Skin Deep (Are the Secrets I Keep)

CHAPTER 13

It's countless minutes of hyperventilating in a dark corner of the lake before some awareness finally leaks back into him, slowly clearing the senseless fear from his mind, and as he gradually reviews what the hell just happened, it occurs to him that he just attacked Peter.

He uncurls himself and – trying to ignore how unsteady he feels – makes his way back up, coasting right below it for a few more seconds before meekly breaking the surface.

He catches sight of Peter right away. At least he didn't leave. The man's hoisted himself out of the water, sitting on the edge instead with his legs still dangling in, and... and he doesn't look injured but humans are fragile and there could be internal bleeding or a ruptured organ or- or something equally bad, and what if werewolf healing isn't fast enough? Stiles knows he's strong in this form. He was supposed to be careful.

He swims a little closer, then rolls out of his skin and back into his human form. He doesn't want Peter to feel threatened.

Peter doesn't look angry, doesn't smell it either, but that doesn't really reassure Stiles. Stiles would be pissed if someone hit him for no reason. Derek used to smack him around all the time and he hated it.

He opens his mouth to say sorry. That seems like a good place to start.

Except. Except Peter beats him to it.

"Are you alright?" is the first thing Peter says, and Stiles is left feeling more than a little lost. "I'm sorry, I should have said something. I just thought-" He breaks off with a shake off his head. "But that's no excuse. I apologize. Do you need anything? Water? Food? A blanket?"

Stiles stares. What? What the fuck?

"What the fuck?" He repeats out loud. "Why are you sorry? I'm the one who should be sorry! I just hit you for no reason! You should be mad! Why aren't you mad? You could be hurt! Oh my god I-"

"Stiles," Peter interrupts his rising hysteria, and Stiles doesn't even know where it's all coming from. Peter's frowning at him, and that's a little more like it. At least until he continues speaking. "Of course you had a reason. I believe the term is post-traumatic stress disorder?"

Stiles flaps his hands wildly, feeling completely bewildered. "What- I don't- I'm not traumatized and that's sort of a requirement for PTS-"

"Stiles," Peter cuts him off again, and this time, his words come out oddly gentle. "You're shaking."

He is. Stiles swallows hard and tries to breathe around the tightness in his chest. It's harder than it should be.

"I don't know what happened," He finally admits in a tiny voice.

Peter's lips thin. "I touched your scars. The place where you were hurt. It isn't so surprising that you don't want anybody near them." Something mirthless flits at the corners of his mouth. "Trust me, I know. I spent six years having no say in who laid their hands on me. My nurse even liked to... experiment once I recovered just enough for her to notice I could heal faster than the average human after she accidentally nicked me while shaving one time."

Stiles stares again, horrified because that is seriously messed up. And okay, he can totally see now why Peter killed that bitch.

"But that's- I mean this is different," Stiles insists. "We discussed this. I told you where to hold on, and you kinda have to or we're not going anywhere come July." His gaze drops guiltily to Peter's torso again. "And I hurt you."

"I'm not hurt," Peter volleys back immediately. "There was a bit of bruising but I've already healed. Mostly, I just got the wind knocked out of me, that's all. I'm pretty sure you held back too because your tail has enough muscle in it that I'm fairly certain you could shatter bone if you were so inclined or if you lost control entirely, and you didn't."