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.
actually googled "hangry first usage" then shrugged bc teen wolf chronology
[ 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. ]
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.
it took him what, 3 seasons to move to somewhere that could conceivably have a working fridge?
[ 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. ]
i blocked out that he was living in the burned out husk of his family home
[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. ]
[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.
[ He starts smiling the instant don't let him — comes out of Chris's mouth, and nothing that happens after that does a thing to dent it. There is a lot there he could respond to, but he'll begin by refilling the mug Chris hands him uncomplainingly: sweetly, even, the very obliging way he does it a vague form of menace when viewed from the angle of knowledge Chris has demonstrated several times that he has. And he hands it over with eye contact and faint deference that, acknowledging what Chris literally just said, could be anywhere on the spectrum from alarming to mocking. ]
You know, it's kind of nice to think someone's actually noticed me. Regardless of the context.
[ He leans back against the counter with his own mug, exactly as plain as Chris's, continuing on in the same tone as is apparently his habit. ]
The vault is probably mine. It's the kind of thing I'd like to have. The kind of traps I'd like to set. And, the kinds of stuff I'd keep in a vault. I'm sorry to say I think I have a sentimental streak. Does that sound right, Chris?
Is sentimental the word for it? [Maybe a year ago the question might have been is there a word for you, Peter? The answer might have even been no. He takes a wary sip of his coffee, which is fine, and not too sweet, and he thinks sentimental probably is the word for it. Misguided sentimentality; preformative sentimentality? ]
Where's this vault again? [Just casual, like he doesn't think he knows. It would be interesting if there were another Hale vault out there, wouldn't it? It would be to him anyway. ] And a list of traps. If I got shot, I gotta go to the emergency room. [Mortality is nice most of the time. When he isn't dying, anyway. ] I mean I could guess, from experience, but I'd rather know.
[ Which Peter has been known to do from time to time, or possibly too much, unlike the others. ]
The ones that killed the hunters already got triggered. I'm sure it'll be fine. But don't worry. I'll go first, and if I get shot, you can patch me up again.
[ Another winning smile, which is probably only irritating if one expects that Peter really would go along with this kind of plan. He must be confident he won't be caught in a trap.]
It's in some kind of industrial area. We can get food on the way.
Yeah. That seems on theme. [Not the school, which he supposes make sense. Vague industrial area is also very Derek, which he thinks is an observation Derek would not appreciate. He'll tell him in person: he could do with a laugh, later. At the prospect of food, Chris makes a face which says oh, I suppose I'm paying for that. He supposes he is. It doesn't matter how rich he knows Peter actually is, this Peter has zero access to it. That's funny too, though he's laughing internally.
Sometimes Scott brings up Peter losing a million dollars in bonds and they all have a quiet chuckle. It's the little things.
Anyway. Breakfast is --] Sounds like a fair trade off for you getting shot. You going to brave the outside world in those or are you going to get dressed. [Sometimes ... the Dad tone never leaves you. Or the instinctual raised eyebrows. ] You've got thirty minutes.
[ That's a multifaceted comment there, intended to do different kinds of work: mildly repudiating the taste of whoever originally selected the clothes, Chris' taste in selecting them a second time, the fact this person is currently missing from Chris' life, a general implication of I make this look good (and is that at odds with his earlier comment about it being nice about someone paying attention to him...? But that hadn't been about his attractiveness). Not that he self-congratulates or anything, he airily moves off with his coffee to do as suggested.
Not that Peter restricts himself to the stuff picked out for him. He is 100% going to snoop unless stopped, and pick out clothes for himself. Isaac's jeans definitely fit him better, and he might take a shirt from there too. Chris is going to lose one of his flannel shirts, though. And he's back, fairly promptly, just finishing his coffee with the disgustingly chipper aspect of one who's not only young, they are bursting with life. ]
[He isn't exactly dwelling on Isaac as he rinses his mug out, but there's something sad, perhaps, about how yeah, Isaac probably is not missing the few clothes Chris has. In another life, Chris thinks he could have perhaps been a little like Peter. Just detached enough from morality to be an efficient killer. That's a funny, if not slightly morbid comparison. He turns, and then double-turns with a crease in his brow. An irritated frown as he definitely recognises his own flannel.
He imagines a life where he's still an efficient killer, and grabs his phone, still frowning. ] Is that mine? [Now is not exactly the opportune moment to be distracted with the immense annoyance of having Peter Hale raid through his things! Scott would never do this??? Breakfast burritos are likely, hashbrowns even more likely. What's even more likely than all of that, is that Chris might actually pull a dad move and make Peter ride in the backseat as punishment for snooping.]
[ His voice suggests that Chris is being unreasonable, though naturally it focuses on the wrong thing entirely rather than the obvious objection to personal items being filched. Of course he does, and of course he acts like it's totally normal as he washes his mug in the sink, demure and domestic, apparently unaware of any fantasies of murder efficiency that may be accumulating in anyone's mind. As for driving arrangements: ]
Should of thought of that of that before you went pilfering.
[Realistically, Chris cannot exactly stop Peter from riding shotgun? It's a symbolic punishment at best. Chris does not hate werewolves, he just hates that they have super strength. By the time they are at the car, Chris has some idea of where he's going. How many industrial areas can Beacon Hills and the adjoining towns have?
Something to worry about after breakfast.] You think you can remember anything more specific about your industrial area after a breakfast burrito?
[ To which Peter slides him a pitying look, and gets into the back seat, and once Chris starts driving, he leans forward between the seats, one arm slung casually around the headrest because he is reflexively a shit and turning a symbolic punishment into a mutual one is actually better than getting into the front seat. For now. Or maybe Chris will be surprisingly tolerant of a werewolf hovering at his shoulder, but he's thinking probably not. From this angle he can observe a lot of things closer up than he might ordinarily be able to, which has its interesting parts. For instance, what speaking nearly into Chris's ear does for his comfort levels. ]
It's in the south part of town for sure.
[ He goes on to list some landmarks, and given his state last night, he must have thought about it carefully beforehand to be so thorough about it. It is indeed not that far from Derek's place, which must have been a deciding factor in the older Peter's selection. ]
[Chris lacks some of the more intimate details of Peter's going ons. Scott, for example, might know that Peter spends an extraordinary amount of time haunting Derek's old place and other such settings. What Chris knows is that sometimes Peter has an uncanny knack for showing up and being a huge, enigmatic pain in the ass. So when they do drive by Derek's long-since abandoned apartment building, Chris isn't surprised, but there's a measure of unexpected irony in it, maybe.
It's always hard to tell if Peter cares. Kate made that observation once, when they were younger. She had seen it as an opportunity: Chris had no idea how much it would come back to bite him in the ass down the line. He thinks, now, that Peter must care more than he gets credit for. Chris, for example, doesn't think he would spend this much time around Kate, even if he didn't want her locked up. Family drama. Maybe one day they'll have a joke about that, and maybe he will see a flying pig.
He parks a little bit away, between some stacked up shipping crates and towering wooden pallets. Peter will know the way, sure, but Chris is -- apprehensive. Cautious as he looks out, eyes drawn to every dark corner; every high vantage point. These new hunters may be over-eager, but they've all got the advantage of Gerard's second-hand training and it hasn't been watered down enough quite yet for abush-mistakes to be made yet. Truth be told, he is truly fucking sick of hunters. The deepest irony yet! ]
I think, [he says, like Peter did not say something similar earlier,] that we might be alone. For now. [He's leaning forward on the steering wheel, eyes moving back and forth; always trying to anticipate his fathers moves. How he thinks. ] But we won't be for long. Eventually someone's going to come looking for their missing buddies.
[He rubs an eye with the corner of a knuckle, and then leans back, head turned to Peter. He's not Scott. Not by any stretch of the imagination, but ...] I need you to keep your ears wide open. Let me know if you hear someone coming. [Maybe Chris can put aside his prejudices for half an hour and they can figure this thing out before Derek shows up to make things 100 x more uncomfortable. ]
[ Usually there when he's unwanted, and rarely around on the few occasions when they could actually benefit from information he might have: it takes an extraordinary amount of informed awareness to be that inconvenient, if only anybody thought about it in those terms. But then, Peter (of either age) doesn't encourage such a mindset. It ruins the effect.
He seems much more relaxed than Chris as they make their way back to the vault, memories blooming out of the dark confusion of the previous night, which when combined with the present smell of blood and death is easy enough to find. It's... new, backtracking like this with Chris. Not many people are available for Peter at this age, and even when Derek trusted him, he was too young, stuck in school, and justifiably concerned about disobeying his alpha mother. It's... reassuring? Which makes him want to laugh, horrible ugly laughter at himself for having the temerity to feel that way ever, let alone in regards to an Argent.
That, he keeps in and locked down, though there may be a thread of it lurking in his voice as he returns the eye contact carelessly. He sounds like that a lot, though, so it shouldn't be too remarkable. Amused at inappropriate times, sounds like Peter all right. ]
I wasn't planning on staying quiet and dying with you, Chris.
[ And maybe the unaccountable warmth with which he says that is a little different, like the ratio of sarcasm to deliberate overfamiliarity is off. ]
I've never been caught. Don't you know that?
[ This airy reassurance is half a real query as he undrapes himself from Chris' seat and slides out of the car. Peter does have a reputation for being slippery, or so he assumes. Then again, maybe Chris is about to inform him of all the times a future Peter has been captured, and that will be very informative. He's alert and bright-eyed as he scans around, with a deep even breath or two, taking stock of how alone they might or might not be. And apparently sensing nothing of importance, he starts towards a dark red shipping crate, where the bloody handprints along the doors are somewhat obscured. ]
[There is a joke to be made at Peter's expense, but it's maybe lost on Chris' way out of the car. He's checking his gun, his mouth pulled into a wry kind of smile that suggests otherwise, but the words never really fully form beyond an amused yet, and then they're moving. Everything about Chris these days is engineered to tolerate smart-asses. He's tolerating Peter with surprising ease. Worse, he's finding that he doesn't actually dislike him very much at all. Maybe this is just his penance: doomed to find himself sort-of liking annoying young people.
What might be strange for Peter, is that Chris is watching his back. Not keeping tabs on him specifically (which he is, but less pressingly), but rather genuinely watching out for anyone and anything creeping in the shadows. Dead hunters attract more than other hunters, sometimes. Especially this close to Beacon Hills. Nothing is ever truly a surprise anymore, and least of all Peter having a vault somewhere in the middle of shipping crates and abandoned industry ghosts.
(He does think, quite blithely, that there's always the possibility that Peter might lead him into a trap. But to what end? Just because? Well ...) ]
I know I shouldn't, but I really gotta ask why you Hale's always end up in places like this. [It's quiet enough that Chris could be talking to himself. Peter might know, or have some vague idea. Maybe not. Chris has noticed enough differences now to be able to place a definite distinction between Peter Hale and Okayish Peter. ]
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no subject
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.
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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. ]
no subject
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?]
no subject
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.
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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.
actually googled "hangry first usage" then shrugged bc teen wolf chronology
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.
derek is hangry like ... all the time
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.
it took him what, 3 seasons to move to somewhere that could conceivably have a working fridge?
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. ]
i blocked out that he was living in the burned out husk of his family home
[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. ]
don't forget the random underground wreck!!!
[ 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 literal train carriage...
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. ]
erica, isaac, and boyd like :(
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?
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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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You know, it's kind of nice to think someone's actually noticed me. Regardless of the context.
[ He leans back against the counter with his own mug, exactly as plain as Chris's, continuing on in the same tone as is apparently his habit. ]
The vault is probably mine. It's the kind of thing I'd like to have. The kind of traps I'd like to set. And, the kinds of stuff I'd keep in a vault. I'm sorry to say I think I have a sentimental streak. Does that sound right, Chris?
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Where's this vault again? [Just casual, like he doesn't think he knows. It would be interesting if there were another Hale vault out there, wouldn't it? It would be to him anyway. ] And a list of traps. If I got shot, I gotta go to the emergency room. [Mortality is nice most of the time. When he isn't dying, anyway. ] I mean I could guess, from experience, but I'd rather know.
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[ Which Peter has been known to do from time to time, or possibly too much, unlike the others. ]
The ones that killed the hunters already got triggered. I'm sure it'll be fine. But don't worry. I'll go first, and if I get shot, you can patch me up again.
[ Another winning smile, which is probably only irritating if one expects that Peter really would go along with this kind of plan. He must be confident he won't be caught in a trap.]
It's in some kind of industrial area. We can get food on the way.
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Sometimes Scott brings up Peter losing a million dollars in bonds and they all have a quiet chuckle. It's the little things.
Anyway. Breakfast is --] Sounds like a fair trade off for you getting shot. You going to brave the outside world in those or are you going to get dressed. [Sometimes ... the Dad tone never leaves you. Or the instinctual raised eyebrows. ] You've got thirty minutes.
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[ That's a multifaceted comment there, intended to do different kinds of work: mildly repudiating the taste of whoever originally selected the clothes, Chris' taste in selecting them a second time, the fact this person is currently missing from Chris' life, a general implication of I make this look good (and is that at odds with his earlier comment about it being nice about someone paying attention to him...? But that hadn't been about his attractiveness). Not that he self-congratulates or anything, he airily moves off with his coffee to do as suggested.
Not that Peter restricts himself to the stuff picked out for him. He is 100% going to snoop unless stopped, and pick out clothes for himself. Isaac's jeans definitely fit him better, and he might take a shirt from there too. Chris is going to lose one of his flannel shirts, though. And he's back, fairly promptly, just finishing his coffee with the disgustingly chipper aspect of one who's not only young, they are bursting with life. ]
Breakfast burritos. Hashbrowns. Something. Please.
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He imagines a life where he's still an efficient killer, and grabs his phone, still frowning. ] Is that mine? [Now is not exactly the opportune moment to be distracted with the immense annoyance of having Peter Hale raid through his things! Scott would never do this??? Breakfast burritos are likely, hashbrowns even more likely. What's even more likely than all of that, is that Chris might actually pull a dad move and make Peter ride in the backseat as punishment for snooping.]
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[ His voice suggests that Chris is being unreasonable, though naturally it focuses on the wrong thing entirely rather than the obvious objection to personal items being filched. Of course he does, and of course he acts like it's totally normal as he washes his mug in the sink, demure and domestic, apparently unaware of any fantasies of murder efficiency that may be accumulating in anyone's mind. As for driving arrangements: ]
Chris, come on. It's going to feel like a taxi.
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[Realistically, Chris cannot exactly stop Peter from riding shotgun? It's a symbolic punishment at best. Chris does not hate werewolves, he just hates that they have super strength. By the time they are at the car, Chris has some idea of where he's going. How many industrial areas can Beacon Hills and the adjoining towns have?
Something to worry about after breakfast.] You think you can remember anything more specific about your industrial area after a breakfast burrito?
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It's in the south part of town for sure.
[ He goes on to list some landmarks, and given his state last night, he must have thought about it carefully beforehand to be so thorough about it. It is indeed not that far from Derek's place, which must have been a deciding factor in the older Peter's selection. ]
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It's always hard to tell if Peter cares. Kate made that observation once, when they were younger. She had seen it as an opportunity: Chris had no idea how much it would come back to bite him in the ass down the line. He thinks, now, that Peter must care more than he gets credit for. Chris, for example, doesn't think he would spend this much time around Kate, even if he didn't want her locked up. Family drama. Maybe one day they'll have a joke about that, and maybe he will see a flying pig.
He parks a little bit away, between some stacked up shipping crates and towering wooden pallets. Peter will know the way, sure, but Chris is -- apprehensive. Cautious as he looks out, eyes drawn to every dark corner; every high vantage point. These new hunters may be over-eager, but they've all got the advantage of Gerard's second-hand training and it hasn't been watered down enough quite yet for abush-mistakes to be made yet. Truth be told, he is truly fucking sick of hunters. The deepest irony yet! ]
I think, [he says, like Peter did not say something similar earlier,] that we might be alone. For now. [He's leaning forward on the steering wheel, eyes moving back and forth; always trying to anticipate his fathers moves. How he thinks. ] But we won't be for long. Eventually someone's going to come looking for their missing buddies.
[He rubs an eye with the corner of a knuckle, and then leans back, head turned to Peter. He's not Scott. Not by any stretch of the imagination, but ...] I need you to keep your ears wide open. Let me know if you hear someone coming. [Maybe Chris can put aside his prejudices for half an hour and they can figure this thing out before Derek shows up to make things 100 x more uncomfortable. ]
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He seems much more relaxed than Chris as they make their way back to the vault, memories blooming out of the dark confusion of the previous night, which when combined with the present smell of blood and death is easy enough to find. It's... new, backtracking like this with Chris. Not many people are available for Peter at this age, and even when Derek trusted him, he was too young, stuck in school, and justifiably concerned about disobeying his alpha mother. It's... reassuring? Which makes him want to laugh, horrible ugly laughter at himself for having the temerity to feel that way ever, let alone in regards to an Argent.
That, he keeps in and locked down, though there may be a thread of it lurking in his voice as he returns the eye contact carelessly. He sounds like that a lot, though, so it shouldn't be too remarkable. Amused at inappropriate times, sounds like Peter all right. ]
I wasn't planning on staying quiet and dying with you, Chris.
[ And maybe the unaccountable warmth with which he says that is a little different, like the ratio of sarcasm to deliberate overfamiliarity is off. ]
I've never been caught. Don't you know that?
[ This airy reassurance is half a real query as he undrapes himself from Chris' seat and slides out of the car. Peter does have a reputation for being slippery, or so he assumes. Then again, maybe Chris is about to inform him of all the times a future Peter has been captured, and that will be very informative. He's alert and bright-eyed as he scans around, with a deep even breath or two, taking stock of how alone they might or might not be. And apparently sensing nothing of importance, he starts towards a dark red shipping crate, where the bloody handprints along the doors are somewhat obscured. ]
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What might be strange for Peter, is that Chris is watching his back. Not keeping tabs on him specifically (which he is, but less pressingly), but rather genuinely watching out for anyone and anything creeping in the shadows. Dead hunters attract more than other hunters, sometimes. Especially this close to Beacon Hills. Nothing is ever truly a surprise anymore, and least of all Peter having a vault somewhere in the middle of shipping crates and abandoned industry ghosts.
(He does think, quite blithely, that there's always the possibility that Peter might lead him into a trap. But to what end? Just because? Well ...) ]
I know I shouldn't, but I really gotta ask why you Hale's always end up in places like this. [It's quiet enough that Chris could be talking to himself. Peter might know, or have some vague idea. Maybe not. Chris has noticed enough differences now to be able to place a definite distinction between Peter Hale and Okayish Peter. ]
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