Chapter Text
Chapter One
As a werewolf, Peter had the luxury of healing quickly. It was something he always took for granted, especially when he was younger and was… experimental in what he was able to do. Of course, the faster healing did not negate pain. If he broke his leg, it definitely felt like he had broken his leg. But that ache that people described, that long term aching, was never something he had experienced before. The pain was quick, intense, and then it was gone. He had never really felt sore before.
So, as he came to consciousness, that intense ache and dull throb through his body was a completely new sensation.
He was lying in a strange room, on a strange bed. The sheets were soft, and the quilt on top was wonderfully thick and appeared to be handmade. The curtains were drawn shut, but based on how dark the room was, Peter would have to guess that it was night. The room around him was relatively small, but comfortable. If he had to guess, it was probably a guest room. Or belonged to a particularly boring person, as there were no unique or personal decorations around the room. Just an alarm clock, table lamp, and a dresser. Nothing else. Which did nothing to help Peter figure out where he was.
The last thing he remembered was running through strange woods, trying to get away from the hunters that had captured him as fast as possible.
But besides that? Nothing.
No memories of what happened. Or how he had ended up in this room. Or even who his potential saviors or new captors are.
It was infinitely frustrating, and this new aching sensation was doing nothing to help his mood. He was at least not tied to the bed, so he was hoping that whoever’s house he was in were indeed his saviors.
He moved slowly, trying his best to not cause any more pain. He was wearing clothes he didn’t recognize. A soft, worn T-shirt that was loose on him and flannel pants that had to be way too big for the owner of this shirt. There were bandages wrapped around his stomach and lower chest as well as around his left bicep. The weirdest part was that he felt clean.
After being held captive for what had to be three or four weeks, he had come to accept the layer of grime that had become a part of him. From sleeping on the dirty floor of his cell to the sweat from the electronic shocks they had administered to the obvious lack of opportunity to bathe, he had been dirty to put it simply. It was practically a shock to his system to feel clean after so long. His new hosts must have wiped him down as they cleaned his wounds and bandaged him up. He should feel violated, but he was too relieved to really think about it too much.
He tried to stay as quiet as he could as he moved towards the door, slowly easing the door open. It opened up into a hallway. There were three other doors identical to his own, with one only slightly ajar, the others shut. To the right, there was a set of stars, a soft light coming from the bottom. His hearing seemed to have been damaged, as he could just barely make out voices coming from downstairs. He looked around for some kind of weapon, knowing that he was likely too weak to fight back if he was attacked.
His hearing was definitely shot, because as he was looking around for something in the hallway, someone snuck up on him.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Oh Jesus Christ!” Peter exclaimed, nearly collapsing on the floor, clutching the door frame to steady himself.
Stood in front of him was a child, probably no older than five. He had dark brown hair pointing straight up and in every direction, with wide brown eyes, which were looking at him accusingly. He was clutching a spiderman plushie, with matching spiderman pajamas. In Peter’s search, he had missed one of the bedroom doors opening and the child coming out into the hallway. There was a brief commotion downstairs before two men came up the stairs, having been summoned by Peter’s voice. One was tall, slim, and had a neat beard. The other was just a tad shorter, with sandy blonde hair and intense blue eyes.
“Stiles, I told you it was time for bed,” the blonde-haired man said, picking up the small boy and moving slightly away from Peter.
“But Daddy, the dead guy moved,” the boy, Stiles apparently, said, pointing in Peter’s direction.
“For the last time, he’s not dead. He was just injured. Now, bed. You too Allison, you’re not sneaky.”
Peter turned to see another child, having to be not much older if at all than Stiles, peering around the door frame of the room next to Peter’s. Having been caught, she quickly ducked back into the room, shutting the door loudly. The blonde man disappeared with Stiles, leaving Peter alone with the bearded man.
“We didn’t think you were going to wake up for a couple more days,” the guy said quietly.
“Days? That’s a ridiculous assumption,” Peter scoffed.
He had probably only been out for a couple of hours at most-
“You’ve been asleep for almost a week.”
“A… week? That’s not possible,” Peter insisted.
“Well, it is. Come on down, you’re probably hungry,” the blonde man said from behind him, making Peter jump a little bit.
At least he hadn’t shouted this time.
He followed hesitantly, forced into action when the blonde man refused to move until Peter did. Neither man was acting threateningly or suspicious, but Peter was still on edge. He had just escaped from one set of captors, ones who tortured him endlessly for information he was never going to give them, so he was not eager to willingly go into his next captors’ arms.
Still… food did sound good.
Now that he was more awake, he felt intense pangs of hunger in his stomach. His captors had refused to feed him, and while he was surviving, technically, it didn’t stop the pains. The man with the beard sat a bowl of stew in front of. The smell pulled embarrassing sounds from Peter so, against his better judgement, he began quickly eating. When he made it to the end of his bowl, he hesitated, wanting to ask more but that felt like such a large ask from strangers. The bearded man took the option away from him though, scooping up the bowl and putting a large second helping in front of him.
“…Thank you,” Peter said quietly before tucking into the food.
“We figured you’d be hungry, between being a wolf and the state we found you in,” the blonde man smiled, tone casual.
Peter froze, mid bite. The blond man seemed to be oblivious to Peter’s panic, his back turned as he did dishes, but the man with the beard noticed.
“John,” the bearded man said softly, getting the other man’s attention.
“Yeah?” John asked, finally turning back and looking at Peter, who probably looked like he was about to bolt out the door. “Oh! Don’t stress, we’re not hunters!”
“Which is exactly what hunters would say,” the bearded man groaned, rubbing both hands across his face.
“Well, you’re not exactly helping Christopher,” John shot back, moving over to gently slap Christopher’s head which was still bent over into his hands.
“I’m not stressing,” Peter said unconvincingly.
“Oh, yeah, definitely not,” John agreed, tone sarcastic.
“Besides, we’ve known you were a wolf since we found you, if we wanted to kill you, we would have already,” Christopher said off handedly, too casual.
“And what I said wasn’t good?” John asked incredulously, giving the other man a look.
“It wasn’t! What I said was true!”
“And made us sound like psychos!”
“Well for all he knows, we could be! I mean, God, we gave him food and he just started eating it.”
“He is still sitting at the table, could you use some manners?”
Peter couldn’t contain the snort he made watching the scene in front of him. Two sets of eyes whipped in his direction, only making him smile more. The panic had receded watching the two men bicker. John seemed trustworthy (he also hadn’t been lying from what Peter could tell when he uttered the words “we’re not hunters”) and Christopher made a decent point that if they wanted Peter dead, they would have already done so. Now, if they other motives? That Peter was just going to have to learn on his own.
“You two argue like an old married couple,” Peter commented, still under the two intense gazes.
“Technically we are,” Christopher said, holding up his hand to show the wedding band on his finger.
“I am not old!” John protested. “You’re my husband, shouldn’t you be reassuring me that I still look good?”
“I didn’t say you didn’t! You know I think you look great; I really love your as-”
John slapped a hand over Christopher’s mouth, effectively cutting off the rest of his sentence, even though Peter knew what he was going to say.
“Not only are the children still here, who really like eavesdropping, but we also have a guest,” John hissed, his annoyance doing nothing to stop the glee in Christopher’s eyes. “Sorry, I think we’re really failing as hosts right now… Let’s start over. I’m John Stilinski, this is Chris. You’re currently in Montana, on our ranch. We found you passed out in one of the fields, the cows were way too interested in you, which is how we found you.”
“I appreciate your rescue and your hospitality, very, very much. I’m Peter Hale,” Peter smiled, a genuine one.
Despite the fact that he had been asleep for a week, couldn’t remember how he got here, had no real idea of where here was, and that he was surrounded by strangers, his wolf seemed to like John and Christopher. His wolf had decided that they were safe. So, even though he was in a situation he really should have been terrified in, should have been running as far as he could as fast as he could, he found himself… wanting to stay. His wolf wanted to curl up and just stay with John and Christopher.
Which, in itself, was terrifying.
***
Once he had eaten a third serving, John had shown Peter the bathroom, providing him with clean clothes and a fluffy towel. When he looked at the clock in the hallway, it was well past midnight. He tried to apologize for keeping his hosts up, but John quickly waved him off, shooing him into the bathroom. As he closed the door and got into the shower on autopilot, that’s when Peter’s head began to spin.
He shouldn’t be showering in these strangers’ house. He should be trying to escape as quickly as possible.
He should be fearful and distrustful of these men. He shouldn’t be accepting food and clean clothes from complete strangers.
He should be angry, asking these men a million questions to figure out who they are, what they want. He definitely shouldn’t feel comfortable with these men.
But alas, the practical part of his brain seems to have taken a leave of absence, and instead, he’s letting his wolf guide him. His wolf, who seems to be very, very attached to these two men already, despite knowing very little about them.
Scrubbing the shampoo through his hair with a little more force, Peter rushed through his shower.
Maybe if he just went to sleep, the morning would bring more answers.