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The early morning air was delightfully cool when Stiles left for his run. He was back home for a two week vacation to visit his father. Between a double major at university, FBI training, and then three busy years as an agent, he hasn’t been back to Beacon Hills for longer than a couple days a year in nearly a decade. That realization makes his gut twist with guilt, but he just picks up his pace.
Around the third mile mark, another runner appears ahead of him. The dawn light illuminates the man’s tattooed back–playing cards, some face up and in color, some face down in black ink. Something about the design rang bells in the back of Stiles mind, not in the context of Beacon Hills though. Still, there was something familiar about the figure.
Throwing caution to the wind, Stiles sped up, closing the distance between them. The other man tensed fractionally when Stiles got within ten feet. Clearly, the man was alert and aware. Which made sense when Stiles saw his face.
“Chris?” he asked, breathing heavily as he slowed his pace to match Argent. As far as Stiles knew, the hunter had left town after the last confrontation with his father, culminating in Gerard’s death, and hadn’t been back since. Yet here he was, and now Stiles could see the card tattoos covered his arms and chest as well.
The man smiled faintly, “Stiles. Long time no see.”
They ran in companionable silence for at least another mile before they rounded a corner and Chris slowed down to jog. “That’s it for me today,” he said, despite looking as if he could run all day. “My house is at the end of the next block.”
“Yeah, this is probably enough for me today too,” agreed Stiles. “Supposed to be on vacation after all.”
Chris regarded him thoughtfully. “FBI, right? That explains you willingly running without Finstock or some monster on your ass.” He smirked.
Stiles laughed. The man wasn’t wrong. “Surprisingly, it turns out I actually like it. The physical activity calms the cacophony in my head.”
At this point, they had arrived at Chris’ house. He immediately began stretching, impressing Stiles with his flexibility. Sure, he had always known the hunter to keep in shape, but he had always thought about it more in terms of strength than anything else.
“I can see that. No matter the terrible parts of hunting, the physical activities have always been a balm.”
Looking at the man’s inked chest had Stiles momentarily considering a physical activity not related to hunting. Shaking his head slightly, he began slowly stretching as well. “The terrible parts of hunting, huh? That why you replaced your old tattoo with this?” He gestured broadly to the other man’s upper body.
Looking down, as if he had forgotten the tattoos were new…well new to Stiles, he answered flatly, “Yes.”
Feeling himself revert slightly to his awkward teen self, Stiles couldn’t help saying, “Looks really good.”
Chris looked mildly pleased. “Thanks. And on that note, I’m gonna head in for a shower. Maybe I’ll see you around while you’re on vacation.”
“I’d like that,” replied Stiles, maybe a little too enthusiastically.
Argent paused at the door and looked over his shoulder. “I’m usually at the Hills Tavern in the evenings.”
“Duly noted,” said Stiles to himself as he began a leisurely walk back to his childhood home.
—
His first full day in town continued to be eventful when Stiles ran into Peter Hale at the grocery store.
“Well, well, well,” drawled the wolf, “What brings you back to Beacon Hell?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. It was already just like old times. “Obviously, I missed the fire and brimstone…Or, you know, I’m visiting my old man.”
Peter just hummed.
“Whatever,” said Stiles. “I am here on vacation. Is there anyone from the old gang around? I know Scott’s off living his animal shelter dreams, but I haven’t really kept in touch with anyone else.”
The wolf sighed, clearly annoyed by the mention of the True Alpha. “Malia, Derek, his son Eli, and I are still here. Lydia occasionally comes through town. That’s about it. Oh, and Chris. He moved back here about six months ago.”
“Yeah, I saw him this morning while I was out for a run. The ink was a shock.”
“Oh yeah, he looks good,” agreed Peter before snorting. “He looks a little too good.”
Stiles cocked an eyebrow at the wolf. “What’s that mean?”
“Use your eyes, little agent.” Peter’s voice was at his most condescending. “The man is pushing fifty and yet is in better shape than ever. He even looks younger.”
Ignoring the bait, Stiles thinks back to their encounter that morning. Creeperwolf wasn’t wrong, the hunter was looking incredibly fit and, yeah, probably younger than the last time Stiles saw him. Still…”That doesn’t mean shit, Peter. He could just be less stressed .”
“Maybe,” conceded the wolf. “But he smells different now too.” Peter tapped his nose then walked off, leaving Stiles to ponder.
—
Over the next couple days, Stiles put it out of his mind in favor of focusing on spending time with his father. They went fishing, watched the newest season of Yellowstone, and generally caught up on things. The fourth day, Noah left with Melissa for a two day trip they’d already had scheduled before Stiles found out he’d be able to come. His father was apologetic, yet Stiles was happy to see him go. His dad deserved a loving relationship and he could use that time to clean the house and cook some food to freeze for the future.
He managed to get that all done sooner than expected and was left with the evening and most of the next day to fill. Looking at the time, Chris’ words about going to the bar came back to him.
The Hills Tavern was a newer establishment in town and Stiles wasn’t sure what to expect. It turned out to be a cozy place. Small and clean, not too loud, but with a large selection of alcohol. His eyes settled on Chris sitting at the bar. The man was wearing blue jeans and a fitted black tee under a black leather vest. Again, something tingled with recognition in his mind, but Stiles couldn’t put his finger on it.
“How’s it going?” greeted Stiles, claiming the seat next to Chris. Again, there was the tiniest bit of tension before Chris processed it was Stiles. Obviously the man’s hunter instincts were still sharp.
“Stiles.” The man nodded to the bartender. “Buy you a drink?”
“Sure. Whatever you’re having is good.”
Chris motioned to his drink then held up two fingers to the bartender. “Enjoying your time in town?”
“Eh, it’s a little boring,” joked Stiles. He sipped his bourbon. “Delicious. And yes, I’m enjoying it. I haven’t seen much of my old man since I left for school.”
They made pleasant conversation for the next couple hours. Stiles talked about his college escapades, FBI training, and his strong preference for Sig Sauer handguns. Chris congratulated him on his good taste, mentioned he was working as a consultant for a security firm, and explained that he had come back to Beacon Hills because the Hale pack was so small that he worried about supernatural threats.
“And on that note,” finished Chris, “I’m gonna head out and patrol some. It was good to catch up with you.” He put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder as he stood. “Stay safe.”
“Yeah, you too.” Stiles looked carefully to see if Chris was sober enough to patrol. He was certainly feeling the alcohol, yet somehow Chris was clear eyed and steady. “Call me if you need any help.”
“Is this a ploy to get my new number?” joked Chris. Another surprise.
“N-n-no,” stammered Stiles. “I could just use a good monster hunt.”
“Here.” Chris grabbed Stiles' phone off the counter, somehow guessed the security code, and sent himself a text. “See you later,” he added as he threw down cash to cover their tab and walked out.
—
Stiles was pleasantly buzzed as he left the tavern a half hour later. He looked at the phone in his hand, finger hovering over the new contact. Part of him hoped that Chris would call him for help. Part of him wanted to just call and check anyway. Then he heard the click of high heels behind him and reflexively turned to look.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kate fucking Argent was there looking like evil Barbie. Why was that bitch never actually dead? God, he wished he hadn’t left his side arm at home.
“Hello, Stiles, fancy meeting you here.” She smiled predatorily. “There’s something I think you can help me with.”
“And why would I want to help you?” He pushed the call button on Chris’ open contact card. He turned down the volume without looking and darkened the screen.
“If you don’t help me, I’ll kill you and move to the next name on the list.”
He held his ground as Kate approached. Her hand shot out and knocked his phone to the ground before clamping down on his wrist. “Come along, Stiles. If you help me get into the old Argent vault, I’ll let you go unharmed.”
He’s not sure he believes her, but he doesn’t want to die or push her onto someone else. If he goes with her, he can at least try to buy time for Chris to find him.
“Fine,” he sighed, trying to sound as exasperated as possible despite knowing she could smell his fear.
—
When his phone vibrated with a call, Chris was on his way back to his car. The preserve was quiet and peaceful. Pulling his phone out, he smiled at the sight of Stiles’ name. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to spend more time getting to know the young man.
“Hello, Stiles,” he answered. He was about to add “Long time no see” when he heard a woman’s voice making threats. Not just any woman either, his younger sister. He’d thought she was dead for the past nine years. It wasn’t a welcome surprise to discover otherwise.
He began running to his motorcycle as he continued to listen until he heard the phone hit the ground. Kate had said she wanted to get into the Argent vault. He assumed she didn’t mean the one everyone knew about at this point. It was more likely she meant the one where Gerard had stored his most valuable treasures, hidden from all but his most trusted compatriots. The one that Chris had never let on he knew about.
Jumping on his bike, he started it and raced toward the hidden bunker. He didn’t have much time to come up with a plan, nor did he have enough information to do so effectively. He was just going to have to rely on the element of surprise and lean into his darker side.
—
The first levels of security on the bunker had let Kate through no problem. However, there were wards on the vault door itself. Stiles had done his best to take in the layout without being too conspicuous, but there wasn’t much left that he could use. Clearly the weapons had already been plundered by other hunters or someone else.
Instead of worrying about that, he turned his attention to the wards. Maybe there would be something in the vault he could use to distract or defend against Kate.
The werejaguar paced back and forth behind him, watching his every move.
A half hour went by with Stiles legitimately trying to open the vault. Clearly that wasn’t fast enough for Kate who began threatening his life again.
“You’re just the first in a list of options. I can kill you right now and get the next,” she growled.
“This shit is complicated, you bitch,” retorted Stiles. “Not to mention I had half a dozen drinks before you grabbed me. Gimme some time to figure this out.”
She growled and resumed pacing. Suddenly, she froze and turned toward the door they had come in. “Is that you, brother? Trying to disguise your scent?”
Despite the situation, Stiles filed that information as confirmation of what Peter had said. He carefully watched as Kate turned her focus toward the threat.
Chris stepped out of the shadowed doorway, a dangerous look on his face and arms crossed casually. “Kate. You don’t write, you don’t call.”
“Well, when you’re part of the group trying to kill me, can you blame a girl?” She stepped into a wider stance, letting her claws slip out.
“If I had actually tried to kill you, you’d be dead.”
Kate laughed. “Oh, Chris, I think we both know who was the better hunter here.”
Chris shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m the better villain.”
“Oh? I wasn’t aware you were anything but the failed archnemesis of your daughter’s boyfriend.” She grinned viciously.
Stiles thought he saw a flicker of pain in blue eyes before a calm confidence overcame it. “Alot’s changed the last nine years, Kate. You’re barely a child playacting compared to my previous employers.”
“And who’s that? Some tatted up motorcycle gang?” prodded Kate, her attention completely on Chris. Stiles took the opportunity to edge away to give the man a clear shot.
“H.I.V.E.”
“Bullshit,” scoffed Kate. Stiles internally agreed. “What use would they have for you?”
At this point, Stiles' thoughts were swirling. Why hadn’t Chris drawn a gun and started shooting? How did Chris know about H.I.V.E. to begin with? Was he just playing for time too?
This time it was Chris with the vicious grin, “Damien Darhk hired me to deal with a problem.”
Kate couldn’t resist the bait. “What do you take me f….” Her question was never finished. As she was speaking, Chris had whipped his arms out in her direction. She stiffened and fell to the floor after a moment. When Stiles looked down at her, he could see two playing cards sticking into her neck and mouth. The one embedded in her neck appeared to have sliced open her carotid artery. If it wasn’t removed in the next minute or so, she’d have no chance of healing.
“Stiles, are you okay?” Chris’ voice was gentle.
Stiles tore his gaze away from Kate’s body and looked up at Chris. In a flash, the clues snapped into place–the tattoos, the clothes, the cards, H.I.V.E. A wanted poster flashed in his mind. “You…you’re Double Down.”
“I wondered if I was on the FBI’s radar.” It was as good as an admission.
Chris slowly spread his arms wide, as close as you could come to surrender when your skin literally generated razor sharp playing cards. “Seriously, Stiles, are you okay? Did she hurt you?”
“Uh, no, not more than a bruise or two.” He continued to stare at the…hunter…criminal…assassin.
“Stiles?”
“Mmmm?”
“Can we get out of here?” asked Chris, still acting as nonthreatening as possible. “I can give you a ride to your dad’s house.”
Stiles considered. “Even if I say I’m going to turn you in?”
The other man shrugged. “I’m not going to hurt you, Stiles.”
“Well, apparently, you’re a metahuman criminal who worked for a magical terrorist,” countered Stiles, “so I don’t know how much I can trust you.”
At that, Chris laughed–a genuine, delighted laugh. Then he said seriously, “Look, Stiles, you don’t have to believe me, but I was undercover.”
“So you didn’t do the crimes you’re wanted for?” asked Stiles skeptically.
“No, I did. You don’t get close to Damien Darhk without getting your hands bloody.”
“Who were you working for then?”
“ARGUS.”
Stiles couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “Of course. Might as well be the bad guys.”
“You’re not wrong,” agreed Chris. “Waller found me at my lowest, right after I got these powers. I needed something to give me purpose again.”
“And they just let you get out after?”
“Hardly. That security consulting job, I mentioned? It’s a cover for the occasional mission.”
That made Stiles snort. “Not sure that ARGUS mercenary is much better than H.I.V.E. assassin.”
Again, Chris shrugged.
In the end, Stiles lets the other man lead him back out of the bunker to where he left his motorcycle, half a mile away. They don’t talk. Stiles climbs onto the motorcycle behind Chris, curiously brushing his fingers over the card tattoos. The hunter offers an almost flirty smirk over his shoulder before driving off towards the Stilinski house. It seems Stiles has a lot to think about and maybe a reason to come back to town more often.