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Chris is patrolling, keeping a 5 klick spread between him and his father in the preserve, when an almost imperceptible noise catches his attention. He raises his gun up enough to have it at the ready, finger lightly pressed against the side instead of the trigger.
A man steps into view. “Hello, Christopher.” He looks completely at ease, even with the gun in Chris’ hands pointed at him. A smile curls his lips, something almost familiar about him.
“Who are you?” Chris feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
A pout crosses the man's face and he says, “Hmm. I suppose I have changed a little over the years.” He comes closer, close enough that he gently pushes the muzzle of the gun away as if it's no more than a bothersome fly.
Chris shouldn't be frozen in place by those eyes, blue enough that the light of the moon catches them, but he is. It's not until the man reaches a hand out to touch his cheek that Chris snaps into action. He jerks his gun around and uses the side of it to push the man up against a nearby tree. The metal of the gun digs into the man's throat.
“Answer me.” He pushes the gun harder, keeping track of the man's hands in his peripheral.
“So forceful.” The man chokes the words out, and Chris backs up just enough to let him get some air into his lungs.
He watches the man's gaze scan his face—practically drink in the sight—before he gets some kind of answer.
“I'm from the future.” It looks like the guy is biting his tongue to keep from laughing, and this whole situation is pissing Chris off.
“Enough playing around. What are you doing out here, and how do you know my name? Who are you?”
The guy sighs, looking up at the sky as if asking why me . He looks back at Chris and says, “My name is Peter Hale. I'm here to warn you.”
Chris takes an involuntary half-step backwards before doubling his efforts at intimidating this fucker. “You are not Peter Hale.”
The imposter laughs lowly around the hand Chris now has to his throat. “Oh, I am sweetheart. And we know each other very intimately.”
Confusion rushes through Chris. This guy seems so familiar, and yet he definitely is not Peter Hale. Peter, the eighteen year old guy Chris spent the afternoon sneaking around with, kissing behind the bookstore in town. His father would kill him if he found out who Chris had been fooling around with. Is this some kind of intimidation tactic meant for blackmail?
“Yeah? What's this warning you have?” Chris holsters his gun and switches for a dagger. It's tipped in poison.
Chris doesn't know if this guy is a werewolf or not, but a knife is going to do damage no matter what. The poison would be extra painful for most supernatural creatures. All humor melts off the imposter’s face as he eyes the dagger. Supernatural then, Chris decides.
“You're not the only one interested in playing in the Hale sandbox.” The man speaks cryptically.
Honestly, he is starting to sound more and more like Peter, as impossible as that seems.
Chris barely keeps from rolling his eyes. “Explain.”
“I mean, Christopher, that you're not the only Argent that enjoys werewolf refractory periods.”
When Chris puts the blade to the man's throat, the next words are almost spat at him. “Fucking. I'm talking about fucking.”
Chris blinks. “That makes no sense. I should stab you just for annoying me.” He puts just a little more pressure on the dagger, keeping the flat of the blade against the man's throat.
“Your sister is going to go after my idiot of a nephew, seduce him, then kill almost all of us.” The man grits his teeth, head tilted back in deference to the pressure on his jugular. “I'm here to try and get you to stop her.”
“Katie? She's ten .” Chris sneers.
“Yes, she's ten now, but she will grow up won't she? And she'll become worse than the monsters you claim to hunt.”
The words sink into Chris, bouncing around his head and tripping up odd memories. A shimmer seems to roll over the man in front of him. Like he blinks in and out of existence for just a moment.
“I don't have long.” The man brings his hands up. Instead of struggling with the dagger at his throat, he rests his hands on Chris’ shoulders. “Don't forget this. Please. Derek will be fifteen when it happens. My family. My pack.”
Chris can't believe it, but the conviction in this imposter’s voice starts to tug at him. What if...just what if ?
“Tell me something only Peter would know.” He suddenly asks. He doesn't want to believe this, but it seems too crazy not to be real.
And those eyes.
“You drew a sketch of me in study hall once, and I asked you why you chose me.” The man's voice is quiet and almost hoarse. “You wouldn't answer me, so I kissed you and stole the page off your desk.”
That was four weeks ago, and he and Peter had been in a deserted hallway when he'd let Peter back him up against a wall.
“Peter?” Chris scans the man's face. He looks like he's almost forty. He's old , solid and gorgeous.
The hand holding the dagger slips down to his side, and he steps back in shock. “...How?”
Peter follows him away from the tree. “Magic.” His lips twist, but when he lifts a hand up to cup Chris' cheek, Chris lets him.
The palm is warm against his skin. “Please help my family.”
There is that shimmer again, there and not there. Chris brings his hand up to press against the back of Peter's.
“This is real.” He holds Peter's gaze for a long, searching moment.
Peter steps close enough that Chris can feel the heat of his body. He's just a little taller than the Peter Chris knows, there are fine lines at the corners of his eyes and silver in his hair.
The kiss, when it comes, is chaste. Peter smells like Peter and his lips linger the way they had that first time. It feels so familiar even if the stubble along Peter's jaw is new and catches at Chris' skin.
“Promise me, Chris.” Peter begs against his lips once they part. His eyes are shut tight. “I have to leave.”
A lump rises up in Chris’ throat even though he doesn't know why. He clutches at Peter's shirt with his free hand. “I promise. Whatever...whatever you say Katie is going to do...I won't let it happen.”
A desperate noise escapes Peter, and this time Chris kisses him first, sealing the promise. Before he can open his eyes again, the man in his arms is gone suddenly.
Chris jerks back and looks around, but he's nowhere to be seen. He calls out into the darkness. “I promise!”
Peter vomits when he's sucked back through time. His head hurts and his stomach feels like it was turned inside out, but it was worth it.
He can see through the open door where the moon still hangs in the sky is high, as if no time had passed since he cast the spell. He's slumped in the cellar, back against a support beam as he looks at the ceiling where the nemeton roots have broken through the ceiling. When he pulls the amulet from his pocket, he notices the glint of a ring on his finger.
“It worked,” he whispers to himself as his heart starts beating excitedly.
Peter crushes the empty amulet in his hand before standing up to kiss his palm and press it to an exposed root in thanks.
He follows his instincts, running through the woods and along the edge of the town until he feels a pull. Peter doesn't have a concrete memory of this house, but it feels right anyway. When he tries the handle, the door opens.
“Dad?” A voice calls out from further inside. It's familiar, and warmth blooms in Peter's chest.
Peter slowly walks through the foyer and into the open living room that backs up to the kitchen. He stops in his tracks, eyes glued to the two people sitting on the couch.
Allison and Jackson look back at him from where they are watching a movie. Allison has her phone out, and her hair is up in a messy bun. She looks like she's ready for bed in an oversized shirt and pajama bottoms.
“Where's the food?” Jackson’s feet are propped up on the coffee table, and he's similarly dressed to Allison, wearing comfortable clothes good for sleeping. “Are you getting senile in your old age?” He's teasing, but his stomach growls.
Peter blinks, memories flooding his brain suddenly.
Holding a baby boy and calling him “son.” Going to college. Coffee dates and breakups. Pack runs. Laura's daughter.
Peter turns around and finds Chris standing with his hip against the counter and an amused look on his face. “Did you actually forget to get the food?” He's got a dish rag over his shoulder and a stack of clean dishes sitting on the counter next to him.
“Christopher…” Peter breathes out, then he's striding over and cupping Chris’ face between his hand.
There's a matching ring on Chris’ hand when he closes his fingers around Peter's wrists, welcoming. Peter kisses him deeply, desperately, unbelievably .
It worked.
Peter's already losing the memories of burning pain and death, like wisps of a nightmare. He kisses Chris again and slides his fingers through the soft hair at the base of Chris’ head.
When they part, Peter’s eyes feel wet for some inexplicable reason. He steps back, dropping their hands so he can tangle his fingers with Chris’. “Let's go out to eat.”
Allison and Jackson both groan behind them, complaining about how they don't want to get dressed and how he promised to bring home Indian for dinner tonight.
“For me, please. I just want to eat with my family. It's not every day I have all of you here.” Peter needles until Allison and Jackson exchange a look and sigh.
Jackson walks by first, and lets Peter pull him in to scent his temple like it's habit. “I love you.”
“You're being weird.” Jackson turns into his arms though, and nuzzles Peter's jaw. His words are quiet, sort of embarrassed. “Love you too, Dad.”
Allison is almost up the stairs when they part, but she comes back when he calls to her. Her hug is full body and tight. She smells amused. “Better?”
“I just missed you.” Peter sighs into her hair.
Allison squeezes her arms around him once more before letting go. “I know. I missed you too, Dad.” She kisses his cheek before jogging up the stairs to get changed.
Chris’ arms fold around his waist from behind. “Everything okay?” He runs his nose up the back of Peter's neck.
Leaning back into Chris, Peter looks down at their hands where they rest on his stomach. “I'm so happy this is our life.”
Chris smiles against his skin. “Me too.”