Finding Your Way Home

A/N: Hi everyone! Shoutout to Orionastro for giving this story it's first review, thank you! The good news is I now have a basic outline for this story, consisting of roughly 15 chapters total. So now I at least feel like I know where we are heading. The bad news is that life just got way too chaotic for me – I need to find a new place to move to, and then do so, in less than a month while working full time and looking for a new position – so please forgive me if updates are a little slow here for a while. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy the next installment!

Chapter 3: Descent into Despair

What is that noise? Where am I? What's going on? Why can't I move? The thoughts swirled around in his head, but he could find no answers to them. The memories proved elusive, the answers seemingly just out of reach of his tired and aching brain. He continued to struggle for a few minutes, all of his limbs refusing to obey his efforts to move. Finally, with a slight groan of frustration, he managed to open his eyes and take in his surroundings. I'm in the hospital, he noted, taking in the sterile walls and collection of wires and tubes connecting him to several machines near the narrow, uncomfortable bed he was lying in. Why am I in the hospital? Was I in an accident? Where's my dad?! The heart monitor began to beep faster and faster as the panic set in and he tried again to get up, much more frantically but still with no success.

"Stiles? Stiles! You're awake! Calm down son, it's ok, you're in the hospital but I'm right here with you, just breathe," the sound of his father's voice ebbed the panic away little by little until Stiles was able to relax as his eyes caught sight of the Sheriff jumping out of a chair near the window that he hadn't noticed earlier.

"Dad," the teen gasped, one hand reaching out for the man while the other clutched at his chest in pain.

"Shh, shh, it's ok," the Sheriff repeated, grasping his son's hand firmly in his own and trying to maintain as calm a composure as possible. "Everything's alright, just relax." They remained that way for several minutes, until the panic attack had finally subsided and the young man's heart and breathing rates had returned to normal levels.

"What… what happened? Why am I in the hospital?" Stiles finally asked, wincing as he tried to sit up a little more in bed. Before his father could answer, a doctor came sweeping into the room with a couple of nurses trailing behind him.

"Ahh, Mr.… Stilinski, is it? Yes, yes, you gave us quite a scare young man, but it is good to see you awake once more," the doctor said, rifling through a bunch of papers and not sparing his patient more than a quick glance as he spoke. "I'm Dr. Geyer, one of the on-call physicians here at the hospital. I'm sure you have lots of questions, but we need to run a couple of quick tests first just to make sure everything is ok. Is that alright?" he directed his last question towards the Sheriff, still standing at Stiles' bedside.

"Um, yeah, of course," the Sheriff replied, "I'll just wait outside." With that, the older man left, though Stiles was still able to see his reflection through the little window in the door.

"Alright Mr. Stilinski," Dr. Geyer continued without missing a beat, "the nurses are going to take your vital signs and test some of your reflexes. While they do that, do you think you can answer a few questions for me?"

"I guess so," Stiles replied, somewhat bemused as the unfamiliar nurses began poking and prodding him.

"Good, good. First, can you tell me your full name?" the doctor said, returning to his paperwork, eyes widening slightly.

"Mieczyslaw Zygmunt Nikodem Stilinski," the young man answered, rolling his eyes as he said it, "but most people just call me Stiles."

"That's… good to know. How old are you Stiles?" Dr. Geyer asked next, peering over the papers briefly at his patient.

"Sefenveen," came the muffled reply, as one of the nurses had just stuck a thermometer in his mouth while the other examined his ear canal. The questioning and examining lasted for a few more minutes, with Stiles growing in exasperation, until the doctor was finally satisfied that the tests were sufficient.

"Well," he began, taking a few more notes in his papers and standing back up to leave, "you appear to be in decent health, all things considered. There is a fair amount of muscular atrophy, but that's to be expected. You've been in a coma for a month after all…"

"A month!" Stiles exclaimed, instantly lurching forward in bed, "what do you mean a month? I can't have been unconscious that long, there's just no way!" He immediately regretted the quick movements and groaned as he lowered himself much more gently against the bed.

"I'm sorry Stiles, truly I am," the doctor replied, watching the young man with a slightly forlorn expression, "but that is the truth. You were admitted on November 20th, after you were seen collapsing at the airport. And today is December 23rd. I know its not what you want to hear, that you've lost that much time, but I hope you can take comfort in the fact that, now that you are awake, you can begin to get back to normal life again."

"My life hasn't been normal for a long time, doc," Stiles quipped, shaking his head in frustration.

"That may very well be," Dr. Geyer said, chuckling slightly. "Hey," he leaned in, losing his professional air for a moment and taking on a much more fatherly expression, "it's going to be ok. It'll take some time to heal and build your strength back up, but you're going to get through this. The worst is over now."

"Thanks doc," Stiles replied, though the smile he wore didn't quite reach his eyes.

"The important thing right now is to get plenty of rest, food, and fluids. We'll start you off on a soft diet and go from there. We'll also be doing quite a bit of physical therapy to help get your muscles used to moving around again. For now, though, I'll get out of your hair and let your father come back in. I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about," and with that, the doctor was out the door, his nurses continuing to trail after him. Stiles watched through the window as the doctor spoke with the Sheriff for a few minutes, presumably reiterating what he'd just told Stiles, if the grim expression was anything to go by.

"Hey kiddo," the elder Stilinski said in greeting, walking back into the room to reclaim the chair he'd grown all too accustomed to over the past month. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I lost a fight with a werewolf before drinking a bottle of kanima venom," Stiles groaned, squirming to get in a position on the bed that didn't feel awkward. His dad leaned in to help, fixing the pillows and blankets to make his son as comfortable as possible. "Have I really been out of it for an entire month?" Stiles finally asked, voice trembling slightly as he looked up at his father with a fearful and forlorn expression.

"Yeah," the Sheriff grimaced, looking away briefly as the memories flashed through his mind. "I was out on patrol when I got a call saying you were being brought into the hospital by ambulance. When I got here, they told me you had collapsed at the airport of all places, probably from a combination of stress, fatigue, and your compromised immune system. It was…" he turned to look back into his son's eyes, a couple of tears streaming down his face, "it was touch and go there for a while, when you slipped into the coma. The doctors said you might not ever wake back up." He paused, trying to clamp down on the sudden flood of emotions hitting him all at once.

"Dad, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to do… this," Stiles said, slightly ashamed that he had once again caused his dad so much turmoil.

"Stiles… why were you even at the airport in the first place? You were supposed to be on bed rest, taking it easy at home," hid dad questioned, leaning forward to clasp his son's hand in his own again.

"I was… I was there…" Stiles started, searching his memory for the answer. It took him a few, very frustrating minutes before it finally came to him. "I was there to see Isaac. He was leaving with Argent, but he didn't say goodbye."

"Stiles…" the Sheriff began, before cutting himself off with a shake of his head. A large part of him wanted to chastise his son for being so foolish and putting his health in jeopardy, but after everything that happened with the Nogitsune, he understood why Stiles would risk so much just for a chance to say goodbye to one of his friends. And he didn't even know the worst of it yet. "I'm just glad you're ok, and awake again."

"I'm not going anywhere, dad, I promise," Stiles replied. "Literally, by the looks of it," he added, groaning as his eyes roved around the room once more. They landed on a small pile of envelopes and other paraphernalia in the windowsill. "What's all that stuff?" he asked, pointing vaguely in their direction.

"Get well cards, I imagine," the Sheriff answered, getting up to retrieve them. "I haven't opened them. I was… well, I wasn't sure I wanted to until you were awake."

"I… understand," Stiles said, remembering how his father had ignored or destroyed the cards they received when his mom had died. Another pang of guilt struck him at the realization of just how difficult the past month must have been for the man who had already suffered through so much. He gave the Sheriff of Beacon Hills a weak and watery grin, conveying as much as he could without words. The message seemed to get through, his father giving him a slight nod of the head and his shoulder a light squeeze before passing the stack of envelopes over for Stiles to sift through. "Looks like Coach made the whole team sign a card for me… although I'm guessing he didn't read through some of these notes before sending the card here," Stiles laughed, handing over the card for his father to read.

The older Stilinski glanced through the card, eyebrows raised as he read the notes inside. "Well that's… definitely something," he said, shaking his head as the comment elicited another laugh from his son.

"Ah, Greenberg," Stiles continued, looking at the next card in the pile, "when will that guy ever learn to be tactful." He handed the card to his dad as well, laughing again at the reaction the message inside received. "Oh, and here's one from Danny… Ha! I knew that I'm secretly attractive to gay guys! Bout time he admitted it."

"Wait, what? Stiles?" his father interjected, confused and concerned all at once.

"Oh, um, yeah. I once asked Danny if he thought I was attractive, but he never really gave me an answer. Well, not until now that is," Stiles grinned, showing his dad the card with a bunch of little hearts all over it.

"And why would you want to know if you are attractive to gay guys?"

"Well, dad, there's a conversation that we really do still need to have…" Stiles replied, blushing slightly.

"You're actually being serious, aren't you?" his father asked, scrutinizing the younger Stilinski intensely.

Stiles blushed even more, rambling as he looked everywhere but directly as the older man. "Well, I mean, the last time I said that I was just kind of joking, because I was trying to hide the fact that Scott and I were trying to get Jackson away from the crime scene without being noticed since we were working out what to do about him being the kanima and all that and it was the first thing that popped into my head to explain why I was at a gay club, but you know what they say, the best lies are the ones that contain a hint of truth and all that, and so it might be fair to say that, in this particular scenario, there was a little bit more truth to the story I made up than what I probably would have been willing to admit to and…"

"Stiles, you can stop now," the Sheriff interjected, shaking his head in amusement at his son's ability to talk without taking a breath. Stiles clamped his jaw shut, finally meeting his dad's gaze with wide eyes that were both fearful and hopeful. "No matter who you like, you will always be my son, and I will always love you and be proud of you."

"Thanks Dad," Stiles replied, shamelessly letting a few tears fall as the two wrapped each other in a tight hug. They remained that way for a long time, letting their emotions out without speaking in a way they hadn't for a long time.

"But just so we're clear," the Sheriff said, breaking the silence and finally pulling away slightly to give his son a mischievous look, "I reserve the right to arrest and interrogate any potential girlfriends or boyfriends you have in the future. And, God help me, if it's a werewolf or a banshee or a kanima or a… whatever, I'm going to get Argent to supply the whole police force with every kind of wolfsbane bullet that exists, and maybe a few that don't."

"Alright, alright, I get it, overprotective dad defeats potential werewolf boyfriend," Stiles chuckled, shaking his head. "I doubt you have anything to worry about, the supernatural creatures in my life aren't exactly lining up to take me out on a date. Speaking of, I didn't see any cards in this mess from the Pack. Did I miss them somewhere?"

The lighthearted mood instantly changed, growing cold and despondent. The Sheriff sighed in a way that let Stiles know he wasn't going to like whatever came next. "Son," his father started, placing a gentle hand on top of Stiles' own, "they… I don't know how to tell you this. They are still grieving, you know, over losing Allison… and the other things that happened while you were possessed by that thing…"

"They still don't want to see me or talk to me," Stiles interjected, understanding what his father was implying even though it hurt to admit it, more than he could say.

"Yeah," the older man replied, wrapping his arm around his son's shoulders in support as he watched him try to suppress the tears beginning to collect in his eyes once more.

"Even… even Scott?" Stiles asked, a slight hitch in his voice.

"Scott… he's… Hell, you know how he gets when he's overwhelmed or emotional," the Sheriff said in response, not wanting to let his son be hurt any more than he already was.

"What did… what did he say?" Stiles pressed, turning his round, pained eyes to stare directly at his father.

The older man sighed deeply, desperately wanting to not have this conversation, but knowing he couldn't keep what had happened from his son. It would only hurt him more in the long run. "He said he doesn't want you to be a part of his pack anymore. He doesn't think he can forgive what happened with the… the thing that took over."

"The Nogitsune," Stiles corrected automatically, expression going blank for a moment. "I… that's… that's o…" he tried, before the sobs began to wrack his body, tears flowing freely, and he collapsed in his father's embrace. The two remained that way until Stiles, still severely weakened from his possession and coma, fell back into fitful slumber. Noah gently laid him back in bed properly, straightening out his blankets and smoothing down the mess of hair that had grown on his head in the past month. He kept a silent vigil by his son's bedside throughout the night, elated to have him out of the coma and recovering but still terrified that he could at any moment lose his precious boy, the only family he had left in this world.

When Stiles awoke the next morning, the first thing he did was chastise his father for staying up all night watching over him, noticing the almost bruises that had formed under his father's eyes from lack of sleep. Threatening to get out of bed in order to force his father to take a nap, he finally convinced the older Stilinski to put his feet up in the recliner, and about two minutes later the man was fast asleep. Momentarily satisfied, and quickly bored out of his mind, Stiles asked the nurse who came in to check on him to retrieve his phone from the small collection of possessions he had in the room. Once she was gone, and he had charged the dead piece of technology enough to turn it back on, he began sifting through what he could find on it, noticing first the complete absence of calls or messages from all of his friends. All, that is, except one.

It seems Isaac had taken to texting him in place of keeping a journal, and Stiles grinned slightly to himself as he read through the pages of missed messages before switching to listening to the collection of voicemails. His grin faltered slightly as he took in the seriousness and despondency of Isaac's voice, and he grew increasingly concerned as the younger teen seemed to reach the conclusion that Stiles had been intentionally avoiding him. Concerned and frustrated, Stiles quickly tried to call him back, only to receive an automated message saying the number he was trying to reach had been disconnected. Frowning to himself, and unsure of what else to do, he called the only other person he knew in France, all too aware that this would not be a pleasant conversation.

The phone rang six times, and just as Stiles had resigned himself to having to leave a message for the man, a gruff voice answered the call. "What do you want Stilinski?"

"Hey, um, how are you doing?" Stiles replied, ignoring the hostile tone in the hopes of receiving a more genuine answer.

"I'm very busy at the moment, putting the finishing touches on the cage we are using to trap the spirit you released into this world, so if this is just a social call, I'm going to hang up on…"

"No, no! Don't hang up," Stiles cried out, half-frantic, "I was… I'm trying to get ahold of Isaac, but it said his phone's been disconnected."

Argent remained silent for a few moments, making Stiles worry the man had simply set his phone to the side and was ignoring him. Finally, after what felt like forever, the man spoke. "Isaac disappeared."

"What?! What do you mean he disappeared?" came the quick retort.

Argent sighed, causing a wave of static over the line. "He's an omega wolf now. Actually, at one point he asked me to put him down before he could hurt anyone, though obviously I refused. I lost track of him a few weeks ago when he left Paris on his own, and as far as I know, he hasn't been seen by any of the hunters or werewolf packs in the area that my family has contact with."

"So, what? He's out there all by himself? How could you let him just wander off like that?" Stiles practically shouted, anger rising in his chest like a tidal wave.

"I tried to convince him to return to Beacon Hills," Chris growled back in frustration, "but I was too busy working on cleaning up the mess you made to be able to look after him also. It's not my fault that the one person he tried to call, over and over, for the first few weeks he was here never answered him or called him back, Stilinski."

"That's… I wasn't… I've been in a coma! I couldn't answer my phone," Stiles said, anger rapidly disappearing to be replaced with guilt and sadness.

"Whatever," was Argent's reply. "I still have work to do to ensure the Nogitsune can't be released again. If I hear from Isaac, or hear about where he is and what he's doing, I'll try to convince him to reach out again. But I'm not making any promises."

"That's… ok. I just want to make sure he's alright," Stiles sighed, forlorn.

"So do I," Argent huffed, before ending the call.

Stiles stared down at his phone, willing it to ring once more with Isaac's name flashing across the screen. He finally sighed and set the phone back down when that did not happen. Isaac, where are you? Are you safe? Are you ever going to come back to me?

-o-

Isaac eventually decided to head north. Having vaguely remembered Argent mentioning they were staying on the northern side of the city, it seemed logical that going further north would take him away from Paris, and people, sooner. With no real destination or purpose in mind, he allowed his mind to wander. It was morose, the memories inside his head. The past few months had been filled with pain and torment – the deaths of Erica, Boyd, and Allison pressing in on him like a vice. All the training, all the planning, all the cuts and scrapes and broken bones and supernatural healing, and it had all come to nothing. He'd still lost the first friends he had made in years. And it was made even worse when he recalled the members of the pack still living, and that final confrontation with Scott just days before he had literally flown away with Argent.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" Scott asked, the ever-present tears streaming down his face.

"Scott, I'm sorry… But I can't stay here. My mom, my da…ad, my brother, Erica, Boyd, and now Alli… Allison are all buried here. In a cemetery that I used to work in. There's just… there's too much… death in this town. I have to get away." The words came out mechanically, each one a struggle as he watched his Alpha's face crumple. He had never wanted to hurt anyone, not even the man who spent years beating him senseless. Being a part of this much death and destruction had been too much for him. But he couldn't seem to make anyone else understand that, and Scott was no exception.

"But Isaac… you're a part of this pack. We need you here. I need you here. You can't leave."

"I'm sorry, Scott. Really, I am. But I can't stay." Isaac took one last, forlorn look at the teen wolf who had done so much for him – given him a home when his former alpha threw him out like garbage in the rain, trusted him when everyone else saw him as useless, taught him about the positive sides of their abilities, fought for him and saved him when others would have left him for dead and tried to kill him. This was a terrible way to repay Scott for everything he had done, Isaac knew that. He didn't expect forgiveness, or understanding. He knew the consequences of his actions. He was willing to accept his fate, if for no other reason than to finally be at peace.

"If you leave, you'll be an omega. You know that, right?" Scott asked, pain and desperation leaking through every syllable.

"I know Scott."

"I… I saw Gerard kill an omega once!" the other boy exclaimed, half-frantic. "The omega didn't even have to do anything. Gerard and the hunters caught him and cut him in half in the middle of the woods. If you go, there won't… there won't be anybody to help you or protect you."

"I know, Scott." Isaac repeated with a sigh, causing Scott to halt in his tracks as realization dawned on him.

"That's your plan, isn't it?" He asked, incredulous. "You're giving up, aren't you? I don't believe it! After everything we've been through, how can you just… how can you give up like this?"

"I'm tired, Scott," Isaac sighed again, slumping his shoulders in defeat and turning to walk away. "I'm tired of fighting, and arguing, and… hurting. I'm ready for it all to just be over."

"Fine," Scott called out to the slowly retreating figure. "If you would rather give up than stay here and help the Pack, then we're better off without you! You're not a part of this Pack anymore!" There was a moment of silence between the two, until Isaac suddenly gasped and clutched his chest in pain. Falling to his knees, his vision blurring, it took him a moment to realize Scott had just broken the packbond between them, effectively cutting him off from his alpha and his packmates. Isaac was truly an omega now. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched one of the best friends he had ever had run away from him as fast as his supernatural feet would carry him.

Isaac trudged forward solemnly, so lost in thought that he was nearly run over on more than one occasion. Deciding the main roads were too dangerous in his present state of mind, he began aimlessly following the first side road he came to. It eventually led him through a forest to the outskirts of a small, quaint village. I wonder where I am, he thought to himself, taking a quick look around town. There wasn't much to see; a few houses, a couple of businesses, and some farms. He finally located a sign that at least looked like it was telling him he was in a town called Chauvry. On a whim, he snapped a picture of it and sent it to Stiles. "Ever hear of this place before?" he texted immediately afterwards, smiling slightly to himself before realizing what he had done. Sighing, then putting his phone away when he once again didn't receive any response back, he decided it was time to find something to eat and trudged into a small café. The owner didn't speak English, and Isaac didn't speak French, but with some well-aimed pointing and gesticulating he was able to order and pay for his meal. Not trusting his control of the wolf side of himself, he opted to take the meal with him, retreating to the tree line just outside of town where he could eat, and brood, in peace.

For the next week and a half, Isaac did much the same. He wandered the countryside aimlessly, sticking to the forests and occasionally wandering into one of the local villages to get something to eat and borrow an outlet to charge his phone. At one point he thought he had stumbled across another werewolf, and was just about to call out when the creature darted away from him. He took to texting Stiles throughout the day, mostly to have something to do and someone to at least pretend to talk to, though at the same time the boy's lack of response was becoming all the more heart-wrenching. In the more miserable moments he would call Stiles' phone, wait for that infernal "Hey! This is Stiles and you missed me!" and then pour out his heart to the answering machine, begging the boy to return his calls and telling him about how agonizingly lonely his life had become.

As the days wore on, Isaac could feel the pull of the full moon coming. It terrified him, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. The handful of full moons he had experienced in his wolf life so far had not gone very well, even when he had a pack and an anchor to ground him. Without either, Isaac shuddered to think what could happen. He definitely did not want to hurt the local villagers who, despite the language barrier, had been very friendly and welcoming to the strange American. He hadn't really planned this far ahead. He had expected Argent to still be around, to agree, however reluctantly, to putting him down before he could become feral and hostile. But Argent wasn't there. His anchor, Stiles, wasn't there. He didn't have an alpha to look to for guidance anymore. He was alone; totally and completely alone. And he could tell this full moon was not going to end well.

The day before the full moon would appear, Isaac hiked further into the forests farther northeast, not entirely sure he was still technically even in France anymore. He found a spot that seemed as secluded and far away from any local villages as possible, then sat down to wait. As the moon began to rise, he could feel the shift coming on in full force, unable to stop it. He howled, the sound escaping his throat unbidden. Desperate to remain in control, he pulled up some videos he had taken on his phone in the very brief respite the Pack had had between the destruction of the Alpha Pack and the arrival of the Nogitsune. He listened, ears attuned to the sound of Stiles' laughter, anything that could tether him to the boy and reality he had left behind. It worked for a few hours, but as the moon began to reach its peak in the night sky, the phone's screen flickered to black, the battery having reached the end of its life.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Isaac cried out, practically clawing at the power button, hoping to get at least one more glimpse of the boy. But it was not to be, the phone refused to turn back on, and Isaac collapsed to his knees in anguish. Now completely alienated from his human life, the wolf side began to take over. The primal desire to hunt the only thought left in his mind, he threw the useless metal box in his hand against a tree, grinning in satisfaction as it was dashed to pieces. Glancing cautiously around the clearing, he noticed something else on the ground nearby coated in his scent. He nudged at the strange object, opening it to reveal various useless items, but no food. Grunting in dissatisfaction, he turned away from it and raised his nose into the air, getting a sense of the area around him. Finally, a scent caught his attention, something nearby made of meat and completely unaware of his presence. Excited, he tore off through the underbrush, chasing after his prey with unrestrained ferocity.

Isaac awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and the taste of blood coating his mouth and throat. A quick look around showed him the remaining pieces of a rabbit he must have caught and ate, though he had no memory of doing so. Retching slightly at the sight, and stumbling to try to get his bearings, he took in the clearing more fully with dismay as he realized it was not one he recognized, and his duffel bag was nowhere to be seen.

Determined to retrieve the few remaining possessions he had in this world, Isaac retraced his steps as best he could by scent. It was difficult, he had obviously been moving at an alarming rate as he chased after the rabbit, a thought that sickened him slightly. It took three days, but he finally reached the clearing he had started in on the night of the full moon. A sob hitched in his throat as he looked at the shattered phone, his only means of contacting the few people he still thought of and considered friends. His duffel remained where he had left it, thankfully, though the winter weather had taken its toll on the contents. Hoping to salvage what he could, he sifted through the broken pieces of his phone until he found the SIM card and, carefully stowing it in an inner compartment of his bag, he took off once more. Stiles, why didn't you ever call me back? Now its too late. It looks like I won't be keeping that promise after all. I hope you can forgive me.