Chapter Thirty:

Their impromptu three-day weekend had been a welcome chance to catch his breath, even if it hadn't been particularly restful in other ways, but Monday was pretty much exactly as bad as Stiles had imagined it would be.

Gossip was a powerful currency in towns like Beacon Hills, and it was the lifeblood of high school students everywhere. It would be foolish to believe that something like a police raid in a residential neighbourhood would ever stay under the radar.

Stiles honestly didn't know if it was better or worse that no one was brave, bold or tactless enough to go up to Isaac and question him. No one approached him because no one was particularly friendly with him and no one wanted now to be the moment people started thinking they were close. It meant Isaac didn't have to answer uncomfortable questions, but it also meant that all the eyes in school were on him and him alone – until some other scandal caught their attention at least.

All Stiles could really do was make himself available in case Isaac wanted company or a shield from prying eyes, and hope that the Lahey Arrest Scandal faded into the background as quickly as possible.

oOoOo

Apparently Stiles had been doing a bad job of hiding his apprehension and general state of worry.

All of his friends were sitting on the sombre end of the scale, simply because of the somewhat oppressive atmosphere hanging over the school that could seemingly only be felt by those with better things to do than engage in malicious gossip-mongering. But that just meant that they were all on high alert about each other's emotional states, trying to stick it out together.

Erica leaned into him at lunch, pressed together from shoulder to elbow.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked, watching alongside Stiles as Isaac made a brief appearance in the entranceway to the cafeteria before doing an abrupt about-face and marching off somewhere else.

Stiles sighed, slouching until he could rest his head on Erica's shoulder.

"I don't know. I hope so."

Scott leaned forward across the table, confused but concerned.

(Just like with Erica, Scott was left with very little context for Stiles' sudden emotional attachment to Isaac. There were good reasons for both. One was nonsensical – or at least would sound that way to anyone who wasn't Stiles – and the other was absolutely not his story to tell, with its own sprinkle of crazy just for flavour.)

"Should you, maybe, go after him?" he hedged.

Allison rested a supportive hand on Scott's upper arm but shook her head even before Stiles had a chance to answer.

"I don't know the details of Stiles' relationship with him, but unless they've gotten extremely close I don't think he should. Isaac would probably just feel hunted. Best to let him be for now."

It was unfortunate, but ultimately the same as what Stiles had been thinking himself.

"Yeah," he agreed. "'s not a good environment for a talk anyway. He knows how to handle himself. If anything seems off I can try and talk to him at home, away from all of this." He flapped his hand exhaustedly towards the rest of the cafeteria.

Even when the student body wasn't like this, campus still wasn't the greatest place to try and have meaningful conversations. In Stiles' experience, those conversations tended to morph into arguments, because any conversation you couldn't have outside of school grounds was usually one you'd been cornered into having. He didn't want to give Isaac any extra reasons to feel pressured or uncomfortable around him.

Even though it was probably the best choice, letting Isaac decide if he needed company at school, Stiles still didn't like how it felt to be purposely leaving him to fend for himself.

In search of comfort, Stiles leaned more heavily into Erica's side. He stayed quiet for the rest of lunch, just listening to the others talk about blissfully inconsequential things.

oOoOo

The first time Isaac slipped into his room in the middle of the night, Stiles was surprised.

Not that he might crave comfort or company, but that he was willing to admit it to himself and managed to scrounge up the determination to act upon it. Perhaps it was a harsh and unfair judgment, but Stiles had honestly expected Isaac's stubborn streak to dig its heels in and force his restlessness to remain in the confines of his own room.

Stiles was already awake by the time his door started creaking open, curled up on his side and peering towards the door with half-open eyes.

Ever since he first turned Stiles had become something of a light sleeper – if you ignored the sleepwalking. It had taken him a few weeks to readjust to the sounds of his dad wandering the house at night, startling awake at anything that could indicate danger, and Isaac was another new interruption to the house's nocturnal norm.

The door opened maybe a foot – not enough to slip through without a lot of effort that would absolutely void the point of trying to be stealthy in the first place – before pausing. Stiles covered a yawn, blinking slowly in the darkness. It was no skin off his back if Isaac turned around and went back to bed, but he could at least wait him out before rolling over and going back to sleep.

His sense of time slipped away from him often during the night, so Stiles had no real idea of how much time passed before Isaac pushed the door the rest of the way open. His footsteps were adequately quiet – for a human sneaking around in a house full of humans – as he inched inside. If Stiles hadn't already been awake he really might not have noticed unless Isaac intended to linger – the sensation of being watched could burn through any level of sleep when you'd been through enough shit.

Back pressed against the door, Isaac ducked forward ever-so-slightly, peering towards the bed. He called out Stiles' name in a ridiculously quiet voice, tinged with hesitance and an unwelcome dash of self-loathing.

For a moment Stiles considered not responding. Isaac obviously believed him to be asleep, and didn't appear seriously invested in waking him up, but Stiles was willing to rack that up to indecision rather than the fear of being an inconvenience. This could drag out into a whole thing if he stayed quiet though. Stiles wasn't interested in playing mind-games in the middle of the night.

Stiles didn't quite manage to rid his voice of its heavy sleep-drawl as he muttered "Yes Isaac?"

Isaac's dark figure jolted in surprise. Stiles winced at the sound of a bony body part hitting the doorknob. Isaac swore darkly, loud in the silence.

Rubbing at his wrist Isaac took a half step forward. "Why are you awake?"

That sounded suspiciously close to a complaint. Stiles narrowed his eyes, unimpressed. He wasn't awake enough for diplomacy.

"'coz I'm not asleep."

Stiles wriggled about until he managed to prop his head up, elbow digging into the mattress.

"Why are you here?"

Silence. Then Isaac straightened up.

"No reason. I'm going back to bed."

Fumbling around a little, Stiles threw his spare pillow at Isaac's back as he turned to do exactly what he'd announced he would. Isaac froze when it made contact, glancing back over his shoulder with what Stiles imagined was a fairly incredulous look on his face. He couldn't really read expressions in the dark. It was a real shame.

"Pick that up and bring it here."

Isaac complied almost immediately, as if his body was working on auto-pilot while his brain was still trying to figure out what was going on.

Stiles accepted his pillow back and dropped it back into place. Then he scooted closer to the wall and threw back the duvet.

"Get in."

Isaac's arm lifted a little, but then he dropped it back to his side, his higher brain functions back online.

"What? Why?"

"This bed is closer."

"Because it's your bed."

The stupid little competitive part of Stiles' brain was in on this now. If Isaac walked out of this room it meant Stiles had lost. I-could-be-sleeping-right-now Stiles wasn't a fan of that idea. Losing sleep and losing an argument was not the desired outcome.

"And yet here we are. We can stay like this and talk about it. Or," Stiles rustled the sheets pointedly, "You can lie down and go to sleep. Can't interrogate a sleeping person."

They stared each other down for what felt like a really long time.

(It probably wasn't longer than a minute, but everything felt longer in the dark.)

Eventually Isaac gave a frustrated sigh, closed the door most of the way, and threw himself onto the bed.

"Speak of this to no one," Isaac ordered. He sounded far too exhausted to be threatening.

Stiles smothered a tired laugh in his pillow. It really wasn't something to be so defensively embarrassed about.

"Who would I even tell?"

Isaac grumbled incoherently in response. He rolled onto his side at the very edge of the bed, his back to Stiles; a prime position to flee, if the urge overtook him. The same reason he hadn't firmly closed the door.

Adjusting the duvet, Stiles closed his eyes. This wasn't the time for an argument. It was time for sleep.

(It would not be the last time Isaac sought solace in Stiles' bedroom. Sometimes in the light of day, sometimes in the dark of night. When Stiles was there and when he wasn't. If it made him feel even a tiny bit better, Stiles honestly didn't give a shit when he was in there. A safe space was a safe space.)

oOoOo

One of the few upsides to living in a town full of gossipers was that there was always something new to gossip about. By the end of the week the tension in school had dissipated almost entirely; romantic scandals were far more interesting currency for teenagers. Rumours concerning Isaac would linger somewhere in the background for a while longer, but it wasn't as if Isaac himself had been arrested, so in the end he simply wasn't that interesting.

Isaac stopped avoiding highly populated areas like the cafeteria, but he still didn't seem interested in seeking out anyone's company.

Stiles was content to let him have his way for now, since he wasn't adverse to Stiles' company at home and it wasn't anything overly different to how he'd spent his time beforehand. But he wasn't going to let it stand forever. Self-imposed isolation was a good way to lose yourself.

oOoOo

Maybe Stiles had gotten too caught up in his head about it, but when he wasn't in a terrible mood (and honestly even when he was, if 'terrible' meant anger and not panic) Isaac was surprisingly fine with physical contact.

Maybe, also, Stiles should have worried about that sort of thing more in the beginning, when he was manhandling Isaac in the locker room and pressing up against him in the bookstore, and not just suddenly start worrying about it once they were living in close proximity, but Stiles did not always process thoughts in a rational linear manner.

It was the beginning of their bed-sharing arrangement that sparked the sudden and short-lived panic within Stiles.

Stiles didn't have a lot of sleepover etiquette to fall back on. Scott was pretty much his only return guest and he'd always been fine with getting up close and personal, never complained if Stiles got a little touchy-feely or clingy in his sleep. Stiles didn't think he was a clingy person in his sleep – or at least, if he had been as a child he was sure he'd grown out of it – but he didn't want to chance freaking Isaac out with sudden contact in the dark in case it triggered some sort of panic reflex.

What he learned instead was that, far from seeming vulnerable, when Isaac was asleep he had absolutely no qualms about fighting for mattress space if he felt crowded. Stiles also learned that Isaac had very sharp elbows.

When he was awake Isaac had no issues telling Stiles to fuck off or brushing off accidental or purposeful physical contact that he wasn't interested in. He only flinched away from touch when it came suddenly from his blind spot, and even that he shook off quickly enough after the initial surprise.

Environmental factors were more likely to startle him, but those at least were simpler to moderate. No raised voices, no unprompted darkness, no small enclosed spaces. Easy.

It made Stiles wonder if the enhanced senses of a werewolf had actually made things harder for Isaac. The strength had given him new confidence to carry himself with, sure, but Stiles now had first-hand experience of the way your interactions with the world could shift with those new awareness levels at your disposal.

Pretty much everyone Stiles had ever met were all great examples of how the acquisition of supernatural powers absolutely did not cure anyone's trauma ever. Sometimes time was your only ally.

(Well, for other people at least, Stiles amended. His own experiences with time were unreliable and disconcerting. He didn't want to bet too heavily on time suddenly being on his side.)

oOoOo

When you had the ability to do far more, it could be difficult to try and keep an eye on someone without being intrusive and overbearing. Stiles was struggling to find a good middle ground, and so found himself completely blind-sided when Isaac announced one day at dinner that he'd been to talk with Ms Morrell.

It wasn't like they shared all their classes so it shouldn't have been so surprising that he hadn't already known about that, but Stiles hadn't even noticed! He was offended on his own behalf. Now Stiles had to make a note to never assign himself to guard duty or any sort of lookout shift if the need ever arose for them, since he obviously couldn't trust himself.

"Was it good?" Stiles asked eventually, once he was done berating himself.

Isaac offered a non-committal shrug. That seemed like a pretty positive reaction to Stiles, but then again he had a somewhat skewed bias about Morrell.

"Do you think you'll go again?" His father asked.

"Maybe."

No one asked what they had talked about, or if they had talked at all. There were things that were okay to ask and things that weren't, and Stilinski men weren't in the habit of crossing that line with people they intended to continue being on friendly terms with. (Hostiles were another thing altogether. No question was too taboo when you were trying to get inside your enemy's head.)

oOoOo

"The Sheriff really wants to arrest my dad, huh?"

Stiles' fingers paused, his attention drawn away from the essay he was working on. He spun his chair a little so he could look over at Isaac, who sat with his back pressed against the wall on Stiles' bed, a book held loosely in his hands.

"Don't say that to his face, he'll get all sad about 'projecting too heavily' and not 'maintaining a proper level of professionalism'." Taking in the tense line of Isaac's shoulders, Stiles sighed and added, "But yeah, he really does. There are some more personal factors, but all in all my dad holds a lot of disdain for injustices towards minors."

"Personal?"

Trust Isaac to want to know the dirty details.

Stiles kicked his chair into a lazy spin, pondering whether or not he felt like sharing. It wasn't exactly a secret in their immediate neighbourhood, but it also wasn't one of those insidious rumours that spread from household to household and lingered in the backs of people's minds.

"Let's just say he's been on both sides of the equation."

On his next rotation he caught sight of Isaac staring at him, eyes wide.

"You?"

Stiles dug his toes into the carpet and slowed his spin.

"Mhm. The months after my mom died were… not a great time for him. I'm sure plenty of people would say those months were rife with child neglect. He didn't deal with his grief very well either. He drank a lot and worked a lot and I was pretty much left to fend for myself. It was a depressing period in our lives, for sure, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. If I was a different sort of person, if I'd been a different kind of kid, it might have really messed me up. I think somewhere in the back of his mind he felt like if he self-destructed I'd make it through okay. And I did."

Stiles truly had already been a fairly independent kid at that age, and he could've gone running to Melissa at any point and she would've looked out for him if he'd asked. But Stiles had been grieving too, differently.

His grief had started when Claudia was first hospitalised, because after the first time she lashed out at him a part of him had thought 'this isn't my mother anymore.' In the wake of her death, he had grieved the total destruction of that last bit of hope his father had been clinging to that things would get better.

Stiles had maybe, just a little bit, been punishing himself by insisting on going it alone back then.

"But you just said—"

Stiles blinked out of his introspection at Isaac's sharp interjection.

"That he hates injustices towards minors? I know. What, you think he doesn't hate himself for those months? His self-hatred only fanned the flames. Made him more determined to try and help. The biggest obstacle is always the victims themselves. There's just not much he can do when the key players refuse to cooperate." Quieter, Stiles continued. "I think that scares him, too. Like, what if he had been worse, and someone called him out on it, and I just shrugged them off. He's the sort of person who, once he snapped out of it, would turn himself in. But most people aren't."

Tilting his head back Stiles stared up at the ceiling. He didn't really want to see Isaac's reaction, in the end.

"You wouldn't turn him in, if someone asked?"

Exhaling heavily through his nose, Stiles flapped a dismissive hand.

"I know it sounds hypocritical, considering, but no. Not for what happened. If it had been worse, or different. If it had affected me more than it affected him. Maybe then. But it wasn't and it didn't, so…" Stiles pasted on a smile he wasn't really feeling. "Sorry if that's not helpful. You can just forget I said anything."

Turning back to his desk Stiles slammed his hands down on the surface – less aggressively than he'd have liked to, trying to be mindful of Isaac – to put an end to that line of conversation.

"Take a nap or something," Stiles continued, unprompted. "I've got an essay to write."

oOoOo

When John shot Stiles a grimly triumphant look the next day, Stiles realised that Isaac had caved. He was letting them lay down the law.

Stiles wanted to be happier about it, but he was conflicted. He felt a little like he might have forced Isaac's hand. Isaac had been very on the fence about the whole thing; it was Stiles who burned with a need to see Coach Lahey locked away. If they did nothing, he could force Isaac to go back home at any time and everything would go back to the old status quo. That was an outcome Stiles couldn't stomach. But he also didn't want Isaac to regret this. This was never supposed to be Stiles' decision.


A/N:

Updates for the next while will be on the shorter side, probably until Summer Break (in-story), and also be a lot jumpier and all over the place. It's the only way I'm getting through this part of the story. Sorry if that sucks, but some update is better than no update.

Also there's a note on my profile for writerly-types, if you're interested.