Oya. Soooo English is not ma native language. Feel free to point out mistakes nicely. Aaaand enjoy :D

Teen wolf and its characters belong to Jeff Davis.

Tags : Soulmates, Injury, Death, Blood loss.

TRIGGER WARNING : Mention of a character dying

Even in hate and blood

How strange it was to have your soulmate's last words written on your skin like a perpetual reminder of how the most beautiful thing in your life was supposed to end, sometimes without even knowing that it was the perfect thing for you. When Peter was still a little boy, too clever for his own good, he wasn't sure whether the worst thing was not knowing who your soulmate was until the end or knowing who it was and being obliged to suffer through their last breath after a life together. As long as he can remember, he has always wondered about it.

Until he was sure who his soulmate was.

Until he knew what their last words to each other were.

"Hi, I'm Chris," the young man said, smiling widely in the face of the werewolf, the skin of his forearm burning. "I'm new in town."

"Pleasure or business?" Peter had answered smugly, inviting himself into the hunter's personal space, watching him from under his lashes.

"Both."

If he had known that day how lonely it could be to know but not be able to touch, he would have thought twice about meeting this strange boy.

"I'm Peter," he declared proudly, his own arm gleaming in the light of day. "Nice to meet you."

Strangely enough, no sound could be heard under the treetops, isolating the man more than the war had.

Lying on the ground, Chris's breathing was heavy, his lungs burning. The pain he was feeling from his gut, leg and head was excruciating, but not as much as the one coming from his heart.

Here he was, not even fifty, breathing his last breaths of air, wishing he could have more time. It was hard to remember sometimes how much he had forgotten the pain of loneliness. If only he had not been a hunter, a killer... If only he'd not been born in this war. He inhaled deeply, keeping the air inside his lungs, wishing all of this were only a bad dream.

"Dad !" his daughter called, trying to reach him but being held by the surrounding hunters.

How long had they been here ? He opened his eyes, seeing nothing more than the clear night sky, sprinkled with bright and beautiful stars.

When he turned his head to the left, he saw his comrades, faces grime with sadness, pity or grief. He saw his daughter trying to break free from their hold. He smiled tiredly and with a bit of sorrow.

When he turned his head to the right, he saw the people he was supposed to fight, faces grime with sadness, pity or grief. He saw him, his radiant blue eyes clouded with love and pain.

Looking back at the sky, he focused his attention on the moon, not knowing what to think about her.

"Why did you do that?" he asked her, lost. "Two houses, even in hate and blood."

His head was spinning from the blood loss, and for a moment, he didn't know where he was anymore. He laughed and laughed, the sound maniacal.

"I wish things happened differently," he said, his voice low and strained. "I wish we could have our happy ending."

With the last bit of energy he had, he reached his neck, searching for a familiar pendant. His usually nimble fingers struggled to get the chain out, but when it was done, the silver gleamed under the moonlight : a fleur-de-lys and a triskele. Argent and Hale, even in hate and blood.

"Me too," a deep voice whispered from the right, surprising everyone.

Chris turned his head, the slowness in his movements seeming alien for him. "Peter..."

"Hey love," Peter said, moving forward and kneeling right beside the dying hunter. He reached for his free hand, black veins covering his forearm when they finally touched. "I'm so sorry."

"It's– it's not your fault," Chris murmured, his once-velvet voice less strained thanks to the pain ebbing away.

"Nor yours, darling."

The dirty blond man smiled as freely as he had ever been. "Yeah, you're right."

On the inside of his left forearm, he could feel the words burning, the sensation making him a bit dizzy and sick.

"I– I don't wanna say them..." He whispered sadly, his eyes never leaving Peter's blue ones.

"Then don't," the brunet said, laughing like nothing else mattered. "It won't make me stop loving you."

"Cha-Charmer, aren't ya?"

"Always." Peter smiled. He smiled like he never had, with pain and love, with happiness and sorrow. "They couldn't understand, could they ? How painful it was to watch you from afar, not able to reach or touch."

An intake of air makes the Hale focus solely on Chris's wounds, taking more of his pain even if it was overwhelming like nothing else was. With panic leading his movements, he took the hunter's body in his arms, laying his head on his own shoulder with tenderness. The body shook and the man whined.

"Shhh, it's ok... you're safe here."

"Petey..." He murmured, scared and cold, trembling like a leaf barely off a branch. "I don't wanna die."

"Who does, darling ?" The said man said, nosing his beloved's cheek.

"Take– take care of her for me," he pleaded, his tired eyes landing on his crying daughter. "Please."

"You know I will."

Still clutching onto the necklace, he tried to reach out for her, stretching his arm, pleading silently for the others to release her. Weak on her legs, she reached out for him and fell on the ground, gripping him tightly.

"Daddy..." She sobbed, squeezing his jacket compulsively. "I love you, Daddy."

"Me too sweetheart," he mumbled through the blood slowly clogging his throat.

He could feel his body growing colder and heavier with seconds, the surrounding sounds muffled by the rushing of his blood. However, he heard that little whimper coming from right above him, coming from Peter.

"It's o-okay," he reassured, his smile wavering a bit. "Hey, Petey... What we– what we had had been really nice."

He felt elevated, the pain strangely not radiating through his body. The only thing he could feel was the heat of his wolf's forehead against his and the burning skin of his arm. He focused on the blue eyes one last time, and said in what he hoped was a soothing tone: "I love you."

"Oh, sweety..." Peter sighed, smiling kindly. "I love you."

And their shared mark faded from both their skin into the void of nothingness as life disappeared from those clear blue eyes, as if nothing has ever happened in this life. It faded as if their love and pain meant nothing.

Under the plain round moon, the werewolf howled, the sound so intricately tangled with despair.

It took his sister for Peter to disentangle himself from the cold body resting into his arms, tears rolling down his cheeks like an untiring rain. He felt so exhausted that it took him a good half-minute to realise that someone was clutching his shirt, a head flushed against his jaw. He nearly suffocated with grief, his arms encircling the young girl tightly trying to give her a bit of comfort.

"Allison, listen to me," the werewolf asked, taking her head between his hands, their foreheads meeting silently. "Whoever you fall in love with, whoever your soulmate is and whatever they are... Do not let anyone tell you what do. Do not let anyone tell you you're wrong. Do not let them step between you and your happiness. You hear me ? If they love you... If they truly love you, they won't stop you from being happy," Peter told her, his thumbs stroking her wet cheeks slowly. "They won't."

His body and heart ache as much as the ones of this young woman in his arms, desperately asking for the agonizing hurt to leave her alone.

Around them, werewolves and hunters stood, ashamed in their wrongness, ashamed of the pressure they put on two young boys and their impossible love.