[Six, sure, that's a reasonable number. And there's --
Well. There is the embarrassing weight of Peter and the hard, aching crush of the wall against his shoulder. His surprised grunt is at least muffled by arrow-fire, but the what the ever loving christ is a bit louder. Every day a teenager is stronger than him is a bad day, but it's especially just outright weird to have his life saved by Peter Hale (jr). The wide eyed, slight panic isn't wholly directed to the arrows, but it would be nice if they could just pretend that it were.
He's fine. It's fine. ] Son of a bitch, [he says, without pushing Peter away from him. It's hard to say if this is about the arrows or his shoulder. Probably, it's both. ] Are you this goddamn paranoid? Where the hell did he get all these arrows -- [He is now, quite slowly, shifting in a way that suggests Peter should give him some space. He just wants to rub his shoulder; he's old, Peter. It's what old people do to their aches. ]
-- Thank you. [This is less begrudging than they both might be expecting. If this Peter ever meets Scott, maybe he'll understand Chris a little better. It's hard not to be a little nicer when Scott looks at you with his big sad eyes. ]
[ For the sliver of mercy that it is, Peter has his head turned for the entire stretch of this enforced close proximity, probably listening for the sound of more trap mechanisms or any bullshit incoming from above. Not in a particularly thoughtful way, he would admit. Just the way any animal listens, because the more calculating parts of himself are caught up in other, less useful figurings.
Such as: Chris babbling a bit (by, you know, Argent standards), how they're basically the same height and even a similar build but Chris just seems sort of tougher somehow when Peter is using a bit of his strength to do this, and, of course, Chris waiting quite patiently to even start hinting that he could be let off the wall now. For Reasons, which Peter surmises probably have very little to do with him, but which allow him to enjoy the benefits nevertheless.
He waits a beat longer after the thanks, glancing blandly back at the other man, and his inhale, the slight expansion of his diaphragm against Chris' body, can probably be felt; it ends in a perfectly excusable sigh, however, as he leisurely slinks back to give Chris room, apparently satisfied there won't be a sneaky second round of projectiles. The weirdness of him couldn't possibly be stronger at the moment. If Scott had done this, there'd be apology with pragmatism. If Derek had done it, a mutual grimace guaranteeing they will never discuss it again. Peter stares at Chris with the corners of his mouth turned up cheerfully, which neither the thanks nor the circumstances that necessitated it should warrant. Unless you're a little shit. ]
I've collected a few hunter arrows, actually. I just figured, if I catch them, they're mine.
[ Nothing particularly funny about that, yet Peter grins to himself as he deliberately looks away, almost in false modesty, like it's a private joke. ]
Anyway, I'd thought that there would be something down here that I — that he — used to store some memories. Memories from around, well, my time. And some interaction between the attack, maybe being stabbed, and that item, might have caused a reversion. But I can't prove it.
[The quality of hunters is, well. It's all about quantity these days, it seems. Big numbers; impressionable kids. Scared kids. Even more scared adults. In any case, this is why Chris uses a gun, but as a matter of pride, he knows Allison wouldn't have missed. He doesn't think about that too hard, though. He can't.
Instead, he welcomes the space, and sure, the snark. He rubs his shoulders, rolls it, and nods. ] Makes some amount of sense. [It's smart. This isn't a shock; part of what makes Peter so dangerous as an adult has always been that he's smart. The absorption of knowledge is a weapon, sometimes more so than claws or bullets. ] So long as we're ruling out time travel, [he says on a wince.] Peter, he -- I'd heard he's a hoarder.
[Very reliable sources have confirmed. Chris can't really judge.] But I don't see anything relevant? No claws. No teeth. No dubiously acquired bones, or hair.
[Nothing to suggest Kate's method either, least of all because they're nowhere near an ancient temple, and the Nemeton is precarious at best these days. ] If there was something, it's gone. If not -- we might be looking at a wider problem. Something unseen. [He's not suggesting that Peter Hale acts like a child: that's Deacon's job, as someone with the qualifications to make a diagnosis. And, well. It's a little mean to this Peter, whose brand of little shit has been perfectly tolerable except for having stole his shirt and having mocked his old man cologne. ] I can keep looking, or I can do some research.
[ Nothing in any of that seems to cause offense. He even seems pleased that in having a reputation for hoarding, Peter has indeed been successful in accumulating a bunch of stuff that other people would probably love to have. And if there's no worry at all evident about that "something unseen," well, no surprise, right? Peter's priorities are never right when he's an adult, and as he takes a cautious little step back toward Chris' personal space, perhaps that's true of him now too. He doesn't say anything at all as he reaches out to put a hand on Chris' shoulder, or almost his neck since he needs the bare skin to do that all too personal pain absorption thing; he doesn't even look at Chris, musing aloud as his gaze sweeps the wreckage of the vault. ]
There are other ways of keeping memories.
[ And there it is again, the casual certainty of Peter's knowledge. All the sneaky little ways he has of finding shit out, and keeping it to himself, and later revealing it in a stingy pinched IV drip, or lying about it for his own purposes. Of course, he wouldn't understand that Chris has heard that tone before. ]
But if it's limited to just me, it's really not that big a deal, is it?
[ It's all coming out excessively casual, while darkness drains away the ache from Chris' shoulder and makes it disappear. One a distraction from the other, though it's not clear which is to distract from which. ]
[Not for the first time, he isn't good at hiding his shock. The amount of shocks he's had in the last 24 hours are mounting, but non so as having the pain slip from him into Peter's palms. He very almost pulls his arm away, but that would be -- what? Telling? A weakness, to show that level of disquiet? ]
I think you're enjoying this. [Being young, or the illusion of glimpsing the future. Maybe it's just funny to have an Argent give a shit. He's assuming, in Peter's recent memory, Gerard has been sowing the seeds of war and chaos with an iron fist. Everything comes full circle. ] -- Thank you. [He nods to Peter's hand. There's a tightness to his voice; wariness. Like he expects a catch. ] I don't think you're contagious, no. Derek wasn't.
[L o l. ] I guess we wait it out. See if something triggers a change.
[ He pretends he doesn't notice, because that's Peter in many forms: seemingly bored, indifferent, always off doing his own thing which may or may not have shady relevance to the most recent bullshit, always an outsider, never a friend or a father or the least bit reliable, even if he is right here, quite close, highly attune to Chris' reactions.
Then there's the other recurring motif of his behavior, which is boundary testing. Chris doesn't pull away, though it was a near thing. Chris thanks him, though he means what are you doing and why. Being given an inch, he'll be on the lookout for a handy mile from now on. Not now, of course. For now he just lets his hand slide limply off the shoulder like it's worn out cat, flexes it idly to make the black veins go away faster as he brushes past Chris to peer out the door and up the stairs. He's done here, but isn't sure if Chris will insist on dealing with the bodies. ]
Don't want to be young again, huh? Wouldn't that be inconvenient. You'd go right back to trying to kill me. I'd have to be really nice to you.
[ No denial that he's enjoying this. He is, for all the reasons Chris considered, and more, and he is audibly smiling because they probably won't be addressing why Peter is being so nice to him right now, probably for the same reason Chris didn't pull his arm away in the first place. ]
So are you gonna make me carry a bunch of bodies now, or can we just. Close the door and go? Decomposition sounds like a problem for future me.
I wasn't the Argent trying to kill you -- [He says this very deadpan, but it's also a little. Defensive? It's complicated. History is always complicated. He's thankful to have more pressing problems to dwell on, like whether or not he wants to move a bunch of bodies: he really, really does not. His mouth forms a little frown as he looks them over, each one seeming to make the prospect less and less appealing. By the time he's done a full sweep with his eyes, he's already thinking about how to leave them here but not? At the same time? ]
We can't leave them here. [By 'we' he obviously means 'I'. His hand has also found his hair; there is some frustrated clawing. ] I'll call Stilinski, later. Obviously, I'll be throwing you under the bus when it comes to helping him move them.
[They're old, Peter. And you're so young, and have superhuman strength. :). ] But if we're done here, we should move before anyone comes back looking to pick up their dead friends first. I'm guessing there's nowhere you need to be, so you can take notes.
[ Just reiterating the fact is a bit defensive, which Peter, already on the first step of the stairs and only half facing Chris, finds oddly touching. That the changes Chris has gone through are more important to him than anything the older Peter might have done, that when he's confronted with the younger version, there is still this — regret. Or maybe it's because of Peter leeching the pain away just now, and Chris is too off balance to joke. Too used to having to take care of things. ]
Really? The police are in on this stuff now too?
[ Peter recognizes Stilinski's name, the fucking busybody, even though the man might not even have been the sheriff yet (lol chronology??). Any complaint in his voice is purely token, and he reaches out to swipe a bit of Chris' clawed hair back into place. ]
All right, fine, I'll help later —
[ The DAD is very much implied, and equally as much, absolutely not said. ]
— can we go have lunch? Or at least buy groceries for your depressing kitchen?
[The dichotomy of Peter acting like a regular kid, and the similar familiarity he's used to from say, Scott, is becoming a source of strange disquiet. He isn't sure what to do about Peter very casually touching his hair, for example, because it's not the kind of thing Scott would do. It is the kind of Allison used to do, or Melissa might have done, and the gesture alone creates an unwanted feeling that he is very quick to internalise. So much so, that he meets Peter's casualness with an eyebrow lift and a very candid (and gentle) shove to his back, to get him moving. ]
I'm so sorry, [he says, completely deadpan. ] That my house isn't the Marriott. [It's not even really his house. It's easier to joke about this, than to admit that the tone Peter just used very much reminded him of being a dad, and it's not as though Chris ever stops thinking about Allison. It's just that he never thought he'd have to prepare himself to be reminded of her in the form of Peter Hale.
The quickness of how easily Peter has trusted him, too, is starting become more Apparent. He wants to be mad at him about it, but that's not Peter's fault. It's Kate's. It's always Kate's, when it comes to letting down the Hale's. ]
How can you be hungry already? Your gut get replaced with a black hole too?
[ The thing about Peter, the potentially worst thing about Peter, is that so often, he doesn't actually know. Not for sure. He just comes along, or finds himself in a tough situation, and he goes to work like this, grasping at people's behaviors, reactions, tendencies, tics, so whether it's insinuating himself into the mental life of a banshee who doesn't know she's a banshee or trying to figure out how best to appeal to someone who has many reasons not to like him, he is so patient, so hardworking. He doesn't actually know about Allison. He only knows what Chris is now, where he can put his hands.
So his body accepts the push, sways forward with some exaggeration, never truly stumbling; he sighs loudly without really sounding put upon, going up the stairs as bid, still alert for any noises of hunters who might inconveniently interrupt this moment which he very much wants to be the one where Chris has lost sight of the bigger picture. ]
Chris, come on. You know, I can cook. If you actually stock your pantry with more than canned corn.
Oh? You cook? Here I thought you and Derek relied on take out or hired rosette chefs.
[The tone is absolutely sarcastic, but he and Melissa have had this exact conversation while extremely plastered. He wants to say what is wrong with canned corn, except that he knows it's a lot. There's so much wrong with it. He doesn't even have like, tuna or mayo to make it edible. It's a suffering existence, okay. Look at this beard, Peter. He's going through a whole thing. A whole number of things? So many things.
On the upside, they're still alone when they emerge, though Chris' hand has been on his gun the entire time.
It feels like, as they're walking back to the car, that they might actually go grocery shopping, which is just another one of those strange, unsettling things he's going to share today with Peter. Like everything else he's chosen to focus on, this is easier than saying: grocery shopping suggests a sense of permanence or self-care, neither of which Chris has really been going for this month. ]
[ If Chris is using all the sarcasm on his side of the conversation seesaw, Peter sees no recourse other than using an extremely sincere tone of voice, hands clasped behind his back like they both weren't ready to start fighting if there'd been people waiting. He's still looking, actually, scanning for movement around the edges of the other containers. ]
Well, if you want me to be the sugar daddy in this relationship, I'll have to figure out where I hid my money? And it'll take a while?
[ This chirpy suggestion barely gets out without him breaking into laughter and it's probably still clear he is unnecessarily and disproportionately amused by his own joke. Especially since he did genuinely just do something caring for Chris, and has now suggested he cook. It's obvious, right, that Chris has been the dad to both his actual child, and a bunch of other might-as-well-be-children, for a long time now. That he's tired, and he also probably wouldn't let the others take care of him even if they felt themselves in the position to try. Or at least, it's obvious to Peter. ]
[There are parts of this entire exchange that feel like a very funny fever dream. The very physics of it seem utterly absurd when he really lays out the specifics. More absurd, perhaps than Peter being in his twenties (maybe), is Peter acting the opposite of what Chris has come to expect. He isn't being unfair, with that assessment. Or Argent-Biased.
The fact that he himself laughs (as ironic as possible) surprises even him, though maybe it shouldn't. He's laughed enough at Scott's bad jokes now that maybe every bad joke will just be funny, through exposure. ] Peter Hale, broke twice in his life by his own hand. You know, [and there is, here, the first real genuine expression of amusement.] If I didn't know any better, I'd say maybe you like making things difficult for yourself.
[Maybe he doesn't actually know better. Who really knows Peter Hale, truly? Grief does strange things to people. Chris knows better than most, now.] You better stay in the car if we go grocery shopping. Someone might recognise you.
[ Peter leans against the car, gazing at Chris attentively now rather than keeping an eye out, and makes an ugh sort of grimace for the news that he's had his money stolen before. So someone found the school vault. No wonder he'd made a new one. People are so rude, honestly. ]
Well, we do like a challenge.
[ He agrees mildly. Differentiating between himself and the older Peter, and why not? Even if it inadvertently gives the impression that the older Peter is still around, just off somewhere, doing whatever it is he does when he's not trying to kill Scott. As opposed to this one, here, whose challenge evidently involves Chris. ]
Come on, no way. Who would recognize me? And even if they did, what would they do about it? Fight me in the cereal aisle?
I don't know if you've noticed, [with his hand on the door handle and the other on the roof, bracing against it. ] But people don't leave Beacon Hills. Besides, it's -- [He's back again, then, to the predicament of the current situation. The precariousness of it all. He grinds his teeth for a moment and then pulls the car open. ]
It's hard to say. What anyone might do. The fountain of youth might be one hard pill to swallow too far. [How much of the kept information might become dangerous later, he wonders. How much might be too much before they fully understand the cause and reason for Peter's current. Situation. He thinks Derek might be blunt about it. ] Come on, get in. I'll fill you in on the last year. [Or, rather:] Or at least why so many hunters came at you last night. We might need a drink.
[ Whatever the reasons for the way the older Peter comports himself, it probably has a lot to do with what this, the younger one, is accustomed to. He visibly shelves his complaints with a glance away, not even a passive-aggressive eye roll or sigh in evidence. You don't say no to Talia. You obey when she's watching and you try to be smart later when you're doing what you were told not to do. Chris hardly has the same standing, but he's more invested in maintaining a certain level of good opinion here. ]
You're the boss.
[ The faintest sing-song quality is all that remains of his disagreement as he opens the door (up front this time, ha ha) and gets in. Going into the supermarket is not his hill to die on, and he will simply make fun of Chris if Chris fails to buy sufficient groceries; he's willing to bet, however, that Chris won't, that he's perfectly capable of it, and just hasn't. Until now. ]
You're the worst kept secret this side of California.
[He doesn't mean Peter specifically, but, well. Maybe Peter is technically still legally dead. Who even knows. As he starts the ignition, Chris finds himself sighing, like there's nothing else for it.] Few months ago Gerard started recruiting new hunters. Started branching outside of his usual sources and went local.
[The glance he spares Peter's way is ... regretful. Guilty. ] Really local. He gave a gun to anyone who stepped up. Everyone knows, Peter. We're supposed to be in a truce, but -- [Gerard's manipulations have always been infamous, and he's always been the kind to inspire the kind of hatred that sits in the bones to fester. Kate's the poster child for it. ] Fear changes people. It makes or breaks them. Some of them can't move on.
[He's looking at the road again.] Some of the younger ones might not recognise you, but the older ones -- the Hale's have been here a long time, Peter. I really don't need to fish out a bullet from you just because someone saw you look ten years younger and decided to panic shoot you. Or me.
[ The seat is already pretty far back, which Peter supposes could be due to the missing boy who wore some of his clothes before him, or any of the other werewolves Chris has to run around with these days. He stretches his legs out, listens, absorbs. So the guilt is layered, and anything Peter knows that the Argents have done is mere substrate; this most recent stuff is rich crumbly topsoil, and likely a huge factor in Chris treating him so well. Well, every cloud of all out supernatural war must have its meager silver lining. ]
And you're saying you're not a target as well? A bigger one, considering they wouldn't even be expecting me?
[Used to being the family disappointment. Used to dealing with the aftermath of Gerard's great manoeuvres. Gerard might be dead, but his legacy isn't. His hatred isn't. He glances again, taking a sharp turn. Peter might recognise the streets. The layout hasn't changed much. New stores. The same families. ] I'm just trying to avoid as many complications here as possible.
[He's only human, Peter. ] If I don't let you come in, are you going to sulk about it? [He might have some experience with this. Not just as an actual dad. ]
[ Now Chris does get an eye roll, though it's purely for show. Auditory show, even, since Chris is driving and presumably won't really catch the expression. ]
I'd "sulk" if you came back with twenty cans of corn. And anyway, if I'm kidnapped out of a car at crossbowpoint, you'll just never know until it's too late. Vice versa if they come up behind you and stick a gun in your back while you're picking up milk. I'll just be sitting here.
[ He doesn't seem too concerned about scenario one, and even scenario two strikes him as pretty ballsy for inexperienced hunters no matter how tense the situation is right now. So he won't protest too much about being made to wait, but on the other hand, if Chris gives in, he'd prefer to come along. ]
Corn is versatile. [This is not the hill to die on, Chris. ] But fine, you can come. It seems like a lot of work to rescue you from a crossbow kidnapping, especially knowing you'd probably be fine getting away on you're on.
[What is Wolvesbane against a young werewolf, powered up on the power of forbidden future knowledge? But to the grocery store they go. It is about as bland and dated as Peter probably remembers it. Maybe the paint is a different colour, and maybe the fridges are a little more sophisticated, but overall not much has changed. Chris isn't strictly from anymore, so the fact that it is the exact same as when he was early thirties is lost on him.
His shopping habits, Peter is now about to find out, are very I have been grieving for like five years and show no signs of stopping. That is to say, he may not pick up corn, but he does pick up such delicacies as: canned tuna, beer, wine, canned tomatoes, two steak cuts that might be? Average? And the best of all: one onion. He will not actually protest whatever Peter adds, because he doesn't imagine it will go to waist. Peter's appetite is formidable, even if Chris' is not.
There's something less depressing about this entire experience when he considers that he is not going home alone with all this stuff alone. There's also something vaguely strange about not actively planning to be out working later that night. Not in the way he's become used to, anyway. It will be incredibly embarrassing if Peter Hale is the one to convince that he should do things like look after himself and stop only calling people about shady hunters.
When they're home, the house Chris is occupying is slightly different in the daylight. That is: it's much more obvious how sparse it is. Like he moved in, and then never unpacked.]
[ The smile Peter halfheartedly hides by looking out the window is probably still visible in some reflective surface, or readable in his body language, if it even registers with Chris at all. Still, he has standards of behavior here, and they include not outright gloating over meaningless victories.
As for the shopping itself, Peter doesn't quite wrestle the cart away from him because it'll be for the best if they don't actually bicker, playfully or not, in the middle of the store. (If he recognizes it, he doesn't say anything.) There are some sighs, some judgmental looks, and a lot of supplementation: more onions, Chris, what the actual fuck. A bag of potatoes. Pasta. Stuff that, in the event that Peter disappears like smoke in the night, Chris may actually still be able to use if he finds the time and energy. And some actual vegetables, even if they've been pre-chopped and put in a bag; this decision is only justified further to him when they return to the house and Peter has to confront all the observations he made the night before without the weak excuse of darkness. ]
Is this meant to be temporary or are you considering going off the grid, really growing out that beard, that kind of thing?
[ Rude questions are a kindness between them, he's pretty sure, allowing Chris to sidestep whatever difficult traumas have created this situation to begin with, and anyway, he's being helpful while asking. Putting away food, and ah yes, wandering back over to the sink to see if that chunk of metal Chris pulled out of him is still there. ]
[He is placing a shopping bag on his kitchen counter when he turns, eyebrows raised a very unironic sort of way. He gives the kitchen and the adjoining living room a sweeping glance, and then shrugs as he starts to empty the bag out. ] I wasn't planning on sticking around for too long.
[Things, as Peter will know, sometimes have a way of not going according to plan.
He has been wondering, lately, about whether he'll go back to Europe. He might, if only to also bring Isaac back. He might not, too. The duality of the Beacon Hills experience is sometimes stifling. It's hard to be anything but both fond of the people and absolutely miserable while inhabiting the space. Besides all that, Chris can't remember the last time anywhere felt like home, however fake-deep that concept is. He's just tired of moving around, for now. The energy has been sucked out of him. He keeps giving his soul to this place, and every time he leaves, it drags him back.
(The metal is still there, though slightly cleaner with the tap having been run on and off.) ] I haven't really made my mind up about staying.
Hm, I've been thinking that way myself. But there's always something.
[ Can't leave the family behind. Can't leave Derek behind, however sick they both are of Peter having to play babysitter and how bad he is at it anyway. Sure, he saves Derek's life. Arguably more often than he ruins it. Is that kind of thing really quantifiable? Wouldn't he possibly be doing them all a favor if he did leave, go elsewhere to university, take the burden of his personality problems off of Talia's hands?
He doesn't know how different things would be if he had.
His unknowing echo of Chris' experience is as offhand as most things he says, though he spends a few moments too long examining the bit of metal, turning it over in his fingers until he stirs back to attention and pockets it. ]
Where would you go? If. [ Peter gestures. ] All this were settled to your satisfaction.
[It's surprisingly easy to talk about, actually. Maybe it's the intangibility of this Peter's existence. Like maybe it's okay to be slightly more honest, knowing he could revert in the blink of an eye. He's freed some bags of vegetables, which he starts moving to the fridge. ] I don't know. I left Isaac there, against my better judgement.
[They'd get along, he realises. This Peter and Isaac. He thinks Isaac probably got along with the other Peter too. Similar personalities, just with different directional pulls. Different loyalties. He's surprised that Peter's thought about leaving, though, and he feels bad, again, about knowing what the future holds for him. That he knows that Peter will never really leave. ] Where would you go? I can't remember if you ever went to college. I know Derek didn't.
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Well. There is the embarrassing weight of Peter and the hard, aching crush of the wall against his shoulder. His surprised grunt is at least muffled by arrow-fire, but the what the ever loving christ is a bit louder. Every day a teenager is stronger than him is a bad day, but it's especially just outright weird to have his life saved by Peter Hale (jr). The wide eyed, slight panic isn't wholly directed to the arrows, but it would be nice if they could just pretend that it were.
He's fine. It's fine. ] Son of a bitch, [he says, without pushing Peter away from him. It's hard to say if this is about the arrows or his shoulder. Probably, it's both. ] Are you this goddamn paranoid? Where the hell did he get all these arrows -- [He is now, quite slowly, shifting in a way that suggests Peter should give him some space. He just wants to rub his shoulder; he's old, Peter. It's what old people do to their aches. ]
-- Thank you. [This is less begrudging than they both might be expecting. If this Peter ever meets Scott, maybe he'll understand Chris a little better. It's hard not to be a little nicer when Scott looks at you with his big sad eyes. ]
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Such as: Chris babbling a bit (by, you know, Argent standards), how they're basically the same height and even a similar build but Chris just seems sort of tougher somehow when Peter is using a bit of his strength to do this, and, of course, Chris waiting quite patiently to even start hinting that he could be let off the wall now. For Reasons, which Peter surmises probably have very little to do with him, but which allow him to enjoy the benefits nevertheless.
He waits a beat longer after the thanks, glancing blandly back at the other man, and his inhale, the slight expansion of his diaphragm against Chris' body, can probably be felt; it ends in a perfectly excusable sigh, however, as he leisurely slinks back to give Chris room, apparently satisfied there won't be a sneaky second round of projectiles. The weirdness of him couldn't possibly be stronger at the moment. If Scott had done this, there'd be apology with pragmatism. If Derek had done it, a mutual grimace guaranteeing they will never discuss it again. Peter stares at Chris with the corners of his mouth turned up cheerfully, which neither the thanks nor the circumstances that necessitated it should warrant. Unless you're a little shit. ]
I've collected a few hunter arrows, actually. I just figured, if I catch them, they're mine.
[ Nothing particularly funny about that, yet Peter grins to himself as he deliberately looks away, almost in false modesty, like it's a private joke. ]
Anyway, I'd thought that there would be something down here that I — that he — used to store some memories. Memories from around, well, my time. And some interaction between the attack, maybe being stabbed, and that item, might have caused a reversion. But I can't prove it.
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Instead, he welcomes the space, and sure, the snark. He rubs his shoulders, rolls it, and nods. ] Makes some amount of sense. [It's smart. This isn't a shock; part of what makes Peter so dangerous as an adult has always been that he's smart. The absorption of knowledge is a weapon, sometimes more so than claws or bullets. ] So long as we're ruling out time travel, [he says on a wince.] Peter, he -- I'd heard he's a hoarder.
[Very reliable sources have confirmed. Chris can't really judge.] But I don't see anything relevant? No claws. No teeth. No dubiously acquired bones, or hair.
[Nothing to suggest Kate's method either, least of all because they're nowhere near an ancient temple, and the Nemeton is precarious at best these days. ] If there was something, it's gone. If not -- we might be looking at a wider problem. Something unseen. [He's not suggesting that Peter Hale acts like a child: that's Deacon's job, as someone with the qualifications to make a diagnosis. And, well. It's a little mean to this Peter, whose brand of little shit has been perfectly tolerable except for having stole his shirt and having mocked his old man cologne. ] I can keep looking, or I can do some research.
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There are other ways of keeping memories.
[ And there it is again, the casual certainty of Peter's knowledge. All the sneaky little ways he has of finding shit out, and keeping it to himself, and later revealing it in a stingy pinched IV drip, or lying about it for his own purposes. Of course, he wouldn't understand that Chris has heard that tone before. ]
But if it's limited to just me, it's really not that big a deal, is it?
[ It's all coming out excessively casual, while darkness drains away the ache from Chris' shoulder and makes it disappear. One a distraction from the other, though it's not clear which is to distract from which. ]
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I think you're enjoying this. [Being young, or the illusion of glimpsing the future. Maybe it's just funny to have an Argent give a shit. He's assuming, in Peter's recent memory, Gerard has been sowing the seeds of war and chaos with an iron fist. Everything comes full circle. ] -- Thank you. [He nods to Peter's hand. There's a tightness to his voice; wariness. Like he expects a catch. ] I don't think you're contagious, no. Derek wasn't.
[L o l. ] I guess we wait it out. See if something triggers a change.
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Then there's the other recurring motif of his behavior, which is boundary testing. Chris doesn't pull away, though it was a near thing. Chris thanks him, though he means what are you doing and why. Being given an inch, he'll be on the lookout for a handy mile from now on. Not now, of course. For now he just lets his hand slide limply off the shoulder like it's worn out cat, flexes it idly to make the black veins go away faster as he brushes past Chris to peer out the door and up the stairs. He's done here, but isn't sure if Chris will insist on dealing with the bodies. ]
Don't want to be young again, huh? Wouldn't that be inconvenient. You'd go right back to trying to kill me. I'd have to be really nice to you.
[ No denial that he's enjoying this. He is, for all the reasons Chris considered, and more, and he is audibly smiling because they probably won't be addressing why Peter is being so nice to him right now, probably for the same reason Chris didn't pull his arm away in the first place. ]
So are you gonna make me carry a bunch of bodies now, or can we just. Close the door and go? Decomposition sounds like a problem for future me.
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We can't leave them here. [By 'we' he obviously means 'I'. His hand has also found his hair; there is some frustrated clawing. ] I'll call Stilinski, later. Obviously, I'll be throwing you under the bus when it comes to helping him move them.
[They're old, Peter. And you're so young, and have superhuman strength. :). ] But if we're done here, we should move before anyone comes back looking to pick up their dead friends first. I'm guessing there's nowhere you need to be, so you can take notes.
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Really? The police are in on this stuff now too?
[ Peter recognizes Stilinski's name, the fucking busybody, even though the man might not even have been the sheriff yet (lol chronology??). Any complaint in his voice is purely token, and he reaches out to swipe a bit of Chris' clawed hair back into place. ]
All right, fine, I'll help later —
[ The DAD is very much implied, and equally as much, absolutely not said. ]
— can we go have lunch? Or at least buy groceries for your depressing kitchen?
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I'm so sorry, [he says, completely deadpan. ] That my house isn't the Marriott. [It's not even really his house. It's easier to joke about this, than to admit that the tone Peter just used very much reminded him of being a dad, and it's not as though Chris ever stops thinking about Allison. It's just that he never thought he'd have to prepare himself to be reminded of her in the form of Peter Hale.
The quickness of how easily Peter has trusted him, too, is starting become more Apparent. He wants to be mad at him about it, but that's not Peter's fault. It's Kate's. It's always Kate's, when it comes to letting down the Hale's. ]
How can you be hungry already? Your gut get replaced with a black hole too?
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So his body accepts the push, sways forward with some exaggeration, never truly stumbling; he sighs loudly without really sounding put upon, going up the stairs as bid, still alert for any noises of hunters who might inconveniently interrupt this moment which he very much wants to be the one where Chris has lost sight of the bigger picture. ]
Chris, come on. You know, I can cook. If you actually stock your pantry with more than canned corn.
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[The tone is absolutely sarcastic, but he and Melissa have had this exact conversation while extremely plastered. He wants to say what is wrong with canned corn, except that he knows it's a lot. There's so much wrong with it. He doesn't even have like, tuna or mayo to make it edible. It's a suffering existence, okay. Look at this beard, Peter. He's going through a whole thing. A whole number of things? So many things.
On the upside, they're still alone when they emerge, though Chris' hand has been on his gun the entire time.
It feels like, as they're walking back to the car, that they might actually go grocery shopping, which is just another one of those strange, unsettling things he's going to share today with Peter. Like everything else he's chosen to focus on, this is easier than saying: grocery shopping suggests a sense of permanence or self-care, neither of which Chris has really been going for this month. ]
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Well, if you want me to be the sugar daddy in this relationship, I'll have to figure out where I hid my money? And it'll take a while?
[ This chirpy suggestion barely gets out without him breaking into laughter and it's probably still clear he is unnecessarily and disproportionately amused by his own joke. Especially since he did genuinely just do something caring for Chris, and has now suggested he cook. It's obvious, right, that Chris has been the dad to both his actual child, and a bunch of other might-as-well-be-children, for a long time now. That he's tired, and he also probably wouldn't let the others take care of him even if they felt themselves in the position to try. Or at least, it's obvious to Peter. ]
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The fact that he himself laughs (as ironic as possible) surprises even him, though maybe it shouldn't. He's laughed enough at Scott's bad jokes now that maybe every bad joke will just be funny, through exposure. ] Peter Hale, broke twice in his life by his own hand. You know, [and there is, here, the first real genuine expression of amusement.] If I didn't know any better, I'd say maybe you like making things difficult for yourself.
[Maybe he doesn't actually know better. Who really knows Peter Hale, truly? Grief does strange things to people. Chris knows better than most, now.] You better stay in the car if we go grocery shopping. Someone might recognise you.
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Well, we do like a challenge.
[ He agrees mildly. Differentiating between himself and the older Peter, and why not? Even if it inadvertently gives the impression that the older Peter is still around, just off somewhere, doing whatever it is he does when he's not trying to kill Scott. As opposed to this one, here, whose challenge evidently involves Chris. ]
Come on, no way. Who would recognize me? And even if they did, what would they do about it? Fight me in the cereal aisle?
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It's hard to say. What anyone might do. The fountain of youth might be one hard pill to swallow too far. [How much of the kept information might become dangerous later, he wonders. How much might be too much before they fully understand the cause and reason for Peter's current. Situation. He thinks Derek might be blunt about it. ] Come on, get in. I'll fill you in on the last year. [Or, rather:] Or at least why so many hunters came at you last night. We might need a drink.
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You're the boss.
[ The faintest sing-song quality is all that remains of his disagreement as he opens the door (up front this time, ha ha) and gets in. Going into the supermarket is not his hill to die on, and he will simply make fun of Chris if Chris fails to buy sufficient groceries; he's willing to bet, however, that Chris won't, that he's perfectly capable of it, and just hasn't. Until now. ]
So what is it this time.
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[He doesn't mean Peter specifically, but, well. Maybe Peter is technically still legally dead. Who even knows. As he starts the ignition, Chris finds himself sighing, like there's nothing else for it.] Few months ago Gerard started recruiting new hunters. Started branching outside of his usual sources and went local.
[The glance he spares Peter's way is ... regretful. Guilty. ] Really local. He gave a gun to anyone who stepped up. Everyone knows, Peter. We're supposed to be in a truce, but -- [Gerard's manipulations have always been infamous, and he's always been the kind to inspire the kind of hatred that sits in the bones to fester. Kate's the poster child for it. ] Fear changes people. It makes or breaks them. Some of them can't move on.
[He's looking at the road again.] Some of the younger ones might not recognise you, but the older ones -- the Hale's have been here a long time, Peter. I really don't need to fish out a bullet from you just because someone saw you look ten years younger and decided to panic shoot you. Or me.
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And you're saying you're not a target as well? A bigger one, considering they wouldn't even be expecting me?
[ Not this version of him, anyway. ]
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[Used to being the family disappointment. Used to dealing with the aftermath of Gerard's great manoeuvres. Gerard might be dead, but his legacy isn't. His hatred isn't. He glances again, taking a sharp turn. Peter might recognise the streets. The layout hasn't changed much. New stores. The same families. ] I'm just trying to avoid as many complications here as possible.
[He's only human, Peter. ] If I don't let you come in, are you going to sulk about it? [He might have some experience with this. Not just as an actual dad. ]
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I'd "sulk" if you came back with twenty cans of corn. And anyway, if I'm kidnapped out of a car at crossbowpoint, you'll just never know until it's too late. Vice versa if they come up behind you and stick a gun in your back while you're picking up milk. I'll just be sitting here.
[ He doesn't seem too concerned about scenario one, and even scenario two strikes him as pretty ballsy for inexperienced hunters no matter how tense the situation is right now. So he won't protest too much about being made to wait, but on the other hand, if Chris gives in, he'd prefer to come along. ]
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[What is Wolvesbane against a young werewolf, powered up on the power of forbidden future knowledge? But to the grocery store they go. It is about as bland and dated as Peter probably remembers it. Maybe the paint is a different colour, and maybe the fridges are a little more sophisticated, but overall not much has changed. Chris isn't strictly from anymore, so the fact that it is the exact same as when he was early thirties is lost on him.
His shopping habits, Peter is now about to find out, are very I have been grieving for like five years and show no signs of stopping. That is to say, he may not pick up corn, but he does pick up such delicacies as: canned tuna, beer, wine, canned tomatoes, two steak cuts that might be? Average? And the best of all: one onion. He will not actually protest whatever Peter adds, because he doesn't imagine it will go to waist. Peter's appetite is formidable, even if Chris' is not.
There's something less depressing about this entire experience when he considers that he is not going home alone with all this stuff alone. There's also something vaguely strange about not actively planning to be out working later that night. Not in the way he's become used to, anyway. It will be incredibly embarrassing if Peter Hale is the one to convince that he should do things like look after himself and stop only calling people about shady hunters.
When they're home, the house Chris is occupying is slightly different in the daylight. That is: it's much more obvious how sparse it is. Like he moved in, and then never unpacked.]
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As for the shopping itself, Peter doesn't quite wrestle the cart away from him because it'll be for the best if they don't actually bicker, playfully or not, in the middle of the store. (If he recognizes it, he doesn't say anything.) There are some sighs, some judgmental looks, and a lot of supplementation: more onions, Chris, what the actual fuck. A bag of potatoes. Pasta. Stuff that, in the event that Peter disappears like smoke in the night, Chris may actually still be able to use if he finds the time and energy. And some actual vegetables, even if they've been pre-chopped and put in a bag; this decision is only justified further to him when they return to the house and Peter has to confront all the observations he made the night before without the weak excuse of darkness. ]
Is this meant to be temporary or are you considering going off the grid, really growing out that beard, that kind of thing?
[ Rude questions are a kindness between them, he's pretty sure, allowing Chris to sidestep whatever difficult traumas have created this situation to begin with, and anyway, he's being helpful while asking. Putting away food, and ah yes, wandering back over to the sink to see if that chunk of metal Chris pulled out of him is still there. ]
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[Things, as Peter will know, sometimes have a way of not going according to plan.
He has been wondering, lately, about whether he'll go back to Europe. He might, if only to also bring Isaac back. He might not, too. The duality of the Beacon Hills experience is sometimes stifling. It's hard to be anything but both fond of the people and absolutely miserable while inhabiting the space. Besides all that, Chris can't remember the last time anywhere felt like home, however fake-deep that concept is. He's just tired of moving around, for now. The energy has been sucked out of him. He keeps giving his soul to this place, and every time he leaves, it drags him back.
(The metal is still there, though slightly cleaner with the tap having been run on and off.) ] I haven't really made my mind up about staying.
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[ Can't leave the family behind. Can't leave Derek behind, however sick they both are of Peter having to play babysitter and how bad he is at it anyway. Sure, he saves Derek's life. Arguably more often than he ruins it. Is that kind of thing really quantifiable? Wouldn't he possibly be doing them all a favor if he did leave, go elsewhere to university, take the burden of his personality problems off of Talia's hands?
He doesn't know how different things would be if he had.
His unknowing echo of Chris' experience is as offhand as most things he says, though he spends a few moments too long examining the bit of metal, turning it over in his fingers until he stirs back to attention and pockets it. ]
Where would you go? If. [ Peter gestures. ] All this were settled to your satisfaction.
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[It's surprisingly easy to talk about, actually. Maybe it's the intangibility of this Peter's existence. Like maybe it's okay to be slightly more honest, knowing he could revert in the blink of an eye. He's freed some bags of vegetables, which he starts moving to the fridge. ] I don't know. I left Isaac there, against my better judgement.
[They'd get along, he realises. This Peter and Isaac. He thinks Isaac probably got along with the other Peter too. Similar personalities, just with different directional pulls. Different loyalties. He's surprised that Peter's thought about leaving, though, and he feels bad, again, about knowing what the future holds for him. That he knows that Peter will never really leave. ] Where would you go? I can't remember if you ever went to college. I know Derek didn't.
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