[ Once you expect that it belongs to Peter, it's hard to interpret most aspects of it any other way, from the generous head clearance on the stairs to the impersonal, industrial lack of sentiment, just like Derek's stupid apartment if it were even less hospitable. Someone definitely died on the stairs and drag marks indicate Peter moved the body while fastidiously avoiding leaving any boot prints in the blood; and the door at the bottom looks heavy where it's propped open, florescent light cutting through.
Inside, a couple metal shelves are overturned, a few more bodies, all in that hybrid outdoorsy kind of attire which must be intimately familiar to Chris. For people planning to pass between suburbs and forests, no bright colors, nothing noisy or difficult to clean. Most of the bodies have ugly barbed arrows in them. Perhaps one of them even has a weapon with a broken off tip which Chris pulled out of Peter last night. The smell, as before, is more powerful here. Not decay, thanks to the relatively short time line and somewhat shielded environment, but still distinct and unpleasant.
As for the presumed priceless supernatural artifacts, things are looking scarce down here. Perhaps the older Peter hadn't had time to fill it all up. There are a few things strewn from where the shelves fell over, and the still standing shelves don't have much. A strangely shaped carved wooden board, cracked roughly down the middle. Some broken glass or crystal bits that crunch underfoot. It's possible the Peter of this age doesn't even know what half of it is, and they'd have to ask Deaton. ]
It's probably fine, I think they already triggered everything —
[ He sounds preoccupied, though, not as cavalier as he had five minutes ago, casting a look back and forth like he's trying to remember. ]
It has to have been something here. But I'm not seeing anything remotely relevant.
[He is, for the first few moments, preoccupied with the smell. After that, he in turns looks at each of the bodies to determine whether he recognises any of the faces. Maybe one or two; they don't seem as young as he was maybe expecting, and although that isn't exactly a relief, he's glad there's no dead sixteen year olds tonight. He might reach fifty and become a pacifist; the burden of dead kids is a heavy weight, after all.
One he isn't all that keen to keep dwelling on, and so he turns, unsettled, and spares a look at the things the other Peter has collected, and has now subsequently lost. It's almost funny, really, how he keeps just losing his things. ]
Where exactly did you ... realise you were here? The exact spot. [Retracing the steps is useful to a point. More so, he just wants to see what objects might have been around Peter at the time of their switch. If there even was a switch, that is. He has a horrible moment wherein he realises that the other Peter might ... Still be out there? And after that, resigns himself to having a drink later. Maybe four.
While Peter either decides to comply or not, Chris does do a quick sweep again over the objects. Some things are familiar, but not enough that he can quickly recall from where. Others, less so. Before Deaton, there's always Chris' family archives. The ones he managed to take with him, anyway. Distracted: ] If I can figure out what was around you, we might be on to something.
[ There are reasons, well, one reason he wanted to be down here without Chris seeing him, and he already took care of that. So it's a bit surprising for him to realize that when Chris is here again, he's still somehow relieved. Not that he was worried about being here, not that he was scared at all — in fact, it would be strategically more sound for Chris to still be outside in case they get ambushed or they accidentally trigger some kind of stupid trap that causes the vault to shut on both of them — but sometimes, things are easier to work through out loud, with someone else. Someone with Chris' experience and training.
He'd vaguely retraced what he remembers of his position that night already. Chris being here makes it easier, though, because all the bodies are in the wrong places relative to the memory and... Chris is (was?) a hunter, it just. Works. He crosses to the other end of a weapons rack (mostly empty, the weapons either missing or on the ground) and in front of a stark splotch of blood on the wall behind it. ]
Here...
[ And his hand comes up to the mostly healed wound on his stomach. His expression doesn't change. When he's older, it's such a terribly empty look, though perhaps Chris might never have seen it. At this age, you could mistake it for absent minded. Not fully present, if only for a moment, before he resumes speaking without even a blink to acknowledge that. ]
Grabbed something off here, stabbed him, then. Arrows? Happened? And someone knocked over a shelf going for the stairs...
You couldn't have had a lot of time to get your bearings.
[This could be a compliment; it's said in the same tone he might suggest a random fact. He's never known Peter to be slow on the uptake and he has to assume that's always been the case. Around Peter, Chris examines the shelving, the floor, and then circles around him to get a good look at the back. If there's anything that might be responsible, he hasn't seen it on a first glance.
So, for plan B, he turns to the hunter with his broken off weapon and wrenches it from his hands. It's grim, of course, but he gives it a good look -- and smell -- for any kind of strain of wolfsbane. He doesn't need Peter's nose for this, specifically (he's done this so many times now and worked with so many kinds it's second nature), but he does offer it over, for a second opinion. ] Doesn't seem like you were stabbed with anything suspect either.
[And therein lies ... The problem? The mystery. He looks around again, and for a moment tries to imagine that he's Peter himself. What things he might keep here; what possible artefacts might be responsible for conjuring someone from the past. Or reversing his age, and his memories. His eyes seem to gravitate back towards this Peter naturally, and again he feels like that little swell of pity. It's easier to feel it when the face is younger, and the eyes aren't stained by murder. ] Do you smell ... Anything off down here? Besides the obvious.
[ Accepting the weapon, Peter uses his fingers to scrub at the blood around the remaining metalwork of the broken part, frowning at what he can see of the design. He doesn't recall what the broken off bit looks like. Probably neither of them had been paying attention, and it could still be lying in Chris's kitchen sink for all he knows. ]
It hurt a lot. But I guess I haven't been stabbed enough times to compare.
[ This casual reminder of the resilience of werewolves and werewolf sort-of-teenagers possibly sounds more palatable from this Peter as well, the sort of thing Malia and the others might say if, in fact, they had not been stabbed enough times to compare, which at this point, they probably have. Peter takes the next suggestion as well, placing the broken weapon back on the rack and shutting his eyes, taking a few deep inhales. ]
... Is that Old Spice? Really?
[ Having been in the bathroom, Peter should know damn well if it was Old Spice or not and also, is this really the time to be that kind of dick, but Peter grins as he hurriedly adds: ]
Not exactly, I can smell my own blood and it does seem. Weird. Can't tell if that's just, you know. Age. Or whatever happens to me.
[With all the patience he has ever shown Scott: ] That's it?
[It's about 70% exasperation, and 30% ignoring jibes. It's not difficult to imagine their answer is here, or was here. The latter is -- well. If Peter made it out barely alive, it stands to reason that a hunter might have limped his way out of here with some of Peter's valuable loot. Or at the very least, something they thought might be valuable to Peter.
He's not a detective, though. He's not Stiles, or Alison, who was just as good at this as Stilinski's kid. But he does have the rest of the day, and he does have Peter's nose. ] Okay. [No strange smells, yet. Okay. He turns his attention back to the corpses. He counts. ] You manage to get a head count on how many came at you?
[It's better if he doesn't inspect the bodies for cause of death, but he does anyway. Some bites and scratches, but mostly injuries caused by what he assumes where the booby traps. If Peter were here, it would make sense if he killed a bunch of hunters. This Peter certainly didn't. (He still cannot get over the eyes; he can't remember Peter's first kill the way he can remember Derek's, as told by Kate. If it even happened before Laura. So much keeps happening, he's losing the thread of things that used to be useful. )] I've got a theory, but I need to know if the bodies match up.
[ He shuts his eyes again, trying to remember, and past the calm mask of memory, the fingers of both hands twitch with discomfort or misplaced aggression. The man who tried to gut him. The guy who happened after that. A woman he instinctively tore away from one of the younger, strange werewolves, though he didn't help much more than that — maybe he hadn't had to, maybe someone else had?
His breathing has stayed even because it's been a few seconds at most and why wouldn't it, he's good when he has to be, he's got so much more control than Derek —
Another little twitch, smoothed over as he opens his eyes and comes up with a tentative answer for Chris. ]
Six?
[ Restless, as if to physically shake off the events of last night, Peter moves away from the weapons rack, giving a closer examination to things on the shelf near the other man. That broken wooden board, his fingers tracing the crack roughly down the center, and the deeply carved lines where maybe, one could push something small. ]
I can't be sure.
[ He admits with the reluctance of ego, and pushes the shelf holding the board back into place. Then there's exactly one second where who even knows if Chris is looking in the right direction to catch the acute chagrin on Peter's face at the weird, hollow click! following his action. After that, he'll probably mainly be focused on Peter bodychecking him into a wall, out of the path of even more fucking arrows. The older Peter has a problem. Well, more than one problem. Ironic arrow traps is just, you know, a hitherto undiscovered one. A man gets his vault robbed one time, he probably gets a bit sensitive about it. ]
[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?
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Inside, a couple metal shelves are overturned, a few more bodies, all in that hybrid outdoorsy kind of attire which must be intimately familiar to Chris. For people planning to pass between suburbs and forests, no bright colors, nothing noisy or difficult to clean. Most of the bodies have ugly barbed arrows in them. Perhaps one of them even has a weapon with a broken off tip which Chris pulled out of Peter last night. The smell, as before, is more powerful here. Not decay, thanks to the relatively short time line and somewhat shielded environment, but still distinct and unpleasant.
As for the presumed priceless supernatural artifacts, things are looking scarce down here. Perhaps the older Peter hadn't had time to fill it all up. There are a few things strewn from where the shelves fell over, and the still standing shelves don't have much. A strangely shaped carved wooden board, cracked roughly down the middle. Some broken glass or crystal bits that crunch underfoot. It's possible the Peter of this age doesn't even know what half of it is, and they'd have to ask Deaton. ]
It's probably fine, I think they already triggered everything —
[ He sounds preoccupied, though, not as cavalier as he had five minutes ago, casting a look back and forth like he's trying to remember. ]
It has to have been something here. But I'm not seeing anything remotely relevant.
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One he isn't all that keen to keep dwelling on, and so he turns, unsettled, and spares a look at the things the other Peter has collected, and has now subsequently lost. It's almost funny, really, how he keeps just losing his things. ]
Where exactly did you ... realise you were here? The exact spot. [Retracing the steps is useful to a point. More so, he just wants to see what objects might have been around Peter at the time of their switch. If there even was a switch, that is. He has a horrible moment wherein he realises that the other Peter might ... Still be out there? And after that, resigns himself to having a drink later. Maybe four.
While Peter either decides to comply or not, Chris does do a quick sweep again over the objects. Some things are familiar, but not enough that he can quickly recall from where. Others, less so. Before Deaton, there's always Chris' family archives. The ones he managed to take with him, anyway. Distracted: ] If I can figure out what was around you, we might be on to something.
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He'd vaguely retraced what he remembers of his position that night already. Chris being here makes it easier, though, because all the bodies are in the wrong places relative to the memory and... Chris is (was?) a hunter, it just. Works. He crosses to the other end of a weapons rack (mostly empty, the weapons either missing or on the ground) and in front of a stark splotch of blood on the wall behind it. ]
Here...
[ And his hand comes up to the mostly healed wound on his stomach. His expression doesn't change. When he's older, it's such a terribly empty look, though perhaps Chris might never have seen it. At this age, you could mistake it for absent minded. Not fully present, if only for a moment, before he resumes speaking without even a blink to acknowledge that. ]
Grabbed something off here, stabbed him, then. Arrows? Happened? And someone knocked over a shelf going for the stairs...
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[This could be a compliment; it's said in the same tone he might suggest a random fact. He's never known Peter to be slow on the uptake and he has to assume that's always been the case. Around Peter, Chris examines the shelving, the floor, and then circles around him to get a good look at the back. If there's anything that might be responsible, he hasn't seen it on a first glance.
So, for plan B, he turns to the hunter with his broken off weapon and wrenches it from his hands. It's grim, of course, but he gives it a good look -- and smell -- for any kind of strain of wolfsbane. He doesn't need Peter's nose for this, specifically (he's done this so many times now and worked with so many kinds it's second nature), but he does offer it over, for a second opinion. ] Doesn't seem like you were stabbed with anything suspect either.
[And therein lies ... The problem? The mystery. He looks around again, and for a moment tries to imagine that he's Peter himself. What things he might keep here; what possible artefacts might be responsible for conjuring someone from the past. Or reversing his age, and his memories. His eyes seem to gravitate back towards this Peter naturally, and again he feels like that little swell of pity. It's easier to feel it when the face is younger, and the eyes aren't stained by murder. ] Do you smell ... Anything off down here? Besides the obvious.
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It hurt a lot. But I guess I haven't been stabbed enough times to compare.
[ This casual reminder of the resilience of werewolves and werewolf sort-of-teenagers possibly sounds more palatable from this Peter as well, the sort of thing Malia and the others might say if, in fact, they had not been stabbed enough times to compare, which at this point, they probably have. Peter takes the next suggestion as well, placing the broken weapon back on the rack and shutting his eyes, taking a few deep inhales. ]
... Is that Old Spice? Really?
[ Having been in the bathroom, Peter should know damn well if it was Old Spice or not and also, is this really the time to be that kind of dick, but Peter grins as he hurriedly adds: ]
Not exactly, I can smell my own blood and it does seem. Weird. Can't tell if that's just, you know. Age. Or whatever happens to me.
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[It's about 70% exasperation, and 30% ignoring jibes. It's not difficult to imagine their answer is here, or was here. The latter is -- well. If Peter made it out barely alive, it stands to reason that a hunter might have limped his way out of here with some of Peter's valuable loot. Or at the very least, something they thought might be valuable to Peter.
He's not a detective, though. He's not Stiles, or Alison, who was just as good at this as Stilinski's kid. But he does have the rest of the day, and he does have Peter's nose. ] Okay. [No strange smells, yet. Okay. He turns his attention back to the corpses. He counts. ] You manage to get a head count on how many came at you?
[It's better if he doesn't inspect the bodies for cause of death, but he does anyway. Some bites and scratches, but mostly injuries caused by what he assumes where the booby traps. If Peter were here, it would make sense if he killed a bunch of hunters. This Peter certainly didn't. (He still cannot get over the eyes; he can't remember Peter's first kill the way he can remember Derek's, as told by Kate. If it even happened before Laura. So much keeps happening, he's losing the thread of things that used to be useful. )] I've got a theory, but I need to know if the bodies match up.
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His breathing has stayed even because it's been a few seconds at most and why wouldn't it, he's good when he has to be, he's got so much more control than Derek —
Another little twitch, smoothed over as he opens his eyes and comes up with a tentative answer for Chris. ]
Six?
[ Restless, as if to physically shake off the events of last night, Peter moves away from the weapons rack, giving a closer examination to things on the shelf near the other man. That broken wooden board, his fingers tracing the crack roughly down the center, and the deeply carved lines where maybe, one could push something small. ]
I can't be sure.
[ He admits with the reluctance of ego, and pushes the shelf holding the board back into place. Then there's exactly one second where who even knows if Chris is looking in the right direction to catch the acute chagrin on Peter's face at the weird, hollow click! following his action. After that, he'll probably mainly be focused on Peter bodychecking him into a wall, out of the path of even more fucking arrows. The older Peter has a problem. Well, more than one problem. Ironic arrow traps is just, you know, a hitherto undiscovered one. A man gets his vault robbed one time, he probably gets a bit sensitive about it. ]
... huh.
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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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