Stiles scrambled over to Isaac as quickly as possible, trying to put as much distance between himself and the now dead giant who had toppled in front of him. Isaac was still, powerless to do anything but stare at the man he'd just pushed in front of a bullet. He was terrible at math and knew he'd never figure out the probability of how this happened. Just thinking about the timing and the angles and luck made his head spin. Although the lack of oxygen might've had something to do with that too.

"Come on!" Stiles urged quietly under his breath, grabbing Isaac under his armpits to try to pull him up. "Freak out later." The desperation in Stiles' voice snapped Isaac out of his trance and he let the boy pull him up with surprising strength. The woman was distracted, hovering over her deceased partner in crime, and this might be their only chance to escape.

Isaac shoved Stiles behind him as they inched their way toward the door. The woman was just a few feet away from it, but hopefully she'd be so caught up in her grief that they could sneak past her. The rest of the pack could worry about hunting her down and finding her. Isaac and Stiles were done. They crept carefully, Isaac holding his breath in caution. They were so close. So, so close.

Not close enough.

The woman wailed like a dying animal, jumping in front of the door to block their escape. The gun in her hand was shaky, but Isaac had no doubts she'd be able to hit her target from this close range. Isaac tucked Stiles carefully behind his back, his larger body easily covering the boy. This was their last stand and they'd come too close to give up now.

A few things happened at once. Isaac stepped forward, preparing to use his body as a battering ram. The woman brought up her gun level to his chest, ready to send out a killshot. And Stiles… well Stiles sent out a God awful shriek that would put Lydia to shame. It startled the woman so badly that she stepped back, not paying attention to where she was going.

Isaac saw on a TV show once where a man wore a pair of rubber soled shoes to keep from being electrocuted. He thought it was cool on the show, but never really thought more about conduction. But it stood to reason that if the man had to wear special shoes, it meant normal shoes probably would result in a jolt. The woman across from him happened to be wearing a pair of high heels, with very delicate, thin bottoms. And when she stepped into one of those cuffs, one of those cuffs that hadn't been turned off, she got the shock of her life. And maybe even death.

The woman jerked when the volts hit her, every muscle in her body tightening. Including the one around the trigger of her gun. It discharged in her hand, but Isaac was so transfixed that he barely even noticed. After what felt like forever, but was only a few seconds, she lost her balance and fell awkwardly to her side. Her eyes were open, but Isaac knew. She was gone.

The relief hit him hard in the chest. This was really over. They made it. Isaac never thought surviving could feel so painful, but it was like his heart was aching. And his breath was getting harder to come by. And why was he so tired? Was this an adrenaline crash?

Stiles peeked out from behind him, needing to see for himself if this was finally over. He cautiously walked over to the two bodies, checking to see if their assumptions were true. If they could finally go home.

"I can't believe we did it," Stiles whispered, whooping in joy when the words sunk in. Stiles turned to face him when his eyes turned from joyful to horror filled. "Isaac!" Isaac followed Stiles' eyes to where they were staring at his chest. He'd been right earlier when he was sure the woman couldn't miss a shot from such a short distance. Isaac felt his legs wobble and he fell to his knees. Stiles slid over, catching him before he could fall further.

"No, no, no," Stiles whispered, cradling his face.

"We did it," Isaac gasped, choking on his blood. "You made it."

"You have to make it too," Stiles whimpered, his hand fluttering in front of Isaac's chest, but hesitating to touch it. "Just turn, just turn."

"Wolfsbane," Isaac coughed, leaning over to spit out a gob of black blood. "Go get help and come back for me."

"Screw you! You didn't leave me behind, I'm not leaving you!" Stiles shouted. "You're gonna let them win? After everything you went through, you're just gonna curl up and die?"

"Can't move," Isaac slurred, feeling his eyelids getting heavier. It was the truth. His legs had gone numb for some reason and Isaac didn't want to think too hard to figure out why. Could werewolves become paralysed?

"Well, I guess I'll just have to move you," Stiles determined, dragging him over and sitting him up against the wall. Stiles carefully stepped over to the machine, turning off the electricity. He kicked the cuff away from the woman's foot and grabbed her gun, shoving it into the back of his pants after he flicked the safety back on.

"Who're you shooting?" Isaac asked, staring blearily up at Stiles as he made his way back over to him.

"No one. Well, Derek maybe, the next time I see him. After I find out why he kicked a kid out onto the streets," Stiles muttered, crouching down to throw one of Isaac's arms over his shoulders. The dislocated one, thankfully, although this still was gonna be excruciating. "On three, okay?" Isaac braced himself for the pain, knowing he had to stay conscious if he stood any chance of getting out of here.

Isaac cried out as he was lifted to his feet, the strain on his body overwhelming. If he thought he hurt before, it was nothing compared to now, with the added gunshot and poison. Stiles was murmuring hushed apologies as he drug his much larger body toward salvation. Isaac tried to get his legs to assist in the painful escape, but his feet were mostly dragging.

"You're heavier than you look, Lahey," Stiles grumbled, already panting. They hadn't made it far and Isaac had no idea where they were. He assumed they were still in the warehouse from earlier, but he couldn't be sure since he had passed out. And he had no idea if Stiles' jeep was still out there.

"Sorry," Isaac gasped, tears rolling down his cheeks as his body tried to shake itself apart. Was his life even worth all this pain? What was he even gonna go back to? He was trading in one abandoned warehouse for another. Going back to a pack he never really fit in. To an Alpha who didn't want him.

"Almost there," Stiles soothed, maneuvering them around a corner. They were back in the main part of the warehouse, where all this started. They were so close, he could do this.

"Keep talking," Isaac moaned, feeling his head dropping to his chest of its own volition. And weren't those words he'd never thought he'd say.

"Okay, okay um, I guess this is a good time for me to apologize about being a dick to you all day," Stiles said.

"S'okay," Isaac mumbled. "I get it."

"It's not okay. It's just a really hard anniversary of something with my mom and Scott usually does something with me, but this year he can't and I just took it out on you," Stiles muttered.

"Get it," Isaac moaned, pressing his lips together after a sharp pain shot through his chest. "Got one of those too."

"Not a fun club to be in, that's for sure. How did yours, uh… how did she?" Stiles asked, sounding nervous he'd stepped over a line. Isaac didn't really talk about his past, but then no one really asked either.

"Suicide," Isaac mumbled, sniffling a little. "People have been leaving me for a while now."

"God, we should've told that woman where Derek was, cause now I'm gonna have to kill him myself," Stiles hissed. Isaac couldn't help but crack a small smile at that. No one ever really cared about him enough to get angry on his behalf. Except maybe Scott, but he seemed like his natural state was to care about everyone.

They were finally at the door and so close to freedom. Isaac was freezing cold and pouring sweat. He'd never felt so awful in his life and he wasn't sure how he felt about the idea of continuously topping his previous worst moments. There had to be some sort of unbeatable peak, right?

Stiles aggressively elbowed the door, almost sending them both sprawling to the ground outside. It was fully dark now, but Isaac had no idea what time it was. All he cared about was getting to the jeep that Stiles had parked down the block. If it wasn't there, this would be the end of the line for Isaac.

"Almost, almost, almost," Stiles chanted, urging him on. Isaac was completely at the end of his rope, but he kept going anyway. Stiles was right. They'd made it too far to let those psychos win. Isaac choked back a sob when he finally saw the jeep. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen at the moment and he'd never disparage it again. He'd grumbled under his breath about it before when he'd been forced to ride in the cramped backseat, but now he didn't care if he'd be strapped to the roof like luggage, as long as it got him out of here.

"I gotta set you somewhere so I can get my spare key," Stiles mumbled, glancing around the area surrounding the jeep. There wasn't really anywhere to sit and Isaac going back on the ground seemed like a bad idea. "If I prop you on the car, can you hold yourself up for a minute?"

"Yeah," Isaac wheezed, letting himself be draped over the hood. He gripped the side mirror like a life preserver, knowing a fall would hurt a lot more than the energy it was taking him to stay standing. He spat out another splatter of black, cringing at the mess he was making on the car. Isaac could almost hear his father's voice screaming at him for making everything filthy. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Stiles asked, popping back up behind him. Isaac hadn't even noticed him opening up the car doors.

"I'll clean up, swear," Isaac slurred, feeling Stiles drag him by the armpits to the passenger seat.

"Remind me later to ask you where your father's buried, so I can spit on his grave," Stiles growled, folding him as carefully as he could into the seat. Stiles was once again proving he was stronger than he looked, sitting Isaac up in a mostly normal position with basically no assistance. Isaac just couldn't get his limbs to act as they should.

His chest hurt so bad and that was all he could think of. He figured after he'd been turned into a werewolf that he'd eventually die bloody, but this was too soon. He hadn't even gotten good at it yet. Isaac probably already would be dead if he had gone with Erica and Boyd liked he'd thought about doing all those months ago. Had that choice only given him a brief reprieve from joining the rest of his family in the ground? Was he always meant to die like this?

Stiles rushed around the car as soon as he got Isaac settled, jamming the key into the ignition and slamming them into reverse. Isaac couldn't stop his body from tipping forward, only Stiles' outstretched arm keeping him from smashing into the dashboard. Isaac cried out from the pain of Stiles' arm touching his bullet wound and his vision greyed out for a few seconds. When he came back to himself he was leaning against Stiles' shoulder, dripping black from his lax mouth all over the boy's shirt.

"Come on buddy, stay with me," Stiles mumbled, racing down the roads faster than this jeep had any right to be able to.

"M'here," Isaac gasped, trying to keep himself from bouncing as Stiles took a tight turn.

"Oh thank fuck, I thought I killed you," Stiles whispered, taking one hand off the steering wheel to awkwardly pat Isaac's head. "We're almost to Deaton's and I know he's gonna be there, okay. Just a few more minutes." Stiles kept chanting those reassuring words like a mantra. Like as long as he said it, it would happen. Isaac hoped Stiles had that power in him.

Stiles pulled as close to the vet's office as humanly possible, jamming his fist into the horn and screaming out for Deaton. The frazzled looking vet burst out the door a few seconds later, a thick book held over his head like a weapon. Isaac might've laughed at the sight, if he wasn't busy trying to cough his lungs out. Deaton tossed his book to the side, rushing up to the jeep once he saw there was no one under attack.

"What happened?" Deaton demanded, throwing open the passenger side door.

"Wolfsbane bullet to the chest, among other things," Stiles said, carefully scooting the both of them toward the waiting doctor.

"Nice to see you again so soon Isaac, although I wish it were under better circumstances," Deaton said calmly, propping him up against his body so Stiles could exit the car on his side. Isaac responded by promptly throwing up on his white coat. He whimpered, imagining his father's reaction to something like that. His dad would've dropped him immediately and stuck his nose in the mess like a dog. But Deaton didn't seem to mind the mess, just looked at his face in concern.

"Derek did the same when Kate shot him, just not this much," Stiles winced, plucking at his own black covered clothes.

"We need to hurry. The bullet is dangerously close to his heart and we need to get it out and healed before it's too late," Deaton said, gripping Isaac under his armpits. "Now Isaac, I'm afraid this is going to hurt, but time is of the essence." That was all the warning Isaac got before Deaton started pulling him out of the car, putting an ungodly amount of strain on his shoulders. Isaac yelped, lacking the energy to put up too much of a fight. Stiles grabbed his legs as soon as they were free from the car, helping Deaton carry him into the building.

Isaac was shaking violently by the time they laid him out on the exam table, his legs dangling off the end. Stiles gave the gun over to Deaton who was doing something with it that Isaac couldn't see. The table was so cold and he was flashing back to the ice bath he'd been subjected to not so long ago. This whole place reminded him of pain, the memory of relieving the dog's slowly being replaced by echoes of his own. He felt weak and selfish for wishing someone was here to take his.

"Okay Isaac, before I can get rid of the poison in your blood, I'm going to need to remove the bullet," Deaton said slowly, approaching the table with a long pair of tweezers and scalpel.

"What, why?" Stiles shouted, stepping protectively in front of him.

"As long as the bullet is inside his body, it will keep leeching poison into his blood. Putting in the wolfsbane ash won't be enough. And healing around a bullet is never a good idea," Deaton explained, a look of guilt on his face. Isaac knew the man didn't want to do this, but it was either that or die. "I'm going to need you to hold him down."

Isaac whimpered at those words, flashing back to all the times he was locked up against his will. He didn't like being held down, especially while he was this vulnerable. But he was powerless to do anything to stop it.

"Okay, okay," Stiles mumbled, rubbing an uncharacteristically nervous hand over his mouth. He moved over to the head of the table, crouching down to bring his face close to Isaac's. "You can do this, okay? After what I saw you do today, this is cake." Isaac blindly reached back with his unbroken hand, an unsaid plea clear in his actions. He couldn't do this alone. Stiles grabbed it immediately, ducking down to cradle Isaac around his neck. He never let anyone get this close, but he needed it.

Deaton started cutting without warning, opening up the wound to slide in the tweezers. Isaac wailed, kicking his feet to try to find purchase. He needed to get away. Oh God, this was too much. Why were they doing this to him? He just wanted to be safe and warm. This pain was too much.

"I've got you, I've got you. It's almost over, you're okay," Stiles murmured in his ear, pressing their foreheads together. Isaac felt himself bite through his lip, trying as hard as possible to stifle his screams. He couldn't even tell what was happening to him anymore, he just felt fire.

"I've almost got it, Isaac. You're doing so well," Deaton said, but his voice sounded miles away. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Please dad, no more. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Isaac cried, choking on a mouthful of liquid. What had he done this time to deserve this? He always tried so hard, but it was never good enough. He couldn't-he can't-stop it, stop it, please.

"It's Stiles, it's just me and you here, okay? Just a few more seconds. Your dad wishes he could've been half the man you are. You're stronger than he ever was and more than you know," Stiles babbled, pulling Isaac from his memories. It was Stiles, not his dad. His dad was gone for good. "I'm the smart one, remember? So whatever I say has got to be true. We just gotta get through this last little bit, then we can go back to being bitchy toward each other. But first we gotta plan a little payback against Derek for all of this, right? He's always getting everyone into trouble."

"Got it!" Deaton called triumphantly, holding up the tiny piece of metal. Isaac sighed, his eyes rolling around in his skull a bit. Was it finally over? "This next part might sting a bit."

The second the ash touched his wound, Isaac screamed. He bucked Stiles off of him, all of his hard fought control completely gone. Isaac couldn't stay still through this pain. He felt himself rolling off the table, landing on his side with a thud. That probably should've hurt, but he felt nothing but the stinging burn shooting through his veins. Isaac couldn't even cry anymore. This pain went past the point of something you cried over and tumbled into a place where your mouth just hung open in a constant shout. He distantly heard Stiles freaking out, but it wasn't enough to distract him from the agony. When would it stop? It needed to stop.

And then it did. Not all of the pain, but the fire was gone. Isaac sacrificed a bit of his energy to tilt his head up, trying to get a look at his chest. The black veins slithering out from the center were gone, leaving behind bright red blood and a slowly closing hole. He let his head drop back to the floor, breathing in the first easy breaths he could remember in a while. He still hurt, but this was nothing.

"Isaac?" Stiles asked hesitantly, crouching down to creep carefully over to his side. "Are you okay?"

"We did it," Isaac breathed, letting a quick smile flit across his face. "It's over." Stiles sighed, flopping over him and pressing their foreheads together. Isaac found he didn't quite mind the touching like he thought he would. It wasn't too long ago that he thought the last bit of human contact he'd get would be painful, so maybe this wasn't so bad.

"Are you healing?" Stiles asked, leaning back up to look over his body.

"I don't know," Isaac laughed, lifting up his shattered hand. He couldn't tell anything that was going on with his body at this point. And all he wanted to do was pass out. "Just break something."

"What!" Stiles squeaked, looking like he'd just asked him to run around town naked.

"Trigger the healing. That's what Derek does," Isaac mumbled, closing his eyes.

"No!" Stiles yelled, startling them right back open. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I may have a suggestion," Deaton piped in, stepping forward from where he'd been watching from a safe distance. "While pain is a powerful tool to use when in a pinch, you don't always have to resort to such barbaric means."

"So what do we do?" Stiles asked, running his fingers through Isaac's hair. Isaac leaned into it, still aching for all the comfort he could get. Before the trauma they experienced wasn't so fresh and they went back to their normal roles. Stiles being everyone else's buddy and Isaac on the sidelines providing pessimistic snark.

"Isaac, just try focusing on bringing out the wolf. It doesn't have to be a full turn, just let the power of the wolf into the forefront and it will take care of the rest," Deaton explained. Isaac nodded, careful not to dislodge Stiles' hand. Maybe if he perfected this technique, he could avoid some pain in the future. Although he'd never tell Derek what not to do. He wasn't going to look weak.

Isaac took as deep of a breath as he could muster, staring up into the steady brown eyes of Stiles. Stiles gave him an encouraging nod and shaky smile, never pausing his gentle ministrations. Even if Stiles went back to hating him like normal, Isaac would always respect and care about the other boy for all he'd done.

He felt the power starting to build deep in his belly, the comforting surge spreading like the poison had not too long ago. Stiles was mumbling supportive words and Isaac latched onto them like a lullaby. He closed his eyes, feeling the color shift.

"What color are they?" Isaac asked, opening them back up to show Stiles. Stiles gave him a small smile, sighing in relief.

"Gold."