Isaac wakes to the feeling of Stiles' hand finding his again after they parted in sleep. He opens his eyes and Stiles smiles guiltily.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Isaac replies. "You sleep all right?"

"Yes."

"You want to get up? We can go make breakfast. Your dad's got bacon and eggs and everything in the fridge."

Either you used to exaggerate his heart issues or the sheriff shot it all to hell once you went missing.

"You can go back sleep if you want to," Stiles offers. "I can make it."

"Nah, I'm not tired anymore; I'll help."

They head out to the kitchen. Derek's still asleep, but probably not for long once they get going.

"Will Scott and Jackson come today?" Stiles asks as he starts up the frying pan.

Isaac's got another pan full of eggs on the burner next to him.

"I dunno," Isaac answers. "D'you want them to?"

Stiles nods. "I think I could do better this time."

"Better this time?"

"When they came for lunch before, I wasn't very good at being pack yet. I think I could do better this time."

"Stiles, you're doing fine. Stop worrying so much about fitting in. None of us did when we first joined in either."

This whole pack being a family thing is a pretty damn new development. The only thing that could've gotten us all working together was a huge threat like the alphas, and the only thing that cemented it was the search for you in the midst of it. You're not that behind on the dynamics.

"You didn't?"

"No," Isaac assures him. "I was kind of an asshole, and Jackson was definitely an asshole, and Scott was kind of pissed he had to be here in the first place. You're already way better than we were at first. You'll adjust soon enough, especially now that your memories are coming back."

Stiles doesn't reply, just takes in the words as he plops bacon down in the pan.

"If you think you're good to handle them dropping by, I'll let Scott and Jackson know," Isaac offers. "They'd be glad to see you're doing better."

"I could make lunch," Stiles adds. "If Derek wants."

"You know you don't always have to wait for Derek's blessing on everything."

"He's the alpha," Stiles replies simply with a confused look.

"I know but, generally, unless Derek says not to do something, everything's fair game."

Stiles looks a little apprehensive at the idea. They're fringing on the amount of freedom he can fathom, so Isaac backtracks to be on the safe side.

"But if it makes you more comfortable to ask, that's fine," Isaac says. "Derek doesn't mind you asking anything."

Stiles nods again, taking in the words and focusing back to the task at hand. He's completely fine for the next two minutes. He's even humming softly to himself, which has Isaac grinning. Then his hand goes slack and the fork he's been turning bacon with clatters into the pan.

"Stiles?" Isaac asks.

His eyes are glued, unseeing, to the cabinet in front of him. It's the same look he got during the flashback yesterday.

Oh, fuck, please be a good memory.

"Derek! DEREK, NO! Derek, please! Derek!"

Derek bolts awake at the sound of Stiles' wails, takes the stairs in one long bound, and sprints into the kitchen, heart pounding at the terror of the endless horrific scenarios that run through his mind. When he takes in the room, there's no visible threat, just Isaac holding Stiles by the shoulders trying to calm him down.

"Look," Isaac says. "Look, Stiles. He's right here. See? He's fine."

He's completely unprepared when Isaac reaches back with one hand to pull Derek forward and transfer Stiles to his hands. Stiles holds on like his life depends on it and sobs into Derek's chest. Derek hugs back automatically, looking over Stiles' head for some clue from Isaac.

"Flashback or memory or whatever? I think? He was fine a couple seconds ago, and then he zoned out and snapped back screaming for you."

"Stiles, what was it?" Derek asks. "What did you see?"

"You were dead, Derek," Stiles sobs. "You were poisoned. There was monkshood in the bullet and you were dead on the floor and I couldn't get you to wake up and—"

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm okay. I'm here," Derek soothes.

I am a fucking horrible person for finding so much reassurance in the fact that he's this distraught at the idea of me dead.

"It's just a memory, Stiles. I'm okay now. I wasn't dead. You saved me—you and Scott."

"We did?"

"Yeah, you did."

As Stiles calms, Derek sees the moment he realizes that he's holding tightly to Derek and isn't sure that's allowed. He loosens his grip just slightly.

"Derek, I'm sorry; I shouldn't—"

"It's okay," Derek promises before Stiles can panic and let go completely.

I honestly don't even know the last time I hugged someone. Laura I think? I'm probably overdue.

"You were scared. It's okay."

He tightens his embrace just slightly in what he hopes comes across as reassurance and not possessiveness. Judging by the way Stiles' grip tightens again, he got the right message out of it and doesn't plan to let go just yet. His forehead rests against Derek's chest for a moment, the way he's only seem Stiles relax into Isaac. Derek can't help but mentally celebrate in the victory against Stiles' conditioning that this marks, but it's not the moment for him to be smiling. Stiles is still freaking out.

"I'm sorry, Derek, I didn't mean to wake you," Stiles mumbles.

"It's not your fault. I don't mind."

"It seemed real, and I could feel it. I could feel exactly how I was when it was happening—scared and worried and panicked and—and it didn't go away when I snapped back and I couldn't calm down and I—"

"It's a lot to take in," Derek says. "It's okay."

That explains the aggression last night. You get blasted with the emotions as you're blasted with the memory?

"It was just a memory, a bad moment of a memory, but it all turned out okay." He pauses before asking, "Can you remember how it ended?"

"No."

Derek wonders if Stiles really can't or if he just doesn't want to find that memory anymore. He's not going to push it.

"You want me to show you?"

"Yes. Please."

The night at Deaton's seems like another lifetime ago. He thinks back on the memory, wishing now he could filter out the death threats and rough handling. He feels like it should come with a disclaimer, but he doesn't quite know what to say that's a good enough excuse. There's not one really.

I just kind of stay mad at everything. It's how I work. And you could get under my skin like nobody else. It's not—you're not going to understand, but things used to be different with us. How do I make you see that?

"Stiles, I—uh—this is before you were pack," Derek reminds him, "and I was kind of poisoned and stressed and dying," cheap excuse, Hale. Suuuuch a cheap excuse. "So if I seem angry, it wasn't your fault back then either, okay?"

"Yes."

Please don't come out the other side of this scared of me again.

By the time Scott and Jackson arrive for lunch, Stiles has seen Derek survive the wolfsbane bullet; he's watched Derek protect him from the kanima and watched himself support Derek when the toxin took hold; and he's seen the two of them fight together against the alphas. It's a lot to absorb, especially on top of the other memories that flare in his mind without warning—everything from that terrifying vision of his new Alpha dead on the floor to the mundane location of Easy Mac in the McCall pantry—but Stiles will happily endure the bad memories for the sake of having the good ones. They take up the room in his head that used to be filled with Alpha Pack mantras and confusion and fear. He likes having good memories to mull over while he goes through the day; it's so much better than the cloud of anxiety that usually hangs over him.

"Are you humming Bon Jovi?" Scott asks as he walks in the kitchen.

"Maybe?" Stiles replies, "Yes," he confirms after focusing a moment and realizing that the melody and full lyrics of Living on a Prayer have now filled back into his mind. "I don't know how I know it."

"I think the more unsettling thing here is the fact that you're a Bon Jovi fan," Jackson replies with a pained expression.

"Hey, Bon Jovi rocks," Scott argues.

"On occasion," Jackson concedes, "still shouldn't be the first thing the guy gets back out of all the musical possibilities. We'll have to fix that."

"Okay," Stiles agrees; he doesn't have an opinion on music really. If Jackson does, he'll listen.

"Wow, yeah, that's going to take some getting used to."

"What?"

"Which is fine," Isaac interjects. "Don't be an ass, Jackson."

"Fuck off," Jackson replies.

They're not genuinely mad, just—teasing?—Stiles isn't sure. He can't read anyone's expression well enough to know how he should be reacting, so he returns to the grilled cheese sandwich he's making.

"Did you remember these are my favorite, or am I just lucky?" Scott asks, grabbing one from the pile Stiles has been adding to.

"Isaac knew," Stiles replies. "I don't remember much yet," he adds apologetically. "If you tell me your favorites I can—"

"Dude, it's totally fine," Scott replies. "No worries. I was just curious. Thanks for making it."

"I can make your favorite later, Jackson," Stiles offers. "Isaac wasn't sure what it was."

"Yeah, sure," Jackson replies. "If Derek's buying, then I guess my favorite is a big, juicy steak with some caviar and—"

"Don't tease him," Scott interrupts. "He doesn't get it."

"Whatever, McCall."

It's an odd combination, but they're both high quality food choices. Why wouldn't it be Jackson's favorite? But Scott says he's teasing, so Stiles looks between the two of them, trying to get the tease—joke?—he's missing. When he can't read it from their expressions—Scott's annoyed and Jackson's determinedly stoic—he glances at Isaac. Isaac smiles reassuringly before changing the subject to disperse the awkwardness a bit.

"So what's the deal with the basket?" Isaac wonders with a nod to the large wicker basket full of baking supplies Jackson deposited on the kitchen counter when he walked in.

"Oh, Lydia sent that for you Stiles," Jackson explains.

"Me?"

"Yeah, I told her you were doing the whole cooking thing, and she wanted to do something."

"Oh," Stiles replies, looking to Isaac again for cues of further reaction. "Thank you."

Why? That's a lot of trouble directed at me. First a book, now a gift, but why? I don't understand this part. Is this a family thing? It must be a family thing—giving just because you want someone happy, that's a family thing—but she's not family. She's not pack. So why?

Scott's the first to reply to the confused look lingering on Stiles' face.

"You like obsessed over her for a while," he says, "and then you two got really close the couple months before you were taken. She took it pretty hard. Guess she still wants to help even though she can't see you."

"She could now," Stiles replies. "I can control the shift," he expounds, trying not to smile too proudly, "I don't need pain anymore. I can just focus and make it stop."

"It's pretty impressive," Isaac adds, and Stiles can't hold back the proud smile anymore.

"So no more forks in your leg? That's a plus," Jackson comments.

"That's awesome, seriously," Scott adds.

"I'll—uh—mention it to Lydia," Jackson tells him, though he's seems a little apprehensive of the idea, probably because of what happened last time.

I have control now. I have memories. She'll be safe, and it'll be a good excuse to ask Derek for Lydia memories. Maybe I'll figure out how she works with the pack. Or I could ask Isaac.

"Come on," Jackson continues. "I'm starving. Let's move this to the table."

"Cindy says I have to be home for supper or I'm grounded," Isaac informs the room at large with a sigh. "Anybody wanna give me a ride?"

He dropped her car back late yesterday, leaving the keys on the tire and texting her to avoid direct contact and immediate grounding. It was really only a matter of time before she called him in. He probably has the recent drama with Julian—his pothead younger foster brother—to thank for the delay in getting his own audience with the parental units.

"I'll take you," Derek offers. "The apartment's not classified as a crime scene anymore. I need to swing by and grab a couple things."

As soon as the suggestion is out of his mouth he looks to Stiles, whose eyes have widened only slightly in trepidation; Isaac's not entirely sure if it's the mention of the apartment or the mention of both him and Derek leaving at the same time.

"Will you be okay with Scott and Jackson for half an hour?" Derek asks, assuming it's the latter. "I'll be back quick as I can."

"They're pack; I'm fine, Derek."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

He'd tell you that anyway though. What if he's not okay with it?

"Maybe one of us should stay here," Isaac can't help suggesting. "I can put it off for half an hour 'til you get back or—"

"You need to go home; Derek needs to get his things," Stiles counters. "I'm okay," he insists firmly.

Now it's the battle between protecting Stiles and long as possible and remembering they can't coddle him forever.

"We'll be fine," Scott agrees; he glances toward the basket of supplies Lydia sent. "We'll make cookies and shit. It'll be awesome."

"Peanut butter ones," Stiles interjects much more exuberantly than warranted. Isaac doesn't understand why he seems so excited until he continues, "I did remember that one, Scott. Peanut butter cookies are your favorite."

"Hell yeah," Scott confirms with a grin. "See? We're bonding again already. We'll be fine."

"Yes, Derek," Stiles agrees, still smiling from the newest recovered fact.

"Call if you need me," Derek instructs the three of them. "Okay?"

"Yes, Derek," Stiles replies as Scott says "Sure" and Jackson quips "Oh, my God when did you turn into such a mom?"

"Fuck off, Jackson," Derek mutters moodily. "Come on, Isaac. Let's go."

Stiles feels the tension building in his chest the moment the door closes behind Derek and Isaac, but he pushes it pack down.

Scott and Jackson are pack. I'm fine. Derek and Isaac shouldn't have to worry about me. I'm fine. They'll be back soon. I'm fine.

"So are you seriously going to make peanut butter cookies?" Scott asks. "Because you don't have to but you'll be my hero if you do."

"Yes," Stiles replies. "I like making things."

I need something to stay busy plus it makes you happy. It's a good plan.

"I'm shit in the kitchen," Jackson informs them. "I'm gonna see what's on TV. Don't set the house on fire, McCall. Let Stiles handle the cooking."

Jackson leaves the table headed for the den as Stiles and Scott move back to the kitchen.

"I know he seems like an ass, but he'll grow on you eventually," Scott says.

"I can hear you, you idiot," Jackson calls from the other room. "I'm a fucking werewolf."

"Yeah, well, you're a fucking ass of a werewolf; watch TV and mind your own business!" Scott yells back.

They're insulting each other, but no one's really upset. They're joking—teasing?—again and Stiles doesn't entirely get it.

"Sorry," Scott mumbles as he unpacks the basket of supplies.

Stiles shrugs away the apology, not quite sure what it's for.

"You remember the recipe or you want me to get it?" Scott asks. "It's not hard, but I never memorized it like you."

"I don't remember."

"It's cool. I should show you the recipe books anyway if you like to cook. It was kind of your thing even before. After your mom died, you and your dad started going to Caroline's all the time, but, once a week, you insisted on cooking like a legit meal—usually on Wednesdays I think?—and you pick something she had flagged in the books usually."

Stiles files the information away; it'll be good to know if his father moves back here as Derek mentioned. Scott flips through the pages until he comes to a recipe flagged with a worn yellow post-it. He hands the open book to Stiles.

"That's the one," he says. "Nothing fancy or anything, but some damn good cookies."

Stiles runs his finger over the discolored smudges on the page.

"We did that," he says, looking up at Scoot for confirmation as the information pops unbidden to his mind. "We had a food fight?"

"Yeah, we did. You remember it?"

Stiles closes his eyes. It's not a whole memory yet, just facts and flashes.

"The whole kitchen was covered in batter and flour and—" he turns to look at the far wall— "I knocked a picture frame off the wall."

"Yep."

He's eight years old, catapulting a spoonful of batter at Scott's face. Scott ducks, and it hits a frame on the wall behind him instead. The frame falls to the floor with a loud thud, but luckily doesn't break.

Not so luckily, Mom still heard, "What on earth are you two doing in there? I've only been gone two minutes!"

She rounds the corner just in time for Scott's reciprocation throw of batter to miss Stiles by a mile and smack her in the face with a plop.

"Mrs. Joanna, I didn't mean to!" Scott says. "Stiles started it. He—"

"Did not!" Stiles argues, though he definitely did indeed launch the first handful of flour in this battle.

"Spoon," she demands, and Scott relinquishes it, head down in guilt.

She dips the spoon in the batter still left in the bowl. Scott looks on confusedly until he realizes at the last minute he's under attack. The retaliatory throw lands smack dab in the middle of Scott's chest, next to two others from Stiles. Stiles recovers more quickly than Scott, grabbing a handful of flour and throwing it as his mom, giggling uncontrollably as the mayhem continues.

"Stiles?" Scott's asking. "You with me, dude?"

"Yeah. Just—I remembered it," Stiles says with a grin, the lightheartedness of the memory still lingering, "She wasn't even mad."

"Well, she did make us clean it all up, which took about a million years," Scott reminds him, "and threaten no more cookies everagainif there was a repeat of it."

"She was nice," Stiles decides.

"Yeah, she was."

Quiet falls between them as Stiles reads through the recipe and begins to assemble the ingredients.

"Derek says your Dad might move back here soon."

"Yes, I think so. Derek says maybe tomorrow."

"He's nice too, Stiles," Scott says. "He loves you. You know that?"

"I know," Stiles replies.

In theory.

It's been really tough on him to let Derek take care of you, so, if he moves back, just—just remember he wants what's best for you, too."

"But Derek's still my Alpha."

"Yeah, I know, but your dad's still your dad, ya know?"

Not really.

"Give him a chance; that's all I'm saying."

"Okay," Stiles agrees.

He's family; family is important. That much I understand.

But Derek's still my Alpha; I understand that better.

It's the first chance they've had away from Stiles since everything went down after Peter. Derek expected Isaac so start shouting accusations or at least asking questions about Kate the minute the car door shut, but Isaac's been quiet the whole ride so far, staring out the window with something clearly on his mind.

"What's up?" Derek asks, more than a little worried of the answer.

You so freaked about that you don't want to talk to me at all? Yelling's better than quiet.

"Nothing."

"Seriously, Isaac? Don't bullshit me. I can tell something's up. Just talk."

Let's have it. whatever you have to say, get it over with.

"What happens when he starts remembering me?" Isaac asks.

Wow, okay, not where I thought this conversation was headed.

"What d'you mean?" Derek asks, trying to reroute his brain to field this conversation when he'd been gearing up for a talk about Kate.

"Come on, Derek. What happens when he gets a flash of me throwing him into a wall at Scott's? Or roughing up teammates to get rave tickets? Or other shit like that? It's going to happen eventually."

Good fucking question.

"He's seen what I was like before," Derek replies. "It didn't mess everything up."

"Yeah, but he's still a little scared of you."

"I'm his Alpha. You said it yourself, he's going to be at least a little wary of me until he gets enough memories back to be a smartass again," Derek points out resignedly.

"Exactly, but he's not scared of me. He fucking trusts me, Derek. One glimpse of me wailing on him at Scott's, and that's done."

"You'll just have to explain it."

"How?"

"I dunno—but—give him something. That's what I did, right? Remind him it was before—before he was pack. Tell him there'll be good memories too. I've got a couple decent ones of you two I can give him."

Isaac doesn't reply. It's clear from the dejected look on his face he doesn't think it'll be enough.

"As he gets more of you he'll be getting some of Scott too; he'll get comfortable with him soon enough, and you won't have to take care of him as much on your own anyway," Derek says, trying to point out a silver lining.

"I mean, I don't really mind looking out for him," Isaac replies.

By 'don't really mind' you mean 'have actually been enjoying', don't you?

"Huh," Derek replies. "I knew you didn't hate it or anything, but I didn't expect you to cry a river when he didn't need you as much. I thought I was leaning on you too hard with this."

"I am not crying a river!" Isaac retorts, "and this isn't about me. It's about him losing one of the only two people he trusts at the moment.

Sure, it's about him. He's occupied our every waking thought for the past nine days. For us, everything's about him right now.

"Talk to him later; try to explain. I'll give him a few good memories tomorrow. We'll figure it out. Don't worry."

I don't know what else to say to you. You're not the same newly turned, power-flaunting beta you were, but he's not the same snarky pain in our ass he was back then either. We'll try and make him understand the best we can, same plan as usual, there's not a whole lot else we can do.

The minute Cindy and Rob go to bed, Isaac's sneaking out his window and headed down the block to where Scott's waiting to give him a ride to the Stilinskis'. No way in hell was he staying here all night and risk fucking up Stiles good mood with nightmares—or worse, having memories of Isaac without Isaac there to explain himself. He thought Scott might have something to say about how close Stiles and Isaac have gotten, but he doesn't mention it the whole ride over, not until he's dropping Isaac off and the door's about to shut.

"Hey, thanks for taking care of him and everything," Scott says.

"I don't mind."

"Don't—just—be—be careful with him though; don't confuse him."

"What?"

"I just mean, he's really attached to you, dude. Like really attached. Don't leave him hanging or whatever."

"I'm not."

"I know; I just—"

"He's your best friend, dude. You're worried; I get it."

"Yeah, okay. So—um—let me know if I can help with anything or whatever."

"Sure. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll swing by after work."

Isaac heads into the house, trying not to be too pleased at the way Stiles' face lights up once Isaac walks through the door.

"You're back," Stiles says, stating the obvious.

"Yep."

I'm grounded as hell and they'll probably threaten to get me drug tested again if I keep this up, but who gives a fuck about any of that?

"There are cookies if you want some," Stiles offers. "Food too. Jackson got—"

The sentence trails off as a memory takes him. Isaac finds himself praying he's not in it. Stiles snaps back without much fuss, he's smiling faintly so the memory must've been a decent one.

"Sorry," Stiles says.

"Don't be. It's fine."

"There's cookies," he starts again, "and Jackson got pizza for everyone; the leftovers are in the fridge."

"I ate already, but I'll grab a cookie for sure." Even though I kind of hate peanut butter. "Thanks."

He eats the cookie with the help of a huge glass of milk to wash it down. Stiles and Derek are watching the food channel, some chef competition show. Isaac settles in on the couch between them. He's trying to figure out how the hell to even bring up the memory stuff, but he doesn't want to ruin the chill vibe of the evening. It's a battle between rocking the boat now or later, and, in the end, he can't ruin a good night for Stiles in favor of self-preservation.

No matter what he may have said to Derek, this anxiety about Stiles getting those memories back is way more about Isaac than it is Stiles. Of course he doesn't want Stiles to be hurt, but that's a given. What he's focusing on is how accustomed he's gotten to being with Stiles just in the past couple weeks—being the hand Stiles reaches for, the person who makes him feel safe, the one who brightens Stiles demeanor just by walking in the room—and it's been pretty fucking awesome to be needed—wanted even—and it's even better now that Stiles is improving. Isaac really doesn't want this—whatever it is—to go away.

They head up to bed when the show ends. The others moved the furniture while Isaac was gone so the double bed takes up a lot of space in Stiles' room. He wishes selfishly that they'd just kept the twin bed, but he knows this is much more practical for the long term. More importantly, this is about Stiles' peace of mind, not Isaac's preferences.

"You're unhappy," Stiles says as he climbs into bed.

"I'm okay," Isaac replies, getting under the covers on the other side.

"Can I help? I want to help."

"It's nothing," Isaac assures him, but Stiles still looks worried. Worried about Isaac when it's supposed to be the other way around, so Isaac bites the bullet and starts the confession, "You're getting memories back," he comments, staring up at the ceiling.

"I thought you were happy about that?"

"Some of the memories of me you'll get back won't be very good ones—most of them actually."

"I don't understand."

Of course you don't. You've only ever seem the version of me that empathizes with an abuse victim. You're never seen the flip-side violent version.

"We weren't really friends before, Stiles. We weren't pack. We got to know each other a little better when we started fighting the alphas, but before that I wasn't—I wasn't exactly good to you."

"But you're good to me now," Stiles counters with a shrug, as though the rest doesn't matter.

It does fucking matter, Stiles. You're going to be scared of me.

"I hurt you though, Stiles, I—"

"I know. It's okay. Derek explained it."

"Derek explained it?" Isaac repeats confusedly.

"Yes," Stiles confirmed. "When Jackson and Scott left. "He told me how you were his beta, but I wasn't in his pack yet. He says any memories I get of you hurting me—or anyone—it's because Derek told you to," Stiles elaborates.

It's a perfect excuse. It takes all the blame from Isaac and attributes it to Derek. Isaac looks like a loyal beta who may not havewanted to do what Derek said but would've followed orders anyway; Stiles can appreciate anyone being in that position.

But it wasn't all Derek. I'm not saying he helped matters, but it wasn't his fault.

"Stiles, you shouldn't think Derek—"

"He doesn't do that anymore," Stiles replies, incorrectly assuming where Isaac was going with his interruption. "I know. He doesn't make us hurt people anymore. It was just because the kanima was hurting people, and he thought it was necessary. He explained that too."

Well, damn. He was pretty proactive on that one. It's a great explanation for you, and I can't quite believe he took the fall for me—or maybe it's more about protecting you, probably more about protecting you—I should tell you the truth though. I should. I really should

But the groundwork Derek's laid will get them through the foreseeable future with Stiles. By the time Stiles knows enough to understand the truths they've stretched to cover things up, he'll also know enough to see why. He might still be pissed, but pissed later is better than hurt now, right?

God, I hope so. He won't even really like me once he's back to himself anyway. Am I such a horrible person for keeping this while I've got it?

It's not like he'd ever delay Stiles getting better on the whole just to avoid rehashing some not-so-fond memories. This's just a white lie to preserving the peace of the present situation. So Isaac decides to leave well enough alone and hope it doesn't come back to bite him in the ass.

As Stiles' hand finds Isaac's as he turns out the light and he rolls over closer to Isaac, Isaac pushes his unease to the back of his mind in favor of enjoying the moment. He decides it doesn't make him an entirely horrible person for hoping that enough of this Stiles makes it through the "getting better" process to still want him around in some capacity down the road. He wants the fear gone for sure, but, assuming Stiles keeps the memories of the past couple days, it might at least give Isaac a shot at staying close to him.

And I want that shot a lot more than I ever really figured I would. I really do.

Thank you for being patient with me, I've come back from the dead. Iv'e started highschool and I am the class president but my scheduel is a mess but Im back from soccer and everything. Do expect more now!

Stay a sourwolf! ~AlphaHook