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Stiles stormed into the warehouse, eyes roaming around, desperate to find Peter. The pack was close behind Stiles, but he didn’t pay them any mind when his eyes fell on Peter.
He was on the floor, not even shackled, like someone had just discarded him without a second thought.
Peter was naked except for his pants, and Stiles could see the wounds that marred his skin. He decided not to think about why they weren’t healed.
Stiles rushed to his side, trusting the pack to have their backs, even though he didn’t really expect any troubles. They took care of the hunters before they came here after all.
“Peter?” Stiles whispered, hands fluttering over his torso, checking the still visible and bleeding wounds.
It was serious, but not life threating.
“Peter, hey, come on, wake up,” Stiles said, carefully carding his fingers through Peter’s hair, trying to get him to wake up.
“Come on, Peter, I’m here, you’re safe now, wake up for me,” he said when he didn’t get any reaction and carefully grabbed Peter’s shoulder to shake him.
Peter’s eyes finally fluttered open but he seemed confused, like he wasn’t all there yet and something in Stiles’ gut tightened with worry. He couldn’t remember ever having seen Peter this hurt or confused.
“Peter, it’s me,” Stiles softly said again and Peter’s eyes fell on him, steadily clearing up.
“Stiles,” he croaked out, voice horse, and then he tried to sit up, reaching for Stiles but when the movement aggravated his wounds, he hissed.
But Stiles was there, leaning even closer to Peter and stabilizing him with a hand to the back of his head. When Peter got a hand on Stiles’ neck he pulled him down until he could bury his face into his throat.
He stayed there, just breathing Stiles in and Stiles pressed a kiss to the side of his head, fiercely glad that he had Peter back.
Peter scented him for a few minutes and when it didn’t seem like he was going to move any time soon, Stiles carefully slung his arm around Peter’s waist, careful not to touch any of the wounds littering his body.
“Hunters,” Peter eventually whispered, warm breath hitting the side of Stiles’ neck, causing him to shudder.
“We took care of them, my dad has them all in custody,” Stiles told him. “Don’t worry, they won’t be coming back.”
Peter didn’t answer to that, but instead pulled Stiles that bit closer and Stiles let him, taking comfort from the fact that he had Peter in his arms again.
“Why are you not healing?” he eventually asked him and the grip on Stiles’ neck tightened for a few seconds.
“Can’t,” Peter whispered. “Too exhausted.”
Stiles saw red for a second. To tire out a born werewolf to the point where his natural healing didn’t kick back in required an awful lot of pain and injuries. And Peter had only been gone for a day.
“Shh,” Peter said, no doubt noticing the change in Stiles’ scent. “You got me now.”
“I do,” Stiles gave back, voice almost breaking with the horrible thoughts of what could have been.
“And you know what that means?” Stiles asked, only continuing when Peter made an inquiring noise against his throat.
“We finally get to use the first aid kit in your flat on you. And you always told me it would never see any other use than patching me up,” he jokingly said and Peter huffed a laugh, warm breath washing over Stiles.
“A good investment,” Peter agreed and pressed his nose into Stiles’ skin one last time before he pulled far enough away from Stiles to see his face.
Stiles couldn’t help but press a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his lips before he rested his forehead against Peter’s.
“Let’s go home,” he whispered and Peter let out a low whine.
“Please,” he gave back.
Derek was suddenly at their side, helping Peter up, but Stiles didn’t let go of him, arm still curled around his waist and Peter’s hand still on his neck.
They would both need some time before they could let go of the other.