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Peter liked to think of himself as a somewhat rational man. There had to be some simulacrum of rationality in order to be an effective left hand. Despite the crippling agony of almost his entire pack dying as he burned alive, he was able to keep his revenge somewhat tidy. Anyone else in his situation probably would have started ripping through the entire town.
He was rational.
Rational enough to acknowledge that he probably deserved to be killed earlier in the year. Getting set on fire again was a bitch, but why would he expect teenagers to moralize his murder? When Derek tore his throat open like tissue, Peter had felt a vague sense of worry as the alpha spark left him, and he subsequently died.
The Hale pack was matriarchal typically. There was the odd male alpha here or there, but a woman started the pack all those years ago, and tradition was valued. Talia had always anticipated being the alpha, and then Laura followed suit. The women most likely to step into alphahood were trained throughout adolescence for the potential responsibility. Men were not. Peter had been handpicked practically from the cradle to be the future Left Hand, nine and wide eyed under his aunt’s tutelage. The left hand is privy to a lot of lessons about alphahood, male or female.
Point was, Peter wasn’t trained to be the alpha. But he knew how everything worked in theory. He had experience watching countless packs, observing dozens of alphas. He knew enough to even have opinions on the Hale pack’s leadership style, not that he ever voiced them, the same way you would never argue with a doctor after reading a few medical texts.
However, in an emergency with no doctor, the man who read a few medical texts is much preferred over the man who had seen one episode of Greys Anatomy (was that show still going? There’s no way. He was in a coma for six years-).
Derek had received nothing. No training. On top of that, he was Talia’s youngest boy. He had been relatively spoiled. All of his experience with alphas had been as a beta in his mother’s pack.
Derek was not prepared for the alpha spark. Peter barely had been, Derek was so unprepared it wasn’t even funny. He hoped that Laura shared her lessons with him in New York.
God, he hoped.
Coming back to life was an ordeal. He wasn’t at his typical strength, which chafed at him. He could still wipe the floor with most wolves, but for him, this was a new and upsetting low. The only thing more unsettling was the number of new wolves that Derek had turned.
Peter had helped with the Kanima situation, pulled up to observe the aftermath. Like watching a telenovela, he watched the Whitmore boy and that wonderful banshee girl moon over each other, dashing away into the night. It had been near silent then, and he had realized that Stiles never left.
The boy he had held in high esteem looked…rough. For a human, his injuries seemed pretty serious. The teen had glanced up, resignation pulling tiredly over his injured face, “Of course you’re alive,” he sighed.
Stiles heaved himself up, eyes drifting open then shut.
“Who did this?” Peter asked, steadying him. He wasn’t bonded to Stiles, but he would likely be soon if he had his way, so the injuries rankled him.
“Gerard.” The name was spat out like foul tobacco.
Peter’s eyebrows rose in mild alarm, but then Stiles threw himself forward, energized, “Oh my god- Erica and Boyd- Peter I know you hate us and everything but please we gotta go get them- we have to!”
Peter was already hauling the shaking figure into his passenger seat, “Where do I go?”
Stiles rattled off an address. He knew the location, luckily. They tore off, and he had taken the time to question the boy.
“Who are Erica and Boyd?” He asked.
“They’re uh- uhm, betas? In Derek’s pack? He bit them along with Isaac.”
Peter startled, “I expected one beta, but that idiot turned three? Three teenagers?! Of all the asinine, stupid-“
His claws pressed at the barrier of his skin, begging him to shift. Stiles was trying to hide his reaction, but he was curled and angled as far away as possible. Right. Baby’s first torture session. He’s traumatized.
He sighs loudly, “What I mean to say is that Derek is a brand new alpha getting used to his power. Training one beta requires one-on-one supervision to do correctly. Turning three all around the same time is insanity. They can easily hurt people or lose control of their new heightened emotions.”
“Oh,” Stiles said, sitting back up, mollified, “That sounds bad. And it makes sense.”
Dread was setting in again. Dear moon above, “How so.”
The tenseness in his voice drew a nervous look from Stiles. He rumbled deep in his chest, placatingly, and was only somewhat surprised to see him relax again. The boy’s magical nature was helping the message get across then.
“Uhm, well, they all had big personality flips. Started terrorizing the halls. Beating people up. They threatened me a lot. I think because they were put off that Scott wasn’t in their pack, and I’m the easy-to-threaten human of the duo.”
Peter took a deep breath, “He. He let them just go back to school?”
“Well their parents would have-“
“Their parents?!”
Stiles looked at him wildly, “Yeah zombiewolf , I’m sure you were born from someone. Unless you hatched from an egg. That would explain a lot.”
The snark was a good thing. It meant Stiles was acting more like himself. Still, it barely registered to Peter.
“Unless the situation is urgent, you can’t just turn random teenagers without their parent’s consent. It’s a major, permanent change and in most ideal cases would require the beta to move onto pack land. If these three were turned, their parents should have been informed.”
Stiles gaped at him, “You bit Scott! You offered to bite me!!”
Peter tore around a corner, “I wasn’t in my right mind when I bit Scott. If you would have accepted the bite, I wouldn’t have bitten you in that moment. I would have informed your father. Your father does know now, yes?”
“Of course not!! I’m not a werewolf and he doesn’t need to know!” Stiles balked.
Peter went to rebuke that Stiles was magical, and that the man was the sheriff in a town full of supernatural crime, but he decided to let this rest for now in light of everything else.
“Melissa?” He asks lightly.
“Oh my god don’t call Mama McCall ‘Melissa’ I can’t believe you took her out on a date- yes she knows.”
Peter was silent, in thought. There were bigger fish to fry. An order of things. He needed to find the two betas. He needed to talk with Derek. He needed to talk to the Sheriff and Stiles about supernatural involvement. He didn’t go on a killing spree to avenge the Hale pack just for it to fall into destitution due to the actions of Derek and his teenage gang.
“Um- zombiewolf? Are you- oh fuck here! Allison’s house!”
Peter sprung into action, parking and getting out. When Stiles tried to get out after him, he firmly pushed the boy back inside.
“What?! Hey! Dude let me out, I have to help!”
Peter rolls down the windows an inch, then locks the car, “You are injured and I’m not taking any chances. You will stay in the car until I come back.”
“Like hell I will!”
Peter growls, satisfied when Stiles twitches and rears back, looking more petulant than angry now, “You will stay in the car,” he repeats, “And if I return to find you have somehow left this car, you will be in a world of trouble. Am I understood?”
The pale features of Stiles’ face were quickly overtaken by an embarrassed blush. As Peter suspected, the threat was just vague and offsetting enough to rattle the boy. He could almost see the overactive imagination working behind those brown eyes.
“Stiles?”
He huffed, “Whatever, I’ll stay in the fucking car. But if I die I’m coming back to haunt you,” despite the brave words, he smelled nervous. He slumped back into the seat.
Peter left. The house was empty. It was obviously the Argent’s home, and he wanted so badly to strike a match and turn it to ash. He resisted. Kate was dead. Gerard would be dead once he found the man, if he hadn't died already.
He followed the beta’s scents into the woods, finding the two eventually by a creek, holding each other. They looked exhausted. They barely had the energy to growl at him, their muscles twitching in aftershocks of typical hunter electrical torture. He snarled back, irritation bleeding through, but it left just as fast at the resigned horror on their faces. Like they expected him to tear them apart.
“So you are the missing betas from my nephew’s pack,” he said lightly. A nicer man, maybe a human man, would have crouched down to join them on the ground. To show them he meant no harm.
But Peter wasn’t human or nice, he wanted his dominance stark and apparent, so he stayed standing over them, cowing the wolves.
“Town is that way, you know,” he hooked a thumb in the direction of society.
The boy, Boyd he assumed, curled around what must have been Erica, “We are done with Derek and his barbaric methods of training, and all of this murder and fighting. We’re leaving.”
Peter wondered if it was too late to crawl back into the ground. They were running away. Like preschoolers that lost their dessert.
“You have no bags, no wallets, no car,” he hissed, “Stiles informed me that both of you have parents. Are you planning on living in the woods forever? Because you will be quickly caught in the next city once the amber alert goes out. And that is if you aren’t picked off first by other creatures.”
Contrite realization overcame them, mouths dropping open. Peter sighs, “Derek does not know how to be an alpha by any means. Your parents should have been informed before he turned you. You should have been arranged a leave of absence from school to settle into yourselves. However, this is a very unwise decision you two are making.”
Twin protests arose, but another growl stifled them, “No, listen. I am not insisting you come back to Derek’s pack for good. However, you two can barely stand, let alone defend yourselves. Come back to Beacon Hills. Think about things. Be with your families. I will talk to Derek about his less-than-stellar methods, believe me. If in, say, two weeks, you two still want to leave, then I will call Satomi Ito for you.”
Erica blinks, “Satomi who?”
The ground. It looked so appealing. Being dead was at least less of a headache.
“You know Burney?”
Boyd nods, “The city? Like an hour and 15 from here?”
“Satomi Ito is a well known werewolf alpha. She is known for her peacekeeping, which is unusual for a werewolf pack. You would be safe and accepted with her.”
“We don’t want another bossy young asshole ordering us around.”
Peter snorts, “Well, it's a good thing that Satomi is at least 90 with around 40 pack members last I checked.”
Priceless. Their mouths hung open in shock.
“Don’t worry about competence either,” he said, “Werewolves live much longer than humans. She is still very shrewd.”
In the end, they agreed to come back. Stiles was deep in concentration, in the driver's seat with a jerryrigged stick he had somehow acquired and twisted metal wire around. He had managed to push the window down enough to fit an arm out, and was attempting to lockpick the car.
He was attempting to lockpick Peter’s car. With a stick. And it seemed to be almost working.
If nothing else pointed towards magic, this was proof enough.
Peter smoothly darted to the car, fast enough that to Stiles, it looked like he had appeared out of nowhere. He unlocks the door and Stiles gives a startled shout, the sound turned strangled when the door swings open. His arm, which had fit in the window gap with some squirming, was then held hostage. He had no choice but to lurch out of the car, yanked along by his stuck arm. He stood, sheepish and very obviously caught.
Peter let him simmer for a second, then twisted the boy and applied a solid, crisp swat to the seat of his jeans. Stiles jumped about half a foot with a yelp, looking shocked. He turns deeply red, “What the fuck creeperwolf?!”
Another swat brought a similar cry, and Stiles stomped a foot in an effort to shake off the sting.
“You were told to stay in the car. You were told to not try and leave the car. I catch you in the act and you swear at me, pup? If you weren’t in such an awful state, this would be a much longer discussion.”
He rolls the window down, massaging the spot that was stuck as Stiles tries to process what just happened and pulls his arm from Peter’s grasp. Peter lets go and Stiles cradles the limb like it was a treasure Peter was after.
“But I- you just!”
He shakes his head, “Of course Derek didn’t dish out a single spanking, he was hardly ever swatted himself.” Once again he curses Talia’s soft spot.
“A spanking?!” Stiles looked deeply horrified at the way Peter had mentioned the punishment, so offhandedly and with clear familiarity.
Erica and Boyd caught up, having cleaned up a bit in the creek. They looked between the two in confusion, but Stiles just huffed and walked gingerly around to the passenger side and got in, crossing his arms.
They dropped Erica and Boyd off at Boyd’s house. Then Peter drove Stiles to the Stilinski household.
“Is your father home tomorrow morning?” Peter asked before he let him out.
Brown eyes went wide, “You’re not telling him! You can’t!”
“You are part of a wolf pack. You are 17. He is the sheriff. You clearly have some level of magic ability. I can and will tell him.”
Hook, line-
“I have MAGIC?!”
Sinker.
“I was the Left Hand of the Hale pack. My job was to locate and eliminate threats. I have a very good nose because of this. Magic users have a barely noticeable, but distinct, smell. You are covered in it.”
Stiles tried to reign in his excitement visibly, “You- you still can’t tell my dad! He’ll get hurt.”
“He has a higher chance of getting hurt from being in a situation out of his depth. If he knows, he can work with Chris. Get better weapons. Do you really want your father shooting at a creature like a ghoul with regular bullets?”
“..No,” he groused, then tried the handle of the door. He was halfway out before Peter pulled him back in and swatted his thigh, “Ow, Peter! Stop that!”
“You just don’t want your father to know about all of the things you’ve been getting up to. Unless your father is secretly abusive and will hurt you if I tell him the truth, you will answer my question.”
The cuts and bruises on his face made him look truly pitiful, but Peter dug in his heels, glaring.
“You’re hurting me!” Stiles tried, but Peter shook his head.
“I spanked you. Barely even spanked you. You can either answer me now and go inside and sleep, or you can go to bed on your stomach, and I will break into the station and look at the work schedule. Either way, I’ll know.”
There was silence for a while. Stiles looked like he couldn’t believe his ears. There was enough quite that Peter worried that he would actually have to follow through on his threat. He didn’t want to properly spank Stiles at all. He was beat up enough.
Thankfully, Peter heard him mumble, “He’s here tomorrow.”
Peter reached out and sapped the boy’s pain away with a touch, rumbling in approval in a manner that made him just melt. And melt. And melt some more.
“Oh, th’s nicccee…” he managed to mumble, before his eyelashes fluttered shut and Peter was left with a sleeping boy. Good, he needed the sleep. He snuck Stiles inside, up to his room. He took off his shoes and jeans, shrugging a pair of sweatpants over his boxers. Under the flannel was a bloom of bruises, but none looked threatening, so Peter just tracked down Arnica gel. After, he pulled some obnoxious band tee over the boy's head, and left him to sleep peacefully.
There was a clearly overdue conversation with Derek that needed to be had.
Derek’s loft was just as lackluster as before. He strode inside and closed the door. The blonde beta, Isaac, was sat in a daze on the couch. The others must have not told Isaac much about him at all, because the boy just perked up a little when he saw him.
“Oh! Uh, Peter, right?”
Wow, it was actually quite nice to have his entrance met with any sort of positive energy.
Some sort of nature documentary was playing muted on the television, Isaac clearly set to just fall asleep on the remarkably uncomfortable sofa. How did Derek even find it? He had never felt cushions more stiff and unforgiving in his life.
“That’s right,” he answered, coming towards the couch. He reached for the remote on the table and the kid flinched minutely, heartrate jackrabbiting.
“You look like I’m going to kill you, pup. I just think your room is a better place to sleep.”
The kid definitely used the room to the left, it smelled so much like him. As predicted, young eyes glanced at the room.
“Oh, alright,” Isaac answered, rising and walking around the couch in a way that placed distance from Peter, curiously enough. It was an interesting contradiction from the warm tone and greeting, “Are you staying over?”
Peter nodded, “You should get some rest. You had a big night.”
Isaac nodded, curls flopping up and down as he fidgeted, “Yeah, yeah, that sounds good. I have school so-“
Peter snorts, “You aren’t going to school.”
“Tomorrow is Thursday, though? And I have practice too..”
Peter shook his head, trying to find words that wouldn’t be too harsh or reignite the trauma of the night. This is where alpha training would have come in handy. He didn’t want to send the kid spiraling.
“Isaac, several people have died, and the principal is missing. This is a small town, the school is most definitely going to be shut down for a while to find replacement staff and to allow for funeral arrangements.”
He wasn’t gentle enough, Isaac’s breathing hitched. Peter strode forward, choosing to ignore the flinch and aborted half-step back, and pulled the beta to his chest. He scented Isaac purposefully, aghast at the barely-there scent of Derek. No wonder the betas were wrecks.
“Shhh pup, don’t think about it, alright? Just put on your pajamas, brush your teeth, and go to bed. I have to speak with Derek, I will come back downstairs in an hour, and I will check and make sure you are sleeping. Understand?”
The clear outline, the instructions, seemed to suck the stress out of Isaac’s body. He whined a bit, nodding, and scented Peter back in a clumsy but endearing way. Peter ruffled the curls and sent him off, happy to note the contentment in the betas scent now.
Derek’s light was off, but Peter walked in anyways. Derek was on his feet in a flash, growling at him with red eyes. Unfortunately for Derek, Peter’s wolf barely recognized him as an alpha. This was a puppy that was too big for his britches, not a leader.
That’s alright, Peter would fix that.
“Peter,” Derek growled, “Get out. I don't want to see you.”
“Well too bad, you’re not just going to see me. You’re also going to hear me, even worse,” he quipped, entertained by the anger rushing across his nephew's face. He couldn’t be too joking, though. This was serious.
“Get out!” Derek snarled again.
“Where are Erica and Boyd, Derek?”
That was apparently shocking enough to knock the young man down a peg, “What? What the fuck do you mean? I don’t have time to play these games.”
“Gerard and the kanima have been running around. Hunters are abound in the woods. Where are your betas, and why arent they here?”
“They don’t live here.”
Peter pretended to suck in a surprised breath, “They don’t?” He mocked, “The werewolf teenagers you turned without informing their parents are not living here, with you, like they should be until they can control their shifts? Most turned teens have to stay in a pack house until they are 18, Derek. Why aren’t yours here?”
Derek looked out the window, into the dark night. It was raining now, around 11pm. The streetlamps were on, giving the drops on the window little yellow contours that warped the shadow on his nephew’s face.
“They have parents,” he said, sounding tired. Well too bad. Peter was also tired. Peter had crawled out of his grave and into this shitstorm.
“Wonderful, their human parents who don’t know a thing about wolves will surely help them through this. Maybe they’ll go to therapy. Maybe they’ll take a bath, go to the spa.”
“Peter, I don’t want to hear this right now-“
Peter interrupted him viciously, “That is, if their parents had known where they were. Which they didn’t. They had no idea where Erica and Boyd were all day. When Stiles disappeared, his father didn’t know where he was either.”
The bafflement was satisfying, but bitter. God, Cora would have done more than this, and she had been 11. Max, Peter’s young cousin, would have done better and he had been human.
“Spit it out, then. You clearly have come in here to gloat about something. Did they pull one over me? Were they working with Scott, to force me to give Gerard the bite?” The words sounded raw and harsh, like they had been carved out of Derek.
Peter thought of Kate, he thought of Paige, and he felt his heart hurt for his nephew for the first solid time since his resurrection. He had been 16 when everyone died and Laura dragged him away. He most assuredly never told Laura about the way Kate manipulated him. He’d kept it all inside, like he did with Paige.
Peter was the only one in on both secrets, heavy and unaddressed between them. But tonight was not the night to address them.
“Stiles, Erica, and Boyd were with Gerard,” Peter said.
Derek rose in indignation, “Like I said, against me.”
“They were chained up in the Argent’s basement. Electrocuted. Beat up. Stiles was kidnapped, and beaten as well.”
Guilt, fast and rapid and churning, was flooding Derek’s face. His body practically shut down before Peter’s eyes. He didn’t even speak, his eyes wide and flickering red.
“They’re alright. I found them. I brought them all home. They shouldn’t have been there, they were running from you. Well, the betas were. I believe Stiles was snatched at school.”
“If they ran away, then they’re not my problem anymore. It sucks that Stiles was taken, but maybe he’ll stay out of wolf business now,” Derek snapped defensively. Guilt was being expressed in anger, anger at himself and anger at the world.
“They are most definitely your problem.”
“I’m not talking about this with the likes of you,” Derek hissed, the dark haired man turning and striding for the bathroom.
Oh that little-
Peter sprang forward, taking advantage of his nephew’s exhaustion and lack of fighting experience, and wrestled him over to the bed, “Seems like I need to have a heart-to-heart with you, my darling nephew.”
He tossed Derek over his knees, free hand grabbing his nape and flooding his smell with as much I-am-your-elder and upset-parent as he could, growling at the younger man.
The first swat seemed to wake Derek from the daze he’d fallen into, yelping.
“Peter you can’t!”
Swats rained down on his jeans, and Derek tried to maneuver off ineffectively.
“You’ll find I can. Hold still.”
Derek did not stay still. He bucked like a horse over Peter’s knee, and he wasn’t a small man either. Peter grunted, “Oh pup, this is going to be a long one.”
Wrapping an arm firmly around Derek’s midsection, he stops spanking to yank down Derek’s shorts and boxers. Derek screeched like an animal, twisting, but Peter simply hooked a leg over Derek’s, trapping them and raising his ass upwards once more.
Peter let his hand fall with a pronounced ‘smack!’ again and again. Derek kicked, he grunted, and he cussed.
“I’m too old!” He tried, and Peter landed two swats to his undercurve that left him gasping.
“You are,” Peter agreed, “I can’t believe I’m spanking my 23 year old nephew. I can’t believe he’s throwing a tantrum about it. I can’t believe he didn’t! Stop! And! Use! His! Brain!” He punctuated harshly, “You could have reached out to Satomi, to literally ANY alpha that was friendly with the Hales for advice.”
Derek’s feet started to drum against the floor, biting his lip in efforts of silence. Yelps slipped through regardless.
“Instead, you turned 3- actually wait-“ he paused, Derek sniffling.
“I have 3,” he offered thickly, “You can fucking count.”
Peter’s eyes widened, “You had 4. You scratched the Whitmore boy and then you bit him, but you didn’t offer him what he needed. And he turned into a kanima.”
Derek’s head shot back, “That wasn’t me!”
Peter found a newer, more intense rhythm. Derek’s olive skin was well on its way to a deep red, his thighs a dark irritated pink. He set out to turn them just as dark as the rest of his ass.
“Peteeeer!” Derek whined, feet fully kicking now.
“Of course, not all of the blame is with you. Whitmore had his own plethora of issues. He didn’t need supernatural abilities on top of it, especially without an available alpha that could actually comfort him through the turning. Or! Bare minimum, tell the parents.”
Actual cries of pain started to slip past Derek’s lips now, “F-fuck off!”
A hand flew back, protecting his ass from the next swat.
“Oh Derek Richard Hale, you are going to regret that. Clearly this isn’t getting through to you. Stand up.”
Derek stood up apprehensively, hand cupping his front, his face scarlet and barely teary.
“The hairbrush, Derek. Bring it.”
Derek balked, “You’re crazy. Not even Mom ever-“
“She should have!” Peter retorted, “And by the Moon if she was here she would be sending you for the brush herself, her soft spot for you be damned. Now get me that hairbrush. If you run I will catch you, and you can have a visit with my belt downstairs, without your soundproofing to muffle your crying.”
Derek clenched his fists, shaking. He stiffly walked over and grabbed the brush, dropping it into Peter’s hand like it was burning him. Before he could run his mouth again, Peter yanked him back over his thighs.
“Are you ready to listen to me, pup?” He asked, and let the first strike fall.
Derek yelped, and then whined high and loud. He breathed carefully, slowly.
Peter sent down 6 more rapid-fire spanks to his thighs, “Derek Richard, I asked you a question.”
The damn burst, and Derek began to truly cry, “Ye-hes! Yes! I’m rea-dy!”
Peter slowed down enough to give the man some time to breathe between smacks, but he didn’t change his strength.
“Now, I can admit when I've done wrong. I was half-feral and obsessed with revenge when I bit Scott and Lydia. I should have asked them, gone through the proper procedures, and told! Their! Parents!” Peter's aim was deadly, and Derek let out a shout.
“You turned 4 children, provided no instruction beyond brutal ‘training’ sessions to control their shifts, and haven’t talked to them about how to act in public. Stiles informed me that they are using their new strength at school to harass other children. This ends now. Do you hear me, young man?”
“Yessssirrr!” Derek sobbed, tears a steady stream.
“I’m stepping in. I’m not asking you to give up the spark if you still want it, but this is not continuing. I am letting the sheriff know tomorrow. I will talk to Erica and Boyd about their home life and their options. You will start acting like the born wolf I loved and raised instead of doing whatever you please, or so help me I will keep your bottom red 24/7, is that understood?”
“Yes! Yes! Uncle Peteeer I-I’m sorry- I will I willlll!” The young man said, looking contrite for the first time.
Peter hauled his nephew up into a hug, “You will start letting yourself scent others, as well. I am stepping in here. If you have a hard time spanking the teenagers then fine, I have it plenty in hand.”
Derek just whined and nodded, hiccuping, relaxing into his hold. Peter understood. Even having Derek in his lap as a very sorry, well spanked boy was making his wolf croon, because that was family. Derek was his pack. Derek misbehaved, and Peter handled it. His wolf had never felt more settled.
Peter helped Derek back into his boxers and forced a bottle of water on him. Derek just continued to cry, but his scent was cleaner. The guilt was gone. These tears were cathartic.
“Let’s get in bed,” he cooed, stroking Derek’s hair, like he did whenever he was younger. He settled Derek into a non-painful position, and was about to join him when the door knocked.
He opened it to find Isaac, looking worried and sheepish.
“I told you to sleep,” he said, unimpressed.
Isaac waved his hands nervously, “I heard muffled sounds. And crying? I couldn’t sleep.”
He tried to crane his head around Peter’s frame, clearly aiming to figure out if he had killed the boy’s alpha.
“Oh he’s fine, darling. I just spanked him, is all. He’s tired. Why don’t you join us, if you can’t sleep. We’re going to bed.”
Isaac looked like Peter had murdered his mother, “Spanked him?! But he’s an adult!”
“He’s my nephew first, adult alpha second. Now come on, it’s too late.”
Isaac shook his head wildly, “No way! You can’t just spank him, that’s terrible!”
“Come on pup, you’ll feel better after you sleep,” Peter cooed, and the pheromones nearly made Isaac give in, but he dug his heels in.
“No! This is messed up.”
Then the blonde found himself over one of Peter’s knees, and in for a brisk spanking himself.
Peter was tired. He spanked until the anger turned to begging, which then dissolved into tears. He pulled him up and to the bed.
“Isaac, hug your alpha or so help me we’ll go again.
Isaac’s scent was flickering, red rimmed eyes wide and surprised, “That was it?” He asked cautiously, rubbing his warm ass.
Peter was starting to get the picture now. He softened, “That was it. It was a lot less than what Derek got, but you and he did different things.”
Isaac worried his lip between his teeth, “But I-“
“Oh for fucks sake Isaac, I’m fine,” Derek’s grouchy voice came from the plush comforter that covered the bed, “It wasn’t like your dad. It was just a spanking and I…I feel better after.”
Isaac thought about it, inwardly speculating with himself or what have you. Before he could get too lost in there, Peter sent him scrambling into Derek’s arms with a well placed swat.
He got in after, huffing a laugh at the beta, who was scenting a ruffled Derek so thoroughly that if he hadn’t known better, he would think Isaac was attempting to eat his alpha. He grabbed both boys and yanked them forward, Derek to his chest as he wrapped an arm around the smallest spoon, Isaac, to keep him secure.
They were out within seconds.