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To Sacrifice is to Love

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There’s an omega two states over and the house is empty.

Peter thinks it’s hilarious that Chris is letting a werewolf into the very house he’s been tasked to guard. Chris can appreciate the irony, but it’s the last thing on his mind when Peter is pinning him to the wall and biting his throat.

“No marks,” he gasps as he arches into him, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Gerard won’t be back till Friday, at the least.”

Chris would have protested, but then Peter is undressing and he can’t be expected to remember things when he does that.

Chris pushes Peter back onto his back, straddling him with a smug look on his face.

Peter flashes his eyes at him playfully and Chris smirks.

He’s just starting to undo his belt when there’s a thump on his roof, followed my muffled cursing.

They freeze.

Chris darts for his gun as the window slides open. Peter is crouched low and growling when he faces him.

A boy that can’t be much older than themselves falls into his room with his hands up in supplication, tripping over his words. Chris feels his grip loosen, but then electricity sparks across the boy’s fingertips and Chris is squeezing the trigger.

The bullet never reaches its target, nor does the gun even make a sound. Peter lunges, and then neither of them can move.

“I’m so sorry,” the boy says, “I promise you’ll thank me later.”

He throws Peter out the window. Chris’ heart jumps up to his throat.

The boy looks out the window as if to check something. He must have been satisfied by whatever he saw, because he nods to himself and turns back to him.

“Okay,” he says with a decisive clap, entering his personal space and pushing him back onto his bed. “I swear, I’m trying to help you. Follow my lead and everything is going to be fine.”

The boy takes his shirt off, revealing many telling runes and tattoos. Chris finds his attention drawn to one in particular. It’s clearly magic, three red strings woven together in a knot so tight it’ll never be undone. The boy guides his hand to it and it feels alive under his touch.

The front door slams shut.

Panic makes his blood run cold. He tries to warn the boy away with his eyes, but he simply smiles and leans close enough for their lips to brush when he whispers, “Trust me.”

His bedroom door slams open and the spell paralyzing him breaks. What happens next is a blur.

Gerard sees them. Sees the magic marking the boy, their compromising position, everything, and then it’s yelling and pleading and then the boy is crying, reaching out to him for help as his father drags him by the hair.

Witch. Abomination. Traitor.

“Filthy bastard” Gerard spits, and Chris doesn’t think it’s for the boy.

Chris attempts to get up, to do something, but he’s only kicked down again.

This was going to be Peter.

“No,” he gasps, “No, please.”

He’s kicked in the face, left dazed long enough for the boy to be dragged away.

He doesn’t know who this boy is or how he knew to save Peter, but he isn’t about to leave him in Gerard’s hands. Peter would have had treaties protecting him. That boy…

He picks up the gun.

Chris follows the boy’s crying down into the basement. Gerard already has him strung up and wired to the battery they use on wolves. The sight has never made him sicker than it does now.

This could have been Peter.

Chris doesn’t know how he’s going to stop Gerard— if he really could shoot him.

Gerard has both their backs to him, muttering terrible things into the boy’s ear. As soon as he sees Gerard reach for the boy’s pants, he shoots. Panic, fear, and anger all churn together in his stomach and up his throat as he fires repeatedly until Gerard is reduced to a twitching lump at their feet. Blood howls in his ears as he lets the boy down.

He slumps into his hold for a moment before standing tall with angry lightning dancing across his arms and chest.

Chris stumbles back as the boy strikes Gerard again and again until he is nothing but a smoking husk.

Chris is distantly aware of his gun falling to the ground as the reality of the situation hits him. He’s led upstairs, and then Peter is clinging to him, scenting him desperately.

There’s a chuckle behind them. “You two were so adorable as kids.”

The boy is gone when they turn around.




Chris meets Peter’s mother and alpha that night. She’s a stern woman, but is also kind enough to give him a room despite his heritage.

They find his mother two days later.

She looks to have been killed by an animal, or a feral omega, at first glance. She wasn’t, and any guilt over his father’s death dies with her.

The Hales are all too happy to take him in. Chris doesn’t mind that it’s mostly the allure of having the last Argent loyal to them, and he doesn’t mind that Peter’s mother is just itching to turn him, even if she tries her hardest not to show it. It’s good living with the Hale. It hurts, of course, losing his mother and familial pride. He often wonders how his sister would have grown up, had she the chance to be born.

Adjusting to pack life takes time. It’s hard to think of wolves as monsters when you’re babysitting a shifted two-year-old regularly, but the sheer amount of familiarity and touching is insane. He quickly learns that they have a different sense of modesty, rather than no sense at all.




They don’t find the boy for another sixteen years, and he’s both the same and completely different.

His name is Stiles Stilinski and he has no idea that the supernatural world exists. He looks at them as if they were strangers and neither Chris nor Peter know what to make of it.

“Is he younger?” Peter asks.

“Softer,” Chris decides, “The Stiles we knew was much colder.”

“I didn’t catch a hint of magic on him.”

“His tattoos are gone too.”

“What did he do?”

Chris is kept from answering by the start of Cora’s graduation ceremony. They sit with the rest of the pack. Chris holds Talia’s youngest in his lap and Peter records.

Stiles walks on stage for his diploma shortly after Cora and all Chris can think is, that boy saved them from more than they will ever know.