Isaac opens his eyes in an unfamiliar room that is vibrating with an unfamiliar scent and warmth that just seeps up through the floor boards. Warm, beige walls and dark stained hardwood floors, a white ceiling and a wide window that lets in an absurd amount of sunlight, surrounds him. He looks around, head feeling like it's on the verge of exploding and tries to figure out how he managed to get here at all.

The door creeks, a sound that tears his skull open, on it's hinges and that oh-so-hopeful face of Scott pokes past it. He doesn't say anything, neither does Isaac, but there's worry written all over his face. It takes a moment for everything to rush back to him and despite the nausea, and headache, Isaac bolts up right and rushes to the door. Scott is there, with a hand against his shoulder, to stop him.

"My Dad is going to kill me, let me go!" Isaac growls, tempted to push Scott to the side because his heart is pounding with fear; not for himself but because what if his dad got sick or something and he wasn't -isn't- there to help him? Scott shakes his head, kind eyes locking with Isaac's fearful ones, and it makes him angry. "Who is this bloody, random, kid stepping in? Who does he think he is?!" His brain yells at him but part of him is kind of...endeared.

"You need to sit down, you look horrible." Scott tells him, guiding him back to the bed. It's not like Isaac puts up much of a fight, he's not in amy shape for that, and he plops down on the bed and drops his head in his hands.

"What the hell was that?" Scott asks and he doesn't have to specify, obviously.

"I just...I had a bad day."

"Talk to me."

Isaac remains silent for a while, debating. "If you keep it all in, you'll explode-...don't tell him, he doesn't care-...he's your only friend-...make new ones-...he's the only one who tried-..." It even longer before he comes to a decision but Scott patiently waits.

"My dad is sick."

"We'll get him medicine-"

"It's worse than just a cold."

"Oh..." "It's lung cancer...and- Scott what am I supposed to do? My mom died, Cam ran off- now my father? As if things where bad enough."

"We'll figure this out." Scott tells him, steadfast and determined, and he presses his forehead against Isaac's shoulder. It's comforting, to say the least, and makes butterflies flutter inside of him; Isaac chalks that up to a new experience. They stay that way for a long time, neither wanting to move for fear of upsetting the other, but eventually Isaac gets up and ruffles Scott's hair.

"I have to go." He says to an almost mournful looking Scott and heads to the door. He's glad Scott doesn't get up to walk him to the door, he's glad he can do it alone. Isaac is afraid of Scott seeing him cry.

The walk home is a long one, because Isaac knows what is waiting behind that door. A pause at the door, a baited silence and two steps inside as the door closes behind him is the most stressful moment of his week. It's quiet, to quiet, and his house is nothing like the warm home he was just in. It had similar decor, similar cabinets and fixtures but the feel was cold and ominous; like bad things lay behind the walls. As he passes the wall, leading to the opening that exposes the kitchen, he sees his father casually sipping bourbon on the rocks from a glass while seated at a cheap dining room table from ikea. Rick looks up and locks eyes with his son, the calm before the storm.

Scott heard, and felt, the thud when something -or god forbid, someone- hit the wall that connects his living room to the house next door. It made him jump but he brushed it off as nothing more than just an accident but something in the back of his mind lingers and festers with worry. It's something small but it's there. An uncomfortable feeling settles in his, now too silent, home and he gets up and heads out.

He has to get the mail anyway.

Isaac has got him thinking about living in a world without family. He wouldn't be able to survive without his mum in his life and life with just one parent is hard enough. Scott notices his neighbour's car, Isaac's car, speeding off and he has a right mind to go check up on his friend because he knows it's not Isaac behind the wheel.

Right up ahead, lit up by only whatever sunlight can force it's way through the thick, almost black, clouds, is the grey set of mailboxes; about 9 mail boxes all set up together in groups and there's another 9 beside those ones.

Scott pushes the key into the lock and twists it and the door pops open to reveal the mail inside: a stack of bills and coupons and whatever else could possibly inside there. He grabs the stack without thinking about it and walks back to his house, stopping only to say hello to the stray, golden, shitzu names Mocha that hobbles around this subdivision. Vaguely he wonders when his mail started becoming so much but he normally just piles it up on the counter in groups of bills and others. As always he tosses the mail into their designated piles without reading them and goes to his room to get ready for work today. He takes a long shower and pulls on his scrubs and leaves a text for Isaac that he knows will not get answered; he grabs the keys to his car and climbs in, debating wether or not he should at least knock on his door, but he doesn't. Scott pulls out of the driveway and justifies his action with a thoughtless "It wasn't him just something...something hit the wall not him."

He doesn't have that much fun at the vet clinic today but it's better than waiting around.