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Title: Last People Standing
Author: Claire
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing(s): Chris Argent / Peter Hale
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,453
Summary: In which Peter finally tips over the edge, and Chris is the one who volunteers to bring him back
Additional Notes: Based on the prompt: Maybe Peter’s gone feral and the only way he’ll be brought back is if he’s claimed? ;)

Title from Bastille's 'Get Home'

Last People Standing

If Chris is honest with himself, he's surprised Peter lasted this long without snapping. He knows what happens to wolves that become omegas, all hunters do. Knows the way wolves are anchored by family links and pack bonds. He's been part of too many hunts that have tracked omegas, tracked wolves that have finally fallen over the edge of insanity, taking down anyone they came across in a flash of claws and teeth and blood.

It's an edge Chris thinks Peter Hale has been riding for years, ever since Kate ended the wolf's world in a fire that no decent hunter, no decent human, would have condoned. And ever since then, Peter's had no one. No one, except a nephew that blames him and a niece who loves her brother. He's on the edges of the pack, not because they want him, but because there's still a part of Derek that needs his uncle there.

Only, the easy touches that go between the rest of the pack are denied to Peter. He sits apart from the others, dispensing knowledge in pack meetings that's wrapped in barbed commentary and sarcasm. And Chris wonders if he's the only one who noticed it, the only one who realised that Peter was quieter each day, pulling himself even further back from those around him.

It's in the preserve when it finally happens, when a rogue alpha the pack is fighting swipes out, clawing Peter across the stomach. Scott and Derek finally managed to take down the rogue long enough for Chris to put a bullet in him, but the damage is done.

Peter snarls as Scott reaches out for him, growls that are barely comprehensible as words. It takes the entire pack to subdue Peter, and none of them come out of it unscathed, claw marks across each of the wolves.

It's only the fact the Chris is carrying three different types of wolfsbane bullets that allow them to take Peter down without killing him. The bullet wound in Peter's shoulder will heal, but it renders him unconscious long enough for them to get him back into town. They take him to Chris', the reinforced cage with wolfsbane in the bars the only place they have that will hold a feral wolf.

It's Scott that asks what happened to Peter, Chris that answers. There's guilt on Derek's face, and even Scott's hand on his arm, even Scott telling him that it's not his fault, doesn't relieve it.

"I should have known," Derek says. Because Derek grew up in a pack, and he'll have heard the stories of what happens when a wolf is denied the touch of their packmates, of their family, even more so than Chris.

But Chris knows all too well what grief does to people, especially when it's paired with anger, and Derek wasn't the only one who knew what the result of holding Peter on the edges of everything could be.

"How do we fix it?" Scott asks.

The only answer he gets is a snort from Stiles. "We fix it by putting him down."

Scott just looks at his best friend.

"Are you seriously saying that you want Peter back? After everything that he's done?" Stiles' tone is filled with incredulity.

"He's still pack," is Scott's answer.

"Is he?" comes Stiles' retort.

Scott looks at Derek, at the one person there who has lost more than any of them. Looks at him like he doesn't want Derek to lose anything else. "Yes, he is."

Stiles shakes his head in exasperation. "Fine," he says, throwing a look at Scott that says they'll be having words about this later on. "Then how do we get psychowolf back from the crazy ball of fur he is right now?"

"Wolves become omegas, become feral, because they lose pack bonds," Derek explains, his voice quiet. "We need to re-establish those bonds. It'll give Peter something to hold onto, something to lead him back."

"How do we do that?" Kira asks.

"Pack bonds are strengthened by touch, scenting," Derek tells her. "We're tactile. It feels wrong to not touch other members of the pack."

"Hold on," Stiles says. "Are you implying there needs to be a cuddle pile with Peter? Because, honestly, I'm not entirely comfortable with that. Is there any other way?"

Derek shifts slightly, glancing downwards in what appears to be embarrassment, and Chris suddenly remembers the other way to pull a feral wolf back to themselves.

"Peter doesn't have a mate," Chris comments. Because he's read the journals that describe wolves pulling their mates back from the brink. Read the words that talk about the way wolves would cover their mates in their scent, drown their mates' senses in their very essence, until all they knew was the bonds between them.

"It doesn't need to be a mate," Derek says. "It might be enough if he's-- claimed-- by someone in the pack. It might give him enough to find his way back."

Stiles eyes Derek for a moment, and Chris can tell when the boy gets it, his eyes widening. "Yeah, count me out of that one. There will be no claiming going on between me and Peter Hale under any circumstances."

Chris looks over to where Scott is still standing next to Derek. There's an unspoken conversation going on between them, and Chris knows what Scott's about to say before the young alpha even nods.

"I guess--"

"I'll do it." The words are out of Chris' mouth before he can stop them. But it makes sense, he knows it does.

Derek can't do it. Even if Peter's his uncle, there's still an underlying anger between them. With Derek angry that Peter took one of the last remaining members of his family, and Peter angry that Derek followed his sister when they abandoned him in the hospital after the fire. Stiles has already refused, and he's not sure he'd want the teenager to do it, anyway. Lydia has gotten better in being around Peter, but she still, rightly, hasn't forgiven him for using her to bring him back to life.

The only one Chris would trust to claim Peter and neither abuse nor be overwhelmed by the bond that it would create is Scott, and the boy takes on too much. If Chris can save him from taking on one more thing, one more responsibility, then he will.

And there's part of Chris that wants this, part of Chris that flashes hot when he looks at Peter Hale, and the thought of claiming the wolf has that part of him pulsing brightly.

"Are you sure?" Scott asks, and Chris doesn't have to be a wolf to hear the undertone of relief in Scott's voice. Chris knows that Scott would have stepped up if he'd had to, but he doesn't blame him for being relieved that he doesn't have to, not on this occasion.

Chris nods. "I'm sure." He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair, divesting himself of all but one of the various weapons he's carrying before heading out of the room.

Peter is pacing the short length of the cell when Chris gets down to the basement. There are red marks across his hands and arms; a testament to the fact that he must have tried to pull at the bars and been burned for his attempts. There's a low level growling coming from Peter's throat, and it increases in volume as Chris gets closer.

Peter's eyes flash blue as Chris stops just far enough away from the bars that Peter can't reach him. His fangs are dropped and he's partially shifted into wolf form. He's snarling at Chris, and Chris knows that if he were just an inch closer right now that he'd be on the end of Peter's claws, wolfsbane laced bars or not.

"I have no idea if you can understand me, Peter," Chris says as he takes a step back, turning and heading to the locked cabinet on the wall. He presses the combination in, opening the cabinet and taking out one of the guns inside. Picking up a box, he slides out a dart, slipping it into the gun and turning back to Peter.

And even if Peter can't understand the words, then he can understand the actions. Can understand the threat in the way Chris lifts the gun and aims.

"But you'll thank me for this when it's all over." And then Chris shoots.

The dart is fast acting, even on a feral wolf coasting on adrenaline, and Peter's swaying within seconds. By the time Chris has put the gun away and locked the cabinet back up, Peter's slumped to the ground, the wolf melting away from his features. He manages to twist his head to look at Chris, his eyes glassy and hazy, before they roll back in his head and he's unconscious on the floor.

Chris waits a minute before opening the cage and stepping inside. It's not that he thinks Peter's faking, not with the amount of sedative Chris just shot into him, but no one ever got anywhere by underestimating Peter Hale, and Chris isn't about to start now.

Pulling the knife he's carrying out of its sheath, Chris slices down the front of Peter's shirt. "You know, Hale," he murmurs, "I'd always thought you'd be awake if we ever got around to doing this again."

Because Chris isn't going to deny that he's thought about this, about putting Peter on his knees and telling him to use that mouth of his for something other than sarcasm and insults. But he'd never imagined that it would start like this. Even if this isn't actually the start, not really. Even if the start was glances that lasted far past propriety and one night too long ago that neither of them have ever spoken about since.

Moving the sides of Peter's shirt to reveal his chest, Chris slips the knife back into his pocket as he kneels down. His cock is already hardening behind his jeans at the thought of what he's about to do, of covering Peter in his scent and staking his claim on the wolf.

Opening his jeans, Chris frees his cock, wrapping his fingers around his length. He hardens further in his hand as he strokes himself, precome welling at the tip of his cock, beading up until it drips onto Peter's chest. And Chris knows that after he does this that Peter will smell like him, knows that every other wolf out there will smell him all over Peter's skin.

His cock twitches in his grip as he thinks of Peter walking around, smelling like him. Chris is possessive, he knows he is. He knows that there's that dark part inside of him that wants to own, wants to possess. And Peter speaks to that part of Chris. There's something about the wolf that makes that darkness flare sharp and bright.

Chris strokes himself faster, twisting his hand as he jerks himself in the way he knows will bring him off. He can feel it building inside him as he moves, his hips pushing himself into the tight grip of his fist. The pleasure crests upwards as Chris thinks of Peter smelling of him, belonging to him, and he comes with a groan, spurting streaks of white onto Peter's chest.

Shaking his cock slightly, Chris empties the last of his come onto Peter, before tucking himself away. Swiping two fingers through the come on Peter's skin, Chris dabs some behind Peter's ear, rubbing it in until it's a tacky invisible patch. He does the same for inside of Peter's wrist, wiping come along the surprisingly soft skin.

Undoing Peter's jeans, he scoops up some come onto his fingers before pushing his hand into Peter's underwear, gripping the wolf's dick and slicking the come over the soft shaft. Peter doesn't harden as Chris strokes him, but Chris didn't expect him to, not while he's still unconscious.

He runs his free hand through Peter's hair as he continues to lightly jerk his cock. "Next time, you'll be awake, Peter," Chris says. "Maybe I'll come on you again. Maybe I'll have you sucking my cock and swallowing me down." With a final pat to Peter's soft cock, Chris pulls his hand out of Peter's jeans. There's still white on Peter's stomach, so he swipes his fingers through the last of the cooled come.

Pressing his fingers to Peter's lips, he gently rubs his come over them. "I want me to be the first thing you taste when you wake up."

Getting to his feet, Chris heads out of the cage, locking it behind him. Heading over to the steps, he sits down on them, resting his head against the wall as he keeps his eyes on Peter's still form.

It's a groan that wakes Chris up, his eyes blinking open. The stiffness in his neck and the grit in his eyes tell him he must have dozed off, but he's not sure how long for. He can't hear any noise coming from the rest of the house, but he's not sure if that's because the kids aren't here anymore, or because of the soundproofing he's got in the basement.

Another groan pulls Chris' attention to the cage. Peter shifts from his position on the floor, his eyelids fluttering open. His tongue darts out to lick at his lips and Chris wonders if the wolf can taste the dried come on them, wonders if Peter recognises the taste on them.

He doesn't know how Peter's going to react, doesn't know if he'll be met by Peter Hale or the wolf inside him.

There's a moment when Peter looks at him, eyes hazy but still bluer than they should be.


It's barely a word, almost too soft and too quiet for Chris to pick up. But it makes something inside Chris unclench and he feels his body start to relax.

"Hey, Peter," he says, not bothering to mask the pleased reaction when Peter's body turns towards the sound of his voice, like he's seeking Chris out.

And Chris knows that they're not there yet, that Peter's probably still too close to the edge of the pack, still too close to falling into that abyss again. But he managed to pull Peter back. Whatever they had, whatever they still have, it was enough to draw Peter back to him, back to the pack. Enough to pull Peter's wolf away from the darkness it was heading to.

He pulled Peter back. And it may not have been all the way, but it's a start, and Chris'll take it.
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