Bad Moon Revival - Isaac/Stiles
Art Prompt Title: 3033
Art link: Art Masterlist (Ao3), LJ
Artist: ktown01 (tumblr)
Fic Title: Bad Moon Revival
Author:jotsalot
Characters/Pairings: Isaac Lahey/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4,459
Warnings: n/a
Summary: A pack skirmish puts Stiles in danger, and it's the most unexpected packmate to the rescue.
Stiles had known about it for a while, even if Scott and Isaac had gone through hoops to keep it hidden. The special little power of theirs-the one that they practiced with Deaton-they had it down to a science. Stiles knew because he had seen it one day, when a lacrosse game had ended badly, and a teammate had raged into the locker room, throwing a fit.
Jackson had ignored him, and Scott had tried to talk him down, but the guy was a loose cannon, and nothing was getting through.
And then...there was Isaac.
He'd come from nowhere, hand outstretched as he reached for the guy's shoulder, and gripped it with his fingers. He’d said something generic at first, like, “Think about what you’re doing, and calm down.”
And just like that, the player had deflated. Isaac motioned towards the kid’s duffel bag and told him to get his stuff together and leave, and just like that, Mr. McCrazyPants obeyed and left the room in silence. He wasn’t angry about it either. He left like he had to. Like he’d been compelled.
Stiles saw the look that Scott and Isaac had exchanged. Like they’d been working towards this for a long time, and were relieved. And then they were glancing around, wary of onlookers.
And since Stiles was looking, their eyes met, and Stiles tried to ignore the goosebumps prickling on his neck. He'd seen something he shouldn't have, and Isaac knew...
...and never brought it up.
Neither did Scott, and Stiles tried not to think that his best friend was hiding things from him, because they'd shared everything since childhood, and why was now so different?
It was one thing being the human of the pack. It was another thing feeling like it.
So Stiles took to his role and spent more time alone. Until there was an emergency and Stiles was the only one who could help.
***
“What’s going on?” Stiles slid from his car, and glanced around wildly as the distant sound of shots and howls sent him cringing. Scott was at his side almost immediately, and rubbed the top of his head.
“Your hair’s longer.”
“It does that,” Stiles waved him off, knowing it had been a good few weeks since they’d seen each other last. He found himself frowning when Isaac sauntered up behind Scott, his hands tucked into his pockets. He was looking out towards the woods, completely calm despite the yells, looking completely unaffected.
Which isn't creepy at all, Stiles thought to himself.
“Did you bring it?”
“I brought them.” Stiles was already walking to the rear of his car, and opening the space to his trunk. He let Scott dig out the dart guns, and caught Isaac watching him from the corner of his eye. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, and Isaac glanced back towards the woodlands.
“Keep one for yourself,” Scott said, and shoved one into Stiles' chest. “We’ve got to keep their pack from getting closer to Beacon Hills. Remember what Derek said-”
“We’re not trying to kill them, just slow them down,” Stiles replied automatically, and he stared down at the gun in his hand, wondering how his life had come to this.
Isaac made a sound in his throat, and Stiles looked up at him, warily. The glow of the jeep's headlights turned Isaa's eyes a magnificent shade of blue, and Stiles felt ridiculous even noticing.
“You gonna be okay?” Isaac raised an eyebrow.
“Shouldn't you be worrying about yourself?” Stiles tossed back, just as a piercing scream erupted from the darkness.
Isaac gave him a less than charitable expression before Scott tugged him off.
And then, Stiles was alone.
Alone with the sounds of growls, howls, and gunshots in the distance, which he hated to admit was the norm whenever there was an ‘emergency’. While he attended pack meetings regularly, he wasn’t really on the field much, unless the situation was a dire.
“This is exactly where I wanted to be on a school night,” he said to himself gruffly, and turned a bit too late when a sound caught him off guard from behind.
“Should have stayed home, kiddo,” the voice of a woman purred, and she was a shadow that knocked the gun from Stiles' hands and forced him to the ground.
A stinging pain shot up his arm and Stiles wriggled towards his gun, acting half on instinct and half on panic. He reached for the weapon and saw the werewolf lean over him, and quickly rolled out of the way, avoiding a painful kick to the gut. He scrambled to his feet and took off, not looking back.
If there was one cardinal rule for him, the human, it was to run if he encountered anything he couldn’t take on. That had been Derek’s rule, anyway, supposedly passed down from his grandfather and his great-grandfather before him.
“It’s not worth losing a friend,” Derek had said, and Stiles had remembered raising an eyebrow, biting back the urge to ask, “We’re friends?”
And so Stiles scattered to the wind, listening as the werewolf barked out laughter and made some comment about his weapon. He heard it fire, and seconds later something whooshed past his ear. He took a sharp turn towards the area where he didn’t hear creatures of the night being mauled, and kicked up a tuft of sticks and dirt as he skidded sideways.
Something hit him.
At first he thought that it was a piece of debris that had merely ricocheted off of his jacket, so he kept running. He tore through the trees, clawing at branches, ignoring the way his chest burned every time he sucked in cold air.
And then...his feet felt heavier.
Stiles slowed.
The trees around him suddenly stretched to impossible heights, and where he was sure there was only one, now there were three.
After lurching to a stop, Stiles struggled to catch his balance, feeling dizzy as he slowly pressed through a few thorny branches, wincing when a few snapped back and whipped him on the face. He felt blood on his forehead and stumbled forward, crashing to his knees when he suddenly felt like he couldn’t support his own weight.
“Damnit,” Stiles felt around his jacket numbly, trying to see if whatever had struck him was still there. He was clumsy about it though, and gave up quickly, his attention stolen from a black shadow in the distance.
At first, it looked like a tree. A giant tree with gnarled branches. But, the longer that he stared at it, the more it seemed to change. It thinned out, and the rest of the woodlands seemed to part for it. The bulk of its branches came together to form muscular arms, and the tree seemed to hunch down, feral. And then it blinked, and Stiles saw its red eyes.
In a less than manly moment, Stiles screamed. He absently fumbled around and nearly jumped out of his skin when someone pressed behind him and caught him from toppling over.
“Whoa, whoa.” It was Isaac, and Stiles pointed and managed to say, “There’s one. Get it!”
He felt Isaac move behind him, looking around. “What? Where?”
Fear devoured Stiles when he realized that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the creature. It was like a bull waiting to charge, and it was just staring at him, playing on his terror.
Isaac nudged Stiles from behind. “We can’t stay here. We’ve got to go.” He made an effort to help Stiles up, but the world spun in Stiles’ eyes, and he went crashing back down.
Isaac paused for a moment before dropping back down to Stiles’ level. “Are you all right?”
On his hands and knees, Stiles tried to blink and clear his vision, but everything stayed blurry. He glanced up at the looming alpha in the distance, and it was now just a smudge on a dimly lit horizon.
“My back,” Stiles mentioned, and tried to feel around for whatever had struck him again. Isaac was pushing his hand away an instant later, and pulling up Stiles’ jacket and shirt, his warm hands a striking contrast to the autumn chill that crawled over his flesh.
Isaac cursed, and Stiles swallowed. “What is it?”
Isaac paused a minute before answering. “Should I even ask how you got shot with a dart? Wait, is this from your own gun?”
Stiles was mortified, and then the feeling passed. “It takes talent being me.”
He shivered when he felt Isaac’s fingers trace the sore spot of skin, and huffed, “Stop that.”
Stiles lowered his forehead to rest on his arm, which was now flat on the ground. Isaac’s touch lingered a moment longer before he tugged Stiles’ clothes back down.
“Stiles...”
“Hospital, I know,” he replied, but found that he wasn’t really willing to move. His entire body was stiff and sore. “But we can’t...”
“Get back to the car,” Isaac finished. The same crazy chick that had shot him was probably still there.
“My Jeep-” Stiles wailed pitifully, as he wondered what it's fate was in all of this.
As if sensing his growing distress, Isaac interrupted quickly with, “-will be okay.” Instead of lingering on the subject, he circled an arm around Stiles’ waist and hefted him up, grunting as he struggled to keep them both upright. Stiles moaned and fell limp before unconsciously leaning into Isaac’s warmth.
“What are we doing? What are you doing? Put me back down.”
“We,” Isaac emphasized, “are looking for a safe place where I can call to everyone else.” He then added, “I’m pretty sure the fighting’s died down. We got most of them. Let me know if you see a good place to stash you.”
Stiles frowned. “It’s too dark for me to see anything, and I don’t want to be stashed.”
Isaac half-carried, half-dragged him forward and shook his head. “Do you ever just trust your friends?”
“Do you always lie to yours?” Stiles shot back. Like most things that left his mouth, he hadn’t really thought about it beforehand. There was a long stretch of silence before Isaac whispered, “It’s not what you think.”
“I’m sure,” Stiles clung to Isaac as they drifted deeper into the woods. Isaac was taller than Stiles remembered, and strangely enough, didn’t seem upset. “Scott never told you about the animals at the clinic?” Isaac asked, but he continued, without waiting for an answer. “It’s an ability that a few of us have. We can...take the pain away from others.”
Stiles paused in his hobbling for a moment and waited for the forest to stop moving around him. He wavered unsteadily, and felt Isaac’s grip around his stomach tighten. He shook his head, feeling stubborn in his dart-pricked stupor. “Sounds nice.”
Isaac snorted and finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, attempted to lower Stiles to the ground as gracefully as possible. Stiles slid to the base of the tree Isaac had planted him against, and grimaced when he felt the bark bite through his jacket and rub at the place he’d been punctured. The silence between them stretched too long, and Stiles got antsy. “I saw you Jedi mind trick a guy, and then pretend it never happened.”
“I know.” Isaac said quietly. After a moment, he ran a hand through his hair. “Scott and I are really good at it now. We can kind of...change the atmosphere of a place. Calm people down. Anger and sadness are just other types of pain.”
Stiles stifled a laugh at how philosophical the comment had seemed. “That sounds like Deaton talking.”
“Don’t tell anyone that I memorized his speech.”
Stiles shook his head, his anger slowly seeping away, turning to something else. And then he frowned. “You’re not using it on me, are you?” he asked, completely offended.
“And risk you hating me more than you already do?”
Stiles rolled his eyes and tilted his head back against the tree before complaining. Deciding on a subject change, he frowned. “Could it be any more dark? I can’t see a thing.”
It didn’t help that his temples had taken to pounding and that his throat felt uncomfortably dry. The comment seemed to catch Isaac off guard, however, and Stiles heard him kneeling down, his hands coming to rest on Stiles up-drawn knees. “I’m right in front of you.”
Even if it was dark, Isaac’s voice was close. Inches away. Stiles narrowed his eyes, and his heart stumbled.
“I can’t see you.”
Panic fluttered in his gut. He felt Isaac lean closer and his fingers squeeze with warning. “Don’t.”
But Stiles couldn’t stop the feeling.
It came all at once-the familiar sensation of an attack. It was all spurred by an all encompassing darkness; the same terrifying embrace of feeling utterly alone and powerless. The rational part of himself knew that it was due to the poison he’d taken in, but his irrational self was blooming out of control, and he couldn’t talk himself down from his growing fear.
Stiles felt Isaac’s breath of the nape of his neck and realized that he was caged against the tree. “Don’t panic.”
And then he swallowed, wondering just how close they were, trying to imagine what kind of expression was on Isaac’s face. The lack of space between them became oddly apparent, and after Isaac seemed to notice, he pushed himself backwards and said, “I don’t want to use it on you.”
Despite the thrumming nervousness that only seemed to repeat, I’m blind, I’m blind, I’m blind, Stiles snorted. Pride got the better of him. “Don’t you dare.”
“Then don’t panic.” Isaac joked, though there was little humor in it. He sounded genuinely worried as his fingers slipped to Stiles’ calves. “
We just need to get you to a hospital.”
Stiles nodded and sat back, tipping his head backwards against the tree, looking up to where he was sure he’d be able to see the faint glow of the moon. Isaac drummed his fingers against Stiles’ jeans before slowly letting his hands drop to Stiles’ boots. Stiles felt his breath catch in his throat, just in time for Isaac to say, “I’m going to call the pack. I won’t be far, but it will be loud so...”
Stiles nodded him off, and Isaac reluctantly left Stiles to his own thoughts.
His body hurt. He was starting to feel nauseated. One minute he was too cold and shivering, and the next, he was burning up. He couldn’t think as clearly as usual, and he unconsciously shuddered against a fever that made him feel damp against the night time breeze. A piercing howl reverberated through the clearing, and it caused the hair on his arms to rise. It was thick with tension, and seemed to have two octaves of the same desperate note. It made Stiles nervous, and his heart began to race, wondering how badly he was injured if that was Isaac’s call. Stiles was shaking. His hands dropped to his sides and he grabbed at the dirt and branches below him, needing to feel something. He snapped twigs in his hands and tried to count backwards from 100, a trick he’d always used to calm down when he’d been younger. It wasn’t really working now, and Stiles was on the brink of hyperventilating when he felt warm hands grasp his own.
“You’re freezing.” It was Isaac, and no, Stiles didn’t appreciate him acting like there was nothing wrong. Snatching his hands back, Stiles pressed himself as tightly as he could against the tree behind him, and let out a series of shaky breaths. “Stiles, I will use it.” Isaac threatened.
“Don’t-”
“Calm down.” Isaac demanded.
“I can’t see. What if I’m blind? Seriously, what if I am, and I’ll never be able to see the sun and my dad and Lydia, and -”
“Then I’ll just have to remind you what they look like,” Isaac interrupted, and his fingers curled around Stiles’ neck. There was a small prick of pain, and Stiles winced, confused.
“What are you-” And suddenly, he was swimming in Isaac’s thoughts.
“Memory sharing,” Isaac told him. The tone of the pictures in his mind were anything but stale, as colorful images of golden summer suns and crystal clear lakes tumbled from Isaac’s mind to Stiles’.
“I won’t let you forget,” Isaac pressed closer, “so calm down.”
There were remembrances of the Sheriff, all from Isaac’s point of view. In one, he was huddled with patrolman on the highway, barely lit by street lamps. In another, he was smiling wryly at parent teacher conferences when it was mentioned that Stiles talked too much. Overlapping Sheriff Stilinski’s expression of unconditional love was a brief string of memories of Isaac’s dad. Smiles that were menacing - eyes that never showed any approval. But there was one memory, from when Isaac had been very young, when his father had looked at him with adoration, and Stiles could feel the way that Isaac clung to that memory, heart and soul.
And as quickly as he’d seen the memory, it was stolen away, like something private. The emotion behind it lingered however, tickling at Stiles senses.
Until he saw more colors rush past, and he chased them.
Isaac tried pulling away, but with a small amount of strength, Stiles kept him close. He could feel Isaac’s cheek close to his own; the warmth between them was thick. But he was being drugged by radiant depictions and precise recollections, and found that he wanted more.
So he reached for another, and snatched it up.
The memory was one of many. One was Stiles laughing at a joke Scott had made during chemistry, his eyes unusually bright. Stiles felt himself frown - were his eyes always that bright?
And then there was another one, where Stiles had been waiting by his Jeep after school. It was like a candid piece of photography; a moment caught in time, where Stiles looked more vulnerable than he’d ever thought possible, staring into the distance, defeated. The next instant Scott had run to him and his entire face had changed-he was smiling and joking, mask in place. But Isaac’s memories kept darting back to what he’d looked like before, and lingering on the sound of his heart, slowly treading through the shallow waters of Stiles’ thoughts.
Stiles dug deeper. He could feel Isaac’s breath on him, but hardly noticed it as the next memory drifted by. It had been a pack meeting, and Allison had been the target. She’d done too much, gone too far, and Scott was sitting on the couch, massaging his temples, hurting. Like anyone would have expected, Stiles stood up for him. He got angry enough that everyone listened, and hardly realized that the room had quieted just for him. That he meant that much, or had that strong of a voice.
And then the memory was back, of Stiles standing beside his car, with that expression that hurt to look at.
Stiles saw one more memory, by accident, as it whooshed past. It was much simpler, but the emotions behind it were more complex. He’d pushed past Isaac once in order to leave the locker room, and they’d been pressed together for a small moment. That small moment had sent fire through Isaac. Stiles had turned to say he was sorry, but at seeing it had been Isaac that he’d bumped into, he’d merely frowned. But...the flame hadn’t disappeared. It had merely dimmed, dragged into a half hearted departure as Stiles disappeared from the hallway and from sight.
Stiles swallowed as Isaac’s feelings settled with him, imbedded in his mind now that he’d seen just a few small glimpses of himself from Isaac’s point of view.
There was silence.
“Are you done?” Isaac’s voice was low, and Stiles would have let go, but he was afraid for some reason. He couldn’t see Isaac’s face, and could only imagine what was there-anger? Frustration? Embarrassment?
“There, uh,” Stiles breathed lightly. “There weren’t any of Lydia in there.”
“I’m not usually looking at Lydia.”
“Oh,” Stiles said stupidly.
Isaac slowly pulled his fingers away from Stiles neck, and the sensation made Stiles shiver.
“But you hate me.”
“Obviously not.” Isaac sounded exhausted, and Stiles frowned.
“But you stole Scott.”
“Come on,” Isaac growled, definitely sounding like this was a conversation he was not ready for. “Scott’s you’re best friend. Of course I’d want to get closer to him.”
“You stole him.” Stiles clarified.
“I was trying to get to you!” Isaac shouted, and Stiles jumped, not expecting the outburst. Before he could say anything, Isaac continued.
“I tried to become friends with you and you weren’t having it. And I like Scott better than Derek when it comes to ideals, so I didn’t have to second guess becoming his friend. But then, instead of you changing your mind about me, you just...disappeared. Scott’s been worried about you-you don’t talk to anyone anymore. And I...”
Stiles was breathing heavily, and he asked, “You what?”
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone.”
For a small moment in time, Stiles was grateful that he couldn’t see. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the expression on Isaac’s face, mostly because he wasn’t sure what his own was doing. He was completely caught off guard, and his heart was a fumbling mess of confused emotion.
Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but Isaac was pushing away. “The pack’s here.”
And so Stiles pursed his lips and adjusted to the cold without Isaac hovering so close, at least until Scott was embracing him and pulling him up, and Derek was giving orders, and the pack became a unit for his own sake. In less time than he thought possible, Stiles was packed into his Jeep (which had been thankfully secured) and was on his way to the hospital. He tugged at Scott’s sleeve absently on the drive, which caused his best friend to lean in close.
Stiles sighed. “Don’t let my dad yell at me.”
If he could see, he imagined that Scott and Isaac would be exchanging a look. Scott laughed and nodded against him. “Sure thing.”
***
A few weeks later…
On their way into Deaton’s clinic, Stiles spun around to face Isaac. “I know you were secretly hoping that I’d be blind for forever.”
The werewolf frowned. “And why is that?”
Stiles looked pleased that Isaac had walked into the trap that he’d set. “So I wouldn’t notice you staring at me all of the time. It’s creepy, by the way.”
“You already never noticed,” Isaac pointed out, and dropped his backpack onto a table in the back room. “And you’re being paranoid.”
Stiles followed in suit. “Who wouldn’t be paranoid with you on the prowl?”
“Is that what you’re calling it now?”
“It sounds better than the hunt. I’m not a meal.” He gave Isaac a decent sidelong glance, and their eyes held just long enough for the tension between them to become realized.
Stiles tipped back against the table, and Isaac ran a hand through his hair. Finally, Stiles said, “You know, you weren’t really fair out there.”
Isaac rolled his eyes. “This again?”
“No, no. You kept doing this thing, and it drove me nuts.”
Isaac’s expression didn’t change, though he did manage to look more confused. And then, realizing that Stiles was being playful, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave in.
“And what’s that?”
Stiles propped his hands against the table and closed his eyes. “I’m in the middle of the forest, blind, and scared out of my mind. And you keep...leaning in closer to me. Like, I can feel you right there, but I can’t see you, and I’m wondering how close you are, and thinking that you might-”
Isaac kissed him, and Stiles’ eyes flew open. It was a chaste brush of the lips, and Stiles found himself diving away and wiping at his mouth.
“You thought I might do that?”
Stiles sucked in a breath and answered, “See what I mean? Not fair!”
Isaac’s head fell sideways and a curl of bangs slipped over his forehead. He was smirking.
“I’m trying to be your friend here.” Stiles said threateningly, mostly because Isaac looked so damn smug.
“I know,” Isaac’s smile dimmed and he glanced around the room before meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Thank you.”
“Friend,” Stiles emphasized, though he wondered if he meant it. There was something between them now, and only time would turn it to something more than a flicker of attraction and respect.
They heard the front door chime open and Stiles jumped. Scott lumbered in, looking like he’d had a rough day, and glanced between Stiles and Isaac, seemingly surprised to see them both in the same room.
“I’ve come out of hiding,” Stiles stated. “I miss my best friend.”
Scott narrowed his eyes, and then smiled happily. “It’s good to have you back. He’s not funny,” he pointed to Isaac, disappointed.
“You didn’t see him a minute ago,” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, and Isaac copped a smile and snorted.
Scott glanced between them, oddly aware. “Do I want to know?”
Stiles gaped. “You knew about this too?” He motioned between Isaac and himself, like there was something visible between them.
Scott scratched his head and rubbed at his hair. “Uh, well, I can kind of sense some things-“
“Ugh,” Stiles groaned. “Now my best friend’s an e-motion sensor.”
Scott cracked up and pointed at Stiles while throwing Isaac a wide grin. “See? He’s funny.”
“My pain is hilarious,” Stiles pouted.
“What Scott is trying to say,” Isaac explained, “is that I’m not you.”
“Not even close,” Scott agreed, and then threw a grin Isaac’s direction. “No offense.”
Stiles watched as Isaac shrugged and allowed his lip to quirk into a half smile. “Stiles can’t be replaced.”
“Nope.” Scott added again. “Which is why I’m glad you’re back. I kind of missed my best friend, too.”
Stiles looked back and forth between the two other boys and sighed. “Flattery will get you everywhere today.”
“Is that right?” Isaac asked, and Scott smacked him over the head with his lacrosse stick.
Isaac managed to look completely offended as Scott grinned guiltily and from the front of the clinic came Dr. Deaton’s voice.
“Ready for practice?”
“Time to focus it in,” Scott sighed, and Isaac followed him out, tossing Stiles a comforting look from over his shoulder. They had work to do with Deaton, and Stiles was just fine researching on his laptop in the room next door.
For the first time in a long time, being the human of the pack didn’t feel so lonely.
Art link: Art Masterlist (Ao3), LJ
Artist: ktown01 (tumblr)
Fic Title: Bad Moon Revival
Author:jotsalot
Characters/Pairings: Isaac Lahey/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4,459
Warnings: n/a
Summary: A pack skirmish puts Stiles in danger, and it's the most unexpected packmate to the rescue.
Stiles had known about it for a while, even if Scott and Isaac had gone through hoops to keep it hidden. The special little power of theirs-the one that they practiced with Deaton-they had it down to a science. Stiles knew because he had seen it one day, when a lacrosse game had ended badly, and a teammate had raged into the locker room, throwing a fit.
Jackson had ignored him, and Scott had tried to talk him down, but the guy was a loose cannon, and nothing was getting through.
And then...there was Isaac.
He'd come from nowhere, hand outstretched as he reached for the guy's shoulder, and gripped it with his fingers. He’d said something generic at first, like, “Think about what you’re doing, and calm down.”
And just like that, the player had deflated. Isaac motioned towards the kid’s duffel bag and told him to get his stuff together and leave, and just like that, Mr. McCrazyPants obeyed and left the room in silence. He wasn’t angry about it either. He left like he had to. Like he’d been compelled.
Stiles saw the look that Scott and Isaac had exchanged. Like they’d been working towards this for a long time, and were relieved. And then they were glancing around, wary of onlookers.
And since Stiles was looking, their eyes met, and Stiles tried to ignore the goosebumps prickling on his neck. He'd seen something he shouldn't have, and Isaac knew...
...and never brought it up.
Neither did Scott, and Stiles tried not to think that his best friend was hiding things from him, because they'd shared everything since childhood, and why was now so different?
It was one thing being the human of the pack. It was another thing feeling like it.
So Stiles took to his role and spent more time alone. Until there was an emergency and Stiles was the only one who could help.
***
“What’s going on?” Stiles slid from his car, and glanced around wildly as the distant sound of shots and howls sent him cringing. Scott was at his side almost immediately, and rubbed the top of his head.
“Your hair’s longer.”
“It does that,” Stiles waved him off, knowing it had been a good few weeks since they’d seen each other last. He found himself frowning when Isaac sauntered up behind Scott, his hands tucked into his pockets. He was looking out towards the woods, completely calm despite the yells, looking completely unaffected.
Which isn't creepy at all, Stiles thought to himself.
“Did you bring it?”
“I brought them.” Stiles was already walking to the rear of his car, and opening the space to his trunk. He let Scott dig out the dart guns, and caught Isaac watching him from the corner of his eye. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, and Isaac glanced back towards the woodlands.
“Keep one for yourself,” Scott said, and shoved one into Stiles' chest. “We’ve got to keep their pack from getting closer to Beacon Hills. Remember what Derek said-”
“We’re not trying to kill them, just slow them down,” Stiles replied automatically, and he stared down at the gun in his hand, wondering how his life had come to this.
Isaac made a sound in his throat, and Stiles looked up at him, warily. The glow of the jeep's headlights turned Isaa's eyes a magnificent shade of blue, and Stiles felt ridiculous even noticing.
“You gonna be okay?” Isaac raised an eyebrow.
“Shouldn't you be worrying about yourself?” Stiles tossed back, just as a piercing scream erupted from the darkness.
Isaac gave him a less than charitable expression before Scott tugged him off.
And then, Stiles was alone.
Alone with the sounds of growls, howls, and gunshots in the distance, which he hated to admit was the norm whenever there was an ‘emergency’. While he attended pack meetings regularly, he wasn’t really on the field much, unless the situation was a dire.
“This is exactly where I wanted to be on a school night,” he said to himself gruffly, and turned a bit too late when a sound caught him off guard from behind.
“Should have stayed home, kiddo,” the voice of a woman purred, and she was a shadow that knocked the gun from Stiles' hands and forced him to the ground.
A stinging pain shot up his arm and Stiles wriggled towards his gun, acting half on instinct and half on panic. He reached for the weapon and saw the werewolf lean over him, and quickly rolled out of the way, avoiding a painful kick to the gut. He scrambled to his feet and took off, not looking back.
If there was one cardinal rule for him, the human, it was to run if he encountered anything he couldn’t take on. That had been Derek’s rule, anyway, supposedly passed down from his grandfather and his great-grandfather before him.
“It’s not worth losing a friend,” Derek had said, and Stiles had remembered raising an eyebrow, biting back the urge to ask, “We’re friends?”
And so Stiles scattered to the wind, listening as the werewolf barked out laughter and made some comment about his weapon. He heard it fire, and seconds later something whooshed past his ear. He took a sharp turn towards the area where he didn’t hear creatures of the night being mauled, and kicked up a tuft of sticks and dirt as he skidded sideways.
Something hit him.
At first he thought that it was a piece of debris that had merely ricocheted off of his jacket, so he kept running. He tore through the trees, clawing at branches, ignoring the way his chest burned every time he sucked in cold air.
And then...his feet felt heavier.
Stiles slowed.
The trees around him suddenly stretched to impossible heights, and where he was sure there was only one, now there were three.
After lurching to a stop, Stiles struggled to catch his balance, feeling dizzy as he slowly pressed through a few thorny branches, wincing when a few snapped back and whipped him on the face. He felt blood on his forehead and stumbled forward, crashing to his knees when he suddenly felt like he couldn’t support his own weight.
“Damnit,” Stiles felt around his jacket numbly, trying to see if whatever had struck him was still there. He was clumsy about it though, and gave up quickly, his attention stolen from a black shadow in the distance.
At first, it looked like a tree. A giant tree with gnarled branches. But, the longer that he stared at it, the more it seemed to change. It thinned out, and the rest of the woodlands seemed to part for it. The bulk of its branches came together to form muscular arms, and the tree seemed to hunch down, feral. And then it blinked, and Stiles saw its red eyes.
In a less than manly moment, Stiles screamed. He absently fumbled around and nearly jumped out of his skin when someone pressed behind him and caught him from toppling over.
“Whoa, whoa.” It was Isaac, and Stiles pointed and managed to say, “There’s one. Get it!”
He felt Isaac move behind him, looking around. “What? Where?”
Fear devoured Stiles when he realized that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the creature. It was like a bull waiting to charge, and it was just staring at him, playing on his terror.
Isaac nudged Stiles from behind. “We can’t stay here. We’ve got to go.” He made an effort to help Stiles up, but the world spun in Stiles’ eyes, and he went crashing back down.
Isaac paused for a moment before dropping back down to Stiles’ level. “Are you all right?”
On his hands and knees, Stiles tried to blink and clear his vision, but everything stayed blurry. He glanced up at the looming alpha in the distance, and it was now just a smudge on a dimly lit horizon.
“My back,” Stiles mentioned, and tried to feel around for whatever had struck him again. Isaac was pushing his hand away an instant later, and pulling up Stiles’ jacket and shirt, his warm hands a striking contrast to the autumn chill that crawled over his flesh.
Isaac cursed, and Stiles swallowed. “What is it?”
Isaac paused a minute before answering. “Should I even ask how you got shot with a dart? Wait, is this from your own gun?”
Stiles was mortified, and then the feeling passed. “It takes talent being me.”
He shivered when he felt Isaac’s fingers trace the sore spot of skin, and huffed, “Stop that.”
Stiles lowered his forehead to rest on his arm, which was now flat on the ground. Isaac’s touch lingered a moment longer before he tugged Stiles’ clothes back down.
“Stiles...”
“Hospital, I know,” he replied, but found that he wasn’t really willing to move. His entire body was stiff and sore. “But we can’t...”
“Get back to the car,” Isaac finished. The same crazy chick that had shot him was probably still there.
“My Jeep-” Stiles wailed pitifully, as he wondered what it's fate was in all of this.
As if sensing his growing distress, Isaac interrupted quickly with, “-will be okay.” Instead of lingering on the subject, he circled an arm around Stiles’ waist and hefted him up, grunting as he struggled to keep them both upright. Stiles moaned and fell limp before unconsciously leaning into Isaac’s warmth.
“What are we doing? What are you doing? Put me back down.”
“We,” Isaac emphasized, “are looking for a safe place where I can call to everyone else.” He then added, “I’m pretty sure the fighting’s died down. We got most of them. Let me know if you see a good place to stash you.”
Stiles frowned. “It’s too dark for me to see anything, and I don’t want to be stashed.”
Isaac half-carried, half-dragged him forward and shook his head. “Do you ever just trust your friends?”
“Do you always lie to yours?” Stiles shot back. Like most things that left his mouth, he hadn’t really thought about it beforehand. There was a long stretch of silence before Isaac whispered, “It’s not what you think.”
“I’m sure,” Stiles clung to Isaac as they drifted deeper into the woods. Isaac was taller than Stiles remembered, and strangely enough, didn’t seem upset. “Scott never told you about the animals at the clinic?” Isaac asked, but he continued, without waiting for an answer. “It’s an ability that a few of us have. We can...take the pain away from others.”
Stiles paused in his hobbling for a moment and waited for the forest to stop moving around him. He wavered unsteadily, and felt Isaac’s grip around his stomach tighten. He shook his head, feeling stubborn in his dart-pricked stupor. “Sounds nice.”
Isaac snorted and finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, attempted to lower Stiles to the ground as gracefully as possible. Stiles slid to the base of the tree Isaac had planted him against, and grimaced when he felt the bark bite through his jacket and rub at the place he’d been punctured. The silence between them stretched too long, and Stiles got antsy. “I saw you Jedi mind trick a guy, and then pretend it never happened.”
“I know.” Isaac said quietly. After a moment, he ran a hand through his hair. “Scott and I are really good at it now. We can kind of...change the atmosphere of a place. Calm people down. Anger and sadness are just other types of pain.”
Stiles stifled a laugh at how philosophical the comment had seemed. “That sounds like Deaton talking.”
“Don’t tell anyone that I memorized his speech.”
Stiles shook his head, his anger slowly seeping away, turning to something else. And then he frowned. “You’re not using it on me, are you?” he asked, completely offended.
“And risk you hating me more than you already do?”
Stiles rolled his eyes and tilted his head back against the tree before complaining. Deciding on a subject change, he frowned. “Could it be any more dark? I can’t see a thing.”
It didn’t help that his temples had taken to pounding and that his throat felt uncomfortably dry. The comment seemed to catch Isaac off guard, however, and Stiles heard him kneeling down, his hands coming to rest on Stiles up-drawn knees. “I’m right in front of you.”
Even if it was dark, Isaac’s voice was close. Inches away. Stiles narrowed his eyes, and his heart stumbled.
“I can’t see you.”
Panic fluttered in his gut. He felt Isaac lean closer and his fingers squeeze with warning. “Don’t.”
But Stiles couldn’t stop the feeling.
It came all at once-the familiar sensation of an attack. It was all spurred by an all encompassing darkness; the same terrifying embrace of feeling utterly alone and powerless. The rational part of himself knew that it was due to the poison he’d taken in, but his irrational self was blooming out of control, and he couldn’t talk himself down from his growing fear.
Stiles felt Isaac’s breath of the nape of his neck and realized that he was caged against the tree. “Don’t panic.”
And then he swallowed, wondering just how close they were, trying to imagine what kind of expression was on Isaac’s face. The lack of space between them became oddly apparent, and after Isaac seemed to notice, he pushed himself backwards and said, “I don’t want to use it on you.”
Despite the thrumming nervousness that only seemed to repeat, I’m blind, I’m blind, I’m blind, Stiles snorted. Pride got the better of him. “Don’t you dare.”
“Then don’t panic.” Isaac joked, though there was little humor in it. He sounded genuinely worried as his fingers slipped to Stiles’ calves. “
We just need to get you to a hospital.”
Stiles nodded and sat back, tipping his head backwards against the tree, looking up to where he was sure he’d be able to see the faint glow of the moon. Isaac drummed his fingers against Stiles’ jeans before slowly letting his hands drop to Stiles’ boots. Stiles felt his breath catch in his throat, just in time for Isaac to say, “I’m going to call the pack. I won’t be far, but it will be loud so...”
Stiles nodded him off, and Isaac reluctantly left Stiles to his own thoughts.
His body hurt. He was starting to feel nauseated. One minute he was too cold and shivering, and the next, he was burning up. He couldn’t think as clearly as usual, and he unconsciously shuddered against a fever that made him feel damp against the night time breeze. A piercing howl reverberated through the clearing, and it caused the hair on his arms to rise. It was thick with tension, and seemed to have two octaves of the same desperate note. It made Stiles nervous, and his heart began to race, wondering how badly he was injured if that was Isaac’s call. Stiles was shaking. His hands dropped to his sides and he grabbed at the dirt and branches below him, needing to feel something. He snapped twigs in his hands and tried to count backwards from 100, a trick he’d always used to calm down when he’d been younger. It wasn’t really working now, and Stiles was on the brink of hyperventilating when he felt warm hands grasp his own.
“You’re freezing.” It was Isaac, and no, Stiles didn’t appreciate him acting like there was nothing wrong. Snatching his hands back, Stiles pressed himself as tightly as he could against the tree behind him, and let out a series of shaky breaths. “Stiles, I will use it.” Isaac threatened.
“Don’t-”
“Calm down.” Isaac demanded.
“I can’t see. What if I’m blind? Seriously, what if I am, and I’ll never be able to see the sun and my dad and Lydia, and -”
“Then I’ll just have to remind you what they look like,” Isaac interrupted, and his fingers curled around Stiles’ neck. There was a small prick of pain, and Stiles winced, confused.
“What are you-” And suddenly, he was swimming in Isaac’s thoughts.
“Memory sharing,” Isaac told him. The tone of the pictures in his mind were anything but stale, as colorful images of golden summer suns and crystal clear lakes tumbled from Isaac’s mind to Stiles’.
“I won’t let you forget,” Isaac pressed closer, “so calm down.”
There were remembrances of the Sheriff, all from Isaac’s point of view. In one, he was huddled with patrolman on the highway, barely lit by street lamps. In another, he was smiling wryly at parent teacher conferences when it was mentioned that Stiles talked too much. Overlapping Sheriff Stilinski’s expression of unconditional love was a brief string of memories of Isaac’s dad. Smiles that were menacing - eyes that never showed any approval. But there was one memory, from when Isaac had been very young, when his father had looked at him with adoration, and Stiles could feel the way that Isaac clung to that memory, heart and soul.
And as quickly as he’d seen the memory, it was stolen away, like something private. The emotion behind it lingered however, tickling at Stiles senses.
Until he saw more colors rush past, and he chased them.
Isaac tried pulling away, but with a small amount of strength, Stiles kept him close. He could feel Isaac’s cheek close to his own; the warmth between them was thick. But he was being drugged by radiant depictions and precise recollections, and found that he wanted more.
So he reached for another, and snatched it up.
The memory was one of many. One was Stiles laughing at a joke Scott had made during chemistry, his eyes unusually bright. Stiles felt himself frown - were his eyes always that bright?
And then there was another one, where Stiles had been waiting by his Jeep after school. It was like a candid piece of photography; a moment caught in time, where Stiles looked more vulnerable than he’d ever thought possible, staring into the distance, defeated. The next instant Scott had run to him and his entire face had changed-he was smiling and joking, mask in place. But Isaac’s memories kept darting back to what he’d looked like before, and lingering on the sound of his heart, slowly treading through the shallow waters of Stiles’ thoughts.
Stiles dug deeper. He could feel Isaac’s breath on him, but hardly noticed it as the next memory drifted by. It had been a pack meeting, and Allison had been the target. She’d done too much, gone too far, and Scott was sitting on the couch, massaging his temples, hurting. Like anyone would have expected, Stiles stood up for him. He got angry enough that everyone listened, and hardly realized that the room had quieted just for him. That he meant that much, or had that strong of a voice.
And then the memory was back, of Stiles standing beside his car, with that expression that hurt to look at.
Stiles saw one more memory, by accident, as it whooshed past. It was much simpler, but the emotions behind it were more complex. He’d pushed past Isaac once in order to leave the locker room, and they’d been pressed together for a small moment. That small moment had sent fire through Isaac. Stiles had turned to say he was sorry, but at seeing it had been Isaac that he’d bumped into, he’d merely frowned. But...the flame hadn’t disappeared. It had merely dimmed, dragged into a half hearted departure as Stiles disappeared from the hallway and from sight.
Stiles swallowed as Isaac’s feelings settled with him, imbedded in his mind now that he’d seen just a few small glimpses of himself from Isaac’s point of view.
There was silence.
“Are you done?” Isaac’s voice was low, and Stiles would have let go, but he was afraid for some reason. He couldn’t see Isaac’s face, and could only imagine what was there-anger? Frustration? Embarrassment?
“There, uh,” Stiles breathed lightly. “There weren’t any of Lydia in there.”
“I’m not usually looking at Lydia.”
“Oh,” Stiles said stupidly.
Isaac slowly pulled his fingers away from Stiles neck, and the sensation made Stiles shiver.
“But you hate me.”
“Obviously not.” Isaac sounded exhausted, and Stiles frowned.
“But you stole Scott.”
“Come on,” Isaac growled, definitely sounding like this was a conversation he was not ready for. “Scott’s you’re best friend. Of course I’d want to get closer to him.”
“You stole him.” Stiles clarified.
“I was trying to get to you!” Isaac shouted, and Stiles jumped, not expecting the outburst. Before he could say anything, Isaac continued.
“I tried to become friends with you and you weren’t having it. And I like Scott better than Derek when it comes to ideals, so I didn’t have to second guess becoming his friend. But then, instead of you changing your mind about me, you just...disappeared. Scott’s been worried about you-you don’t talk to anyone anymore. And I...”
Stiles was breathing heavily, and he asked, “You what?”
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone.”
For a small moment in time, Stiles was grateful that he couldn’t see. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the expression on Isaac’s face, mostly because he wasn’t sure what his own was doing. He was completely caught off guard, and his heart was a fumbling mess of confused emotion.
Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but Isaac was pushing away. “The pack’s here.”
And so Stiles pursed his lips and adjusted to the cold without Isaac hovering so close, at least until Scott was embracing him and pulling him up, and Derek was giving orders, and the pack became a unit for his own sake. In less time than he thought possible, Stiles was packed into his Jeep (which had been thankfully secured) and was on his way to the hospital. He tugged at Scott’s sleeve absently on the drive, which caused his best friend to lean in close.
Stiles sighed. “Don’t let my dad yell at me.”
If he could see, he imagined that Scott and Isaac would be exchanging a look. Scott laughed and nodded against him. “Sure thing.”
***
A few weeks later…
On their way into Deaton’s clinic, Stiles spun around to face Isaac. “I know you were secretly hoping that I’d be blind for forever.”
The werewolf frowned. “And why is that?”
Stiles looked pleased that Isaac had walked into the trap that he’d set. “So I wouldn’t notice you staring at me all of the time. It’s creepy, by the way.”
“You already never noticed,” Isaac pointed out, and dropped his backpack onto a table in the back room. “And you’re being paranoid.”
Stiles followed in suit. “Who wouldn’t be paranoid with you on the prowl?”
“Is that what you’re calling it now?”
“It sounds better than the hunt. I’m not a meal.” He gave Isaac a decent sidelong glance, and their eyes held just long enough for the tension between them to become realized.
Stiles tipped back against the table, and Isaac ran a hand through his hair. Finally, Stiles said, “You know, you weren’t really fair out there.”
Isaac rolled his eyes. “This again?”
“No, no. You kept doing this thing, and it drove me nuts.”
Isaac’s expression didn’t change, though he did manage to look more confused. And then, realizing that Stiles was being playful, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave in.
“And what’s that?”
Stiles propped his hands against the table and closed his eyes. “I’m in the middle of the forest, blind, and scared out of my mind. And you keep...leaning in closer to me. Like, I can feel you right there, but I can’t see you, and I’m wondering how close you are, and thinking that you might-”
Isaac kissed him, and Stiles’ eyes flew open. It was a chaste brush of the lips, and Stiles found himself diving away and wiping at his mouth.
“You thought I might do that?”
Stiles sucked in a breath and answered, “See what I mean? Not fair!”
Isaac’s head fell sideways and a curl of bangs slipped over his forehead. He was smirking.
“I’m trying to be your friend here.” Stiles said threateningly, mostly because Isaac looked so damn smug.
“I know,” Isaac’s smile dimmed and he glanced around the room before meeting Stiles’ eyes. “Thank you.”
“Friend,” Stiles emphasized, though he wondered if he meant it. There was something between them now, and only time would turn it to something more than a flicker of attraction and respect.
They heard the front door chime open and Stiles jumped. Scott lumbered in, looking like he’d had a rough day, and glanced between Stiles and Isaac, seemingly surprised to see them both in the same room.
“I’ve come out of hiding,” Stiles stated. “I miss my best friend.”
Scott narrowed his eyes, and then smiled happily. “It’s good to have you back. He’s not funny,” he pointed to Isaac, disappointed.
“You didn’t see him a minute ago,” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, and Isaac copped a smile and snorted.
Scott glanced between them, oddly aware. “Do I want to know?”
Stiles gaped. “You knew about this too?” He motioned between Isaac and himself, like there was something visible between them.
Scott scratched his head and rubbed at his hair. “Uh, well, I can kind of sense some things-“
“Ugh,” Stiles groaned. “Now my best friend’s an e-motion sensor.”
Scott cracked up and pointed at Stiles while throwing Isaac a wide grin. “See? He’s funny.”
“My pain is hilarious,” Stiles pouted.
“What Scott is trying to say,” Isaac explained, “is that I’m not you.”
“Not even close,” Scott agreed, and then threw a grin Isaac’s direction. “No offense.”
Stiles watched as Isaac shrugged and allowed his lip to quirk into a half smile. “Stiles can’t be replaced.”
“Nope.” Scott added again. “Which is why I’m glad you’re back. I kind of missed my best friend, too.”
Stiles looked back and forth between the two other boys and sighed. “Flattery will get you everywhere today.”
“Is that right?” Isaac asked, and Scott smacked him over the head with his lacrosse stick.
Isaac managed to look completely offended as Scott grinned guiltily and from the front of the clinic came Dr. Deaton’s voice.
“Ready for practice?”
“Time to focus it in,” Scott sighed, and Isaac followed him out, tossing Stiles a comforting look from over his shoulder. They had work to do with Deaton, and Stiles was just fine researching on his laptop in the room next door.
For the first time in a long time, being the human of the pack didn’t feel so lonely.