What Was and Now What Isn't

"S-Stiles?" The tanned one croaks, arms falling to his sides. Thomas doesn't know who he's calling to and doesn't care. He shoves past him, grabs the young werewolf on his right and puts the gun to his head. He glances towards Teresa and Minho, who form a defensive circle around Newt, who's cradling his injured arm to his chest. Thomas' jaw tightens. He raises his voice, keeps it cool and steady though he knows the werewolves can hear his heart jackhammering against his chest. "Release him. Or I will shoot."He scans the room, expects anger but only receives hurt and confused looks in return. Then that boy says it again, with more urgency and Thomas realizes in shock that it's directed at him."Stiles."