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Allison finally calls for her dad once things get way out of hand and she just can't deal with it, and he comes and is all heroic and not messing around and stern in that way that makes some of the teens’ knees weak and their insides all melty. And all the way home he gives Allison a stern lecture, but then points out things she did well and tips for next time and they have a warm family moment at home where he puts a frozen pizza in the oven and she sits on the counter and he leans against it next to her and they eat too hot pizza off napkins and drink sprite from the 2 liter bottle and don’t really talk about anything. They’re just comfortable and it’s really late and after Allison can’t sleep because she’s too keyed up from the fight still so they sit in the den and watch bad late night tv and she falls asleep against his shoulder and its the first time they’ve really connected since her mom.
* * *
And then a few weeks later Lydia’s out downtown and suddenly werewolves and she’s started carrying vials of explosive and acidy things, but it won’t down one on it’s own and Allison’s off doing something with Stiles, they’re tied up in another county, and she’s not about to call Derek/Peter, and so the only thing she can do is call Mr. Argent. And he’s so good about it. Because he’s her bff’s dad and so he’s already started thinking of her as someone to be protected and someone that matters. He knows her parents, he knows she acts the way she does because she’s got no one but herself. So he’s over there in a flash, and once he’s taken care of it, he doesn’t make her feel inferior or weak. He lets her hug him and collapse into him for a bit, strokes her tangled hair back in order while he murmurs praise and how it’s all right, you’re gonna be okay, Lydia, you’re so much bravery than people give you credit for. And he gives her a ride to her house to pick up some things, rubbing her back all the way, because it pains him to see that blank look in her normally sharp eyes, to see her disassociating herself from everything as a coping mechanism. And he lets her spend the night with Allison as long as she needs and makes breakfast for them when they stumble downstairs at half past two in the afternoon and starts drawing up plans on how to turn her heels and jewelry into weapons.
* * *
The third time it’s that Mahealani kid that Allison’s mentioned in passing a few times. There’s nothing actually wrong, no crisis to deal with, but it’s 11am on a Sunday and his doorbell rings and when he opens it there’s this giant of a kid with a sweet face who suddenly looks a bit hesitant, before setting his jaw firmly and sticks out his hand with a “Mr. Argent, we’ve never met but I’m a friend of your daughters. I know there’s something weird going on, and you’re going to tell me about it because I’ve been in the middle of whatever danger McCall and Stilinski always seem to find multiple times and I’m not gonna be in the dark anymore”.
And Chris respects that. The kid’s got a firm handshake and looks determined, and hey, if he’s already almost lost his life a couple times then he’s more than earned the truth. So he brings him in and gets out a couple of cold root beers and sits him down at the kitchen table with some books and they talk it all out. Danny asks a few questions, but he nods a lot and looks like he’s piecing a lot of things together, and takes it all fairly well considering. And of course the first thing he asks when Chris has him up to speed is to train him. Which he agrees, because with knowledge comes involvement and the kid’s already on the lacrosse team, so he’s basically there fitness wise. They talk weapons and soon Danny’s got Gerard’s sword in his hands and it’s almost like a lacrosse stick. It feels good. It feels natural. They set up a schedule and soon Danny is training with Chris four days a week after school, two of those sessions with Allison, who is glad to have another human on her side, another human who’s smart and actually thinks things through. Chris watches them spar as he prepares lunch and it’s almost like having a son.
* * *
The next time is with Stilinski (somehow becoming the fourth child in his care, and he doesn’t know why he has to be the one to supernaturally adopt all these bumbling toddlers, if anything it should Deaton, he’s the vet after all, doesn’t that make him nurturing or something?) and honestly Chris is surprised it’s taken them this long. He was sure with how reckless the kid is, with all the trouble he finds himself into, that they would’ve crossed paths a lot sooner. But it comes down to Chris responding to a couple weird animal sightings at a little after one in the morning and to drive up alongside Stiles booking it down the old road.
Chris rolls his eyes and rolls down the passenger window so he can say, “Nice night for a run?” and Stiles tries to laugh but ends up choking and coughing and stumbling as he tries to keep running for his life. “Need some help, boy?” and before Stiles can find his breath Chris leans over and throws the door open, Stiles scrambling inside without a second thought (the kid has no sense of preservation).
Stiles watches him suspiciously, but after a while ends up spilling everything he knows and that he was running from something but he doesn’t know what yet but it’s big and it’s got pieces of itself that glows. He’s wary of Chris, but he’s been hearing more and more about him from Lydia and Danny and maybe it’s time they joined their forces, because there’s only so much a group of kids can do. They drive around the area for a while, looking for the beast or evidence of it, and Stiles opens up more and more. He talks faster and makes more jokes and when it’s obvious the creature is long gone they stop through a 24 fast food joint.
In the easy silence Chris asks, “Why aren’t you out here with your own dad?” and Stiles’ whole mood shifts, suddenly chewing like it’s a chore.
"Because the less he knows, the less likely it is he’ll get caught up in all this and get hurt."
“He’s the sheriff, he’s going to put it together eventually.”
Stiles sighs and puts down his shake, eyes locked on the mutilated straw. “At least it’ll be that much farther down the road, and maybe by then we’ll have all this bullshit under control. I’d rather he got into it when things were okay and we weren’t almost dying every friday like clockwork, y’know?”
Chris can’t help reaching out and squeezing Stiles’ shoulder, letting it linger when the boy doesn’t flinch, his thumb rubbing circles into the soft hoodie. “I think he’d rather hear it from you, then have to find out some other way, possibly some fatal way.”
Stiles forces a laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and looks at him almost as if chastising him. “Can it, old man, you’re not my real dad.”
"Maybe not, but I’ll bet you ten bucks in this one car ride you’ve talked to me more than him since this all started." He removes his hand then, but at Stiles miserable expression, ruffles his hair a bit, gently pushing his head to the side in an affectionate shove.
"You’ve got to tell him sometime, but…" he pauses, measuring his words, and at Stiles’ curious and open expression, finishes with a sigh, "but in the meantime I can be your emergency contact with all this werewolf business." And his organs constrict a little at the relief in Stiles’ eyes.
* * *
The fifth time he somehow is temporarily a father of triplets. Because that Derek Hale got himself messed up real bad and there’s a pounding at his door in the middle of the night, and he’s got a shotgun and is down the stairs before Allison can manage to untangle herself from the bedsheets. He flings the door open and there are three kids he only sort of recognizes. The two boys have Derek lifted between them and the girl, the one Allison almost killed, has mascara tracks down her cheeks.
"Please," she begs, hiccuping and trying not to burst back into tears. "Please Mr. Argent you’ve got to help him."
"Calm down, it’s going to be just fine," he finds himself saying without realizing it, and suddenly there’s a bleeding alpha on his kitchen table and three shellshocked kids huddling together on the other side, watching him with wide, wet eyes and shaking hands and Derek may not be the Alpha of the year, but he’s all they’ve got now and they’ve never really known supportive guardian figures. They look to Chris for guidance and care, and he can’t help but give it. He’s getting soft.
He and Allison figure out what’s poisoned him, and mixes the antidote steadily and calmly. This would be a good opportunity to have Lydia learn in a practical environment, but it’s in the middle of the night and they’ve already lost too much time. He applies the antidote and slowly the color starts to return to Derek’s skin. His body tries to heal the wounds covering his abdomen, but he’s weak and sluggish and it’s going to take a lot longer to heal. He sends Allison off to bed, and turns to find that the three young pack members have inched closer to him. He sighs tiredly and scrubs a hand over his face. He can’t turn them away, not now. So he puts a reassuring hand on Erica’s lower back and the other between Isaac’s shoulder blades (the little touch alone makes them visibly relax and Chris feels a pang at how little positive reassurance and touch they probably get with Derek) and corrals them to the kitchen where he makes big mugs of hot coco with marshmallows.
He talks quietly about what’s going on with Derek and how long it’s going to take him to heal, and getting all the information eases them somewhat. Boyd nods and Erica asks a few questions for all of them, and Chris hates the fact that they’re just scared, broken children who’s been dragged into all of this. He offers them the den for the night and has to promise them four times that they’re safe here before they finally curl up together; Isaac against one arm of the couch with his feet up and Erica along it length wise with her head in his lap. Boyd sits on the floor with his head pillows in his arms on the couch, in the curve of Erica’s body, Isaac’s feet pressed up against his arms. They drop off too quickly, and Chris drapes blankets over them without thought, shoving pillows where needed and readjusting them into positions that wont make them wake up with kinks in their necks. It says something that with all his touches, they don’t wake up.
* * *
They’ve settled into this weird routine. The Argent becomes this hub for wayward teens who are frequently in over their heads and have nowhere to turn. Danny and Lydia are over most frequently, training with him and Allison, and it’s gotten to the point where he’s started habitually settling the table for three or four, and they’ve stopped remembering Victoria whenever they see more than two place settings, and that’s okay. This is good. They’re moving on and Chris is helping the lot of them, because if he didn’t they’d probably be dead several times over. There’s more laughter and voices in the house, and a close feeling that makes the halls seem warmer. Stiles comes over every once in a while, either because someone he needs is already there, or he needs to discuss something that he can’t talk about with his own dad, or even things he could’ve before like school or sex or the future, but can’t anymore because they’ve grown too distant and their conversations now are stilted and strained. Every once in a while the triplets swing by. They don’t come often, because Derek still wouldn’t trust him, and doesn’t like him around his pack. So sometimes when Derek is wrapped up in his own angst, the three pack members come by, without much to say and usually with homework, and he makes snacks like some damn soccer mom and helps Boyd with Calculus and Erica with history and Chris can’t help but feel a swell of pride when Isaac gets a B+ on his biology lab that he helped with. It’s weird, but comfortable.
And only sometimes is there a voice in the back of his head that wonders why Scott hasn’t gotten himself mixed up in all of this yet.