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Peter had expected to be caught, eventually. After all, Chris’ family was a renowned family of werewolf hunters, and Peter’s own family were werewolves.
It was inevitable that one or the other would eventually notice that Chris and he had been seeing each other for the better part of the last year.
They had talked about coming out to Peter’s family, or to simply run away together, given the not so forgiving nature of Chris’ family, but that they had been found out like this; that they had been found out because Peter had been too busy kissing the ever-living hell out of Chris to pay attention to his surroundings, was more than shameful.
And Peter would be ashamed of his sudden lack in instincts, if he wasn’t so worried right now.
Because Talia finding them would have been fine; she wouldn’t have been happy, but she knew Chris’ smell on Peter, had noticed it for the past year, and she, at least, would know that it was something steady. Permanent.
But Gerard. That was a whole other matter.
He had trained his gun on Peter, reacting to the bigger threat, but his eyes were hard and on Chris.
Peter saw the rigid set of Chris’ shoulders, saw how much it pained him to have every fear he ever had concerning his dad confirmed and Peter wanted to do nothing more than reach out and pull Chris into a hug.
Chris should never smell of this much sadness, should never be this scared, especially not of his own father, and Peter longed to chase Chris’ worries away. He just wanted Chris to be happy.
“I always suspected you were weaker than your sister,” Gerard sneered at Chris. “But to see you in an embrace with this animal,” he spit out and Chris flinched under the venom in his voice.
Chris’ eyes darted over to Peter, still so very worried about his reaction to being called an animal, but Peter steadily held his gaze. Him being called an animal would be the least of their problems, if Gerard didn’t lower the gun.
“He is not an animal,” Chris protested, and Peter loved him even more for it.
Peter knew that it was hard for Chris to stand up to his dad; years of abuse and conditioning too ingrained into him to make this anything other than painful and yet here he was. Picking Peter’s side over that of his dad.
“Of course you wouldn’t think so,” Gerard said, voice colored with disappointment.
Chris flinched under it, and Peter wanted to rip Gerard’s throat out for still being able to make Chris feel that way.
“We all know you’re not going to shoot me,” Peter smoothly interjected.
And it was true, too. Gerard wasn’t strong enough, didn’t have the people to take on a well-established pack, and Talia would tear Gerard and his family to pieces if he even so much as nicked any of the Hales.
“Yeah, we all know you love to cower behind that bitch of a sister you call alpha,” Gerard spit out and Peter could feel his eyes flash.
Chris’ hand shot out, resting on Peter’s arm, because as much as Gerard couldn’t shoot Peter, Peter couldn’t attack him either.
Gerard instantly narrowed his eyes at the gesture, and Peter could smell the disgust coming off him in waves. Peter was just glad Chris couldn’t smell it, too.
“So, this means we’re at an impasse,” Peter went on, already so sure that they would walk out of this unscathed.
“We’re really not,” Gerard pleasantly gave back and pulled out a second gun. “Because I might not be able to shoot you, but I can damn well shoot Christopher.”
There was a beat of silence before Chris sucked in a surprised breath, and Peter tensed, ready to tear out Gerard’s throat for even suggesting this, treaty or not.
“My children are no filthy dog-fuckers,” Gerard said as he cocked the gun and levelled it at Chris. “And if you are, then you’re clearly not my son.”
“Gerard, please,” Chris tried. “We can just leave.”
“And spread the word that the Argent family is weak? I don’t think so.”
It was only a split second, but Peter saw the tensing of Gerard’s muscles, could see him pull the trigger almost in slow-motion, and Peter prayed that he was faster than the bullet.
He threw himself to the right, pushing Chris out of the way because Peter would heal, whereas Chris wouldn’t. Peter could survive a bullet to the chest, and he would happily do so, as long as it meant that Chris stayed with him.
The gunshot was loud in the room, and at first Peter thought that the bullet had missed him. But then white-hot pain spread out from his sternum, and he knew that Gerard had hit his mark.
“Peter, no,” Chris gasped at his side, and Peter would hate the worried look on Chris’ face, if only he could drag his eyes away from Gerard.
Because the old bastard was smiling.
“What—,” Peter managed to get out and then he seized up with pain, every muscle in his body locked up tight.
“There’s no part of the treaty that states I can’t kill my own people. And if you throw yourself into the way, like the stupid dog you are, then that is not on me.”
“What did you do?” Chris choked out, hands hovering over the slightly smoking wound on Peter’s chest.
“Did you know that you can combine different strands of wolfsbane?” Gerard asked almost conversationally, while Peter had started to throw up black blood. “And that it’s no surprise that Hunters have all their bullets filled up with it?”
Peter could see how Chris went pale, and then he didn’t saw anything for a moment, fire racing through his veins and erasing every rational thought.
“No,” Chris whispered, voice shaking even around that short word. “Give me another bullet. We have to burn it out!” Chris pleaded but Gerard just looked at him with pity, and something akin to sick satisfaction.
“I’m afraid I filled them all with a different mix. You might even make it worse, by trying to heal him.”
Peter couldn’t even feel Chris’ grip on him tighten, but he saw his muscles tensing and he knew it should probably hurt. But there was nothing beyond the burning pain of the wolfsbane in his system.
“This is what you get for being with someone as low as a werewolf,” Gerard spit out and then turned around and walked away from them.
“Chris,” Peter choked out, distantly amazed that he was still able to from words, when even moving had become too much for him.
This wolfsbane was working too fast.
“I love you,” Peter rushed out, before he couldn’t anymore.
He needed Chris to know that, needed him to remember that, even after Peter was gone, but Chris shook his head at him.
“No! You don’t get to say this, not now, you’re not going to die!”
Peter wanted to protest, but instead of words there was only black blood coming out of his mouth. Which kind of got his point across anyway. They both knew he was going to die.
“I’m so sorry,” Chris sobbed and pressed their foreheads together. “It’s my fault. If it wasn’t for me, you would be okay.”
“Idiot,” Peter chided him, though his words were barely understandable with all the blood. “Love you. Always.”
“I love you, too.”
“Scared,” Peter got out, even though he knew he shouldn’t.
But he was in pain, and everything was starting to go very cold and he didn’t want to leave Chris all on his own, didn’t want to know what was on the other side.
“I’m here, baby,” Chris said between sobs, and pulled Peter closer.
Peter pretended that he could feel Chris’ warmth seep into him, but mostly he couldn’t feel anything at all now.
“Don’t leave me,” Chris cried out, when Peter’s breath started to stutter, and Peter wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t, that the didn’t want to, that he was always going to be with Chris, but words were beyond him now.
“I love you, baby, I love you so much,” Chris whispered, and Peter’s last thought was that this was a nice notion to die to.
If only Chris wouldn’t smell so much of grief.