Work Text:
Teen Wolf || Stargent || The Silver Fox and the Golden Boy || Stargent || Teen Wolf
Title: The Silver Fox and the Golden Boy – Stiles Summer Stories 2025
TW Disclaimer: All rights reserved to Jeff Davis and MTV. This fanfiction on the other hand is entirely mine. No money is made with this, though reviews are more than welcomed.
Tags: m/m, Alternate Universe, Hunter Stiles, Spark Stiles, hurt/comfort, fluff
Main Pairing: Chris/Stiles
Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski Stiles Złotnik, Chris Argent, Braeden
Writer's Month 2025 Prompt: gold + desert
Summary: Chris is following a lead hunting down the Desert Wolf when he first runs into the so-called Golden Boy, a young hunter who was making a name for himself in recent years. When he gets heavily injured, Chris thinks that's it for him. Until the Golden Boy saves his life. And then the Golden Boy becomes Stiles to Chris. And then he becomes... something more.
The Silver Fox and the Golden Boy
Stiles Summer Stories 2025
Being a lone hunter was different from what Chris had been raised as. The heir to the Argent family, he was always meant to be at the head of an organization. And then his sister had set a peaceful family of werewolves on fire, leading to her death, and his father, in his pursuit of revenge, had gotten himself killed too. It was when Chris also lost his wife that he knew something needed to change. He kept quiet to his daughter, shielding her from this world for the two years left of her high school education. When she left for college, he changed.
He was lonely and felt like a caged tiger. He needed to hunt again, but he wasn't going to follow his family's ways. He'd seen where that led with Kate, Gerard and Victoria. Not all werewolves were evil and maybe not all hunters were good. But he planned on being a good hunter. Planned on hunting those who hurt the innocent, vowed to protect the defenseless. To redeem himself from the sins of his family. He packed up his SUV with his weapons and left, alone.
He wasn't always alone, sometimes he worked with others. Particularly Braeden, a freelancer and mercenary who sometimes crossed paths with him, sometimes hunting the same beast, other times just met with him for drinks and an exchange of information. Just like now, as they sat next to each other in a bar. If he were a different man, he would consider them friends.
"You're getting soft in your old age, Argent," Braeden commented dryly, knocking back her drink.
"I didn't say we are friends, Morrell," Chris grunted with a glare. "How's the wife?"
Braeden smirked and waved the bartender over to get them another round. "Marin's good. Doing her whole saving the world by saving people from themselves thing. You? Still a lone wolf?"
Chris gave a growl at her choice of words just as the bartender put two more whiskeys down in front of them. Braeden smirked and lifted her glass to his. He met hers and then took a drink.
"You said you had a lead on the Desert Wolf for me," Chris pressed instead.
Braeden rolled her eyes at his obvious change of topic. "Rumor has it she has a job in Vegas. Sent to off some casino mogul. It's a big pay day so she won't skip on it."
The Desert Wolf was a werecoyote who used her supernatural strength and abilities to do killings for hire. Braeden wasn't above a murder either if it paid well, but she always did her background checks and she never did kids. The Desert Wolf had supposedly even killed her own daughter, when the girl was only nine years old, together with her whole adopted family. Chris? He took out threats. The Desert Wolf was a threat, so he was going to take her out.
"That's not all," Braeden spoke up when Chris got up. "I also heard that you're not the only one chasing after her. The Golden Boy is after her too."
That had Chris pause and furrow his brows in annoyance. "The kid's not a threat to me."
"Don't be stupid, Argent," Braeden cocked one eyebrow at him. "Don't mistake age for ability. He's good. I met him before, when I took that job for the Calaveras family. He's smart and a good shot. A damn good shot. He knows what he's doing."
The Golden Boy first appeared a couple years ago. Taking on big-shot enemies on his own usually. His signature was a golden gun with wolfsbane carved into the handle. It was a gorgeous piece. Chris found it both amusing and irritating at the same time. Gold to meet silver. He'd loudly declared that the reign of the Argents was over and that he would be taking over now. Złotnik, a Polish surname meaning gold worker. Chris was fairly sure it was a fake name that the boy had chosen, just like his gun, to mock the Argents.
"I'm not underestimating him," Chris huffed. "But he's underestimating me."
"I don't think it's about you," Braeden paused and put her empty glass out. "I heard that he killed Gerard. And I heard that he made it hurt."
Chris' eyes hardened as he turned his back on her. "Good riddance, then. Til next time, Morrell."
The last thing he heard was Braeden sighing. "Go and get laid. You need more human interaction than meeting up once a month for drinks, Argent."
/break\
The Golden Boy was… not what Chris had expected. He was young, early twenties, which wasn't a surprise considering his moniker. He was beautiful. With large, Whiskey-colored eyes framed by long lashes and plush, pink lips. His pale skin was dotted with moles. Long fingers wrapped securely around his golden gun aimed at Chris, just like Chris' own gun was aimed at the boy.
"Argent," the Golden Boy's eyes hardened.
The way the setting sun was hitting those eyes made them gleam near golden too. But Chris had been doing this job too long to be distracted by a pretty face. Even though it was a very pretty face.
"Złotnik," Chris countered. "I heard we have the same target."
Tilting his head and baring his long neck, the Golden Boy regarded him thoughtfully, before he put his gun away. Mh. So the safety had been on. He never had the intention of shooting Chris. Huffing, Chris put the safety back on and put his own gun away.
"What does that make us, Argent? Enemies, competition…?"
Chris curled his lips amused at the way the boy trailed off. Brat couldn't even ask for a team-up. Crossing his arms, Chris raised both eyebrows and looked the boy up and down. He wore torn, dark skinny-jeans, a thigh-holster in which his gun was now resting. A brown leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder, a red leather jacket over a red hoodie. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth and started worrying it the longer Chris remained quiet.
"I don't do team-ups, kid," Chris turned away from the boy. "Stay out of my way."
/break\
"Look at mister 'I don't do team-ups', bleeding out in the back of my fucking Jeep," the Golden Boy snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What would you have done if I actually stayed out of your way, huh? Heroically bled to death next to a dumpster? Idiot hunter."
Chris gave a weak grunt, his hand pressed against his bleeding side. He'd found the Desert Wolf and confronted her. She got the upper hand on him, ambushed him and tore up his side. He'd gotten away, hid in an alley and between dumpsters, hoping the stench would throw her off. He sank down next to it and felt himself losing consciousness when suddenly, the Golden Boy was kneeling in front of him with both eyebrows raised and a very unimpressed look on his face.
"You're making it very hard to be grateful to you, brat," Chris muttered annoyed.
"Fuck you! Absolutely fuck you," the boy whirled around to fix him with a golden-eyed glare. "I should have just left your sorry ass at the dumpster, shouldn't I? Ungrateful bastard, I don't need you to say 'thank you'. I just happen to be a good person and don't let people die who don't deserve it. From everything I heard about you, you don't deserve it."
Chris raised his eyebrows in surprise at that, regarding the boy for a long moment, before the kid turned back to watch the road he was taking. Chris didn't know where the Golden Boy was taking him. A hospital? A shallow grave? Sighing, Chris closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate. He was tired of everything. Braeden was right. He'd been doing this job alone too long, maybe he'd lost too much along the way. Allison was going to be upset, but she'd get over it. She was strong. A remarkable, wonderful young woman, who had overcome everything life had thrown at her.
"Okay, come on," the Golden Boy heaved a sigh and opened the door, pulling one of Chris' arms around his shoulder. "I'll need you to cooperate though. I can definitely not carry you."
Blinking sluggishly, Chris did his best to get his legs under him. He'd been bleeding and hiding for a while when the brat had found him. The boy huffed under Chris' weight as he supported him through the parking lot and to a room in a cheap motel. They were outside Vegas now, the desert spreading out behind the motel's parking lot. Chris was maneuvered through the small motel room into the even smaller bathroom and placed on the closed toilet seat.
"Okay, old man, let's get you out of your shirt," the kid huffed, peeling Chris' shirt off.
"Brat," Chris gave a weak grunt but let the boy do as he pleased.
"You keep calling me that and 'kid', I'll reserve the right to call you old man, Argent," whiskey-golden eyes glared at him. "Now shut up and don't die on me while I work. Do you need something to bite on while I stitch you up or are you just gonna faint on me?"
"I'll be fine," Chris glowered a little. "Brat."
There was a small twist of the boy's pink lips, similar to a smirk, before his face set in firm determination. Chris watched with hooded eyes how the kid cleaned up Chris' wound and started stitching him up with only minimal shaky hands. At one point, he must have passed out, because when he opened his eyes again, he was looking up at the ceiling. Blinking sluggishly, he turned his head to see an infusion bag of blood, connected to his arm.
"What the hell are you doing," Chris asked lowly.
"Saving your ass. It's a nice ass, it'd be a shame to lose it," the Golden Boy drawled dryly.
"You can't just give me blood," Chris argued, struggling to sit up.
"Yeah, you're not doing that, stay down, Argent," the kid sighed, pinning Chris by the shoulder with embarrassing ease. "And I'm not an idiot, I'm not just injecting you with random blood, good luck guess. Wouldn't have had to go through the trouble of stitching you up then, idiot. I broke into the hospital and snagged two bags of O neg for you. You are welcome, by the way."
Universal donor blood. Chris slowly settled back into the bed and blinked up at the spotty ceiling. The kid didn't have to get him out of that alley. He didn't have to bring Chris to his own current hideout. He didn't have to stitch Chris up. And he certainly didn't have to break into a hospital to get blood. Turning his head, he looked at the boy's profile.
"Thank you," Chris whispered softly. "You saved my life, kid."
The kid's head snapped up and his golden brown eyes widened in surprise before his facial expression softened a little. "Wasn't gonna let you die, old man."
Chris huffed softly, just to wince. His side felt like it was on fire. Groaning softly, he closed his eyes. The Golden Boy heaved a sigh and got up, walking around the bed.
"I'm gonna head out, get us some food. Try not to die while I'm gone, okay?"
/break\
He slept, after the boy left. Longer than the kid needed to get back, because by the time Chris opened his eyes again, there was an empty pizza box on the table and the shower was running. Right next to Chris on the bed stood another box, with a water bottle laid next to it. With some difficulty did Chris sit up. He emptied half the bottle and started eating, suddenly feeling starved.
The shower turned off when he was halfway through the pizza. When the bathroom door opened, Chris paused and he couldn't help but stare. There were moles splattered all across the boy's torso, only a towel around his waist. Scars too, knife wounds, bullet wounds, some that were definitely healed claw-marks. Their eyes met for a moment before the boy turned his back on Chris to go through his suit-case propped up on the table opposite the bed. Chris' breath hitched at the view from the back. There was a large, black fox with intricate detailed shading spread from the dip of his dimples at the base of his spine up to his neck, paws reaching down and the tip of the middle tail touching up to the boy's neck. Nine tails total fanned out on either side of the fox.
"Thanks for the food, kid," Chris whispered hoarsely.
He'd returned his attention to his food quickly when the boy took off the towel to get changed. He ate quietly while the boy got changed into black sweat-pants and red and a Batman shirt. Chris' brows furrowed. He wasn't well-versed with Batman stuff, but he was fairly sure Robin was a boy, not a blonde girl. With a sigh did the boy plop down next to Chris.
"Call me Stiles, old man," he requested. "The 'kid' is getting old and I'm honestly not fond of the Golden Boy nickname, it makes me sound like a spoiled brat."
"Maybe not spoiled but certainly a brat," Chris muttered. "Name's Chris, not old man."
A grin spread over Stiles' lips. "It's what you get for calling me kid. Besides, you rock the silver fox look, be proud of that. Grade A DILF material, dude."
"Dude's actually worse than old man," Chris narrowed his eyes. "You really are a brat."
"Spank me about it, Daddy," Stiles winked cheekily. "Oh no, wait, you can barely move because you're an idiot how got himself mauled by the Desert Wolf."
Chris' hand twitched with the urge to actually put that brat over his lap. "She got me. Happens to the best. I assume you didn't get your scars because you stumbled and fell into your dishwasher."
"True," Stiles nodded and got more comfortable on the bed. "However, I didn't dramatically do some lone rider shit of not needing anybody like three hours before."
Chris gave a frustrated grunt at that. He couldn't really argue with that one. He watched the boy, the long line of his body. Tilting his head, Chris looked at the cartoon print on Stiles' shirt again.
"Stephanie Brown," Stiles supplied, pulling the shirt. "I can see the confusion on your face. Her name's Stephanie Brown and she was technically the fourth Robin but she usually gets conveniently forgotten and skipped in favor of Batman's bio son so nerd bros can pretend the Robins are an all boys club. But she's my blonde badass disaster girl and my favorite Robin actually."
Chris just gave a soft grunt and nod at that. He hadn't even known there was more than one Robin, much less five of them. Or even more…? Furrowing his brows, he settled down a little, his eyelids heavy now that he'd had food and water. Chris drifted off to the boy's enthusiastic voice as Stiles started rambling on about how amazing this Stephanie girl was.
/break\
"You should have taken a left there," Chris commented with a glare.
"Stop backseat driving and rest, old man," Stiles barked back.
After Chris spent nearly a week in the motel room with Stiles, healing up, they decided to go after the Desert Wolf together. Maybe Chris accidentally got attached to the brat. And backup really wouldn't hurt. It'd break Allison's heart if Chris just died. Huffing annoyed, Chris laid back down. She'd finished her job in Las Vegas a week ago and Stiles and Chris drove out into the desert, following her trail and Braeden's lead on where she may be headed.
"This death trap will kill us both before the Desert Wolf can," Chris muttered annoyed.
"Shut up," Stiles flipped him off. "Besides, she only looks run down. I have two dozen charms and wards on this car. It's the safest place you can be."
They had argued about what car to take when they left Vegas. Chris thought his SUV would be more practical, Stiles was weirdly attached to his Jeep. And though it looked like a rust-bucket, Stiles had told Chris about the magic laced into the car. It had been the selling point on taking it.
Chris had come to learn that Stiles had magic. There was a lot more to this boy than big words. He really could back them up. They drove for hours, Stiles keeping it from getting boring by continuing Chris' Batman education. The boy had decided it was vital for Chris to learn about the Robins. He'd wrapped up Dick Grayson back at the motel, while Chris was recovering. Their time chasing the Desert Wolf in Vegas had been spent on Jason Todd. Today was dedicated to Tim Drake, occasionally featuring Stephanie Brown. Chris didn't mean to listen, or to remember any of it, but it was hard to tune Stiles out when the boy was so enthusiastic.
"Stiles," Chris interrupted when Stiles started to repeat himself on the formation of Young Justice. "I think you've been awake long enough. Let's take a break, mh? Call it a night."
Stiles insisted that Chris wasn't allowed to drive yet. He was allowed to lay on the backseat and rest, because Stiles didn't want Chris to tear the stitches. Yawning wide, Stiles pulled over off the road and parked the car in the middle of the desert. He got out of the front seat and rounded back. Chris sat up and folded back the backrest of the backseats. There should absolutely not be space to do that, since both their stuff was in the back – and Chris had already been doubtful about Stiles fitting Chris' suitcase and weapons trunk in there too, which was when Stiles elaborated on the magic infused in the car. Stiles called it a 'TARDIS spell'. The Jeep fit as much as it needed to fit.
"Scoot over, old man," Stiles ordered while shrugging out of his jeans.
Heaving a sigh, Chris obeyed and scooted over onto the backrest laid out. It wasn't exactly spacious, but it would do for the night. While Chris got out of his own jeans, Stiles pulled pillows and blankets from under the seat and then crawled in next to Chris.
"Good night," Stiles yawned softly and snuggled into his blanket.
Chris gave a grunt and settled in too, but he didn't close his eyes. Instead, he watched the boy.
"Stop staring at me," Stiles groaned and hit him with the pillow after ten minutes. "What is it."
"We've known each other for two weeks now, I'm trying to figure you out. You're not a trained hunter, so the fake name isn't to distract from your clan. You work alone, but you saved me."
"Oh, so you want the Golden Boy origin story instead of the Boy Wonder origin stories?" Stiles asked teasingly and rolled over with a sigh. "I'm not a hunter. My first interactions with hunters sucked. Your sister and your father, terrorizing my hometown. Your father was my first kill, after he kidnapped and tortured me and two of my pack-mates. The fake name's just to protect my actual family and pack and not get them dragged into… all of this."
"Why save me," Chris pressed, staring intensely into the boy's beautiful eyes. "Why take me."
Stiles' lips quirked. "I don't let people die who don't deserve it. And I guess then I kinda grew attached. And maybe… maybe I'm tired of doing all of this alone."
There was a flicker of uncertainty in the boy's eyes at that. Chris turned onto his side, thankfully the uninjured one, and reached an arm out to lay over Stiles' waist, pulling the boy closer. Stiles' breath hitched, but he went willingly. Stiles' tongue darted out and he licked his lips. Chris followed the motion with his eyes and then leaned in to chase it with his own lips. Chris leaned in and kissed Stiles. Maybe he was tired of doing this alone too. Maybe he'd also accidentally grown attached. And maybe doing this with Stiles was good. Damn it, Braeden was going to be so smug about this.
~*~ The End ~*~