"Moving in the Dark"
Lucawindmover
Chapter Two
"Inside"
"I know it hurts. I know you're bruised, But it's only on the inside."
Thriving Ivory "Love Alone"
It was getting dark. The stars were coming out and the crickets were just starting their nightly chorus. Isaac Lahey stood at the end of the McCall driveway, hands in his pockets, watching as Allison's taillights disappeared around the corner. He couldn't seem to wipe the stupid grin off his face and he was eternally grateful that there was no one around to see it.
In reality, there was no reason why he should feel about Allison the way that he did. There were dozens of reasons not to, first and foremost being that she was his friend's ex. Also near the top of that list was the fact that she'd stabbed him with knives. Well, Chinese ring daggers, according to her, but what did that matter? They were still sharp and pointy and hurt like hell, regardless of what kind of knife they were. But she'd apologized for that and without actually meaning to, he'd forgiven her. It was less about forgiveness and more about understanding what had driven her there in the first place. He got it. So somewhere in the nightmare that had been the last few months, they'd forged a bond that he was comfortable with.
That in itself was rare for him because not only was he unaccustomed to having real friends but he was also inexperienced with being comfortable around girls. Back before he'd gotten the bite, he'd been a wreck around anything even remotely female. He would stumble over his words and get flustered, running more than one of them off with his lanky teen awkwardness. He had eventually just stopped trying, figuring that if he ever managed to go off to college he would work on it then.
Then Derek and the werewolf bite happened and everything changed. He finally had developed the confidence to talk to girls. And with that had come the realization that most of the girls he knew were shallow and obnoxious. Thus began his horrible internal track record.
First it was Erica. There hadn't been a boy in Beacon Hills High who hadn't been attracted to her after she became a werewolf. But she'd made him aware very early on that she wasn't interested in him. He wasn't anything more than her packmate and if he tried to overstep those boundaries, well. She had the strength to toss him around. Quite literally.
After that had come Cora Hale. He should have known better. A couple of intense glares from his previous Alpha had been enough to squash nearly all of the attraction he'd felt for the shewolf. And then, of course, Cora's personality had nullified the last of it. He and Cora just did not work well together. In fact, while she had been in town, Isaac had found himself in Allison's company more and more often, avoiding Derek's sister as much as he could. He felt a little bad for Stiles, who was constantly saddled with her presence. Stiles, despite all his bluster to the contrary, was actually quite patient. So their partnership had ended up being a better working relationship anyway.
Allison had blindsided him. He hadn't been looking to discover feelings, not with everything else that was going on. But maybe that's part of why it happened. Neither of them had been trying for it. They hadn't meant for it to grow into what it had. He couldn't even pinpoint a moment where things had changed. It had been so gradual that neither of them had even realized it until Deaton pointed it out to them the night of the eclipse.
Isaac sighed and turned toward the house, limping a little. He was really sore. Allison was wearing him out. She'd popped his knee out of socket today but he was healing. She'd have felt bad if she'd known so he hadn't told her. He wanted her to be at her best. And if he didn't want to get hurt, he'd just have to get faster.
They'd been sparring a lot lately. If anyone asked what they spent their time together doing they'd both say they were studying. He wasn't sure anyone actually bought that excuse. In fact, he was pretty sure that everyone thought they were sleeping together. It wasn't as if the thought hadn't popped into his mind to cross that line, what with ending up on the floor so often with her foot on his chest or pressed up against the wall with her dagger at his throat. Maybe all the sparring was their way of burning off the sexual frustration. He figured if that was the real reason behind it then it wasn't working because the tension between them was getting worse by the day. Hell, the sparring might actually be making it worse. But neither of them were ready to admit that and give it up.
Walking up the driveway, he was thankful to see that Scott's motorcycle wasn't parked there. He seemed to recall that Scott had work tonight. Isaac didn't like him being one of the people thinking that he and Allison were more than what they were. He was the biggest reason Isaac had refrained from attempting anything more than friendship with Allison. Scott was his friend and more than that, Scott was now his Alpha. You didn't just date your Alpha's ex. It wasn't right. Even if Scott were to tell him flat out that it wasn't a problem, Isaac would still probably hesitate.
Unless Allison toed the line first. He would be hard-pressed to keep himself in check were that to happen.
He let himself in the backdoor, surprised to see that so many lights were still on. Usually when he got home on weeknights Mrs. McCall was already at the hospital and Scott was at Deaton's. His mouth watered at the aroma of beef roast in the slow cooker on the counter. More often than not, he'd had to fend for himself for dinner. He wondered what occasion would warrant a special dinner.
"Hey Isaac," Mrs. McCall said, peeking her head around the doorframe to the living room. She was dressed in her work scrubs but she didn't look like she was about to walk out the door, which was unusual. "I was hoping you'd be home before I had to go in."
Isaac smiled and dropped his backpack on the bench by the backdoor. "I figured you would have been there already," he said as he slipped his shoes off and kicked them under the bench. She'd never asked him to do that. It was one of those little things that he did out of habit because of how things had been done when he was growing up. He didn't even think about it.
She shrugged and grinned. "I told them I'd be late tonight. I have a surprise for you," she said, beckoning for him to follow her upstairs.
Confused, he did as she asked, taking the stairs two at a time with his long stride. Apparently his knee had finished its healing because it didn't even protest to the movement. He caught up to her in the upstairs hallway where she was standing, facing him, and grinning.
"So," she said. "I have a few things to say before you get your surprise," she started, making sure she had his attention.
"Yeah, sure," Isaac said, curious as to where she was going with this.
She held her finger up, indicating that this was rule number one. "Okay, so first. No more 'Mrs. McCall.' I get enough of that at work. I don't want it at home too. Just Melissa is fine."
Isaac smirked and nodded. "Got it. That'll be a hard habit to break but I'll try to remember it."
She smiled. "Good. Okay, second. Girls," she steeled herself, as if she really didn't want to have to say what she was about to say. "The rule is no girls upstairs. But I realize that Scott used to sneak Allison in often. They weren't nearly as quiet as they thought they were," she said with a shudder.
Isaac felt his neck getting really warm at this thought and he realized it was jealousy, not embarrassment. Which also made him feel guilty. It was just really confusing, emotionally, so he put the thought out of his mind.
"Anyway, so I realize it's a rule that will probably get broken because you guys are teenage boys, but it's still a rule. Got it?" she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.
Isaac nodded.
"And lastly, I would never ask you to pay rent. Not in this situation. But you and Scott are eating me out of house and home. Feeding two teenage werewolf boys is breaking the bank here. So, I need you to pitch in a little grocery money, or else stop and pick up some things once in a while. Can you do that?"
"Yeah, I can do that," he said, reaching up to scratch his head. "But, can I ask something? I mean, what is this all about?"
Melissa grinned again, her eyes alight with merriment. "It's about this," she said, swinging open the door to her right.
Isaac peered in and was stopped in his tracks.
Just yesterday, this room had been full of junk. They even called it the Junk Room. It had been full of boxes, bags of clothes to donate, pieces of furniture that didn't fit anywhere else in the house. There had been an artificial Christmas tree in here, still fully decorated, and rolls of wrapping paper, one of those light-up deer for the front yard. Isaac hadn't even been able to come in here because it was such a mess. It felt too closed-in for him. He would start to sweat just walking past this room.
And now it was empty. Well, empty by comparison. There was a twin bed, made up with his pillow and blanket from downstairs. His duffel bag of clothes was sitting in the floor of the closet, waiting for him to unpack. There was a table beside the bed, with a clock and a lamp. Instead of a desk, there was a card table with a chair. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a dresser tucked in the corner.
"I know it isn't much," Melissa said, walking in and motioning for him to enter. "But Scott helped me with it. He said you were claustrophobic so I didn't want to put too much stuff in here. Figured I'd let you do that part."
He was dumb-founded. His eyes darted all around the room, taking in the faded blue paint, the green and yellow checkered curtains blowing in the window, the oval rug centered in the middle of the hardwood floor. "This is for me?"
She nodded. "Yup. Provided you can stick to the rules. It's yours for as long as you need it. We're all one big family around here these days. You guys take care of me so I'm here to take care of you."
Isaac took two long strides and enfolded her in a rib-crushing hug. He didn't know how to make her understand. He hadn't had a real home in so long. First it was his horrible father, locking him in the freezer in the basement for anything as small as dropping a dish on the floor. And then Derek, who had thrown him out at the first inconvenience. Staying in the McCall house had been the most stability he'd ever really had, and that had been on a couch in the living room with his clothes tossed in a duffel bag.
She was giving him more than just a bed and ac closet. She was offering him a home. He couldn't help how his voice broke. "Thank you," he managed to get out.
She shushed him, a lot like his own mother had done so long ago. She returned his hug, rubbing his back in a soothing manner.
And he lost it.
The sobs came in terrible, body-shaking hiccups as all the horror of the last few months finally came crashing down on him. They had almost lost her. He and Scott had come so close to losing her to that crazy druid. He couldn't handle it suddenly and he broke, tears overflowing as he buried his face in her shoulder.
She didn't even ask for an explanation. She didn't need one. She had been there. Instead, Melissa joined him, her choked sobs mixing with his. They had survived. But none of them had made it through unscathed.
"Hey. I'm here. Come let me in," Stiles said into his phone. He glanced back over his shoulder, scanning the parking lot. There were no other vehicles there besides his jeep, Scott's motorcycle, and Deaton's car. It was after hours at the animal clinic at this point so he hadn't expected to see any other cars.
"Wait, you're here where? At the clinic?" Scott answered, sounding confused.
Stiles couldn't really blame him. He hadn't warned his friend that he was heading over. But sarcasm was his default reaction to almost everything, deserved or not. "No, I'm waiting at your little werewolf den in the middle of the forest. Yes Scott, I'm at the clinic. Back door," he said and hung up, putting his phone and his hands in his pockets. He turned and looked out into the night again. There was a light on right above the door and it was messing with his vision. He couldn't see into the darkness very far past the circle of light and he found that it made him nervous. He didn't used to get nervous in the dark. But then again, he didn't used to know what kind of creatures were running around at night, either.
Stiles jumped a little when the door opened and bumped him in the back.
"Just so you know," Scott said, stepping to the side so that Stiles could come in. "I don't have a werewolf den."
Stiles snickered and moved past him. "Sure you do," he said, turning around to face him while walking backwards. "It's where you keep your little werewolf oven, obviously."
Scott shook his head and laughed in spite of himself, following Stiles into the main exam area.
Stiles hopped up on one of the metal examining tables and watched for a minute as Scott went back to sweeping the room. It seemed like he was mostly done. Everything looked neat and tidy, a far cry from the last time Stiles had been here. But he wasn't going to think about that right now because it would make him think about Lydia and he was determined not to think about Lydia.
"So what are you doing here?" Scott asked, bending down to sweep the dirt pile on the floor into a dustpan. "I mean, if you'd just waited a half an hour I would've been at home."
"You remember how in the library I told you I wasn't done talking about my vision?" Stiles asked, swinging his feet back and forth. It wasn't as good as pacing but it would do.
Scott stood and moved over to the garbage can to dump out the dustpan. "Yeah."
"Well I wanted to do that," he said. "Finish talking, I mean."
Scott sighed and turned to his friend. "What else is there to tell?"
Stiles opened his mouth to answer and froze for a second, his brow furrowing. He closed his mouth and frowned, crossing his arms. "What's with you all of a sudden?"
"What?" Scott asked with a shrug.
"Don't what me. You know what. You're being all, I don't know, superior. Condescending. Like there's no way my vision could have been real," Stiles said.
The werewolf frowned. "It's not that I don't believe you. Trust me, okay? I'm not trying to be superior or whatever you said. I just don't want you to get your hopes up."
"My hopes? My hopes?" Stiles stuttered and threw his arms out wide. "How the hell do my hopes factor into this? Hmm?"
"Just listen for a second, would you?" Scott said, talking over his friend.
Stiles stopped and rolled his eyes, motioning with his hand for Scott to continue.
Scott took a deep breath and went on. "Okay, look. If it turns out that your dream—"
"Vision," Stiles interrupted. "It was a vision. Not a dream."
"Vision then," Scott said, a little annoyed. "If it turns out that your vision was real then that's great. We'll figure out what your mother was trying to tell you. We will. I'll make sure that it's a priority. But Stiles, if it turns out that it was all in your head, that it was just your brain sort of reacting to you being dead, then you're going to be really disappointed. I just, I don't want to see you go through that, you know?"
Stiles wasn't sure what to say. Scott was right. If he did all this research and then it turned out that it was just his brain playing tricks on him, he would be devastated. He had already put so much heart and hope into thinking his mother had a message for him. Even if he were to find out today that it was all brain chemistry, he would be hurt. But if he gave it another couple of weeks and then found out? Well, he was starting to understand Scott's reaction.
"Okay, you have a good point that I hadn't thought of," Stiles acknowledged. "But I have no idea how to figure out if I was imagining it or if it was real."
"See, I think Deaton might know something," his friend suggested.
Stiles jumped off the cold metal table, sending it rolling backwards into the counter. He heard it jostle some supplies but he didn't even turn around. He couldn't be bothered by it. "That is a great idea. Is Deaton still here? We should go ask him."
"Yeah, he's in his office," Scott said, pointing toward the hall. Stiles didn't stick around for directions. He knew where the office was. He darted out of the exam room and into the hall, his sneakers squeaking noisily as he jogged to the office.
He burst through Deaton's door without knocking to find him sitting at an old, green metal desk surrounded by filing cabinets. He had probably heard Stiles coming because he didn't even look up at the intrusion. "Something I can help you with?" he asked as he continued to write on the form he had in front of him.
"Yes. Well, maybe. I don't know," Stiles said in quick succession. "Depends on how much you know about brains."
Deaton looked up slowly. "What kind of brains?"
"Human ones. Dead human ones."
Deaton smiled slowly, laying down his pen and folding his hands on his desk. "I think I can guess what this is about."
Stiles nodded and took a seat in the rusted folding chair in front of the vet's desk. There wasn't a lot of room in the office and he got the impression that this had once been a storage closet.
"You saw something when you were under, didn't you? Besides the Nemeton and the flashback you said you had?"
"Yes!" Stiles exclaimed, throwing his hands up. Finally, someone who seemed to believe him. "Yes, I did. How can I figure out whether it or not it was real?"
"Well, I can tell you right now that it was real."
Stiles blinked and dropped his hands in his lap. "How can you possibly know that? I didn't even tell you what I saw."
Deaton shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You were beyond the Veil. If someone or something came to you, it was real."
"What about brain chemistry and, and, I don't know, synapses misfiring or whatever? Science! What about that?" Stiles asked. He had to be sure. He had to know how Deaton was so sure. Because if he was right, that meant Stiles had seen his actual mother, the actual spirit of his mother.
"What we did on the night of the eclipse defied science. It defied medicine. It was magic, if you will, in its basic form. You and your friends parted the Veil and saw beyond," Deaton sat back in his chair a little. "If you're wanting a scientific explanation, I can't help you. But I think you already know that what you saw was real. Because if you didn't believe that, you wouldn't be here."
Stiles propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, covering his face with his hands. It was true. He'd known it in his gut from the moment it had happened. Some of those small details couldn't have been fabricated. She was wearing her favorite sweater, the one she'd jokingly called her "librarian sweater" because it seemed like something only a little old lady would wear. It was cream colored with narrow wooden buttons that were forever falling off. She'd worn it all the time. And when she'd gotten sick, it was one of the few articles of clothing she kept with her at the hospital. Stiles still had that sweater. For months after she'd died he had slept with it wrapped around his pillow. He'd kept it until it didn't smell like her any more. Now it was on a hanger in the back of his closet. But it was there. He hadn't let that piece go.
Deaton was right. He'd known it then and he knew it now.
Now all he needed was to remember what he knew.
…to be continued…
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, nor do I profit in this story other than working at becoming a better writer. I do not claim to own any of these wonderful characters. They belong to the creative genius Jeff Davis and the various copyright holders.
A/N: Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews guys. You have made it possible for me to write over 12,000 words in a 72 hour period. It's the most I've ever written in one chunk like this in my life. I love to hear from you. The more I do, the more inspired I am to get out chapters this quickly. So thank you all.
Now, as a reward, I have news. I've recently decided to dedicate my Twitter account to my writing. So if you follow me there you will get exclusive updates and quotes from upcoming chapters. It's another great way to share this wonderful fandom. So please look me up at lucawindmover. Thanks again.