A/N: A shorter chapter this time because I'm not making much writing progress lately.

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Having Allison hanging around slowly started a merger between Stiles' motley crew of Erica and Scott and Allison's cooler friends, aka Lydia, with Danny tagging along and Jackson grumbling away in the background.

It wasn't quick, and it wasn't all at once, or even all the time, but Allison apparently didn't see the point in trying so hard to split her time between the two, so she dragged them all together for convenience's sake.

That was Stiles' take on it anyway, since Allison wasn't interested in offering up any explanation, simply smiling winningly if anyone tried to bring it up and then changing the subject.

It wasn't a bad thing, having more people around, but it sure stirred up a lot of complicated feelings on a more personal level. And that was without taking into account the fact that they could no longer talk so freely about certain matters, because Lydia still hadn't asked and there was no way in hell Stiles was letting Jackson catch even the slightest whisper of it; he wasn't interested in giving Jackson anymore reason to be angry at him, and no one needed a repeat of the kanima.

Still, without his notice and without any real intent to, Stiles found himself withdrawing into himself during those times when their group was larger than normal, a silent onlooker instead of an active participant.

It was no one's fault, exactly, and it wasn't even that he was unhappy. Stiles just… didn't know what to do with himself.

Back in January Stiles had drastically cut back on social interaction in ways he hadn't even totally noticed himself – classmates he might've talked with but never really hung out with had suddenly become just faces in the crowd – because he didn't remember how to be the person that he used to be, the person he was supposed to be. It had been easier – although not safer like he'd kept telling himself – to surround himself only with the company of people who had once understood why he was the way he was, even if they didn't know now.

So he'd kept his circle small, clutching desperately to them like they could fix the broken things inside of him and light up the dark spaces, or at least give him some sort of normalcy or feeling of belonging when he often felt like an imposter in his own life.

Allison, dragging people with her like a force of nature, had stolen his agency, his chance to make a decision about when and how and who he would consider branching out towards, opening up to. He wasn't mad about it. In some ways it was reassuring, having someone else make a decision for him, because Stiles couldn't always be trusted with matters of his own mental well-being. It would just… take some time to adjust to the change.

oOoOo

Stiles still needed Derek to keep a watchful eye over him during the full moon – mostly for his own peace of mind, and the safety of not being alone – but Stiles was starting to understand himself better, and the more he understood, the better his wolf decided to behave.

In the beginning Stiles had felt like his human self and his new supernatural self were somehow existing on two separate wavelengths; two opposing forces battling for dominance. In actuality Stiles was more willing to liken it to a sort of misunderstanding between the two.

As a human, Stiles functioned (mostly) on rational decision making and logical thought processes. Wolves, especially wolves that were just unexplainable imprints in a person's mind, ran more off of instincts and desires.

So it started making sense to him that his wolf tended to get antsy and agitated, especially around the full moon when it could assert itself more under its own power. Stiles was aware of many potential dangers to his pack, but because in general they weren't immediate threats or even things he could track Stiles had made the decision to set them aside other than to stay on the lookout for them. The wolf lacked Stiles' human foresight and long-term planning abilities, and only knew that there were threats that weren't being dealt with.

Once Stiles clicked on to that it was easier to find a middle ground that kept everything calmer, regardless of what phase the moon was in.

If only everything was that easy.

oOoOo

Even though he'd given Lydia free reign to ask Allison whatever she wanted about the situation, part of Stiles had still been waiting for Lydia to bring her questions straight to him instead.

That part was the voice in the back of his head that was almost always right, even when he desperately hoped it wasn't.

Getting intercepted on his way to lunch and dragged to an empty corridor at the far end of campus wasn't really how he had expected it to go down though.

Stiles was tired enough from the full moon the previous night and the general lack of sleep that accompanied full moons at the moment that he didn't kick up a fuss about it or even offer up any sort of quip to get the conversation rolling.

Lydia looked him up and down, lips pursed in discontent at whatever she saw – Stiles may not get lingering dark circles under his eyes from his poor sleeping habits anymore, but that wasn't the only way to look bedraggled and generally less than 100% - but she had dragged him away for a reason, and she wasn't going to let Stiles' condition deter her from her purpose.

The question that eventually left her lips however wasn't the one Stiles was expecting to hear.

"Is Allison in danger?"

Thrown off-balance, Stiles blinked stupidly at her until Lydia's stare sharpened to a glare.

"Not any more than she already was as someone currently living in Beacon Hills."

Not that that was an entirely accurate or truthful answer, but it wasn't really a lie either. Knowing things was dangerous, but in Allison's case Stiles would wager that the not knowing was more dangerous. After all, there were surely more people around than just Peter with grudges against families like the Argents, and if you don't know there's something to be wary about then you never have your guard up.

"What about Danny?"

"Danny? He should be fine."

Two blatantly different answers, which Lydia would read into however she pleased. Stiles was too tired for mind games.

"In that case, I think… At least for the time being, I don't want to know. But, I still have the right to change my mind at any point in the future."

"Sure."

Stiles didn't bother pointing out that she would only be able to change her mind one time. There was no un-learning what they would tell her. She already knew that. It was why she was saying no.

oOoOo

Suddenly it seemed like, all at once, all of the extraneous little problems – not that all of them could really be called little – that had been begging for Stiles' attention and tugging him in seemingly every direction at once had up and disappeared.

As if Lydia's decision was some sort of milestone, Stiles found that, outside of the constant underlying danger of exposure (particularly exposure to Jackson freaking Whittemore), the only issue he had yet to garner any sort of closure or result for was his plans regarding Isaac.

That of course didn't mean he was any closer to his goal, but it did mean there were less distractions floating around, at least for now, and that could only be a good thing.

oOoOo

Because so much of Stiles' plan basically revolved around sitting back and waiting for an opportunity to strike, he found himself with a lot of free time on his hands.

There were any of number of things, really, that he could do with this time. Join a different sports team or a cultural club at school. Coax Derek into giving him training sessions. Be more social and less of a terrible friend.

But it wasn't quite that easy to let himself live blissfully in the present. There were plenty of worries that lingered in the back of his mind: Deucalion, the Nemeton and the Nogitsune, Eichen House's accursed supernatural ward, and any number of potential territorial invasions from god knows what kinds of supernatural entities, known or unknown, friendly or hostile.

So, in lieu of begging Christopher Argent for a copy of their family's bestiary – which he probably wasn't supposed to know existed and which would only serve to anger their one adult ally – and because Stiles super did not have any sort of photographic memory from the time when they did have a copy of it in their possession, he was getting down and dirty trying to piece together something potentially useful on his own.

Unfortunately, his knowledge of dead and obscure languages wasn't much to talk about, which is what led him to spend another day lost in the stacks at the second hand bookstore.

Looking for and flipping through Latin and Greek lexicons and grammar books – which, oh man, there were so many, some old enough that Stiles was genuinely concerned that they might crumble into a useless mess from his mere touch – was a harrowing experience. Honestly. Stiles' level of respect for Lydia's own Latin knowledge ratcheted up a few more notches from the mere exposure, and he hadn't even started trying to burn any of the knowledge into his head yet.

(Stiles had a lot of random and useless knowledge floating about in his head, he could admit to that, but the commitment of learning a language in comparison to the addictive subject-hopping of Wikipedia binges had always put them pretty low down on his list of ways to spend time.)

Stiles was sitting shamelessly on the shop floor, surrounded by every language book he'd managed to locate in the shelves stacked up around him, comparing them all on physical quality versus price, when someone else entered the store.

Another person might've been embarrassed at the thought of being caught having made such a mess – which he would fix before he left, but for now was his workplace – but Stiles was long past being ashamed of anything involving the pursuit of knowledge.

Plus – a stifled snort of laughter caught his attention – Stiles knew exactly who it was that had caught him.

"Good morning to you too Isaac," Stiles called, gaze not shifting from the book currently in his hands.

"Afternoon more like."

Blinking in surprise at the rebuttal, Stiles slipped his phone out of his pocket. He'd been there longer than he'd thought.

"Huh."

"You're such a nerd," Isaac murmured.

Stiles probably wasn't supposed to hear it. There was no cruel bite to it like it would have if someone like Jackson had said it; for Isaac it was practically fond. Maybe this whole bonding thing had been working out better than Stiles had thought.

"Knowledge is the spice of life. Or, you know, something like that."

Another snicker accompanied Isaac's lazy footsteps.

In a place like this there was no sense of obligation to keep a conversation going, and no sense of awkwardness in prolonged periods of silence. Maybe that was why Isaac was softer here?

Stiles was two books further through his piles when Isaac drifted back in his direction.

He wasn't expecting anything in particular to happen, so he was startled when he felt Isaac sit down behind him, their backs just barely touching. Stiles made sure his posture didn't broadcast his surprise – Isaac would be hyper sensitive to any tension Stiles displayed, given this bold and uncharacteristic move, and that would just mess everything up – but there was no denying that he was, in fact, surprised.

"Find anything good to read?" Stiles asked, voice light.

Isaac only offered a noncommittal hum in response, but he didn't move, so Stiles had somehow managed to maintain this fragile equilibrium.

Stiles could say with absolute certainty that something like this would never happen at school. There were far too many variables, and he knew in a vague sense that Isaac's grades were part of his issues with his dad, so it was no surprise that he wouldn't feel all that comfortable on campus.

Isaac must come here often enough to know that the customer traffic was practically non-existent, or at the very least, that the sorts of people who actually came inside were more interested in their personal pursuit of books than what anyone else might happen to be doing.

They stayed like that, back to back but in their own little worlds doing their own things, until Stiles' stomach started kicking up a fuss about having missed lunch.

The curse of a fast metabolism, Stiles grumbled to himself as he climbed slowly to his feet. The burning rush of pins and needles through his legs was unfortunately not the sort of malady his werewolf constitution saw fit to save him from.

Before the bite he totally could have powered on through for the entire afternoon – even if it was an unhealthy decision and the sort of thing health professionals would frown upon – but now his body was a lot more aggressive about letting him know he was messing up somehow. It took a lot of energy to keep his body running werewolf hot, after all.

(It wasn't like he'd fall into a sudden faint or become anaemic if he didn't eat, but the embarrassment of a persistently growling stomach was sometimes punishment enough.)

Although, for the sake of his mental sanity, perhaps letting his stomach dictate his day wasn't the worst decision in the world. His brain was threatening to melt if he kept straining his eyes on all the old-timey fonts without taking a break.

Stiles hadn't finished going through his stacks yet – a miracle in itself, honestly where did all those books even come from – but there were a few promising looking tomes that he left on the floor as he went about returning his hoard to their shelves.

Even without looking over at him Stiles could sense Isaac's relaxed demeanour receding after he stood, but Isaac stayed quiet so Stiles didn't comment on it either while he tidied up.

Part of Stiles wanted to buy all of the books – variety was the spice of life and all that – but the rational part of him remembered that he needed to keep an eye on his spending, so in the end he only bought an introductory grammar book.

One step at a time was fine. There was no rush to piece together a new bestiary.

Coming back from the register, Stiles took in the rigid line of Isaac's shoulders and the way he had a book held close to his face, eyes unmoving.

It had been nice spending time together in the calm quiet of the bookstore, but seeing him shrink back into himself so immediately was heart-wrenching.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles shook off the melancholy that Isaac inspired in him, and extended an invitation.

"I'm gonna go find something to eat. Do you want to come get coffee or something?"

Isaac jolted at the sound of his voice. If he'd been expecting Stiles to say anything at all, it would have been a casual farewell, not this.

Slowly lowering the book he had been pretending to read, Isaac stared up at him in confusion.

"Coffee? I'll pay. Unless that book's too riveting to put down of course."

"No? I, uh…" Isaac glanced down at the book in his hands like he wasn't even sure what he'd been reading.

"It'll be fine," Stiles assured, but he meant so much more than those simple words. It was hard to tell how much of his tumultuous subconscious feelings regarding Isaac's entire existence stayed safely locked away and how much might've come through in his awkward tone, but Isaac's gaze was sharp, and Stiles never had been any good at guessing what sort of conclusions Isaac would come to in any given situation.

"You're paying?"

Stiles nodded amiably.

Isaac didn't verbally offer a negative or a positive response, but he climbed to his feet and shoved his book back into a random shelf, and that was really an answer all on its own.