Bela wasn't the only one who could feel the amount of spells, as Sarah had a moment in which they were quite literally smothering, brushing against her own magic in a way that simply grated, but that was no doubt because this magic had kept her from finding Peter for days. It was soon gone and then the last door that stood between them and Peter was open and she ran.
There wasn't time to focus on his state, other than to note he wasn't currently sporting any obvious injuries that weren't healing. Everything else about his state she stomached, because she had to do so, and dropped down next to the bed.
"Peter, it's me, we're here," she said, shaking him with one hand, firm and persistent, as she dug out the hex bag with the other. She had no idea if this was legitimate, but those shaman had seemed genuinely startled, so if this could block anything, it needed to be blocking Peter more. She knew, especially with him close, that even the hex bag wasn't enough to cancel out the ring, as her wearing it hadn't done so.
"Sweetie, wake up," she said, pausing briefly to wrap the drawstrings on the scrubs-like pants he wore around the bag, a quick and dirty solution, and then took his hand. "It's time to go home." It was then she realized the the signet ring was gone, but a panicked clutch of his fingers revealed something she didn't question, just accepted. Beneath his skin was a bump that felt just like the ring.
He woke, clearly groggy from both the drugs and sleep, eyes half-focused on them once they opened. There wasn't time to linger, but there was time to let him know this was real, that he wasn't imagining it. She'd make the damn time. Leaning in, she brushed his hair back, ignoring the state of it, and kissed his forehead, unsteady and slightly frantic herself, but clearly real for that feeling.
"It's really me, it's really us," she said against his skin and was rewarded for her efforts by him suddenly latching on to her with what felt like all the strength he could muster – which wasn't much, considering. It was expected, that attempted death-grip, but it was no less heart-wrenching for the feel of desperation mingled with hope that came with it.
Using that grip, she got him upright, bracing herself to get him on his feet. She wished there was more time, time for him to get his bearings and find his feet, so to speak, but there wasn't.