A/N: This AU story focuses on Isaac, Jackson, and the Whittemores and is a family drama/fluff piece with no sex or romance and no supernatural elements. It will be 10 chapters plus an epilogue.

A Street Over and a World Away

Chapter 1: The Decision

"You think it's funny to damage expensive equipment, Isaac?"

Pain exploded across Isaac's torso as his father punched him, slamming his old championship swim team ring against Isaac's ribs and dropping him to his knees.

"No sir," Isaac said between gasps. It would be worse if he didn't answer.

They were at the door to the basement. Isaac knew with a crippling certainty that he would be spending time in the freezer tonight for his latest transgression. He had hoped to get down the stairs before the blows started, before his father knocked him off his feet and dragged him down the stairs on his knees or backside. No such luck.

"Then why the hell did you do it?!" He backhanded Isaac across the face, causing his head to bang against the railing of the stairs.

Isaac crumpled to the floor on his side. This was it. He would grab Isaac's wrists soon and start the brutal descent into the darkened basement.

"Well?!" He kicked Isaac in the chest when he didn't answer.

Isaac's eyes widened in terror, his stomach lurching as he was pushed backward, almost over the top of the stairs. His father was more drunk than usual. Was he going to drag Isaac down the stairs like normal or...

"A-a-accident!" Isaac stammered as a coughing fit seized him.

"Accident?!" His father tried to stomp Isaac's hand but missed as he happened to be moving it. "Accident?! Oh sure that backhoe just flipped itself over."

Isaac looked up, pleading with his eyes, desperately searching for any sign of the man his father used to be. "It was an accident. I sw–"

"You disgust me." He snarled and kicked Isaac in the chest again.

Isaac scrabbled at the base of the railing, but it was too late. Gravity took over and he tumbled backward down the stairs, wood and concrete pounding his limbs and body as he tried to shield his head with his arms. Halfway down he was able to arrest his descent by hooking a heel into one of the gaps along the side railing, but before he could even sit up, his father kicked his foot loose, sending him crashing the rest of the way down. Somewhere along the way his arm got tangled up and the side of his head smashed against the ledge of a step.

Isaac's last thought before blacking out was that waking up twisted and bent in the cramped freezer would make everything hurt so much worse.


Jackson frowned as he turned up the pressure on the hot tub jets and sank deeper into the water until just his head and neck stuck out. He stretched his leg as the water pulsed against his thigh, easing a sore muscle he'd developed at lacrosse practice that afternoon.

"Spotify on," Jackson commanded, leaning back against a hot tub pillow. "My playlist."

He was not having a good day. His neighbors were being loud for the third time this week. Normally, he could ignore them and go on about his business, but fate hadn't been on his side tonight. His room was upstairs on the east side of the Whittemore mansion, closest to the road and by extension to the Lahey house across the street. His father's study was directly beneath Jackson's room, but the man rarely used it, especially this early in the evening. It was just Jackson's luck that his father happened to be home early that night for the first time in fucking forever and had heard the disturbance at the Lahey home that Jackson alone would usually have been privy to.

He had left his room and retreated to the hot tub as soon as his father started yelling for his mother to come and listen. Five minutes later the sound of sirens disturbed Jackson's would-be peaceful soak. Dammit, why couldn't his parents just mind their own business?

Jackson's mother emerged onto the deck on wobbly legs. She was back in her high heels and made up for leaving the house. This wasn't going to end well.

"Pause," Jackson commanded, hoping she would hurry up with whatever she wanted and leave him alone again.

"Jackson, honey, I don't want to alarm you, but your father and I have to go to the hospital," she said, leaning against a deck chair.

"The hospital?" Jackson wasn't alarmed but certainly annoyed.

She nodded and gave him a gentle look. He rolled his eyes.

"Honey, there's been an...an incident," she whispered. "That's where they're taking Isaac."

Jackson's frown deepened. He hated it when his parents talked about Isaac like he was one of Jackson's friends. It was beyond ridiculous. Isaac had been to a couple of Jackson's birthday parties when they were little children, but now, even after all these years, just because he was the same age as Jackson and lived across the street, his parents liked to act as if they were lifelong friends or something. Jackson couldn't even stand that weird loser. He was a loner who didn't make eye contact when people spoke to him. How could he possibly have any bearing on Jackson's life? I wish he'd just sit in that damn freezer his old man is always shouting about and quit ruining my night.

"So you're going to the hospital to see Isaac?" Jackson asked slowly, as though talking to a child rather than his mother. "Whom you barely know. Do you seriously not see how crazy that is?"

His mother smiled tightly like she always did when Jackson said something that upset her. "Do you want to come?"

"Think I'm gonna pass. You have fun though." He closed his eyes and sank back against his inflatable pillow.

Her voice was slow and overly precise as she answered. "Okay, we'll be home as soon as we can. We'll arm the alarm before we go. Call if you need anything."

"Mom, I'm sixteen not six. I think I'll be fine."

Her heels clicked on the deck floor until a cool whoosh of air signaled that she was sliding open the door and going back inside.

"Music on," Jackson commanded wearily.

He just knew his parents were going to make him visit Isaac in the hospital or some other similar bullshit. Jackson's life was so unfair.


Before he even opened his eyes, Isaac knew he was in the hospital. The sterile tang in the air was unmistakable, as was the creak of a hospital cart rolling through the hallway, and the crisp, tight sensation of the sheets on his legs. It was bad if he was here. His father always did whatever he could to avoid taking him to the hospital since it would result in difficult-to-answer questions.

He sat up to assess the damage. There was a cast on his right leg and another on his right arm, while his right hand was immobilized in a splint. His ribs hurt and his head pounded, but he was already planning what he would say. He would feign confusion and memory loss until his father cued him in on the story they were using. Then he would just smile shyly at anyone who spoke to him and explain what a klutz he was.

He blinked in confusion as he turned his head and found Mr. Whittemore, the man who owned the house across the street from his own, sitting in a chair by his bedside. Oh god, does this mean Jackson's here too? That's all I need.

"Mr. Whittemore?"

"Isaac." The man gave him a polite nod, as though greeting Isaac on his way to grab the mail rather than in an emergency medical facility. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Isaac answered automatically. It couldn't be further from the truth. It felt like every part of his body was bruised. "Where's my dad?"

The man seemed at a loss for how to respond as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. He was dressed in a suit, but the jacket and tie had been draped over the back of his chair. Crud, what if he's here as a lawyer? Is Dad in trouble?

"Lana, Lana, Isaac's awake." Mr. Whittemore turned to the small sofa in the corner of the room near the foot of Isaac's bed. Isaac hadn't noticed the woman there before and was startled to realize he had additional company.

"Oh my, did I fall asleep?" Mrs. Whittemore exclaimed as she sat up, patting her hair and straightening her clothes. Isaac's eyes widened as she stood and almost fell over.

Mr. Whittemore looked annoyed but crossed the room and gripped her arm, helping her to Isaac's bedside.

"I got up too fast," she explained with a flushed face. Worry creased her delicate features as she took Isaac's hand. "Are you in pain? Do you need more medication?"

"Uh...okay." Isaac shrugged, instantly regretting the move as his muscles spasmed and throbbed. Medicine, or more medicine if he already had some in his system, would be nice.

"Nurse, Nurse!" Mr. Whittemore called sharply as he walked out of the room.

This whole situation was strange and unnerving. Why were Jackson's parents hovering around him like this? Where was his father?

A little while later, Mr. Whittemore returned with two women, one in purple nurse's scrubs and the other in a gray pantsuit.

"Hi Isaac, I'm Nurse McCall," said the woman in the scrubs as she retrieved Isaac's chart from a plastic box on the wall. "I hear you're having some discomfort. Is that right?"

He nodded.

"Okay, on a scale of 1-10 where would you say your pain level is?"

Isaac considered the question for a few moments. "Maybe a four?"

"Oh heavens, a four!" Mrs. Whittemore clapped a hand to her chest as she made the declaration. "Did you hear that, David? He's at a four!"

Mr. Whittemore and Nurse McCall both rolled their eyes, and Isaac had to resist the urge to snicker at their independent yet synchronized reactions to the theatrical woman.

Nurse McCall's demeanor became more professional as she returned her attention to Isaac. "I can't give you anything else in your IV right now, but I'll be around in another twenty minutes with some oral medication."

"Twenty minutes?" Mr. Whittemore scowled at her. "The boy's hurting now."

"I'll ask the doctor to come and check on him," She said crisply as she walked out of the room.

"I-I'm fine," Isaac said quietly, hoping to calm the Whittemores. His father would be pissed when he found out Isaac was causing trouble in the hospital.

"Isaac, my name is Priscilla Newcastle," said the woman in the gray pantsuit as she approached Isaac's bed. "I'm with Child Protective Services."

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! This is bad.

Ms. Newcastle took a seat in the chair that Mr. Whittemore had occupied. "Could you tell me what happened?"

Isaac swallowed nervously and looked around the room, wishing his father would appear and tell him what to say. Mrs. Whittemore gave him a tight smile and patted the bed by his leg. Mr. Whittemore nodded at him and gave him an expectant look.

"Where's my dad?" Isaac asked, making one last ditch effort to avoid answering until he found out what his story was supposed to be.

"He's not here," Ms. Newcastle answered, her face serious yet somehow reassuring. She was a middle-aged woman with dark skin and strands of silver in her black hair. She looked like she could have been someone's mother, or maybe even grandmother. Isaac didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't want to tell her the truth either. He had never said it out loud, and he didn't know what would happen if he did. Besides, saying it in front of Jackson's parents seemed like a bad idea. What if Jackson found out and told everyone at school?

"I fell down the stairs to our basement,"he said softly, his eyes trained on the sleeve of Ms. Newcastle's blouse.

"Where was your father when you fell?" she asked.

Isaac licked his lips, aware that she was trying to trip him up. "Oh he was...somewhere else. I'm not sure."

"So why were you going down to the basement?"

"I needed to get a lightbulb. That's where we keep them."

"And how did you fall exactly?"

He gritted his teeth. He had been conservative with his pain estimate. It was actually more of a six or seven, and the last thing he needed right now was someone's nosy grandmother giving him the third degree. "I tripped over the rug at the top of the landing."

"I see." Ms. Newcastle gave a slow nod before pulling a pad of paper from her purse and consulting it. "Your father said your shoe was untied and you got tangled up in the laces. He said you were going down to the basement to get batteries for the TV remote and that he was standing next to you when it happened but couldn't grab you in time."

"Um..." Isaac's throat was dry and the looks he was getting from the Whittemores were unsettling. Mrs. Whittemore's eyes were shining with unspilled tears, and her husband's mouth was clenched in the same tight-lipped anger Isaac was used to seeing on his father's face. "Yeah, uh, it happened the way he said. I forgot."

"Isaac, does your father ever hit you?" Ms. Newcastle asked.

"Of course not," Isaac answered numbly.

Mrs. Whittemore sniffled and perched carefully on the edge of the bed. She grasped Isaac's unbroken hand. "Isaac, does your father ever hit you?"

Isaac felt his lip quivering. She was so upset, and watching her break down made it harder for him to keep it together himself.

"Some-sometimes," he whispered, a sob punctuating the revelation as his whole world fell apart and the darkest secret he had was dragged into the light.

There were a lot of questions after that, and he didn't have the strength or the will to lie about the answers, not now that he had already crumbled and started spilling his guts. When at last the questions about his father and their home life ended, Ms. Newcastle cleared her throat and gave Mr. Whittemore an expectant look. He nodded and ushered his wife toward the door.

"Can't we stay?" she asked her husband. "I don't want to leave Isaac alone."

"He's not alone, Lana," he answered as they walked out of the room.

Isaac's anxiety spiked as soon as Mr. Whittemore pulled the door closed behind them. He still had no idea why they were here, but he had gotten used to their presence. At least they were familiar faces even if he didn't know them very well.

"Isaac, your father isn't going to hurt you anymore. I promise," Ms. Newcastle said, giving him a serious look. "He's going to jail."

"Jail!" Isaac's heart sank. His father would never forgive him for this. Never. And...oh god, that meant Isaac was going into foster care.

"The Whittemores would like you to stay with them for awhile, and I'm inclined to agree unless you have any objections."

"Wait what?" Isaac tilted his head, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. Was she telling him he'd be moving in with Jackson and his family?

"Is there any reason you wouldn't want to live with the Whittemores when you're released from the hospital? I can take you to a group home and we can look for another placement if you'd prefer?"

Isaac's mind reeled. Group home? Was that like an orphanage? Did Jackson count as a reason not to move in with the Whittemores? More importantly would Isaac rather take his chances with his high school bully or in this group home?

"I'll go with the Whittemores," he said after a little while. He was pretty sure there would have been cliques and probably some bullies at the group home too. At least with Jackson he knew what he was getting. Maybe he could even sneak back to his own house sometimes and hide out.

Ms. Newcastle smiled. "I think that's a good decision."

-000-

End Note: Feedback is greatly appreciated.