The early morning hours are what Stiles hated the most. His sleep only lasted him a good hour before he woke up to the sounds of his screams echoing through the empty house. He laid there, staring at his door, hoping, maybe longing that his father break the door and hold him in his arms. But he remembers, he remembers that night.
He pulls his needs up to his chest and cries into them. His chest tightening along with the rest of his body, becoming rigid and clenched; He's surprised that his cries didn't alarm anyone, or get him a knock at the front door. Though he wished it did. Eventually Stiles found himself walking down stairs dazedly, flopping down on to the large couch face the television. The pictures beneath the Large TV were just cruel reminders of what he lost, who he lost.
Stiles felt his chest tighten and twist, his body felt worn and out of place. He curled himself on the couch, his arms warp around him and he sighed deep.
8 months in a place where everyone believes you are crazy, Stiles slowly wanted to believe he was. No one listened to you, you couldn't trust anyone. There were incidents, incidents that he doesn't want to remember. But his mind forces him to; He tore his eyes from the photo of his father.
"You'd hate me," Stiles whimpers, "You would," He chokes on a sob. Stiles forces his tears back as he hears a knock at his door. At first he's scared, he doesn't know who hear he was back home. And there were a share of people that really didn't like him, even more so since he was emitted to the looney-bin.
"Stiles? It's me," A familiar voice, one that was all too soothing and comforting, "Isaac," he said muffled through the door. Stiles rushed to the door and unlocked it. As sure a she was of himself, there was Isaac, in his favorite knit beige sweater, with a grey t-shirt underneath it.
Isaac smiled widely at him. Stiles wrapped his arms around the young boy, "Whoa," Isaac laughed as he patted Stiles' back, "I missed you too," He humored.
Eventually Stiles lead Isaac in and they sat in silence. Stiles can feel the questions hanging on Isaac's lips, "How are you, Isaac?" Stiles finally said.
"I'm doing fine, but that's not what I'm here for," Isaac reached for Stiles hands, gently setting it over them. "Stiles-"
"Please don't ask me about it, I-" Stiles felt Isaac's grip become tight around his hands, "What happened to you?"
"Places like that, Stiles, I don't want you to keep it to yourself like you always do," Isaac let go of his hands and sat on one of the stools. Stiles followed him and sat on the stool next to him. "Melissa has been visiting," Stiles slipped out, "She was making sure I was okay," Stiles felt his body cringe. Isaac set a comforting hand on his knee.
"Isaac, I've seen some bad things, I've hurt in ways I don't understand," Stiles looked down at his hands, avoiding Isaac all together. "I, I was-" Stiles licks his lips feeling they were dry, "I was rap-"
"No, Stiles, no," Isaac's face was horrified and placed with disbelief. Isaac's off his stool and taking over Stiles personal space; His arms were around Stiles neck, practically suffocating him. "I'm sorry, Stiles, I'm sorry,"
Stiles could feel the teen shed tears that Stiles refused to shed. It was a good cry, well it felt like a relief that he wasn't the only one upset about it. That he wasn't crazy, because he wasn't the only that felt like this was real and it was a horrible fate.
Isaac loosened his grip and sniffled as he pulled away from Stiles. "Emotional wreck," Stiles playfully hit Isaac's chin. Isaac laughed as he wiped his eyes. It was mid-afternoon and Isaac helped clean the place up. They spent more time cleaning and opening windows then actually talking. They listened to music as they cleaned, all from 70's rock to today's country.
Stiles enjoy it. He liked having Isaac around; he was like a little brother to him.
It was five thirty or so when they heard a knock at the door. They shared a look to make sure neither of them knew who was at the door. When they didn't answer one another Stiles headed there from the kitchen. Setting down his gloves and dust rag as he walked, "I'm coming, I'm-" He stopped himself as he opened the door.
"Stiles," Derek says, he seems uncomfortable, like his done something wrong. Stiles gazes up at him, his hazel eyes lighting his features. Stiles takes a step back making sure he isn't really dreaming. He can't be, Derek was standing at hid front door, seemingly real.