Work Text:
intubation/emergency room/reluctant bedrest
Peter wakes up slowly. His whole body feels like he was hit by a truck. His head is throbbing like he has a bad migraine. He is a goddamn werewolf, he has never had to suffer from migraine but he imagines it would feel something like this. His throat feels dry and his vision is blurry as he tries to look around the room.
He knows by the scent that he is in his own room. He doesn’t hear anyone else close by. That’s weird, he usually can hear people all around. He guesses his throbbing headache is to blame for this.
His shoulder is throbbing with white, angry pain when he moves. It’s a bad decision he notes as he stops moving immediately. He lays still for a long moment before the pain eases away. He now tries to move much slower and more carefully as he lifts himself up from the bed and reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand.
He gulps down the water, ignoring the pain on his shoulder.
“Mom! Uncle Peter is awake!” Peter hears the door open and Cora’s high pitched voice shout.
It only takes a second for Talia to rush to his room. She looks relieved, like something has been seriously wrong. It makes Peter wonder what would make Talia lose sleep. He couldn’t be in that bad of a shape, right?
“You are awake”, Talia sighs, relief clear in her voice as she runs his eyes over Peter.
“Of course I am”, Peter speaks little unsurely, as to why he shouldn’t be.
“You lost a lot of blood in the fight against the wendigo”, Talia says taking a seat on the side of the bed, resting her hand on Peter’s leg on top of the covers, “Too much blood.”
Oh. That would do it, Peter thinks as he watches the rest of the pack slowly bleed in the room. Everyone looks relieved and like they haven’t slept well in a few nights. Joseph places his hand on Talia’s shoulder smiling at Peter. He tells how good it is to see him awake. Their children, Laura, Derek and Cora all hover next to his bed, touching him carefully, offering comfort the only way they really know how to.
“How- how long was I out?” Peter asks as he clears his throat.
“Three and a half days”, Talia answers, voice quiet, “The wounds were severe. I was worried. We all were.”
“Just how severe?” Peter asks, wanting to know.
He is still in a great amount of pain. He knows his wounds haven’t healed but he needs to know just how badly he was hurt while fighting against the wendigo. His side throbs where the creature bit him.
“Your shoulder was dislocated and bleeding heavily from the wendigo bite. Your side was open when we finally got to you. We had to call Doctor Deaton. The poison from the wendigo’s teeth was stopping your healing and- I didn’t know what to do”, Talia tells him and Peter can hear how close he has been to die, “He did his best to run out the poison from your system but we feared it would be too late. You didn’t react to anything.”
“It’s a miracle then”, Peter smirks.
“Don’t you dare joke about this Peter”, Talia says sternly, “We were so close to losing you and Stiles has been losing his mind the longer it took for you to wake up.”
Only then Peter notices that Stiles isn’t in the room with everyone else.
“Where is he? Is he alright?” Peter asks in a rushed breath.
He tries to get up and go look for Stiles only to wince in pain when his shoulder throbs. Talia pushes him gently back to the bed, fixing his pillow for him. She gives him a sad look.
“He is fine- he- he’s just upset”, Talia finally decides to say, “You saved him Peter.”
Peter sighs in relief when he hears it. Stiles is alright, that’s all that matters.
“Can I see him?” Peter asks looking at the doorway, waiting for Stiles to appear in it.
“I will go get him”, Talia nods, “Just- just be gentle with him, alright. He is really upset.”
She orders everyone out of the room to let Peter rest. She leaves the door open as they leave and Peter can hear their footsteps getting further and further away from his room. He doesn’t know where Stiles is as he can’t hear the kid.
“Peter?” Stiles quiet voice calls from the doorway.
Peter snaps his head towards the kid. Stiles looks fine, no physical damage. But the boy looks tired, like he hasn’t slept in days. Which might be true considering it all. Stiles has been crying, it’s clear as a day to Peter. The boy is shaking as he stands there, afraid to come closer.
“Come here”, Peter whispers, gesturing for Stiles to step into the room and come to him.
Stiles hesitates in the doorway. He looks at Peter but quickly turns his gaze on the floor. His hands shake by his sides before he claps them together before his body. The boy looks so young and vulnerable just standing there, shaking in fear. Peter can scent the boy’s shame and repentance. Stiles takes a hesitant step closer to the bed, stopping just as he steps over the threshold.
“Stiles”, Peter mumbles quietly, raising his hand from the bed offering it to Stiles.
Peter can smell tears, the salty scent of them cannot be ignored in the room. Peter watches helpless as tears gather in Stiles’ eyes first before they finally flow over. They fall down his cheeks getting them wet as they drip down his chin on the floor. Stiles doesn’t even try to wipe the tears away as he stands there. He keeps his hands clamped together, the slight tremor still clear to Peter, as he cries.
“Come here puppy”, Peter whispers, letting out a whine to get the boy to come to him.
His wolf whining in his head, wanting to rush to Stiles and sweep him into his arms. His wolf wants to comfort his tiny packmate and wipe the tears away, wanting to make everything alright once again.
Stiles walks carefully to him, keeping his distance as he stops next to Peter’s bed. He touches the blanket before pulling his hand back like he was burned. He turns to look at Peter with big teary eyes and wobbly lip.
“Why are you sad darling?” Peter asks as he reaches for the boy.
“Y- you are hurt”, Stiles sobs, “You are hurt because I ran away.”
“Stiles this is not your fault”, Peter says, “It was the wendigo.”
“But you wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me!” Stiles cries out, more tears falling down his cheek.
“I would have been out in the woods looking for it anyway. This is not your fault”, Peter repeats, wanting Stiles to believe him, “I don’t blame you. I will never blame you for this.”
“There- there was so much blood. You were- were bleeding and it was hot in my hands and I couldn’t breath”, Stiles tries to explain, only to choke on his own sobbing.
“Stiles I’m fine. See. I’m here.”
“But Talia had to call Deaton! He worked hours to save you. Your blood was black”, Stiles cries as he climbs on the bed, “You were dying. Deaton said if you make it you need to stay in bed for a week. We were- we all were so worried.”
“I will be fine. I’m awake, aren’t I?” Peter asks, letting Stiles bury his head in Peter’s neck.
Peter bites back the wince as Stiles nudges his body in a way as he settles down that his shoulder hurts. The white, throbbing pain flashes throughout Peter’s body but he doesn’t make a sound to not make Stiles feel even worse than he already does.
It is true that Peter might not be in this bed right now if it wasn’t for Stiles running off. Peter doesn’t blame Stiles for this however. He knows he was angry when he found out Stiles had ran away in the woods when there was a wendigo running around. But he would never blame his injuries, whoever severe they might be on the boy. He would still have been out in the woods trying to hunt down it. Stiles being there didn’t change the fact that the wendigo could have attacked him still.
Stiles must have been feeling like this ever since he saw Peter get hurt. It’s a long three days for a child to carry guilt on his shoulders. To believe this was all his fault. Talia must have tried to comfort the boy but Peter knows Stiles won’t accept comfort from anyone other than him. To see Peter lying unconscious on the muddy ground, covered in his own blood, then to watch Peter fight for his life would scare anyone. Let alone Stiles, who has fixated his life on Peter.
Yes, Stiles has these dark tendencies that he rarely fights against. With the brain he has, the knowledge he possesses the boy can do anything. He uses his great mind in manipulation. And not just against Peter, it’s against everyone. He is good at hiding what he is but Peter sees Stiles, he sees the darkness inside the boy. Peter knows how territorial Stiles can be of things he considers his, and Peter happens to be one of those things. Stiles has claimed Peter as his in his mind and no one is allowed to take Peter away from him.
Stiles knows how to fool people with his big and teary eyes. He uses his mother’s death as a cloak to fool people. Playing the teary child, having lost their mother at such a young age is sure to melt anyone's heart.
The only difference between other people and Peter is that Peter sees through Stiles little power play he plays. Peter knows Stiles’ tricks and he allows the boy to use them against him. He doesn’t know how to say no to Stiles, just like everyone else.
“I was so scared”, Stiles cries in Peter’s neck, clinging tightly to Peter, “I was so scared of losing you.”
Peter wraps his arm around the boy’s shaking body. He holds Stiles close to him as he lets him cry. He comforts Stiles the best he can, and Stiles greedily takes it all. Stiles greedily takes everything Peter is giving him as he hides his face in Peter’s chest, feeling the soft material of his shirt rub against his face.
Peter can smell the scent of repentance slowly starting to change to a more sweet scent of calmness. The tears slowly stop and the salty scent of them faints away. Peter lets a soothing rumble deep from his chest to calm down the boy.
“Why aren’t you angry?” Stiles asks quietly.
“Should I be angry?” Peter asks back.
Stiles stays quiet for a minute before nodding.
“Why?” Peter wants to know.
“I was angry at you and wanted you to worry”, Stiles confesses, “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I will heal. You know that.”
“I shouldn’t have done that, I should have stayed in my room”, Stiles cries out, new tears starting to gather in his eyes.
“Stiles, promise me you will not pull stunts like these anymore”, Peter sighs, not knowing what else to say to the crying boy, “I will be fine as long as you promise.”
“I promise”, Stiles nods sharply, and Peter doesn’t hear a lie in his voice or heart beat, “I will be good. I will be good for you from now on.”
Peter doesn’t answer that. Even if he doesn’t hear a lie he knows Stiles will eventually pull something like this that will worry him. It’s just the way Stiles is. Peter wants to believe the boy, he wants to believe Stiles is good. Stiles can play the feeling of quilt, he is a master of pretending. Now that Peter looks at Stiles, crying against his side, saying he is sorry. He almost believes the boy.
But Peter knows better.