I wasn't the Argent trying to kill you -- [He says this very deadpan, but it's also a little. Defensive? It's complicated. History is always complicated. He's thankful to have more pressing problems to dwell on, like whether or not he wants to move a bunch of bodies: he really, really does not. His mouth forms a little frown as he looks them over, each one seeming to make the prospect less and less appealing. By the time he's done a full sweep with his eyes, he's already thinking about how to leave them here but not? At the same time? ]

We can't leave them here. [By 'we' he obviously means 'I'. His hand has also found his hair; there is some frustrated clawing. ] I'll call Stilinski, later. Obviously, I'll be throwing you under the bus when it comes to helping him move them.

[They're old, Peter. And you're so young, and have superhuman strength. :). ] But if we're done here, we should move before anyone comes back looking to pick up their dead friends first. I'm guessing there's nowhere you need to be, so you can take notes.