A/N: This AU story focuses on Isaac, Jackson, and the Whittemores and is a family drama/fluff piece with no sex or romance and no supernatural elements. I expect it to be shortish (maybe 10 or fewer chapters) and at this point I'm just sort of testing the waters with it. If there's interest I'll continue. If not I'll probably put it on the back burner or permanently shelve it.

A Street Over and a World Away

Chapter 1: The Decision

"You think it's funny to damage expensive equipment, Isaac?"

Pain exploded across Isaac's torso as his father punched him, slamming his old championship swim team ring against Isaac's ribs and dropping him to his knees.

"No sir," Isaac said between gasps. It would be worse if he didn't answer.

They were at the door to the basement. Isaac knew with a crippling certainty that he would be spending time in the freezer tonight for his latest transgression. He had hoped to get down the stairs before the blows started, before his father knocked him off his feet and dragged him down the stairs on his knees or backside. No such luck.

"Then why the hell did you do it?!" He backhanded Isaac across the face, and Isaac's head struck the railing of the stairs. He crumpled to the floor on his side.

This was it. He would grab Isaac's wrists soon and start the brutal descent into the darkened basement.

"Well?!" He kicked Isaac in the chest when he didn't answer.

Isaac's eyes widened in terror, and his stomach lurched as he was pushed backward, almost over the top edge of the stairs. His father was more drunk than usual. Was he going to drag Isaac down the stairs like normal or...

"A-a-accident!" Isaac stammered as a coughing fit seized him.

"Accident?!" His father tried to stomp on Isaac's hand but missed as Isaac happened to be moving it. "Accident?! Oh sure that backhoe just flipped itself over."

Isaac looked up, pleading with his eyes, searching desperately for any sign of the man his father used to be. "It was an accident. I sw–"

"You disgust me." He snarled and kicked Isaac in the chest again.

Isaac scrabbled at the base of the railing, but it was too late. Gravity took over and he tumbled backward down the stairs. Wood and concrete pounded his limbs and body as he tried to shield his head with his arms. Halfway down he was able to arrest his descent by hooking a heel into one of the gaps along the side railing, but before he could even sit up, his father kicked his foot loose, sending him crashing the rest of the way down. Somewhere along the way his arm got tangled up and the side of his head smashed against the ledge of a step.

Isaac's last thought before blacking out was that waking up twisted and bent in the cramped freezer would make everything hurt so much worse.


Jackson frowned as he turned up the pressure on the hot tub jets and sank deeper into the water until just his head and neck were sticking out. The water pulsed against his thigh, easing a sore muscle he'd developed at lacrosse practice that afternoon.

"Spotify on," Jackson commanded, leaning back against a hot tub pillow. "My playlist."

Jackson was not having a good day. His neighbors were being loud again for the third time this week. Normally, Jackson could ignore it and go on about his business. Unfortunately fate had not been on Jackson's side tonight. Jackson's room was upstairs on the east side of the Whittemore mansion, closest to the road and by extension to the Lahey house across the street. His father's study was directly beneath Jackson's room, but the man rarely used it, especially this early in the evening. It was just Jackson's luck that his father happened to be home early that night for the first time in fucking forever and had heard the disturbance at the Lahey home that Jackson alone would usually have been privy to.

Jackson had left his room and retreated to the hot tub as soon as his father started yelling for his mother to come and listen. Five minutes later the sound of sirens disturbed Jackson's would-be peaceful soak. Dammit, why couldn't his parents just mind their own business?

Jackson's mother came out onto the deck on wobbly legs. She was back in her high heels and made up for leaving the house. This wasn't going to end well.

"Pause," Jackson commanded irritably, hoping she would hurry up with whatever she wanted and leave him alone again.

"Jackson, honey, I don't want to alarm you, but your father and I have to go to the hospital," she said, leaning against a deck chair.

"The hospital?" Jackson wasn't alarmed but certainly annoyed.

She nodded and gave him a gentle look. Jackson rolled his eyes.

"Honey, there's been an...an incident," she whispered. "That's where they're taking Isaac."

Jackson's frown deepened. He hated it when his parents talked about Isaac like he was one of Jackson's friends. It was beyond ridiculous. Isaac had been to a couple of Jackson's birthday parties when they were little children, but now, even after all these years just because he was the same age as Jackson and lived across the street, his parents liked to act as if they were lifelong friends or something. Jackson couldn't even stand that weird loser. He was a loner who didn't make eye contact when people spoke to him. How could he possibly have any bearing on Jackson's life? I wish he'd just sit in that damn freezer his old man is always shouting about and quit ruining my night.

"So you're going to the hospital to see Isaac?" Jackson asked slowly, as though talking to a child rather than his mother. "Whom you barely know. Do you seriously not see how crazy that is?"

His mother smiled tightly like she always did when Jackson said something that upset her. "Do you want to come?"

"Think I'm gonna pass. You have fun though," he said sarcastically, closing his eyes and sinking back down against the pillow.

Her voice was slow and overly precise as she answered. "Okay, we'll be home as soon as we can. We'll arm the alarm before we go. Call if you need anything."

"Mom, I'm sixteen not six. I think I'll be fine."

Her heels clicked on the deck floor, and then a cool whoosh of air signaled that she was sliding open the door and going back inside.

"Music on," Jackson commanded wearily.

He just knew his parents were going to make him visit Isaac in the hospital or some other similar bullshit. Jackson's life wasn't fair.


Before he even opened his eyes, Isaac knew he was in the hospital. He recognized the sterile tang in the air, the sound of hospital carts moving through the hallway, and the crisp, tight sensation of the sheets on his legs. It was bad if he was here. His father always did everything possible to avoid taking Isaac to the hospital, which would result in difficult-to-answer questions.

He sat up and assessed the damage. There was a cast on his right leg and another on his right arm. His right hand was also immobilized in a splint. His ribs hurt, and his head pounded.

Isaac was already planning what he would say. He would feign confusion and memory loss until his father cued him in on the story they were using. Then he would just smile shyly at anyone who talked to him and explain what a klutz he was.

"Mr. Whittemore?" Isaac blinked in confusion at the man who owned the house across the street from his own, and who, for some incomprehensible reason, was sitting in a chair by Isaac's bedside. Oh god, does this mean Jackson's here too? That's all I need.

"Isaac," the man answered with a nod, as though greeting Isaac on his way to grab the mail rather than in an emergency medical facility. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Isaac answered automatically. It was far from the truth. It felt like every part of his body was bruised. "Where's my dad?"

The man looked momentarily at a loss for how to respond. He was dressed in a suit, but had taken off the jacket and tie. They were resting on the back of the chair behind him. Crud, what if he's here as a lawyer? Is Dad in trouble?

"Lana, Lana, Isaac's awake." Mr. Whittemore turned to face the small sofa in the corner of the room near the foot of Isaac's bed. Isaac hadn't noticed the woman there before and was startled to realize he had additional company.

"Oh my, did I fall asleep?" Mrs. Whittemore exclaimed as she sat up, patting her hair and straightening her clothes. Isaac's eyes widened as she stood up and almost fell over.

Mr. Whittemore looked annoyed but crossed the room and gripped her arm, helping her to Isaac's bedside.

"I sat up too fast," she explained with a flushed face. Worry creased her delicate features as she took Isaac's hand. "Are you in pain? Do you need more medication?"

"Uh...okay," Isaac said with a shrug, instantly regretting the move as his muscles spasmed and throbbed. Medicine – or more medicine if he already had some in his system – would be nice.

"Nurse, Nurse!" Mr. Whittemore called sharply as he walked out of the room.

This was weird. Why were Jackson's parents hovering around him like this? Where was his father?

A little while later Mr. Whittemore returned with a woman in purple nurse's scrubs and another woman in a gray pantsuit.

"Hi Isaac, I'm Nurse McCall. So I hear you're having some discomfort?" She retrieved Isaac's chart from a plastic box on the wall. "On a scale of 1-10 where would you say your pain level is?"

Isaac considered the question for a few moments. "Maybe a four?"

"Oh good heavens, a four!" Mrs. Whittemore clapped a hand to her chest as she made the declaration. "Did you hear that, David? He's at a four!"

Mr. Whittemore and Nurse McCall both rolled their eyes, and Isaac had to resist the urge to snicker at their independent yet synchronized reactions to the theatrical woman.

Nurse McCall's demeanor became more professional as she returned her attention to Isaac. "I can't give you anything else in your IV right now, but I'll be around in another twenty minutes with some oral medication."

"Twenty minutes?" Mr. Whittemore scowled at her. "The boy's hurting now."

"I'll ask the doctor to come and check on him," She said crisply before walking out of the room.

"I-I'm fine," Isaac said quietly, hoping to calm the Whittemores down. He knew his father would be pissed when he found out Isaac was causing trouble in the hospital.

"Isaac, my name is Priscilla Newcastle," the woman in the gray pantsuit said as she stepped closer to Isaac's bed. "I'm with Child Protective Services."

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! This is bad.

"Could you tell me what happened?" Ms. Newcastle asked, taking a seat in the chair that Mr. Whittemore had occupied.

Isaac swallowed nervously and looked around the room, wishing his father would appear and tell him what to say. Mrs. Whittemore gave him a tight smile and patted the bed by his leg. Mr. Whittemore nodded at him and gave him an expectant look.

"Where's my dad?" Isaac asked, making one last ditch effort to avoid answering until he found out what his story was supposed to be.

"He's not here," Ms. Newcastle answered, face serious yet somehow reassuring. She was a middle-aged woman with dark skin and strands of silver in her black hair. She looked like she could have been someone's mother, or maybe even grandmother. Isaac didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't want to tell her the truth either. He had never said it out loud, and he didn't know what would happen if he did. Besides, saying it in front of Jackson's parents seemed like a bad idea. What if Jackson found out and told everyone at school?

"I fell down the stairs to our basement," Isaac said softly, eyes trained on the sleeve of Ms. Newcastle's blouse.

"Where was your father when you fell?" Ms. Newcastle asked.

Isaac licked his lips, aware that she was trying to trip him up. "Oh he was...somewhere else. I'm not sure."

"So why were you going down to the basement?"

"I needed to get a lightbulb. That's where we keep them."

"And how did you fall exactly?"

Isaac gritted his teeth. He had been conservative with his pain estimate. It was actually more of a six or seven. The last thing he needed while he felt this bad was someone's nosy grandmother giving him the third degree. "I tripped over the rug at the top of the landing."

"I see." Ms. Newcastle gave a slow nod before pulling a pad of paper out of her purse and consulting it. "Your father said your shoe was untied and you got tangled up in the laces. He said you were going down to the basement to get batteries for the TV remote and that he was standing next to you when it happened but couldn't grab you in time."

"Um..." Isaac's throat was dry and the looks he was getting from the Whittemores were unsettling. Mrs. Whittemore's eyes were shining with unspilled tears, and her husband's mouth was clenched in the same tight-lipped anger Isaac was used to seeing on his father's face. "Yeah, uh, it happened the way he said. I forgot."

"Isaac, does your father ever hit you?" Ms. Newcastle asked.

"Of course not," Isaac answered numbly.

Mrs. Whittemore sniffled and perched carefully on the edge of the bed. She grasped Isaac's unbroken hand again. "Isaac, does your father ever hit you?"

Isaac felt his lip quivering. She was so upset. Watching her break down made it harder for him to keep it together himself.

"Some-sometimes," Isaac whispered, a sob punctuating the revelation. Isaac's world fell apart as the darkest secret he had was dragged into the light.

There were a lot of questions after that, and Isaac didn't have the strength or the will to lie about the answers, not now that he had already crumbled and started spilling his guts. When at last the questions about Isaac's father and their home life ended, Ms. Newcastle cleared her throat and gave Mr. Whittemore an expectant look. He nodded and ushered his wife toward the door.

"Can't we stay?" Mrs. Whittemore asked her husband. "I don't want to leave Isaac alone."

"He's not alone, Lana," Mr. Whittemore told her as they walked out of the room.

Isaac's anxiety spiked as soon as Mr. Whittemore pulled the door closed behind them. He still had no idea why they were here, but he had gotten used to their presence. At least they were familiar faces even if he didn't know them very well.

"Isaac, your father isn't going to hurt you anymore. I promise," Ms. Newcastle said, giving him a serious look. "He's going to jail."

"Jail!" Isaac's heart sank. His father would never forgive him for this. Never. And...oh god, that meant Isaac was going into foster care.

"The Whittemores would like you to stay with them for awhile, and I'm inclined to agree unless you have any objections."

"Wait what?" Isaac tilted his head, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. Was she telling him he'd be moving in with Jackson and his family?

"Is there any reason you wouldn't want to live with the Whittemores when you're released from the hospital? I can take you to a group home and we can look for another placement if you'd prefer?"

Isaac's mind was reeling. Group home? Was that like an orphanage? Did Jackson count as a reason not to move in with the Whittemores? More importantly would Isaac rather take his chances with his high school bully or in this group home?

"I'll go with the Whittemores," Isaac said after a little while. He was pretty sure there would have been cliques and probably some bullies at the group home too. At least with Jackson he knew what he was getting. Maybe he could even sneak back to his own house sometimes and hide out.

Ms. Newcastle smiled. "I think that's a good decision."


End Note: Feedback is greatly appreciated.