Finding Your Way Home

A/N: Thank you guys for the positive feedback, especially everyone who has commented, favorited, and followed! I'm glad you're enjoying this story. Without further ado, here's the next installment:

Chapter 4: Isolation

The next three weeks passed in a bit of a blur for Isaac. With the waning of the full moon, he was finally able to regain a small amount of his control over the wolf, though he still struggled to keep it at bay. The claws and fangs refused to retract unless he gave it all the concentration he could muster. And the fur on the sides of his face; well, he gave up on trying to do anything about that – it was winter after all, so at least it helped keep him a little warmer. Determining it was no longer safe to spend any amount of time around people not in the know about the supernatural, he kept to the woods, wandering aimlessly through the freshly fallen snow and barren trees.

Without his phone connecting him to the boy he'd left behind in Beacon Hills, Isaac's whole mental state fell, and fell hard. Sometimes whole days would pass while Isaac lay in the snow, lost in the whirlwind of thoughts and memories plaguing his mind. The cold would begin to set in his bones, and he would wish, no beg, for death to finally take him and end this miserable and pathetic life he had succumbed to. And with another full moon soon approaching, the fear of what he might do was quickly overpowering him as well. Why couldn't Argent have just killed me back in Paris? That would have been so much easier for everyone. Why couldn't the Nogitsune have just left us alone and stayed locked up. Then Stiles and I could have… could have been friends, and none of this would have happened. Why did I ask Derek to bite me? I haven't done any good as a wolf. I should have just stayed a pathetic human without any friends. It would have been better than being a pathetic wolf without a pack.

Isaac lost track of time, day became night and night became day, but it was all the same to him, and all so meaningless and empty now. Each sunrise meant another day of agony, of hunting wild animals for food or else coming that much closer to starving in the woods. He had never been fat, by any stretch of the imagination (his father had barely kept enough food in the house to make basic meals, and asking for more would have been an automatic death sentence in the freezer); now, though, Isaac could tell his body was beginning to waste away. The werewolf metabolism didn't mesh well with only eating the occasional deer or rabbit or fish every couple of days. Every time he took off his filthy, tattered, falling apart shirt, he could practically count the ribs sticking out under the taught, pale skin. Emaciated, a familiar voice echoed in his head. He smiled slightly, thinking back to the study sessions he'd had with Scott and Stiles preparing for the PSAT's that he will probably never actually get around to taking now. All that time studying, wasted. The only good thing that came out of it was getting to be around Stiles. Argh, I should have just stayed in Beacon Hills. I wish I could go back. I wish I could just die already, and not have to deal with this anymore.

It was a day like any other when everything changed, another in the seemingly endless march of time. Isaac could feel the pull of the approaching full moon, meaning it was only a few days away now. The wolf was back to being right at the surface at all times, still manageable but only with a lot of concentration. Of course, it was that concentration on keeping the wolf at bay that proved to be Isaac's downfall. He had been wandering aimlessly through the trees, lost in both the world and in his mind, when an arrow came screaming through the night air. The half a second of warning from the swoosh of the arrow just barely allowed him to duck enough to make sure it hit his shoulder instead of right between the eyes, where it had been heading. Isaac screamed in pain before collapsing to the ground, instantly feeling the wolfsbane laced in the arrow's tip penetrating and poisoning his body.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" a voice called out of the shadows as a man slowly approached the injured wolf.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Isaac huffed, barely containing the growl forming in his chest. The man continued advancing until he stood almost directly over top of Isaac, his crossbow loaded and aimed purposefully at the wolf's face.

"You speak English? How quaint. Tell me, how does an American werewolf end up lost and alone in the forests of France? Running from someone perhaps?" The man scoffed, kicking Isaac in the ribs and causing the teen to howl in pain.

"Why… do you… care?" Isaac groaned, one arm clutching his injured side and the other his shoulder as he tried to scoot away from the hunter.

"I don't, not really, except it will make things that much easier for me. I'm sure others of your kind have told you stories about those who hunt down the big, bad wolves like you." The grin that accompanied that statement was enough to strike fear in Isaac's heart.

This isn't going to end well. I wish Scott was here, or Derek, or just someone who could help, he thought to himself. Aloud, he said, "I'll never help you. I don't work with hunters who don't follow the code. And I've not done anything wrong."

"You see, I was hoping you would say something like that," the hunter replied, grin widening even more as he crouched down in front of his prey. "I like a bit of defiance. It wouldn't be any fun if you just rolled over and died. Yes, I think you will be perfect for what I'm looking for. And just in time to; the full moon's only three nights away."

A million questions flooded Isaac's mind. What do you want with me? What are you planning? Why me? But before he could ask a single one of them, the hunter had levelled the crossbow directly towards the teen's chest and fired, the bolt lodging just below his heart. Isaac gasped in pain. So, this is how I'm going to die, was the last thought to go through his mind before unconsciousness claimed him.

-o-

Isaac jolted awake, a loud, mechanical roar filling his ears as the room he was in suddenly jerked, slamming his head into the wall. Why is the room moving? He felt groggy, his senses dulled, and struggled to even open an eyelid to take a look around him. Where am I? What happened? Another jolt sent him slamming into the floor, and with it the memory of the hunter in the woods flooded back into his mind. With a spike of adrenaline, the grogginess disappeared, and his eyes quickly darted around to take in his surroundings. No, not again, he groaned as he realized the room he was in was actually the cargo hold of an airplane, the roar he heard was the engines keeping them what was likely thousands of feet in the air. He was tied up with chains thick enough to prevent a werewolf from escaping. He was trapped, and frightened, and alone.

He strained at the chains binding his wrists to the anchor in the floor, but it was no use. Even with his enhanced strength, they refused to budge. With another groan, he sunk against the floor, defeated. At least its more open in here than the last airplane. His eyes meandered around his metallic, airborne prison, taking in the dust and rivets and lone doorway that let in just a sliver of light. Closing his eyes, partially to concentrate and partially to block out the claustrophobic room around him, he focused on his hearing, tuning into the sound of voices coming from further in the depths of the aircraft.

"So Rex, do you think Connor will like the present you got for him?" a voice said. Male, middle-aged maybe, Isaac thought to himself.

"He'd better, after how long it took me to find one," another replied. That's the one who attacked me in the woods.

"Well, perhaps if you hadn't insisted on coming all the way to France just to capture an omega werewolf, we would have finished before Christmas," the first man said, voice a mixture of sarcasm and exasperation.

"Hey, its more authentic this way. If my son is going to train to be a hunter, he needs the best experience possible."

"But the werewolf you captured is American. You could've just stayed home and cut out this whole trip."

"Perhaps. But my father and my grandfather and his father all trained with omegas from France. It's tradition. Besides, I needed to get away from Karen for a while anyway. That woman's been driving me crazy for months. Don't tell me you haven't enjoyed this little vacation from your wife too," the hunter from the forest chuckled, his friend quickly joining him.

"You got me there, I suppose. Remind me again whose bright idea it was to put the women in charge of hunting families?"

"Clearly someone who never met a Karen."

"Or a Susan." The two men laughed at their joke, then fell into silence for a few minutes. Isaac curled in on himself, knowing that whatever these men planned did not bode well for his future. The men joked around and talked some more, alternating between debating who would win the upcoming Super Bowl and reminiscing about their previous hunting exploits, neither of which interested the captive wolf. Isaac eventually tuned them out, preferring to focus on the few good memories he still had, most of which featured a certain honey-eyed boy he once knew.

An hour later, the door separating the cargo hold from the rest of the airplane slammed open with a bang, startling Isaac out of his reverie. His eyes locked on the hunter from the woods silhouetted in the doorframe, instinctively trying to back away but unable to move more than a few inches because of the chains. "You're awake! Good, this is always so much more fun when you're conscious," the man said, his Cheshire grin returning.

"What… what do you want with me?" Isaac stumbled, voice cracking from his dry throat and lack of use over the past weeks.

"I want you…" the hunter said slowly, ambling down the stairs and into the hold, "to do what your kind does best."

"I… I don't know what you're talking about," Isaac pressed out, fearfully watching the man advance, eyes trained on something he twirled between his fingers.

"Oh, I think you do. Creatures like you are nothing but mindless beasts, a menace to society and a danger to anyone who might be unfortunate enough to cross your path. You're just lucky that I'm the one who found you first." The man paused, standing just a couple feet away from the wolf, eyes boring into him from above and noticing Isaac's intense focus on the syringe in his hand. "Ah, curious about what this is, are you?" he asked, holding it up for his prisoner to get a good look.

"N… no," Isaac stuttered, trying to hide the fear growing inside him.

"I think you are," the hunter replied, contemplating the needle for a moment. "After all, it's only fair that you know." He crouched down, eyelevel with the chained-up wolf while he slowly removed the cap from the syringe. "As you may already know, we hunters have a long, noble history of not just removing creatures like you from the world, but also studying them. We know every weak point, every vulnerability, everything that makes you what you are and how to exploit it in order to take you down. It's knowledge that is not easy to come by, it takes years of training to truly… understand the things that go bump in the night." He paused again, teeth glistening in the pale light from the doorway giving him the appearance of fangs.

"Training the next generation of hunters is something we take very seriously," he continued, holding the needle up to the light and giving the tip a slight flick. "We have to make sure they are mentally prepared to go up against such vicious, heartless creatures. And there's no better way to do that then having to take down a feral omega wolf." Here his Cheshire grin came out in full force, eyes shifting from the needle to the teenager before him.

"But I'm… I'm not… feral," Isaac half-whispered, his heartrate skyrocketing as he began to figure out where this was going.

"True," the hunter replied, feigning a look of contemplation. "At least, not yet. Ordinarily it takes months, sometimes even a year or two, for an omega wolf to go completely feral, depending on how strong the old, broken bonds were that tether the wolf to reality and how many other friends or relatives they still have. It is hard to find a wolf that far gone, they usually end up dead long before that happens. But don't you worry your pretty little werewolf head, my family developed a solution generations ago." Isaac gulped, curling tighter in on himself as his eyes locked onto the syringe in the hunter's hand. The man laughed as he watched the fear and realization hit the wolf. "Yes, this little needle here. It's a mixture of mistletoe and belladonna. Not enough to kill you, since that would defeat the whole purpose of using you for training. No, just enough to reveal the beast that lies inside, the true you."

Before Isaac could react, the hunter darted forward, jabbing the needle into his thigh and slamming his hand down on the plunger. Isaac screamed in pain, ripping the metal rod from his leg and throwing it across the room as the man jumped back to his feet and out of striking distance. But the damage was already done, and Isaac could feel the poison beginning to course its way through his system. He stared in horror at the pinprick of blood oozing through his jeans, the wound itself already healed over and keeping every drop of the injected mixture inside him.

"I give it a day, maybe two, before you go completely feral, just in time for the full moon," the hunter said as he walked away, back towards the door of the cargo hold. "And just in time to be my son's final test as a hunter in training. Once he cuts you in half, we will celebrate him joining our ranks as the fifth generation to take up the mantle of hunting those who hunt us."

"You're sick!" Isaac spat, convulsing on the floor uncontrollably as the poison continued to work its way through his system.

"And you're a monster. We all have our issues. No matter, in a few days, you will also be dead. I would ask if there's anyone you'd like us to notify; but, seeing as you're an omega, it's obvious that's a no. If anyone cared about you, you wouldn't have been out in the woods all on your own." With that, the hunter stepped back into the interior of the plane, slamming the door shut on the werewolf and leaving him to scream in pain completely alone.

-o-

"I'm fine, dad," Stiles huffed, shrugging the man's hand off of his shoulder in frustration as he slowly walked down the hall, leaning heavily against the railing. Two weeks had passed since Stiles awoke from his coma to realize that the world had gone on without him. Two agonizing, frustrating weeks of wondering what had become of the one werewolf who had tried to talk to him during his month-long slumber. Two weeks of pushing his body to obey his commands when his atrophied muscles refused to cooperate or let him do something as simple as walk from the bed to the bathroom unaided. Two weeks of isolation, with only his dad and the doctors for company. To say Stiles was upset would be an understatement.

"Hey, kiddo, take it easy," his father replied, backing away with his hands in the air in a placating gesture. "You're doing great. All the doctors and therapists say you're recovering faster than they expected."

"It's not anything I've done," Stiles said through gritted teeth. "We have Deaton and his magical mumbo-jumbo to thank for that." Indeed, the veterinarian/Druid/whatever had stopped by the hospital unannounced three days after Stiles had awoken from his coma with a handful of vials and some typically cryptic instructions on using the power of belief to get better, faster. Stiles had internally scoffed at the idea, but gratefully accepted the alternative medicine offered to him and took it religiously alongside the hospital-prescribed ones. The combination seemed to be working; after two weeks of intense therapy, the teen had regained most of his fine motor skills and could walk several laps around his wing of the hospital without too much trouble. But, for someone who had been almost completely independent since he was 10 years old and made a habit of attending school and lacrosse practices after pulling an all-nighter with more nervous energy than he knew what to do with, only being able to shuffle slowly down the hallway and having to always stay within arms-length of something to hold on to in case his legs suddenly gave out was pure torture.

"I'm just ready to go home," Stiles sighed, reluctantly pausing to give his legs a brief respite.

"I know son," the Sheriff replied. "Just a little bit longer. Dr. Geyer said he'd come by to check on you this afternoon, and as long as you are doing alright, he'll release you tonight or tomorrow."

Stiles brightened up slightly at the reminder. He had always been uneasy in hospitals ever since his mother's illness and death, too many bad memories, so being forced to remain in one for so long had really taken its toll on him, even if he was unconscious for most of it. Dr. Geyer had been his one saving grace, regaling him with tales of his stepson's adventures into mischief and trouble whenever he stopped to check in on his patient. The younger teen (Luke? Larry? Something that starts with an L) sounded like he would be either hilarious or nightmarish to meet in person. And, after finding himself so short of friends recently, Stiles would happily take either option at this point. Sighing at the wishful thinking, he glanced up at the clock, only just realizing what time it was. "Hey dad, shouldn't you be heading to the station, like, 15 minutes ago?"

The sheriff glanced up at the clock too, cursing under his breath. "Alright, let's get you back to bed, then I can head in. It should be fine if I'm only… 30 minutes late."

"Dad, that'll be the third time this week. Just go now, I can make it back to my room on my own."

"I… Stiles, I shouldn't leave you on your own…"

"I'm in the hospital," Stiles replied, deadpan, flailing an arm around him. "I am literally surrounded by nurses and doctors. I'm supposed to be trying to walk on my own more anyway; and if I can't make it all the way, someone will help me before I even have to ask."

"Are… are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive. You've already used up all your vacation and sick leave watching over me. And I appreciate it. But I think I can handle a few hours by myself until you get back this afternoon. Now, go and get to work before Scott's… before Agent McCall comes up with another excuse to investigate you."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going. Look, are you sure you're going to be ok…" his father began, before trailing off at the look he received in return. "Right, of course you will. I'll be back this afternoon then."

"Bye dad," Stiles replied, wrapping his father in a quick hug and watching him disappear down the hallway before letting out a sigh. "Alright, now what?" Stiles said to himself. After being cooped up in the same room for so long, he was certainly in no hurry to return. Time for a little test run, he thought, checking to see if anyone was paying attention to him. He slowly meandered further down the hallway, casually glancing over his shoulder to make sure no nurses would come running after him. It wasn't so much that he trying to escape or anything like that, more that he just needed a change of scenery, and maybe some fresh air.

With one final look over his shoulder, Stiles half-stumbled into the elevator and pushed the button for the ground floor. Finally, he thought with a grin. Exiting with as much grace as he could muster on slightly wobbly legs, he slowly and purposefully strutted down the hallway that would lead towards the emergency room exit. He was almost home free when Melissa McCall suddenly came out of the room two doors down from him. Crap! He ducked through the nearest doorway before he could be seen, knowing that if he was caught by Melissa he would get the lecture about not overdoing things or wandering from his hospital room from her and Dr. Geyer and then his father, and then probably her again just for good measure. And, while he loved Melissa dearly, she was practically his second mom after all, he wasn't really in the mood to see her or be lectured by her when her own son absolutely refused to talk to him. And not for lack of effort on his part. Those first few days after he'd woken from the coma and was essentially bed-ridden he had, mostly out of boredom, spammed all of his former friends with texts, calls, emails, you name it. Not one of them had replied. Just thinking about Scott in particular would send him spiraling, either in a furious rage or a tear-fueled depression. Avoidance probably wasn't all that healthy, but it beat the alternative.

A low growl broke him out of his reverie and forced him to finally take in the room he had just crashed his way into. It was a dispensary, filled with both supplies and medication. Wait, that door should have been locked, he thought to himself before his eyes landed on a very unexpected individual. "Ethan?" he asked, eyebrows raising into his hairline as he caught the werewolf filling a bag with various supplies. "Or Aiden? You two are sometimes kind of hard to tell apart, you know? Wait, of course you know that, you're twins, you've probably been dealing with people getting you two mixed up your whole lives. Does that ever get annoying?"

"Listening to you ramble on gets annoying," the werewolf growled, advancing forward menacingly.

"Hey, hey, no need for all the growly stuff. I'm sorry I barged in on… whatever it is you're doing in here," Stiles quickly said, holding his hands up and backing away slightly. The wolf stopped, eyes darting from Stiles to the door, as though he expected someone else to bust in at any second. "It's just me," Stiles continued, noticing the movement. "I'm not actually supposed to be down here, and Scott's… Scott's mom was about to catch me, so I just ducked through the closest door I could find."

"Whatever," the twin said, though he did relax slightly before turning back to pulling things off the shelves.

Stiles watched him with a critical eye for a moment before daring to break the silence. "Care to tell me what you're doing, Ethan? Or Aiden? Um, which one are you?"

"I'm Ethan," the wolf replied with a growl of frustration, turning back around to face the human. "And if you must know, I'm here to get supplies for my brother. And I'd rather not be caught doing it. So, you can either leave me alone to finish or I can go tell Melissa you're in here and let her deal with you."

"Hey, no need for that either, I was just curious. I haven't had anyone to talk to in a while," Stiles replied, slowly making his way into the room and over to the shelves next to the wolf. "Why does your brother need bandages? And surgical tape? And antibiotic ointment?" he asked, taking a peek at the supplies Ethan was clearly stealing. "Did he get hurt?"

"He's still hurt," Ethan growled again, eyes flashing blue for a moment and forcing Stiles to stumble backwards slightly.

"Wait. Still? You mean he hasn't healed from being stabbed by the Oni's blade?" the younger teen asked, shocked and concerned and guilt-ridden all at once.

"No, he hasn't," Ethan replied, turning slowly to face him fully. "And no one will give me any answers on what to do about it."

"Really? Scott… hasn't said anything? What about Deaton? Or Derek?"

"No," Ethan said with a dark chuckle, "no, Scott made it clear that he was done with us. Apparently not even helping to save his best friend's life and capture a 1,000-year old trickster spirit was enough to earn a place in the 'True Alpha's Pack.' And Deaton is Scott's emissary, so it's not as if we can really go to him for help behind Scott's back. As for Derek, he disappeared, and no one knows what happened to him after that final battle."

"So, you're alone?" Stiles asked, earning himself another growl from the wolf.

"Obviously," came the biting retort. "Like we have always been. Now, if you're finished interrogating me, I need to get back to Aiden."

"Wait a sec," Stiles said, turning quickly to peruse the shelves in front of them before pulling a couple of tubes of stuff out and shoving them into Ethan's hands.

"What is this?" he asked, holding them up skeptically.

"They should help," was the reply. When the wolf simply levelled another skeptical, querying look at him, he continued on, "look, I'm not an expert in supernatural healing, or Oni, or anything really. But I've picked up a few things from Deaton, and I remember… well, I remember the things the Nogitsune said and did. So, this one," he pointed to one of the vials in Ethan's hands, "should do a better job fighting the infection than just antibiotic cream. And these ones," he pointed at the other two tubes, "should, when mixed together, help draw out whatever poison is still in there preventing him from healing. I can't promise it will work, but it can't hurt."

"Wow!" Ethan exclaimed, incredulous. "Um… thank you! That's… that's really nice of you. What can I do to repay you?"

"Repay me?" Stiles asked, tilting his head to give the wolf an odd look. "All I did was tell you which medicines to steal. You don't need to repay me."

"At least let me help you get back to your room, you look like you're about to collapse."

Stiles glanced down to see that his legs were, once again, shaking and close to giving out on him. "Deal," he replied, gratefully accepting the wolf's help and, after checking that the coast was clear, leading the way back to his home away from home on the fourth floor. They made their way through the hospital corridors silently; or, at least as silently as it is possible to be with Stiles present. Once he was safely back in bed, Ethan said a quick good-bye before taking off to tend to his brother. Stiles watched him go with a sigh before nodding off, exhausted from his rebellious excursion.

Before he knew it, the afternoon had passed him by, and his father and Dr. Geyer were arriving to check on him. Determining that his condition had improved enough to be released from the hospital, the doctor bid the Stilinski men farewell, on the condition that Stiles not overdo it again. Stiles promised he wouldn't; one six-week set back in his recovery was more than enough, and he still wasn't even back to the way he was when he chased after Isaac at the airport. Grateful to finally be home and back in his own bed, away from the constant beeping and buzzing and everything else going on at the hospital, Stiles fell asleep almost instantly, thoughts of a curly-haired wolf chasing the nightmares away.