napkin and stands up. "Of course, I needed to go to the restroom anyway."

 

"I'll show you where it is," Peter offers quickly, standing up as well.

 

Chris is instantly suspicious, because being helpful and kind is not exactly the behavior he's learned to associate with Peter… But who knows, maybe this younger version of the man he'd once known isn't as much of a coldly calculating opportunist, who never does anything that doesn't benefit him in some way?

 

"Dare I ask why did you volunteer to show me the way?" He inquires once they're out of the dining room.

 

Peter gives him an easy smile. "Hearing my sister's lecture is not going to be fun, so I'd rather show you around than stay in there and listen to it."

 

"I'm glad to be deemed the lesser evil, then," he deadpans, then winces as he hears Talia's raised voice. "... I think you might be right, though."

 

"There are two things that you should know about me: first, is that I'm always right."

 

Chris snorts at the brag, but can’t help but ask with curiosity: "And the second?"

 

In response, Peter takes a step towards him, leaving almost no space between their bodies. "That I always get what I want - and what I want is you." Then, he grabs Chris by the back of his neck and kisses him on the mouth, smashing their lips together with no preamble and no warning.

 

Chapter 15

Chris isn’t in the habit of lying to himself. It wasn’t always the case, but that was a whole different life. Now he tries to stay as true to his real self as possible without hurting anyone in the process.

 

That’s why when the young Peter kisses him out of the blue, taking him completely off-guard, for a second or two he’s drawn in by the werewolf's extraordinary self-confidence and the sheer audacity to pull a stunt such as this. The fact that the kiss is quite pleasurable doesn’t hurt either… But then, his mind catches up to what's happening and he puts his palms on Peter’s chest, then pushes him away gently. This doesn’t seem to do the trick and the werewolf tries to kiss him again, though, so he pushes him away again, this time more firmly.

 

“That’s enough.”

 

“Don’t act like an old prude now,” Peter sneers, and Chris can’t help but think that it looks ugly on him. “I know that you’re banging Deucalion, and you just snogged me back a moment ago.”

 

“Be that as it may, my ‘no’ means ‘no’, and I expect you to respect it,” he gives the werewolf a stern look, and Peter scoffs.

 

“You sound like such a bore. Maybe I was wrong about you, after all…”

 

Chris folds his arms on his chest. “And what did you think? I’m pretty sure I’ve never given you any indication that your advances would be welcome.”

 

“But- other guys would be thrilled at a chance to get it on with me. Why aren’t you?”

 

He inhales sharply once he realizes that the young man that this version of Peter currently is, is seriously asking him this question, as if he genuinely can't understand why anyone wouldn’t be interested in him. Does Peter even know how to deal with rejection? he wonders.

 

“Listen, you’re quite attractive-”

 

Peter snorts. “Obviously.”

 

“But for me, a pretty face and a fit body simply aren't enough,” he finishes as if he wasn’t just interrupted. “There needs to be… a connection, a mutual trust and respect, for me to even consider having sex with someone.”

 

The young Peter stares at him without understanding as if he just spoke Chinese. “What’s that got to do with anything? I’m not proposing to you, I just want to fuck you.”

 

“And each time you open your mouth, I’m becoming even more certain that I don’t want to fuck you,” Chris retorts sharply. Which is a mistake, he realizes belatedly as he watches Peter’s face flush with anger. 

 

Then, the werewolf starts to tug at his own clothes with erratic moves, and before Chris can ask what on earth is he doing that for, Peter calls out loudly: "No, let me go- D-don't touch me!"

 

It actually drowns out Talia's angry tirade in the dining room, which stops abruptly, and a second later the woman approaches them in quick strides.

 

"What happened?"

 

"He tried to- I told him no, but he didn't listen…" Peter sniffles.

 

Talia takes one look at his flushed face, red-rimmed eyes and the messy clothes, and immediately jumps to the wrong conclusion, which Chris is pretty sure was Peter’s petty plan all along.

 

"No, it's not like that, I didn't-" he tries to explain.

 

He doesn't get the chance, though, since in the next moment Talia grabs him by the shirt and throws him against the wall with a force that could've broken his ribs if he didn't brace for an impact. It still hurts, though, but he doesn't have a chance to ponder on that as Talia lunges at him with clawed hands, so he ducks and reaches for his ankle knife.

 

"Step back," he warns, in the corner of his eye seeing the kids appearing in the hall and watching them with wide eyes.

 

Talia sneers. "As if a mere knife could stop me from wringing your neck for daring to molest my brother."

 

"It's been coated with wolfsbane, so you better stay away. And for the record, it was Peter who kissed me, then didn't take well the fact that I rejected him."

 

"Liar!"

 

"Stop for a second and think. Peter is quite capable of defending himself, do you really think he would've let me do anything to him that he didn't want? And secondly, does he smell of hurt, shame and distress to you, or is he simply angry and affronted because of his wounded pride?" 

 

She hesitates, then looks at her brother, who still tries to maintain an innocent facade and pretends to be offended by the accusation.

 

"You can't honestly believe him over me!"

 

"Look me in the eye and tell me that he tried to force you," Talia demands quietly, her eyes fixed on Peter.

 

Seeing that she's no longer trying to maim him, Chris puts his knife back into an ankle holster, but still continues to watch the werewolves warily.

 

"Well, not exactly…" Peter starts to backtrack, seeing that the focus has now shifted to him.

 

Talia muffles a curse. "I can't believe you! I was ready to rip him to shreds - for you! What were you thinking? No, don't answer now, go to your room and wait for me there."

 

That angers Peter even more and he snarls. "You're my sister, not my parent, and I'm an adult besides, so you don't get to order me around."

 

"I'm your Alpha and I'm going to treat you like an adult only once you start acting like one. Now go!" She roars the last part while using her Alpha voice, and Peter staggers upstairs, obviously trying to fight the compulsion and failing. 

 

Once he disappears upstairs, Talia's shoulders sag in defeat, and she turns to the kids. "Finish your dinner and then go to your rooms."

 

Laura ushers the children back to the dining room, but Derek shakes his head stubbornly.

 

"I'm not in a mood for arguing right now," Talia warns.

 

"I just want to say goodbye to Chris. Please mom, I only need a minute."

 

She hesitates, then nods reluctantly.

 

Chris watches as Derek approaches him, and sighs. "I'm so sorry that you had to witness all this. I know that you wanted me to give Peter a chance, but-"

 

Derek shakes his head. "I'm so mad at him right now that I don't want to talk about him at the moment. Are you alright? How's your back?"

 

To know that Derek truly cares means a lot to Chris, because it's an indication that their relationship goes both ways.

 

"Slightly bruised, but nothing serious. I'll be fine, I promise," he adds, seeing that Derek doesn’t look convinced. "You can drop by my place next week and see for yourself that I'm doing okay, but only if your mom allows it. No more misbehaving from now on, alright?"

 

"I'll try my best," Derek promises.

 

Chris pats his shoulder. "If you do your best, then it's enough, no one can expect more than that. Now go finish your dinner before it's gone completely cold."

 

The hugs that he gets in return aggravates the bruises on his back, but he's simply too happy to care. 

 

***

 

Talia watches how Argent interacts with Derek, and marvels at the warmth and care the man is exuding when talking with her son. But still, it's not enough to alleviate her concerns about her children's safety in the hunter's presence.

 

"I must apologize," she says once they're alone. "I shouldn't have attacked you without listening to your side of the story first."

 

"I'd argue that attempting to kill me wouldn't be the right response even if I was guilty, but I can get overly protective of my own family too, so I get why you reacted as you did."

 

"Thank you for your understanding, I appreciate it. There’s one thing that I'm still uncomfortable about, though - your knife."

 

Argent watches her silently for a moment. "The fact that I have it with me is the only reason why you stopped attacking me and actually listened to reason."

 

"That's true. Still, you brought a wolfsbane-coated weapon into a house full of werewolves, most of them children. I need to ask you to leave and never come back again, unless you leave all your weapons at home. Derek won't be allowed to come to your house either," she says sternly.

 

Maybe she would let it slide if there was no wolfsbane on it - but with it, even a small scratch could potentially be lethal, and she couldn't risk her family's lives like that.

 

He rubs his face and sighs. "Look, I get that you're protective of him, I really do, but I'd never hurt him or any other kid, human or werewolf. Besides, it's not like you can take off your claws and fangs, so why do you expect me to be defenseless when you never are?" 

 

"I'm afraid that this is not a negotiation, not when my children's safety is at stake."

 

Argent huffs, and she can tell that he's irritated by her demand, and she watches with a heavy heart as the man leaves the house.

 

Chapter 16

Peter curses as he paces in his room back and forth. Fuck Talia and her damn Alpha voice, who does she think she is to order him around? He hates this, since being contained in a small room makes him feel too much like an animal trapped in a cage.

 

Not for the first time he wishes that he never came back from college to Beacon Hills, but being separated from his pack for a prolonged period of time really took its toll on him. When he still lived in LA he barely slept and his concentration suffered, same as his patience. True, it has never been that great in the first place, but in his college senior year it got so bad that he was constantly snapping at everyone.

 

He really thought that coming back to Beacon Hills would help, and it did, in the sense that he no longer felt the painful tug on his packbonds… but in other aspects, things got even worse.

 

It seems like in everyone's eyes he's still the same teenager who left home straight after high school. No one here sees him as an adult, or as a man who can make his own decisions. At least in college he was independent and could do everything he wanted, so going back home only to be treated like a kid again… he just can't stand it.

 

Are these his only options: to be away from his pack and endure the pain of straining bonds, or stay with the pack and just accept the fact that he's going to be unappreciated and disrespected at every step?

 

He growls and kicks the desk, but seeing it wobbling he turns and falls onto the bed, then screams into his pillow, trying to release all his anger and frustration before it eats him from the inside. As he runs out of breath, he throws the pillow to the floor, then rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling.

 

He needs to do something, anything, to feel like himself again, to be in control of his own life rather than allow others to control him. He wishes he could make everyone pay for making him feel this worthless and humiliated, and that includes Talia, Laura - and the newest addition on his 'get revenge' list: Chris Argent. 

 

***

 

After leaving the Hale house with its drama and Talia's baseless fears behind him, Chris goes to his car, but instead of driving back home, he presses his forehead against the steering wheel and exhales slowly.

 

He doesn't even have words for how thoughtless, irresponsible, and simply hurtful Peter’s actions were. Being accused by him of sexual assault is not something he would've ever expected. Yes, Peter he once knew had been narcissistic, egoistical and sometimes even ruthless, but all his actions had had a reasoning behind them and had been done for a specific purpose or gain, never out of pure spite. So why did this Peter act like he did?

 

For a long moment he racks his brains for an answer, and he comes up with two possible explanations: first, the simplest, is that it's a retaliation for being rejected, but in that case, Peter really outdid himself… The second possible explanation is that the whole encounter has been staged and Peter was never interested in him in the first place, and that his intention was to cause dissension between Chris and the Hale pack right from the start.

 

If he's being honest with himself, he doesn't like either scenario, but at least the first explanation implies that Peter acted impulsively rather than deliberately, so it seems a lesser evil. He has a suspicion that he's not going to get an answer to this question anytime soon, though, since talking to Peter is the last thing he wants at the moment, and the feeling is probably mutual.

 

What he's more worried about are Talia's unfair demands, and he only wishes that they won't affect his budding relationship with Derek. Becoming a mentor figure for the teen really struck a chord with him, and he would hate to see it go to waste. 

 

It's not like he can go against Talia's wishes, though, so he can only hope that she'll come to her senses soon and they'll be able to reach some sort of a compromise. He doesn't even want to imagine being forbidden from seeing Derek and how that would affect the teen, his own feelings aside.

 

He wishes he could vent to someone, to take the edge off and just take his mind off everything that happened today… He glances at his phone and hesitates for a second. He's already arranged for the sitter to take care of Allison until 11 PM, so why not take advantage of that? There's no use coming back home if he's going to be restless and stressed out like this.

 

He picks up the phone, finds Deucalion's number in the contact list and calls.

 

***

 

When Chris calls, Deucalion is a little surprised as it's not the weekend yet, and he would expect the man to be at home with daughter. It turns out not to be the case, though, so he jumps at the idea for them to get together now rather than to wait till Saturday.

 

They meet in a hotel, and seeing the wild look in Chris' eyes both worries and excites him at the same time. When his mouth is captured in a hungry kiss the moment the door to their room closes behind them, and he's being pushed against the wall with a muscled thigh pressing between his legs, he stiffens for a second, but it's enough for Chris to freeze.

 

"Hey, are you alright? Do you want me to stop?" The man asks, caressing Deucalion's cheek with his thumb.

 

He hesitates, suddenly uncertain. Up until now, they've only shared hand- and blowjobs, but never actually attempted penetrative sex. The way Chris presses his groin against his own tells him that the man wants to fuck him - and he's not sure he's ready for that, for multitude of reasons that have nothing to do with Chris.

 

"I'll be fine, just give me a moment."

 

Chris nods and takes a step back, his body scent changing from aroused to worried with a smidge of disappointment. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong."

 

"No, don't apologize, please. It's not your fault that I'm… Let's just say that I have a complicated history, and things that wouldn't bother most might be a trigger for me." Saying this, he observes the hunter closely, looking for even the tiniest sign of impatience or scorn on Chris' expression, but sees only warmth.

 

"Can you tell me more? You don't have to, but knowing what your triggers are would help me avoid them."

 

"I don't want you to think less of me," he looks away saying this, but Chris cups his cheek and gently steers his face so that they look each other in the eye.

 

"Trust me, that's not going to happen, regardless of what you say."

 

He wants to believe that, he really does, but he's learned the hard way that his past is a serious put-off, so he raises his eyebrow with disbelief. "That's quite a bold statement, considering how short we've known each other."

 

"Bold or not, it's true. Tell me as much or as little as you want, but help me understand."

 

There's something utterly reassuring in the calm sureness that Chris is exuding, as if there's literally nothing that could phaze him.

 

He exhales slowly and nods. "Alright, but don't say later that I didn't warn you. It's not a pretty story."

 

"Duly noted," Chris squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back, hoping that their easy rapport won't change once he reveals to the man the events that led him to becoming a werewolf - and an Alpha.

 

Notes:

I thought that I'd give Deucalion some background, since we know next to nothing about him from the canon.

And to those who wonder, the endgame pairing is Petopher - but the slow burn tag is there for a reason, it's going to be a long and bumpy road until our boys reach it.

Chapter 17

Notes:

This chapter has been inspired by the TV mini-series "It's a sin" about young gays in London in the mid-80s.

They end up half-sitting, half-lying on the bed and propped against the pillows, but - knowing how badly his previous lovers took the news of his past - Deucalion is too nervous to truly relax, and just wants to get everything off his chest.

 

"It was the mid-eighties - not the easiest time for anyone, much less a teenager just trying to find his place in the world. My father was a miner who worked in a local colliery until it was closed overnight, just like that. As you can imagine, he didn't take the news all that well," he smiles bitterly as he recalls those days. "He often took it out on me and my mother, to the point that I couldn't take it anymore and decided to run away from home the very day I turned of age. It wasn't a random decision, though, I wanted to see if London would be a better place to live than my hometown of fifteen thousand."

 

"Was it better or worse than you imagined?" Chris asks curiously.

 

"Both, I guess. I was a typical small-town boy, wide-eyed, terrified and at the same time entranced by everything the city had to offer. London was vibrant, almost electrifying, as if it had a soul of its own, and I loved it. But it wasn't an easy place to live in, especially back then. I didn't have any skills or a history of employment, which meant that the job opportunities were few and far between. But even though I barely made a living, I still went out almost every night, trying to connect with people like me: young and gay, exploring their identity and sexuality."

 

Chris' fingertips caress his arm absentmindedly. "It couldn't have been easy."

 

"It wasn't. Being homosexual was like a brand back then, and we were treated like freaks at best and dangerous criminals at worst. It was a period of intensified homophobia, sanctioned by the government, police and tabloids alike. You could have gotten arrested even for a consensual sex, just because it was with another man. It was a nightmare."

 

"So how did you manage to make it through?"

 

He grimaces, an old shame rearing its ugly head. "One night, I ended up on my knees before an older guy. When I was done, he patted me on the back and gave me fifty quid. My first reaction was to protest - I was an honest guy, not a prostitute. But it was half my wage, and I earned it in what, five, ten minutes? So I took the money, convincing myself that it was a one-time thing and a misunderstanding nevertheless, and that it won't happen ever again. But the next day I went back to that pub and did it again, with another guy, and a few days letter I've let someone fuck me for money. From then on, it just… it kept happening, and before I knew it, I've been fucked by so many nameless guys who didn't give a damn about me, that I forgot what it feels like to actually be excited about being with someone." He takes a deep breath and adds woodenly: "If you don't want to have anything to do with me ever again, I'll understand."

 

He averts his eyes and stares at the wall, instead, as if by not looking at Chris he could hide away from the man's judgment. Then, he feels an arm sneaking around his shoulders, holding him tight, and he releases a shaky breath.

 

"Deucalion, look at me, please," Chris' gentle voice is too compelling for him to resist and he glances up. "You were just a young man trying to survive and making bad decisions along the way, but it doesn't make you bad."

 

He shakes his head. "You still don't know everything."

 

"Then tell me, but it won't change how I see you."

 

He wants to believe that, he really does, but all that he can think of is how dirty he still feels deep inside.

 

"I've contracted HIV," he says bluntly. "Which quickly escalated into AIDS, though it was initially named GRID, as everyone thought that only queers could get it, and so they called it a gay related immune dificiency disease. Then, I got sick, really sick, but the doctors and nurses in the hospital could barely even look at me as they put me in a separate room, in order to avoid the disease from spreading. I was dying, barely able to move, and they still left my food by the door so that I had to get up from the bed to get it."

 

He can hear the way Chris sucks in his breath, can feel the way the man's muscles tense up and his scent is suddenly filled with outrage mixed with sadness as the hunter asks: "How could they have treated you like that?"

 

There are no words to describe the horror of those days, but he still tries. "Back then, the moment a person contracted HIV, it was as if he suddenly stopped being a human being and it was socially accepted to strip that person of everything: a job, the right to medical care, and even dignity. We were no better than rabid animals for a majority of people; we were dying like flies and no one cared."

 

The arms around him tighten protectively, as if something as simple as a hug could keep him from all harm. It doesn't, of course, but it still acts like an anchor, reminding him that it's all in the past, and it gives him enough strength to continue his tale.

 

"One evening, when most of the staff had already left, a man came into my room with an outlandish claim that he had a cure for AIDS… I laughed him in the face, but then his eyes started glowing with eerie red light and his nails morphed into claws. He made a deep scratch on his own forearm, drawing blood, and it started to heal right before my eyes. Suddenly, his claim wasn't so outlandish anymore, and I agreed to the bite in exchange for becoming his Beta. Too bad that he didn't mention that for him it meant being his slave in every aspect, including bending down for him whenever he wanted to get his dick wet," he adds bitterly.

 

Chris' scent flares up with violent anger. "I hope that the fucker's already dead, because if not-"

 

He snorts. "Oh, he's dead alright, his body is currently rotting in the ground, feeding worms. Selling my body was one thing, since it was my decision, however dirty and demeaning it was, but being forced to pleasure a guy who used the fact that I was deathly sick for his own gain was something else altogether… I bid my time and waited for the Alpha to let his guard down, and when one night he fell asleep after fucking me raw, I ripped his throat out."

 

He's strangely proud of that moment when he finally stood up for himself. He knows that killing is not the answer, shouldn't be the answer, but he doesn't find it in himself to feel even a tiniest bit of regret over what happened that night. 

 

"Good, I'm glad that he's dead, otherwise I'd have to find him and do it myself," Chris comments darkly, before his chemosignals calm down from raging fury to faint satisfaction.

 

"Aren't you even the slightest put off by my past?" He asks incredulously. "I was a whore, I'm used goods and a murderer on top of that. There must be something on that list that disgusts you."

 

It disgusts him, and he can't quite believe that someone could be not in the least bothered by everything that he'd done. 

 

"No, because you're exactly the same man that you were an hour ago. Nothing has changed except for the fact that now I know you better," Chris says calmly and kisses him on the lips, with no pause or hesitation, as if it's the easiest thing in the world.

 

And Deucalion kisses him back.

 

Chapter 18

After a round of unhurried, leisure sex with Deucalion that leaves them both soothed and satisfied, Chris props himself on his elbow and looks at his lover apologetically.

 

"I need to go, I'm already late and the sitter is going to be irked with me… I'm sorry."

 

The werewolf shrugs his apologies off. "Don't be, you did a splendid job in comforting me, now go and be a father. And you better give that sitter a generous tip, just in case you'll need her to watch over Allison again."

 

This is what Chris likes about Deucalion the most: the easy acceptance of Chris' duties, and how undemanding the man is of his time and attention while at the same time always making the most of their time together.

 

"I will," he promises, then stands up and starts picking up his clothes from the floor. As he puts his pants on, Deucalion continues to watch him unashamedly, and the werewolf's gaze is both hungry and satisfied at the same time. "Is Saturday still on?"

 

"Certainly. I'd be most disappointed if you canceled."

 

"Not a chance, you're too good of a company," Chris says as he buttons up his shirt.

 

"Quite right. And next time, you might want to tell me how you got that bruise on your back. A rogue werewolf, perhaps?" Deucalion inquires gently, and Chris snorts.

 

"You can say that… It was Talia, actually. Tempers ran a little too high today, but don’t worry, the only injuries are my back and Peter’s ego."

 

"Now you got me intrigued," Deucalion's eyes gleam with undisguised curiosity. "Would you mind if I asked Talia about what happened?"

 

"Not at all, I know that you two are friends, I would be surprised if you didn't talk with her. Just… wait to hear my side of the story before making any judgment, alright?"

 

"Of course."

 

They kiss one last time when Chris' phone starts ringing and he leaves in a hurry, pushing the elevator's button with one hand while picking up the sitter's call with the other. 

 

***

 

The next day he takes Allison to the playground again, hoping to make up for the fact that he was away for the whole evening. The fact that he managed to figure out Stiles and Scott's pattern of coming there every three days and that it's the day they're supposed to be there isn't meaningless either…

 

However, even before he and Allison reach the place, he hears a loud yelp and then panicked cries that make him take up speed at once. When he arrives at the playground, Allison running a few steps behind him, he sees Scott curled on the bark surrounding the climbing wall. The boy is clutching at his lower leg which is bruised and bent at an unnatural angle, but he also seems to have trouble breathing, while Stiles cries and tries to apologize at the same time.

 

"Stiles, where's Scott's inhaler?" Chris asks evenly, trying to put enough urgency in his tone without causing the smaller boy to panic even more.

 

"I- I can't find it, it's not in his pockets-" Stiles chokes out.

 

"Maybe it dropped to the ground while you were playing. Try to find it," Chris turns to his daughter. "Allison, go and help him."

 

She bites her lower lip, then nods with determination. As the kids go looking for the inhaler, he kneels beside Scott.

 

"Everything's gonna be alright," he promises. "I'm gonna help you sit up so that you can breathe easier, okay?"

 

Scott's panic subsides a little, though he still wheezes with difficulty and his eyes are open widely with pain and shock.

 

Chris hates to see him like this, hurting and terrified, and he'd do everything to spare him the pain. As he gently maneuvers Scott into a sitting position, he keeps murmuring gently: "I know that it hurts, but you're doing great."

 

Each second seems like an eternity, but it can't be that long before he hears Stiles' shout: "I have it!" and the boy runs back to them.

 

The second an inhaler is pressed into his palm, Scott puts the mouthpiece between his lips and presses the button with trembling fingers, then takes a shaky inhale.

 

"That's it, just breathe," Chris rubs the boy's back gently.

 

A few moments later Scott's breathing evens out, and the first words that leave his mouth are: "Mom's gonna kill me."

 

Chris snorts. "I'm fairly certain that she won't, we need to contact her, though. Is she home?"

 

Scott shakes his head. "She has a late shift at the hospital."

 

"She's a nurse," Stiles adds, then his shoulders droop. "It's all my fault. I wanted to climb the wall but I was too afraid to do it, then Scott said that he'll show me. He was at the top when he slipped and fell. If only I wasn't such a chicken…"

 

"It's not your fault," Allison says, then points at Scott's right trainer. "Daddy, look."

 

Chris glances at the boy's shoe and sees that the sole partially came off, with only the heel part remaining attached.

 

"Good catch, sweetheart," he praises, then turns to the boys. "I'm sure that climbing the wall without an adult present wasn't the wisest move and deserves a lecture, but the shoe is the real culprit here. Now, let's get Scott to the hospital, I have a car parked nearby."

 

He ignores a small audience that has gathered nearby and scoops Scott into his arms, but even though he tries to do it gently, the boy lets out a pained sob.

 

"It hurts…"

 

"I know. A doctor is going to give you something for the pain real soon."

 

He carries Scott to the car and puts him down on the front passenger seat. The boy cries quietly and starts to hiccup, so Chris rummages through his bag and takes out a bottle of water that he always carries with him whenever he takes Allison for a walk, and a pack of tissues.

 

"Here, blow your nose and have a drink," he hands them to Scott, then turns around towards the kids. "Allison, Stiles, hop on the back seats. Stiles, do you want me to drive you home?"

 

"I'm not leaving Scott!" the boy folds his arms rebelliously on his chest. Chris hides his amusement at how adorable it looks on an eight year old, and nods with agreement.

 

"Alright, but once we get to the hospital we need to call your father and let him know where you are."

 

"My dad is at work, but mom should be home. She doesn't go out as often as she used to," Stiles ads with a pout, and Chris does a double take.

 

Wait, Stiles' mom- 

 

Then, it hits him: Claudia Stilinski is still alive here.

 

***

 

As he drives to the hospital, he can’t stop wondering about it, and he's angry with himself that he didn't think about it earlier. What else did he miss, what other vital information about this time is he forgetting? 

 

He doesn't have a chance to ponder about it for long, though, since all too soon he reaches the hospital's parking lot. He parks his car near the entrance to the ER, then turns to Scott.

 

"Are you ready, kiddo?" The boy nods bravely, though his lips wobble a little, so Chris pats him lightly on the shoulder. "Is this your first broken bone?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"There's a first time for everything, but you're gonna be fine, I promise."

 

The grateful, trusting look the boy gives him makes him wistful as he recalls the older version of him from the future and wonders if the pack managed to rescue the teenage Scott from the berserkers' clutches back in 2012. In the end, he decides that it's irrelevant now, since he has no way of knowing - and it might not even happen again in this timeline.

 

As he scoops the eight year old Scott into his arms again, he can’t help but think that it can’t get any more real than this, and that this small boy is the one he needs to focus on from now on.

 

***

 

Seeing his son hurt isn't anything new for Melissa, since despite having asthma he's quite an active child and has had a fair share of bumps and bruises. However, what she's not prepared for is seeing him in the hospital in the arms of a stranger, Stiles and a girl she doesn't recognize trailing behind them.

 

"I'm Scott's mother, what happened?" She asks worriedly.

 

"He was climbing the wall and fell. His leg looks broken, but otherwise he's doing great. Aren't you, buddy?"

 

"I guess," Scott ducks his head shyly, and even though his cheeks are wet and his eyes are red-rimmed from crying, a small smile blooms on his lips as Melissa strokes his hair gently.

 

"Thank you for bringing him here, Mr…?"

 

"Chris Argent. I'd shake your hand, but they're pretty full right now," the man gives her a crooked smile.

 

"Right. I'm Melissa McCall, pleased to meet you, though the circumstances might've been a little better… Just give me a minute, I'll get a wheelchair so that you can put Scott down."

 

As she returns with the chair, she can't help overhearing her son's question: "Are you going to go home now, Mr Argent?"

 

"That depends. Do you want me to go?"

 

When Scott shakes his head, the man smiles warmly, and the sight makes Melissa strangely flustered, even though it's not directed at her.

 

"Then I'll stay."

 

"We all will!" Stiles offers enthusiastically, then turns to the girl. "Right, Allison?"

 

The Argent's daughter - or at least Melissa guesses that's who she is - considers it for a moment, then nods solemnly. "I'm hungry, though," she adds, almost as an afterthought. 

 

"There's a cafeteria in the hospital, it's on this floor but on the other side of the building, near the maternity ward. I'm gonna take Scott for an X-ray, so you can eat something in the meantime," Melissa suggests.

 

"Sounds perfect," the man beams at her, then bends down to place Scott on the wheelchair. As he does it, he leans in and whispers something in her son's ear, causing Scott to giggle and whisper something back. 

 

"Let's find that cafeteria, then," Argents straightens and turns to leave, placing a hand on Allison's and Stiles' shoulders and giving them a gentle nudge to start walking. 

 

"Wait, what did you say to him?" She asks, intrigued and a little worried by how familiar Argent has been acting with her son. She's grateful for the man's assistance, of course, but she's not used to random men bonding with Scott seemingly out of the blue.

 

"It's a surprise, I'll tell you when we get back."

 

She stares after the man's retreating back, then huffs with exasperation and starts pushing the wheelchair, muttering under her breath that the last thing she needs today is another surprise.

 

"It better be a good one!" She calls after the man, then reminds herself that she's at work - and that Scott really needs that X-ray.

 

Chapter 19

Notes:

Fair warning - this chapter is so sweet you're gonna feel your teeth rotting 😄

When Argent comes back, he's carrying a plastic bag full of to-go boxes - and judging by the delicious smell wafting from them, they're definitely not empty.

 

"I asked Scott what's your favorite food and he said potatoes, but there were so many dishes on the menu that I was unable to choose," he admits sheepishly, and Melissa thinks to herself that he looks almost boyish with that embarrassed smile on his already handsome face. "So, I brought you honey roasted sweet potatoes, baked gnocchi with broccoli, and beef empanadas in case you want to have some meat too."

 

She gapes at him incredulously. "Thank you, but there's no way I'm gonna eat it all!" Not to mention she's not exactly used to men buying her dinner, and she doesn't know how to react without making a fool out of herself…

 

"I thought that you might wanna share with Scott. Once the adrenaline wears off, I'm gonna bet that he's going to be ravenous, if he isn't already."

 

She blushes hotly as she realizes that she did make a fool out of herself, after all, and even worse - she made an impression as if she doesn't care if her child is hungry.

 

"We had potato pancakes," Stiles chirps smugly, and Scott instantly looks disappointed that he's missed those.

 

"You don't need to look so glum, kiddo, next time I'll get you potato pancakes too, but I figured out that eating them in a hospital hallway straight from the box would be a challenge," Chris ruffles Scott's hair who beams at him.

 

"Thanks, Mr Argent!"

 

Melissa stares at the man, since his words imply that there's going to be a next time, and she hopes that he didn't say that purely out of politeness. Scott is too young to tell apart social niceties from real promises, and she'd hate to see him disappointed.

 

Oh well, worst case scenario she'll make those pancakes herself if need be.

 

***

 

Once she's finished eating her fill, Melissa goes to check on the X-ray results, while Chris stays with the kids. Once he gets the phone number from Stiles, he calls the boy's mother to let her know what's going on and where they are. Claudia Stilinski seems kind enough, if a little… unconcerned, as if she's disassociated from her surroundings.

 

That worries him, because if he got that impression, then Stiles must have as well and that surely isn't pleasant, to think that his mother simply doesn't care enough to worry about him. He wonders briefly if it's a result of the sickness, the meds she must be taking, or something else entirely. He doesn't get the chance to ponder about it for too long, though, since soon enough Melissa is back, looking a little rushed.

 

"Alright, Scott, the doctor will be free in twenty minutes, he's going to set your leg and put a cast on it, then I'll come get you when it's all finished."

 

"So you won't be with me?" Scott's eyes widen and he starts picking at the skin of his thumbs, a clear sign that he's nervous about the procedure.

 

Melissa shakes her head apologetically. "I wish I could, but I'm at work and it's started to get really busy." When Scott hangs his head dejectedly, she adds: "I'm sorry, sweetie, but putting on a cast takes too much time, a time which I can't spare."

 

Chris thinks quickly. "How about I drive Allison home and give Stiles a lift to his house, then come back here? I should be back within twenty minutes and then I can stay with Scott for as long as it's needed."

 

The boy brightens, but Melissa shuffles uncomfortably as she mulls over his words, and Chris guesses that she's trying to find a way to politely decline his offer, though he's not sure why.

 

"There's no need, I don't want to bother you even more than I already did-"

 

"It's not a bother," he assures her. Once he sees that her frown deepens even more, though, he finally realizes where the problem lies: he's too eager to help and it makes her suspicious. "If the situation was reversed and Allison was in a hospital, I'd like to think that you'd volunteer to watch over her if I couldn't. We parents need to help each other, right?"

 

When put like that, he doesn't give Melissa much room for declining his offer without appearing rude, so she nods reluctantly.

 

He only hopes that Allison's sitter will be available and willing to come on such a short notice. When he calls her, she's not exactly ecstatic but agrees without much hussle, and he has a suspicion that that generous tip from the day before might have something to do with it... Which works for him just fine, since he can now focus on Scott without worrying about his daughter.

 

***

 

Scott is not stupid. He might not be as smart as Stiles, who in his eyes is one of the brightest kids in their school - even though his smart mouth and rebellious streak often ruin the image and make adults think less of him - but he's not totally oblivious.

 

After the divorce his mom had a couple of men trying to take the place of his dad, and they usually pretended to like him just to make a good impression on her. He's never really felt comfortable around them, and he could always tell that they didn't feel comfortable around him either, and only made an effort for his mom's sake, not his. 

 

Mr Argent seems different, though. First of all, the man hasn't met Scott's mom until recently, and has been kind to him even before that. 'And his hugs feel so nice,' Scott thinks to himself as he takes the man's hand and Mr Argent just smiles at him, letting him squeeze it as hard as he wishes as the doctor sets his bone, and then wraps his leg before starting to put a white goo on it.

 

By the end of the procedure Scott is aching, stiff and tired by the whole thing to the point that he starts to whine. He doesn't want Mr Argent to think that he's an ungrateful brat, but this is all too much for him, so it's either whining or crying, and he's too exhausted to cry anymore.

 

His mom enters the room just as he says loudly: "How am I going to school in this thing?! I won’t, I'm staying home!"

 

"What's the meaning of this?" She asks sharply. "You're not going to skip four to five weeks of school just because of a broken leg. Besides, you should've thought about it before you started climbing walls!"

 

"It's your fault, not mine! You don't buy me new things, only second hand stuff, so it's your fault that I fell - look!" He grabs his trainer and triumphantly shows it to her, proving a point.

 

His satisfaction doesn't last long, though, especially once he sees the way she flinches and blushes furiously while casting an embarrassed glance at the doctor and then at Mr Argent. 

 

He knows that she tries so hard to make ends meet, and it's not been an easy task since his dad had bailed on them both. It's not her fault that they're not rich, but it hasn't been easy for him either, going to school in hand-me-down clothes and getting ridiculed at every step, and today's accident only proves his point.

 

"Scott, I know that you're tired and it's been a difficult day for you, but that was way out of line," Mr Argent chastises him quietly, and it hurts him, because he thought that the man was on his side.

 

"But it's you who said that the trainer was the reason I fell!"

 

"The trainer, yes, but not your mom. This could've happened with a brand new shoe as well, if it had a manufacturing defect. I'm sure your mother is doing everything she can to provide for you."

 

He bites his lip, feeling guilty and miserable. "I know, I'm sorry," he mumbles. 

 

"I think that the doctor will agree that you should take it easy and stay at home for a few days, just to become used to moving around in a cast," Melissa looks at the doctor expectantly, who nods with agreement.

 

"Try to avoid putting strain on that leg, Scott, since it's going to be fragile, especially at first. You should be fine to go back to school next week, though."

 

He sighs, but doesn't argue any longer. He knows a peace offering when it's being offered to him, not to mention he still feels a little guilty for talking to his mom the way he did.

 

Only later, when they're finally leaving the hospital and Mr Argent carries him to the car, he looks at the man hesitantly.

 

"It's just… how am I going to actually go to school? It's too far away to walk on crutches, and when mom has a day shift she leaves home way before the school opens."

 

"We're adults, we'll think of something, so don't you worry about it and leave it to us, okay kiddo?" Mr Argent rubs his back gently, and he leans into the touch, soaking it up like a sponge and smiling into the man's chest.

 

Leave it to us, Mr Argent said - does it mean that the man plans to stick around for longer and won't just leave after today? Scott hopes so, hopes so much that for a moment he forgets about his broken leg and just lets himself daydream of having a dad, again.

Notes:

There's going to be some serious angst later on in the story, but for now I'm in a writing-for-comfort mode, so let's just keep it light-hearted for a chapter or two more, alright?

Chapter 20

Getting Melissa on board with Chris' idea that they should divide the task of driving Scott to school between themselves isn't exactly easy, since she is still more than a little suspicious of his intentions, and he finally snaps.

 

"Why are you being so bloody stubborn about it?"

 

She looks at him, startled, but stands her ground admirably. "Excuse me? I'm not going to apologize for being cautious around a man who I saw for the first time in my life and who suddenly tries to insert himself into my family's life!"

 

That's when it hits him: she doesn't know him, at all. Sure, he's been aware of the fact all along, but only now her words truly drive the point home: no matter how well he knows her, he's all but a stranger to her at this point.

 

He rubs his chin, trying to figure out a way to make her trust him without revealing anything about his past life. He can imagine what her reaction would be even if he so much as breathed a word about it: a call to the police, or the Eichen House, or both, and he neither needs nor wants that kind of attention.

 

"Look, I apologize if I came off too strong about this. I just want Scott to go through this as smoothly as possible, so if you have people willing and ready to help you with this, I'm going to back off, I promise."

 

She squints at him suspiciously.  "Why do you even care?"

 

How can he possibly explain how much this little boy already means to him, and will probably mean even more in the future? He has no words, but still he has to try.

 

"Because he's a sweet, kind and bright kid who deserves all the best, but I can tell that life hasn't dealt him the best cards so far, so I want to help the both of you, if you'll let me," he says with emphasis while looking her in the eye. "You're his mother, so I won't do anything without your approval."

 

She still looks baffled by his answer, but some of the tenseness leaves her shoulders as she snorts. "If you really think that Scott is a sweet kid, think again. He usually has good intentions, but he's a magnet for all sorts of trouble, so you better be prepared."

 

Chris cracks a smile as he recalls the teenage version of the boy, how he got bitten by a werewolf, fell head first into Hale-Argent vendetta that had been going on for years, and as if that was not enough, managed to attract the attention of the Alpha Pack - and all of that within a year.

 

"Thank you for heads up, but I'm sure that I can handle everything Scott and Stiles manage to come up with."

 

"Don't say later that I didn't warn you," she mutters under her breath, then exhales deeply. "Alright, I'll text you my schedule and then we can figure out who will take Scott in and out of school. Are you sure that it won't be a bother?"

 

"I'm sure. Thank you," he says sincerely, which for reasons unknown suddenly makes her flustered.

 

"It's I who should be thanking you… I apologize if I seemed ungrateful earlier, I'm just not used to strangers being so adamant on making my life easier without any ulterior motive." She says it with a laugh, but he can sense the bitter sadness lurking underneath, and he wishes there's something he could do about it. 

 

Finally, he settles for: "Better start getting used to it, then." 'Because I'm not going anywhere', he adds silently, but doesn't say it out loud.

 

No need to make her even more suspicious of him than she already is.

 

***

 

"You're meeting with that hunter again," Marco grumbles with a disgusted grimace on his face.

 

He's quite a handsome young man, Deucalion thinks to himself, but that scowl really makes him ugly.

 

"Not that's any of your business, but I'm going to see Alpha Hale," he replies smoothly, bending down to put on his shoes.

 

He doesn't even lie about meeting with Talia, he really wants to learn everything about what happened between her, Peter and Chris. And if he plans to see his lover afterwards, that's no one's business but his own.

 

Marco folds his arms across his chest and glares challengingly. "To talk about what? The hunters are staying low for now, Ennis has abandoned his revenge plans and left the town already, so why are we still here?"

 

As Deucalion straightens, he purposefully lets his eyes glow red. "Are you questioning my decisions? We'll leave once I decide that it's time to leave, and not a second earlier."

 

Marco's shoulders tense and for a moment he looks as if he's going to argue, but then he turns around and stomps away with a huff.

 

"He's acting too disrespectful for my taste, but he's not wrong, you know," Clara, the most level-headed of his Betas, comments calmly while leaning against the door frame. "We've stayed here long enough. It's time to go home."

 

He sighs and rubs his eyes, and when he looks back at her, they're no longer glowing.

 

"Soon, I promise."

 

***

 

Between taking care of Allison and Scott - which he loves, but kids their age can be quite a handful at times - Chris is waiting for the next Saturday even more impatiently than usual. The second Deucalion rings the doorbell, Chris throws the door open, pulls the man inside and proceeds to snog him senseless until they're both out of breath.

 

"Now that's the kind of welcome I could get used to," the werewolf smiles, his eyes gleaming with mirth, before he turns more serious and adds ruefully: "Too bad that it's not going to become a recurring occurrence, though."

 

"Not due to lack of trying on my side," Chris assures, then tilts his head. "Is there something going on that I should know about?" As he takes a closer look at his lover, he finally realizes how haggard and weary the man is looking, so he pulls him to the sofa. "Come on, whatever this is about, there's no need to be uncomfortable. We can talk and cuddle at the same time."

 

The Alpha quirks an eyebrow at him. "You do realize that we're grown up men and 'cuddling' shouldn't even be in our vocabulary?"

 

"Whoever told you that was either a jerk, uncertain of his own masculinity, or both. Physical closeness works wonders to alleviate the symptoms of anxiety and stress, and admitting that doesn't affect how manly I feel about myself," he shrugs, unconcerned. 

 

Once they're lying on the sofa, he spoons around Deucalion and kisses the back of his neck, trying to soothe whatever it is that made him so tense.

 

"I'm going to miss this… Miss you," Deucalion says so quietly that Chris can barely discern the words, but when he does, his heart clenches with sadness mixed with a sudden understanding.

 

"You're leaving."

 

"It was bound to happen sooner or later, it was supposed to be a short visit anyway, and I already pushed my pack enough to stay as long as we did… I'm sorry."

 

"Don't be. Your pack is your priority, just as it should be, so it's only right that you've decided to go home."

 

He sneaks his arm around Deucalion's waist and tries to pull him closer, but the man wriggles out of his hold and turns around so that they're facing each other, his face suddenly closed off.

 

"So you're not even trying to get me to stay."

 

Chris blinks, surprised, before he has a sudden suspicion that somewhere along the way Deucalion must have developed feelings for him. At first it's quite a shocking realization, but then he thinks to himself that maybe it shouldn't be, not with how close they've grown in such a short period of time.

 

... And maybe he too developed feelings for this caring, handsome, brilliant man - but it doesn’t change the fact that their paths now lead in two completely different directions.

 

"I'm only asking that you do what's best for you and your pack," he says gently. "I have my own responsibilities here, and I'm not going to move out of Beacon Hills for the next ten years, at least - and I can imagine that you also have yours."

 

Deucalion grimaces and avoids his eyes as he stands up. "You're right, I apologize. When we first started this, I promised you that there won't be any drama involved, and I'd hate to break my word."

 

Chris sits up and catches his wrist before the man can leave. "Stay, please. At least for tonight, if you can't stay for longer. And even if you do need to leave, you'll always be welcome here."

 

"In Beacon Hills?"

 

He shakes his head. "I actually meant in my home, in my arms  - whatever you want, whenever you want it."

 

Out of everything that has happened here in this timeline so far, becoming involved with Deucalion was the most unexpected, but in a good way. Getting to know the younger versions of the people he already loved in the future, especially Scott and Derek, was heart-warming but something that he'd attempt to do in any version of the world that life or fate would throw him into.

 

It's different with Deucalion, though. They hadn't been close back in Chris' previous timeline, and it surprised him to learn how different the man is here. But maybe that's to be expected, considering that the Alpha didn't have to go through the ordeal of being blinded and then betrayed by his own packmate on top of it…

 

"Do you mean it?" Deucalion's gaze is almost scorching in its intensity, and he nods solemnly.

 

Notes:

Next: we'll get to see what's going on with the Hales, Peter especially, and you can bet that he's not sitting idly, which of course spells trouble for everyone around him 🤣

Chapter 21

Notes:

Wishing you all the best, folks!
☃️🌲

If someone suggested that Peter is sulking, he would deny vehemently. He's never sulking, he's plotting, and there's a distinct difference between those two activities. Sulking is a useless notion, since it's nothing more than wallowing in self-pity over one insult or the other, and it doesn't solve anything. Plotting is much more productive, since it allows him to creatively put his anger into good use.

 

What he tries not to focus on is how the latest events drove a wedge between him and Derek. Unfortunately, his foolish, naive nephew seems to still be under Argent's spell and doesn't want to hear a bad word about the man.

 

He grits his teeth at the mere thought of a born werewolf choosing a hunter over his pack and family, and for what? A pat on the back and a couple of hugs? Pathetic. 

 

Why does Derek have to be so needy, anyway? So he lost his dad, but that's not such a big deal - Peter had lost both his parents at an early age, and he managed to deal with it just fine. He ruthlessly squashes any compassion or sympathy he feels at the reminder of how shaken and inconsolable Derek was after his father's death. 

 

What his nephew needs to do is to finally grow some backbone, and stop being so bloody sensitive about everything, or else life is going to smack him down time and time again… Plus, more than anything, get over his hero worship of Chris fucking Argent. 

 

He ignores the pesky voice in his head reminding him that it's not Derek who threw himself at the hunter, and maybe Peter might need to let go of some of that worship too.

 

Which is ridiculous, because it can't be further from the truth, he doesn't even like the man, the only thing that he wants from him - wanted, he corrects himself firmly - is to get into his pants, that's all. But since that resulted in nothing more than humiliation, now he has no other option than to make sure that the hunter regrets ever rejecting his offer.

 

He's not in any hurry, either. He can bind his time, patiently observe and wait for an opportunity to arise, one that he could exploit for his own gain. There's this overused saying about revenge being best served cold - he doesn't exactly agree, but he must admit that leaving it for a while to simmer like stew in a pot does serve to bring out the most delicious aroma out of it.

 

***

 

Talia tries to observe her children while acting as inconspicuous as possible. Her youngest, Alex and Emily, quickly forgot about the argument from the other day and seem to be unaffected by it, at least from what she can tell. Cora is still at odds with Laura but has resorted to sulking - which is good news, since her temper tantrums can be quite violent when something truly sets her off. Derek is being even more grumpy than usual, but hasn't acted out so far and mostly tries to be on his best behavior, which makes Talia hopeful that maybe his rebellious stunts are over - at least for now.

 

What concerns her the most is the way Laura has withdrawn and kept mostly to herself these last few days. She didn't even pick up any new fights with her uncle, which is unlike her, but the last thing Talia wants is to think about Peter, so she decides to focus on her daughter for the time being.

 

"How about we take a walk?" she offers, and is glad when Laura follows her into the forest for more privacy.

 

They keep walking in silence, and she's quite discomfited by the fact that for the first time in her life she has trouble reading her eldest kid's mood.

 

"You're doing an excellent job shielding your emotions from me, your control is much better than the last time you attempted it - but I think it's high time you dropped that shield," she says, and is surprised when Laura doesn't comply at once.

 

"No thanks, I'd like to keep it in place."

 

Talia almost trips over a tree root, because she can't recall when was the last time her daughter directly disobeyed her wishes. "Why? Do you have something to hide?"

 

Laura gives her a shrewd look. "My feelings are my own and I prefer to keep it that way. Why are you so focused on controlling us rather than letting us have our own thoughts and opinions?"

 

"How can you even say that? Everything that I do, I do with your well-being in mind!" She protests.

 

Laura shakes her head. "Don't confuse our physical safety with our well-being, mom. I don't doubt that you want to keep us safe, but-"

 

"No buts, there's nothing more important than that!" Talia interrupts her harshly.

 

"Is there? I'm twenty two, mom, and I don't think that I have a single opinion that hasn't been implanted in my head - by you. Don't you think that it's just as harmful as me getting physically hurt?"

 

The words hit her like a brick to the head, and for a few seconds she can only stare at her eldest. 

 

***

 

Laura isn't the rebellious sort, not like Cora, Peter or even Derek. She has always tried to obey her mother, watch her, learn everything from her: how to look, smile, act and move. And for years… for years she's been proud of that. 

 

Until now.

 

She doesn't know why witnessing Argent's argument with Peter and how Talia handled its aftermath made her question everything that she thought she knew about her mother, but it did, and it couldn't be undone. She still doesn't understand why Peter acted the way he did, but she has a suspicion that it wasn't just a whim or a simple prank, but as far as she knows, the only thing Talia did was to ground him as if he's an errant child, and she can tell that's a mistake.

 

Whatever's going on in her uncle's head, it's nothing good, and knowing Peter, it might get even worse than it already is. So the question is: why doesn't her mother see it? Why does Talia insist on treating Peter as if he's her kid, when he's very much not? 

 

But if her mom's wrong about this, what else has she been wrong about throughout all of these years when Laura followed and listened to her uncritically, never stopping to question her words, not even once?... 

 

She looks at Talia who looks shaken to the core and much as she hates to see her like that, she can't muster any true regret over finally speaking her mind, no matter how foreign that concept is after years of blindly following orders. 

 

"You're so focused on keeping us safe that you don't allow us to truly grow up, mom. I know that after dad's death, and even before that, you've just been trying to keep it together, to keep us together, but- There has to be a better way to do that than trying to control us."

 

"And how, pray tell, have I been controlling you?" Talia crosses her arms over her chest, clearly a defensive gesture, and no matter if it was done consciously or not, Laura knows in an instant that any arguments that she may try to bring up will be denied, and any ideas rejected.

 

"Maybe you should first try to answer that question yourself," she says, instead, trying to keep her emotions in check and not start a fight. She doesn't even remember the last time she had a fight with her mom, and she prefers to keep it that way.

 

"Or maybe you're simply not the Alpha material that I thought you were, if you can't seem to understand that the pack's safety is a paramount, nothing else even comes close."

 

Laura can't suppress a flinch at the words, and for a split second she forgets how to think, how to breathe. Becoming an Alpha, it's been her dream for as long as she can remember, and the mere suggestion that she's not fit for the job is enough to make her self-doubt herself in an instant. If she's not going to become an Alpha, then what's she really worth?

 

It takes her a couple of deep breaths to bury all of those doubts and fears deep inside her, but she's had a lot of experience with that, to the point that it's a second nature to her by now. Unfortunately, those few moments are enough to loosen the tight grip she has on her emotions and before she raises her shields back up, her mother has already felt them all.

 

"Honey, I'm so sorry-" her mother says and the regret in her voice is like a balm on Laura's heart, but the next words cause her to stiffen, "-but you need to understand, you don't know anything about the world, you still have so much to learn…"

 

"You're right, I do."

 

Maybe she really doesn't know a thing, maybe she's not ready to be an Alpha - yet. But if that's the case, then her mother is clearly not the teacher that she needs, not anymore.

 

Chapter 22

It turns out that leaving home - the only one Laura has ever known - is far from easy. Leaving her pack, her family behind is even harder, but the more she thinks about it, the more she becomes certain that this is the only way for her to cut the umbilical cord that mentally and emotionally still connects her to her mother. Yes, for a long time it had a nourishing effect and helped her develop, but she's outgrown it now, and it's finally the time to cut it.

 

Even though she's certain that leaving is the right thing to do, she still waives in her decision a couple of times, packing and unpacking her stuff back and forth before she finally gathers her resolve. If she stays, nothing will change, and she'll never know what she's truly made of. All this time she's been living in a bubble and has never been tested as a person, much less as an Alpha's right hand, so how can she know if she's truly up for the task? She can't - unless she leaves that bubble behind her.

 

She considers speaking openly with her mom and explaining everything, but she quickly discards the idea. She's quite sure that Talia would come up with some kind of compromise, like arranging lessons with another Alpha to appease her but still keep her close. Doing this in half-measures won't work; she can't allow her mother to retain even the smallest amount of control over her, because it would only mean a longer leash, not the total freedom that she so desperately needs.

 

That's why she waits until her mom leaves the house for her monthly meeting slash tea party with Satomi, and once she's certain that Talia is outside of the hearing range, she grabs her travel suitcase and backpack, then goes downstairs, knocking on her uncle's and siblings' doors on her way there.

 

"Come on guys, we need to talk. I don't have much time, so chop chop!"

 

As they all gather in the hall, Derek takes one look at her luggage and frowns. "Where are you going?"

 

"Are you using Talia's absence to run away with some boy? How cliché," Peter adds mockingly. 

 

She's surprised that she doesn't feel even the tiniest amount of anger at the jab, but then again, their rivalry doesn't really matter, now.

 

"There's no boy, but yes, I'm leaving. For good." Her words shock them into silence, so she swallows heavily and adds in a slightly trembling voice: "I just wanted to say goodbye and tell you that I'll miss you all, but I don't plan on coming back."

 

"But… why?" Cora stares at her with something akin to betrayal, while Emily and Alex huddle together, watching her with wide eyes.

 

Surprisingly, Derek's scent is tinged with understanding. "It's time, isn't it?" He asks softly.

 

She nods, and for the first time ever she sees not a little kid, but a young man that he's growing to be, and recalls Argent's words that Derek might surprise her yet. She hates to think that a mere stranger saw the signs of maturity in her brother earlier than she did, but she can admit being wrong when the proof is staring right at her.

 

"I don't get it. Time for what?" Peter looks between the two of them, confused, and she straightens her back.

 

"Time for me to start living my life. There's a whole world out there that I haven't seen yet, and it's waiting for me." 

 

"Don't you think that I haven't tried that? But guess what, it didn't work!" He scoffs. "Why do you think I even returned to Beacon Hills? Not for the fun of it, that's for sure… The strain of being away from the pack gets too strong over time, so you're going to come back, whether you like it or not."

 

She shakes her head. "I'm going to find a new pack, I don't want to be forever tied to this place. So congrats, uncle, you've always wanted to be my mom's right hand, and now you finally have the chance."

 

Peter's so stunned that he doesn't even react when she gives him a quick hug. Then, she turns to Derek, who readily returns her embrace.

 

"Take care of yourself, sis. And you better keep in touch, because pack or not, you're still family."

 

She sniffles, strangely moved by his easy acceptance, and nods mutely, her throat clenched too tightly to utter a single word.

 

When she crouches down to gather Cora into a hug, though, the girl pushes her away and runs upstairs, slamming the door to her room. Laura exhales shakily, but she doesn't have time to talk to her and make it right, so she embraces the twins, instead, and kisses their cheeks goodbye.

 

Then, she slings her backpack over her shoulder, grabs her suitcase and leaves the house. It takes all her willpower not to look back but she manages to get to her car without a backwards glance. Still, when she puts her hands on the steering wheel, she realizes that they're shaking.

 

Why does she realize how much she loves her family only now, when she needs to leave them behind?...

 

***

 

When Talia learns about Laura's disappearance, at first she's disbelieving and scoffs at Peter, thinking it's yet another attempt to get under her skin. When Derek confirms it, though, she's furious, especially once she calls Laura only to hear an automatic message that she's unavailable.

 

"Why haven't you called me at once? I could have returned home before she left and I would have the chance to talk her out of it!" She glares at Peter and Derek.

 

Her son shakes his head. "If Laura wants to leave, you need to let her go, mom."

 

She's not used to seeing him being serious like this, almost solemn, but she pushes her surprise aside. "What I need is to get my daughter back-"

 

"Mom, stop. Don't you see that it's exactly the reason why she left in the first place?"

 

She gapes at him, stupefied, and it takes her a few seconds to react. "Are you implying that I've been, what? Too controlling? Overbearing?"

 

It's what Laura said the other day during their talk in the forest, but Talia didn't want to believe her then, and she still doesn't want to accept it now. She's a mother, and only another parent can possibly understand the desire to keep her children safe.

 

Derek shrugs. "Look, all I'm saying is that she deserves to make her own decisions. Maybe they're good, maybe they're bad, but at least she gets to make them."

 

She presses her lips tightly, then glances at Peter, who has been observing them in silence. "And you agree with him?"

 

He raises his eyebrow at her. "Does it matter what I think? You've never been particularly interested in my opinion. What is curious, though, is that you haven't protested nearly half as much when I went to the college. It makes me wonder if it's because you didn't care back then, or because you care too much now." He turns around, grabs his jacket from the coat rack and leaves.

 

She slumps on the coach and rubs her eyes tiredly, then glances up when she feels her son's hand on her arm, squeezing gently.

 

"Laura promised to keep in touch," he offers, as if it's any consolation, but it's not, not really. Not when she feels like she's failed her daughter… 

 

She doesn't even know how to make up for it, though, how to even start making up for it, when Laura doesn't even want to be near her anymore and would rather run away than stay and talk it out.

 

***

 

For a very long time, Peter wanted his niece to be out of the picture so that he could become the pack's Alpha-in-training in her stead. He used to imagine various scenarios in which thanks to his cleverness he manages to discredit Laura in Talia's eyes and triumphantly take her place. It's been quite a compelling fantasy, and out of all the desires he's never acted upon, one of the sweetest.

 

Not anymore, though. As usual, the reality didn't quite live up to his expectations, and even though Laura isn't his rival anymore, it's not thanks to his actions, as he was only a useless spectator in the whole thing. This sudden, unearned victory doesn't seem like a victory at all, and he can't shake the feeling of being a failure, and even worse - an impostor, a fake.

 

That's why when Talia asks him for his opinion - something he yearned for for years - he makes a hasty retreat, his mouth tasting bitter from a mix of resentment and the feeling of inadequacy. Take the win, he tries to convince himself, but he can't, not when he didn't do a bloody thing to earn it. Besides, Talia's opinion of him didn't change - only the circumstances did.

 

For a second he wishes that he was human so that he could drink himself to oblivion, but then he decides that he'll try to do that anyway. Maybe there's a limit to the amount of alcohol a werewolf's body can consume, even considering the fast metabolism, without experiencing the effects of being inebriated.

 

And even if that doesn't work, he can always try to find himself a willing body to fuck and lose all these unwanted, useless emotions in between sweat-soaked sheets.

 

Chapter 23

Laura's leaving Beacon Hills hits the whole family hard, and Derek struggles to keep his younger siblings in good spirits, since he can only do that once he's back from school. He spends his afternoons playing with the twins and helping Cora with her homework, all the while trying to put on a brave face - even though he feels down himself. He wishes he has someone to open up to, but his mom keeps changing the subject whenever he tries to talk about Laura, her scent clouded by guilt, and Peter has started to disappear in the evenings without telling anyone about his whereabouts.

 

Not knowing who else to speak about it, Derek mentions some of his home situation to Paige. However, with the supernatural world still being a secret between them, he can't tell her why exactly Laura didn't go to college and just stayed at home after finishing high school, and why is this such a huge issue for their mother that she left now.

 

"I don't get it, aren't guys your sister's age actually expected to move out and live away from their parents?" Paige asks, furrowing her brow in confusion after he tried to explain everything to her without revealing anything about werewolves.

 

"Yeah, they are, but Laura has always been my mom's right hand and helped her with, uh, various stuff," he finishes awkwardly.

 

"Right hand? Please tell me that you're not some kind of a mobster family…" she deadpans, then smirks at him. "But hey, wouldn't it be cool if I dated a mafia boy?"

 

"You wish," he mutters, then wipes her smirk with a kiss - mainly because he finds her irresistible when she's cheeky, but also because he wants to distract her from asking even more questions.

 

But it brings him back to the problem at hand, which is having no one to talk to without having to keep up appearances or pretending that he was unaffected by it all. He considers sneaking away to see Chris without Talia being the wiser, but he quickly decides against it. He promised the man that he'll try to behave, and he doesn't want to break his word, no matter how tempting that is.

 

One morning, though, he corners his mom in the kitchen before she can disappear in her study.

 

"Mom, I know that you want me to stay away from Chris because he's armed, but what if he wasn't?" He asks hopefully.

 

"He clearly stated that he wasn't going to leave his knives at home when coming here, and I don't want you even near the Argents' house."

 

"I know, I get it, and it's fine," he rushes to assure her. "But what if we meet on some kind of neutral ground, like my school? It's a public place, lots of people around…"

 

She frowns. "Why are you so adamant on meeting with him? That man is not your dad, so if it's some kind of a misguided attempt to replace your father-" 

 

Wait, what?

 

"Whoa, no no no, that's not it!" He scoffs. "Seriously, mom? This was your first thought?"

 

"I don't know what to think, so why don't you tell me who he is to you and why seeing him is so important to you," she looks him straight in the eye, arms folded across her chest.

 

He exhales loudly, exasperated. "Why do we have to put a label on it? Can't I have an adult friend without making everyone suspicious? I just like talking with him, he doesn't make me feel like I'm stupid or immature, and he doesn't mind if I'm asking questions."

 

"What kind of questions?" She squints suspiciously at him, but he only shrugs in response.

 

"You know, supernatural stuff. By the way, did you know that there's a wendigo family in town?"

 

She blinks, surprised. "No, I didn't. Did he tell you who they are?"

 

"No, but I can ask him next time I see him," he gives her an innocent look, and she groans.

 

"Fine, you can meet with him, but only in public places so that he can't do anything, is that clear?"

 

He's not sure what she means by 'anything', what does she think Chris would do to him anyway? Then, he decides that he doesn't care, she has agreed, and that's the only thing that matters.

 

"Sure. Thanks, mom!" He gives her a quick hug, and doesn't protest too much when she ruffles his carefully styled hair. 

 

***

 

It turns out that finding a pack willing to take a runaway Beta in is way harder than it sounds - or at least, much more difficult than Laura has expected. She's glad that she's twenty two and already has access to the money from the trust fund that their parents put aside for her that's been released to her bank account on her twenty-first birthday. That way, she can easily pay for food and lodgings in some random hotel as she ponders on what to do next.

 

She doesn't know that many Alphas, to be honest, and those that she does know are either friends or acquaintances of her mother, and that simply won't do. If she gets in contact with Satomi or Deucalion, she can bet that they'll try to convince her to go back, or maybe they'll call Talia straight away. Laura doesn't want to be told to go home as if she were some wayward child; what she needs is independence.

 

She's crunching on baby carrots - she's always found it easier to focus when she's eating, and carrots are good for the skin, so that's killing two bats with one stone - when she remembers the disagreement between Ennis and the other Alphas, including her mother. Maybe she can use it to her advantage and convince Ennis to accept her into his pack as a way to spite Talia? There's no telling if he'll even agree to hear out, but she has to try. It's not like she has countless options to choose from…

 

Beggars can't be choosers, she thinks gloomily, and for the first time in her life she can apply that saying to herself.

 

***

 

"Boss, we caught some Beta snooping around, she says that she wants to talk to you."

 

Ennis doesn't even look up from the papers in front of him. "Tell her to bugger off, and that next time we won't ask so nicely."

 

He has a business to run and a whole pack to take care of, he doesn't need any distractions, much less talking with werewolves encroaching on his territory and demanding his time… Time that he doesn't have to spare now that he is one man less. 

 

He glances up just to see Nate leaving the room, and sighs. Ever since Thomas was killed by the hunters, the mood in the pack has reached a new low, but he's yet to acknowledge it and openly talk to them about it. And even though he knows that avoidance and pretending that nothing's wrong is a shitty way to lead a pack, he stubbornly pushes that thought out of his mind.

 

What's done is done, what use there is in pouring salt in the wound by speaking about it? He doesn't believe in the whole 'talking about problems will make you feel better' crap. It's something a shrink would say, and that's bonkers; nothing in his life ever got better unless he actually did something about it.

 

He's shaken from his thoughts when he hears a commotion and then a suspiciously familiar voice.

 

"No, let me go, you thug, I told you that I need to talk to Ennis-"

 

What in fucks name is Laura Hale doing in his house?... He's never liked the girl, she's always been opinionated and convinced of her superiority, acting as if she's fucking godsent or something. 

 

For a second he's sorely tempted to ignore her and just let Nathan deal with her, but if the girl is half as stubborn as her mother, she isn't going to simply take 'no' for an answer. Someone really needs to take her down a peg and prove to her that outside of her mother's reach she means less than nothing.

 

He grits his teeth and goes downstairs. "It's 'Alpha Ennis' to you, or did your mother not teach you any manners?"

 

Seeing him, she looks him boldly in the eye for a few seconds. "I've never had to call you that before."

 

He scoffs. "That's because you've only met me on your pack's land when I was your mother's guest. But you're on my territory now, showing up uninvited and demanding a meeting totally out of the blue as if it's your bloody right! So tell me one reason why I shouldn't toss you out on your ear."

 

His words must have some impact on the girl as she stops struggling in Nate's hold and her shoulders slump.

 

"You're right, Alpha Ennis, I apologize. I just- It's been a rough couple of days," she rubs her eyes tiredly. "Can I talk to you, please?"

 

He feels his anger deflating a bit at the sight. There might be some hope for her after all… But that's not enough.

 

"And why should I agree? What's in it for me?" He stares her down for a few moments, and while her posture is no longer defiant, she doesn't cower either.

 

"Well, you might benefit from it, and I promise that I won't take much of your time."

 

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not interested in whatever your mother has to say, so you're wasting your time and mine."

 

She grimaces. "Um, that's the thing, my mom doesn't know that I'm here." She glances up at Nathan still holding her arm, and hesitates for a second, a bright blush appearing on her cheeks, before she looks back at him. "Can we please talk somewhere private?"

 

He's tempted to say 'no', but the girl's words make him curious what on earth transpired between her and her mother, and what's more, what's that got to do with him? So even though he'd happily tell her to fuck off, she managed to get his attention, after all.

 

Oh well, he can hear her out, satisfy his own curiosity and still tell her to scram, right?

 

"Fine, but I'm not promising anything," he grumbles, and tries to ignore the way she beams gratefully at him.

 

Chapter 24

Once Laura tells Ennis everything, for a few long moments he just stares at her, disdain written all over his face.

 

"That's stupid, and callous of you," he levels her with an adminishing look, and she winces, she can't help it. "You want to join me and my pack because of some silly spat you had with Talia? Maybe that's news for you but families sometimes fight, my pack does it all the time and yet we stick together. Why would I take in some runaway who doesn't know a shit about loyalty?"

 

She shakes her head. "It's not like that. I didn't walk away on a whim or out of spite. But I need to do what's right for me -"

 

He snorts, interrupting her. "Oh, my bad, so it wasn't stupid, only selfish. That makes it so much better."

 

She huffs. "Maybe I am all those things, but that's exactly the point! If being my mother's right hand made me callous, and egoistical, then what hope do I have to become better if I keep living with her, learning from her?" She stands up and starts pacing around the man's study, her chest heaving from all the emotions she keeps bottled inside. "Please, Alpha Ennis, I don't have other options. If you say no, I'd have to go back to her, and I'll never learn to be anything else than her shadow, and a mediocre one at that."

 

The last few days were a rude awakening for her, but she doesn't want to go back to the way things were before, and she hates the thought that she might be forced to do just that.

 

The man raises an eyebrow at her, totally unaffected by her plight. "Let's say I'll consider your offer - what assets would you bring to the pack?"

 

She hesitates for a second. "Um, I have my trust money-"

 

"I don't need or want your money, girl," Ennis scoffs, and she can smell his contempt filling the room. "I meant features or skills, something that would be an advantage for us if we take you in. Is there anything that you can do, anything at all?"

 

She racks her brain for an answer, but she can't think of anything, so she just shakes her head, feeling her cheeks reddening from embarrassment and shame at being so useless.

 

When Ennis stands up and leaves the room without a single word, she bites her lower lip. Is that a dismissal, his way of showing her that the meeting is over? She hesitates, but before she can decide what to do next, he's back with a bunch of tools in his hands that he puts on the desk with a thud.

 

"Can you tell me what these are?" He asks, looking at her expectantly.

 

She blinks, then takes a closer look at what he brought. The tools are covered with small specks of paint and have a worn-out look, making it obvious that they were used quite often, but she doesn't have any idea what they are. She points at L-shaped metal pieces with cross sections looking like hexagons. "These are some kind of wrenches, right?"

 

"What kind exactly? How are they called?"

 

She gives him a confused look. "I don't know, but what does it matter?"

 

He ignores her question and points at another tool. "What about this one?"

 

"Um, a big, long ruler?"

 

"That's a spirit level. Don't you know anything?"

 

She has no idea what a ruler has to do with spirits of all things, and she grows angrier by the minute. "Does it make you feel better to rub in my face all those things that I don't know about?" She stands up abruptly, ready to storm out and never, ever come back, when Ennis flashes his red eyes at her and growls lowly.

 

"Sit down, girl, I'm not finished."

 

She flops down gracelessly on the chair, all her instincts telling her not to defy an Alpha. They stare at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment, before Ennis' posture relaxes a bit.

 

"At least you comply when given an order, that's a good sign. And the reason why I asked you to identify all of these is because I own a construction company and everyone in the pack who doesn't have a different profession works there. I even had a few people study architecture and civil engineering, because I'd rather employ my own people than seek out engineers from outside of the pack."

 

Oh. "So if that was a job interview, I guess that I didn't meet your expectations?" She asks hesitantly. She's never had to look for a job before, and even though it's not much surprising that she failed to impress the man, it's yet another kick to her already wounded pride.

 

"You not only didn't meet my expectations, you flunked the whole thing."

 

"Right. Can I go now?" All that she wants at the moment is to curl on a bed and lick her wounds in solitude. She can figure out what to do next later.

 

He nods, and when she stands up and turns to leave, he asks suddenly: "How about a trial period?" When she looks at him, surprised, he adds: "Let's find out if you'd be a good match for my pack. I don't think you are, but I've been mistaken before, so let's give it a go and see what you're made of. What do you say?"

 

A chance to prove herself? "I'll take it," she says firmly. 

 

***

 

When Chris enters the school grounds, he spots Derek sitting on a bench a second before the boy sees him too and waves enthusiastically at him. Once Chris joins him, he gives the teen a friendly pat on the shoulder in lieu of a greeting, not wanting to embarrass him with a hug while his peers are watching.

 

"It's good to see you. I'm curious though, how did you manage to convince your mother to let me see you?"

 

"I used logical arguments and tempted her with your knowledge about other supernatural creatures. She fell for it, hook, line and sinker," Derek smirks, and Chris chuckles.

 

"Well done. So, how have you been?"

 

Derek's smile fades, and he looks away. Chris doesn't push, he just sits with him in silence. 

 

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he says gently after a few moments. "But if you need someone to talk to, I'm here. No pressure, though."

 

The teen runs his fingers through his hair nervously. "It's just… Doesn't it tire you, that I always come to you with my problems?"

 

Chris wishes that he could scoop Derek into his arms and hug all these insecurities away, but there are people watching, so as much as he wants to, he can't.

 

"It doesn't tire me, and it never will," he says, instead. "But if it makes you feel on a more even footing, I can promise you that you're not the only one having a hard time. I don't know if you're aware of it, but I was seeing Deucalion for the duration of his stay in Beacon Hills. It was casual and we knew that it wouldn't last, but it still hurt to see him leave."

 

"Oh. I'm sorry," Derek fidgets slightly. "Are you alright?"

 

"I'm getting there," he admits truthfully. "But my point is, everyone has their problems, and I'm not an exception to that rule. But the perk of being an adult is that we're better equipped to deal with them, if only because we've had years of experience to learn how to cope. You're not a kid anymore, but you're not fully grown up either. It's okay if you have issues, and it's nothing shameful if you are having a hard time dealing with them, no matter if they are big or small."

 

Why does no one ever tell kids that it's perfectly normal to struggle, to feel inadequate at times? That all those problems, fears and insecurities are all a part of growing up? He wishes someone told him that when he was young, it'd have made the whole 'becoming an adult' process that much easier, to know that he wasn't the only one feeling this way.

 

But that's water under the bridge now. What he can do is to make sure that Derek knows that he can talk to him about literally everything, and that there isn't a topic or question that is off limits between them.

 

Chapter 25

Hearing that Laura left the pack stuns Chris into silence. It's not something that he would've ever expected of her, but then again, he doesn't know her all that much.

 

Last time, it had taken losing a big chunk of her family to prompt her to leave Beacon Hills; but what if she'd considered leaving even before that, and ironically the House Hale fire had been the final push in the direction she'd wanted to take but was undecided about? There's no way to tell that now, but it's a possibility. 

 

"How are you coping?" He asks Derek, who shrugs unconvincingly.

 

"Alright, I guess… It's not like she died or something bad happened to her, and I'm really happy that she gets to be all grownup and independent. It's just that, with mom still being depressed and angry about the whole thing, and with Peter disappearing in the evenings, I'm the one taking care of Cora, Alex and Emily. And it's alright, I'm not complaining, I just wish-" the teen trails off.

 

"You wish there was an adult who you could rely on, helping you with taking care of your siblings?" Chris finishes knowingly.

 

"Yeah."

 

"You know that you can call me anytime you want, right? And while I'm not your mom's favorite person, maybe if I talked with her, she would allow me to help," he drums his fingers on the table, thinking quickly. "Cora is roughly Allison's age, so maybe I can convince Talia to let the girls play together."

 

Derek perks up at the offer. "You would do that?"

 

"Sure, why not? Allison could use having more friends, especially now, when one of them broke his leg and can't play much."

 

"Does she know about, you know, who our family is?" Derek wiggles his eyebrows pointedly, and Chris shakes his head. 

 

"She doesn't, at least not yet."

 

That's something he needs to consider, though. Does he want to expose his daughter to the supernatural world so soon? He's not entirely sure about that, but one thing he's certain of is that he definitely can't wait till she's sixteen to tell her about it. That's one of the mistakes he's not planning on repeating this time around, as it had caused too much discord in their family in his first life.

 

Maybe telling Allison about werewolves when she's still young enough to be open-minded and unbiased towards them might not be such a bad idea, after all? He would need to make sure that Victoria doesn't find out about it, though, not to mention stress to Allison that it must be kept secret…

 

"Tell you what, how about I talk with your mother and see how she reacts, hm?" He suggests. "If she's amenable to the idea, we can all consider if Allison should know about you or not."

 

Derek nods and thanks him profusely, drawing curious glances towards them.

 

One of the boys standing nearby in a small circle of kids looking to be Derek's age, leers at them unpleasantly, but Chris ignores him, not wanting to make a scene. However, once he says goodbye to Derek and starts walking away, he can't help but overhear a crude comment, followed by a loud guffaw.

 

"Who's that, Hale, your sugar daddy? I bet that you like it when he shoves his dick up your ass!"

 

For a second Chris considers ignoring the idiotic teen, but he's never been good at letting bad behavior go unpunished; that's what had drawn him to being a hunter in the first place. Family tradition or not, he would've never become a hunter if he didn't believe that it was the right thing to do... At least, that was when he was still under the impression that werewolves are monsters that need to be shown what awaits them if they so much as look at humans the wrong way.

 

That vulgar teenager needs a similar lesson, and Chris can't help rising up to the challenge. He turns around, but before he can do anything, Derek walks up to him and grabs his arm.

 

"You don't need to defend me, it will only make it worse."

 

"I'm not defending you, I'm defending me. And teaching a lesson while I'm at it." With that said, Chris approaches the group.

 

Some of the kids are still laughing stupidly, but their ringleader loses some of his cockiness once he realizes that Chris chose to confront him, rather than just ignore his comment.

 

"I'm sure you think that you're so clever, but let's check that in practice. Do you know what defamation is?"

 

The boy shrugs. "Why should I care?"

 

"You should, because if I choose to, I can sue you for slander, which is a spoken form of defamation. You see, being a minor doesn't excuse you from saying malicious lies that can damage someone's reputation. And I believe that just a few minutes ago you accused me of statutory rape in front of multiple witnesses. Do you have anything to say before I contact your parents?"

 

The boy gapes at him incredulously. "Whoa, but that was just for fun, we do that all the time!"

 

"Oh, so you enjoy slandering people for fun? How many men have you accused of molesting kids? Please, do tell me more, I'd love to have even more examples of your behavior," Chris says sardonically, enjoying the teen's squirming.

 

"No, it's not like that- I didn't-"

 

Suddenly, the crowd that has gathered around them parts, as a tall man bellows loudly 'coming through'.

 

"What's going on here?" The guy glares at Chris, putting his hands on hips and straightening his back, making the height difference between them even more noticable, as if that would make him more menacing.

 

It doesn't, and Chris refuses to back down.

 

"Having a discussion about the potential consequences of slander," he says cooly. "And you are?"

 

"I'm John Lahey, the coach of the school's swim team, and this is my son you're talking about!"

 

Chris almost chokes, hearing the surname. The boy can't be Isaac, he doesn't have curly hair and he's too old to be Isaac, which means… That's Camden Lahey who's been acting like an ass towards Derek and Chris, and that just won't do. Isaac deserves better than to have a jerk for an older brother.

 

"I'm Chris Argent," he enjoys seeing the flash of recognition in the man's eyes. Good. "Mr Lahey, your son accused me of having sexual intercourse with one of his classmates, and as I'm sure you're aware of, that's a serious accusation."

 

"I didn't! Dad, tell him!" The boy protests loudly, suddenly acting more bold with his father present. 

 

"Camden, be silent. Mr Argent, I'm sure that this is all a big misunderstanding…"

 

Chris smiles unpleasantly. "Your son was quite explicit in his words, and with multiple witnesses too. Can someone quote Camden's words for Mr Lahey, please? Anyone?"

 

People around them hush their muttering for a moment, before one of the girls says dutifully: "Um, Camden asked Derek if you are his sugar daddy, and said that Derek enjoys, um… when you put your-" the girl blushes and stammers, so Chris decides to save her further embarrassment.

 

"Basically that I had anal intercourse with a minor, though in much more crude words. Since that would be considered statutory rape if it really happened - which it didn't - I'm well within my rights to consider it defamation and sue your son to kingdom come, Mr Lahey."

 

Camden's father blanches, but tries to put on a brave face and snorts loudly. "That's just kids talking, I've heard worse in the school hallways, there's no way any judge would take it seriously."

 

"Care to put that to the test? I have excellent lawyers, Mr Lahey, and a stellar reputation to uphold."

 

The man grits his teeth and curls his palms into fists, as if itching for a fight. The schoolbell gives him an additional moment to gather his bearings, and when it stops ringing, he looks much more composed.

 

"I'd rather not. Can we talk somewhere private?"

 

"Of course," Chris agrees, then turns to Derek. "You should go back to school, your mom will have my hide if I let you skip any classes. We'll talk later."

 

The boy nods and the moment he starts heading towards the building, he's being surrounded by a crowd of excited teenagers, patting him on the back and chatting excitedly that 'finally someone showed that jerk Lahey that he's not cool'. For a second Derek looks a little overwhelmed by all the attention, but then he grins and turns around just for a split second to give Chris a high five.

 

Chris exhales with relief. Derek's not mad at him, that's good. Now, he can focus on the matter at hand.

 

"Lead the way, Mr Lahey. Let's see if you can convince me not to take legal actions towards your son."

 

Now that's going to be an interesting conversation, he's sure of it.

 

Chapter 26

As John Lahey leads them to his office, Chris smirks inwardly. If the man thinks that taking this discussion to his turf would help him in any way, he's sorely mistaken. Chris has been dealing with werewolves on their own territory for years on end, after all, so dealing with a school coach in some cramped, dusty room is at the very bottom of the things he worries about.

 

What he doesn't expect is being shoved against the wall the second the door closes behind them. He blinks, surprised, before a small smile stretches his mouth. Well, well, so the man has some balls, after all. Too bad that he doesn't have enough intelligence to match them and that he's stupid enough to start a fight after two dozen people witnessed their argument.

 

"What are you smiling about, asshole?" The man growls. "I'm gonna wipe the floor with your-"

 

Chris doesn't let him finish, but shoves him away, then strikes the man straight into solar plexus, causing him to double in half, wheezing and groaning in pain.

 

"Leave my dad alone!" Camden shouts, curling his palms into fists, and Chris shrugs.

 

"I will, as long as he's not stupid enough to lay a hand on me ever again. That was a stupid move, by the way. Even if he did manage to beat me into a pulp, what do you think would have happened afterwards? I'll tell you what, boy: he would have been tried for assault and battery."

 

Now it's much more clear why Camden has been acting like a jerk, having such a poor excuse for a role model… Chris glances at the boy's father, who's still red in the face and trying to catch his breath.

 

"Stop moaning and straighten up, for God's sake," he addresses the guy, who shoots him an enraged look, but complies nevertheless while still clutching his torso. "Where were we? Oh, yes, you were going to convince me not to take any legal actions against your son. I guess you need to work on your persuading skills… But I'll make it easier for you both and simply state my demands. First, Camden, you will apologize to Derek for being crude. I don't care if you do it in private or in public, as long as you're sincere about it. And believe me, I'll know if you're lying." Well, to be precise it's Derek who will know, but Camden doesn't need to be told about that little detail.

 

"Fine," the boy folds his arms across his chest, far from acting apologetic. Which means that next they'll need to work on that attitude of his… 

 

"I'm glad to hear that," Chris says smoothly. "Because my next condition is that you work for me next summer. I don't know if your poor behavior is a result of your less than ideal upbringing or if you're just a brat by nature, but I get the feeling that a few months of honest work where no one's going to coddle you will do you wonders."

 

"Oi, you're not going to get my son to work for you for free!" Mr Lahey protests, and Chris raises an eyebrow at him.

 

"No one is suggesting anything of the sort. Camden will have a standard forty hours per week contract and get a minimum wage rate. Are we in agreement?"

 

He also has a hidden agenda to try to persuade the boy into not joining the army and pursuing other options, instead. But first, he needs to show Camden that acting like a helion is not going to do him any favors with potential employers.

 

Hearing about the plans that Chris has for him, Camden scoffs. "Wait, what am I supposed to be doing? Scrub your floors?"

 

"Help me at my company. And before you ask, I'm a licensed arms dealer."

 

Now that finally gets the boy's attention. "Really? That's so cool!"

 

Chris suppresses an eye roll. Honestly, why are teenagers always so impressed by it?

 

"Is that all? I need to prepare for the next class," Mr Lahey grumbles.

 

"Not so fast. I have a final condition, that either Camden quits the school swim team, or you quit your job as their coach." Both father and son protest loudly, but Chris silences them. "I think I've made myself clear, but to avoid any misunderstandings, I'll say it simply enough for you to understand: this is non-negotiable. If you don't agree, I'll see you both in court, and then you can take your chances there."

 

"Why do you want to ruin my life?!" Camden shouts with exaggeration so typical of teengers that Chris has long since become immune to it.

 

"You can join any other team, lacrosse, basketball, I don't care, as long as your father is not the coach. I can tell that he's not objective where you're concerned, and I hate favoritism almost as much as I hate bullying. Not to mention, I'm willing to bet that other team members are treating you as their leader mostly because they want to stay in good graces with your daddy dearest," Chris says with a sneer, then realizes that he's been a little too harsh, so he makes an effort to soften his next words. "I'm doing you a favor here, kid. You must learn how to stand on your own, because if you don't, the world out there will eat you whole."

 

He can't tell the teen that the main reason behind that last demand is that he wants to prevent one fateful pool party from happening, where after having won a championship, Camden had thrown young Matt Daehler into the pool, causing a complicated chain reaction inadvertently leading to various deaths in the future, including Matt's.

 

Camden clenches his jaw and looks away, so Chris sighs and addresses the boy's father.

 

"Here's my business card, contact me once you've come to a decision. You have one week."

 

He pushes the card into the man's hand and leaves the room.

 

***

 

Camden doesn't remember when was the last time he felt like this: backed into a corner, powerless.

 

When he came home after school, his father was beyond furious, shouting at him and blaming him for everything that happened. Camden doesn't even remember what he replied then, something along the lines that it isn't his fault that that guy, Argent, turned out to be so pissy. Next thing he knew, he was clutching at his cheek, his ears ringing and eyes watering from pain, as he realized that his father had struck him.

 

It never happened before. Sure, there have been some shoves and smacks here and there, but nothing really painful or serious - but this, being hit with a fist hard enough to bruise, this is new.

 

Afterwards, his father became even angrier, as if him losing his temper was somehow Camden's fault. And maybe it is, he's not sure to be honest. He doesn't know what to think or feel anymore.

 

What's even worse, though, is that Isaac witnessed it all... Camden wishes that no one saw or heard anything, that way he might be able to pretend that nothing happened. It's no use, though, since Isaac's wide, terrified eyes are a definite proof that it did happen, and there's no use pretending otherwise.

 

Their father glared at both of them and warned against telling anyone about it. If anyone asks, they are supposed to say that they were rough housing and that Camden got hit by accident. Then, they were sent to their rooms and that was it, end of story.

 

But if the matter is closed, why does Camden still feel so… raw? Why does he jump at every sudden noise, and tenses up at the sound of footsteps in the hallway? He hates feeling that way, hates himself, his father, but most of all, he hates Chris fucking Argent, for being the reason behind it all.

 

He doesn't get much sleep that night, and in the morning he's the first one to wake and get up. He opens the fridge, but the thought of eating anything makes him nauseous, so when his father appears in the kitchen, he lies and says that he's already eaten.

 

His dad doesn't notice, or maybe doesn't even care if it's the truth or not. Instead, he keeps talking, telling Camden that he should do his best during today's swimming practice, then asks if he has done his homework, so Camden nods dutifully - even though it's a lie, too. How was he supposed to focus on his homework the night before, when it took all his willpower not to have a complete breakdown?...

 

Later, when he's halfway on his way to school, he jumps off his bike and hides in the nearest bushes where he throws up violently, even though there's barely anything in his stomach after skipping dinner and breakfast.

 

There, hidden from everything and everyone, he allows himself to cry, pretending even before himself that it's only because of a tummy ache.

 

Chapter 27

Going to school with a split lip and a bruise already forming on his cheek and around his mouth turns out to be a fuel for the rumors already circulating around the school, and a source of endless jabs and mocking laughs. Camden finds himself being stared and pointed at, and the moment he passes people in the school hallways, he hears whispering behind his back, loud enough for him to know he's being gossiped about, but not loud enough to overhear what's being said.

 

He's not stupid, though, and he can imagine what people have been saying about him… Especially since some of the bolder ones don't have any qualms openly taunting him.

 

"Not so high and mighty anymore, huh?" The lacrosse captain, Eric, sneers at him, his buddies chortling in the background.

 

It makes something snap in Camden; the next few moments are a blur for him, and the next thing he recalls is straddling the guy, his fists bloodied, aching and bruised, while Eric lies moaning on the floor with his entire face beaten into a bloody pulp.

 

Camden honestly doesn't even remember hitting him.

 

***

 

When he's sitting in the principal's office, his ears are ringing, and he barely makes out what the man is saying, only catching bits and phrases.

 

"Do you have any idea… A broken jaw… several teeth crooked… -this calls for suspension!"

 

"No, please don't," he croaks weakly. His father is already angry with him, this will make him absolutely furious. 

 

The principal gives him a stern look. "Young man, you clearly don't understand the severity of your transgression-"

 

A knock interrupts the tirade, and when Camden's father enters the room, his clenched jaw and tightly pressed lips are a definitive proof that he's already heard about what happened.

 

"I'll do anything," Camden offers, thinking quickly. "Please, sir, if you want to punish me, give me as many detentions as possible, even throw me out of the swim team if you have to, just don't suspend me."

 

He probably would be forced to quit the team anyway, just to appease that Argent guy, and detentions sound quite tempting at the moment. The less time he's going to spend around his father, the better.

 

The principal considers his words for a few seconds. "I'll take that into consideration, but I can't promise anything, because frankly speaking, Eric's parents are screaming for blood."

 

Camden curls in on himself, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable. "I understand, just… I really am sorry. Can you tell them that, please?"

 

The principal nods slowly, then addresses John: "I think it's better if Camden stayed at home, at least for a day or two, until things calm down. Also, care to join me when I'll be speaking with Eric's parents? It'll look better if you were to assure them that your son is contrite about his actions and that there will be no repeat."

 

"Oh, I can promise you that this will not happen again. You have my word," Camden's father says stiffly, his fists curling so tightly that the skin on his knuckles turns white, and Camden swallows thickly, too afraid to say anything.

 

***

 

Their entire ride home is spent in icy silence that weighs on his stomach like a rock. When they get home, his father still says nothing, only backhands him with such a force that Camden is sent sprawling to the floor. Then, he watches with growing horror as his father takes off his belt with a stony, unforgiving expression.

 

The beating that follows is the worst thing that Camden has ever experienced. 

 

He cries, he begs, he moans, but nothing he does makes any difference. Somehow, the humiliation and the shame feels even worse than the physical pain, which is excruciating enough, each hit of the belt hurting even more than the previous one.

 

When he lies on his bed at night, on his belly so as to not aggravate his aching back and buttocks, he thinks to himself bitterly that his father was right. What happened today when he hit Eric, there is not going to be a repeat - not if this is the punishment he's going to get as a result. And maybe by walloping him, his father did the right thing, after all.

 

At least it drove the point home.

 

***

 

The next few days are tense, and Camden tries to find as many excuses to not be at home as possible. When Isaac complains of having too much stuff to take to school for an art lesson, Camden immediately offers to help him carry it, even though his back still aches something awful. Thankfully, Isaac's school is not that far away, though.

 

When he spots Chris Argent of all people, he immediately regrets his decision, though.

 

The man is helping a boy Isaac's age with his leg in cast get out of the car, ruffling his hair playfully afterwards. Then, Argent hands him the crutches, which the boy takes with a long-suffering sigh.

 

"Don't worry, bud, you're halfway there, only three more weeks to go."

 

"I know, but I still hate them," the boy pouts, then as if sensing that he's being watched, he looks at Camden and Isaac - and Argent turns around too, his eyes widening at the sight of them. 

 

Camden freezes in indecision. He doesn't want to look as if he's a coward and scatter away, but he's not sure if he's ready to face the man, or worse - talk to him. It looks like the decision is taken out of his hands, though, since the boy whom Argent has been helping waves cheerfully at Isaac, and Isaac trots forward, encouraged by the gesture.

 

Not having much choice, Camden follows reluctantly, hoping that the man doesn't plan on giving him yet another lecture. He's sick and tired of those, to be honest, even if they've been somewhat deserved.

 

As the kids start to talk excitedly, Argent watches him with a frown. "That's quite a bruise you've got there," the man points at Camden's cheek.

 

His first reaction is to cover it, but then he realizes that the gesture draws Argent's attention to his battered knuckles, and he blushes hotly. 

 

"I got into a fight," he mumbles. 

 

The man hesitates, then says carefully: "I'm doing a lot of mock fighting in my line of work, so I always have a salve for bruises on hand. Do you want some?"

 

"No thanks, I'm fine," he responds, wanting to get as far away from the man as possible.

 

He takes Isaac's bag off his shoulder, wincing a little as it aggravates his bruised skin. Suddenly, Argent inhales sharply, staring at the welt marks that got revealed when Camden's T-shirt rolled with the movement.

 

"It's nothing," Camden says sharply, not liking the look in the man's eyes, and quickly covers the marks. "I deserved it, okay? I got this guy at my school beaten really badly. It's just discipline, that's all."

 

"Camden-" 

 

He scoffs, trying to cover how uncomfortable the whole conversation makes him. "Why do you care, anyway? You wanted to get me punished for less."

 

The man sighs, then turns around and rummages in his car for a few seconds, before pushing a small jar into Camden's hands. "At least take the ointment, please, those marks look like they haven't been healing well. You really don't want to get them infected."

 

"Fine, whatever," he shrugs and shoves the jar into his pocket, mostly to avoid further talking about it than anything else. "Isaac, take your stuff, I need to go."

 

He pushes the bag into his brother's hands and makes a hasty retreat, trying not to feel like a coward for what's essentially an escape.

 

***

 

At home, he goes straight to his room and closes the door behind him, then takes a few gulps of air, feeling like he's drowning. 

 

He takes the jar out of his pocket and suppresses the urge to throw it at the wall. Stupid Isaac for having a stupid art lesson, stupid Argent for acting like he cared… No one cares, no one ever fucking cares. 

 

It takes him a few long minutes before he feels less like he's going to break into tiny little pieces, and more like himself. His hands are shaking only slightly when he opens the jar, even though he's not entirely sure why he does that, it's not like he intends to use it or anything… He stares at the creamy, herbal smelling goo, wondering why the scent seems so familiar, and then it hits him.

 

It reminds him of the salve his mom had been using for his scraped knees, back when she was still alive. It's not the same thing, the packaging is different, but the smell… It's almost the same, and for a split second it feels as if she's still with him, soothing his pain.

 

Chapter 28

Chris watches Camden's retreating back for a moment, before he switches his attention to the boy's younger brother. His heart feels heavy in his chest as he wonders how far John Lahey's abuse has already gone and if he has to start worrying about Isaac, too.

 

The memory of that same boy but older, deeply hurt and disenchanted with life still haunts his dreams, even after all the time he'd spent to give Isaac a semblance of a normal life… To this day he mourns that he'd had to choose between returning to Beacon Hills to help Scott, and staying with Isaac in France. He only hopes that he won't be forced to make a similar choice ever again.

 

He clears his throat. "Camden is your older brother, is that right?"

 

"Yes, sir," the kid mutters timidly, watching him with huge blue eyes that do nothing to hide his emotions.

 

Chris doesn't want to scare him off or put him under too much pressure, so he decides not to mention the welt marks on Camden's back. He needs to gain Isaac's trust, first, before he can even begin to address the suspicion of abuse in their household.

 

"I've heard that you have an art class today. How about you make use of your paints and give Scott's cast a total makeover?" He suggests with an encouraging smile. "What do you think, Scott?"

 

The boys give each other tentatively hopeful looks, before Scott nods vigorously. Chris listens to them absentmindedly as they start to exchange ideas for a picture, Stiles joining them a few minutes later, stating that they have to paint a Spiderman, period. That part makes Chris smile a little, as he has a strong suspicion that after the boys learn about the supernatural world, wolves might replace superheroes as their favorite theme.

 

He spends the next few minutes with the kids, and then once the bell rings, he ignores Scott's half-hearted grumbling and ushers them gently to school. He's even glad for it, knowing that the boy feels at ease in his presence enough to actually grumble, which he wouldn't do if Chris were still a stranger.

 

***

 

There's this thing about peace, that it never lasts forever. Somehow, having the opportunity to get to know all those kids that he'd known as teenagers and young adults made Chris too comfortable and complacent, and when the blow lands, it lands hard as he's totally unprepared for it.

 

It starts with an unexpected visit, one he'd certainly do without. When he hears knocking and opens the front door, for a few seconds he freezes at the sight of his sister. His sister who had once set a fire to the Hale house, and who had killed him in the tunnels of La Iglesia.

 

"Cat got your tongue, or what?" She jests, and he clenches his jaw, trying to rein in his anger. This Kate didn't do anything wrong, yet, and he knows that he should give her the benefit of doubt, but… It's hard to act naturally around her, damn it, knowing what he knows.

 

"What are you doing in Beacon Hills?" He asks once he gets a grip on his ire. "It's not the best time to be dropping by unannounced."

 

"I've heard about you and Victoria, so I thought that you could use a company, maybe I'll take you out for a drink or something."

 

"You should've called first," he says tartly, but she doesn't seem to get the hint.

 

"Well, I'm here now, won't you invite me in?"

 

He sighs and opens the door widely, letting her in. "I need to get Allison from school in two hours," he warns.

 

"Brilliant, then we'll go together!" She claps her hands excitedly.

 

Fucking hell.

 

***

 

Time drags awfully slowly, especially since he needs to watch his every word and move in her presence, and he can't drop his guard even for a second.

 

"You're awfully tense," she comments with a frown at some point, and he shrugs, trying to look inconspicuously.

 

"It's been a rough couple of weeks."

 

She pats him on the shoulder. "Chin up, there's plenty more fish in the sea, and Vicky… Well, she's always been a little too uptight for my taste."

 

He grimaces. "I don't want to talk about it."

 

"Fine, fine. Changing the topic, then, how's the local pack? Do you need help with bringing them to heel? I have some creative ideas…" She wiggles her eyebrows and he feels nauseous at the thought of what those ideas actually entail.

 

"You better not. Remember, we follow the Code. I expect you to stick to the rules and not cause any trouble, or else you'll need to leave Beacon Hills," he says warningly, but she only pouts at him. "I mean it, Kate. I'll be watching you closely, so don't try anything I wouldn't approve of."

 

"You're such a bore!"

 

He clenches his jaw and swallows all the angry, bitter retorts that he wants to spat at her so badly that suppressing them takes him a few long seconds, and then the moment passes and it's time for them to get Allison from school.

 

***

 

Later that afternoon when he declines an invitation for a drink and Kate goes out without him, he calls the Sheriff who he is somewhat acquainted with thanks to watching over Stiles a few times. Then, he tells the man about Kate - well, as much as he can without actually mentioning hunters and werewolves.

 

"So you suspect that your sister is going to set fire to the Hale house because of- what was that exactly, a family feud?" Noah asks, and even via phone Chris can sense his skepticism.

 

"You don't know my family, there's nothing that they wouldn't do against someone they perceive as enemy," he warns. "Can't you at least have someone patrol the area?"

 

"Do you have any specifics, like when the alleged attack is going to take place?"

 

Chris frowns, thinking quickly. He doesn't recall the exact day when it happened in his first life, nor can he be sure that the events are going to play out exactly the same here. Derek is still dating Paige, so he shouldn't be such an easy target this time around, so maybe the fire won't happen again, after all…

 

"No specifics, just a strong hunch," he finally admits.

 

"Then I'm sorry to say that a hunch is not enough to warrant any action. I don't have enough staff to delegate someone for a round-the-clock surveillance, especially without any tangible proof that something's gonna happen. Get me proof, and then we can talk."

 

Once the Sheriff disconnects, Chris sighs and rubs his eyes. What should he do now, talk to Talia about his suspicions? He promised Derek that he'll try to get Talia to let Cora and Allison play together, but with Kate in town, that no longer seems like a viable option.

 

At some point he looks through the window, hoping to clear his troubled mind, but then he sees a small cloud of smoke above the preserve, roughly where the Hale house is situated. He freezes for a second - this is not right, it's happening too fast, how did Kate even know where the house is without manipulating Derek to get the information from?...

 

It takes him a few seconds before he gets a grip on himself and sprints downstairs, urging Allison to stay home. Then, he runs to the garage, calling 911 with one hand and opening his car's door with another.

 

He peels out of the garage and onto the road, tyres squealing loudly, and he begs whatever power or deity that sent him to the past in the first place that he's not too late.

 

Chapter 29

Notes:

Warnings for this chapter: sexual content.

When her father calls and orders her to wreak havoc among the werewolf population in Beacon Hills, Kate only asks how big the bang should be to meet his expectations. Will a simple, old-fashioned blackmail and coercion be enough, or can she get more violent, perhaps even maim someone?

 

He asks, then, why she's thinking so small, and did he make a mistake in choosing her for this task. That's when she knows that she has to get more creative, figure out a way to leave a truly lasting expression... a fiery one, even.

 

"Why me and not Chris, though?" She asks curiously. "He's the one actually living in that little, boring town."

 

"Let's say that I have my doubts if your brother has the stomach to do what needs to be done... He's mellowed too much changing the diapers and playing house," Gerard spats in distaste.

 

That suits her just fine, and she doesn't contact Chris when she arrives in Beacon Hills, glad that for once she's the one their father trusts more.

 

Finding her first victim turns out to be relatively easy, since all she has to do is to pay attention. Seeing a young man drinking enough alcohol to render three guys unconscious and looking as if he hasn't drunk at all makes her grin in triumph and she saunters towards him leisurely. He's a little too old for her usual tastes, being in his mid twenties, but she definitely isn't going to let such an opportunity go to waste.

 

"What's up, handsome, are you having a bad day?" 

 

"How did you guess?" He asks sarcastically and keeps staring at his glass without sparing her a glance, and that simply won't do.

 

"I can make it all better," she murmurs seductively into his ear.

 

That finally catches his attention and he looks her up and down, not even trying to make it subtle. "You better not be just another cocktease, all bark and no bite…"

 

She raises an eyebrow. "Well, how about a test drive?"

 

They end up in one of the cubicles in the men's restroom, with his pants pooled around his ankles while she works on his dick. He tries to rush her, yanking at her hair and pushing deeper into her throat, almost making her choke, so she scraps his dick with her teeth in retaliation, making him curse. Before he can pull away, though, she starts sucking in earnest, and he explodes in her mouth shortly after.

 

"What were those teeth for? I know you did that on purpose!" He whines as he puts the pants back on, and she grins unrepentantly.

 

"You wanted a bite, so I gave you one."

 

He huffs and leaves without a response, but he comes back the next day. And the next. And the day after that.

 

She lets him fuck her, and when he's in that brainless state after climax, so certain of his manhood and his superiority, she pumps him for all the info that she needs. She couldn't care less for the guy, but for appearances sake she murmurs empathically to all the pathetic drivel he spouts, how misunderstood and unappreciated he is by his family, and soon enough he falls for her act, hook, line and sinker.

 

"How dare they treat you like a naughty kid! You need to show them that you're not a boy anymore, that you're a man," she whispers into his ear as he fucks her again, and his grip on her hips tightens painfully.

 

"Yeah, I'm a man, I'll show them, I'll show them all-" his moves become frantic and soon enough he comes inside her with a groan, and she pretends to be satisfied as well. The poor sod doesn't even know how to pleasure a woman, but her aim is to inflate his already overgrown ego, not to deflate it.

 

A few nights later she suggests showing her off in front of his relatives as proof that he's a grown-up man, able to form adult relationships, and that she'll happily praise him to back it up.

 

"You'd do that?" He asks hopefully.

 

"Absolutely, I'd like nothing more than to teach them a lesson," she says with conviction. She doesn't specify what kind of a lesson she has in mind, though, and he doesn't ask, foolishly relying on his skill to sense a lie.

 

It's so easy to play him like that, and she almost mourns the fact that he's not the challenge that she hoped for… Almost.

 

***

 

The next part of her plan is to find someone who is going to surround the Hale house with mountain ash while she's busy distracting the werewolves inside. Curiosity getting the best of her, she decides to get in contact with her brother, just to see for herself if Gerard was right in saying that Chris doesn't have what it takes to be a werewolf hunter any longer. 

 

Her brother turns up to be just as boring and mopey as always, so that hasn't changed at all, but he's now even more goody-goody, sanctimonious, moralizing prick than before. And what's worse, he doesn't seem content with just turning a blind eye to whatever she's been up to as he always did; instead, he warns her that he's going to be watching her every move and that's the last thing she needs, for him to be breathing down her neck.

 

Fuck, she needs to speed things up a little bit now, before Chris catches a whiff of what she has planned. She didn't let herself be fucked by that narcissistic excuse of a werewolf only to be derailed from her path now. With Chris' help or not, the Hales are going down in flames, tonight.

 

***

 

Peter isn't a fool, he knows when he's being used, he just doesn't know if Kate is after the sex, his money, or both. Still, for the first time in his entire life he feels like someone really understands his plight, sympathizes with what he's going through - even if she does it for entirely selfish reasons. He doesn't mind that, truly, especially since looking after his own self interests is something that he's been perfecting for years and had gotten spectacularly good at.

 

One could even say that he and Kate are kindred spirits in that regard… That's why he eagerly takes the offer to introduce her to his family. After all, if it was only a ruse, a scam, Talia would see through it in a matter of minutes, if not quicker. But since he and Kate truly connected on some level, as if they were cast in the same mold, then Talia should have a much harder time telling the lie from the truth. And he loves playing mind games with his sister too much to pass up such an opportunity. 

 

Once they meet with his family for a dinner, Kate plays her role flawlessly, with her wide smile and self-confident act, to the point that Peter wonders if maybe she could be the kind of a girlfriend that he needs. 

 

"That was absolutely delicious, Talia," Kate sighs contentedly after wiping her mouth with a napkin. "Would you mind if I went out for a smoke? You probably don't want me smoking indoors, with kids around and whatnot."

 

Peter hides a grimace. So maybe she's not the perfect girlfriend for him, after all... He absolutely detests cigarettes, most werewolves can't stand them as they stink something awful, and being in a relationship with someone who smokes - nope, that's a hard pass.

 

"It's fine, take all the time you need," Talia says with a forced smile. "I'll clean the table in the meantime."

 

"Perfect! See you in a moment, then," Kate pushes the chair back, stands up and goes outside.

 

There's a moment of silence, and then Talia puts her hands on her hips with a sigh. "Really, Peter?"

 

He shrugs. "She doesn't smoke much, so it's not that big of a deal as you make it."

 

"I don't mean the cigarettes, I mean- well, her! She's a looker, I'll give you that, but she's just so full of herself!"

 

He snorts. "She must be the perfect match for me, then! Haven't you always said that I'm self-centered? Well, then I guess that Kate and I are a match made in heaven!"

 

"Well, maybe you are!" She snaps at him, and it hits him that she really means it.

 

"Do you really think so low of me? That I'm… selfish, and conceited?" He says with disbelief. "The only thing that I've ever wanted from you is your respect, but I'm never going to get it, do I?"

 

"Not if you've doing nothing to deserve it!"

 

"Mom-" Derek tries to interrupt them, but she hushes him impatiently.

 

"Not now, Derek."

 

"Mom, I think I smell something."

 

Peter almost snorts that of course he smells smoke, that was the bloody reason why Kate went outside in the first place, but then he sniffs the air and stiffens. It doesn't smell like a cigarette, it smells like…

 

Petrol.

 

Chapter 30

Notes:

Just FYI, the next few chapters won't be in chronological order, as I wanted to show the post-fire days from different POVs, and try to explore various characters' reactions and feelongs. Hopefully it won't be too confusing.

When Derek wakes up, his body is in such agony that he can't suppress a pained groan. As he opens his eyes, he quickly realizes that he's in a hospital, surrounded by the ever present whites and a sharp smell of antiseptics. He writhes on the bed, but the movement only makes it worse, and when hot tears spill from his eyes, they burn his already aggravated skin.

 

A nurse comes to his room and asks what's wrong and he moans "hurts". She seems baffled by that, explaining that he's on maximum dose of morphine and oxycodone, and shouldn't feel pain for the next four hours or so. He cries harder then, feeling utterly powerless, because how can he get her to give him more painkillers without explaining his werewolf metabolism to her?...

 

"Hey, easy," he hears a familiar voice, and his head snaps to the door, feeling overwhelming relief just at the sight of the man.

 

"Chris," he rasps out, barely recognizing his own voice. "Help, please. Hurts."

 

"It's going to be alright, kiddo, I have something that will knock you out, giving your body the time to heal. Open your mouth, please." When Derek complies, trusting that Chris means him no harm, the man presses a vial to his lips, tilting it slightly so that its contents trickle into Derek's mouth.

 

The last thing he feels before darkness claims him is a strong hand stroking his hair steadily, comfortingly. He leans into the touch without thinking, and even his inner wolf calms down at the gentle caress, relishing the presence of their packmate.

 

***

 

Out of all kinds of pain a human body can endure, burns are the most excruciating. First degree burns are painful on the surface of the skin, which is bad enough. Second degree burns can paralyze one with pain with the slightest air movement or changes in temperature, so without a high dose of painkillers they're nearly impossible to endure. In comparison, third degree burns are almost easier to cope with, as they only hurt when deep pressure is being applied to them - but then again, it's a clear sign of nerve damage, so not something to be particularly happy about.

 

As Peter groans and opens his eyes slowly, he thinks that he'd prefer not having to learn any of that, especially not by experience. As he falls in and out of consciousness, there are two constant features that welcome him back: the same awful, tasteless hospital room, and the sheer agony which the painkillers help for for only a brief moment, before the werewolf metabolism kicks in and absorbs the meds. He never thought that he'd ever wish to have a weak, frail human body, but at least that way the painkillers would actually work on him…

 

Then, the memories from the day before kick in, and suddenly he has trouble breathing as he recalls everything that happened.

 

***

 

After sensing smoke, at first they're a little alarmed but not not overly so; they're werewolves, they're too used to being nearly invincible due to their strength and healing ability on top of it to be afraid of mere fire. Talia rushes upstairs to fetch the children, while Peter looks around for a fire extinguisher and curses loudly once he realizes that there's none to be found, or maybe he simply doesn't know where to look. 

 

When he opens the door, he's unpleasantly surprised to realize that he literally can't leave the house. The moment he tries to put a foot outside, he feels some kind of a resistance, and one quick glance at the doorway makes him realize that they've been trapped with what looks like a mountain ash.

 

Fuck.

 

"Why are you blocking the way?" Talia snaps at him and he looks back at her. She's holding the twins' hands, while Derek and Cora are standing right behind her.

 

"There's mountain ash by the door- we need to find another way to get out, maybe try the windows-" he says urgently, before he's interrupted by a female voice that sends shivers down his spine, there's so much malicious satisfaction in it.

 

"I wouldn't bother, the house is thoroughly surrounded with it, I've made sure of it," Kate re-appears with a smirk on her face. "You have three, five minutes at most before the house is completely engulfed with fire, so I'd suggest saying your goodbyes and whatnot before your time runs out."

 

"How could you, there are children in here…" Talia glares at her, but Kate shrugs, totally unbothered.

 

"It's like drowning puppies, unpleasant but necessary. I couldn't let them grow up to be monsters like the rest of you lot."

 

"You bitch, I knew that there's something rotten about you!" Talia growls, but it only makes Kate smirk even wider.

 

"But why? Why would you do any of it?" Peter asks hoarsely. "I thought that we-"

 

"What, that we're 'a thing'?" Kate sneers at him. "It turns out that you're just a typical guy, thinking with your dick rather than with your brain. Accept it, you've been played, and it's going to be your fault that your family is going to die a horrible, painful death. You better kill them yourself, it'll be more merciful that way."

 

Peter can only stare at her with shock. In the background, he can hear Talia opening window after window, only to encounter the same barrier as he did, and she screams at him to move and do something, dammit - but for a few moments he just stands there, too stunned to react.

 

Finally, as Cora starts coughing from the smoke, he pushes her down to the floor, then motions the rest of the kids to do the same.

 

"Keep your heads down, the smoke is even more deadly than the heat," he warns.

 

"It won't help if we just lie on the floor and let ourselves be burned alive!" Talia snaps at him, but her voice is shaking, and there are tears trailing down her cheeks. She's terrified, he can smell it on her even despite the fact that they're surrounded by smoke and poisonous fumes from all the polymer plastic that the house is full of.

 

Still, she squats down and gathers her children around her and holds them tightly as they start crying, sensing her distress.

 

"S-someone's gonna see the fire and help us, right?" Derek asks, his pupils blown wide with freight.

 

Peter nods, not having the heart to remind him that they're living in the middle of a forest, so the chances are that before anyone comes looking, they're all going to be long dead already.

 

As the heat gets unbearable and the kids start to wail from the pain, he starts to seriously consider killing them off, if only to silence their screams - or kill himself, just to stop this nightmare, before to his shame he realizes that he doesn't have the guts to actually do it. Which means that not only is he a pathetic, naive fool for trusting the wrong person, but he's also a coward…

 

Just before he loses consciousness, he hears the tires squealing outside, and thinks to himself that whoever they are, they better fucking hurry.

 

***

 

He snaps out of his thoughts as the door opens and Chris Argent comes in. He doesn't know what the man is doing here or why the staff let him in, but he doesn't care much at this point.

 

"Get out," he says, or at least tries to, but his throat is still burnt and raw, so it comes out barely audible, and he moans afterwards, wracked with pain.

 

"Easy, don't try to speak if it hurts," the man murmurs. "I have something that will numb your body, it will feel like paralysis but you'll still be conscious, or I can give you something that will knock you out completely. Blink once for the first, or twice for the second option."

 

Peter hesitates. It sounds so tempting, almost too good to be true, but the hunter must be aware that meds don't work on werewolves, so he mouths 'what?', hoping that the man will understand the question.

 

"They're wolfsbane concoctions, with different effects depending on the wolfsbane type used. And before you ask, I've checked your exact weight in your chart, so there's no risk of overdose, I promise."

 

If he wasn't in such agony, maybe he'd be more cautious, but as it is he only wants the pain to stop, so he gives the man the slightest nod, then deliberately blinks twice.

 

"Knocking you out it is, then," Chris murmurs, his voice tinged with approval, then adds: "And in case you're wondering, I've already given Talia and Derek their dose. Cora hasn't regained consciousness yet, but I have a vial ready for her once she does."

 

If she does, Peter thinks grimly to himself. For a moment he hesitates, not certain if he truly wants to know, then mouths: 'twins?'. When the hunter shakes his head, his body scent tinted with sadness, Peter closes his eyes, trying to hide how much the answer affected him, even though he already expected it. After all, Alex and Emily hadn't gone through their first transformation, so their healing abilities were barely better than that of an average human child… There's no way they survived the burns so severe.

 

He opens his eyes and raises his hand expectantly, suddenly glad that he chose the second option, and that he won't be conscious anymore to deal with the sudden guilt that threatens to overwhelm him. When Chris carefully puts a vial on his open palm, he gulps down the contents in one go without even a moment of hesitation.

 

Once he wakes up, he'll ask a dozen questions that still need to be answered, about Kate, or about how his family ended up in the hospital; but for now, he doesn't want to think or feel anything.

 

Notes:

This wasn't an easy chapter to write, folks, and considering what I have planned, the next few ones are going to be even more difficult... 😭

Chapter 31

Watching kids suffer is the most harrowing, agonizing, heart-breaking experience Chris has ever experienced. Not even losing Victoria ever hurt as much as watching children get hurt, and he considers not being able to save them parents' greatest failure.

 

He feels like a failure now, even though Alex and Emily weren't his kids and he didn't even get to know them that well. But with every child's death a whole universe dies, a myriad of unrealised possibilities, hundreds of paths that weren't taken and will never be taken…

 

But that's not even the full extent of the loss those children's deaths will be the cause of; there's also the grief of their remaining family. Once Derek and Cora learn about losing their little siblings - and he doesn't want to consider an option in which they're gonna lose Cora, too - they're gonna be wracked with pain, and probably survivor's guilt as well. This may very well break them, or at least change them permanently in ways he doesn't even want to consider, effectively robbing them of the remnants of their childhood.

 

He wishes he could spare them that, that he could somehow help them through their grief, even though every time he recalls what happened, he feels like breaking into pieces too.

 

***

 

When he arrived at the Hale House and heard panicked cries coming from the inside, he saw Kate standing by the door, smirking with satisfaction at the pain and devastation that she was responsible for… It was the same cruel smile that she'd worn when she'd killed him, back in his first life, and in that very moment did he finally accept the fact that she was already too far gone.

 

He could have tried to reason with her, though, or at the very least tried to knock her unconscious, but every second spent on fighting with her meant less time to rescue the Hales, and so he took out his gun and shot her without so much as a flinch, even though his cheeks were wet with tears as he did so. Next, he ran towards the building, smudged the mountain ash barrier and kicked the door open, screaming at Talia to get the children out of the house, knowing that as an Alpha, she should be in the best shape out of them all.

 

When it came to saving Peter, though, he saw her hesitate, and that made no sense, unless-

 

Unless Talia blamed Peter for the fire.

 

He didn't know the full story, but with Kate involved, it probably wasn't anything good. Whatever reasons behind Talia's hesitation were, she seemed to push them aside for the time being and hauled Peter up. As she was just a few feet away from the door, though, a chandelier fell down on her with a big chunk of the wooden ceiling, rendering her unconscious, while Peter's body slipped from her grip and fell to the floor.

 

Seeing this, Chris cursed loudly and ran inside, grabbed Peter under the armpits and dragged him out, coughing out the fumes, just in time to see the fire brigade arriving. They managed to get Talia out from under the rubble, which was a good thing, since he was quite sure he wouldn't be able to do that by himself, not with the fire already raging inside.

 

Once he was sure everyone was out of imminent danger, he refused to leave the children's side even for a second, so the paramedics had no choice but to allow him into the ambulance. In the hospital, though, he was firmly told that he had to let the doctors do their job and not get in the way, which he did, albeit with great reluctance.

 

"Chris, what are you doing here? Were you in that fire? Let me check you for burns," Melissa fussed over him once she saw him pacing in the hall.

 

"I'm fine, it's the Hales who had the worst of it, I was in the building only for a brief moment," he said impatiently, though seeing the relentless look on her face, he groaned, sit down on a chair and allowed her to take a look at the scratches and slight burns on his hands.

 

"Sit here, don't go anywhere, I'll grab a first aid kit and be back with you shortly."

 

He nodded, recognizing that tone of voice and knowing that it left no room for discussion. When she got back, the Sheriff was trailing after her, and Chris suppressed a grimace at the sight. While Noah was an acquaintance, maybe even a tentative friend, all of that ceased to matter when the man was acting in his official capacity. A sign of professionalism, that's for sure, but at that particular moment he wouldn't say no to some preferential treatment.

 

"Hello Chris, I need to take a statement from you."

 

"Of course," he said smoothly, and as Melissa tended to his hands, he proceeded to provide a short explanation of all the events that took place that day, while the Sheriff was making notes and - of course - asking lots of probing questions.

 

"So to the best of your knowledge, the only person involved in this alleged arson was your sister?"

 

He gritted his teeth at the 'alleged' part. "She might've had accomplices, but she was alone at the crime scene."

 

"But why did you shoot her? She's in the OR at the moment."

 

"She was blocking the way out... I had no time to lose, so I chose to shoot her rather than reason with her. I didn't shoot to kill, though."

 

Sheriff grimaced. "There's a high chance that she'll pull through, from what I heard, but there are no guarantees, as she lost a lot of blood. If she dies…"

 

"It'll be much worse for me, I know," he said stoically. There was nothing he could do about it, now, and he'll just have to cross that bridge when he gets to it. "I did what I had to do in order to save my friends' lives, and I'd do it again if I had to."

 

"Very well. Do I have to take you to the station, or do I have your word that you won't leave town?"

 

"After what happened, the kids will need a lot of care and support, so there's no way I'm leaving Beacon Hills anytime soon."

 

"That's good enough for me," Sheriff nodded approvingly. "One more question, though. There's one person unaccounted for: Laura Hale. Do you know her whereabouts, by any chance?"

 

Chris' eyes widened. He completely forgot about Laura! 

 

"She moved out of the house some time ago and she's staying with a family friend, Ennis," he explained. "I don't have her number, but I have his, so I'll tell him about the fire and ask to relay the message to Laura."

 

"Thank you." Sheriff closed his notebook and stood up. "It was good to see you, though I wish it was under better circumstances, and that I didn't have to grill you with all those questions…"

 

"It's fine, you're just doing your job," he shrugged off the apology. "I'm going home to Allison, but once I arrange a care for her, I'm gonna be back here, so if you need me for anything, you know where to find me."

 

Noah nodded, clasped his shoulder briefly and left, leaving him alone with Melissa, who's been quiet during the questioning. 

 

"Shooting your sister? I'm so sorry, Chris, that must have been awful," she said while finishing wrapping a bandage around his palms.

 

"We haven't been close for quite some time now, but what she did to Hales out of this stupid grudge, knowing perfectly well that there were small children inside… I just couldn't condone it."

 

She bit her lip, looking uncertain. "I know that you're not their relative, but until Laura arrives, I can keep you updated on their status, considering that you're a family friend."

 

"Thank you, this means a lot," he said, and meant it. He didn't know what he'd do if he was being kept in the dark. "I need to check up on Allison, but I'll be back soon. If you see Scott in the meantime, please give him my love and tell him that I'm sorry, as I probably won't be able to drop by anytime soon."

 

"I will, and don't worry about it, you have bigger issues to take care of. I'm sure that Scott will understand."

 

He nodded his thanks, then left the hospital, a swarm of thoughts swirling furiously in his mind. There was so much he needed to do, so many people to contact: Ennis, Deucalion, but most of all: Victoria. As the matriarch, she needed to be told about the fire, and it's better if she learned about it from him, so that he could give her his version of the events before she heard about it from somebody else, or worse, before Kate got better and managed to paint herself as the victim.

 

When he got home, he hugged Allison tightly, breathing in her scent for a few long moments, before he told her to go to her room because he needed to call her mother. As if sensing the gravity of the situation, she nodded obediently and went upstairs without a fuss.

 

He stared at his phone for a few long seconds, wondering how he should play out this particular conversation, and he jumped, startled, when it started to ring unexpectedly, Melissa's number appearing on the display.

 

His heart beat unevenly in his chest as he picked up, and when Melissa told him that the twins had passed away, he closed his eyes and started to cry.

 

Notes:

In the next chapter(s) we'll see the women's point of view: Melissa, Victoria, Talia and Laura, not necessarily in that order.

Chapter 32

After almost two decades of working as a nurse, Melissa can honestly say that she's seen it all. People dying while succumbing to illnesses that are easily treatable; others surviving against all logic and medical knowledge, after sustaining such grave injuries that caused the doctors to give up on them.

 

So yes, she's seen unnecessary deaths and unexplainable recoveries, and everything in between. And yet, the Hales' case is the one that keeps nagging her the most. The speed with which their burns are healing is nothing short of miraculous - even though it wasn't enough to keep the youngest kids alive - and their resistance to medication is equally as baffling.

 

So when she sees that Chris gives an unknown substance for Derek to drink, she takes a breath to speak up, but all protests die in her throat once she sees that the boy falls asleep almost immediately.

 

"What did you give him?" She asks sternly but quietly, not wanting to disturb Derek. "And why did you administer any kind of medication without consulting me or the doctor first?"

 

The man looks up at her, while continuing to caress the boy's hair with slow, soothing motions. 

 

"The Hales have a rare affliction that speeds up their cellular regeneration and metabolism, but as a result the standard painkillers barely work on them. The drug that I gave him is herbal-based, but it's very strong, tailored specifically for people like Hales."

 

"What is it called, their condition and the drug you gave them? I'll need to update their files."

 

"That won't be necessary," Chris says smoothly, and she glares at him.

 

"Listen, I know that you've been through a lot, but hiding information from the doctors, giving the patients unapproved meds - it's dangerous, Chris. Not to mention, it'd be unethical of me to allow it," she adds, trying to make him understand what position he put her in.

 

He gives Derek one last look before walking up to her.

 

"Think about it, Melissa. Rapid cell regeneration is medicine's Holy Grail, so what do you think will happen to the Hales if the world learns about it? They would be locked away and experimented on, and I can't allow it to happen. The longer they're staying in the hospital, the greater the risk, so as soon as they're strong enough to walk, they're going to leave, even against medical advice if need be."

 

She swallows heavily, torn. On one hand, ignoring what she just witnessed goes against her code of conduct as a nurse, and yet… Chris is only being protective of the Hales and acting in what he believes is their best interest. Is it enough for her to look the other way, though?

 

She's seen a lot of gray areas in her line of work, and so she's not so naive to see the world only in black and white. Still, there must be a line in here that she can't cross, and it needs to be stated clearly, for both of their sakes.

 

"The moment Talia wakes up again or Laura shows up, I'll need them to confirm if they're okay with all of this," she warns.

 

"Of course," Chris' shoulders relax marginally. "Thank you, I really appreciate your discretion in the matter."

 

She nods wordlessly, then leaves him alone with Derek. Later, she doesn't react when she sees him entering Peter's room; the less she sees, the less she is guilty of not reporting. At least, that's what she's trying to tell herself, but it doesn't make her feel any better, and no matter how busy she is during her shift, she can't help but wonder if she did the right thing, after all.

 

***

 

Living with Ennis' pack is both comfortingly familiar and drastically different from all of Laura's experiences so far. She wouldn't believe how isolated her family had been if she didn't see with her own eyes how diverse her new pack is, consisting of both born and bitten werewolves of all ages and backgrounds.

 

"I don't get how you choose them," she says to Ennis while sitting on a steel girder high above the ground, her legs dangling freely in the air.

 

The day before she mentioned in passing that she'd love to recreate that famous 'Lunch atop a Skyscraper' photograph, but she didn't think that Ennis would care, much less take her wish seriously - but here they were, higher above the ground than she's ever been in her entire life, munching on their lunch together.

 

"Them?" Ennis grunts.

 

"Your pack. I just don't get why you picked some of them, and I don't mean this in an offensive way," she adds hastily. "I just look at them and don't see any… common traits? They're all so different."

 

"They have one thing in common."

 

She tilts her head curiously, expecting him to explain it, but he only shrugs and tells her that if she wants to learn what it is, then she needs to get to know the people better rather than expect him to spill their secrets.

 

"They all have stories to tell, but it's their decision whether they want to share them or not," he adds cryptically, and in that moment she's strongly reminded of Satomi. What is it with Alphas never having a straight answer?

 

It turns out that he's been right, though. Most of her new packmates still don't trust her fully, at least not enough to tell her anything personal, but she managed to convince some of them to share their stories with her. And the more she listens, the more she's able to connect the dots and realize what that common denominator is: they're all misfits, outcasts and strays, who either ran away from their previous homes or were kicked out, then came here looking for a job. What they got was not only that, but also a new family… and a bite.

 

"Was there anyone who freaked out after learning about werewolves?" She asks Ennis the next day, and he snorts in response.

 

"Of course they were. Not that many, but a few. How do you think I met your mother? I've heard from Duke that Talia specializes in memory manipulation, so she and I came to an agreement. Every time someone reacts badly to the news of the supernatural and nothing seems to be able to change their mind, I take them to Talia and she wipes their memory clean."

 

She gapes at him. "Whoa- How come I didn't know any of that?"

 

"Talia has never been much of a fan of a 'cards on the table' policy, and she prefers to keep her secrets close to her chest... I just didn't realize that it also applies to her own family."

 

She grows silent, afterwards, so Ennis pats her shoulder and leaves her alone to think.

 

This is all so confusing, and in all honesty she doesn't know how to react. She wasn't even aware that her mother is able to wipe someone's memory, much less that she's been using it on behalf of other packs. Why did Talia never tell her any of that, though? Why keep it all a secret? Unless-

 

Unless Talia has been using her skills on her own pack, too.

 

The mere thought makes her skin crawl, and the next few days she feels restless, wondering if she'd even be able to tell that her memories have been tampered with. Would she even know the difference? And if not, then how can she tell what parts of her life are real and which were simply prefabricated and implanted in her mind?...

 

The more she thinks about it, the angrier she becomes, and after a week or so she's already seething with rage to the point that she barges into Ennis' office, announcing that she's going to see her mother and finally get some answers. She stops her rant when she sees that he's staring unblinkingly at his phone, his face ashen. 

 

"Ennis, what's wrong? What happened?" She's never seen him like this, ever.

 

When he looks up at her, his eyes are gleaming with a ruby red light, and instinctively she takes a step back. He shakes his head and once his eyes lose their glow, his expression looks more tired than angry. Then, he gestures at the chair in front of him.

 

"Sit down, cub, there's something I need to tell you."

 

He's never called her 'cub', ever, and it scares her to see him being so affectionate. It can only mean one of two things: either he's going to kick her out, or he has some really bad news. Either way, the kinder he acts, the more likely it is that she's not going to like what he has to say.

 

She straightens, raising her chin proudly. "Tell me."

 

He sighs. "Very well. There's no way to soften this blow, so I'm just gonna say it. There's been an attack on your family's house, and there have been some… casualties."

 

Her ears start ringing, then, and her knees feel like jelly. Attack? But who would- Why would anybody do such a thing?...She stumbles and falls gracelessly on that chair, after all, feeling as if the entire world was crumbling down on her.

 

"Ca- casualties?" She chokes out. "Who?"

 

"Talia, Peter and Derek are in hospital but they're going to heal. Cora hasn't woken up yet, so she's not entirely out of the woods just yet, but her condition is stable. The twins' injuries though, they were too grave-"

 

"No, no, it's not true, not them!" 

 

"I wish it wasn't true, but it is. I'm sorry for your loss, cub, I really am."

 

She stands up on wobbly legs and runs away, not watching where she's going, blinded by the hot tears that flow down her cheeks.

 

Numbly, she wonders if she runs fast enough, she can outrun the searing pain in her heart and leave it all behind her. But no matter how fast she runs, or how far her legs are carrying her, the pain stays with her.

 

Chapter 33

When Ennis finds her, Laura is lying on her bed, curled in a tight ball and hugging a pillow to her chest, even though it's completely soaked with tears and snot by now. He doesn't do or say anything, just waits patiently until she wipes her cheeks and sits up.

 

"I need to go back to Beacon Hills," she mumbles, her voice almost unrecognizable from all the crying, and with a shaking hand grabs the car keys from a night stand.

 

"Not by yourself, you're not," his open palm thrust in her direction is a clear indication that he expects her to hand the keys over.

 

"Ennis-"

 

"It's not up for discussion. You're clearly distraught and would be a danger both to yourself and other people on the road, so there's no way in hell I'm letting you drive in such a state."

 

She's gotten to know him well enough to know that when he's using this tone of voice, he's not going to tolerate any sass or disobedience. She should hate the fact that he's making decisions for her, but rather than irritate her, somehow it makes her feel a little better. Not by much, as she's still shaken inside, but at least she's not alone in this. Knowing that Ennis has her back - even though she didn't ask him to - is an unexpected comfort that she doesn't know how to react to.

 

"Fine," she finally mutters and drops the keys on his palm, then follows him outside.

 

***

 

Cora is still in coma, but Derek, Peter and Talia should wake up soon, and Laura will be here anytime now, which - while a good thing for the Hales - means that Chris is running out of time. He's been putting off calling Victoria for as long as he could, but he can't stall any longer. He needs to do some damage control before this turns into a bloody feud between werewolves and hunters, a repeat of the past that he's been so desperately trying to avoid.

 

Jaw set, he takes out his phone and calls Victoria.

 

"I need your help," he says without preamble, and she snorts.

 

"You've never needed my help with anything, or at least you wouldn't be caught dead admitting it out loud."

 

"Well, I need it now. But first, I need to know if you can act as a matriarch without forgetting that you're a mother and a human being too. Because if you don't, then I don't think I can trust you with this."

 

"You won't get a blanket approval from me, not without telling me what's this about." She scoffs. "I can't promise you anything without knowing all the facts, Chris, you should've known that already. Besides, it's you who needs me, not the other way around."

 

He hesitates for a moment, then clears his throat. "Kate- She orchestrated an arson on the Hale House. I tried to stop her, but I wasn't fast enough, and now Talia's two youngest children are dead, with the rest of the family burned badly."

 

"Is that all?"

 

He hates how unfazed she sounds, as if such tragedies were a common occurrence, something to shrug off. 

 

"Those kids, their names were Alex and Emily," he chokes out. "They were five years old, and they- they hadn't even gone through their first transformation. For all intents and purposes, they were still ordinary, human children who died a terrible, painful death. Isn't it enough?"

 

"I wasn't asking for trivia, but relevant facts. Is there anything else I need to know?"

 

Her voice is emotionless, almost clinical, and he takes a deep breath before he replies.

 

"I shot Kate when I was trying to stop her. She's alive, but just barely. I don't know if she'll pull through."

 

For a few moments that drag out like an eternity Victoria's completely silent, and he could almost envision her, processing the information she was given, the wheels turning furiously in her mind.

 

"You did a good thing, calling me," she finally says. "I'll be in Beacon Hills in two to three hours. Do not, I repeat, do not speak with the police before I get there, alright?"

 

"Might be a little too late for that…" he mutters under his breath.

 

"Must you always make my job harder?"

 

He laughs shortly, humorlessly. "Maybe I do. What are you going to do once you get here?"

 

"Clean up the mess you and Kate made. Wait for me and try not to make it even worse."

 

She hungs up abruptly and he lets out a long exhale. He has no idea if calling Victoria was the best course of action, as he can't anticipate what she'll do about Kate or the Hales, but what's done is done, and it's out of his hands now. His wife is a force to be reckoned with, especially when she's in her matriarch mode. He has no doubt that she'll take control of the situation, but to whatever end - well, that's much harder to guess.

 

***

 

Victoria knows what her fellow hunters think about her: that she's cold and ruthless. That's quite a valid assessment, but it doesn't mean that she's entirely heartless; she just doesn't let her emotions cloud her judgment. That's why she's a better leader than her husband would ever be, even though he's an Argent by blood and she's been a part of the family only by marriage. 

 

A family that, as it seems, is coming apart by the seams, though she's not entirely surprised by that. Kate has always been more dedicated than Chris, but also more unstable and unpredictable. Victoria blames Gerard for that, as his teachings are more radical than she's comfortable with, but that's water under the bridge now. Kate is an adult woman, one who has made her bed by getting caught red-handed on a mission that hasn't been cleared with her own matriarch, and she'll reap the consequences of that. 

 

The only question that remains is if Victoria should let Chris go down with his sister… It's a tempting thought, and as she goes to her car, she allows herself to entertain the idea of having Allison with her in San Francisco.

 

But no matter how enticing the idea may seem, she can't be certain that the French branch of the family would allow her to remain the matriarch if Chris got incarcerated. So the bottom line is that she needs to decide what's more important to her, securing her position among the hunters, or having sole custody of her daughter?...

 

***

 

"Excuse me, I- I'm looking for my family, they've been brought here after a fire."

 

Melissa looks up abruptly from the paperwork on her desk, only to see a young woman, face drawn with worry. 

 

"Laura Hale?" She asks, just to be sure, and the girl nods. "I'll give you the visitor's badge and take you to see your family. Your mother woke up half an hour ago, but your uncle and siblings are still asleep."

 

"What about the twins, Alex and Emily? I've heard that they… But maybe things got mixed up, or-"

 

She shakes her head regretfully. "They've passed away from the burns. I'm very sorry for your loss."

 

The young woman presses a hand to her mouth and chokes back a sob. Melissa busies herself with filling in the visitors log in order to give her a moment to compose herself. 

 

It never gets any easier - to witness other people's grief. It's profoundly sad, of course, but also a little awkward, considering the fact that loss is such a private experience, and yet hospital staff need to witness it on a daily basis. Comforting patients' grieving family members is sometimes risky, too. Some people soak it up like a sponge, and some react with anger, even violence. She's seen huge, strong men breaking into pieces at the news of their loved ones' death, and frail women suddenly starting to curse or throw things, so there's no telling in advance what a person's reaction is going to be.

 

"I'd like to see my mom," the girl says after a moment, her cheeks still wet from tears, but looking a little calmer now.

 

"Of course. Please follow me."

 

***

 

When Chris is informed that Talia woke up, he hesitates for a moment before deciding to talk to her. He knows perfectly well that he's not her favorite person, but maybe by helping the Hales escape the fire he finally proved to her once and for all that he's their friend, not enemy.

 

He knocks and then enters the room, but stops by the door when she turns her head in his direction.

 

"I know that it might not be the best moment, but we need to talk. Is it okay or should I come back later?"

 

Her face is ashen, but she immediately straightens against the pillows and nods with agreement.

 

In moments such as these he's eerily reminded of his own family, always pushing pain aside when the situation demands it. Ironic, considering the fact that hunters and werewolves have always been natural enemies, and yet it seems as if they're all cut from the same cloth. 

 

"Can you tell me what happened and how it is that Kate managed to catch you unaware when she put the mountain ash around your house?" When she bristles at his words, he hurries to explain: "I'm not saying that you did anything wrong or that the fire is your fault. What my sister did to your family- it's inexcusable, and her fault only. I'm just asking to establish the chain of events."

 

Her eyes widen, and she gaps at him. "That woman… She's your sister?"

 

"Unfortunately," he grimaces.

 

"And you shot her - for us?"

 

"At the time I didn't think I had any other choice, but yes."

 

A myriad of emotions flicker in her eyes, but before either of them has a chance to say anything, the door opens and Melissa comes inside, followed by Laura, who immediately runs to Talia's side and takes her hand into hers.

 

"Mom, I came as soon as I could. I've heard about the twins and I'm so, so sorry-"

 

Chris takes it as his cue and exits the room, wanting to give the mother and daughter some space. Even though he still has a lot of questions, he can wait a little longer for the answers.

 

Chapter 34

He's still waiting outside of Talia's room when Victoria finds him. He suppresses the urge to hug or even kiss her in greeting; it seems that the events of the past few days have taken their toll on him if his first reaction at the sight of her is to show affection. Not that she would appreciate such an emotional display, much less in a public setting. Or any setting at all.

 

She greets him with a succinct: "Let's go somewhere private," and he finds himself grabbing his jacket and following her outside the hospital, to the far edge of the parking lot. 

 

"Have you decided what the best course of action is?" He asks once he's sure that no one will overhear them.

 

"I think it's time to make use of this," she hands him a sheet of paper in a clear plastic sleeve, and his eyes widen at the familiar handwriting.

 

Becoming a hunter is not as straightforward as some might think; it's a long and tedious process focused mostly on extensive training, but once someone passes all the tests and is deemed worthy to join their ranks, he or she receives a final task, and that is writing a letter. Or letters, to be more precise, with pre-approved wording for various situations that might be applicable in the future, including goodbye letters and suicide notes. They are then being kept by a matriarch until it is the time to present them to the authorities, like when a hunter is killed by a werewolf and they need to cover their tracks, making sure that the police won't be sniffing around looking for a missing person.

 

The letter that he's holding in his hands is Kate's suicide note, written on her first day as a werewolf hunter.

 

In hindsight, he realizes that asking Victoria for help is like using a double-edged sword. He should've expected that she would come up with a solution to their problem that is as deadly as it is effective. But- planning to kill Kate?... That's excessive, even for her.

 

Ha stares at her for a long moment. "Why this?"

 

"My task here is to limit the damage done to our family's standing and reputation, I hope that you understand that," she says slowly, as if he's a small child not grasping the intricacies of adult life. "Two kids are dead, and I'll bet that everyone: the public, the police, and the remaining Hales - especially them - can't wait to send someone to the gallows just to appease their foolish need for justice. This is unavoidable, but what we can do is to ensure that the end result is the least damaging for us."

 

"What I don't understand is why you want my sister dead rather than incarcerated."

 

She sighs. "Think, Chris. Once Kate recovers from being shot, she's going to face some serious charges. There's no way that she'll plead guilty to something as severe as capital murder and risk being sent to prison for life without parole. And if she's going to plead not guilty, then we'll be stuck in a lengthy, difficult lawsuit, risking that either you or her is going to say something in court that would reveal our… extracurricular activities to the outside world. That's why I'm claiming my right as a matriarch to cut her loose."

 

He swallows with difficulty. 'Cut loose', a handy synonym among the hunters for getting rid of unwanted elements. He just never thought it would apply to his own sister…

 

He tries to recall all the good memories he has of Kate, their trick-or-treating on Halloween or the Christmas rituals of their childhood, but realizes that all the details are blurry to the point of being unrecognizable. Instead, two moments are forever burned in his mind: when Kate stood outside of the Hale House, watching it burn; and how she plunged her claws into his stomach, taking his life - his first life - back in the tunnels of La Iglesia. 

 

There's a small part of him that wants to punish her for that, too. But a larger part only wants her to be out of the picture so that she couldn't threaten him or the people that he loves ever again. 

 

"This is the best way to protect you, too," Victoria adds quietly, as if reading his mind. "If we fake Kate's suicide, you won't have to answer for shooting her. So with one move we'll manage to appease the Hales, remove a rogue hunter from our ranks, avoid further conflict with the wolves, and clear your name on top of it. But if you have a better idea on how to achieve all that, I'm all ears."

 

There's no better solution, and he knows it. It's a clean cut, simple and elegant, and he would admire Victoria for coming up with it, if it wasn't for the fact that she's planning to kill his sister. What does it say about him that he's more tired and disheartened by the thought, rather than horrified as he should be?

 

"No, you're right, I don't think we have any other option," he says with a heavy heart; his acquiescence seems to surprise Victoria.

 

"I thought that you'd oppose me more, with your soft heart and all."

 

He can't tell her about months and months of tearing himself apart upon learning that Kate had been the one behind the Hale House fire back in his first life. About the guilt he felt, both for not preventing it and for being unable to get Kate to see how wrong it was, as if her conscience was just- switched off where werewolves were concerned.

 

He has lost faith in Kate's redemption a long time ago, but he can't tell Victoria about any of that, so he has to stick to half-truths and generalities.

 

"Just because I'm more soft-hearted than you are, doesn't mean that I'm less of a realist. If I believed for a second that Kate could change, show real remorse, I'd fight for her. But the truth is, my little sister is gone for good and all that remains is just a cold-blooded murderer."

 

Deep inside, he's still full of doubts. If they're planning to kill Kate, how can they even claim to be on a higher moral ground? Aren't they exactly the same as her, ruthlessly removing someone they perceive as a threat?

 

Alex and Emily weren't a threat, they were innocent, he reminds himself, and hopes that it's enough of a difference.

 

***

 

Talia takes solace in the fact that she has Laura back with her, and pushes the pain of losing her youngests deep to the back of her mind. Later, once she leaves the hospital, she'll allow herself to wail and cry and grieve, but not here, surrounded by strangers. 

 

"So, where have you been staying?" She asks once her daughter looks a little more composed.

 

Laura wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "Ennis, I've been staying with Ennis. He's waiting for me outside."

 

She stiffens at the words. What does it mean, that this brute of a werewolf is waiting for her daughter…? Laura is finally back with her family where she belongs, why would Ennis still need to be here?

 

Her trail of thoughts is disrupted by a knock on the door, and she suppresses her internal turmoil once she sees Argent coming in, with a woman she doesn't recognize.

 

"Alpha Hale, my name is Victoria Argent. On behalf of my clan, please allow me to convey my deepest condolences for the loss of your children-"

 

The wolf in Talia wants to growl and snap its jaws at the woman's audacity, maybe even bite her head off for good measure, but this isn't the time nor the place, so she does neither.

 

"I don't need your condolences, I need satisfaction. A life for a life, and I'll settle for nothing less," she says coldly. "The woman responsible for the fire shouldn't enjoy the luxury of being alive when my children are not."

 

"Very well, it can be arranged."

 

That shocks her to the core. "You would kill one of yours?"

 

The woman, Victoria, presses her lips into a tight, angry line, the first sign of emotion on her mostly expressionless face. "Kate's actions weren't ordered or cleared by me. She went rogue, so she's no longer one of ours, as you put it. Will her death be enough of a reparation?"

 

"Mom, you can't be seriously considering this-" Laura chokes up, but Talia ignores her.

 

"I'd prefer to have my kids back, but since that is not possible, then yes, this is the second best thing."

 

She feels a dark, ugly satisfaction while saying this, and for a moment it almost manages to overshadow the sharp pain in her heart.

 

Almost.

 

Chapter 35

When Melissa asks Talia and Laura about Chris' involvement in their family's medical decisions, Talia isn't too thrilled by the idea, but confirms that yes, Argent can be trusted if it comes down to it. 

 

"It shouldn't be necessary, though, now that my daughter is back," the woman adds. "She's perfectly capable of making responsible choices - well, her latest stunt with running away from home aside."

 

Laura's head snaps up. "Mom!"

 

"What? I'm just stating facts. That wasn't your finest moment, but what matters now is that you've come to your senses and you're back with your family where you belong."

 

Melissa suppresses a wince at the condescending tone, and isn't surprised in the least when Laura's face darkens.

 

"I came back to- to say goodbye to the twins, and to be here for you until you get better, but I've never said anything about staying. After the funeral I'm going back to San Bernardino with Ennis."

 

Sensing an upcoming fight between mother and daughter, Melissa excuses herself and leaves the room in a hurry, suddenly glad that Scott is much too young for her to even start worrying about him leaving the nest. She's definitely not ready for that yet, and probably won't be ready for a few years at the very least. Still, she hopes that when the time comes, she'll react to it with more grace and understanding than Talia did…

 

Don't judge her too harshly, she chastises herself, she just lost two children, that can't be easy to bear.

 

For a second she wonders how it would feel, grieving because of the loss of a child, and she shudders at the mere thought. She only has one son, and losing him would mean losing her entire reason to live. It's unthinkable. Unfathomable, even - but it may happen, no matter how much the thought scares her. And even though she'd fight for her son with everything that she has, she has been a nurse for far too long not to be aware of the hard truth that even the mother's love is not always enough to prevent a kid's death.

 

She rubs her belly absentmindedly, imagining herself having another baby, another child to call her own. That image stays with her at all times, tucked carefully in the back of her mind, no matter what she's doing or how busy she gets at work, stubbornly not allowing itself to be forgotten.

 

***

 

Hearing that her daughter is planning on abandoning her - again - is the final blow for Talia and suddenly all the guilt and anger at the unfairness of it all is too much for her to bear. It's infuriating that her entire world is crumbling around her but everyone else just… keeps on going like it's nothing. Like her loss means nothing.

 

She yearns to grab something and smash it into tiny little pieces, again and again, until it resembles the broken pieces of her life. But she has nothing to break, and she's left shaking from powerless rage without any way to channel the powerless rage that makes her body feel like it could implode in itself. 

 

So when a nurse comes in and tells her that Peter is awake, asking her if she's ready to see him, something just snaps in her. Her own brother, who should've been the very person she could trust the most, is the one who betrayed their family, who betrayed her, by sleeping with the enemy. All of this is his fault, that she even let that woman into their house. He may be her brother, but in truth he's more of a liability, and his selfishness has already cost her two children. She'll be damned if she lets him do anymore damage… And she sure as hell isn't going to lose a single second of her life by checking up on him.

 

"No, I don't think I'm up for seeing him," she replies dispassionately.

 

***

 

For Peter, the days after waking up again seem like a bad dream wrapped in wool; he feels both awful and numb, like he's aware of the pain and loss on some abstract level, but it doesn't quite hit the target. Maybe there's something wrong with him, or maybe his mind works like a time delay fuse, and it's only a matter of time before he blows; either way, he thinks that this might be what the out-of-body experience is like: to watch from afar what's been happening around him as if it's someone else's body, and someone else's life.

 

He learns from Laura that Kate woke up before he did. Her family posted bail and took her home, but the night after that she commited suicide, leaving an enigmatic note saying that she's sorry for everything. He finds it highly suspicious, as she didn't seem like a person capable of regret, but he doesn't care, as long as she's dead. If she didn't go and killed herself, he'd have hunted her down, so the end result would've been the same... Well, his way would've definitely been more bloody, but a corpse is a corpse, so he's not complaining.

 

All the while, Cora remains in a coma; her state is stable but without any notable progress either, so once Derek feels better, Talia and Laura decide not to delay the twins' funeral any longer. Peter disagrees - their charred bodies have already been cremated, so there is no expiry date holding their family back from waiting for as long as it's needed with the funeral. However, Laura claims that since Cora is still too young to appreciate the service, there is not much point in waiting. 

 

No one really appreciates funeral service, he wants to say; everybody hates the bloody thing, but is too damn polite to admit it out loud. He doesn't say anything to Laura, though, just nods like a human-sized doll and goes along with it, since it's not a topic worth putting up a fight, when he has bigger problems to worry about.

 

Talia doesn't come to visit him at the hospital, not even once, and he feels an unnamed dread pooling in his stomach, an instinctive reaction to the prospect of angering his Alpha. When it begins to feel like it's too much, though, the wool is back, and the dread is buried underneath it, alongside all other feelings he'd rather not face right now. Or ever.

 

***

 

He doesn't remember much from the funeral, just bits and pieces here and there, snatches of hushed conversations and fragments of empty eulogies that mean nothing to him. The twins were just kids, after all; they didn't really get the chance to make much of an impact on the world, or do anything at all besides playing, eating, or sleeping. And maybe that's what saddens him the most; that he didn't get to know their adult selves, and he never will.

 

When it's his time to give a speech, he looks at the twins' photo placed nonsensically beside the urns - as if anyone needed a reminder whose funeral it is! - and says: "They'll be missed," before sitting down again. For once, he doesn't care that Talia shoots daggers at him; he really doesn't feel like baring his soul to all these people simply because it's what the custom dictates. His thoughts and feelings are his own, damn it, not anybody's else's. And if he hasn't managed to figure them out just yet, well, that's his private business.

 

He shoots a quick look at Derek, but the boy is glued to Talia's side and doesn't spare him even a single glance. It makes his lips curl with disdain at his nephew's childish behavior, but the bigger part of him feels hurt at the cold shoulder that his family's been giving him ever since the fire. Thankfully, not everyone is equally determined to treat him like scum, which is proven when Laura approaches him to give him a tight hug.

 

"I'm sorry that I wasn't with you guys when it happened."

 

He shrugs. "One more werewolf burned to a crisp wouldn't have made any difference."

 

She flinches violently at his words, then pulls back as if burned. Before he can explain, she shoots him a wounded look and leaves him alone. That went great, he sighs inwardly. He only meant that he doesn't understand how her presence would've helped, unless she somehow became a human and broke the mountain ash barrier so that they could all escape… Otherwise, there was really no point in adding another victim to the list.

 

In order to distract himself from the fact that once again he managed to hurt a person that he actually cares about, he shifts his attention towards the man who had saved their sorry asses. Argent's face is a picture of stoicism, but the clenched jaw and twitching muscles on the side of his neck tell an entirely different story. Deucalion is standing one step behind him, not so close as to be considered inappropriate, but close enough to convey a degree of familiarity between them, and suddenly Peter is too damn tired to care anymore.

 

Yes, he's had a crush on the hunter, but it's not like it matters anymore. After what transpired between him and Kate, he suspects that Chris won't ever look at him with anything other than disdain and scorn, tainted with a considerable amount of disgust - but that's fine, he can live with that.

 

After all, it's exactly what he deserves.

 

Chapter 36

Once people start to disperse after the service, Chris is a little surprised to receive an invitation from Talia to a smaller post-funeral gathering, for family and friends only.

 

"It's a custom among my people to hold a separate memorial service for those aware of our world," Talia explains. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she holds herself admirably, considering the circumstances.

 

"That makes sense," he nods. "Are you sure that you want me there, though? I know that I'm not exactly your favorite person, and after what my sister did, I wouldn't hold it against you if you'd rather I stayed away."

 

"Your family already paid their dues," she gives him a look, and he's uncomfortably reminded that it's the second funeral he's attended these past few days, Kate's body lying buried in the ground in a separate block a few yards away from where they're now standing. "Besides, without your timely intervention, neither myself nor my family would be alive today, so I'd say that you more than earned the invitation."

 

"Thank you, I'll be there," he promises, and she hands him a leaflet with the address of the venue before leaving - yet another reminder that the Hale house has burned to the ground. And even if they can afford to rent another place, they're essentially homeless, because staying at a hotel is far from having a real home, especially where werewolves are concerned. They're a pack without a den, and that must hurt like hell.

 

Deucalion comes closer and puts a hand on his back for a moment; the Alpha must have sensed a spike of pain and grief in his chemosignals, and Chris is deeply grateful for the unwavering support, even if he doesn't say it out loud. But then again, something tells him that he doesn't need to, and that Deucalion can tell exactly how much Chris appreciates his presence.

 

What started as a casual sex-and-comfort relationship has now evolved into a true friendship, and Chris isn't a man to throw around this word lightly. He has very few real friends, and those that he does have, he tends to guard and treasure with everything that he has.

 

That's why when leaving the graveyard he spots his father's car in the parking lot, he immediately stiffens. He darts a quick look around, but even though he can't spot him in the crowd, it doesn't mean that the old bastard isn't here somewhere… Gerard's one of the best hunters in the country, and if he doesn't want to be seen, then he won't be. 

 

"You sensed something. What is it?" Deucalion asks quietly, leaning in.

 

"My father's here, which means it's not safe for you to be around," he murmurs equally as quietly. "Just as Kate had it for the Hales, Gerard would love nothing more than to put your head on a pike. I think it'd be safer if you left Beacon Hills."

 

Deucalion considers his words for a few seconds. "I don't particularly enjoy the thought of running away with my tail between my legs just because your father is in town. Neither myself nor my pack have done anything to provoke him-"

 

"It doesn't matter," he interrupts impatiently. "Gerard isn't like you or me, he doesn't need an excuse for murder. He enjoys it, pure and simple, and if he can make his victims suffer before they die, that's even better. Please, Deucalion. It's enough that I need to worry about the Hales' safety; I don't want to add you to the list as well."

 

The Alpha's lips twitch with amusement, and his eyes are warm as he says: "It seems to me that you already did."

 

"That's why I'd feel better if you were as far away from my father as possible. I don't want to bury you, too," he adds, his throat clenched so tightly the words are barely audible.

 

Deucalion hears them, though, and squeezes his arm gently. "Alright, then, I'll give Talia my condolences and leave the town. You better call me on a regular basis, though, because if you think that you're the only person allowed to worry about others, you're sorely mistaken."

 

"I will, I promise."

 

Despite his foreknowledge, he's already failed to protect the Hales, and the twins paid the price. He'd be damned if he let even more people get hurt because of his hesitance or inaction.

 

***

 

It is a testament to how he had changed since his first life, that he feels entirely at ease at what is almost entirely a werewolf gathering. Even the sight of Ennis looming in the corner with a trademark scowl on his face gives him a sense of familiarity. He knows these people. Hell, he even likes most of them. How could he have ever thought of them as mere beasts that needed to be muzzled or caged, or even killed?... He shudders at the reminder of how blind he'd once been.

 

In order to distract himself from his gloomy thoughts, he joins Ennis in the corner, standing arm to arm with him so that they're both looking at the small crowd gathered in the room.

 

"I couldn't help but notice that Talia has been giving you the cold shoulder ever since you got here," he comments neutrally. 

 

The giant Alpha snorts. "That's probably because she didn't invite me… I came here for Laura, the girl needs all the support she can get, and I don't give a rat's arse how Talia feels about that."

 

Before Chris can reply, Laura crosses the room and approaches them with her eyebrow raised. "Talking about me behind my back, are you now? I didn't know that you two were friends. How did that happen?"

 

"I wouldn't go that far, since we don't know each other well enough to be friends, but we do have a certain… understanding." Chris thinks to himself idly that he's been spending too much time with Deucalion, as he even started to sound like him.

 

"Basically, we've agreed not to step on each other's toes. Works well for both of us," Ennis shrugs. "He's not that bad, for a hunter."

 

Laura shakes her head in amazement, and they all fall silent for a moment, trying to wrap their heads around the fact that the neat, easy divide between werewolves and hunters doesn't apply to their situation anymore - if it ever did.

 

Chris breaks the silence first. "Do you know where Derek is?" He tried to spot the teen in the room earlier, but he didn't have much of a success.

 

"He's outside. Derek doesn't like crowds much, unless he's on a basketball court," Laura says with a small smile, though there is an underlying worry to it. "Besides, I finally told him that I'm not staying in Beacon… He didn't take the news well," she admits.

 

"Girl, you need to do what's best for you," Ennis says gruffly. "Once your brother cools down, he'll understand it."

 

"I hope so."

 

Now that Chris has had the chance to observe how Ennis interacts with Laura, it's clear to him that there's some kind of a connection between those two, a fledgling bond that has the potential to grow with time into something substantial and long-lasting. It isn't what Chris would've ever imagined, but he's happy for them nevertheless; they both deserve to have someone in their lives who they can count on.

 

"I'm gonna talk to him, then, and see how he's doing." He gives the two werewolves a slight nod and goes outside.

 

After a few minutes of searching, he finds Derek in a small backyard behind the building, sitting on a crooked bench that has definitely seen better days. The place is almost entirely surrounded by bushes and trees that no one saw fit to trim, so they were allowed to grow rampant, obscuring the view almost entirely. 

 

He suspects that it's exactly the reason why Derek chose this place to begin with, a clear signal that the teen doesn't want to be disturbed. But sometimes what we want is not the same as what we need, and he has a feeling that with Derek's tendency to brood, being alone for a prolonged period of time might be of more harm than help.

 

Still, he doesn't want to force his presence on the boy, so he takes a few tentative steps and asks: "Would you mind if I joined you?"

 

Derek hesitates, then shifts on the bench, making room for Chris to sit on. 

 

"I hated it inside. It doesn't smell like home, and all these people… I know that they're my mom's friends, like Kali and Satomi, but-"

 

"They're not your friends," Chris says knowingly as he sits down.

 

"Yeah."

 

Derek stares ahead and starts picking the skin around his nails, which is already ragged and reddened. If it got to this point even with werewolf healing, it means that the teen must have been picking it repeatedly for quite some time now.

 

Chris takes the boy's hands in his, rubbing gently. He makes a note to himself to get Derek a stress ball or a tangle toy, they're supposed to help with the skin picking - well, in addition to talking about the root cause behind the habit, because it's an outward sign that the teen is stressed out or suffering from anxiety. 

 

"They'll heal, you know," Derek mumbles, but tightens his grip possessively when Chris starts to move his hands back.

 

"I'm less worried about your nails than I'm about how you're coping with… well, everything."

 

The boy huffs, then pulls away from him. "I'm a total fuck up, that's how. Do you know that even during the funeral I was thinking less about Alex and Emily and more about Cora…? How messed up is that?"

 

"It's not messed up at all. There's nothing you or anyone can do for the twins, so your mind focuses on the person whose situation is still uncertain: your sister. You're afraid that you're going to lose her too, and that is what causes you so much distress. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

 

"No one wants to give me any straight answer if she'll live or not," Derek complains, folding his arms on his chest defensively. "No one's telling me anything!"

 

"The doctors don't know what we know, they see her burns and wonder how she's still alive. But she's a werewolf, and if she's managed to pull through as long as she has, I doubt that her state is going to deteriorate."

 

Derek peers at him hopefully, his rebelliance stance fading away, revealing the vulnerable boy underneath. "So she's going to be alright?…"

 

He sighs, not wanting to make any promises that he can't keep, but also wanting to reassure the teen. "Listen, I've seen a werewolf who sustained even worse burns than Cora, and he fell into a coma just like her. It was a healing coma, though, and it took him six years to fully recover from his wounds, but eventually he did. So if I were to venture a guess, I'd say that she'll be okay, but we need to be patient. The healing process can take weeks, months… even years, it's hard to tell."

 

"Oh," Derek swallowed hard. "That's- that's awful, but definitely better than losing her, right?"

 

"It is. So don't waste your energy by worrying about what ifs, and save your strength for the long wait that is ahead of us, okay?"

 

"Okay," the teen nods vigorously, shooting him a grateful smile. Chris smiles back, then messes Derek's hair playfully, causing him to scowl. "Hey, don't mess up my hair!"

 

They'll be alright, Chris realizes. It's going to take some time, but they'll get there. And just as he thinks that things are starting to finally change for the better, he hears an angry shouting nearby, and he jumps to his feet, recognizing Talia's voice.

 

"How dare you show your face here?! The fire, my children's deaths, it's all your fault!"

 

For a split second he has this crazy thought that maybe Kate is still alive, but that's impossible, she's dead, Victoria has seen to it-

 

"Alex was my nephew and Emily was my niece, I have the right to mourn them, too!" He hears Peter's angry reply, and he runs towards the commotion, Derek hot on his heels.

 

"You lost that right the moment you led that woman to us! You're not welcome here, Peter. Leave, before I make you leave."

 

He comes to a stop at the sight of Talia and Peter facing each other, the Alpha's expression cold and unrelenting, while Peter's usually cocky, blasé mask finally starts to crack.

 

"You- You can't mean that… Whatever happened, we're still a pack, a family-" There's a shaky desperation in Peter's voice that Chris hadn't heard before, ever, in either life.

 

"We're not, not anymore. You're on your own now, just as you always wanted to be."

 

He hears Derek's gasp, but all that he can focus on is Peter's broken expression as the young werewolf clutches at his chest, the brilliant golden-yellow light of his eyes fading until it's barely there, a mere shadow of what it once was - an undeniable proof that Peter has just been cast out of the pack.

 

Notes:

Sorry guys, but I kept asking myself if Talia's relationship with Peter could be mended after the fire, and realized that it was more likely that she would blame him for what happened.

PS. It always seemed weird to me that Omegas have the same eye color as Betas, so I had this idea that the color might be the same, but the glow is much weaker for Omegas.

Chapter 37

Even though he's not a werewolf and it's not his packbond which has just been severed, Chris' ears are ringing in the sudden silence that follows Talia's statement. He watches as Peter's face crumbles and the young man takes one fumbling step back, then another, before turning around and running away in the general direction of the preserve.

 

Chris sighs. "That was uncalled for, Talia. Peter's as much of a victim as the rest of your family, if not more."

 

"It doesn't matter, the bottom line is that my brother is a threat to our safety, and my duty was to remove it. Besides, I don't recall asking for advice about how I should run my own pack, so my advice to you would be to tread carefully from now on," she replies coldly, then turns to her son. "Derek, come along, we're going back inside."

 

Chris sees how Derek winces and shuffles his feet uncertainly. He can imagine how difficult it is for the teen, to be forced to choose between his mother and Alpha, and his uncle and now ex-packmate. No one should be put in such a position, much less a teenage boy, who's been through so much already…

 

He puts his hand on Derek's nape and squeezes gently. "Go with your mother, I'll find Peter."

 

The boy bites his lower lip hesitantly. "Promise?"

 

"I'm a hunter; finding wayward werewolves is my specialty," he says with a crooked smile and is relieved to see Derek's lips twitching the tiniest bit. He presses their foreheads together for a split second and mutters: "It's alright, I've got this."

 

"Thank you," the boy whispers back, then joins Talia's side, though his hunched shoulders speak volumes that he's feeling uncomfortable about the whole situation.

 

And honestly? Chris can't even blame him. Talia's recent actions makes him wonder if it wouldn't have been better if she died in the fire. He knows that's harsh, maybe even cruel, but at least then the remaining Hales would rally together. Long-term, it would've been more beneficial for the kids to grieve their mother rather than to let her divide what's being left of their family.

 

He rubs his mouth with his palm, then pushes all those thoughts away. He has a hurting Omega to find.

 

***

 

Peter runs blindly, as if he could outrun the pain and despair in his heart. It feels as if his entire life he'd been standing on a frozen lake and Talia just dealt a massive blow to it, causing him to fall into this dark, freezing water… He's going under, and no one's there to grab his hand and pull him back to the surface.

 

He stops only when he smells ash and soot, and he realizes that subconsciously he ran to the place he once called home; the building's burned remains look like a charred skeleton that no one saw fit to bury. Falling to his knees on what once was a front porch, he caresses the soot with his fingertips, almost expecting it to be hot still, but it's death-cold, instead.

 

Like him.

 

"Peter."

 

He startles and stands up on trembling legs. "Argent, what- What are you doing here?" 

 

The man slowly crosses the space between them with his hands raised. "I was looking for you."

 

"Well, you've found me, and I'm fine, so you can piss off. I don't need you or anyone else to pretend to care when it's crystal clear that I'm on my own, now." 

 

"That's not true," the man protests. "Don't project Talia's grudge onto the rest of your family - they still care about you. I know for sure that Derek does, at the very least."

 

There's a bitter taste in his mouth as he scoffs. "Well, if he really cared, he'd be here instead of you, wouldn't he?"

 

"It's not fair to expect a teenage boy to go against his mother and Alpha-"

 

Argent's words make him see red, and he bares his teeth in a vicious snarl. "But it's fair that I've been thrown out of the pack like garbage and left alone to lick my wounds, is that what you're saying?! Fuck. You!"

 

He lunges at the hunter, so angry that he feels like he might burst. His first strike hits the mark and his claws make a long gash across the man's torso. However, just as he takes a swing to hit again, Argent ducks with an impressive speed - for a human, at least - then kicks the legs from under him.

 

Peter hits the ground with a loud thud, but before he can react, he's shoved to his stomach, a knee pressing painfully into his kidney while two strong arms keep him completely immobile. Pine needles dig into his cheek as he shudders at the terrible realization that he's utterly vulnerable and at the mercy of the man who has more than one reason to seek revenge on him. Argent could do anything to him, now, and no one would stop him…

 

As if that's the final blow that finally breaks him, he starts gasping and shaking, his breathing laboured. He can't suppress it anymore, it's all too much, he's completely alone and it fucking hurts, everything hurts and he just wants it to stop– 

 

When the bruising grip on his arms disappears, he curls on the ground into a ball with his eyes closed tightly, too ashamed of his weakness to face the hunter, or the rest of the world for that matter. The tears that roll down his cheeks burn his skin almost as much as the fire that destroyed his family's house; maybe even more.

 

He shudders when he feels a feather-like touch on his back. 

 

"Go away," he sniffles miserably. "I want to be alone."

 

"Do you really?"

 

"... No," he mumbles, a new wave of tears wetting his already damp cheeks. "But I don't want your pity, I know that you hate me, that you find me disgusting-"

 

Argent doesn't reply, but there's a faint rustling as the man lies down right behind him, pressing his chest into Peter's back, their legs brushing slightly. He stiffens, not knowing what to expect from the man.

 

"Can you hear my heartbeat?" Argent asks, his breath warming the skin on the back of Peter's neck.

 

He nods, because he can not only hear it, he can actually feel it where their bodies touch, the soft but steady thud-thud-thud that distracts him from the gaping hole in his soul where his packbond used to be.

 

"Then listen to it carefully as I'm saying this: I don't hate you, and I could never find you disgusting."

 

The calming rhythm of thud-thud-thud never changes and he exhales shakily, his body relaxing the tiniest bit. "But you don't like me either, do you?"

 

"It's not that simple," Argent hesitates for a moment. "I don't appreciate how you've been acting ever since we met, but it doesn't mean that I couldn't grow to like you at some point in the future."

 

"Once I stop acting like a prick, you mean?" He asks in a rare bout of self-criticism, and it draws a startled laugh out of the man.

 

"You've said it, but- essentially, yes. You have the potential to be brilliant, Peter, but if you don't work on yourself, that potential is going to be wasted. And I really don't want that to happen."

 

Peter is glad that they're not facing each other, as his face feels hot at the compliment. No one's ever told him that he's brilliant… Well, in all honesty, some people have, but only as flattery or as a means to an end, if they wanted something from him - but never with this kind of solemn sincerity.

 

Coming from Chris' lips, it never sounded truer, and he finds himself believing the man.

 

Chapter 38

As he's walking by his mother's side, Derek's every instinct screams at him that what she did was awfully, horribly wrong. Even though their pack has suffered a lot, throwing Peter out was not the answer, and it only made things worse. What they should be doing is to stand strong and united as a pack, but his mom's actions divided them even more. It will send an entirely wrong message to all those who would wish them harm; even he understands this, and he's only a Beta and a teenager at that. So why doesn't his mother see this?

 

Besides, his uncle might be an asshole at times, and a smug, arrogant bastard the rest of the time, but he's family. They belong together - or they did. But now that Peter's packbond is broken, there's no way that he'll come back home, even if Talia apologizes for what she did. Peter's too proud to ever go back to the place where he was made to feel unwelcome, and Derek can't even blame him. He wouldn't go back either, if he was in his uncle's position.

 

His only consolation is that Chris is going to find and take care of Peter. Derek might not know many things, but he knows in his heart that he can trust the hunter with his and his family's lives. The wolf in him feels safe and protected in the man's presence, even more so than in Talia's, and that says a lot. He wishes that Chris was an Alpha werewolf, then he could choose to follow his instincts and join the older man's pack. But as long as Chris is human, there's nothing that Derek can do besides staying by his mother's side and keeping his fingers crossed that at some point she'll finally see reason… He only hopes that it'll happen before it's too late.

 

Before they enter the building, Talia stops him and turns so that they're now facing each other. He fights an urge to fidget.

 

"I know that you feel sympathy for your uncle, but I did what I had to do," she explains. "It will take some time, but without him we can only grow stronger."

 

He shakes his head. "But there's so few of us left! Laura is leaving with Ennis, Cora is still in coma, and I can't be your only Beta. We need more people to make this work. Are you going to give the bite to someone?"

 

"It's too early to say," she says smoothly, then adds: "How about you talk to your sister and try to convince her not to abandon her family for an Alpha she barely knows? She'll listen to you even if she doesn't want to talk with me."

 

"I don't know, mom, she seems happy with her choices," he mumbles, but Talia ignores his protests and ushers him inside, then gives him a firm push in Laura's direction. He doesn't have much choice but to follow the order, even though he hates it.

 

It takes him a moment to understand why it bothers him so much, but when he does, the realization makes his mouth taste bitter. Talia is ready to use his bond with his sister as a bargaining point to get what she wants, even though it clearly goes against Laura's wishes and makes Derek uncomfortable.

 

When did their mother change so much that she's willing to disregard their feelings on the matter? When did the end start to justify the means in their family?...

 

Taking a deep breath, he straightens and crosses the room to join Laura and Ennis, but not for the purpose his mother had in mind.

 

***

 

Laura brightens when she sees Derek walking up to them, but something on his face makes her frown with worry. 

 

"Hey, what is it, did something happen?" 

 

"Let's get out of here, I need to talk with you, both of you," he whispers urgently, then leads them outside, out of the hearing range. "Mother thinks that I should convince you to stay in Beacon Hills, but I want you to do exactly the opposite. You need to stay away from here, okay?" The bitter twist of Derek's mouth looks wrong on him. She's never seen him this… jaded, before, and her frown deepens even more.

 

"But, why? I mean, is this anger talking? Are you mad at me that I wasn't there when the fire happened, or-"

 

"What? No, of course not!" He assures her, and she exhales in relief. "No, what I mean is that there's something seriously wrong going on with mom, and I don't want you to be dragged into this when you have a way out."

 

"Wrong? What do you mean?" She asks worriedly.

 

"Well, for starters, she threw uncle out of the pack. Didn't you feel the echo of their bond breaking?"

 

That stuns her into silence, and for a few seconds she can only stare at him with incomprehension. "She did what… ?! Where's Peter, is he alright? Why didn't I sense this?"

 

Ennis’ strong but gentle hand settles on her shoulder, grounding her, and she looks up at the man, hoping that he has some answers.

 

“I already suspected this when you didn’t feel anything when the fire happened," he admits, and the steady rumble of his voice gives her hope. She likes how collected he always is, as if nothing could throw him off-balance. "You no longer consider Talia your Alpha, so you can’t feel either her or any of her packbonds anymore.”

 

"Am I- am I an Omega, now?" She stutters. In her family home, Omegas were rarely mentioned, and on those few occasions it happened, she got the feeling that they are treated by packs as pariahs or even worse, lepers, as if someone could become one by being in close proximity to them. Which is ridiculous, now that she thinks about it, but when she was younger she never really questioned it.

 

What else did she accept at face value, she wonders, just because it was drilled into her at an early age and she simply didn't know any better?...

 

"You're in transition between two packs, two Alphas, but yeah, that's close enough to being an Omega," Ennis explains. "It's temporary, though, so you needn't worry."

 

She doesn't really know what to think about it, that her wolf instincts have been driving her life before she even made a conscious decision to join Ennis' pack permanently. But maybe this is what this transition period is all about, to give her time to fully accept what the animal part of her already knows: that Ennis is the one she trusts the most. She doesn't mind that, to be honest, she just wishes that she has more control of her life and be the one deciding when and where all these changes happen.

 

She shakes herself out of it. Now is not the time to dwell on this, there are more important things at stake here, and she turns to Derek.

 

"You said that Peter has been thrown out of mom's pack. Where is he? Is he doing alright?"

 

His shoulders dropped. "He was really devastated, and then he ran away… Chris went to look for him, though, so they're gonna be fine."

 

She blinks, surprised. She doesn't really get the blind trust and devotion her little brother feels for this hunter who's practically a stranger to them. It's started to show even before she left Beacon Hills, and from the sound of it, things progressed even more from there.

 

"Why do you trust him so much? He's not some miracle worker, he's just a human, and a hunter at that."

 

Derek hesitates, before he admits: "I know you think that I'm young and naive, and maybe I am all that, but it's not only the human part of me that trusts him, it's the wolf too. Chris feels like a packmate, like… an Alpha."

 

"But that's impossible-"

 

He straightens, a hint of steel showing in his eyes. "You found your Alpha in Ennis, and I accepted that. Why can't you accept it when I'm telling you that it's the same for me and Chris?"

 

She opens her mouth to try to knock some sense into him, but Ennis squeezes her arm warningly and shakes his head.

 

"The boy feels what he feels," he says with a shrug, as if there wasn't anything unusual about that. "How about we find your uncle, and see for ourselves if your brother's trust in the hunter isn't unfounded?"

 

The suggestion is so sound, logical, and pragmatic to the boot, that she almost scoffs, it's so very like Ennis. She doesn't, though, because it's actually quite a good plan, and she finds herself nodding along and going with it.

 

Chapter 39

They manage to find Peter and Argent quite easily by following their scents. Laura is quite startled to realize where the trail leads them, as she hasn't been to her former house since returning to Beacon Hills. First, the police had it surrounded with tape and marked as a crime scene for the duration of the investigation. But when the huntress who had started the fire commited suicide and the police closed the case, Laura still couldn't bring herself to go there.

 

The fact that Peter's feet led him here when he was distraught says a lot about her uncle's attachment to the place, and she wishes that her mother could see it… But it's too late for that now.

 

Approaching the two men, she gapes at the long streak of blood staining Argent's shirt. "Whoa- what happened to you?"

 

"Peter's broken packbond made him feral for a while, but don't worry, the wound's quite shallow and looks worse than it really is," the man shrugs. "I'm more concerned with all the germs underneath his claws; I need to clean the gash or it'll get infected."

 

"Are you casting aspersions on my higiene?" Peter huffs, looking affronted, but his chemosignals tell an entire different story.

 

"You might want to take an example of Kali and give those claws of yours a thorough wash, though full manicure might be a bit overkill," Argent deadpans. Peter ducks his head, hiding a small smile, and even Ennis barks a laugh at the comment.

 

Laura doesn't get it. She expected his uncle to be grief-stricken, maybe even devastated by the turn of events, and she doesn't understand how he can act so… comfortable in his skin, as if he actually felt better being an Omega.

 

She shakes her head at him. "You were just thrown out of the pack, how can you be so calm about it?"

 

"It's just temporary setback. I'll get back on my feet soon enough," he says with his nose stuck up in the air; a standard Peter response.

 

"I shouldn't have worried, then," she mutters stiffly, feeling stupid about being so concerned about him in the first place. "What's your plan, are you going to find yourself a new pack, or–”

 

"I'm still figuring it out," her uncle answers noncommittally, then his eyes soften a bit. "Your concern - I really appreciate it. If Chris didn't get to me sooner, you'd see me in a much worse state than I am now."

 

She darts a quick look between them. “I thought that after you accused him of taking advantage of you–”

 

“That’s between Peter and I, no one else,” the hunter interrupts her sharply, leaving no room for discussion, and she finds herself closing her mouth, startled. If he was a werewolf, she would be baring her throat to him, and she has to suppress the instinctual reaction, reminding herself that he's not a werewolf, much less an Alpha. Derek's earlier comments about Argent must've really gotten into her head...

 

“I'm sorry,” she murmurs, instead, her cheeks pinking slightly in embarrassment.

 

“Apology accepted.”

 

The awkward silence that follows is broken by Ennis clearing his throat. “Since it looks like the crisis has been averted, should we head back?”

 

She shakes her head. “I don't think I'd be able to stomach any more mingling, to be honest… Most of the guests weren't even close with the twins, anyway.” With all those foreign packs representatives the whole gathering seemed more like a social event than a memorial, and the thought of going back and chatting with strangers makes her feel nauseous. 

 

What she wants more than anything is to curl on the old couch in their living room, surrounded by the joint scents of all of her siblings, but there's no couch and no living room to go back to; all that she's left with are memories, which she suspects will soon start to fade too. But if she can't have her family back, then there's not much point in staying in Beacon Hills for even a minute longer; if she stayed, it'd only hurt more.

 

Her scent must have given her state of mind away, as Ennis puts a hand on her shoulder, his brows drawn together in concern. “Tell me what you need to feel better.”

 

Her lips twitch in a sad, bitter smile. “I want the fire to never have happened, but it's impossible to turn back time, so… Going back to San Bernardino is the second best thing.”

 

She doesn't know why, but her words make Argent snap his head in her direction. For a moment the man hesitates, his scent filled with so many warring emotions she has a hard time unraveling them all, before his expression clears as if it never happened. But he's still somber, almost grave, as he says: “Before you go, there's something - or someone, to be more precise - that I need to warn you two about…”

 

“You mean, your father?” Seeing the shocked expression on Argent's face, Ennis lets out a short chuckle. “Don't look so surprised, Gerard is an old, well-known enemy, and with his daughter dead… He'll be out for blood, that's for sure.”

 

Laura shouldn't be surprised that Ennis is three steps ahead of her - he's the Alpha, after all - but for some reason she is. Maybe it's his reputation of a mindless, violent brute, but after spending the past few weeks in his presence, she should've known better than to still think that. She knows for a fact that there's more to him than meets the eye, that there's a sharp intelligence beneath all those muscles, so she uses the opportunity to listen and learn when Ennis starts to talk with Argent about werewolves-hunters politics.

 

***

 

There's still a gap in Peter's mindscape where the Alpha-Beta bond used to be, but it doesn't feel like a black hole that wants to swallow him whole, anymore. He'll get through it, he swears to himself, even if he has to do it by sheer persistence. After all, he's always been nothing but stubborn, so it's only fair that for once in his life this particular trait of his is going to help him rather than get in the way.

 

When it's time to say goodbye to Laura, he hesitates, because out of all his nieces and nephews, she was the one he clashed with in the past the most. She has always been his rival, the one who received most of Talia's praise and attention, and he hated that. But now, with both of them away from Talia's overbearing shadow, he doesn't know how to interact with her. She's not a rival anymore, and not a packmate either. She's just… family.

 

She must sense some of that, as she pulls him into a short, tight hug, which is over before he can start feeling embarrassed by it.

 

“Don't be a stranger, I'll be less than two hours away from Beacon Hills, so you can always come visit,” she offers, and he tries to act as if he still has places to be, rather than being left aimless and without a pack to call his own.

 

“I'll think about it, but thank you for the offer.” She turns around and starts to walk away when he calls after her, causing her to look above her shoulder at him. “Laura, what I said about you not being here when the fire happened- You're much better company being alive than dead, you know. Better keep it that way.”

 

She lets out a surprised laugh, then grins widely and gives him a cheerful wave, which on principle he refuses to return. Even though his fingers do twitch a little.

 

Chapter 40

When Chris drives back home, he feels more tired than if he ran a mountain marathon - with weights. The only thing on his mind is giving Allison a tight hug, taking a scaldingly hot shower, then burying himself under the duvet for at least ten hours straight, hopefully even twelve. It quickly turns out to be wishful thinking, though, as he spots his father's car parked in front of the house, so he pushes his exhaustion and the stress of the whole day - hell, of the past few weeks - and steels himself to face the man.

 

As he crosses the front yard, the front door opens with a bang and Gerard exits the house in a hurry, then stops abruptly at the sight of him.

 

“You!” The man bellows, pointing a finger at him. “It's all your fault! I've always known that you're a wuss and a coward, but betraying your own sister like that, this is a new low, even for you!” 

 

“And you're making a scene in public,” he retorts without missing a beat. “We're in the spotlight already because of Kate's actions, so try not to make things even worse.”

 

“I’m the one who's making things worse? You whelp, if you've just let those wolves burn-”

 

At that moment Victoria emerges from the house; her voice, even though it's not particularly loud, resounds through the air like the crack of a whip. “That's enough! Gerard, I've already given you a recounting of the events that led to this, but if you're unhappy with my decisions, make a petition to the Board. I won't hear another word from you on this, especially in the open.”

 

Chris tenses at the mention of the Board of Matriarchs, an advisory body that also serves as a semi-official judicial authority whenever there's a conflict between hunters. They don't much care about dealings with werewolves, but they have been known to get involved in internal conflicts such as these.

 

“This isn't over,” Gerard hisses threateningly, then leaves in a huff, jostling past Chris and purposefully hitting him with his shoulder, despite the fact that the path was wide enough that he could've easily avoided bumping into one another. Too bad for him that Chris is above getting riled up by such juvenile actions.

 

“He's going to be a problem,” he mutters to Victoria and she gives him a tired nod, her face troubled, even more so than when she had to arrange Kate's death.

 

The memory of that still leaves him unsettled. He doesn't know if he would've been able to do what Victoria did - give Kate a mild sedative that wouldn't appear in a standard tox screen, then slash her wrists and let her bleed out. But he did nothing to stop that from happening, which makes him as involved and responsible as if he held the knife himself. But the worst part is that he doesn't feel guilty for assuming such a passive stance while his sister's fate was being decided; he actually feels more guilty for not feeling guilty, if it makes any sense. Does it make him a monster? He's not sure. He doesn't feel like a monster, but no one is a villain in their own story.

 

When he enters the house, he spots Allison sitting at the top of the stairs, a plush teddy bear tucked in the crook of her arm.

 

“Is grandpa coming back?” She asks in a small voice, and he joins her, sitting one stair below her so that their eyes are more or less on the same level.

 

“Not anytime soon, sweetheart. Are you going to miss him?”

 

She shakes her head, her pigtail swaying back and forth at the motion. “He’s scary, and you're angry every time he visits,” she ducks her head, so he gathers her into a hug.

 

“I'm sorry. Your grandpa and I don't always see eye to eye, and we disagree on many things, but I promise that I'm not angry with you. Never with you,” he continues to hold his little girl, making slight swaying motions to ease her anxiety.

 

Victoria watches them for a few moments, but doesn't join them, and that more than anything brings the truth home that they're no longer together. They might still be married, but only on paper, as he can't muster any warmer feelings towards her aside from the respect that she more than earned, especially in the past few days. But respect does not equal love or even friendship, and he finds himself thinking about all the people that he's grown close to in this life: Deucalion, Derek, and - tentatively - also Peter. 

 

He takes a shaky breath as he realizes that he's grown roots in this timeline, and that he no longer feels alienated and out of place. This is his life, right here and now, and he has to live it as if there's no going back.

 

Truth be told, he wouldn't even want to go back.

 

***

 

The next day, Victoria goes back to San Francisco, but not before he promises to call her immediately if Gerard or one of his sidekicks starts stirring trouble. He feels more at ease knowing that she's his ally, at least in this. Knowing first-handedly how dangerous his father can be, he's glad that Victoria will have his back if he's forced to defend himself - or other people - against Gerard's wrath.

 

He's driving home after dropping Allison at school when his phone rings, and he picks up immediately. “Hi Melissa, is everything alright?”

 

In his imagination, Gerard is standing behind her, pressing the barrel of a gun to her temple, and he hopes that it's just his paranoia playing tricks with his mind. 

 

“Hey, I know that it's not the best time to ask you this, especially with everything that's been happening recently, but Scott gets his cast removed today, and he's been asking about you a lot–”

 

He relaxes, knowing that they are safe, but at the same time feels guilty at neglecting Scott. “I'll be there,” he assures her before she even gets a chance to ask. 

 

“Are you sure it won't be a bother?”

 

“Absolutely. And I'm sorry that I've not been around lately, when I promised that I'd help you with stuff.”

 

“You have a lot on your plate, I get it, and so does Scott. He was really worried for you, you know.”

 

His smiles fondly; that's quintessential Scott behavior, to be worried about others, even though he's just a boy and Chris is an adult. “He's a great kid. I'm sure that he gets that kindness and compassion from you.”

 

“Um, well, I'm trying my best…” She stammers, and it saddens him that she's not used to being complimented. She's still in that single-mother mode as she was when he first met her, a lifetime ago: too focused on providing for her son to think about herself.

 

“You're doing a great job raising him,” he repeats, hoping to drive the point home. “Anyway, how about we meet in the hospital?”

 

“The appointment is at twelve,” she says, then adds softly: “Thank you. It will mean a lot to Scott if you're there.”

 

“Of course. See you later, then.”

 

***

 

When he arrives, he spots Scott sitting on the hospital bench, shoulders hunched, fingers fumbling nervously with the hem of his t-shirt. When the boy looks up and sees him, his face brightens.

 

“Mr Chris, you're here!”

 

“Today's a big day, I wouldn't miss it for anything,” he says earnestly, then gathers Scott into a hug, which the boy eagerly returns. 

 

Melissa watches them from her seat and she gives him a curt nod, but doesn't say anything. He can't help but notice that she's somewhat absentminded and preoccupied with her thoughts, but he doesn't call her out on it and focuses on Scott, instead.

 

“How are you feeling? Excited? Nervous?”

 

“Both,” the boy admits. “Mom said that the doctor will use a sow and that it won't hurt, but what if his hand slips?”

 

“It's the vibrations that cause the cast to break apart, not the blade itself. It might even tickle,” he says conspiratorially, giving Scott a playful wink which make the boy giggle.

 

“Really?”

 

“Really. But tell you what, how about we have a big ice cream afterwards as a reward?”

 

Scott bites his lower lip. “Mom says that I shouldn't eat ice cream before lunch,” he says dejectedly, sending Melissa a masterful puppy-eyes look, which causes her resolve to melt as if it was never there.

 

“Just this once,” she allows, and Scott cries out with joy.

 

“Yay!”

 

Chris can't help himself, he runs a hand through the boy's soft hair, then kisses the top of his head, feeling a surge of parental love that he'd normally associate with Allison. 

 

All the while, Melissa observes him mutely, and he can't help but feel as if she's assessing his worth. For what purpose exactly, he can't tell, but he makes a mental note to himself to ask her about it once they have a chance to be alone. He only hopes that she doesn't develop feelings for him, as they'd already tried that (even though this version of her can't know it), only to realize that they're much better friends than lovers. He'd rather avoid their awkward dating this time around, and instead prove to her that she can count on him in every other aspect - just not this.

 

Chapter 41

Overall, Scott behaves quite well during the cast removal, but when it comes off, the boy makes a disgusted face at the smell.

 

“Ughh, yuck!”

 

Chris ruffles his hair playfully. “Don't worry, kiddo, the smell will wear off once you wash it with water and soap. And even if some of it lingers, you can rub some baking soda on your skin and it will absorb the smell.”

 

“But isn't baking soda for baking… ?” Scott looks at him dubiously, and he chuckles.

 

“It has more than just one use. Ask your mom if you don't believe me.”

 

“Mr Argent is right, sweetie,” Melissa stands up and grabs her bag. “Let's go, washing up is in order, you can use a shower in one of the unused rooms.”

 

There are perks of having a nurse for a mother, even if it's just taking advantage of the hospital facilities, Chris muses with amusement as he waits for them in the hall. Half an hour later, after eating a humongous bowl of ice cream, Scott is so hyperactive that he actually resembles Stiles at his worst ADHD times, so they take him to the playground so that he can sweat the sugar rush off.

 

“Just be careful, it's only your first day after the cast is off, you better not be breaking any more bones,” Melissa warns her son, which earns her an exasperated sigh.

 

“Don't be a spoilsport, mom, I'll be fine!” Before she can react, Scott turns on his heel and climbs on the swing.

 

Seeing Melissa's disgruntled expression, Chris gives her a lopsided smile. “One of the charms of being a parent is seeing your child grow enough to talk back to you… If they were always being perfectly polite to you would mean that you're doing it all wrong.”

 

She snorts in response. “I don't know, polite behavior sounds like a parent's Holy Grail.”

 

He can't help but disagree with her; he remembers how stiffly and officially Isaac had been acting around him in his previous life, until they got to know each other better. Only then, once they actually grew to be comfortable around one another, was he allowed to see Isaac's true self, including the teen's blunt, sarcastic personality.

 

“You'd think so, until you realize that it takes a fair amount of trust to speak freely to a parent without the fear of punishment,” he says softly, shaking himself out of his musings. 

 

She hums thoughtfully. “You're speaking from experience.”

 

He nods but doesn't continue the topic, and for a few moments they're just standing like that, watching over Scott. Then, Chris spots Derek hovering at the edge of the playground, looking uncertain if he should approach them, so he beckons the teen over.

 

“Hello Mrs McCall, hi Mr Argent,” Derek says awkwardly as he joggs up to them.

 

“Hi Derek, how are you doing?” Melissa greets back, having become somewhat familiar with the Hales after their stay in the hospital, and Chris thinks to himself that he wouldn't mind it if his human and supernatural circles merged, so that he wouldn't need to divide his time between them. And wouldn't it be great if they could all spend time together?....

 

“Good, more or less,” Derek shrugs at the question. “Cora still hasn't woken up, has she?”

 

Melissa shakes her head apologetically. “Last time I checked, no. But don't fret, the hospital will inform your mother the moment Cora's state changes.”

 

Derek nods jerkily, then shuffles his feet, so Chris places a calming hand on the back of his neck; once their skin makes a contact, the teen immediately settles down, the worry lines on his face smoothing out. Seeing that kind of an immediate, instinctual response to his touch makes him immensely pleased, but also curious how much of it is a human, and how much a werewolf's reaction.

 

“Remember that you need to take care of yourself, too,” Chris reminds the teem, then squeezes his nape one last time, before taking his hand back. “How's school, anyone bothering you or giving you a hard time? Because if they are–”

 

“You'll set them straight, I know,” the young werewolf finishes the sentence with an eye roll. “Actually, it's the other way around, everyone is giving me a wide berth, as if having a killer after me and my family was contagious.”

 

Hearing this, Chris finally understands what is the problem. This Derek isn't like his older counterpart - used to solitude, preferring it even. This teenage Derek is still very much a social animal, used to being around people, and being ostracized at school, not to mention with his house being almost empty, he must be feeling lonely.

 

“I'm sure that it's only temporary, give it some time and your friends at school will come around,” he reassures the teen. “What about Paige, how are things on that front, all good?”

 

Derek blushes and ducks his head. “Yeah, she's been great, actually.”

 

It's a real shame that Chris doesn't get the chance to tease him about it, as Derek twirls around just a split second before a small body barges into him. The werewolf catches Scott in time, keeping him from falling down, while Melissa scolds her son.

 

“What did I tell you about running around, young man? Apologize to Derek at once.”

 

“Sorry,” Scott mumbles, then peers curiously at the older boy. “Is Mr Chris your dad?”

 

“What?... No, he's not my dad,” Derek shakes his head, baffled by the question.

 

“So he's your uncle?”

 

Derek hesitates. “Um, no, not exactly–”

 

Seeing that this line of questioning is making him uncomfortable, Chris decides to intervene. He crouches down so that he's on the same eye level as Scott, effectively drawing the boy's attention. “How about you learn a new word today, hm? I'm Derek's mentor.”

 

“Met- Mentor?” Scott stumbles over the word, then repeats it, correctly this time.

 

“That's right. A mentor is someone who guides and gives advice to someone younger or less experienced than them. So it's not quite a parent, but closer than a teacher. Do you understand the difference?”

 

Scott thinks for a moment, then gives him a slow nod. “But if you're not his dad, does it mean that you can be mine?”

 

Chris hears Melissa's shocked gasp, but at the moment he doesn't care. All he can see are Scott's wide, vulnerable eyes, watching his reaction without blinking, the earlier sugar rush long forgotten. And Chris has an awful suspicion what this sudden stillness means: that the boy prepares himself to be rejected, to hear excuses and empty platitudes.

 

“Not officially, as that would require me to marry your mom, and I can't do that. But just between us, I'd love nothing more than to be your dad,” he says firmly, never breaking eye contact with Scott. “And I'm going to be as much present in your life as your mom allows it, for as long as you want me to.”

 

“Promise?” The boy whispers, his lower lip wobbling, so Chris gathers him into a hug, gently rubbing the trembling back with his palm.

 

“I promise.”

 

He knows that it's not that simple, that he will have to speak about this with Allison, and also that the final word ultimately belongs to Melissa, but it isn't the time for listing all the obstacles and stipulations. Right here and now, Scott needs to know that he won't be abandoned again, to feel that he's wanted, and denying him that is the last thing on Chris’ mind.

 

***

 

Peter watches the impromptu gathering from afar, feeling no small amount of envy, and a tinge of what might be sadness. It looks that - following Laura's example - his nephew has started to form connections outside of their family, and he has the feeling that in the long run it could only be beneficial for Derek. But be that as it may, it makes his own position all the more pitiful, since he doesn't feel like he belongs anywhere or with anyone; no matter what he does, he has this sense of disconnect, as if a glass wall separated him from the rest of the world.

 

Even while watching Chris Argent, he can't help realize how different they are. The man is fiercely protective, and caring to a fault, even for kids that are not his own. Peter doesn't get it; he considers most children annoying, sniveling brats, with some very rare exceptions. (He recalls giving the twins piggyback rides when no one else was watching, wishing he could go back to those times, then scolds himself for being so maudlin.) But exceptions or not, settling down like some housewife with a bunch of kids running around is definitely not his life's dream.

 

But what is his life's dream? That question is much harder to answer than what he doesn't want it to be, which makes him think that maybe what he needs is a start over, a chance to finally figure out who he is and what he wants from life without any external pressure. At least if he's alone, he can't fail to meet anyone's expectations but his own, so maybe being cast out of the pack isn't such a tragedy that other werewolves painted it to be? He can certainly see the advantages of being his own master, like not having to cater to any Alpha's whims. He can go wherever he wants to, and do whatever strikes his fancy at the moment, and the realization is exhilarating.

 

Not caring if anyone is watching him or not, he straightens his back and holds his chin up high, then turns around and walks away. 

 

Chapter 42

Ever since that first beating, Camden has been walking around the house on his tiptoes - figuratively and literally - hoping not to catch his father's attention, whose patience seemed to be nonexistent these days. Most of the time it works just fine, but the effort he has to put into being nearly invisible makes him feel wrung out, and he's almost permanently on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

 

On Friday, as he comes back from school, his hopes for a quiet and relatively peaceful afternoon are dashed the moment he opens the door and hears his father's angry screams coming from the upstairs. 

 

“Why are you always scribbling and doodling like some girl, instead of going out and playing sports like other boys? Now watch what I'm going to do with your girly pencils–” there's a loud crash as if something was thrown and hit the wall. “I'm not going to have a bloody pansy in my house, do you hear me?! And stop sniveling already, for fucks sake, or I'll give you a real reason to cry!”

 

Camden can hear Isaac's crying, and he can't stand it. It's one thing when their father targets him - he's almost a grown up, he can take it - but Isaac's just a kid, he's not even ten, he shouldn't be a victim of their father's erratic moods and short temper. It's all wrong, and he can't just stand here and do nothing…

 

He runs upstairs, heart beating furiously in his chest. His mouth is dry from fear, but he clenches his jaw in defiance as he goes to his brother's room.

 

“Let him go!” He demands, seeing that his father has grabbed Isaac and raised his arm to hit.

 

The man turns to him with an ugly grimace on his face. “What did you just say?”

 

“I said, let him go,” he repeats brazenly, even though his knees are trembling. “Isaac didn't do anything wrong!”

 

“You insolent whelp, you think that you can tell me what I can or can't do, when both of you are living under my roof?!”

 

When the hits come, he just curls into a small ball but doesn't try to defend himself, knowing that as long as their father's ire is directed at him, Isaac remains safe. Only once a particularly vicious punch to his side makes him cough up blood, does his father finally stop. For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are Isaac's sniffling and his own ragged breathing.

 

“It's all your fault, you provoked me,” the man finally says. “Say it!”

 

“It's my fault,” he repeats dutifully, though it causes his ribs to flare up in pain. 

 

“That's right. Now go and clean yourself up,” his father orders, then leaves the room, his heavy footsteps echoing through the house as he walks down the stairs, then puts the TV on.

 

Camden feels as if he's been punched in the stomach. How can his father watch some stupid match or sitcom after– after everything? He takes a shallow breath, trying to get a grip on himself, when he spots Isaac sitting curled in the corner, face covered in tears and snot. 

 

“Hey, squirt,” he forces himself to smile, though it must look rather bleak. “Don't worry about me, I'm a tough guy.”

 

“B-but it looked awful,” Isaac stammers.

 

“Give me a day or two and I'm gonna be right as a rain,” he promises, even though he has to bite back a groan as he drags his feet to the bathroom. After he rinses his bloodied mouth with water, he inspects the bruising on his body. He suspects that he might have a cracked rib, but it's just a guess, as he has no way to know for sure.

 

He grabs an almost emptied jar of bruise salve he got from that Argent guy, and even though there's not much of it left, it's still better than nothing. Simply inhaling the fresh, herbal scent makes him relax the tiniest bit, and when he puts the goo on his torso, it feels pleasantly cool and soothes the reddened area which has already started to swell. He suspects that he might need to put some ice on it, but at the moment he'd rather withstand the pain than face his father.

 

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea that he quit the swimming team, he thinks idly to himself, even though he didn't have much choice in the matter, as Argent basically demanded it. At least that way it's easier to hide the bruises, and he can't imagine having to take his clothes off in front of others. Plus, it makes it easier for him to avoid his father at school; he only wishes he has the same luxury at home.

 

***

 

Isaac isn't stupid. He knows what Camden did for him, and he feels as guilty as he's grateful to his brother for distracting their father. But since it's his fault that Camden got hurt in the first place, he's determined to help him, even though he has no idea how.

 

After a few hours he overhears muffled groans coming from his brother's room, and he hesitates before knocking on the door and peering inside.

 

“Are you okay?” He blurts out, instantly regretting it; of course Camden isn't alright, it's a stupid thing to ask. “Can I help?”

 

Camden grimaces, his face flushed. “Unless you have some ice bags or painkillers stashed in your room, no you can't.”

 

He bites his lower lip, then gathers his resolve and quietly tiptoes downstairs. The medicine is in the upper cupboard in the kitchen, he's not tall enough to reach it, but maybe if he grabs a stool– 

 

“What are you doing?” His father asks sternly as he sees him, and Isaac freezes for a second.

 

“Um, I wanted to get some pills and ice bags for Camden. Please? He's not feeling well,” he says in a small voice.

 

“Serves him right, maybe next time he'll think twice before he talks back to me,” his father grumbles, before he sighs. “Very well, grab some ice from the freezer, and I'll get you some painkillers that you can give him. Just warn him that it's all he's gonna get, so he better not take it all in one go.”

 

“I will,” he nods quickly, happy that their dad doesn't entirely hate them. He urges to hug him, but the next words stop him in his tracks. 

 

“And Isaac… No more doodling, understood?” 

 

He shrinks in himself, before mumbling: “Yes, dad.”

 

Not wanting to anger his father any more than he already did, he busies himself with the ice, then grabs the meds and escapes upstairs.

 

***

 

Camden spends the weekend at home, resting, and by Sunday evening most of the swelling on his torso is already gone. As long as he's careful, not coughing or making any sudden moves, his pain is on a more or less manageable level. He's out of painkillers and the bruise salve, though, so he tries to think about anything that might help him get better, and recalls from some movies that wrapping the chest should help. When his father is out of the house, he makes a trip to the kitchen to grab a bandage, then goes to his room before wrapping it tightly around his chest. It restricts his breathing, but as long as it helps him heal faster, he can live with that.

 

At school, he hides the bandage beneath his clothes, and no one seems to notice that anything is amiss. A couple of times he's been jostled by people passing him by in the hall, and he has to grit his teeth to suppress groaning in pain. He doesn't even have any energy left to tell them off, so he just keeps on walking, focused solely on getting through the day. By the time the last lesson is over, he's totally exhausted and has trouble breathing. As everyone goes en masse to the exit, he stumbles to the bathroom on wobbly feet, then splashes his face with cold water.

 

When he hears someone entering the bathroom, he spins around.

 

“Hale,” he says through gritted teeth. “Whatever you have to say, I'm really not in the mood.”

 

The other teen frowns. “Are you sick? Do you want me to get a nurse–”

 

“No! No nurses, no teachers,” he rasps out. He feels himself swaying, and he's only half-aware of the strong arm that grabs him and holds him upright, so that he doesn't tumble to the ground.

 

“Fuck, I don't know a thing about human health… Hang in there, I'm gonna call Chris, he should be waiting for me outside.”

 

Human health, what a weird thing to say, Camden thinks idly to himself, black spots covering his vision. He falls in and out of consciousness, or that's what it feels like, and soon enough he hears quick footsteps. He blinks dazedly, and forces his eyes to focus on the man who enters the bathroom.

 

“I've run out of your salve,” he mumbles, feeling feverish.

 

“My salve?... Camden, where are you hurt?”

 

“My chest,” he admits.

 

“I'll take a look, okay? Just a look, nothing more,” the man promises, and by now Camden is past pride or embarrassment, so he nods slightly. Gentle hands roll his sweatshirt and T-shirt up, revealing the bruises underneath, partially hidden by the bandage. “We need to get this off, it'll help you breathe easier.”

 

“But– my ribs?” 

 

“Bandaging fractured ribs can do more damage than help, as it restricts your breathing and can lead to pneumonia or even lung collapse,” the man explains as he starts to unwrap the bandage. 

 

Between Hale keeping him upright and Argent's touch on his torso, Camden feels more vulnerable than he's comfortable with, but the moment he feels the pressure on his chest lessening, he can actually breathe easier. Pushing all unnecessary thoughts out of his mind, he focuses on inhales and exhales, trying to strike a balance between getting enough air into his lungs and breathing too deeply, which causes his chest to flare up in pain.

 

“I'm fine,” he says after a moment, wiggling out of Hale's hold and pulling his clothes down. He sees the worried, calculating look on Argent's face, and almost groans out loud. Just what he needs, attracting more attention. “Look, I know what you're thinking, and just don't, okay? I'm gonna be okay.”

 

Being beaten by his father wasn't pleasant, but getting the school or childcare authorities involved would be catastrophic, so he's determined to keep his home situation under wraps. The last thing he wants is to have strangers poking in his life, prying and judging, maybe even separating him from Isaac and placing them with different families… He can't let that happen, no matter what.

 

Notes:

About Isaac's wish he could hug his dad, please remember that he's eight years old. Boys his age still love their dads unconditionally, no matter how shitty parents they are 😥

Chapter 43

Notes:

Huge thank you to everybody who commented on the last chapter with thoughts and ideas about how to ensure that Camden and Isaac stay safe and have a loving home. You guys rock! I won't tell you which scenario I'll go with, since I don't want to spoil your fun, but your input has been invaluable. 😍

Seeing the bruises on Camden's upper body makes Chris angry beyond measure, but he suppresses his reaction before the teen can spot it. The last thing he wants is to make Camden feel like he's angry with him, which couldn't be further from the truth. Children should be allowed to grow up in a safe environment, to feel like they could go to their parents with everything, and be listened to without fear of punishment. But apparently, in Camden's case, that rule didn't apply.

 

What kind of a monster hits his own kid?... The worst kind, he answers himself. 

 

There's a bitter taste in his mouth as he wonders how could he have ever thought that werewolves needed to be stopped, while there are much worse beasts hiding among humans, pretending to be decent people.

 

“Would you let me take you to a doctor?” He asks the teen, but even before he finishes speaking, he knows what the answers will be.

 

“No way!” Camden shakes his head furiously.

 

He sighs. “Without a chest X-ray or CT scan we won't know the extent of your injury…”

 

“Thanks, but I'm good. I need to head home anyway,” Camden bends down to grab his backpack and winces visibly.

 

“I'll take it,” Derek offers quickly and ignoring the other boy's half-hearted protests, swings it over his shoulder. “What if Chris gave you a lift? The less walking, the better, right?”

 

“I guess…”

 

“Great!” Derek grins, then shoots Chris an uncertain look. “You don't mind, do you? Sorry, I should've asked first–”

 

He waves his apology off. “It's fine, I should've offered it in the first place, as it's a great idea. Also, the way you reacted when you suspected that Camden was feeling unwell - good job.”

 

Derek's cheeks redden slightly at the praise, but a smile on his face shows that it's the good kind of embarrassment. “I just went with my guts, but thanks.”

 

“You’ve got great instincts, then,” Chris pats him on the back. “Let's go, boys. Camden, we can go as slow as you need, alright? Neither of us is in any hurry.” He would hate to see the teen injuring himself even further by trying to prove that he's fine, when it's quite clear that it's the exact opposite.

 

“I'm okay,” Camden says stubbornly, but Chris notices with approval that as the teen starts walking, his pace is slow and steady, as he's visibly trying to avoid making any sudden moves.

 

They walk in silence for a few moments, trying to avoid the huge elephant in the room, which is the abuse Camden is a victim of, but refuses to do anything about. Chris knows that if he wants to ever change the boy's mind, he needs to gain his trust, and the first step to that is respecting his wishes - no matter how hard it is for him to refrain from taking some serious measures in ensuring that John Lahey would never again raise a hand on his sons, or anyone else for that matter.

 

“How's Isaac doing?” He asks after a moment. “Is he… alright?”

 

Camden darts a nervous look around to make sure they're alone in the hall. “Yeah, he's fine. Look, I know what you're thinking, but it's not like that. Father has never hit any of us before. Some shouting, yes, but never… this. And it's my fault anyway.”

 

He shakes his head. “No matter what you did, your father could've grounded you, revoked your privileges, maybe even assigned you some additional chores… That would've been an appropriate punishment, not physical violence. You’re not at fault here.”

 

Camden's apple jumps up and down as the teen swallows heavily. “Can we please not talk about it anymore? I'm really not in the mood.”

 

Chris nods, and they spend the rest of the walk to the parking lot in tense silence.

 

***

 

Camden is aching all over, and he's utterly exhausted - both physically and mentally. In a poor attempt at self-comfort he thinks to himself that by now he's at least used to the pain, and that nothing should be able to hurt him anymore. Then, he witnesses Argent showering Derek with praise, and his heart clenches at the sight; he doesn't remember when was the last time his dad took pride in anything he did, much less said it out loud. 

 

He thinks snidely that Hale gets all the luck - as always! - before he remembers that Derek recently lost his siblings and his entire home in a fire. At the reminder all of his jealousy instantly fades away, replaced by a burning shame. So what if he got shoved around by his father, this is nothing compared to the tragedy the other teen went through.

 

He's shaken from his thoughts when Argent opens the car door for him. He sits down stiffly, trying not to aggravate his injuries with the movement. Reaching to the side to grab a buckle seems like an impossible task, though, and he blushes furiously when Argent fastens the seat belt for him.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, embarrassed by being treated like a kid, but also strangely pleased by it, though he would never admit it out loud.

 

“You're welcome,” the man nods easily, then turns to Derek: “Hop on the back seat, okay?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Once they're all sitting in their seats, Argent starts driving, and Camden fidgets slightly.

 

“Why are you being so nice to me, anyway?” He asks, not able to pretend anymore that it's something normal, or expected. “What's in it for you?”

 

The man glances at him through the car mirror. “I'm a man of principle, and a parent at that. Believe it or not, but I just can't watch a kid struggling with something and do nothing about it.”

 

“I'm not struggling,” he protests weakly, but it doesn't sound much convincing, even to his own ears.

 

“I can tell that you're doing your best in these… less than ideal circumstances, but it would put a great strain even on an adult man, much less someone your age. There's no shame in admitting that.”

 

Camden wants to believe him; wishes nothing more than to allow himself to show his feelings openly without being ashamed of it, but maybe that's exactly his weakness speaking. And he can't be weak - he needs to be tougher than that, for Isaac's sake at the very least, if not for his own. Still, he doesn't protest when Argent gives him his number and insists that Camden calls him in case of any emergency, or if he needs anything.

 

“I could use some painkillers. I mean, if you have them on hand,” he says hesitantly, testing the waters, and is honestly surprised when the man fishes a bottle with some pills from the glove compartment and hands it to him.

 

“It's just ibuprofen, but don't take more than 400 milligrams every four to six hours, okay? It should last you for three to four days, but if the pain doesn't lessen by then, it's a cause for concern. Same if you experience any shortness of breath, or get high fever. Please, please do not ignore any of these symptoms,” the man asks, his sharp blue eyes boring into Camden intensely, and he finds himself nodding with agreement.

 

“I'm not stupid, you know, and I don't have a death wish either,” he says with a bitter smile. He can't afford being reckless with his health, not if that means leaving Isaac alone with their father. “Um, can you drop me here?”

 

He doesn't want his dad to see him walking out of the car, but he doesn't say it out loud. Judging by the knowing look he gets, Argent correctly guesses the reason behind his request, but doesn't say anything, just pulls over without any comment.

 

***

 

Chris feels helpless watching Camden's retreating back as the boy walks towards his house. 

 

“We can't just do nothing!” Derek protests hotly, hopping on the passenger seat that Camden just vacated.

 

“I know, but domestic abuse cases are quite difficult, especially if the victim is unwilling to speak up,” he sighs heavily. “I'm going to speak with Melissa, I bet that as a nurse she has some experience dealing with similar cases, and I'll check with her what our options are - or more precisely, what would happen to Camden and Isaac once the abuse is reported.”

 

Derek nods with understanding. “You mean that we don't want to make things even worse for them.”

 

“Yes, and once the abuse is reported to the child welfare agency, we don't have any means in controlling or influencing the outcome.”

 

“That's a shitty system,” the teen growls, then grimaces as he partially transforms, fangs poking from his mouth. “Sorry. I just– It makes me so angry, you know?”

 

“I know, but we need to be smart about this,” Chris murmurs, then takes Derek's hand in his, heedless of the sharp claws, and squeezes it gently. “The mere fact that you care so much about a boy who wasn't nice to you in the past is proof that you're a good, kind person, and I'm proud of you.”

 

For a few seconds Derek just stares at him, lips trembling and eyes glistening with unshed tears, then launches himself into his arms. And while the hug is slightly awkward due to uncomfortable angle, the steering wheel getting in their way, it's also absolutely perfect, and Chris wouldn't trade it for anything.

 

Chapter 44

Notes:

I'm sorry that you had to wait for so long, and for not replying to your wonderful comments. I had a quite busy time lately but I'm finally catching up with both real life and with my stories, so I'll do that soon!

Unfortunately, this is not a nice chapter, so... Warning: character death (not of any of the main characters)

When we look behind, it's almost too easy to connect all the dots, to spot the links between cause and effect. But before the future turns into the present and then fades into the past, trying to predict the outcome of all the small and big events happening around us is like trying to imagine circles on the water made by dozens of pebbles before they're even thrown into a pond.

 

For Camden, the splash of the pebble that turns his life on its head happens so fast that it's almost impossible to trace it, but he still tries. It begins with blood, he thinks - but no, that's not true, it actually starts with crayons.

 

But it definitely ends with blood.

 

***

 

Once his ribs start to heal and he no longer struggles to breathe, nor winces at even the smallest of movements, he thinks hopefully that maybe the worst is behind him. He slips Argent's business card into one of his school books, relieved that he can use it as a bookmark rather than be forced to actually use it. He can't bring himself into throwing it away entirely, though.

 

In a rare bout of generosity he uses the pocket money that he's been saving the past few weeks to buy his brother new crayons. Isaac has been acting so worried and skittish lately, that he deserves to have his mood lifted, he thinks to himself. He chooses a beautiful set with various effects - pastel, glitter, neon, metallic - packed in a neat plastic case with a handle at the top, and he is tempted to try them out himself, even though he's particularly bad at arts. He manages to fight the urge, though, wanting Isaac to have the joy of unpacking the brand new set by himself.

 

He should've known that it wouldn't end well. He should have used his fucking brain and warn Isaac to keep the gift a secret, to hide it where their father wouldn't see it, wouldn't even think to look for anything. He assumes without giving it a second thought that Isaac would know to be careful, but still - he's the oldest, it's his responsibility to protect his foolish, innocent little brother from harm.

 

When he hears Isaac's pained, almost surprised cry, he's outside doing chores in the backyard. The rake falls from his hands as he jumps over a pile of leaves and sprints into the house. The second shout is more panicked, terrified, almost begging, and he takes three stairs at once. It's a miracle he doesn't trip over; he runs to Isaac's room only to find it empty. Hearing the commotion in his own bedroom he stumbles there, just in time to see his father's huge fist landing on Isaac's temple.

 

Time slows down - a small body falling to the floor like a puppet with cut strings - and in that moment he hates, hates, hates their father so much that he almost implodes from it. Something breaks in him, like a bone that has been gradually put under too much pressure, until it finally gives in to the inevitable and snaps with a crack. The next few moments are hazy, like a bad dream that seems to last for hours but actually happens between two eye movements. When he finally comes around, he's not tucked safely in his bed, though, but standing in a scene straight out of a nightmare. 

 

His palms are sticky and covered in blood, and he's holding his swimming competition prize, a heavy glass statuette that is equally as filthy as his hands. He vividly remembers winning that prize for 100-Yard Relay, how happy he was to be a part of the winning team, while his father scowled at him that he hadn't performed nearly as good in an individual competition. His father, whose body is now lying on the floor, with half of his skull smashed like it was used in a watermelon bashing.

 

He blinks, then blinks again, but the sight doesn't change, and his hands start to shake so much that the glass statuette falls to the floor with a loud thud. It’s so sturdy it doesn't shutter from the fall, he notices idly. His knees are weak, he has trouble breathing - why is it so hard to do something as simple as inhale? - and he desperately wants his mom to be there, so that the world would make sense again.

 

But his mom is dead. His father is dead, Isaac is–

 

Isaac! He runs to his brother, wipes his filthy hands into his sweatpants as best as he can, before he squats and clumsily checks Isaac's pulse. He’s seen it being done in movies multiple times, but he realizes belatedly that seeing and doing it are quite different things. He manages to sense a pulse, and he fervently hopes that it's real and his mind isn't just playing tricks on him. He glances up, sees Isaac's chest rising up steadily, so he sits bonelessly on the floor in relief, resting his back against the bed. Okay, his brother is alive, but where does it leave them?

 

He licks his lips, his mouth suddenly parched at a terrible realization that their entire lives are going to be turned upside down, and not for the better. What does one even do, after killing their own dad? Should he call the police, explain what happened? Or should he pack and run away, hoping that no one catches him?... But he's fifteen years old, there’s no way that he can live on the run without attracting anyone's attention. Besides, where would he even go, what would he eat? No, he can't do it, he can't leave Isaac alone.

 

Mustering up all the strength he has left, he stands up on wobbly legs, then grabs a school book from his desk. His fingers fumble with the hard cover, and his dirty fingers leave brown-red stains on the pages as he looks for the card he left there earlier. When his search is successful, he stares at Argent's number for a few moments, hesitating for a few long moments, before grabbing his phone.

 

He tries not to think about the sad fact that for Argent he's nothing more than a troubled kid who happens to be in the same year as Derek. The man owes him nothing, and doesn't have a single reason to help him - but is also the only adult who's ever seen the belt marks on his back and bruises on his chest. It makes him hopeful that maybe, just maybe, the man will believe him, and won't judge him. It's a flimsy hope, but it's the only hope he has left, so he pushes the green button, before he actually loses his resolve.

 

“Hello, this is Chris Argent.”

 

“Um, it's Camden,” he chokes out. What if it's a mistake? What if he should've run, run as fast and as far away as possible?...

 

“Is everything okay? Are you alright?” 

 

His throat clenches at the concerned tone. He's not sure if he deserves it.

 

“I'm fine, but my dad, he's… He's dead, and I, I killed him,” he stutters. Only when he says it out loud, the reality of what he’s done finally catches up to him, and he starts hyperventilating.

 

“Camden, breathe. Where are you?” Argent's voice is cool and collected, as if people confessed murder to him on a daily basis, and he marvels at the man's unshaken calmness. 

 

“Our house. Please, I didn't– I'm not–” he doesn't know what he intends to say (I didn't want to kill him, I'm not a murderer, but it doesn't seem right, not when his father's body is lying a few feet away like a silent reproach), but the man interrupts him firmly.

 

“I get it , but we don't have the time for this now. Is Isaac okay? Is he with you?”

 

Right, focus, he needs to focus on what's important; he can wallow in his guilt and self-pity afterwards. “Um, he's alive. Father hit him on the head, so he's knocked out but breathing.”

 

Argent exhales audibly. “Good. Does anyone else know about what happened?”

 

“No, I didn't know what to do. Should I– Should I call the police?” Camden swallows with difficulty. He doesn't want to go to juvie, he just wants this nightmare to end, so that he could go back to school in the morning and only worry about homework and exams.

 

“Don't call or talk with anyone else until I arrive, do you understand?” The man says with emphasis, and he finds himself nodding along. 

 

“I won't,” he mumbles while rubbing his eyes with his free hand and fighting back tears. “I really didn't want to do it, y'know?”

 

“I know. Hang in there, alright? If Isaac's state changes, call me immediately. I'll be there soon.”

 

When Argent disconnects, Camden slumps down to the floor beside his brother's still unconscious body. The room looks alien and repulsive to him, more resembling a slaughterhouse than a comfy bedroom it has been before, so he cradles his knees in his arms in a futile attempt at comfort. When it's not enough, he presses his forehead to his knees and closes his eyes tightly, focusing on not breaking into pieces while he waits for Argent to arrive.

 

He tries hard not to think what the man will think, what he will do once he sees– everything.

 

Chapter 45

Thanks to his hunter training, dealing with corpses is one of the many things that Chris is quite proficient at; it's also a skill he wishes he doesn't need to put to use ever again. When Camden calls him, though, he's actually glad that the teen chose to contact him and not anyone else, as he might be the only person in town - not counting the police - equipped to deal with this kind of an emergency. And until he makes a thorough assessment of the situation, it's better not to engage the law enforcement anyway, as they need to follow the straight line, whereas he is more used to stretching or even crossing the boundaries if need be.

 

Habit kicking in, he immediately pushes all unnecessary thoughts and feelings aside as his mind works on what he usually calls ‘a dead-body problem’.

 

First: find a road to his destination on which he won't be recorded on CCTVs. Thankfully, as a relatively small town, Beacon Hills doesn't have many of these; there are only a few cameras placed outside local bank branches, jewelry booths and bigger stores. He knows their location by heart, as it was a part of his due diligence to be done before his family moved here. It's a must-do whenever a hunters’ clan moves to a new area, as they need to keep their activities out of the public's eye. Beacon Hills was no different in that regard.

 

Second: have a couple of action plans at hand, and even more contingency plans in case shit hits the fan (which it usually does). One can't plan ahead for everything that could go wrong, but hunters are trained to think on their feet and adjust quickly to the changing circumstances as much as possible. Experience helps, of course, and Chris has more than a lifetime of it under his belt. 

 

And finally, the third point: act normal and have a plausible explanation for each, even the smallest action. That's the toughest one, actually. He's thankful that it's Victoria's weekend and she's already taken Allison to San Francisco, so he doesn't lose time trying to find a sitter for their daughter, and can fully focus on the problem at hand.

 

He's prepared for the worst, but when he arrives at the Laheys’, the sight of Camden's face covered in long smudges of blood knocks the breath out of his lungs for a moment, but he doesn't let it show. The last thing a traumatized kid needs is to be gawked at, so Chris makes sure to keep his expression neutral as he steels himself for what awaits him inside the house.

 

“Is any of the blood yours?” He asks once the door shuts behind him.

 

“No, I don't think so?”

 

Just the fact that Camden isn't sure if he's hurt worries Chris, but since the teen doesn't seem to require immediate medical attention, he makes a mental note to himself to check it later. “Where's Isaac?” he inquires next.

 

“Shit!” Camden's eyes widen. “I left him upstairs, where my dad– where I–”

 

“Show me,” he demands, but when he sees Camden hesitating, he makes the effort to soften his tone of voice a little. “I promise you that nothing I'll see up there is going to shock me. But I'm an adult, while Isaac's just a kid who doesn't need to see any of that. I'll get him out of there while you clean yourself up a bit, so that you don't frighten him either, okay?”

 

That finally seems to reassure Camden enough to lead him upstairs. Chris enters the room just in time to see Isaac stirring sluggishly, so he gets to him and gently gathers the child into his arms, ensuring that his chest is a solid barrier between Isaac's eyes and the carnage on the floor. 

 

“Easy, don't try to move too much, as your head will hurt more with sudden movements.”

 

“Whoa– whass goin’ on?” the boy mumbles.

 

 “There’s been an… accident, your brother called me, and I’m gonna help him take care of it. He's in the bathroom at the moment, but you'll get to talk to him in a moment, okay?” He cradles Isaac's head so that it rests snugly against his sternum; the blond, curly hair feels impossibly soft to his touch, as if he's touching feathers. The sensation fuels his parental instincts, which have already been working on overdrive, so now they're basically through the roof. 

 

He decides against asking Isaac any questions at the moment, not wanting to cause him any further stress unless it's absolutely necessary. He carries the boy out, then spots another room across the hallway. “Whose room is that?”

 

Isaac turns his head to look where Chris is pointing at. “It's mine. Ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick,” the boy whimpers, wiggling slightly in his hold. Thankfully, Camden exits the bathroom just in time for Chris to barge in, put Isaac down and steady him as the boy throws up in the toilet. 

 

Loss of consciousness, confusion, dizziness, vomiting, these might be symptoms of a mild concussion, but when combining them all together, they might point to a serious brain injury. So now he has to deal with a potential life-threat on top of the dead-body problem… That's less than ideal. His instincts are telling him that the living should always take priority over the dead, but hopefully Isaac can wait for a doctor's check a few minutes more.

 

“Dad’s gonna be so mad, he hates it when we're sick,” Isaac mutters dejectedly, before flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

Chris gently nudges him towards the sink, while discretely shooting a look at Camden, who's leaning against the doorframe with a worried expression on his face. Chris can predict very closely what's going on in his head: how to tell Isaac that they're orphans, and that Camden is directly responsible for that?...

 

Chris is actually glad that Isaac is too confused at the moment due to his head injury, or maybe too meek in the company of a near stranger, that he doesn't ask too many questions - yet. But they need to decide on a course of action, and soon, before those questions are voiced, which will happen sooner rather than later.

 

“First things first, let's get you to your room,” he says decisively. “How's your head, do you want me to carry you, or are you feeling better now?”

 

“‘m fine,” Isaac says quickly. Too quickly, apparently, since after the first few steps his legs wobble dangerously, so Chris scoops him into his arms again, then carries him to the gore-free room. He puts the boy on the chair, rather than a bed, though, as he doesn't want him to feel too comfortable.

 

“I'm going to have a quick word with your brother. Can you try not to fall asleep in the meantime? This is really important,” he stresses. Isaac nods vigorously, then winces and clutches at the bump on his head with a hiss. Chris sighs. “Also, don't make any sudden moves with your head. We'll be back with you in a moment.”

 

It's reassuring that Isaac seeks Camden's eyes, and only after seeing the teen's nod, relaxes on his chair. Good. The boys’ bond seems quite strong, maybe even strong enough to carry them through the challenging times ahead. Chris dearly hopes that it will, since the alternative means that they would be facing the toughest time of their lives, alone.

 

***

 

When he returns with Camden to what he's named in his head as the gore-room, it doesn't look any better, but at least now he has the time to assess the situation properly. The bloodied statue discarded on the floor and the dent in the corpse's skull leave no room for doubt about the cause of death. He finishes his assessment just in time to see Camden's almost ashen face and mouth open slightly in shock, as if the gravity of the situation has just started to sink in.

 

The boy is just fifteen, he reminds himself, even though at that very moment Camden seems much younger than that, while also looking twice his age at the same time. It should be impossible, and yet… Killing someone, especially for the first time, can do that to a person. Killing one's father even more so; it can make you tougher and yet more vulnerable than ever.

 

“Was it self defense?” He asks for the record, thinking he knows the answer already, but to his surprise Camden shakes his head.

 

“No, not exactly. When dad hit Isaac on the head, with his huge, fucking fist, I just… I lost it,” there's an anger still burning brightly in Camden's eyes, and Chris can't entirely blame him. He would be furious, too, seeing an adult man striking a small child, but he doesn't know if he would be mad enough to kill. If the child was his… Maybe. Possibly.

 

Camden blinks and instead of looking angry, he now seems lost, hugging himself with his arms. “What do I do now?”

 

Chris rubs his chin thoughtfully. At least Camden's actions don't seem premeditated, more like a retaliation gone wrong. He can work with that.

 

“You have three options. First, you can contact the police, explain everything that happened, and hope that the juvenile court will take your father's abusive behavior as an extenuating circumstance. Still, I cannot guarantee the outcome, so once you make that call, it's out of our hands.”

 

The teen grimaces, obviously already being disenchanted with the system. “You mentioned other options?”

 

This is the difficult part, Chris thinks to himself, knowing that just by suggesting anything other than calling the police, he's incriminating himself. But after all the deaths he helped to cover during his hunting ‘career’ - both werewolves and humans alike, from both sides - acting all lawful now would be a hypocrisy. 

 

“I can make your father's body disappear, never to be found again,” he says bluntly, ignoring the fact that Camden is gaping at him in shock. “I don't recommend it, though, since the legal consequences of a person being considered missing are a nightmare, especially accessing their estate. Plus, I don't know how good of actors you and Isaac are, but I imagine you would get asked a lot of questions about your father's last whereabouts, so your act would need to be airtight.”

 

Camden bites his lower lip, hesitating for a second. “It might be too risky… And the third option?”

 

“We fake another cause of death, something that hopefully won't cause any doubts and will shift the police's attention away from you… But in order to do that, I need you to make the decision now rather than later. With Isaac's head injury, we need to take him to the hospital for a health check, so we would also need to figure out how to fit all of that into the chain of events, to cover all the potential wheres and whys even before we even leave this house.”

 

Camden stares at him for a moment, and then a sudden realization dawns on him. “You've done this before. This whole– covering a murder thing, it's not the first time you're doing this.” He takes a small step back, then another. 

 

Chris knows better than to confirm it openly, but denying it would be meaningless, since Camden has already guessed the truth. So instead of doing any of that, he simply meets the young man's eyes straight on. “You've trusted me enough to call me. What are your instincts telling you now?”

 

There's a moment of still, tense silence, and then there's a shift in Camden's eyes. “That it's better to have you on my side. I don't know why you're doing this, why you're helping me, but… let's do this. What do you need me to do?”

 

Damn, Chris thinks to himself, the teen would make a great hunter, and maybe even better werewolf. Suddenly he knows why in his previous life the other Camden chose to join the army, and not because of lack of other options; there's a steel hidden underneath the young exterior, mixed with a keen intelligence. Which is a good thing, because in the next few days, both of the boy's traits would be tested to the limits.

 

Notes:

In the next chapter we'll see a change in POV, so stay tuned ☺️👍

Chapter 46

Noah isn't stupid. He knows when people are hiding stuff from him, and he's bloody damn good at connecting the dots. At least, that's what he thought, until he became acquainted with one Chris Argent, an apparent magnet for children… and also a man strangely connected with a series of violent deaths, the Hales and the man's own sister amongst them.

 

He doesn't actually believe that Chris is directly responsible for any of them; the sister was a close call, but she managed to survive the shot to the chest, only to kill herself afterwards. Still, there’s something in this chain of events that rubs him the wrong way, but since the document examiner confirmed the authenticity of the handwriting on her suicide note, Noah was forced to close the case.

 

And now, John Lahey has been found dead with multiple gashes looking like claws marks, with a head smashed against a rock; the man probably stumbled and hit his head as he was trying to fight some animal off. What's surprising, though, is that the man's sons were admitted to the hospital roughly at the same time as John's time of death: one with a head injury and the other with half-healed ribs.

 

The boys’ story seems straightforward enough: a scuffle between John and his sons ended with the youngest, Isaac, getting hit on the head, while John left the home in a huff, saying that he needed to cool off. Since Isaac's head injury seemed serious, the older boy, Camden, called Argent for help, who after arriving at the Laheys’ house took the boys to the hospital. 

 

What in other circumstances would've been a reveal of a domestic child abuse, turned out to be a case of the boys getting orphaned, and because of an animal attack no less. All of it seems like a weird coincidence, one that he wouldn't normally buy… if it wasn't for the claw marks on the corpse. Even the local vet, Deaton, confirmed that they were inflicted by a large animal, most probably a mountain lion or other mammal, either feline or canine.

 

Even though the story seems rather improbable, Noah can't deny that the boys’ injuries are real, and so are the claw wounds on their father's body. Since he doesn't have any tangible proof that something doesn't match up, besides his own gut feeling, he needed to close that case too, no matter how wrong it felt. 

 

How did Camden get Chris' phone number, anyway? And why?...

 

And if that isn't enough, Talia Hale has been making inquiries about the Lahey boys’ guardianship, dropping big hints that she wants to become their foster parent. Naturally, he feels for the woman's plight: he can't imagine losing not one, but two children in a fire, while the third remains in a coma. Still, he can't help but wonder if it's healthy for her to become a foster mother for kids who went through child abuse and losing said abusive father on top of it. That's a lot of combined trauma, but then again, it's none of his business. After all, he has plenty of his own troubles, and he doesn't need to add even more to them.

 

“Honey?” Claudia's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “Is w-work, ‘gain?”

 

He smiles weakly and gives her a peck on the cheek. “You know me too well. Yeah, there are a few cases that rub me the wrong way, but that might just be my suspicious nature speaking. But don't worry, they're closed now.”

 

Not unlike understanding the infant speech when their son was still gurgling and babbling, once Claudia began having trouble speaking, he needed to start to guess what's on her mind. It helps that they've been married for more than a decade and know each other inside-out; that's why a few stuttered words are enough for her to communicate with him, more or less.

 

He doesn't really mind guessing what she means. What truly worries him, though, is that speech impairment is considered a stage three of the frontotemporal dementia, and she's been diagnosed less than a year ago. Moving to stage three out of seven in such a short period of time… It means that Claudia's dementia progresses quicker than the doctors assumed it would.

 

He's not ready for it. 

 

***

 

Chris lets out a long exhale, finally allowing himself to relax.

 

The last few days were hectic, and if it wasn't for Talia, they would've been even worse. When he called her from the Laheys’ house, he half-expected her to outright refuse his request for help in covering John Lahey's death. However, once she learned that the man had been abusing his sons, there was a 180 degree change in her attitude. She viciously stated that the man is lucky to be dead, because otherwise she would rip him to pieces while he was still alive.

 

Despite her numerous faults, Talia seems to despise child abusers as much as he does. Maybe losing her own children made her slightly more vulnerable in that area, but he's not about to complain, since with her help he was able to stage quite a believable death scene. It was a double surprise when she volunteered to become a foster mother for the boys, since they have no adult relatives left (that they know of, at least), but he's glad that she did.

 

Normally, he would've offered to take custody of the boys himself, but with the recent charges of him shooting Kate, he doesn't have a perfectly clean criminal record, a fact which wouldn't be looked favorably at by a family court – even though the case has been dismissed on the defense-of-others basis. Plus, he's actually glad that Camden and Derek will have a chance to get to know each other better. Who knows, maybe if they get on well together, Talia will have an additional incentive to apply for a permanent guardianship, not only for a temporary one? 

 

His train of thoughts is interrupted when he hears Allison's footsteps on the stairs. Usually, when she's happy and bouncing from excitement, she takes two stairs at once, no matter how often he's been warning her against it, afraid that she would fall and hurt herself. This time, though, she seems more subdued, and he knows at once that something is amiss.

 

“Come here, sweetheart,” he opens his arms invitingly and she runs to him, clutching on for dear life. “What's wrong?”

 

She looks at him with those big eyes of hers, now welling up with tears. “Dad, are you going to give me away?”

 

“Give you–” he repeats incredulously, “Of course not, what made you say that?”

 

She sniffles, then makes a move as if she wants to wipe her nose with her sleeve, so he immediately grabs a handkerchief from the table and gives it to her. One thing that he learned early as a parent, is that having something to wipe off tears, snot, food and dirt within an arm's reach can be really handy.

 

“Because you started to read about adop- adoption,” she hiccups, “and you like Scott better than me, and–”

 

Damn, if she really thinks that, then he's been doing a botched job as a father. With everything that was going on lately, Victoria has been taking Allison to San Francisco more often than they initially planned when discussing their informal separation. Plus, with his attention split between all those kids needing his help, it's no wonder that his own daughter thinks he plans on abandoning her, even though it couldn't be further from the truth. 

 

He kneels, cupping her face with his palms, and wiping away the fresh tears that started to flow down her cheeks. “I don't like Scott better than you. You're my daughter, and I love you with all my heart. That's never gonna change, I promise you that,” he assures her. “Those adoption articles, I've read them for my friend, who became a foster parent for two boys who just lost their father. As for Scott, he has a mom who loves him very much, so he doesn't really need me to adopt him. But I do care about him very much, so would it really be so bad if he visited and played with you more often?”

 

Allison thinks deeply for a moment, then brightens. “Does it mean that we can have a sleepover?”

 

“You may have them as often as Scott's mom will allow,” he promises her. “Stiles too, but I'd have to talk with his parents first. So you see, no one is ever going to replace you, sweetie. You're gonna be my little girl forever, even when you're all grown up. But having more kids around would be almost like having siblings, wouldn't you like that?”

 

She nods enthusiastically, then hugs him and mutters into his chest that she loves him.

 

“I love you, too,” he murmures into her hair, inhaling the scent of her strawberry shampoo, and her own, unique scent that he'd recognize everywhere, even with his eyes closed.

 

***

 

Later, as they're snuggling together like they haven't done in ages, Allison asks another question that breaks his heart. 

 

“Daddy, what happened to Aunt Katie?” She bites her lower lip. “The kids at school have been saying all kinds of stuff, but you and mom haven't talked about auntie since the, um, funeral. Why?”

 

He runs his hand through her hair to buy himself a few moments to gather his thoughts. He should've known that he wouldn't be able to hide the truth from her - or at least the parts of it that are public knowledge. After all, kids gossip as much and as often as adults tend to do, but without having the social filter or the empathy that comes with age. He wonders what awful details, true or made up, Allison heard from the other children. Did they give her trouble because of it? 

 

“Has anyone said mean things to you? Do I need to talk to their parents?” He asks, but thankfully she shakes her head.

 

“They're just kids, I can handle them,” she says brazenly, some of her future self-confidence shining through. He suppresses the urge to remind her that she's a kid, too, and instead marvels at how quickly she grows up. “But dad, you need to tell me this stuff!”

 

“These are grown-up matters, but you're right, it's better that you hear this from us,” he admits. “Your Aunt really disliked one family, she disliked them so much that she decided to hurt them really badly, by setting a fire to their house. I tried to stop her, but I was too late and two children died in the hospital from burns. I'm sorry, I know this is awful, but it is the truth.”

 

“But Aunt Katie was always so nice to me… How could she do this?” Allison gasps, her eyes full of pain and betrayal, and he sighs.

 

“Your aunt's actions don't change the fact that she loved you, but what she did was wrong. I don't want you to grow to hate her, especially since she's gone now and it won't do anyone any good. But people shouldn't hurt other people simply because they dislike them, or because they're different, and I want you to remember that.”

 

It's a lesson a majority of hunters seem to forget, and he's determined not to let Allison make the same mistakes. Because regardless if she eventually joins the hunters or not, sooner or later she will learn about werewolves, and he needs to build a foundation for that moment, so that she doesn't see them as monsters when it happens.

 

Notes:

I hope that you enjoyed the Sheriff's point of view, and Allison getting more attention from her dad. 😊
I want to write one more chapter with Scott, Chris and Melissa, and then switch the POV to Peter so that we finally see what he's been up to. How does that sound?

Chapter 47

November turns into December, the weather gets colder and drearier – for the Californian standards at least – and Chris finds himself spending more time indoors, especially since the daytime is getting shorter every week. It makes for a perfect excuse for a sleepover, though, which is why he's currently at McCall's place, helping Melissa prepare dinner while the kids are gathered around a children table, Stiles explaining something with a lot of hand waving, while Allison shakes her head, lips pressed in a thin line eerily similar to her mother's.

 

“Daaad, tell Scott and Stiles that Santa doesn't exist!” she demands, hands propped on her hips.

 

He exchanges a quick look with Melissa. “Do you want me to explain it to them?” he whispers.

 

“Be my guest. Good luck,” she pats his shoulder encouragingly, but he doesn't miss the relieved expression on her face. It doesn't surprise him much, as this is the moment that every parent dreads: how to explain to their kids that they were effectively deceived for their entire, albeit short, lives, and that their Christmas gifts aren't brought by a jolly, bearded old man?

 

He already went through this with Allison last year, and it wasn't pretty, but in the end he promised not to make her believe in something that's not real ever again. He hasn't broken that promise, even when her pet rabbit died and he was sorely tempted to say that it has gone to live on a farm, but ultimately decided against it. Now, he feels that he needs to take exactly the same approach with Stiles and Scott.

 

He wipes his hands with the kitchen towel and crosses the living room, while Stiles keeps arguing with Allison on the topic.

 

“Of course Santa exists, there are pictures of him everywhere, and the presents always get delivered on Christmas Day… Isn't it proof that Santa is real?”

 

Chris has to commend his attempt at deductive reasoning, even though the conclusion isn't exactly spot on. “Santa Claus, or more precisely Saint Nicholas, was a real person who lived a long, long time ago, and helped a lot of people, including poor children in need,” he explains. “The legend of his good deeds spread far and wide, and even hundreds of years after his death parents all around the world prepare gifts for their children. It's a tradition.”

 

“No, you're lying, Santa is real!” Stiles yells.

 

“I'm afraid that Mr Argent speaks the truth–” Melissa tries to intervene, but Stiles doesn't seem willing to listen as he grabs a piece of paper off the table and tears it in half, then runs upstairs, Scott hot on his heels.

 

As Melissa goes after the boys, Chris bends down to pick up the discarded pieces of paper and connects the two halves, then looks at the contents.

 

Dear Santa,

I know that you're supposed to give presents, but with your flying sleigh you’re like a superhero, right? So I'm thinking, can you use your magic to make my mom not sick anymore? She's not well and my dad worries a lot too. If you take away her sick, I'm gonna be super good next year. Oh, and if you can get me Batman action figure too that would be great.

But mom's more important, in case you can't do both.

Thanks,

Stiles

(I'm pretty sure I'm the only kid named Stiles, but just in case - my dad is the new Sheriff)

 

He rubs his chin, digesting the letter's contents. So that's why Stiles is so upset that Santa isn't real – it doesn't have anything to do with presents, and everything with Claudia's illness! He should've seen it coming. He should've paid the boy more attention, especially since he knows from the other timeline that Stiles is not disrespectful by nature. Mischievous and sassy, sure, but not rude, especially not on purpose. So if the boy is acting out, he shouldn't be surprised that there's a valid reason for that.

 

“I'm gonna talk to Stiles, are you going to be okay on your own?” He double checks with Allison, but she just rolls her eyes and waves at him to go.

 

Upstairs, he approaches the door which has been left ajar and takes a peek into Scott's room. Melissa is making a valiant effort at cheering the boys up, but now that he knows the real reason behind Stiles being so upset, he suspects that they need to target the root cause, not just the symptoms.

 

He knocks softly on the door to draw their attention to himself. “May I have a moment alone with Stiles, please?” 

 

Melissa hesitates. “He's quite distraught–”

 

“I know, and I think I can help.”

 

“Okay, then. Come on, Scott, let's go downstairs and finish making dinner,” Melissa steers her son out of the room, but not before shooting Chris a worried glance.

 

He gives her a slight nod and mouths: “I've got this.”

 

When they're alone, he squats before Stiles, who's sitting on the chair, leg bouncing nervously. 

 

“I've read your letter to Santa,” he admits, and Stiles’ face darkens.

 

“You're not supposed to read other people's mail!”

 

Technically, it was torn in half, so it was more of a discarded piece of trash, but he doesn't want to argue with the boy, he just wants to help. “Santa may not be able to help your mom, but there are some people who might.”

 

“Just because I'm a kid doesn't mean that I'm stupid,” Stiles scowls, leg bouncing even harder. “I overheard dad talking with the doctors and they couldn't help her.”

 

“Who's talking about doctors?” Chris raises his eyebrow. “Look, Stiles, there might be a chance to save your mom still, but I need to make some arrangements first in order to check if it's doable. So don't lose hope just yet, alright?”

 

The boy looks at him for a few long moments, with a solemnity that a child his age shouldn’t even be capable of, then nods.

 

It’s a small win, and yet he hopes that gaining Stiles’ trust will come in handy when it eventually comes down to getting Noah on board… But first, he needs to find an Alpha willing to give a bite to a middle-aged woman with a neurologic condition affecting her cognitive abilities. 

 

***

 

An hour or so after dinner Stiles announces that he wants to go home, after all, so Chris volunteers to look after Scott and Allison while Melissa gives the boy a ride home. 

 

“Are you sure it won't be a bother?” Melissa double checks with him and he assures her – again – that no, it's not a bother at all.

 

He tells Scott and Allison to brush their teeth before changing into their pajamas, and as Allison goes to the bathroom first, he settles down with Scott on the bed while they're waiting for her to finish.

 

“I know that Stiles was quite upset that Santa isn't real, but how do you feel about it?” He inquires softly, running his hand through the boy's messy hair and trying to gently comb out the knots.

 

“I wish mom told me sooner. I always thought that it was my fault that I didn’t get super stuff like Jackson, who's always showing off his presents to the entire class. But now that I know that it's been my mom buying them… She probably didn't have enough money to buy me stuff like a new bike or console. And it's okay, I just–” Scott hesitates and looks away, as if ashamed, so Chris curls an arm around the boy's shoulders and hugs him closer.

 

“It's okay, you can tell me.”

 

“It always felt like it was my fault, because no matter how hard I tried to be good, it never mattered to Santa, so this year I kinda stopped trying? But now you’re here, and you saw me doing stupid stunts, and whining about my broken leg, so you must think that I'm the worst kid ever, and–”

 

Chris shakes his head. “Scott, I promise you that I don't think that at all. You're a great kid, so I don't want you to ever think otherwise. And no matter what you did or will do in the future, I'm still gonna care about you very much. I'm also pretty sure your mom feels exactly the same, even when she's angry. That's what parents do – we love our kids no matter what.”

 

Scott nods, but before he can say anything, Allison comes in, her face pink from washing, the baby hair on the top of her head curling slightly, as they always do whenever they absorb some moisture.

 

“I'm done, it's your turn,” she chirps at Scott as she bounces on the bed next to them. “And don't worry, if you need a dad, you can borrow mine sometimes. Just not all the time, deal?”

 

Scott nods eagerly. “Deal.”

 

Chris doesn't know whether to laugh at his daughter's boldness bordering on audacity, or be touched that despite being an only child, she somehow avoided the trap of being jealous, and learned how to share, instead. 

 

***

 

Peter parks his car and turns off the ignition. Before he gets out of the car, he takes a moment to inhale deeply. Coming here was a crazy, reckless idea, but now that he’s actually here, he’ll be damned if he turns back.

 

He is just opening his trunk when a strong hand slams it back shut, almost smashing his fingertips in the process.

 

“What are you doing here?” A young, tan skinned Beta glares at him with vitriol. 

 

“If you didn't just close my trunk you would be able to deduce that without much problem, even with your limited brain capacity,” he drawles while opening the trunk again, then takes a duffel bag out of it. “I'm visiting Deucalion, you idiot. Now be a good boy and lead me to him.”

 

“Deucalion’s not expecting anyone, much less you,” the glare deepens even more, and Peter is mildly impressed by it. Still, the guy is surely going to have wrinkles by forty, even with werewolves’ regenerative abilities.

 

“There’s also such a thing like a surprise visit, but if you want me to explain this concept to you–”

 

“Peter Hale, if you could cease riling up my Beta, that would be highly appreciated,” Deucalion says mildly while coming out of his pack’s house. “And I’m not sure if you’re aware, but it’s not exactly in good taste to show up on another pack's territory announced.”

 

“Well, it’s also rude to keep the visitors standing in the parking lot, so maybe we could talk about my reasons for coming here over a drink?” He suggests hopefully.

 

Deucalion sighs. “Why do I have the feeling that inviting you in would also invite trouble?”

 

He covers his nervousness with a cocky grin. “It’s good to know that my reputation precedes me, but that's just it - a reputation, and a little exaggerated at that. I'm not actively looking for trouble, if that's what you're suggesting, especially not now.”

 

“I've heard about Talia's latest… less than rational decisions, but if you want me to appeal to her–”

 

He can't help it, he snorts. “There’s no way in hell that I'm trading my current freedom for the trappings of a packbond with any Alpha ever again. I like the way things are currently, thank you very much.”

 

Deucalion tilts his head slightly, as if judging his sincerity, then his body relaxes. “Very well, come in, then.”

 

Peter gives himself a mental equivalent of a high-five, then follows the Alpha inside, half of his plan accomplished. The other half might be a little harder to achieve, but he's feeling positive about the outcome, especially now that he's managed to convince Deucalion to hear him out without much effort.

 

Who knows, maybe being sincere can be as effective as his usual manipulating and meddling? Well, as long as he chooses exactly which truths to reveal, to whom and in which circumstances…

 

Losing the packbond did shake him to some degree, at least at first, but luckily his intelligence and wit is still intact – and so is his self-preservation instincts. So if he chooses to be honest to get exactly what he wants from Deucalion, then so be it.

 

Chapter 48

Besides his obvious change in status in the werewolf hierarchy, being an Omega doesn't mean that Peter also became blind, stupid or weak. He likes to think that he's better than ever, even, so he promptly ignores the stares he's getting from Deucalion's pack, some of them contemptuous, some openly distrustful, and a few hiding a poorly disguised pity. He swaggers into Deucalion's office with a smirk dancing in the corners of his lips, as if he was privy to some private joke they weren't told of.

 

“You're surprisingly self-confident for someone who's for all intents and purposes at the bottom of the proverbial food chain,” Deucalion says as he closes the door behind them.

 

Peter puts the duffel bag down and meets the Alpha's curious eyes. “I'm my own man now. There's no better confidence boost than independence.”

 

“And yet, you need something from me, so it seems that even your newfound independence has its limits. Though what you expect to achieve here is a mystery to me…” Deucalion hums thoughtfully. “You obviously don't want to be a part of the pack. So what is it that you're after? Protection?”

 

Peter snorts. “Hardly. I can take care of myself just fine–” he doesn't get to finish his sentence when Deucalion lounges at him, grabs him by his clothes and picks him up so effortlessly, as if Peter was not an adult werewolf but a small kitten, with his feet hanging in the air.

 

“Hm, can you really?” 

 

All that Peter wants is to slam his heels into Deucalion's groin, then open the man's throat with his claws. He aches for it, fingers twitching with the temptation, but he refrains. Just because he loves violence as dearly as one might a lover, doesn't mean that he can indulge himself just now; not while he still has a use for this Alpha. Instead, he extends his claws and slashes his own shirt, which has already been straining at the seams under his weight. He drops to his feet, knees slightly bent, then straightens himself.

 

“You owe me for that shirt, it was my favorite,” he says with absolute seriousness, ignoring the fact that he's standing nearly naked from waist up. 

 

Deucalion looks at him as if he was crazy, then barks out a surprised laugh. “You're not quite right in the head, are you?”

 

Peter shrugs carelessly, then sits down on a cushioned guest chair without being invited to. “Sanity is overrated, and relative besides that. Now, how about I give you the chance to make it up to me for getting that shirt destroyed, and let you know what I actually came here for?” 

 

He gestures to the Alpha to take the seat opposite of him, as if he were the host, and not the other way around. Deucalion shakes his head incredulously at his boldness, but sits down on the leather armchair behind the heavy oak desk, then intertwines his fingers with an expectant look.

 

“Well, what is it, then?”

 

Peter takes a deep breath, because bold or not, he can't be entirely sure that the Alpha is going to be receptive to what he's about to ask for. “I want you to teach me what you know about other packs, and other Alphas. I knew that you're not a violent type, so I wasn't afraid that you're going to seriously hurt me. But if I'm really going to survive on my own, and not only survive but actually hold my ground, I need to know everything about everyone. ”

 

It's the absolute truth, and the very reason why he came to Deucalion in the first place. But what he doesn't say out loud is what he plans to use that knowledge for: finding the perfect target to kill. After all, he's not going to be an Omega forever, and once he finds some scum of an Alpha who actually deserves to bleed to death on his claws, he's going to do just that, without blinking an eye.

 

He doesn't mention it, though, since most people, even werewolves, have these weird scruples about killing. Scruples which he doesn't share, but needs to be clever enough to carefully steer around them in order to get exactly what he wants. 

 

***

 

“No, absolutely not!” Talia exclaims, looking at Chris incredulously. “Why did you even think that this would be a remotely good idea?”

 

“Because as grateful as I am for your help with the Laheys, you know that we've been extremely lucky that no one tried to find holes in our story,” he points out. “One day, either myself or someone from your pack is going to do something that wouldn't be so easily covered, and having the Sheriff in the know, and on our side no less, is going to be invaluable.”

 

As pleased as she is to hear the man referring to ‘their side’, another small proof that they are truly allied now - as unheard of as it might be, to have a werewolf and a hunter working side by side - it doesn't do anything to resolve her doubts about this newest idea of his. 

 

“But– dementia, really, Chris? Even werewolf regeneration skills might not be enough to heal it, and if they are, it might take months before it happens. Do you really want to have an unhinged, newly turned werewolf on our hands, a werewolf who might actually keep forgetting about having been turned?”

 

He sighs and flops on the chair, running his hand through his hair. “I know that it's a huge risk, both if the bite takes and if it doesn’t, but I once knew a boy who lost his mother to the same illness, and it affected his entire childhood. I don't want to let it happen again, not if I can do something about it. Help me do something about it. Please.”

 

Only the years of experience of being a spokeswoman amongst her kind allow her to retain her neutral expression as the hunter pleads with her to save yet another human boy. There's something inherently paternal in all Chris’ actions, in everything that he does, and even against her will she finds her resolve crumbling. How can she say no, when it's the same parental instinct that was behind Chris’ decision to protect Derek, back when they were still on the opposite sides?...

 

“Are you going to save every kid that comes your way?” she asks, exasperated.

 

“I don't know if I’ll succeed, but I'm definitely going to try.”

 

There's a strange solemnity in his words, as if he's making a vow; not to her, but to someone from his past, and once more she wonders what painful events have led him to this point.

 

“I'll need to think about it,” seeing that Chris opens his mouth to protest, she raises her hand. “Don't. Turning someone suffering from a neurological condition is not something to be taken lightly, and I need to analyze all possible scenarios before I agree to anything. I'll let you know once I'm ready to resume this discussion. Now go, spend some time with the boys. Derek has been asking about you almost non stop, so at least I'll have one thing less to deal with.”

 

His eyes lighten up a bit at the suggestion and he nods, then leaves her alone with her thoughts.

 

***

 

Having two new brothers - well, sort of - is definitely an adjustment for them all, on many levels; some of them good, some of them a little less so, but overall Derek is glad that it happened. They're now living in a house that is new for them all, but having someone to share all these experiences: choosing furniture, decorating their new rooms, it's definitely more exciting than it would have been if he'd have to do it only with his mom.

 

Cora is still unconscious, though, and he sometimes wonders how weird it will be for her, to wake up and discover all those changes. At least he has lived through this one thing at a time: losing the twins, seeing Peter being cast out from the pack, and finally welcoming Camden and Isaac in the family. His life has been like a rollercoaster, but at least he's had time to get used to it. He's afraid that Cora's going to have a much harder time adjusting – once she wakes up, eventually. 

 

As for Camden and Isaac, he doesn't know everything that happened, but he knows enough, especially after seeing Camden's bruises, to make an educated guess, and it's not a pretty picture. He doesn't know how to talk to the boys about it, though, or if he should even try. He doesn't feel even remotely equipped to have a heavy talk about someone else's problems, not while he still struggles with his own.

 

Hearing the door of his mom's office being opened, and Chris’ long stride as the man goes down the hall, makes him perk up in excitement, but he tries to hide it. Camden's snort tells him that he's not been entirely successful, though, so he flips him off without even looking at him, as they continue to clean and dry the dishes after dinner.

 

“I see that you're getting along well, if you're so casually rude to one another,” Chris says teasingly.

 

“Yeah, like a house on fire,” Camden huffs, before his words sink in and he realizes what he just said, but it's too late. 

 

The reminder of the fire that has cost him his home, his siblings, his entire childhood– it suddenly hits Derek again with full force, and he starts to shake. His lungs feel like they're filled with smoke again, hot and suffocating, and he can't breathe. Black spots are covering his vision, and he feels like something inside him breaks over and over again, a recurring nightmare that will never end–

 

Someone rubs his arms and tells him repeatedly that it's over, the fire's over, and he should just inhale, then exhale, that's it, inhale and exhale…

 

When he regains his senses, he realizes that his claws have dug into Chris’ chest, but the man doesn't seem to care. Camden, on the other hand, gasps out loud, and when Derek automatically turns his head towards him, he immediately knows it's a mistake. His eyes are still glowing with his Beta golden-yellow light, and even though it feels entirely natural to him, for Camden it must be anything but.

 

“You– Who are you? What are you?” Camden hisses with shock, fear and something so close to hatred, that it basically makes no difference.

 

Derek recalls his uncle's words, for humans we're little more than beasts, and thinks bitterly that maybe Peter has been right all along; too bad that Derek didn't listen to him.

 

Notes:

How did you like this chapter? Peter's plan, Talia finally getting her act together, Camden learning about the supernatural... 🫣

Chapter 49

Notes:

So, I have a really awful time in RL, so this is me trying to take my mind off my problems 🥺 I hope that you'll enjoy it, so that at least something good will come off of it.

Derek's hurt expression, the boy's eyes filled with shame and self-doubt - it's a sight Chris knows all too well, as he'd once seen it on another teen, struggling with accepting his werewolf side. It's the same look Scott had once worn, when faced with people's fear, mistrust and hatred, before the teen learned to embrace his new nature and identity, regardless of what others thought.

 

But seeing the same expression on Derek who's a born werewolf… It fills Chris with helpless rage on behalf of all those boys whose lives have been made hell, just because of who they are.

 

He cups Derek's face in his palms, causing the boy to look up and meet his eyes. “Listen to me, and listen to me carefully. You're a werewolf, but you're not a monster. This is who you are, and you should be proud of it, not ashamed. Do you hear me? You're exactly who you’re supposed to be, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

 

Derek's eyes are opened impossibly wide, and the teen nods, his throat bobbing. “Yes, Alpha,” he says hoarsely.

 

The honorific should shock Chris, but for some reason it doesn't. Instead, upon hearing the word something clicks in him, like a dislocated bone that finally snaps in its place, just where it should've been from the very start, and he welcomes the feeling.

 

He doesn't get to say anything, though, as in that moment Talia runs to the kitchen. Her eyes are haggard, as if she’s expecting the worst, but she exhales in relief at seeing that no one's in any imminent danger.

 

“I felt this terror through our bond– Derek, what's happening?”

 

It's not her son who replies to her, though.

 

“Yeah, that's what I'd like to know, too,” Camden says with his back to the wall, shooting them nervous glances. “You're like what, real werewolves? What the actual fuck… How's that even possible?”

 

Talia gapes at him in shock, then turns towards Derek and Chris. “You told him?”

 

“I'm sorry, mom, I lost control…” the Beta mumbles. “He said something about fire, and I got this flashback– it wasn't planned, I swear!”

 

Talia's eyes soften. “It's alright, son, I understand. And Camden, I was planning to tell you once you've gotten used to a new home, and once we've all gotten used to each other.”

 

The boy glowers at her. “You should've told me from day one, I deserved to know! What did you think I'd do, tell the cops on you? Go to TV or something? Like I'd want to draw attention to myself… Besides, who would ever believe me if I told them that werewolves are real? No one!” Camden runs a palm through his hair, hand shaking slightly. “Um, do I need to worry? I always thought that you were supposed to, you know, change on the full moon, but it's not tonight, so how does it work? Is it safe to live with you? Do I need to take Isaac and leave–”

 

Before the boy could spiral even further, Talia approaches him with her hands raised non-threateningly. “There's no reason for us to stand like that in the kitchen. Let's sit down and talk, I promise to address all of your questions, and then we can collectively decide what to do next.”

 

As she steers the teen towards the living room, Chris takes advantage of the fact that he has a moment alone with Derek.

 

“What you said about me being your Alpha…”

 

The teen shuffles his feet, and his embarrassment is almost painful to watch. “Yeah, about that. Um, it kinda feels that way? I know that you're a human and all, but somehow the wolf inside me reacts to your presence like it reacts to my mom's. It's like an instinct, but I have no idea why.”

 

Chris curls his arm around the boy's shoulders. “Hey, it's alright. I haven't heard about anything like that ever happening before, but it doesn't matter – I trust your instincts, and so should you. I'll always have your back, no matter what, and you can come to me with everything. Sounds good?”

 

Derek blushes, but nods eagerly, and leans in for a hug that Chris is all too happy to give. As he wraps his arms tightly around his Beta - and isn't that an incredible thought! - a pleasant warmth spreads inside his chest. He can almost imagine that this is what having a packbond might feel like.

 

“I'm sensing your feelings, you know,” Derek murmurs into his chest.

 

“Good,” he says simply, tightening his hold for a moment, then releases the boy and clasps his shoulder, instead. “Come on, let's go help your mother do some damage control.”

 

***

 

Camden has always been a down-to-earth, pragmatic type of guy, while his little brother more often than not has his head in the clouds. But Camden hasn't become like that without a reason, he needed to toughen up when their mother died, so that's what he did. But when he's faced with the impossible, his practical mind struggles to accept what he clearly sees with his own eyes: that werewolves are real.

 

Werewolves are freaking real.

 

He clasps his hands together to stop them from shaking, and looks at Talia.

 

“Okay, so you're the leader of your gang, or herd, or whatever it is that you're calling yourself–”

 

“We're a pack,” she supplies, and he shrugs.

 

“Yeah, whatever. So why did Derek call Chris the Alpha, are you two a thing, and the title is shared between the two of you?”

 

Her eyes widen. “Surely that's not what my son meant! Chris is most certainly not my partner, and besides, he's a human, not a werewolf. He can't be an Alpha.”

 

A wry comment pops up in his mind, that for someone who's supposedly a fantastical creature that only exists in myths, she seems much too certain of what is possible or not. After today, he's never going to share her confidence in claiming that something can't happen. 

 

“Well, he seems to have the presence and the authority of a leader, but I guess you'd know best… So, what happens now? Isaac and I, are we in any danger from you?” A sudden thought makes him tense up with dread. “You're not going to turn us into werewolves, are you?”

 

“Never without your full knowledge and consent,” she says sternly. “And Isaac is much too young for the bite, anyway. As for your other question, we're born werewolves, Camden, we've been like this our entire lives, and none of us have ever attacked a human. You're not in any danger, unless it's you who attacks us. We haven't had much of a positive experience with humans knowing about our existence.”

 

In that moment Chris and Derek enter the room, and Camden uses the pause in conversation to quickly analyze what he's been told, pieces of a puzzle suddenly coming together

 

“You mean your house's fire,” he makes a guess, and is rewarded with her shocked look.

 

Derek grins weakly as he sits astride a chair. “I told you that he's clever, mom.”

 

Camden wants to apologize for bringing up the fire, again, but seeing as the other teen doesn't seem to be having another panic attack, he says nothing.

 

“I can see that,” Talia shakes her head. “That was one hell of a guess, but yes, the woman responsible for that was a werewolf hunter, a human trained specifically in catching and killing us.”

 

Camden frowns. “Wait, so you're saying that if we decide to stay with you, we could be caught in a crossfire?”

 

She looks startled, as if she didn't think about that, and he almost scoffs. Based on what he's heard so far, it's a fairly easy conclusion to draw, so if he was able to put two and two together, why didn't she?

 

Chris clears his throat. “It's unlikely, but possible. My sister Kate, who was responsible for the fire, wasn't the only one obsessed with wiping out werewolves off the face of the earth. My father is a prime example of that; after all, he was the one who taught her.”

 

That's… unexpected. And quite shocking, too, considering how close the man seems to be with the Hales. “Are you a werewolf hunter, too?”

 

Chris grimaces. “I am… I was, would be a more accurate statement, but it's not exactly a profession that I can change at will. But my personal choice is to be the Hale pack's ally, rather than an enemy, and if push comes to shove, I'll do anything to protect them.”

 

“Because of Derek?” He asks knowingly, and a ghost of a smile stretches the man's lips.

 

“Mostly, yes, but also because it's the right thing to do.”

 

They fall silent for a moment, with Camden processing what he's learned, when quiet footsteps draw their attention to Isaac, who stops at the top of the stairs, a piece of paper clutched in his hands as he hovers hesitantly.

 

“Come here, squirt, and show me what you've got there,” Camden says with a fake cheerfulness that he can't bring himself to feel at the moment.

 

As his brother runs to him and shows him his picture, he praises it absentmindedly, but his heart isn't in it, and Isaac senses it at once.

 

“Can I see your drawing?” Derek suddenly asks, and before Camden can protest at the idea, Isaac brightens up and runs to the werewolf's side. 

 

Derek changes his position on the chair so that he can put the younger boy on his lap and starts to openly admire the picture. The sight is so domestic, that it makes Camden swallow whatever objections he has.

 

So, they're living with werewolves, and are acquainted with a werewolf hunter. That's not such a big deal, especially compared to the alternative of having to find a new home again.

 

Chapter 50

Seeing that Deucalion's pack wasn't too enthusiastic about having an Omega amongst them, Peter didn't push the issue and rented a room in a nearby hotel, which allowed Deucalion to meet with him without causing any dissent within the pack. Most of the time, they met at the hotel, but sometimes Deucalion would invite him to his study, especially if the Alpha planned to show him the files he gathered on other packs.

 

Personally, Peter doesn't think that an Alpha should try to appease his pack to this extent, but every time he comments on that, Deucalion claims that being a leader means knowing how to compromise and find a golden mean. For Peter it sounds like making excuses for showing a weakness, but he's not that thoughtless to actually say it out loud.

 

Even though it's a fairly new emotion for him, he's appreciative of Deucalion's willingness to teach him and share with him decades worth of knowledge. He's not used to feeling thankful, but he'd like to think that since becoming an Omega he has evolved a lot, so he simply decides to add gratitude to the list of things he's now better at, and move on.

 

What's even worse, though, after getting to know Deucalion better, he starts to understand what Chris sees in the man. Personally, he doesn't feel the same attraction towards the Alpha, but he can imagine why Chris does, and it makes him uneasy. Being jealous was a much simpler, uncomplicated emotion, but this sudden empathy and understanding makes his head ache. All these pesky emotions are nothing but a hindrance, and he decides to end his arrangement with Deucalion the moment he finds his target: an Alpha who would be better off dead.

 

Luckily, there are some strong candidates described in Deucalion's files. One particularly catches his interest, an Alpha from Sacramento who - as the rumor says - is particularly brutal and mistreats the younger members of his so-called pack. So-called, because if the rumor is true, there's no way the guy shares true packbonds with his Betas. There might be conflicts within the packs, as it sometimes happens even in well-managed groups, but outright abuse would inevitably cause the bonds to break.

 

If Peter manages to kill this scum, he'd be actually doing the supernatural world a favor. Such brutes give their kind a bad name, and present hunters with an excuse to target them all. Still, he's not going to simply leave without letting Deucalion know about it, he owes the man at least that.

 

As he goes to his car, for a moment he considers revealing his plan and asking for Deucalion's assistance, but quickly dismisses the idea. If Deucalion was interested in eliminating the abusive Alphas he clearly has the knowledge of, he would've done something about it long ago. But no matter how well-meaning, Deucalion is a product of his time: above all, respecting the Alphas’ right to lead their pack as they deem right, and not interfering in other packs’ internal affairs.

 

Peter mostly agrees with that, but he also believes that there's a reason why werewolves can claim Alpha powers by killing one; it's a self-cleaning mechanism, a way to throw out bad fruit before they contaminate the entire basket. If someone is stupid or careless enough to become that bad fruit, they practically invite attacks on themselves.

 

His musings are interrupted once he reaches the Deucalion's territory, and his nose is assaulted with foreign smells. He pulls over and gets out of the car, sniffing the air. He senses mens’ usual stench mixed with sweat, blood, gunpowder, and a sickly sweet scent he doesn't recognize, but it turns his stomach. He hesitates, torn between two conflicting instincts: an urge to go back to the car and drive away as fast as possible, and the persistent, innate curiosity that pushes him forward. In the end, curiosity prevails, and he wonders if he's going to end up like the proverbial cat because of it.

 

Thinking quickly, he follows the alarming scents. He makes sure to move towards the direction from which the wind is blowing, to avoid his presence being detected, even though he knows that hunters couldn't smell him either way. Still, until he knows for sure who or what poses a threat, he isn't going to dismiss any method of precaution. 

 

However, when he arrives at the place of carnage, it doesn't seem to matter, as everyone - Deucalion's entire pack - seem to already be dead, their bodies scattered across the grassland. While it's not a pretty sight, it doesn't shake him as much as the thought that Deucalion is probably dead, too, and the painful squeeze of his stomach at the thought. Damn, he started to actually like the man, despite the fact that they're completely different people, with almost no things in common besides their werewolf nature, and their stubborn pride.

 

Suddenly, he thinks he heard a heartbeat, so he stops in his tracks and freezes, focusing on the sounds around him. Yes, it's there: a quiet, irregular heartbeat, so he follows the sound. He spots Deucalion lying on his back, with his chest moving slightly up and down, and he runs towards the man.

 

He falls to his knees and squeezes Deucalion's hand. The front of the Alpha's shirt is covered with circular stains of blood and black ooze. The man's fingers squeeze back, but just barely, and his eyes flutter open. 

 

“The hunters– Gerard– he did this. My own Beta, Marco, betrayed us…” Deucalion wheezes with difficulty. “Tell… tell Chris not to blame himself. Tell him that he's, uh–” the man coughs, “precious.”

 

Peter swallows hard. “Tell him yourself. You're an Alpha, and you're a stubborn bastard if I ever knew one, you can heal this!”

 

Deucalion shakes his head slightly. “Not wolfsbane. Too close… to the heart.” Another cough is even more violent, staining the man's lips with blood. Then, with a sudden boost of strength, Deucalion tightens his grip on Peter's hand. “Kill– kill me…”

 

“What?” he asks, dumbfounded.

 

“The Alpha spark, take it. Don't– Don't let it go to waste. Do it!” Energy leaving him, Deucalion's body slumps, and his hand goes limp in Peter's grip. Only the wet wheezing sounds leaving the man's lips are an indication that he's still clinging to life, if barely.

 

Peter's body is shaking, and he feels hot and cold at the same time. He imagines that this is what having fever might feel like for humans, but this is stupid. He's a werewolf, and an opportunist at heart. Deucalion just offered him a perfect solution to his problem: getting the Alpha's power almost effortlessly, with no risks involved, after having been invited to do so... And yet, as he looks into Deucalion's glazed, but still focused eyes, pleading with him to do it, Peter realizes that of all the things that he's ever done in his life, this might be the hardest.

 

“You're a brave and generous man,” he finally chokes out, his voice breaking. “And I promise that I won't misuse this power that you're giving me."

 

There's a gratefulness in Deucalion's eyes that Peter doesn't feel that he deserves, and a quiet, peaceful acceptance. He doesn't think that he could face death with a similar dignity, and witnessing it humbles him.

 

As he plunges his claws into Deucalion's heart and feels the enormous power surging through him like lightning, something in him breaks. He throws his head back, but the mighty roar that is forced from his throat is full of anguish, not triumph… Because what should be a fulfillment of his lifelong dream feels like a bitter loss, instead, and leaves his mouth tasting of ash.

 

Notes:

This chapter was planned since some time now, but it was still almost too painful to write... I'm gonna hide and cry, now.

Chapter 51

When Peter calls and tells him that Deucalion and his entire pack was killed by Gerard, Chris freezes. 

 

This is wrong, it's all wrong, Deucalion was supposed to be safe, he was supposed to steer clear of Gerard. Worst case scenario, he would've been blinded again but this… Death such as this is final. With the entire pack gone, there's no ritual that could bring Deucalion back to life. Chris will never get the chance to touch, kiss, or talk with him ever again, and the sudden sense of loss threatens to overwhelm him like a tidal wave.

 

Then, his training kicks in and he remembers the most important rule during any kind of emergency: prioritizing living above the dead.

 

“Peter, are you still by his body?” he asks with urgency.

 

“Yes, I can't just leave him like that, I- I need to bury him…” Peter chokes out.

 

“Do you really think that hunters would just leave the bodies lying around for someone to find them on a stroll? They need to dispose of them, so most probably they just went to get a truck or something to transport them. Can you hear any cars nearby?”

 

“No, nothing– Wait, I hear something, it's far enough but getting closer.”

 

A feeling of foreboding runs down his spine. “You need to leave, right now.”

 

“But we need to have proof of this, we need to make them pay…!” Peter growls, and Chris thinks quickly.

 

“Take a few photos with your phone. If you have time, dig the bullet out of Deucalion's wound. But above all, you need to run away before the hunters spot you. Go!” he orders and disconnects, not wasting any second on a phone call that Peter should be using to make sure that he’s safe.

 

The next few minutes are excruciating. His mind jumps from Deucalion's death to Peter running for his life, and he doesn't even know which is worse. Each second drags by, leaving him a nervous wreck, and he's barely aware that he's pacing around, his mind in a haze. Inside, he begs whichever higher power is out there, to keep Peter safe.

 

Please, just let him be okay. I don't want to lose two people in one day.

 

Finally, his phone rings, and he almost drops it before managing to press the green button. “Are you okay? Did they see you?”

 

“I'm fine, and no, I don't think so. If they saw me, they would've chased after me, but I wasn't followed,” Peter is breathing quickly, but that's probably the exertion from the run mixed with adrenaline. “I'm in my car, heading straight to Beacon Hills.”

 

The sheer relief makes his knees weak like jelly, and he sits down before he collapses.

 

“I want to see you,” he says hoarsely. For the first time since all of this happened, Peter doesn't respond, and Chris tenses up. “There's something that you're not telling me.”

 

“You're not going to like it,” the werewolf admits.

 

“Frankly speaking, I don't care. I need to make sure that you're alright. Call me as soon as you arrive.”

 

“I will.”

 

When Peter hangs up, Chris exhales shakily, feeling heavy with guilt. He's been too idle and complacent, trusting that a few discreet warnings here and there would be enough to keep the people he cares about safe. But events have already diverged too much from what he remembers of his first life, and he can't rely on them anymore. He needs to start eliminating the threats that he knows of, instead of passively waiting for them to happen, and his father just landed on the very top of that list.

 

He needs to remind himself of the main rule about revenge, that it's a dish best served cold, since his blood starts to boil with barely constrained fury. Soon, Gerard will pay for what he's done, but not today, he promises.

 

But today, he needs to focus on the people he loves, and he calls Melissa, asking her if she can take Allison for the evening. The woman agrees immediately, but when he arrives at her place, something in his face must have alerted her about the state of mind he's in, as she takes his arm and steers him outside, so that the children can't overhear them.

 

“What happened? Is everything okay?”

 

He shakes his head because no, nothing is okay.

 

“I just found out that my friend and ex-lover is dead. I didn't even get to say goodbye to him,” he says woodenly, feeling completely drained of energy. “Thank you for agreeing to look after Allison.”

 

“Take as much time as you need, we'll be fine,” she assures him.

 

He can sense her surprise that he had a male lover, but she doesn't mention it, nor asks any more questions, and he appreciates it. Not that he's ashamed of the fact that he's bisexual, but he's in mourning, and his sexuality is not something that he wants to talk about at the moment. If he's being honest, he doesn't want to talk at all, not when he's feeling this raw.

 

His phone rings, Peter's number showing on the screen, and he shoots Melissa an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, I have to take this. Thank you again.”

 

She nods that she understands, and goes back to the children, closing the door behind her.

 

***

 

Peter's decision to call Chris Argent of all people was a little risky, considering the fact that it's the man's father who's responsible for slaughtering Deucalion's pack, but he did it without thinking, without analyzing pros and cons, or risks involved. Somehow, without him even noticing, the hunter became the person he trusts the most, especially in life and death situations, and once again Chris proves to be worthy of that trust, warning him of danger. 

 

He's not ecstatic about being in the man's debt, again, but he's also not hating the fact nearly as much as he should be. It doesn't feel like he owes Chris anything, besides gratitude, and he's recently learned to express it when it's due. There are no strings attached to Chris’ help, he's fairly certain of that by now, and it reinforces his trust in the man even more.

 

When he passes Beacon Hills’ borders, he wonders if he should notify Talia of his arrival. Not that he owes his sister anything, but there are rules for one Alpha staying on the territory of another. Suddenly, all the lessons in etiquette which he's always found so boring come to his mind, demanding his attention, but he shoves them aside for the time being. Besides, he actually owns a part of the Preserve, so Talia can't claim the entire Beacon Hills as hers, not anymore.

 

He parks his car in Chris’ neighborhood, but not directly in front of the man's house, just as an extra precaution. He may trust the man, but Argents as a whole are no better than common criminals, and he can't be sure that they don't know what car he drives. 

 

If he's being honest with himself, he's nervous what Chris’ reaction will be to his sudden rise in status. There are no witnesses to the fact that it was Deucalion's wish that Peter takes his Alpha power, and the only thing he has as a proof of his innocence is his own word. 

 

He reaches Chris’ house, just as the man arrives as well. They're standing in front of the garage for a few moments, not saying anything and just looking at each other, and then Peter is being pulled inside, the garage doors sliding down behind him. Before he has a chance to react, he's embraced by warm, strong arms that encircle him protectively.

 

“Thank God that you're okay,” the hunter whispers hoarsely, tightening his hold even more. All logic suggests that it should make Peter's breathing more difficult, but it's the exact opposite; it almost feels like he can finally breathe again... But no, there's one more thing that is still constricting his throat, and he has to get it out, before it chokes him: the truth.

 

He takes a step back. “I need to show you something.”

 

He just wants to get it over with, so he alights his irises, seeing their red glow reflected in Chris’ eyes, which widen in shock. The man's expression hardens, hands curling into fists, and Peter's hope starts to crumble.

 

“Explain,” the hunter demands.

 

Okay, at least he has a chance to explain himself. But will Chris believe him?

 

“When I reached Deucalion, he was already dying, wolfsbane almost reaching his heart already…” 

 

Chris scoffs, an ugly grimace making his face almost unrecognizable. “So what, you decided to finish him off and take his power for himself?”

 

Peter wants to be angry at the accusation, but he knows that a part of him would've been perfectly capable of doing just that, especially if he hadn't grown to like Deucalion beforehand. 

 

He exhales slowly. “No, Deucalion asked me to kill him, because he didn't want to let his Alpha spark go to waste. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, because I liked him, and he didn't deserve to die. So if you want to hate me, then hate me all you like, but I only did what he asked me to.”

 

Chris’ shoulders droop, and he looks more exhausted than angry, now. “I don't hate you, and I'm sorry for the accusation, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I just can't believe that he's gone.”

 

Peter nods with understanding, because he can't quite believe it either, even though he witnessed it himself. The Alpha had seemed larger than life, back when he was still alive, and his death makes no sense whatsoever, like an aberration, something that shouldn't have happened at all.

 

“In his last words, Deucalion wanted me to tell you that you were precious to him. He must've loved you very much,” he says gently, even though it hurts like hell to face the truth, that Chris not only grieves the loss of a friend, but someone he loved.

 

In that moment, he realizes what should've already been obvious to him from the very start: that he wants to be that someone, and it's killing him to know that Chris’ heart already belongs to another. But how can he compete with someone who's dead, and whom he can never really replace?...

 

Chapter 52

Hearing what Deucalion's last words were… It reawakens in Chris the all too familiar pain of losing someone he loved and cared about. This agony, it has been his old companion; he had felt similar heart-wrenching pain when witnessing Victoria's suicide, and then learning about Allison's death. Both events had nearly broken him, back in the previous timeline, and building his life back from the rubble all those deaths had left him with was an experience he wished he would never need to repeat ever again.

 

And now, the same pain strikes again, and he's equally as defenseless to it as he was back then. It hurts so fucking much, that he slides to the floor with his back pressed to the wall, letting tears trickle freely down his cheeks. He has found something rare and true with Deucalion, a connection that didn't have anything to do with romance, and everything with trust, with companionship. Losing it so suddenly, so needlessly, it makes his body shake with pain and grief.

 

He senses Peter's hesitance, the slight shuffling of his body betraying that the werewolf is uncomfortable with being a witness to such a blatant expression of grief, and yet the man stays with him through it all, sitting down next to him and simply watching as he comes undone.

 

“I've lost people already, but it never gets any easier,” Chris finally says, his voice hoarse from crying, even after the tears have stopped flowing. “Once, when I was at my limits and thought that I didn't have anything left to live for, I considered ending it all with a gun.”

 

“Why didn't you?” The werewolf asks, and Chris would be offended if he didn't know that it's in Peter's nature to be this blunt.

 

He thinks about Isaac, shoulders hunched and eyes filled with unshed eyes, so lost after Allison's death. He thinks about Scott whom he had left to take care of Isaac, but ultimately came back for, and would always come back for. 

 

The answer to Peter's question comes easily to him, then. “There were people who counted on me, so I decided not to give up, as long as I'm still needed.”

 

Peter frowns. “So you didn't kill yourself, because what? You found a purpose?”

 

He lets out a long exhale. “I think that sums it up quite right. When you have something or someone to fight for, surrender is not an option. So as painful as losing Deucalion is, it's not going to break me, if that's what you're worried about.”

 

“But you loved him.”

 

He considers Peter's statement for a moment. “I did love him, though not in the way you're probably thinking of. I wasn't in love with Deucalion, but I cared about him nevertheless. He was an extraordinary man, and I treasured every moment I spent with him. I miss him already,” he admits. 

 

“You and I both,” Peter mutters under his breath, and in that moment Chris is reminded that he's not the only one grieving or shaken by today's events. After all, it was Peter who witnessed the aftermath of Gerard's killing spree, and who's probably even more affected by this than he lets on, but is too proud to admit it.

 

“Come on, there's no use sitting on a cold, concrete floor, when there's a perfectly comfortable sofa in my living room.” He stands up and offers Peter a hand, even though the werewolf hardly needs it, then hauls him up.

 

“You're inviting me in?” Peter tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed, considering his offer as if it's a legal contract with lots of fine print.

 

Chris suppresses a snort. “Well, I assumed that we both could use some company, but if you have already made other plans for the evening–”

 

He doesn't get to finish, as Peter swirls around and swaggers inside as if he owns the place. The sight makes him strangely nostalgic, because this is exactly the pose the older Peter had mastered into perfection, and he finds himself missing the smug asshole - which he'd vehemently deny, if anyone asked.

 

“Don't sit on the sofa before you change your clothes, you have blood on you,” he calls out loudly, then follows Peter inside.

 

***

 

After a few snippety remarks and sarcastic comments exchanged on both sides, they finally end up on the sofa, with Peter looking slightly more at ease in fresh clothes and with a drink in hand. Considering the recent events, Chris doesn't offer to spice it up with wolfsbane. Some other evening, maybe, but not today, not when it was the same herb that was used against Deucalion's pack. He twirls his own drink in the glass, then allows his gaze to wander towards the werewolf currently occupying the other half of the sofa.

 

This version of Peter seems more mature than the little shit that Chris met when he first landed in this timeline. There are dark circles underneath Peter's eyes, and a shade of stubble that makes him look more like a man than a boy. Still, he's not the hardened murderer and master manipulator that the future version of him had become - will become?... The mess that time travel makes of tenses is making Chris' head hurt, but it doesn't change the fact that this Peter's path has already diverged too much from his future selves’, to the point that comparing them now would be an exercise in futility.

 

Only here and now matters, he realizes. 

 

He puts the drink on the coffee table, before he shuffles closer to his companion, who's watching his every movement like a hawk.

 

“What do you think that you're doing?” Peter asks suspiciously.

 

“Trying to get close enough to you for a cuddle,” the stunned look he receives makes him smile in genuine amusement, and he's relieved that even after everything, he's still able to find joy in simple things such as these. “And here I thought that werewolves are tactile creatures…”

 

“I wouldn't know, I'm not exactly a good example to judge the entire werewolf species by.”

 

There's something in that reply that doesn't sit well with Chris, like an echo of old pain that Peter has apparently become so used to, that he now considers it an integral part of himself. When was the last time Peter allowed himself to enjoy physical affection? And how can Chris help to remind him how good it can feel?

 

“How about an experiment? Let's snuggle, and afterwards you'll tell me how it felt,” he suggests, then seeing that Peter's resistance starts to crumble, he adds lightly: “For scientific purposes only?”

 

“Fine, but no one can know about it,” Peter grumbles, putting his glass away as well.

 

“Don't worry, your reputation is safe with me.”

 

Finding a comfortable position is not the easiest task, especially when Peter is still so stiff and tense, but a minute passes, then another, and the werewolf's body slowly relaxes against his. 

 

***

 

Being so close to the object of his desires is both a blessing and a curse, and Peter tries not to react to the strong chest that he's pressed against, nor to the warm, calloused hand caressing his side almost absentmindedly. He needs to admit that it is a pleasant sensation, and without meaning to he actually starts to relax in the man's embrace.

 

He doesn't know what to do with his hands, though, so after some squirming he finally curls one of them on Chris’ chest, while he puts the other around the man's waist. In response, he's rewarded with a soft, breathy sigh. Ever so gently, Chris brushes his lips against Peter's forehead; a ghost of a kiss that somehow feels more intimate than groping that Peter has been used to with his previous fuck-buddies, and he can't take it anymore. Feeling that he's about to snap, he entangles himself from the man's arms, trying to get a grip on himself.

 

“Hey, what's wrong? Did I do anything…?” Chris asks with worry, and Peter lets out a sharp laugh, his voice devoid of any joy.

 

“You don't get it, do you? Ever since that day in the forest, I’ve craved you more than I've ever desired anyone else, but you made it perfectly clear that you don't want to have anything to do with me. But then, you saved my life again and again, and against everything that I've ever been taught, I've started to trust you. And now, you're touching me like I- like I matter to you, and it's– it's fucking cruel, what you're doing, since we both know that you don't want me, so why torment me with what I can't have?"

 

His chest feels like it's compressed by something cold and heavy, and his eyes are stinging with angry tears, but he still meets the hunter's eyes straight on, because he's an Alpha werewolf now, and he's not a coward.

 

A myriad of feelings fly across Chris’ face, his chemosignals becoming so varied and mixed up, that Peter doesn't even try to untangle them. 

 

“Peter…” the hunter says hoarsely, and just as Peter steels himself against rejection, his lips are captured in a hungry kiss.

 

Chris’ mouth devours him with a single-minded focus that makes him dizzy, and he moans in response. Then, Chris grips the back of his neck and adjusts the angle for better access, and to his own surprise Peter lets him. This is usually a huge red flag for werewolves, to be touched on the neck like that, but it only makes him melt against the man even more. When they finally part, they're both breathing heavily, and Peter's relieved that he's not the only one affected.

 

“Why?” He still asks, because if it was just a pity kiss, he's going to storm out and never let himself open up to this man ever again.

 

“I told you before: attraction, trust and respect,” Chris says, his palm never leaving its place on the back of Peter's neck, “this is what I'm looking for in all my relationships, casual or not. You're not the same person that you were when we first met, and I like what I'm seeing now. But the question is, what would you like to do with it?”

 

Peter opens his mouth, then hesitates. A huge part of him wants them to rut like animals and bury all his fears and troubles in sex, just like humans tend to do with alcohol or drugs. But with Chris, he wants to think about long play, not about a short-lived satisfaction. He wants them to last, and for that, they need time; time to get to know each other better; time to figure out what they can be for one another. And he's going to make sure that they have it.

 

“For now, I want to go back to cuddling,” he says decisively, leaving no room for discussion. “So, be a good pillow and lie back, so that I can make myself comfortable.”

 

The genuine laugh that he receives in response is all the confirmation he needs to know that he's made the right choice.

 

Chapter 53

Notes:

Hi folks, huge apologies for such a long wait, I can't believe it's been almost half a year since I updated this story! As usual, life got in the way, but I'm back now, so you might expect more updates in the future.
Hopefully you're as excited to jump back into this story as I am!

When Peter drifts off to sleep, Chris watches over him, unable to fall asleep himself, the thoughts swirling in his head keeping him awake.

 

He didn't plan on kissing Peter, it was done in a spur of the moment, the mix of heart-breaking grief over Deucalion's death and sheer relief that Peter had managed to get to safety making him act spontaneously as he rarely is. He doesn't regret it, though. His past life gave him a glimpse of the man Peter will become, at least physically. Mentally and emotionally, this younger Peter is both similar to his older counterpart, and yet unique, not having experienced the deaths of his almost entire family in the fire, but still not being a stranger to pain and grief. Losing the twins, being cast out from the pack, and now witnessing Deucalion's death… It didn't leave Peter unscathed.

 

Hell, it didn't leave him unscathed. He didn't get a chance to brace himself for the events that went awry so unexpectedly fast, in a direction he hadn't expected in the slightest… Seeing Peter's red eyes was like a punch to his guts; not because he thinks that Peter was insincere in his recollection of the events, but because it's the ultimate proof that Deucalion is fully and irrevocably gone, and it fucking hurts.

 

One would think that losing loved ones gets easier to bear with time, but it's not. Especially not when he's partially responsible for it due to his own inaction. True, he had warned Deucalion that Gerard was up to no good, but apparently that wasn't enough. What if the only way to keep Peter safe is to remove Gerard from the equation?...

 

He can't claim that he fully knows his father, but he prides himself on knowing him better than most. Once Gerard catches a whiff of there being proof of his misdeeds, the man will design a way to twist the truth and make himself the victim. Chris can't allow that to happen, not with Deucalion's death already weighing on him, and Peter's life still being at stake. What he needs to do is to be one step ahead of his father, because once he loses the element of surprise, he might as well lose the fight altogether.

 

As much as he hates having to do it, he wakes Peter up in the middle of the night. The werewolf blinks sleepily at him, then seeing his serious expression props himself up on his elbows, instantly on alert.

 

“What's wrong?”

 

Chris shakes his head. “Nothing yet, but I don’t dare to let us both be asleep at the same time, just in case you were followed or someone saw you coming here. Did you get enough sleep to take the next watch, and wake me up if anything is out of the ordinary?”

 

Peter stares at him. “You were staying awake this whole time…?” Seeing Chris’ nod, the werewolf clears his throat. “Go on, get some rest, I've slept enough.”

 

Chris nods and lies down, cocooning himself in the duvet that smells pleasantly of Peter. The pillow is still warm with the werewolf's body warmth, and he wishes he could bury himself in it forever. At the same time, he can't help but recall another Alpha, another lover who had been warming up his bed not that long ago. His fist tightens for a moment around the sheet, before he heaves a long sigh and relaxes his palm, letting the sense of loss wash over him. 

 

Deucalion will always be a part of him, that's never going to change, but he's actually glad that Peter had the chance to get to know the man as well, before everything went down to hell. At least that way, they have each other to share their loss with, rather than having to face it alone. And maybe - once the fight is over and Gerard is no longer a threat - both of them could share more than just grief and comfort.

 

That thought, full of tentative hope, is what allows him to relax and before he knows it, he's fast asleep.

 

***

 

Thankfully, the night passes peacefully and he's allowed to sleep undisturbed until morning. He wakes up to the sight of Peter's back, as the werewolf stands a few steps away from the window, probably barely visible from the outside, but still able to watch the area with his supernatural eyesight, and he squashes a feeling of disappointment. He foolishly imagined that Peter would watch him, instead, but it's much smarter and more vigilant to be looking out for the potential threats, rather than gaze at each other like some lovesick teens. Still, that sense of disappointment probably changes something in his chemosignals, as Peter turns around.

 

“I didn't see anything suspicious, if that's what you're worried about.”

 

Chris sits up and croaks out: “that's good”, before taking a sip of water from the glass sitting on the nightstand; a dry throat is a good excuse to buy himself a few seconds to gather his bearings. It's not the best time to get emotional, not now, when all that he should be thinking of is how to neutralize the threat posed by his father.

 

After a quick breakfast, he asks Peter to give him the bullet. The dried out blood doesn't fully cover the fleur-de-lis that's been engraved in the silver, and he clenches his jaw at the sight, feeling enraged and powerless all at once. 

 

Peter squeezes his hand without a word, allowing him a moment to collect himself, “So, what's the plan?”

 

“I need to talk to my wife. I don't want to go rogue, not when there's still a chance that she'll give me the green light to do what needs to be done.”

 

The werewolf grimaces, but if it's because those words remind him of what Gerard did, or of the fact that Chris is a hunter, and a married one at that, it's hard to tell. Or maybe it's both, God knows that Peter has enough reasons not to want to get involved with him, in any capacity, much less romantically... That it's still on the table is no short of being amazing – but maybe also a little concerning; after everything Peter has been through, the man shouldn't be so eager to complicate his life even more.

 

He clears his throat, pushing his doubts to the back of his mind where they belong. “What about you?”

 

“I guess I need to talk to Talia,” Peter makes a face at the thought. “She's a pain in the ass, but Deucalion was her friend, and she deserves to know what happened to him. Even if she'll hate me for it.”

 

“If you prefer, I can be the one to tell her–” Chris delicately suggests, but receives a firm shake of head in response.

 

“No, I've claimed Deucalion's powers, so it's my responsibility. Besides, my sister has a habit of making me a scapegoat whenever it suits her, so being blamed again will not make much of a difference,” the man's lips stretch in a mirthless, bittersweet smile.

 

Chris grits his teeth when he remembers how broken Peter was shortly after being thrown out of the Hale pack; out of all the bad decisions Talia made, this was probably the most hurtful and unfair. Still, he needs to admit that recently the woman proved to have some redeeming qualities, her hatred of child abusers rivaling even Chris’ own, and he honestly appreciates her willingness to help with the Lahey boys’ situation.

 

“If she gives you too much trouble, call me,” he offers. “Talia can be stubborn as hell, but she can also be reasoned with, at least once the emotions are not running high. Hopefully, I can talk her into listening to reason.”

 

Peter gives him a surprised look. “Since when are you so chummy with my sister?”

 

“We're not exactly friends, but we've helped each other out, on more than one occasion. It's better if Talia and I get along, rather than be at odds with each other, especially for Derek’s and the boys’ sake,” he explains. “At least that way they don't get caught in the middle.”

 

The explanation only causes Peter to grow even more confused. “Wait, what boys? I thought that you only had a daughter?”

 

Well, fuck. He didn't even consider that Peter might not know about Isaac and Camden… He quickly explains what happened with the Laheys, then adds: “Talia stepped up and volunteered to take the custody of the boys then, even if it's temporary for now. With my recent history of shooting Kate, and being separated from my wife, the court might not have looked favorably into me taking care of them.”

 

“You're separated?” For the first time today, Peter perks up, looking at him with interest. Probably it's just a diversion, something to focus on while the man is still processing all that Chris told him, but regardless of the reason behind it, it’s good to see him less gloomy than before.

 

He shakes his head. “Not officially, no, but she's living in another city and doesn't plan on coming back.”

 

“Would you like her to?”

 

If any other person asked that question, he would've probably told them to mind their own business, but Peter deserves to know exactly where they're standing.

 

“We're not romantically or sexually involved anymore, so no. And even if she comes back to Beacon Hills, which seems unlikely, we would live separately at this point. We only stay married for political reasons; the Argent clan needs a matriarch, and with Kate gone, there's no one else to fill those shoes.” Much as he hates the hunters’ politics, ignoring them altogether wouldn't do anyone any good. It's better to have Victoria as the leader, rather than some stranger appointed by other matriarchs. 

 

Peter nods, looking appeased to an extent, but not exactly happy, so Chris leans forward and pulls him into a kiss, short and firm, more to make a point than anything else.

 

“When this whole mess with Gerard is all done, we're going to sit down and figure out where do we want to go with this,” he promises.

 

In response, Peter raises his eyebrow. “You mean, where do we want to go with us.” The werewolf sets his mouth stubbornly, eyes gleaming with a challenge.

 

“Yes, with us,” he agrees easily. It feels good, being able to say it; that there is an ‘us’ to begin with. It's a new development, but one he welcomes gladly.

 

Chapter 54

When Chris goes to handle the hunters’ politics - an unnecessary step which Peter would gladly skip altogether and go straight to the revenge part – it leaves him with some free time to deal with his own family drama, and he wonders how to approach Talia. Two Alphas in such a small town seem like one too many, especially since Satomi also resides in the same county, even if not exactly in the town itself. 

 

He closes the house with a pair of keys Chris gave him before leaving, and the domestic feeling such a small gesture gives him is enough to boost his mood and confidence enough to actually go and face his sister.

 

By a way of habit he starts driving towards their old house, before he remembers it has been burnt to a crisp. He then goes to the hotel, only to find that his family has already checked out. In hindsight, it makes perfect sense; as werewolves they probably didn't want to live without a den to call their own for longer than it was strictly necessary. 

 

The realization that Talia didn't deem it necessary to inform him about their new whereabouts is quite eye-opening. He's truly estranged from his own family, and it's as painful of a realization as it is freeing. For the first time ever, he's truly his own man, making his own choices, be it mistakes or triumphs - he owns them all.

 

He wouldn't change it for anything, but he still misses the sense of connection that comes from being a part of a group, be it a pack or a family. Suddenly, he remembers one person who should still be staying in the same place ever since the fire… Cora. And despite Talia's multiple attempts to make Peter feel like he isn't a part of the family anymore - or maybe in spite of them - Cora is still his niece, and visiting her in the hospital is the least he can do.

 

And if it raises Talia's hackles once she learns about it, well, that's even better.

 

***

 

At the hospital he quickly learns that Cora isn't doing much better, but at least she's not doing worse, which with burns so excessive is nothing less than a miracle, the nurse tells him. The woman's familiar but not familiar enough that he would remember her name, so he glances at her name tag. Melissa, yes, he remembers her now. She was taking care of him too, after the fire.

 

“Can I sit with Cora for a while?” He asks stiffly. He's not used to asking for permission when it comes to seeing his family, but here, under the bright white hospital lights, surrounded by unfamiliar smells, he feels out of his element.

 

“Of course,” Melissa nods empathically, leads him to his niece's room, then closes the door after her as she leaves him alone with Cora.

 

He feels slightly awkward, watching the girl's disfigured face. The skin isn't as red and burned as a few weeks before, but is now covered with horrific scars that might be even worse, with how inhuman they look. It's as if Cora has melted in the fire, and some sad-looking monster replaced her, but as a werewolf he knows better than that. Looks may change, but what remains underneath is what concerns him. Will Cora ever wake up - and if she does, how will she react to losing her home, her siblings? A tragedy like this can break a grown-up man, much less a little girl.

 

No, he thinks to himself. If anything, Cora is a fighter. Out of all her siblings, she's the rebellious one, a wild spirit - quite like him. If anyone can go through all of this and not break, it's her.

 

Heart heavy but somewhat reassured at the same time, he leaves the room, only to stumble as a weight full of limbs crashes into him. He catches the huffing, wiggly missile just before it falls down to the floor - and a pair of light-brown, teary eyes blink at him.

 

“Sorry, I didn't see you,” the boy mumbles, then, as Peter helps to steady him on his feet, the kid sniffles and wipes snot into his already damp sleeve. 

 

Disgusting things, children, Peter thinks, but without any true spite. Being a little repulsive is a part of being a kid, before manners and propriety are irreversibly drilled into them. But adults can do disgusting things too - they just tend to do them in private, without anyone watching. Having enhanced senses, he knows that better than anyone.

 

“It's hard to see anything when you're crying and running at the same time,” he says, not unkindly, then with a quick look-around locates a package of tissues on the reception desk. “Wait here,” he orders, before fetching a tissue and giving it to the kid.

 

The boy sighs, resigned, then blows his nose. Nosily. To Peter's sensitive ears, it sounds like a trumpet blowing, and he suppresses a grimace. 

 

“I know I’m not supposed to be running here, but my mom's sick,” the kid explains, looking gloomy as he shoves the dirty tissue into his pocket. “Today, it was… really bad, worse than before, and I just– I know it's stupid. Running away doesn't solve any problems,” he sounds as if he's quoting something he heard too many times, likely from an adult, and Peter snorts.

 

“Running away maybe doesn't, but running in itself, that's an entirely different story. It gives one a sense of strength, of being in control. A way out of being trapped in your own head. So if running is something that helps you, don't apologize for it.”

 

The boy beams at him shyly, then runs down the corridor, waving at him at the same time and knocking into more people due to not watching where he was going. In hindsight, Peter thinks that maybe he should've advised the kid to find more appropriate places to run, but it's too late now.

 

“Was that wise? Stiles is going to be insufferable now,” Melissa rebukes as she approaches him, but despite the stern tone of voice, her face is fond as she watches the boy stumble through the crowd.

 

He shrugs. “If I had a sick mom, I would be running too. Whatever helps.”

 

“Whatever helps,” she agrees, and he knows that she gets it. After witnessing all the deaths while working as a nurse, she probably sees her share of tragedies and how people cope with them.

 

“Thank you for taking care of Cora,” he says sincerely. “Do you know when it will be safe to move her from the hospital to a more… comfortable place?”

 

“I'll ask the doctor and let Talia know.”

 

He wants to argue that he's family and deserves to know it too, but he's not Cora's guardian, so he swallows all the angry comments and thanks the woman, then goes to the exit, more than ready to leave the hospital and its gloomy atmosphere behind him. The acrid smell of antiseptics stubbornly clings to his clothes, though, and for a second he considers rolling around on the grass like a common dog, before he decides against it; at least that way, his sister will have a harder time reading his chemosignals. And at this point, any advantage he might have over her counts.

 

He stops outside the hospital and considers calling Chris to ask for Talia's new address, wondering if it's a good moment, as the hunter is supposed to be talking with his wife, when he hears his name.

 

“Peter, what are you doing here?” Derek exclaims, surprise written all over his face as the teen runs towards him.

 

He can't help it, he snorts. “Visiting Cora, why else would I be in the hospital?”

 

“I meant in Beacon Hills, and you know it! When did you come back? Why haven't you called?” Derek sounds hurt, and Peter sighs. Before he can reply, though, Derek's eyes widen and the teen stiffens. “Something's… different about you. What–”

 

“Not here,” he warns.

 

Derek looks ready to protest, before taking a breath and nodding. “I know a place, I sometimes go there after visiting Cora, we won't be overheard there. Follow me.”

 

Peter doesn't like to think why his nephew knows such a place in the first place, and regrets not being there for Derek when the teen probably needed support the most, but in his defense, he had been a mess too. They both suffered, but it was Peter who had been stripped of a pack on top of it. He shouldn't feel guilty for prioritizing himself back then… and yet a part of him does feel guilty. Internally, he acknowledges it but doesn't let the guilt weigh on him, and it feels good, to be in touch with his emotions without letting them rule his actions. 

 

Chris would be proud, he muses to himself, and smiles brightly, almost causing Derek to stumble at the sight.

 

“Why are you smiling like that?” The teen asks with suspicion.

 

“Mind your own business, brat,” he scuffs Derek's head lightly, then puts an arm around his shoulders in a side-hug. “It's good to be back,” he admits. 

 

Derek glances at him. “How long are you planning on staying?”

 

This time, Peter's smile is all teeth and attitude, with a dash of mischief. “Oh, I'm not leaving anytime soon, no matter what my dear sister will have to say about it.” 

 

At the long last, he feels like he's ready to meet her, to face her like an equal. No matter what happens next and how she reacts, in his head he feels like he's already won.

 

Chapter 55

The abandoned, run-down cabin which seems to have seen better days around half a century ago is not a place Peter would picture Derek voluntarily spending time in, but the longer he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. There are states of mind that don't fit in clean, bright, polished spaces, and with what they have been through, he can understand why such a wreck of a building might be more fitting.

 

“This is… an interesting place for you to spend time in,” He still comments, casting a sweeping look around them, taking in the dusty surroundings. “From what I remember, you used to be more social.”

 

Derek crosses his arms over his chest, looking defensive. “I'm not moping around here on purpose, if that's what you're thinking.”

 

“I didn't say it. There's a difference between seeking solitude and isolating oneself,” he explains. “As long as you're doing the former and not the latter, you should be fine.”

 

“Says an Omega werewolf… I should be asking you how you're coping without a pack,” Derek mutters as he keeps observing Peter, trying to put a finger on what his wolf has probably already sensed.

 

Peter spares him further confusion. “I'm an Alpha now,” he flashes his glowing red eyes.

 

Derek jumps back, startled. “Whoa, what the- How did you…?”

 

Peter grimaces. Yesterday's events are still fresh in his mind, and he doesn't feel like telling the story all over again. He can't even begin to explain what killing a friend felt like, even a friend who has made his peace with it.

 

“Deucalion's pack was killed off by the hunters, and I inherited his Alpha powers,” he finally explains, knowing perfectly well how vague he sounds. 

 

Derek furrows his brow. “There's more to it, isn't it?”

 

“At least you don't accuse me of lying.”

 

“That's because you didn't lie, I can tell. But you didn't say that hunters killed off your pack, which means that you weren't a part of it… But how else would you have received the powers after the Alpha's death? Unless–”

 

Peter sighs. When did his nephew become so perceptive, anyway? “Deucalion was dying already, wolfsbane almost reaching his heart, so yes, I finished it,” he admits bluntly.

 

Derek bites his lower lip, looking uncertain. “Um, does Chris know?”

 

“Yes, he knows. He was the first person I told. You're the second, by the way, so you should feel flattered.”

 

I don't trust easily, he doesn't say, but he doesn't need to; judging by the way Derek's eyes widen, the teen knows exactly how rare it is for Peter to trust anyone, but he doesn't comment on it.

 

“He must be devastated. Chris, I mean.”

 

Peter nods. “He's grieving. We both are. Killing someone I knew, someone I respected… it wasn't easy, you know, but letting the hunters win would've been even worse. Chris is now working on making those motherfuckers pay for what they did, and I'll happily join him, if he lets me.”

 

Every part of him aches to spill blood, but he can’t be entirely sure if this is his thirst for revenge speaking, or is he already going feral without any packbonds to ground him. Being an Alpha is an advantage, of course, but even Alphas can’t remain packless for too long without experiencing some side effects. That’s why he can’t trust himself - at least not in this.

 

“What happens now? How is this going to work, two Alphas in one town?” Derek asks after a moment.

 

“I don’t know, but this is between Talia and I. We need to figure out how we can coexist going forward without clashing too much… But in the end, I have as much right to build my pack here as she does. I will not let myself be exiled,” he curls his fists, determined.

 

Not so long ago, he left Beacon Hills to find his own path; it’s ironic that it would lead him back home. But he came back a changed person, and this town resonates with him better now than it did for almost his entire life, as if he first needed to find out who he is before he could settle down.

 

He doesn’t know if becoming an Alpha did it, or if growing closer to Chris was the deciding factor, but he finally feels ready to settle down, and isn’t it a small miracle in itself? Who knows, maybe this is what growing up feels like, and even if he’s a few years late to the party - well, at least he arrived there on his own terms.

 

He pats Derek on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go to my car and we’ll drive to your new house. Which, for the record, I wasn’t told the address of.”

 

“Mom didn’t tell you? That’s so… petty!” His nephew grumbles, and Peter shrugs as they walk out of the door and exit the cabin.

 

“It might be pettiness, or it might be that she simply forgot, but it doesn’t really matter. I have more important things to worry about than what my sister thinks about me.” And for once, that’s actually true.

 

***

 

Talia’s reaction is… not what he expected. 

 

The moment she sees him at the door, she knows, he can tell by the look in her eyes. If he was worried by his own chemosignals giving off his state of mind, it is nothing compared to an onslaught of emotions that he senses from her: anger, fear, mistrust, relief… hope. Some of them make total sense, some make no sense whatsoever. If she were a human, he would’ve been worried about her fainting or popping a vein.

 

“How about we all come inside?” He suggests calmly.

 

“That depends on what your intentions are,” she immediately retorts, and he has to admire how quickly she regained her composure.

 

“Talking, mostly.”

 

She raises her eyebrow. “Is that it? Just talking?”

 

“First there’s the informing part, with me doing some explaining, and then maybe we’ll get to the negotiating part - well, if we get that far without coming to blows. So yes, Talia, just talking,” he rolls his eyes, exasperated. 

 

It’s highly probable that it’s the eye-roll which manages to convince her that he truly doesn’t plan on causing any trouble, as she steps aside, holding the door and letting him in. Then, she glances at Derek and shakes her head. “That’s not a conversation for you, young man. Go help Camden and Isaac in the backyard, they’re mending the fence.”

 

Derek looks like he’s ready to protest, before he gives her a stiff nod and goes outside. 

 

“I already told him an abridged version of what happened,” Peter warns her. “He’s not a kid anymore, and he’s smarter than you give him credit for.”

 

“I hope that criticizing my parenting methods is not on the list of the things you wanted to talk about,” she snaps, looking moderately irritated.

 

“No, I came here to inform you that Deucalion and his entire pack are dead,” he says bluntly, shocking her into silence, which is exactly why he planned it that way. This gives him the chance to explain everything that has transpired since yesterday - well, not everything, but what she needs to know about the circumstances of her friend’s death.

 

Her face is pasty-white, and her eyes are red-rimmed when she looks at him, but her gaze is as sharp as ever, if not more. “How do I know that this is not one big, fat lie that you came up with to justify killing Deucalion for his Alpha power?”

 

He exhales slowly, determined not to let her words get into him. “I don’t have an issue with killing, and I’ve definitely considered getting rid of some Alpha to get what I want. But I would have chosen someone lesser than me, someone actually deserving of being killed. And Deucalion did not deserve to die, not by my hand, and certainly not by Gerard and his lackeys’.”

 

Talia takes a few wobbly steps and flops on the sofa inelegantly, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Then, she hides her face in her hands as she starts crying.

 

He doesn’t know what to do. He has rarely seen her cry, especially not so openly, as she’s always tried to put a brave face in his presence. But this… this is new, and he doesn’t know what to do with it, how to react. Thankfully, her meltdown doesn’t last long, and after a few last sobs, she takes a deep breath and wipes her cheeks with her palms. 

 

“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” he says quietly, once she seems to have calmed down. “Deucalion was an extraordinary man, and I’m honored that I’ve had the chance to get to know him.”

 

“He was, and I’ll miss him, but he’s not the only reason why I was crying. You really don’t know what this means for me, that you’re an Alpha now, do you?” she asks, her voice rough from crying.

 

“I’m not challenging you, if that’s what you’re implying–”

 

“My daughter is in a coma, Peter,” her voice breaks as she says it. “Don’t you think that I would’ve given everything to help her heal? Everything, including my Alpha spark! But what good would it do if I made us all into Omegas? Before long, we would’ve all turned feral, Derek and Cora especially, as kids need packbonds the most. But you’re an Alpha now and I can only hope that if I lose my Alpha powers while attempting to heal Cora, you will take care of them.”

 

He stares at her, dumbfounded. “But… You could’ve asked the same of your friends, like Satomi, but you didn’t. So why me?”

 

“Maybe, eventually, I would have. But Derek went through so much already, and he never interacted much with Satomi, same with Cora. How would she feel to wake up, only to learn about Alex and Emily’s deaths, and having to form a packbond with a stranger on top of that?”

 

“The bond probably wouldn’t take at all," he realizes.

 

Adults make a more or less conscious decision which Alpha to follow, and changing loyalties are not unheard of. But for kids, packbonds are more instinctive, and the younger the child, the harder it is for them to bond with someone outside of the family.

 

“Exactly,” Talia nods. “But Cora knows you and more importantly, she trusts you. Please, Peter. Will you promise to be their Alpha when I no longer can?”

 

It’s the first time ever when she talks to him like that, humbly, pleadingly, and it makes him feel uncomfortable. This is his sister, and she shouldn’t feel the need to beg him for something that should be obvious. No matter their squabbles, her children were his family.

 

“Of course I will. But you– you severed our packbond and threw me out of your pack, Talia. After the fire, you have basically turned your back on me, when I was just as much of a victim as you were. And because of that, I’m not sure if I can accept you into my pack.”

 

If he were a better man, maybe that wouldn’t be an issue. But he’s not, and he’s still not over the fact that she has cast him out when he needed her the most. It’s not about revenge or spite, or holding a grudge, but he honestly doesn’t feel that he can call her a packmate again, at least here and now. Maybe someday that will change, but he doesn’t want to make any promises that he can’t keep.

 

“As long as I know that my kids are safe and taken care of, I can live with it. Maybe I’ll ask to join Satomi’s pack, if that’s what it takes to keep me sane. Thank you, Peter,” she says without meeting his eyes, and he knows how much it hurts her pride to say it.

 

Once, he would've revelled in knocking her down a peg, but now… Now it just feels hollow.

 

***

 

When Chris contacts Victoria, it quickly becomes apparent that he has waited for too long. Yes, the short respite that the last night offered was something that both he and Peter needed in an equal measure, but it gave Gerard enough time to weave his own web made of lies, to make himself look like the victim and not the villain.

 

“That’s not true, Deucalion wasn't even thinking about going against Gerard, much less ambushing him out of the blue…” he protests vehemently.

 

“That's your word against Gerard's. Do you have any proof?” Victoria asks in a matter-of-fact manner of hers that he tends to loathe and admire at the same time, depending on a situation. Today, he despises it with all his heart.

 

“I've got Gerard's signature bullet that was retrieved from Deucalion's body–”

 

“Which your father claims to have used in self-defense,” Victoria interrupts him. “I'm sorry, Chris, but this is all circumstantial. Without real, tangible proof I'm not in position to accuse Gerard of anything, much less deal any punishment. Are there any witnesses, or CCTV footage that would corroborate with what you're saying?”

 

He considers mentioning Peter, but dismisses the thought out right, due to a multitude of reasons. Firstly, Peter has arrived after the deed was done, so he can't confirm what has really transpired. Not to mention, no matriarch would put a werewolf's word above that of a hunter… And lastly, Chris would hate to paint a target on Peter's back without any guarantee of his safety, and with Gerard in the picture, there could be no such guarantee.

 

“There's no camera footage, as it happened in the woods, and no live witnesses either,” he says through a clenched throat. “Just what Deucalion told me in his last moments.”

 

“I need to ask, though, why would you even go to see him?”

 

“He was– a friend of mine. And now he's dead, while the man who killed him for no reason at all goes free,” he says bitterly.

 

“That man that you're talking about is your father,” Victoria rebukes him, and he grits his teeth. This is a waste of time, he realizes. If he wants to see Gerard punished, he needs to do it himself. Victoria may have helped with Kate, since his sister's fault was quite apparent, but Gerard is much too clever to be caught red-handed. 

 

“Thank you for hearing me out,” he says dispassionately, and he can hear his wife's heavy sigh that she gives him in response. They may not be close, but she has known him for a decade, enough to suspect what's going on in his head at this very moment.

 

“Chris, if you do something stupid, I won't be in a position to help you. Do you understand?”

 

“I do.”

 

And he does. He's on his own in this.

 

Notes:

I wonder if that's how you envisioned both conversations: Peter with Talia, and Chris with Victoria.
Did my version meet you expectations? Let me know your thoughts!

Chapter 56

Summary:

Chapter warnings: violence, crude language

Chris takes a deep breath, then another. What he has planned, it's reckless, bordering on dangerous, but after all the pain and tragedy his father caused in both timelines, he feels that he doesn't have any choice. Gerard must be stopped, at any cost, and if confronting him is the way to do this, then so be it. 

 

He leaves Allison with Melissa, again. At this point, he has lost track of how many times he needed to lean on her, but she doesn't complain. She does take a look at his darkened face and tightly set jaw, though, and jabs a finger into his chest.

 

“I don't know what's going on with you, or where you're going, but the kids need you. Remember that.”

 

He swallows heavily at that and nods, which appeases her to some degree. She would be much less reassured if she knew what's going on in his mind, though, but everything that he's planned for tonight, he's doing with their kids in mind. If they are to have a chance at a better future, he needs to work harder than ever on changing the past – or rather, the present.

 

Finding Gerard is easy enough, as if the man is purposefully baiting him by staying at a safe-house that is well-known by hunters. This seems like an obvious trap, but he still goes in. What he doesn't expect is the sheer number of Gerard's followers. He doesn't know if they're brainwashed sycophants, or mercenaries on his father's payroll, or just simple brutes who like violence and being hunters allows them to indulge in it – all he knows is that these men are not on his side.

 

A goon whom he doesn't recognize stops him at the entrance. “What's your business?”

 

“I need to talk to my father,” he replies evenly, meeting the guy's eyes with his back straight and chin raised. He's an Argent, he should have their respect at the very least, even if he doesn’t have their allegiance.

 

“Wait here,” the thug grunts, and disappears inside, while two other men stay and watch Chris in silence while he waits.

 

Finally, the goon comes back and leads him to Gerard, who's sitting in the middle of the living room in a leather armchair, as if he’s a king holding an audience.

 

“I have hoped to get your attention, and I'm glad that my message was received,” Gerard drawls. 

 

Chris hears several men encircling him from all sides, but he doesn't take his eyes off his father. “Is this what murdering Deucalion and his entire pack was, a message? This is against the Code, he wasn't a threat to you, or to anyone!”

 

“He was a deadly threat - to your morals!” Gerard bellows, standing up. “Such a vile, disgusting creature… When I heard from the neighbours that he's been visiting you, staying the entire night– I knew that I needed to put a stop to this disgrace, and erase the shame that you've tainted our family with.”

 

“What– Was this…” Chris’ voice breaks, and he needs to clear his throat. “Was this the reason why you killed him, because we were involved for a short while? We have already ended it by then!”

 

He's utterly stunned. Is this why in this timeline his father decided to kill Deucalion, rather than blind him? Gerard's certainly capable of committing a hate crime, there's no doubt about that, but up until now he only targeted werewolves on account of them being non-human. But if by getting close to Deucalion, Chris triggered yet another of his father's prejudices and only added fuel to Gerard's hatred, then… It's partially his fault that Deucalion's dead.

 

“He was nothing more but an obscene beast putting his dirty dick where it didn't belong,” Gerard spats out. “You should thank me for cleaning up your mess; you're welcome, by the way. But let me be clear: it's the last mess that you've made. You have a wife, for Christ’ sake, if you need to get your dick wet, that's where you should put it! Or if you can't get it up for Victoria, find yourself some pretty girl to fuck, but you'll cease all your… dalliances with men from now on, or I'll do it for you. Is that understood?”

 

Chris feels his body shaking, but not from fear. Inside, he's brimming with anger. Once again, his father seeks to control his life by any means necessary, as if arranging Chris’ marriage with Victoria wasn't enough for him. No, Gerard's a pathological control freak, so nothing will ever be enough for him; he’ll seek to destroy every ounce of Chris’ happiness, just because he can.

 

“You won't get away with murdering Deucalion and his pack,” he says hoarsely.

 

Gerard snorts. “Do keep up, I already got away with it. There's no proof of what actually transpired, and there never will be, I made sure of it. But the fact that you dug out the bullet from Deucalion's chest to put the blame on me, even though in the end it proves nothing – that is a transgression which I take very seriously. And personally.”

 

Rough hands grab Chris from behind, keeping him in place. The beating that follows is the worst that he's ever experienced, his father knowing perfectly well how to hit to deal the maximum amount of pain, and he apparently taught his followers the same skill. As Chris’ body is turned into a punchbag, his entire perception is suddenly limited to his nerve endings, which flare up with agony after each hit and kick.

 

When his knees give in and the only thing keeping him upright is his captors’ bruising grip – only then does his father ceases this torture, looking all too pleased with himself.

 

“I think you've learned your lesson, boy, or do we need to keep going?”

 

Chris bristles, even though the only way he can show his defiance is by sending his father a heated glare. “I'll go to the matriarchs–”

 

“And what do you expect will happen? I'll tell you what: absolutely nothing!” Gerard sneers with derision. “They are a bunch of old cows thinking that they're calling the shots, but they're not. If they were, they would've known when they're being sidelined, but they have no fucking clue. They're useless, and you're an even bigger fool if you think that they're gonna help you avenge your dead fuck-buddy of a werewolf.”

 

Chris’ shoulders slump, and he lowers his eyes, all fight leaving his body. His father chuckles at that and pats him on the swollen cheek, drawing a pained groan out of him.

 

“Now, let me be clear,” Gerard says, his voice void of all warmth. “The beating that you just took? That was for being a disgusting cocksucker, and for trying to rat me out, as pathetic as that attempt was. But let's not forget that I still owe you one for your role in Kate's death. Today was like a flick on the nose compared to what I'll do to you if you don't toe the line perfectly from now on, got it?”

 

Chris nods the tiniest bit and croaks out: “Yes.” Indeed, he got the message, loud and clear.

 

Apparently, his reaction appeases Gerard well enough, since a moment later the man's thugs drag Chris outside and dump him next to his car. They don't bother to check if he's well enough to actually drive, they just leave him like that, lying in the dirt, covered in his own blood and quickly forming bruises.

 

His lips are swollen, and so is his left eye, to the point that he barely sees through it. Standing up proves to be a challenge, as his cracked ribs flare up with pain each time he moves, but ever so slowly, he manages to get to his feet while leaning heavily on his car. All the while, his father's goons observe him with mocking eyes, drunk on violence and feeling all the more powerful for it. 

 

A small part of him feels dirty and ashamed that they see him like that, barely able to stand on his own. But another part of him gloats in triumph, because he got exactly what he wanted.

 

He takes his phone out of his jacket's inner pocket, then exhales in relief seeing that it wasn't damaged during the beating. He stops the recording and saves it both to the device and to the cloud. Then, he attaches it to the draft of an email that he prepared before coming here, and sends it to Victoria.

 

Afterwards, he somehow manages to drive to the hospital and not cause any crashes, but just as he's out of the car, the adrenaline wears off, and he tumbles to the ground, losing consciousness right there in the parking lot.

 

Notes:

What I noticed about Gerard is that he's the most dangerous when he feels threatened, and the least vigilant when he thinks that he has an upper hand. That's why Chris needed to make him feel like he's won - and this tactic paid out. Gerard's arrogance and over-confidence will be his downfall 😈

Chapter 57

Notes:

Some hurt/comfort to sooth your nerves after the last chapter 😊

He regains consciousness in waves, falling in and out of oblivion. His eyelids feel like they are made of lead and opening his eyes seems like an impossible task. He hears several hushed voices in the background, but trying to associate the sounds with their meaning tires him to the point that he falls asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

 

The next time he wakes up, the first sensation he becomes aware of is that someone is holding his hand. He enjoys the feeling; his fingertips twitch the tiniest bit, as if trying to communicate that contentment. 

 

“Finally – I've been waiting for ages for you to wake up, you lazy bum.”

 

Chris smiles as he recognizes the scowling voice. “Peter,” he mutters, then coughs weakly.

 

The pain that's been dull and mostly a part of the background, now intensifies tenfold, and he starts to wonder if waking up was such a good idea, after all. Peter helps him sit up, then hands him a glass of water. As he drinks, lines appear on the werewolf's forearms, and Chris heaves a sigh of relief as the pain lessens.

 

He leans back, the movement cushioned by a pillow. It's a nice, fluffy pillow, which he instantly likes. Maybe he can take it home with him?

 

When Peter bursts into muffled laughter, he realizes that he said it out loud, which leads him to the conclusion that he's probably been doped and the meds did not yet fully wear off. But then, the laughter changes into heavy, irregular breathing, and he realizes that Peter is suppressing tears. 

 

“Hey, it's alright. I'm gonna be fine,” he squeezes the werewolf's hand.

 

“But I'm not fine!” Peter snarls at him in response. “You weren't answering your phone and I kept calling until Melissa picked up and told me that you're in hospital, beaten to a pulp… And then I had to learn from your wife that you'd gone to see Gerard, alone. Do you know how it felt, you asshole?” 

 

He swallows with difficulty. “I didn't mean–” he starts, but Peter doesn't let him finish.

 

“This is the last time you went into a fight alone, do you understand me? I will not be the one who stays at home like some goddamn housewife while you take all the risks, you stupid, human, vulnerable idiot–”

 

The rant abruptly stops when the door opens and Melissa steps into the room, shooting Peter a scalding look. “You were supposed to let me know the moment Chris woke, not give him lectures. There will be time for that later, when he's out of the woods.”

 

Peter has the grace to look chagrined. “Wait, isn't he already? I thought that he was going to be fine?” 

 

“That's what I'm here to check, so for now I need you to leave. And let the rest know that Chris is awake, so once I'm done, they can visit him.”

 

“The rest?” Chris asks once Peter has left.

 

Melissa smiles as she checks his pulse. “You have quite a long queue of visitors. Though most of them are children - Allison, of course, and also Scott, Isaac, Stiles... You're quite popular with kids, it seems.”

 

“I love kids,” he murmurs, then grimaces a little as she tests his pupils’ reaction to light with a small flashlight.

 

“That might explain it. Children have the uncanny ability to sense how the adults feel about them.” 

 

He licks his lips nervously. “Is my wife here as well?”

 

Melissa gives him a long, piercing look. “Do you want her to be?”

 

That's not an easy question. He knows that he needs to talk to Victoria, but not like this, when he's weak and his thoughts are still muddled from drugs.

 

“First, I'd like to see the kids,” he decides. “Then, after I have slept some more, she can visit. Is this okay?”

 

“You're the patient, you decide who and when you want to see, not the other way around. Plus, more rest and avoiding stress is definitely the best way to a quick recovery,” Melissa says, then hesitates for a second. “What about Peter, do you want me to keep him out? Earlier, I got the impression that he caused you some… distress.”

 

“It's not like that, it's his way of showing that he cares. He can visit anytime, even when I’m not awake.” He enjoyed waking up to his hand being held, and he wouldn't mind a repeat of that experience.

 

“Very well. Do you need any painkillers?”

 

He shakes his head. “Not for now, though maybe I'll need something to fall asleep again.”

 

She nods, then hearing the commotion outside, leaves the room while letting everyone in.

 

Scott and Allison are first to burst through the door, with Isaac and Stiles hot on their heels. After them, Peter and Camden come in, with Peter closing the door behind them for privacy.

 

The children stop by the bed, eyes huge. Well, he sure as hell must look awful, covered in cuts and bruises all over. 

 

“Does it hurt, daddy?” Allison asks in a hushed voice.

 

“It looks worse than it is, sweetheart,” he tries to reassure her. “Remember how bruises change color over time, even long after they stop hurting? It's like that, the worst is behind me and every day I'll be getting better. Now, how about you all give me a big hug?”

 

The kids still look a little spooked, so he turns to Peter. “Could you put the kids on the bed with me?”

 

With werewolf strength and agility it takes Peter just a few moments to maneuver the children, so that Scott and Allison are lying each on Chris’ side. Chris kisses the tops of their heads, then hugs them gently, careful not to make any sudden moves.

 

Isaac seems to have a shy day and as Camden sits down on a chair, Isaac climbs on his brother's lap – though he still peers shyly at Chris through his long blond curls. Which, Chris thinks idly, are begging for a cut. He needs to talk to Talia about it.

 

Meanwhile, Stiles gives Peter a look. “Can I sit on your lap?”

 

What shocks Chris the most is that Peter hardly blinks at the request, but instead sits down on a second chair and helps Stiles climb on his lap. As the boy wriggles around to find a comfortable position and Peter still doesn't react with his usual impatience, Chris raises an eyebrow.

 

“Who are you and what did you do with the real Peter?”

 

The man snorts. “What, I can be nice to kids too, you don't have a monopoly on the skill, you know. I just can't stand rowdy brats who are grating on my nerves with their mere existence, but luckily Stiles isn’t one of them.”

 

Oh, so Stiles is an exception to the rule, that makes more sense than Peter suddenly having a complete change of character.

 

“Wait, where's Derek?” Chris asks suddenly, as he realizes who he's missing.

 

Peter hesitates. “There was a problem with his… behavior, and he couldn't stay at the hospital. He's with Talia, but I let them both know that you're awake, they should be here soon.”

 

Oh. Did Derek have issues with controlling his wolf in public, while he waited for Chris to wake up? It would be understandable, teenage werewolves sometimes struggle with their control, especially when stressed or worried. And he can bet that Derek was worried as hell for him.

 

When Talia and Derek arrive, Melissa protests at there being too many people in the room. Apparently, the hospital's policy allows for two visitors at a time only, and she has already been stretching the rule. 

 

“I'm finishing my shift anyway, so I'm gonna take Scott and Allison and head home. Stiles,” she turns towards the boy. “I promised your father that I'll drive you home too, so chop chop! Let's go, kids. Chris isn't going anywhere, he'll be here tomorrow if you'd like to visit him again.”

 

Peter and Talia herded the children out of the room, leaving only Camden and Derek with Chris.

 

Derek doesn't seem to notice anyone or anything, though, his eyes fully fixed on Chris. The teen's expression is pained and scared, a combination that Chris never wants to see on anyone he loves ever again.

 

“I'm sorry if I scared you,” Chris says softly. “I've never meant to hurt you.”

 

Derek makes a quiet, wounded sound that breaks Chris’ heart in two. He doesn't know how to alleviate the state in which Derek is in, but he has to try.

 

“Come here,” he beckons Derek closer, and when the teen sits down on the side of the bed, he cups the boy's cheek with his palm, and wipes a stray tear away. “I love you, kid, as if you were my own, surely you know that?”

 

In response, Derek leans into him nearly bonelessly, crying and shaking. All the while, Chris holds him close, rubbing soothing circles on his back as the teen lets out all the pent-up emotions.  

 

“It's alright, I've got you,” he murmurs into the boy's hair. “Please, tell me what I can do to make it better.”

 

“I– I don't even know why I reacted that way,” Derek hiccups, then takes a shaky breath. “I was just so scared to lose you… I'm not used to people not healing, so seeing your wounds and bruises–”

 

“It hit you that much harder. It makes sense, and you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he assured the teen. “But I am healing, just at a normal human speed, but I will get better, I promise.”

 

“You better,” Derek grumbles, then untangles himself from Chris’ hold. Chris lets him, albeit reluctantly. He suspects that the young werewolf needs more physical contact to fully regain his composure, but the hospital might not be the best place for that.

 

Finally seeing Camden sitting quietly in the chair, Derek flinches. “Um, listen–”

 

Camden shrugs. “So, you had a meltdown - it's no big deal. We all have them at some point. Can I have a moment with Chris, now?”

 

Derek nods wordlessly and slips out of the room, probably still embarrassed. Chris is determined to shower the teen with affection in the coming days and weeks, though, but right now he shifts his focus to Camden.

 

The boy stands up and starts pacing, reminding Chris a little of the teenage Stiles, though with Camden there's less flailing and more stubborn determination, from what he can tell by looking at the boy's clenched jaw.

 

“My parents are dead,” Camden blurts out. “You know that, of course. But it also means that I don't have parents anymore, which should be obvious, but sometimes people don't make that connection. Do you know how that feels? It's bloody awful. So just– don't do that to your daughter, alright? Don't put yourself in danger.”

 

Chris blinks, surprised. He didn't expect to be chided by a teenager, but somehow, the words hit that much harder than if they were uttered by an adult.

 

“Not every fight can be avoided - but you're right, of course. Thank you for not being afraid to call me out on this.”

 

The boy nods jerkily, then goes to the door.

 

“Camden,” Chris calls after him, and the teen turns in his direction. “Just because you don't have parents anymore doesn't mean that you don't have people you can rely on: Talia, me…”

 

“Well, you said that I could work for you during summer, so maybe try not to get killed before you can keep your word?”

 

Chris barks out a surprised laugh, then winces as his bruised ribs protest at that. “Deal.”

 

He counts the crooked smile which Camden sends in his direction as a success.