keeper (d. Hale)

we are going home.

"Peter?!" Delilah yelled into the loft as she pushed the door open, hard enough for it to make violent contact against the wall. "Peter are you here?"

Delilah looked into the room, the furniture was gone leaving the space wide and open. It felt cold and empty as she passed the kitchen island. A few cupboard doors appeared to be left ajar as if someone was rummaging through them quickly and without care.

"Here," Peter groaned from his spot next to the window. He leaned against the wall with a pain expression, holding  up a crudely bandaged hand.

"Delilah, I told you to wait for me," Derek said as he followed her into the loft.

Delilah threw him a quick apologetic smile before pulling her hair up into a messy bun on her head.

Derek sighed and he rushed over to her as Delilah kneeled next to Peter who very much looked worse for wear.

"Did you bring it?" Delilah asked Derek as she held out her hands expectantly.

"Yeah, it's the one you keep under the seat."

Delilah kissed his cheek quickly before unwrapping the mess on Peter's hand. The bandages were crusted in both dried and fresh blood. 

"Who the hell did this?" Delilah growled as she peeled back to the layers to reveal Peter's hand.

"The cutting or the wrapping?" Peter grumbled with his eyes closed.

"Either," Derek sighed again with a pinch of his nose.

"Doesn't matter," Delilah muttered to herself. Peter's finger was completely removed from his hand. 

She let out a relieved breath as he had at least had the smarts to ensure the wound didn't close. If it did, there would be no way for her to reattach the finger, properly at least and with function. 

"Whoever did this at least had the smarts to coat the wound in a mild wolfsbane to stop it from closing." Delilah commented with a clinical air. 

She snapped on a pair of gloves as Derek brought her a bowl of hot water from the kitchen.

Derek crouched down next to her, ready for any further instructions she might give. Seeing that his wife was doing just fine he looked up at Peter who looked close to fainting.

"So?" Derek asked expectantly.

"Do you remember the Calaveras?" Peter asked with a sigh and cracked open his eye to look at his nephew. He had a water bottle in his hand that he was already cracking and offering Peter with a nudge. 

"Hunters," Derek grunted. "Dad would tell us about them. Mostly to scare us into being good little wolves."

"Good then you're aware that they aren't the nicest family to be tangled with." Derek replied as he took a large gulp of water.

"And you got involved with them how?"

"I..." Peter winced as Delilah started to work on his finger which he now realized was cleaned.

"Ow! Don't you have any anesthetic?"

"Probably," Derek said smugly as he took the water bottle out of his hand before he could spill it all over the floor.

"Keep going." Delilah whispered as she concentrated on her stitch.

"Well," Peter grit out. "They caught me when I was traveling west and the next thing I know I'm being held in another basement and they're cutting off my finger."

"Seems about right," Delilah grumbled. "Any reasonable person would do that if they met you. Now hold still or I'll put this on backwards."

"Did I ever tell you how handy it is to have a medical professional in the family?" Peter asked Derek.