Steter prompt for you : Set after the whole basement thing in S2. Peter is still an Alpha when he comes back (freaky voodoo necromancytw ftw)
Anyhooters, Alpha Peter finding Stiles alone in the warehouse, slowly dying from internal bleeding from said basement injuries and having to turn him to save him
I'm sorry it took me so long to write this 😭
But still thanks for the prompt! Here you have a bit over 1k for it :D
@superfluffycam-blog & @ladyofsoa I'm working on your prompts, too! I'm just... slow rn 😂😅
The warehouse had suddenly quieted down after the chaos.
Stiles wasn't quite sure what had happened in the end, the debilitating pain in his body making it hard to even stand stable. He was sure that his last stunt, driving the jeep through the wall, had finally broken something. Or maybe it was a concussion that had made everything hazy and hard to focus on.
He wasn't sure.
He'd watched Lydia raise Jackson from the dead, then he'd blinked and they'd been gone. When he'd turned around to look for Scott, or Derek, or, hell, even fucking Gerard, everyone had vanished. They'd all just… left him here. Not even asking how he was, where he'd been, what had happened to him.
Stiles turned around again, this time towards Roscoe, and took a couple of slow steps, each of them harder and more unstable than the last. He just needed to get back to his jeep. He just needed to sit down and start the engine and then-
He blinked when he suddenly felt the cold floor on his face, the pain pulsating through his whole body. He felt cold. Why was it so cold? He was wearing enough clothes that it shouldn't be cold, right? But he wasn't sure if he was still feeling his toes - or fingers, for that matter - which seemed like a very, very bad thing. Though he couldn't quite remember why it was bad that he was cold other than that he didn't like feeling like this. If he just curled up a bit more, he could surely get warmer and just… sleep the exhaustion off, right? Was he already curled up? Was that important anymore? He could just sleep. He would just close his eyes for a couple of minutes, regain some strength and then-
"Stiles!!"
Peter hadn't expected to come back to an empty warehouse with nothing but the boy lying motionless on the floor. He'd followed Gerard to take care of him and had only turned back once he'd been done to clean up whatever was left in the warehouse.
He'd seen - and smelled - that Stiles had been hurt, but he'd also expected someone other than him to care.
Obviously he had been wrong.
He kneeled down next to Stiles, hands gingery sliding over the boy's back up to his shoulders until his fingers pressed against the boy's neck, feeling for the pulse he could only hear in sluggish, weak beats. Making sure that he was hearing right, that there still was a pulse no matter how wrong it sounded.
"…et'r?"
Even Peter's superior hearing had almost missed what he would like to call a mumble but was too quiet to actually be considered one. The word had been nothing more than a breath leaving Stiles' lips. Then the boy's eyelids fluttered, though his eyes were entirely unfocused and had lost their sharp intelligence.
"Yes." Peter took a deep breath.
He had to do something.
Stiles was dying right in front of him.
He fletched his suddenly very sharp teeth and let his eyes glow red as he brushed a hand through Stiles' sweaty and dusty hair.
"You are dying, Stiles… Do you want the bite?"
Stiles' eyes closed and Peter felt his heart sink. But he could still hear a pulse, could still feel it below his fingers, no matter how slow it was. He hadn't lost his boy, yet.
"Y'renalpha?"
He almost didn't understand the next mumbled words but as soon as he did he nodded.
"Yes, I am."
"…alright."
Peter breathed his relief in, leaned forward and carefully bit his new beta's shoulder. Now all he could do was wait.
Stiles hadn't expected to open his eyes again.
He'd been so sure that he would die. He'd even hallucinated an Alpha Peter who was offering him the bite to save him.
Now, though, there was warmth all around him and the pain was gone. Instead there was something like reliefprideamusement humming in his chest, a feeling he couldn't help but bask in with a content sigh.
"Finally awake?" a velvety voice brushed over his ears, quiet but with an audible smile. There were other noises, too. Someone washing dishes, a pair of voices discussing ingredients for dinner, a TV running on a sports channel, birds rustling in the leafs of a tree.
"What…?" Stiles mumbled and slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the sunlight coming in from the window. A page was turned right next to his ear, the sound fitting to Peter reading his book in a chair on the other side of the room. "What happened? …Also how the hell aren't you dead?"
"You should worry about yourself, sweetheart," Peter answered without looking up, his voice still in that same weird quiet but loud way. "You almost died on me last night."
"Oh."
Stiles stared at the wolf, his brain working to understand what Peter was and wasn't saying. Or at least working at putting all the pieces together and actually forming a picture with all the bits and pieces he'd already collected.
He'd known that he was dying.
He hadn't wanted to, had tried not to, had ignored it the same way he ignored dirty clothes he wasn't quite ready to collect and wash yet.
Peter spelling it out for him like this didn't give him the option to ignore it.
He still could shove it aside and concentrate on all the other things happening, though.
That sliver of anxiety and panic welling up inside him at the thought of leaving his dad alone was something he would look at once he was alone and could fall apart without an audience.
So instead he slowly sat up to look around and concentrated on what he could hear and-… and smell.
He could smell Peter.
He could smell the surprisingly strong scent of lavender in the pillows and the cover he'd been snuggled up in. He could smell the scent of vanilla and pine he associated with Peter, though he'd always thought the scent had more to do with Peter's favorite bourbon than with the wolf itself. But now he could smell the alcohol somewhere outside of the bedroom they were in and while it smelled similar to Peter, it was also entirely different.
"So… you bit me?"
He'd wanted to ask 'who', but if Peter was here, then maybe, maybe what he'd thought to be a hallucination had actually been true. He didn't want Derek as an Alpha. He actually wanted no one as his Alpha. But if he had to choose, he'd prefer Peter over any of the Alphas he'd met.
"Is that a problem?"
A pang of hesitation and worry bloomed in his chest. Insecurity, too, if he understood the feeling correctly. Nothing of it showed on Peter's face or in his scent. Almost nothing, anyway.
He shook his head, then got distracted by how loud his hands seemed to scratch over the cover, and stared at his clawed fingers.
"I'm glad it's you," he mumbled anyway as he pulled his claws back in, too fascinated by his own changes to see the relief cross Peter's face.
"Good," was all the answer he got before Peter rose to his feet and walked over to the door. "Try to get some more sleep. You'll need it, sweetheart."
"And this one's from...?" Peter trails off, waiting for Stiles to fill in the blank.
"Oh, man, that's from forever ago. It's the stupidest story, too. In middle school we were playing basketball. I was, as you well know, not the most coordinated kid. But this one actually wasn't my fault. I was chasing down the ball, ran close to the wall, and there was one of those stupid little glue-on clips that they used to hold up signs and stuff that was empty, and I must've just caught it at a bad angle. I knew I felt like something was wrong, but then there was all this blood. My gym teacher sent me off to the nurse saying that it looked like I got attacked with a hatchet."
Peter, who Stiles knows has actually been attacked with a hatchet, blinks at him as he bursts into laughter.
"I'm sorry, my love," he says, dropping a quick kiss on the side of Stiles' upper arm, and then another, less quick kiss on his lips. "I don't mean to laugh, I just will never understand how you get yourself into these situations."
Send me a ship and a number and I will write a kiss!
