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“What have you done?” Peter said, his voice, usually as hard and cold as tempered steel, now soft and emotional in a way they had never heard him. He pushed his way into the room, shoulder-checking the sheriff out of the way as he knelt in front of Stiles, hands coming up to cup his slack face. He tilted Stiles’ head to rest against one palm as the fingers of his other hand moved to the back of his neck, gently probing the punctures there that were bleeding sluggishly down his neck. The blood was tacky on his fingers, and Peter had to swallow down a lump in his throat as memories stirred and kicked up dust in his mind. He remembered finding the same wounds on his neck, feeling the freezing shock that had enveloped his entire being, and the crushing betrayal of his sister’s actions.
“What have you done?” He repeated, finally looking up at Scott, the pack alpha he had tentatively started to accept and trust. Maybe it was all in his head, but for a second, Scott looked exactly like Talia had when he asked her that same question— detached and cold.
“It was the only way-” Scott started, only to be cut off by a vicious growl as Malia surged forward and grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him up off the couch and shoving him to the ground. She snarled menacingly at him as the alpha stared up at her in surprise and confusion, looking like a puppy that had been kicked and didn’t understand why.
“Shut up!” She snapped, pointing a clawed finger at him, her eyes shining bright blue as she stared down at him. “Stiles would have never wanted this!” She shouted as Peter watched, feeling cold as he resurfaced from the thoughts of Talia.
“But he-”
“Did you ask him?” Malia cut Kira off, looking around the room at her pack. “Did any of you?” She growled when the only answer she received was silence. “None of you had the right to do this to him. Alpha or not, father or not, pack or not.” She said, looking disgusted with the word.
“Do you have any idea of the damage you might have caused?” Peter asked, looking pained as he rubbed his forehead. “This technique… It takes years of study to learn how to do it properly.” There were so many precautions they should have taken, preparations and rituals. He knew. He’d read up on the subject extensively after his memories had been stolen.
“It’s fine, Peter.” Kira tried to reassure him. “Scott’s done this before, with the Nogitsune. You helped, remember?”
“It’s not the same thing.” Peter insisted. “That was necessary, and Scott wasn’t tearing through Stiles’ memories.” He explained, his tone growing heated as he gently guided Stiles back down against the couch. He stood and glared down at Scott, who sat half-raised from the floor with his hands held up in surrender to Malia’s wrath. “You could have killed him.”
A couple of gasps went up around the room, and in the heavy silence that followed, Peter looked around the room. The sheriff looked shellshocked, Melissa guilty, and Kira confused. But Lydia, Derek, and Scott were the ones he focused on most, seeing the lack of surprise and the simmering determination in their gazes, a self-righteous assurance that they had made the right call despite the risks.
“Wait, no. No, no, you told me this was safe,” Noah finally said, his eyes filling with horror as they darted to Stiles’ form, taking a half step forward in an aborted movement towards his son. Peter could see his fingers twitch, longing to hold his son, but guilt held the sheriff back. “You told me it was safe!” He insisted, fear and anger crashing in his tone as he glanced between Scott and his son.
“Right,” Peter said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Because something akin to brain surgery couldn’t have any risks.” He said scathingly, unremorseful when Noah flinched at the comparison.
“We did it to save Stiles,” Scott whispered, hanging his head dejectedly. “We didn’t have a choice!” He exclaimed, eyes flaring red with anger as his voice rose and he met Peter’s gaze.
“Didn’t have a choice?” Malia snarled, seething as Scott pushed away from her and stood up. “Didn’t have a choice? You had plenty of choices!” The werecoyote exploded, her eyes still glowing blue with rage. “You could have asked him! You could have given him more time to recover!” She whirled on Lydia then, growling at the sight of the banshee carding a hand through Stiles’ hair. She stalked forward and slapped her hand away, uncaring of the slight scratch left on Lydia’s hand. “You don’t deserve to touch him.” She spat. “You claim you love him, but then do this? What kind of person are you to think that you know better just because you’re dating him?”
Peter moved to pick Stiles up as Malia continued the beratement, letting loose a snarl of his own when Derek tried to protest, satisfied when that was enough to make his nephew back down with a sour look on his face. That didn’t stop Scott from trying to block his way to the door, though.
“What are you doing? You can’t just take him.” Scott complained, and oh, Peter was really starting to see more and more of Talia in him with the way he looked at Peter like the beta was the one in the wrong while not seeing how twisted his own actions were. “We’re his pack. We’re going to take care of him.”
Peter couldn’t help but scoff at that, his grip tightening on the boy in his arms, the boy Scott had wronged so terribly. “You’re not his pack, Scott. Not anymore. You gave up the right to care for him when you violated his trust the way you did.” Scott opened his mouth to protest, but Peter didn’t give him a chance. His voice grew dangerous, and his eyes lit up electric blue. “We are taking him home, and you are going to let us go without another word, or I swear that my eyes will be glowing red by the time I leave this house.”
Tension filled the room, and Peter smirked when he heard Lydia’s heart rate tick up as she swallowed thickly. “He’s not lying, Scott.” The banshee muttered, voice tight as though holding back a scream.
The tension billowed and stretched thin for a few precious seconds before Scott stepped away without a word, pressing his lips together unhappily. Peter and Malia headed to the door, and Peter only paused once to look at the sheriff, scrutinizing him for a moment. He didn’t like that the sheriff had gone along with the teenagers’ harebrained scheme, but it was clear that the sheriff was already regretting doing so. He’d have to deal with him eventually, anyway. It was unfortunate but unavoidable.
So Peter scowled, gritting out, “Follow us back. You’re the one he’ll remember. If he even wakes up.” He tacked on just to watch the guilt and grief settle harder around Noah’s shoulders.
As they left, Peter stared down at the boy in his arms and felt a harsh pang of sympathy in his chest. He only hoped that Scott had, by some miracle, managed not to mess Stiles up even more. Memories were tricky things to deal with, and Peter knew from experience how horrible it was to feel like something important had been taken from you.
Peter’s gaze fell on Malia as they loaded Stiles into the car, the pang in his chest turning to a familiar ache. Yes, Scott and the others had no idea what they had just submitted Stiles to, and Peter would be damned if he left Stiles alone to deal with the fallout the way that his own pack had abandoned him to the aftermath.