So there are these great writers out there who have written 'Stiles gets abused' stories but got nailed by every author's archenemy: the writer's block demon. While said demon is working on keeping me from finishing my other work, I decided to write this while the imp is distracted. I can't have the abuser be the Sheriff (esp since there is a canon abuser already there), so in this AU I am having Isaac and Stiles be brothers in the Lahey home. Stiles is 16, while Isaac is 15. Scott and the rest will be 16 and Derek will be 17. It takes place before the series and things may not go as they do on the show. I promised myself I would not publish the first chapter until the whole thing was written, so if you are reading this then it is done. I will put out new chapters every week or every ten reviews (that's not blackmail, just a good pacing rule). I tend to write Sterek these days, but other pairings may be possible. Be warned that themes of abuse will be very disturbing to some. Expect images of physical/emotional abuse and hints of even worse. Hints of Dark!Stiles.
Stiles' stomach started to hurt as it always did at 6pm on weekdays…exactly 15 minutes before Sam Lahey would walk in the door like giant in Jack & the Beanstalk. Isaac frantically finished washing the dishes with shaking hands while Stiles was making sure the chairs were all pushed in properly after he swept the floor. After ten years, they knew the thousand and one flaws Sam might find with their work and they thoroughly checked and checked and checked again. Isaac made sure each dish was free of stains while Stiles got on his hands and knees and looked for stray dirt or dust-kitties. Everything seemed perfect. Just as Isaac was putting the last dry dish in the cupboard, lights flooded the driveway. Isaac jumped, and the dish clattered to the floor…but by the grace of the gods it didn't break. Isaac screamed at the sound and stared at the dish with wide-eyed terror.
Footsteps on the driveway. Stiles snatched the dish off the floor and stuck it in the cupboard before grabbing the broom and racing to the closet by the front door. Just as he hurled the broom inside and slammed the door, the front door opened and his father stood there glaring at him.
"Hi, Dad. How was your-"
"Out of my way." Sam pushed Stiles into the wall hard enough for a flashbulb to go off before his eyes. Though the brothers were in their mid-teens, they were shorter, weaker and weighed far less than most of the other kids their age. They rarely ate, rarely slept and rarely knew a moment's peace. "Unload the tools from the truck."
Stiles struggled to his feet and ran to obey.
Sam stomped into the kitchen and took the beer that Isaac had opened and was already holding out to him.
"What do you want for dinner, Dad?" Isaac asked, his blue eyes wide with fear.
"Hungry man. The big one." Sam switched on the radio and yanked out a chair, dropping heavily into it. He gazed around the kitchen, his look lazy and slow though the boys knew from experience that those eyes missed nothing. That was one of his tricks…his many tricks.
Isaac got the box out of the freezer, tore it open and stuck the tray in the microwave. All Sam ever ate was microwaveable stuff. Stiles and Isaac usually had a choice of Cheerios (no milk) or Ramen noodles, plus whatever they got at school.
There was a big freezer in the basement, but of course that wasn't for food.
The microwave dinged and Isaac hurriedly pulled out the tray, hissing as it burned his fingers. He grabbed the dish, the same one that he had dropped, and carefully scraped the turkey slices and gravy, steamed vegetables, mashed potatoes and cake onto the dish (Sam hated eating out of the tray) before handing it to his father.
Sam listened to the game while Isaac stood too afraid to leave without permission but almost too scared to stay either. He watched Sam scrape the fork around the plate, the food slowly disappearing. If they could get through dinner without an incident, Sam would go and watch television for a few hours. He usually ignored the boys from then until he went to bed. Stiles and Isaac would be safe at least for the night.
The last bit of food was devoured. Isaac stepped closer to take the plate when Sam suddenly looked sharply at the dish.
There was a hairline crack down the middle.
"Huh," was all Sam said. Stiles came in through the kitchen door and took in the scene.
"W-w-what, Dad?" Isaac asked.
"Dish is broken." He pointed to the crack. "Can you see it?"
Isaac peered at the plate, trying not to panic. "It's h-hard to t-tell…"
"Here, I'll help you see it." Sam raised the plate and broke it over Isaac's head.
"DAD!" Stiles yelled. Isaac had dropped to the floor and was sliding himself backward till he hit the wall. His head was bleeding.
"You raising your voice to me, boy?" Sam got up out of the chair and walked over to Stiles.
"I was the one who dropped the dish. I was hoping you wouldn't see." Stiles lied. He knew he had just bought himself a night in the freezer, but Isaac had already been in twice this week and Stiles knew a third night would break him.
"You were, huh? Think you can just go around breaking my things and get away with it? Maybe if you were up front and honest with me, I wouldn't have to punish you."
Stiles said nothing. This was an outright lie as Stiles learned from experience at a very young age.
"You boys need to be punished. One of you gets the night in the freezer. Who do you want it to be?"
"Me, Dad." Stiles hoped Sam would let him use the bathroom first. Isaac gave him an unbelieving look.
"That's why it's going to be Isaac." Sam lurched to his feet and grabbed the now cowering and screaming boy, flinging open the basement door and stomping down the stairs.
Stiles stared after him, shocked. Hatred filled him, and he ground his teeth while he shook with fury. He looked around the kitchen again, this time for a weapon…a knife, a cast iron skillet, a goddamn meat cleaver, anything so that he could kill the monster and rescue his brother. But the hatred turned to fear again as his father returned.
He grinned at his eldest son. "Mad at me, ain't ya? Good. That will do you some good in the world when you turn eighteen and I finally kick your ass out of this house. Then it will be just me and little Isaac for another year…all alone. Maybe if you get a job and make some damn money for me to pay me back for putting a roof over your head, I won't be so hard on him."
Stiles brought his emotions under control. "Dad…I am begging you. Please put me in the freezer. Isaac can't take it."
Sam strode to the fridge and grabbed his second beer. He dropped into the chair again, leering at Stiles. "What'll you do for me, boy, in return for that?"
Stiles closed his eyes, and felt something die inside him. Maybe his soul. "Anything you want, Dad."
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Later, Stiles walked down the basement stairs with Sam and watched him unlock the chains and open the lid. Isaac lay there already in a puddle of his own waste. His eyes were closed and he was breathing shallowly. Stiles hated the thought of himself locked in here, unable to protect his brother. Isaac wouldn't tell him what, if anything, Sam did to him on those nights. Stiles tried not to think about it.
Stiles leaned into the freezer to try and help Isaac out when his father got behind him and lifted his legs up, tumbling him into the freezer on top of his brother. "There you go, just like I promised!" he said roughly.
"DAD!" Stiles yelled for the second time that night.
The lid slammed down, and the chains were locked in place.
"You want to learn to control that temper, boy. Next time I see that look in your eye, your brother is going to get the tin snips to his fingers." Sam went back upstairs.
The fury returned again, and seemed to race through him in alternating hot and cold flashes. It felt like it was going to consume him, and leave nothing behind. His heart was pounding fiercely as he gently tried to maneuver his brother so that it was Stiles lying on the bottom, with Isaac on top of him. He hugged his unresponsive brother tightly, tried not to think about the pool underneath him, tried not to think about the taste in his mouth, tried not to think about anything at all. He slipped his mind sideways…and for a brief blessed time, he got his wish.
He was no longer there.
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He woke at the sound of his father's truck racing away. Stiles gently moved his exhausted brother enough to free his arm, then reached up to push at the lid to the freezer…dreading the idea that Sam might have forgotten to unlock the chain. The stench in the freezer was nightmarish…Stiles had to get them out and get them cleaned up for school.
The lid opened easily, but Stiles gave a short scream of pain. His hand was bleeding, and his knuckles felt as if he had punched a brick wall. The inside of the freezer lid was dented and bloody.
Isaac came awake and looked at Stiles. They were both sweaty and filthy…and relieved that the monster was gone for the day. Isaac climbed out and helped Stiles get stiffly to his feet.
"You okay, Sty?" Isaac asked.
Stiles just nodded, then sent him off to shower. This was a new low for Sam Lahey (Stiles couldn't think of him as 'Dad' though he called him that to his face). He had never thrown both of them in there before…if they were normal sized kids they would never have fit…though Stiles didn't doubt for a moment that Sam would have made them fit.
When Isaac was done, Stiles brushed his teeth and rinsed with mouthwash for five full minutes, deliberately ignoring a certain snippet of memory from the night before.
They ate some dry cereal, got dressed and boarded the school bus when it came around. Jackson Whittemore, their neighbor from across the street pelted Isaac with spitballs until Stiles looked around at him.
"Stop it, Jack-ass," he growled at Whittemore.
"Make me, freak," Jackson quipped back.
Stiles felt that strange hot/cold feeling again, and had the weirdest sensation of almost being pulled someplace. Then the bus driver yelled at him to sit down and it went away. The rest of the ride was uneventful.
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Stiles walked Isaac to his class before heading over to his own. They had both been marked by the student populace, and Stiles had more fights on his record than nearly any other student…none of which he had started. Though Stiles was not very strong, he would go in with both fists swinging whenever anyone messed with either of them…and the bully (always the victor) would nonetheless walk away with some memento of the fight. A bloody nose, a good kick to the shin…more if he was lucky…they always got something to remember Stiles by.
Stiles sat down in front of his on-again/off-again friend Scott who seemed to be busy mooning over some new brunette transfer student. Stiles gazed over at Lydia for a moment before she glanced at him, smiled, and said "Look somewhere else!" He sighed heavily.
A pencil jabbed into his neck.
Stiles turned around to see that Jackson had switched seats with Scott. Scott was now sitting next to the brunette and was chatting her up, leaving Whittemore free to torment Stiles.
Jab.
Jab.
"Stop that, Jack-ass." Stiles growled. His stomach turned over, and his heart began to pound again. With each beat, the hot and cold flash would flood his body. Hot/cold. Hot/cold. Hot/cold.
Jab.
The other kids snickered. Lydia glanced over and smirked. Scott looked around, seemed amazed to realize there were other people in the room, and went back to talking to the girl. Whoever she was, she quickly took in the situation and stuck her tongue out at Jackson. Stiles suddenly decided he liked her.
Jab.
The other kids were snickering louder, though Harris had still not noticed anything…or was pretending not to. He hated Stiles, and let Jackson get away with murder most days.
Jab.
"I mean it, fucking stop that you jerk!" Stiles hissed.
Jackson leaned forward and whispered into Stiles ear. "Let me make this clear for you, midget. You can either sit here and shut up and take a few jabs, or we fight. If we fight, I'll win. If you manage to get in a lucky hit, I'll come back with twenty of my friends and we'll murder you. If you run away and hide, you're a coward. If you tell, you're a snitch. If the school calls your house, than your dear daddy will kick your ass. You're trapped…there's nothing you can do…so sit back…and enjoy. Oh, and I'll need to borrow your pencil. Mine just broke."
Stiles gripped the sides of his desk, listening to the snickers, feeling the stares, and rolling Jackson's words though his mind. A sharp pain suddenly split his head.
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Jackson chuckled as Stiles gave a sharp gasp. What a wimp. Stiles turned slowly around to look at him, and his eyes were wide and staring.
"What's your problem, geek?" Jackson asked. The kid was starting to freak him out.
Stiles leaned forward suddenly, making Jackson flinch backwards. The handsome blond cursed himself under his breath.
Stiles grinned at him. "Let me make this clear for you. I am giving you three strikes. Just like in baseball…and after that…you're out. We start right now."
Stiles faced forward again.
Jackson jabbed Stiles in the neck again, curious to see what the twerp would do.
"That's strike one!" Stiles muttered. He raised his hand.
"Yes, Stiles? What is it?" asked Harris.
"Jackson is jabbing me with a pencil. I'd like you to stop him." Stiles said clearly.
Harris shrugged. "What do you want me to do about it?" The kids snickered, Jackson loudest of all.
"Nothing, Mr. Harris." Stiles grinned at him.
Jab.
"This is strike two, Jackson." Stiles got up and walked out of the room, ignoring Harris' outraged squawk. He returned a moment later with Mr. Leach, the school's discipline officer. Mr. Leach was ex-military, and felt that school should not only educate you, but make you into a young man, a young soldier.
"Mr. Leach, Jackson Whittemore is jabbing me with a pencil. I'd like you to stop him." Stiles said clearly, pointing at Jackson.
Leach smirked. "Want me to fight your battles for you? That's not how life works."
Stiles merely grinned again, and said "No, thank you Mr. Leach."
To the other kids, this was better than watching television. They all gazed at Stiles as he returned to his seat and sat down as if nothing were wrong. Leach went back to his office to dream about what it would have been like to be Ghengis Khan.
"Stiles, you have detention today with me after school for leaving my class without my permission," Harris snapped.
"I'd like to, but that will be impossible, Sir," Stiles responded. He seemed to bubble with dark humor.
"And why is that?" Harris snapped again.
"You'll see." Stiles leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. He was still grinning. Even Scott had forgotten about the brunette for the moment and was openly gaping at him.
"A warning. Strike three is next. Believe me, you won't like it." Stiles whispered.
For the last time he would ever do so, Jackson Whittemore jabbed Stiles in the neck with his pencil.
Stiles stood up, and picked up his chair.
"Strike three!" he shouted. "You're out!" He swung the chair down on Jackson's head with all his strength.
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Sheriff Steven Stilinski pulled up to the school, sighing and rubbing his aching back. Another damn bullying incident. He met with the school principal who briefed him on the situation.
"What happened to Whittemore?" Steven asked.
"Concussion, head trauma, bleeding. He'll make a full recovery."
"And the Lahey boy?"
"I'd rather you speak to him personally." Steven walked into the room reserved for detention and spied Stiles sitting by himself with his hands folded in front of him. He looked like a star pupil who had just completed a difficult essay.
"So, Stiles…care to tell me why you broke a chair over Whittemore's head?" he asked.
"Jackson was jabbing me in the neck with his pencil. I asked him to stop and he wouldn't. I thought he might damage my spinal cord and paralyze me. I was afraid for my life, Sir." Stiles looked as if he had never in his life been afraid of anything.
"I see. Did you ask a teacher for help? That is what you're supposed to do in these situations, you know."
"Yes, I did Sir. I asked Mr. Harris for help. Why don't you call him in here and ask him how he responded?"
Steven did so. Harris looked very uncomfortable.
"You told him 'what do you want me to do about it'? Aren't you a teacher, Harris?" Steven was disgusted. This was why bullying was such a big problem these days.
"Well, you see…" Harris began.
"Out." Harris left. Steven looked down at Stiles once more. "All right, I understand that not all teachers are helpful…did you go to anyone else?"
"Yes, Sir. Mr. Leach."
The scenario was repeated with Mr. Leach, and Steven became even angrier. He called the principal back in. "I want this boy's conduct records, and Whittemore's."
After reading through the file, which boasted a clean conduct report and not one single fight in which Stiles was the antagonist, Steven sighed and looked at the calm and placid teenage boy in front of him.
"Son," he began.
"Don't call me that." Stiles snapped. He shuddered for a moment. "Please."
Steven gazed at him. "All right, Stiles. What I see before me is a young man who has reached his breaking point. The school is going to suspend you for three days, and that will be the end of the matter. I have multiple witnesses who all state Whittemore started with you and none of the staff helped. Pretty clever when you think about it; coupled with your self-defense argument, you basically found a way to put a guy in the hospital and almost completely avoid any consequences. The suspension is mandatory for any students who respond to a fight…but no court would rule you guilty of anything. Did you set all this up in advance, knowing you were going to hit him?"
Stiles shrugged. "What does it matter? If he left me alone, he wouldn't have blood coming out of his ears right now."
"It matters because, I need to know if anything like this will ever happen again." The Sheriff gave him a steady glare, the kind he always imagined he would have used on his own son if he'd had one.
Stiles shrugged again. "That's the beauty of it, Sir. If you'd seen the other kids faces…you'd know I'm probably the safest kid in the whole school right now…"
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By the time the Sheriff was done questioning Stiles, it was already 6:15. Sam Lahey was home, and had no doubt listened to the answering machine message describing today's events. The Sheriff offered to drive them home, but the boys refused. Sam Lahey would murder them if he saw them talking to a cop and possibly revealing some family secrets. They left the school and walked home slowly. They took their usual shortcut through the woods.
"What so you think Dad will say?" Isaac asked fearfully.
"Don't care." Stiles said. "I'm not really caring about a lot of things right now."
The full moon shone down on them through the trees. It got dark quick this time of year, but they knew the way pretty well.
With maybe a quarter mile left to go, the boys started at the sound of a giant twig snapping. Isaac was frozen and vainly trying to see through the dark trees.
Something ruby red flashed in the darkness, and a low growl made Isaac shriek in fright.
"Isaac, get back to the house and get Dad…NOW!" Stiles shoved his little brother in the direction of home while he groped about for anything usable as a weapon. His hands found a thick branch which he raised before him, ready to attack. The small, newly awakened part of him was excited. Maybe he would get to clobber two monsters in a single day.
Isaac pelted away, and Stiles was left alone in the woods with whatever was out there. He hoped it hadn't gone after Isaac, and was almost grateful to hear the creature's footsteps come towards him. He knew he should run, should be afraid, should be pissing his pants…but whatever had snapped in him today had taken his fear along with it. He just didn't care what this thing could do to him.
When the red eyes opened in front of him, he jumped backward and swung the branch wildly. It was ripped out of his grip. The thing knocked him down, was on top of him…and those eyes were boring directly into him.
Then it spoke.
"I was going to eat you. But I think…someone has beaten me to it." the creature said. It sounded inhuman, like someone speaking after they gargled with gravel.
"Great, skinny jokes from the Boogeyman." Stiles told it.
It chuckled thickly. "Oh, I wasn't talking about the flesh…I was talking about what's in here…" A claw sliced open his shirt and opened a three inch long gash in the teen's chest.
Stiles screamed, not in terror but in pure rage…he was so sick of being hurt all the time…his Dad, the kids at school and now even storybook monsters were getting in on the act. He flailed at the thing on top of him, punching it as hard as he could, hitting it's muzzle, it's great head, it's enormous body…he even hit the thing's mouth, and sure enough it caught his wrist and bit down hard. Stiles screamed again, yanking his arm hard as he could. Then the beast was gone as suddenly as it came. Stiles lay there, still furious, chest heaving and breath hitching as he came down from his shock. Then a great weariness came over him, and the world went away. The moon shone down silently on his still form…and perhaps knowing things that even the beast did not, it wisely decided to hide itself behind some clouds.
