munsters | - OPEN -

Yeah. I'll call back later.

[Despite the obvious, Peter has always reminded Chris of a cat. Annoyingly lazy, and always choosey about when and where to help. He's leaning back against the stove, trying to place Peter's face with the vague memories of Kate and Gerard's target boards. He looks so young, is the problem. Less dignified and smug that he's used to. More annoying, he thinks, in the same way Scott's troupe of teenagers are. ]

Jesus, [is a conclusion he comes to, deflating and running a hand through his hair. ] I'm not really equipped to deal with ... With whatever this is. It's usually Scott, or Derek. [Badly, he doesn't add. It's not a fair thing to say, it's not Scott's fault that he has two brain cells, or that Derek has the people skills of a feral dog.

What is the protocol here? Does he speed Peter up on the last twelve-ish years? Does he not? Is it even his place to? Probably not, is the unhelpful conclusion to that. He doesn't even want to, really. It's been a day enough as it is. ] You can use my shower. I'll -- call Derek. He should really be the one to fill you in the last -- I'm guessing, eleven years.

You're helping us, you've been helping us for a while, so you've turned against your family. That must've taken something seriously traumatic. You haven't even mentioned Talia. She's dead or unavailable.

[ Step by patient Step, Peter nudges a chair into a more convenient angle for him to collapse into, and does so, grimacing at the jolting of the action. ]

But you're not too worried. You just came from some other fight, tonight. Whoever these hunters are, you think it can wait. It can, by the way. I'm pretty sure they're all dead.

[ Peter sighs in the undeserved peace of someone who, if he was wrong in any of the previous points, does not mind at all. If he were in better condition, if things had gone differently tonight, his little recitation would be all slick smugness. It's still inherently smug, to be sure, but he's also rolling his shoulders tiredly, his head isn't held high, and there's some sense of evasion still. Like he's giving himself time to maneuver around. ]

No need to explain, Mr. Argent. I can take you back in the morning.

[There is something that crosses his face -- regret, or pity -- at Talia's name. It lingers, and whatever it begins as, it definitely becomes pity. He's used to feeling this, now.]

Glad to see you've got enough of your wits to stay perceptive. [Is it unnerving? Sure. Is he used to it? Yeah, more or less. He shifts on his feet, leaning his weight to ease an ache in his back. He could do with a shower. Hot, or scalding. ] But you really should hear it from Derek.

[Is he carefully avoiding talking about the Argent's? Well, yes and no. He will, for however long he can. It's a sore point; he doesn't mind saying that Gerard is probably dead. He doesn't mind saying that Kate has become more of a monster. It's Allison that he wants to avoid. It's Victoria, too. The first mistake, the second, and then the rest. A weakness Peter should know already, and one he isn't really interested in sharing with this one. He has some instincts left; he hasn't gone completely soft on werewolves. ] You didn't kill the hunters, though? Which means the teenagers weren't Scott's pack. [That's a big maybe. Not everyone Scott has taken in is wholesome. Theo, for example, is a big what even is his deal.

His hand, dangerously close to ripping his own hair out, scrubs over his face instead, and wearily, he sighs. ] Never a dull moment in Beacon Hills, as usual.

[ Some part of him smarts to see the pity, and if he really were a teenager, it would be a problem. He's old enough, however, to deal with it internally, to know it represents something he can use. Of course he doesn't want Talia to be dead. Of course that's bad, and scary. It's just that there's always been something a little wrong with Peter, and he can handle certain kinds of bad and scary things much better (for a certain kind of "better") than most people, and always has. ]

I don't need to hear it. I won't be here long, I'm sure.

[ That said, the fact he wants to avoid meeting Derek for however long he is here, that's. Something. He's hoping Chris doesn't know enough about their relationship to pick up on it. ]

The place, the ... vault, it had a security system. The hunters set it off when they came after us.

[ He doesn't want to specifically say "vault" because he doesn't want to acknowledge the existence of the one near the school, but he can't think of a different word right now. ]

I got the others out, they ran off to do... something, get someone.

[ Who knows! Who cares! It'll all be explained in the morning, implies Peter's insouciant voice, only fractionally at odds with his bloodied look. ]

You shower first, I'll just get blood everywhere.

[ So polite, so seemingly reasonable. Leave him here, unattended? Well, he probably won't be doing too much... ]

Not that I don't appreciate the consideration, but I'll feel better if you try to run off looking less like that. [Older Peter would run off, he thinks. He would have an excuse ready to go, because Chris isn't entertaining, really, and there's no secrets left between to unravel. He's operating under that same assumption here; that now that Peter is healing as he should, he'll just go. Do his own thing, and get into more trouble. Isn't that just what werewolves do? Get into trouble?

Maybe just the Beacon Hills ones. Vaguely, he thinks about Isaac. Wonders if he's been in trouble lately. ] I'll get you some clothes. They might be a little big, but it'll have to do for now.

[Chris is so considerate. He might, actually, have some of Isaac's clothes from before. Stuff that was left behind and packed away after he left the apartment complex. Or stuff that mixed in with his own, when he left France in a hurry to get back and help Scott. They're the same height, more or less. ] Come on, I'll show you hot to turn the hot water on. [With a nod towards the hallway, he pushes away from the stove and extends a hand to help Peter up. He does look like rough, which isn't as satisfying when he's this young. The night truly is just full of disappointments. ]

[ Peter laughs at the first part, because ordinarily, he would do that, run off at the first opportunity, and he can't tell if Chris merely took his comment to be more time-relevant than he intended it or if Chris really knows him that well. Or is just has the weary experience of like, a dozen teenage werewolf types for what, three years now... yeah, that's probably it. Still funny, though, like the illusion of being known.

The other parts are equally amusing. Wear Argent's clothes, use Argent's shower. It should be inducing prickles of paranoia. Peter is young enough to be carefree, to want to see where the hell this could go, to find it secretly hysterical that there's any location at all to go to. He lets Chris pull him up, he sways briefly into him and then corrects his own balance, and. Isn't this all so nice. Yes, he's laughing again, because he's that awful combination of tired and wired that this lifestyle engenders. ]

Were you always this nice, Chris? Could we have been friends all this time?

[ The mockery is double-edged, because of course they couldn't have, and Peter is no friend to anyone, even in times of relative peace. But here they are, an unimaginable situation for him, a moment he'd like to stretch out beside and stare at unnervingly instead of what's actually happening, which is him shuffling after Chris to the bathroom while trying not to touch anything with his bloody hand. ]

[He laughs, not unkindly, while hoisting Peter down the hall, flipping a switch along the way.] You and me? No.

[He's just speaking from experience. There's a brief glimpse of a living room, then a bedroom, and then finally the bathroom, which is the smallest room in the house. He switches a light on in there too, and leads Peter to the toilet seat. Even with Peter, Chris is careful. Habitual niceness he doesn't try to fight, ordinarily.]

Hot water, you turn this round -- [He's pointing to a dial that is. Super self explanatory; red all the way to blue. ] I'll leave clothes in the bedroom. [His phone beeps again, and this time he does take it out to check. Scott, of course. A lot of Scott. ] If you're hungry, I can call in take out. The only food here is some tinned corn.

[He glances from the phone, to Peter. Runs his eyes over again, checking for signs of improvement. Signs of deterioration. He doesn't think he'll pass out in the shower, but when do things ever go the way Chris thinks they'll go? Never. He's used to it. ] If you feel worse, you call. You got it? The last thing I need is you dying in my shower.

[ The trip, short as it is, leaves him momentarily sluggish and it's terrible to be grateful to be plunked down on the toilet. He does his best to look unaffected, a ground-in way of acting that he makes no effort to shake at this time and place. Sometimes it's nice to be taken care of, isn't it? This has several added bonuses of not being done by family, who would all judge and reprimand and be disappointed at him, to say nothing of the novelty factor. By the time Chris looks up from his phone, Peter is gingerly shucking his shirt, and has the temerity to wink at Chris when his head emerges from the pull of cloth. ]

Don't worry, Chris. I'll behave. For you.

[ Not... actually what Chris asked, though it was perhaps an unspoken concern. ]

And yeah, something to eat, if not for tonight, the morning. Hate to put you out of corn.

[ Who could deny the classic breakfast of leftover pizza. He still gives off the air of huge amusement as he bends down to unlace his boots, despite the stabbing pain that occasions. It's healing. He can work through it. And more to the point, Chris is unlikely to help him with this part. Perhaps at this point Chris is already on his way out, but even if not, he can catch a ghostly soft thanks from Peter's bowed form. Ordinarily an occasion to stop the presses. Since there are no witnesses, however, it will just have to languish as an unbelievable anecdote. ]

[He dwells on Peter as a whole as soon he's clear of him. The age, the strangely elusive manner in which he has approached Chris. He's very used to a certain kind of Peter; a Peter who has absorbed knowledge and who keeps his cards close to his chest, except when he simply can't. It's a rough night when this isn't even the weirdest thing to happen this year.

The clothes he leaves out are pyjama bottoms and a tshirt that almost definitely did belong to Isaac. There's another that he leaves folded over a chair, and the jeans he figures can be washed. Nobody cares about some holes in jeans.

After that, he sheds his boots and takes a seat in the living room, phone pressed to his ear. Derek, when he answers, is as helpful as one can imagine. Keep him there, he says, like Chris doesn't have a life of his own, or his shit to do. Keep Peter Hale close by for a couple of days while Derek drives country back from wherever he's ended up this week? More difficult, he thinks, than Derek is aware of. Or appreciates. Chris really is so tired.

He should call Scott too, he thinks. Maybe in the morning. It's a difficult call, but he's almost certain he'd have Scott, Malia, and the rest of his ragtag pack in his kitchen within minutes. He's just. Not up for it. Not tonight. He has limited energy left, and he's choosing to use it to order pizza. For Peter Hale (lite). ]

[ He has a bit of time before the sound of the shower makes straining to hear past it more effort than it's worth to eavesdrop the way werewolves can. Keep him there isn't so bad, depending on how Chris interprets that. The patching him up and giving him clothes and food can still be a precursor to more underhanded things, and Chris is the kind of human who has the nerve to pull that off. Would he, though? These are the things he thinks about in the shower, shuddering when the spray hits the wound directly.

Not, he's guessing, without giving Chris a reason, and fortunately/unfortunately, Peter doesn't have one at the moment. Even if he's back to one hundred percent tomorrow, he doubts the idea of slipping out some window in the middle of the night will prove any more appealing. Unless Chris gives him a reason.

He doesn't take very long to finish; undressing probably took the bulk of it, and then he has to drag his boots and complaining body down the hall, where thankfully, pyjama bottoms are easier to get on than fitted jeans are to get off when one has been stabbed in the stomach. When he come out to the living room, there's entirely too much in common with Isaac and the others, the slouching posture, the yawn he has one hand over, the imprecise way his wet hair has been combed, how he collapses bonelessly on the couch. It's not entirely deliberate, though he can smell the shirt belonged to another werewolf before him. Some of it is just him being this age. ]

So Derek's busy.

[He's doing this a lot, he realises, but the once over he gives Peter is for his own good. A silent acknowledgement of the healing process; and also, of how weird it is to see Peter Hale in pyjama's, slouching on his couch the way Isaac or Scott might. Was he ever this young? God, he really can't remember. A time where he got to be a teenager? Unthinkable. Gerard put a gun in his hand the moment he could write his own name and say more than five sentences. Chris hardly ever feels old; mostly he feels weary. The kind of tired that gets down into the bones and settles there, making you heavy.

Chris sprawls too, thighs spread and his neck low enough to tilt over the back of the sofa. ] Derek is always busy, allegedly. [There is a measure of humour there. More familiarity that suggests Chris and Derek might even be friends. He hesitates, for a moment. ] He was visiting his sister. Cora. A lot happened, makes sense he'd want to fill her in. [For her own safety, he doesn't add. Maybe Peter already has the jist of that.

He should, he knows, shower now too. Rinse off the sweat and the dirt, try soothe some of the aching muscles on his back and on his hips. But maybe he is unsettled about leaving Peter to his own devices in his space. It's hardly a home, really. It's so empty, save for some photographs he keeps on his bedroom dresser. Reminders of what he's fighting for. ] Anyway, I ordered pizza. Sorry if you were hoping for something a little more extravagant.

[ Well, of all people, Peter is the last to object to attention, though naturally, he appears indifferent to and at ease with it. And tired as well, slow blinks and a peaceful expression, if nothing that matches the level Chris has achieved tonight (with Peter's help!!). Stupid werewolves. Stupid youthfulness. That's a bit of a front, too. There are a lot of interesting implications in the stuff Chris says, even if there are no real details. Relationship stuff. Hale family stuff. Lots to mull over. ]

I'll survive somehow.

[ For what it's worth, Peter seems like he might just fall asleep if Chris does dare to take a shower with a two-or-three degrees less shady than usual werewolf on his own. Who is still capable of assuming pot form to address a kettle: ]

You know, the longer you sit, the more likely you're going to just drift off, old man.

Ouch, [His laughter would certainly not be Gerard Argent approved. Sometimes that thought comes to him, at strange times: Gerard would hate this is often a good indicator that a choice is the right one. Gerard would hate Peter Hale sitting on this couch, and he would hate that Chris has let his guard down enough to be vulnerable. Or rather, give the perception of vulnerable.

Peter’s words are enough to make him move, though.] It’s fine, you can say I stink. I don’t need a werewolf nose to know it.

[He’s making an effort here, beyond the call of being a decent person. ] If the pizza comes, moneys on the counter. Try to leave me a slice, at least — I’ve seen how you kids eat.

[ He's never been the right age, somehow. Too young to to be trusted by Talia and Deaton and the others. Too old to really be friends with Derek. Always lurking on the outskirts of things, listening in, putting things together. It's strange and yet apt, somehow, that now they're even farther apart in age and he is right in Argent's living room still doing the same thing: turning over in this mind the laughter, the tone of voice, the specific words Chris lands on, the visible effort he makes to keep going. It doesn't feel quite so lonely this way. It feels like the next time he reaches his hand out and turns one little piece in the scene askew, he'll at least be in the scene too.

Which is new. And interesting. And nice. ]

What, you only ordered one?

[ Peter waves Chris off, magnanimous, as if he's the one doing Chris the favor here by urging him along his way. And of course, he'll wait until he hears the shower go on to get up, though he doesn't do as much snooping as one might expect of him. He's not up to it tonight. Just a little patrol of the layout, seeing where all the windows and exits are, examining how bare of personal touch things are. Perhaps the pizza will have come by the time Chris makes it out, perhaps not; either way, he'll leave Chris a pointed exact half of the entire thing. ]

[He should have the foresight to keep thinking about what comes next. Next is tomorrow, of course, when presumably Peter will be back on his feet, wounds healed and dignity restored. Chris pauses this thought in the shower; it's nice to soothe his muscles, and clean off some of the dirt from scraping with other hunters. It feels nice to switch off, momentarily, while also knowing that he really shouldn't. Not with Peter Hale in his living room.

He's quick to shower, quicker than Peter but not quicker in changing into what is more like lounge wear than pyjamas. Habit; sometimes he really does get a call at three in the morning and has to go save a werewolf. When he returns, he's shoving two ibuprofen into his mouth, grabbing a cup and turning the tap on. Without werewolf healing, he has to deal with his back the old fashioned way.

He clocks the pizza as he steps back into the living room and his stomach twists with a reminder that subway at 11am is not how you sustain yourself for the whole day. It just does be like that, most of the time. When he sits and reaches for the box he is pleasantly surprised to see half, and not one single, half eaten slice left for him. His glance up to Peter may reflect this, but is definitely doing something with his mouth which could be considered a smile. ] You didn't run. [That's a surprise too. ] You're taking this pretty well. [Eating only half a pizza? The displacement? Who's to say?]

[ He hadn't gone as far as cleaning up any blood he left in the kitchen or on the counter, notably. It couldn't possibly be intentional or deliberate that he set low expectations just so they were easier to surpass; those expectations are the product of his older self, and his behavior tonight has to be as anomalous as every other aspect of his being here. At the same time, it all fits together like that. Like if there were any single person with consistent enough behavior/thinking to have his future actions benefit his past personality, it's Peter.

But all that ranges beyond paranoia and into conspiracy, hard to imagine of the sleepy-looking Peter here. Currently, he is taking up the whole couch, hands folded over the spot where he was stabbed, and if he was watching Chris discover all the pizza left for him before, his eyes are shut by the time Chris looks at him. ]

Where would I run to? Derek and Cora left, everyone else must be dead.

[ Nothing in his voice suggests anything other than lukewarm (not quite cool) reason. No accusation or underlying fear. So, yeah. Taking it well. Or doing a much better job at pretending than any of the actual teenagers would. That's So Peter. He simply continues the conversation in the same tone of voice, as if both parts are equally weighted. ]

Anyway, I don't play basketball anymore... it's not like I need an entire pizza just to not like, die.

[He supposes it makes sense that the assumption would be death. Chris remembers Talia; remembers the way she was revered by her family, by other packs and how people used to gravitate towards Beacon Hills for community, rather than menace. How people rarely left. He doesn't confirm or deny the fact that the Hale pack is long gone, that they've been adopted by someone barely turned eighteen, or that his own sister is responsible.

The pizza tastes funny in his mouth at the thought. ] Good to know you've always been this dramatic. [He means the pizza.

It is, in some ways, good. Peter as Chris has known him lately has been -- not subdued, or good, but less manic. At least Chris has thought so. Less murder and betrayal, more resignation and acceptance. He gets that. Chris changed with Allison, too, and then he changed again and again and now here he is, with Peter Hale sprawled out on his couch. He chews his pizza with his eyes not deliberately on Peter's face, but he is watching. Old habits, or something. ]

Do you have questions? [He would like to fill the awkward silence, at least while he eats. ] Some of it really should come from Derek, but the rest I can probably give you a vague run down on.

[ How nice to play the other part for once, and Chris isn't even lurking in the shadows to do it. Would he like that better or not? He prefers this, he supposes, since it came with concierge service and conversation. And this couch isn't bad. Chris will have a hard time getting him off of it if this version of Peter persists in hanging around. He hasn't opened his eyes again, but he also seems amenable to continuing to talk, so if you forgot about the horrible injury, it's one of those ah yes, the shiftless narcissist, lounging around on my furniture and being vaguely annoying moments that Peter so often creates. ]

When werewolves are hangry it is serious, Chris.

[ As for the other part, he laughs shortly. It's exactly the kind of aggravating, dismissive sort of sound he makes when he's older, but it sounds weirder coming out of this body, too old for it. ]

Who's in charge.

Explains Derek, huh. [Not that Chris. Explicitly remembers Derek as a teenager, really, or interacted with him much after Kate messed with him. It's hard to imagine Derek as anything other than the way he is now. Was he different, he almost wants to ask. Was Peter so different, before the fire? Well. It does seem like it, doesn't it?

Here, though, Chris laughs. There's an awkwardness to it; a wistfulness. A fondness. He does sort of love Scott like he's his own kid, these days. He feels that way about most of them. He misses Isaac enough to have considered flying back to France, just to check in. ]

Scott McCall. He's -- [he's got a pizza slice to his mouth, and thinking on the ridiculousness of Scott McCall being in charge of a whole pack. ] He collects waifs and strays. He's just a kid, barely turned eighteen, but ... He's. He's good. Made for this kind of thing. If you meet him, don't tell him I said that.

[ None of what Chris said is all that funny to Peter, and his answering laugh is another, not so deep version of his older self's not-actually-amused scoff. The embittered quality isn't so smoothed over and polished by life's natural rock tumbler. So eighteen year old idiots with hearts of gold are "made for this kind of thing," and maybe that would have been Derek, if Peter hadn't made little nephew get his hands dirty, but it would never have been Peter; it's always the bridesmaid for him. Talia is just too hard an act to follow.

He doesn't say any of that, not in any form. He may find this Chris Argent appealing for a few reasons, but he's kept his own counsel his entire life. That's not going to change based on one night's kindness and a vague supposition. ]

I doubt meeting him will be necessary. And Derek doesn't need to hurry, either. I'm pretty sure I know what happened. We can fix it tomorrow.

[ Now Peter finally cracks open an eye, tilting his head to look at Chris, and make sure he's paying attention to this part. ]

After breakfast.

[ Werewolf hanger is real, Chris. ]

You wanna fill me in?

[Werewolf isn't real and can't hurt him. Chris is fine with leaving that avenue of questioning unanswered till tomorrow, sure. His mild curiosity versus the desire to roll his eyes at Peter 'I know everything' Hale is a tired back and forth that fizzles out fairly fast. The pizza is finished just as fast, with Chris rubbing excess grease onto the soggy cardboard.

The house is always fairly quiet, but it does feel especially so with Peter here. Or rather, it seems like Chris is noticing how quiet the house usually is? There's a TV, but Chris can't remember if it's ever been plugged in. There's a radio in the kitchen that hasn't been used in weeks. Strange, how quickly silence fills up your life if you let it. He clears his throat.] And there's a -- spare room. To sleep in. If you want it.

[A genuine spare room. Neither Kate or Allison ever slept here, so at least Peter will be spared the lingering scents of the dead and the gone. ]

It's genuinely hard to explain, but there has to be something in that vault.

[ His hesitation now doesn't seem to be from reluctance to explain so much as struggle for words, which is not as common when he's older. He reluctantly pushes himself upright, turning to settle his feet on the floor as he thinks it over, expression almost absentminded, the lines of his neck and shoulders relaxed. Like running to a hunter's house, getting patched up by him, using his shower, wearing his clothes, eating his pizza, and now being offered a spare room is all totally normal and fine. Appearances have always been such a big deal, though he doesn't have the full "polish" (term dubiously employed) of the adult Peter. ]

... you really are tired.

[ Tired being a stand-in for other words, like softhearted or simply, "you really are like this now" — on their side, if you could call it that. But he makes it sound like something else, because god forbid Peter ever be straightforward, and in any case, it's true and they can't get into why Chris is like this (kind, alone) tonight. Possibly they can't get into it ever, depending on how long Peter is like this and/or the availability of hard liquor. He'll try, though. ]

Go sleep. I'll try to remember more for tomorrow.

[ No direct answer about whether he's taking the spare room or not. ]

[The vault, which Chris knows of and has not really acknowledged out of some strange, vague discomfort. Things that are not necessarily this Peter's fault, but things which are, factually Peter Hale's fault. It's strange, maybe, that in his tiredness Chris feels like he has to protect Peter from the knowledge of himself. At least for one night, anyway. It's hard to say if he'll feel that way in the morning; if the kindness will pass for something more practical with some sleep behind him.

He nods, though, in agreement. He really is tired. His goodnight isn't awkward, but it holds some distant discomfort. It's not personal; it's just something about sharing his space again, after so long relatively on his own. He leaves Peter to the living room, to do whatever it is he wants to do with the freedom to snoop a little more. Chris sleeps with the door closed, and it's closed all night until the next morning. He's an early riser, but maybe this doesn't come as much of a surprise. The Argent's have that kind of air around them: like sleep is a stranger to them more days than not.

Peter feels like a distant, oddly toned dream, but the pizza box is there after he's dressed and making his coffee. On his phone are the terse, utterly exasperated responses from Derek. There, too, is a message from Scott that is just a series of emoji's that he. Does not understand? But sure, okay. He's in the kitchen for a while, catching up on things both supernatural and not, and then cleaning up the small, red mess from Peter's make shift surgery. ]

[ Whatever Peter may or may not have done during the night while Chris was asleep remains closed up in the black box of that stretch of hours; meanwhile, he didn't even fully close the spare room's door, like the psycho he not so secretly sometimes is. If Chris glances through the crack, he'll be a seemingly insensate lump under the sheets, with no reaction to small noises within that reasonable proximity. He sleeps exactly like the teenage boy he isn't, and despite making such an emphasis on breakfast, it'll be almost eleven before he rouses. (Perhaps he had an even later night than assumed.)

It's not the weirdest awakening he's ever had, but it's close. The anonymity and strangeness is on par with waking up in a hotel, except the hotel is an empty home that smells primarily of Chris. The wound is mostly healed over, just a patch or two of sullen, seeping ugliness that hasn't yet been covered with unscarred skin. A sense of soreness, a lingering ache, which dwindles as he stretches and thinks.

Chris will probably hear him go to the bathroom first, depriving them both of the amusement of what his hair looks like first thing in the morning. He's probably played the "innocent, well, relatively innocent" card enough times by now. The Peter that comes out to the kitchen is in that purgatorial halfway land between last night's vulnerability and the adult Peter's self-possession; still in Chris and Isaac's clothes, though, still moving with a hint of care for his injury. He nods his head at the phone while he goes to investigate the coffee, without invitation. ]

So, what's the consensus?

[In the time that it has taken Peter to come and begin helping himself to coffee, Derek's texts have become decidedly one-word answers and Scott has moved on from emoji's to real, human words. He's not sure any of it is helpful, but he does scroll, for a moment, and then snorts. ]

Oh, the usual. Don't let him out of your sight, that kind of thing. [In fact, that is most of what Derek has been saying. Mastering it down to a succinct 'stay' really is quite an art form. He had, if he's being honest, hoped that Peter would wake up the right self, at the right age. He isn't, though, and now Chris has to make a plan. He's awake enough for it now, and his bones have lost some of that tired, overworked ache in the night. He doesn't think too hard about the easy sleep he had with Peter a room away. He's older, now. Sometimes you just need to sleep, no matter who is occupying your space. ]

From what I remember, you were a trouble maker at this age too. Or so I heard. [Titbits from Kate; complaints that had come from Derek, vague and watered down. Chris knows they were watered down, because Peter is, you know. A little shit even as an adult. ] Anyway, something like this happened to Derek a little while ago. It resolved itself fairly fast, but from what I can tell you ... Haven't been subjected to any old, appropriated rituals from South America. [Unless Peter has something to tell him?? He's straightened up now, handing over his own empty mug. While Peter is, you know. Inspecting coffee. ] You said something about a vault, so we can start there. I don't take sugar, by the way.

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actually googled "hangry first usage" then shrugged bc teen wolf chronology

derek is hangry like ... all the time

it took him what, 3 seasons to move to somewhere that could conceivably have a working fridge?

i blocked out that he was living in the burned out husk of his family home

don't forget the random underground wreck!!!

the literal train carriage...

erica, isaac, and boyd like :(

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