Peter hung by his wrists on wolfsbane-soaked ropes, swaying slightly, as he had for however many hours and days since he'd been brought here by Gerard. And he'd gathered very little information since then, which only made him feel worse. Worse about himself. Worse about the situation. Just... worse.

And he had nothing but time to think about exactly how bad it made him feel too.

He remembered he had bitten Lydia. She had tried to help him in his grief-stricken state. She had attempted to reason with him, offer him a way out of the hell he had brought down upon himself by keeping Derek in the dark about many uncomfortable truths for too long. And he had bitten her. Frankly, it was inexcusable. Unforgivable. Punishable by death, probably. Torture felt a touch too far, but he had committed a crime in both the human and paranormal worlds, so this could very well be exactly how it went when you got caught and Peter had just never been privy to that information.

Or maybe Gerard and Kate were batshit crazy. Either way, Peter knew it didn't matter. He was going to die in this basement.

Every once in a while, he could hear people above him in the rest of the house or cabin or whatever the fuck they were in. Sometimes it was just a few people. Other times, it sounded like a goddamn hunter convention over his head. And he couldn't make out the individual voices. Both Gerard and Kate were incredibly careful each time they left, shutting the door behind themselves. So that meant he couldn't even tell what they were saying when he was alone. And his werewolf abilities were basically gone. He couldn't use any of them with the amount of wolfsbane coursing through his veins.

Again, it didn't matter. He wasn't making it out of here alive.

He had been sliced and diced for what felt like an eternity. And his wounds had stopped healing fully. Not that either of those two lunatics left them alone long enough to find out if they ever would. But that was just Peter guessing at this point. The sting that always accompanied their blows told him that each part of his torture was laced with wolfsbane for maximum punishment. Healing wasn't really going to work with all that poison in his body.

Which was fine. He deserved it.

The door creaked from the top of the stairs and someone began their slow trek down. He didn't bother to look up, though. Or open his eyes. They were both swollen shut anyway. It wouldn't have worked.

A stool scraping toward him caught his attention against his better judgment, and he could feel someone's breath fan across his cheek in the next instant as they seemed to consider him.

"I think it's time for that story I promised you, Peter," Gerard whispered ominously, followed by a dark chuckle that made his skin crawl.

But, honestly, it didn't matter what the demented old man said next. Lately, Peter found he would be just fine if they killed him already. He was tired. And he wanted his big sister. No matter how pathetic that made him.