Chapter Text
Stiles has always had a rather morbid fascination with his dad’s cases. He pesters for details on grisly murders, or sneakily looks through photo evidence. Hell, he dragged Scott out into the forest in the middle of the night all to catch a glimpse of a dead body! Stiles pins it all down to natural curiosity, like how when there has been a car accident and you can’t help but to take a peek at the damage. Yet Stiles’ fascination with Isaac has surpassed that normal level of interest. To begin with, he assumes it’s because Isaac is a werewolf and Stiles has somehow slipped into the role of being researcher for all things werewolf. Then he sees Isaac at the police station. He sees Isaac cowering in the corner, eyes filled with loss and fear and something else…something resigned; as if he accepts that pain or punishment is coming his way. Suddenly, Stiles’ interest becomes something entirely different to morbid fascination.
When Scott calls him to tell him about going to Isaac’s house and how there was a freezer with scratch marks and of this creature that he and Allison saw, Stiles tries not to worry about how his mind lingers on the freezer nearly as much it lingers on the supernatural-lizard-thingy. He stays up until four in the morning that night, researching child abuse. He learns about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and briefly wonders if he has it himself (he still gets nightmares and panic attacks thinking back to the night Derek killed Peter Hale). He scrubs a hand over his face and notes how his eyes prickle with exhaustion. Victims of child abuse have enough to struggle with; fuck knows what being a freaking werewolf on top of that will do to you. Before Stiles falls asleep, he decides that he will go visit Isaac, offer some support or at least someone to talk to.
The first time Stiles goes to the train yard to visit Isaac he doesn’t even make it inside. He just sits, pulled up outside the shabby werewolf lair and stares dumbly out of the window. He’s never been friends with Isaac; they’ve never even really been on each other’s radar, and so he realises how odd it will seem for him to stroll on in with the sole purpose of simply talking to Isaac. Stiles tries to reason with himself that Derek is Isaac’s only company, and that Derek certainly won’t be dishing out the heart-to-hearts, and so Isaac will surely be grateful for any company that does more than frown and glare. However, Stiles’ body ignores his reasoning, seemingly bound with thick ropes of embarrassment and he can’t bring himself to get out of the jeep. After five painfully long minutes, Stiles restarts his engine and drives off, fully aware that Isaac – with his creepy werewolf powers - would have heard his car pull up and leave.
Over the next few days, Stiles’ life is far too chaotic to even consider another attempt at visiting Isaac. The incident in gym where Erica has a seizure, the disastrous semi-double date at the Ice Rink and being knocked out and left in the dumpster all take up time. Not to mention school, lacrosse practice, spending time with his dad and, you know, general life gets in the way. To be honest, he mostly forgets about Isaac altogether. Then Scott tells him about the fight at the Ice Rink and that, along with Erica and Boyd, Isaac had been there. Stiles is aware that he should feel some contempt towards Isaac for trying to beat the shit out of his best friend, but hey, Isaacdidn’t break his Jeep and knock him out and Isaac didn’t charge him an extortionate fifty dollars for a measly key. So, out of Derek’s three new were-puppies, Isaac is the one Stiles is feeling the least hostile towards. Plus, even Scott is aware that Derek is manipulating the betas with promises of power and, apparently, leather jackets. So Stiles decides to take another trip down to the train yard to talk to Isaac. Besides, Scott wants to warn the betas about the lizard creature and all other werewolf-y dangers, so Isaac seems as good a place as any to start.
“Hello?” Stiles calls out as he is walking up towards the entrance to the train yard. He figures that if Isaac or Derek is here, they’d have heard him from a while off anyway. “Helloooo? Anybody there? Don’t bite or claw or maim if you are, it’s only me,” Stiles calls out in a sing-song voice before remembering that Scott isn’t exactly best friends with Derek’s pack at the moment so, by extention, Stiles probably isn’t either. “Erm...Stiles. Y’know, your trusty folk lore researcher?” he adds hurriedly, poking his head cautiously through the door of a rusty train cabin. There are blankets and cushions in the corner of the cabin. They form what Stiles assumes is a make-shift bed. He steps further into the cabin to get a better look at the less than glamorous den. His face scrunches when he sees a scruffy pair of converse in the corner next to a backpack. Yep, it looks like Isaac has been living here.
“Derek’s not here,” a voice says firmly from behind Stiles, making him jump out of his reverie and spin around, arms flailing dumbly after him.
“Oh. Isaac… Hey! Erm…nice place you have here…” Stiles bumbles awkwardly, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back against one of the cabin’s walls, trying to look nonchalant. He fails. Isaac just cocks an eyebrow at him and smirks smugly (a look Stiles has never seen on his face before and instantly dislikes).
“What’re you doing here?” Isaac asks, settling down in one of the remaining train seats, legs stretched out languidly. He has the same arrogant air that Erica has adopted post-bite. Stiles wants to roll his eyes but he’s aware that Isaac is able to rip him to pieces in the blink of an eye and he doesn’t fancy waking up in a dumpster again.
“I…uh,” Stiles starts, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. Then he remembers that he brought a bunch of clothes and toiletries in his bag to use as an ice breaker; an excuse as to why he came to see Isaac. “I thought I’d bring you some stuff, seeing as you’re a fugitive and all,” Stiles answers with a smile, holding up his bag. Isaac forehead creases in confusion and his eyes have a hostile, accusatory glare to them. Stiles sighs dramatically and offers the bag forward to Isaac. “It’s just some old clothes and shampoo and stuff. I figured you couldn’t be seen waltzing into Wal-Mart and, as lovely as this abode is, I can’t imagine Derek being very helpful with stuff like this. I mean, does the guy bathe in the lake or something?” Stiles is running his mouth off again but it visibly reduces the tension in Isaac.
“Derek’s my alpha,” Isaac scolds but there is no heat in the words and he gets up and takes the offered bag and starts rummaging through the contents. Stiles scans the cabin while Isaac unpacks the bag.
“How are you doing? You know since… since the bite?” Stiles asks nervously. God, he’s crap at this. You’d think he’d know how to react around someone who’s lost a parent considering he’s gone through the same thing when his mother died. But his mother wasn’t an abusive asshole and this isn’t the only parent Isaac has lost. Isaac just raises one perfectly arched eyebrow at him and damn… the bite has worked well on Isaac as well, not just Erica. Isaac’s skin is perfect; devoid of any teenage blemishes and his jawline looks like something out of a fashion magazine.
“Why are you here, Stiles?” Isaac’s voice is harsh this time and he has stopped unpacking to stare angrily at Stiles. Stiles swallows thickly and gets the sudden, inexplicable urge to cry. He blinks quickly and straightens himself.
“Look, I just wanted to do something nice, dude. You’re a fugitive and the police think you killed your dad man, which is fucked. And you’re living in a train yard and you’re a freaking werewolf man, werewolf. I figured you could use someone to talk to,” Stiles blurts out, his hands gesticulating manically before he notices and forces his arms to hang limp by his sides.
“I’m a werewolf, Stiles. I can take care of myself. Remember the police station?” Isaac says cockily, flashing his eyes golden and showing a threatening lick of fang. Stiles’ heart speeds up but he doesn’t buy it. He notices how Isaac refuses to look directly at him and how his fingers toy with a loose string on the hem of the Henley he is wearing. Stiles notices all the small behaviours that usually fly right over people’s heads. He notices because he remembers doing the same thing. He remembers how he would deflect with sarcasm and laughter when people asked how he was after his mother’s funeral. He remembers how no one would notice him nervously chewing on the inside of his cheek while reassuring Scott or his teachers that he was fine. So he pushes on.
“Yeah, I get that bu-”
“But what?! I would have killed you if Derek hadn’t been there to stop me. You don’t owe me anything so take your pity elsewhere,” Isaac interrupts. Stiles flinches at the words. He knows how horrid it feels to be pitied. He crosses his arms again and when he speaks it’s in a firmer voice, more sure.
“You’re a werewolf. Erica and Boyd are werewolves. My freaking best friend is a werewolf. And while you all party it up with your good-looks and supernatural strength and playing on the Lacrosse team, I’m here, socially awkward and on Adderall and being…well, being Stiles. I don’t think I’m really in the position to pity. And dude,Scott tried to kill me during his first full moon and then kissed the girl I like. I get it, you guys turn into douches once a month. I’m over it, really. It’s not like you knew what you were doing” Stiles has finally, finally stopped blushing and he puts his hands on his hips with a small smile of triumph when Isaac sits back down in the train chair.
“But… I could have hurt you,” Isaac looks bewildered. His voice is full of shock and confusion, like he doesn’t understand how anyone could ever forgive him. How anyone could ever want to be nice to him without any other agenda and Stiles’ heart aches a little. He wonders why he hasn’t noticed how...well, beautiful Isaac is before. It can’t be all down to the bite. Isaac must have always had those baby blue eyes, long lashes and slightly crooked smile. Stiles just never really noticed before, which is strange because Stiles is good at noticing beautiful people. He’d noticed Lydia’s beauty before she really grew into it; he’d noticed Scott’s uneven jaw and how it made him oddly charming; he’d noticed (along with the rest of the school) that Jackson could be a model; he’d definitely noticed that Derek had the body of a Greek God. But he’d never really looked at Isaac before, not properly at least. Stiles feels the urge to cry again. Maybe if he had noticed Isaac, he would have noticed the bruises and the skittish behaviour. Maybe he could have helped.
“You didn’t though... And it’s not your fault,” Stiles reassures and the way Isaac looks back at him suggests that Isaac knows he is talking about so much more than what happened at the police station. Isaac clears his throat and looks down for a second before looking back up with a tentative smile.
“Well, thanks for the clothes. You’re right, Derek hasn’t been a great host exactly,” he jokes quietly and Stiles lets out a wild bark of laughter before plonking himself down on the chair opposite Isaac.
Stiles ends up staying at the train yard for nearly two hours. They don’t talk about Isaac’s dad much, aside from when Stiles says that he’s sorry to find out about him. He’s unsure if he means he’s sorry that he died or sorry that he was an abusive asshole, so he leaves it to Isaac to interpret it how he wants. They talk about the lizard-creature and what Isaac might do when the charges are dropped (“if they are dropped” Isaac reminds him). He even manages to get Isaac to laugh with the story about calling Derek ‘Miguel’ to Danny and the strip-tease that ensued. When Stiles walks home (reminding himself to get his jeep fixed) it’s with an extra spring in his step. He tells himself it’s due to doing a good deed and not because of how nice to was to just…hang out with someone, the way he used to with Scott before Allison was on the scene. He tells himself it’s not because of how good Isaac’s laugh - his real laugh, not his cocky huff – sounds. He’s not very convincing.