M.R.I'm Confused

Stiles decides to stop at his favorite coffee shop on his way home. He's craving something minty. It doesn't take long to get his drink and he's back out the door in minutes. He takes a gulp and hums contentedly. "Yum!" he says with a smile.

He returns to the coffee shop every day that week for the same drink but for some reason he feels off. Since the first day he went things have slowly gotten fuzzy. He's blacked out once or twice. His brain feels a bit sluggish trying to understand what's happening but the conclusion he keeps coming to is not one he can bear to consider. Not to mention his mates have been out of town, so he hasn't been able to tell them what's happening. He tried to call once, he thinks but blacked out before he could. When Chris and Peter return, they don't like the state their mate is in.

Stiles starts panicking because he realizes he's getting forgetful. He's lethargic and sometimes forgets how he ended up somewhere. It's terrifying and all he can think is: "Please. Fuck no. Don't let it be..."

At his father's urging he schedules an MRI unaware of the danger surrounding him.

He's sitting on the platform about to be rolled into the machine when Peter growls lowly from where he's watching in the observation window. "Chris? Something doesn't feel right."

Chris nods. "I agree. I can feel it too." He looks at the doctor then at Noah. "I can sense Stiles's nerves rising. Let us talk to him to smooth things over."

It's not a lie and Noah nods. Peter is by their mate's side in an instant. Stiles looks exhausted and Peter nuzzles his mate's neck then snarls, his fangs elongating. "Magic!"

Stiles pales and then glares. "What the hell do you mean Magic?" he hisses.

Chris tilts his head, able to see a barely there shimmer. "I can see it too, love."

The doctor speaks on the intercom. "What's the hold up? I'd like to get this done. The sooner he relaxes the sooner—"

Noah cuts him off. "I don't care how long it takes. If Stiles isn't calm, he's not going in."

Stiles shudders. "I'm scared. Something is off and I don't—" he gasps clutching his head. "D-Dad?"

All three of them turn to look at the observation window. The doctor is gone, and Peter can smell blood. There's a crackling near the MRI machine. In a split second Stiles is gathered in Peter's arms with Chris covering them.

No sooner have they dashed out of the room than does a surge explode within it. Stiles whimpers curled against Peter. Chris tends to Noah's head that's bleeding slightly.

When the dust settles Peter cups Stiles's face. "Sweetheart?"

All at once Stiles stiffens, his body fraught with tension and he looks at Peter with not even a single flicker of recognition. "W-Who are you? Why are you calling me sweetheart?" He looks over. "DAD?!" He pushes away from a very confused and hurt Peter. "Daddy?"

Stiles curls up against his father's side. Chris puts his arm around Peter and whispers in his ear. "Shh. I know my wolf, but we don't know what's going on. We need to stay calm."

They soon begin to realize that Stiles's memory has been fucked with. They search for the mysterious doctor but come up empty handed. Noah is able to coax Stiles to go home with Peter and Chris despite clear reluctance on Stiles's part. He's anxious and uncomfortable. Peter is adrift without his anchor and Chris is trying to hold them all together when that's usually Stiles's area of expertise.

It takes a solid week before something like confused contentment overtakes Stiles's scent. He's comfortable enough with Chris and Peter to instinctively know they mean him no harm but still doesn't really know them.