Chapter Text
Beacon Hills had an odd way of pretending to be quiet. Like a dog with its hackles lowered, ears pinned just enough to seem relaxed, but its eyes still tracking every twitch in the dark.
Sheriff Noah Stilinski didn’t trust it when things got this quiet.
His boots echoed down the corridor of the station as he moved toward the back conference room. The overhead lights flickered once and he made a mental note to finally get someone in to look at the wiring.
The door was already cracked open. Inside, Chris Argent stood with his back to him, jacket slung neatly over the chair, sleeves rolled up in precise cuffs that didn’t wrinkle, didn’t misalign. Chris Argent was always composed. Like a blade - kept sharp, polished, stored with care, but always ready to be drawn.
Noah knocked lightly before stepping in. “You know, for a guy who used to dodge the law on a regular basis, you sure spend a lot of time in my conference room.”
Chris offered a dry smile. “I like the coffee here.”
“Liar.” Noah crossed the threshold and moved toward the other chair. “We both know the coffee here could strip paint.”
“Which is exactly why I bring my own,” Chris replied, lifting the thermos he'd set down earlier. “Want some?”
Noah shook his head, smirking. “You and your tactical caffeine.”
The quiet between them was comfortable, familiar. After years of conflict, near-death experiences, and more than a few late-night talks about bodies that shouldn’t have existed, they’d found a rhythm. Noah never fully trusted hunters, not the old kind, but Chris wasn’t the old kind. Not anymore.
“Any word on the thing in the woods?” Chris asked, tone clipped. Business.
Noah sighed and flipped open a manila folder. “Just half-eaten deer and scared campers. I’ve got Parrish running patrols. He says it’s probably a rogue omega, maybe rabid. Whatever it is, it’s bold.”
Chris frowned slightly. “We should check it out.”
“And by we, you mean... me and you?”
“He means you, him, and unfortunately, me.”
A third voice cut through the air like a hot knife.
Peter Hale strolled through the doorway without a knock, all smug posture and feline energy wrapped in human form. His black button-down shirt was rolled to the elbows, hair tousled artfully, like he'd just rolled out of someone’s bed - or several someones - and hadn’t decided whether he cared.
“Speak of the devil,” Chris muttered under his breath.
“And I appear,” Peter said, smile sharp. “You’d think you boys would have learned to stop invoking my name like that.”
Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me this isn’t about that raccoon again.”
Peter’s expression twisted in mock offense. “That raccoon attacked me. It had an attitude.”
“You lit a raccoon on fire,” Chris snapped, standing now. “That’s not an attitude, that’s trauma.”
“Self-defense,” Peter said with a shrug. “And now I have one less shirt and a vendetta with local wildlife.”
Chris stared at him like he was seeing a very inconvenient ghost. “Why are you here?”
“Because,” Peter drawled, “your little problem in the woods just became a lot less... little. Derek asked me to assist. I assume you’re both delighted.”
Noah looked between them. The tension was immediate, thick. Peter was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed like he owned the place. Chris stood like a coiled spring, clearly not sure whether he should punch him or throw holy water. Noah sipped his coffee and muttered, “Great.”
“I also assume you’ve missed me,” Peter said, eyes flicking toward Chris. “You always did like to play rough.”
Chris took a step forward. “Don’t push me, Hale.”
Peter’s smirk deepened. “Oh, I would never, Argent. Not without permission.”
Noah choked on his coffee.
Chris turned red.
Peter grinned like a smug little shit.
Noah cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, enough. If we’re doing this, if we’re dealing with whatever’s out there, we’re going to do it like adults. That means no growling, no holy water, and no flaming raccoons.”
Peter pouted. “You take all the fun out of things.”
“I take the felonies out of things,” Noah corrected. “Which I’d like to keep off your permanent record. Again.”
Chris narrowed his eyes. “We’ll need to be strategic. If it’s really rogue, it could be laying low during the day. It attacks at night --”
“Like a vampire,” Peter said.
“Like a feral wolf,” Chris corrected.
“Which I would know a thing or two about,” Peter added smoothly, and then quieter, just for Noah’s ears—“And so would he.”
Noah pretended not to hear the way Peter’s voice dropped.
He also pretended not to notice the way Chris’s shoulders squared up when Peter got close to him again. Or the way Peter circled Chris like a predator testing the cage. Or the way Noah’s own skin prickled when both of them stood just a bit too close.
“Fine,” Noah said, heading for the door. “We’ll meet at the trailhead at dusk. You two can settle your unresolved issues then.”
“I’m perfectly resolved,” Peter replied.
Chris growled, “Not if I bury you under a tree.”
“Oh, he flirts,” Peter said with a wicked grin.
Noah didn’t wait to hear the rest of that exchange. As he stepped into the hallway and let the door swing shut behind him, he muttered to himself, “This town is going to be the death of me.”
But the thing was... he didn’t hate the way they were all circling each other. Not entirely. Confusing? Yes. Inappropriate? Probably.
But something in his gut told him this wasn’t just another supernatural mess to clean up.
It was something else.