When Stiles parks at the Sheriff's station, Isaac is confused.
"What are we doing here?" he asks, his heart rate picking up. He's been here before, but only once. He was giving a statement about his dad, and he doesn't want to go back in. It was uncomfortable, and maybe it was also somehow the best night of his life, but it was still...a lot to deal with.
"It's okay," Stiles says softly. "Just trust me, remember?"
And there's something about his tone of voice, the way he's saying it, that makes Isaac want to do just that. He nods, and gets out of the car, following Stiles.
Stiles goes in the back, punching in a code to get into the door.
"Are we supposed to be here?" he asks.
"Yes." Stiles nods. "I mean, supposed to? I don't know, but allowed to be? Yes. My dad's the Sheriff. I get access to the staff gym."
"The...gym?" Now Isaac is even more confused. Did Stiles bring him to work out? Isaac isn't wearing the right shoes for that, and Stiles really doesn't seem like the sort to hit the weights on the weekend, but Isaac is trying not to judge.
He's also sort of given up on trying to figure out what's going on before Stiles tells him.
"Yes, the gym." Stiles nods. "It'll be clear when we get there, okay?" Instincts takes over, and he reaches out, taking Isaac's hand, thinking nothing of it as he draws him towards the gym.
Isaac, though, thinks something of it, because this is the first time he's held hands with someone since his mom died, and he doesn't know why it's so weird and so comforting at the same time, but it is.
Stiles is unphased by his own actions, however, and Isaac doesn't bring it up. He doesn't want to look stupid.
"Okay, here we are." Stiles opens the door to the gym and lets go of Isaac's hand as he leads him over to a punching bag. "Do you know how to throw a punch?"
Isaac shakes his head.
"Okay." Stiles smiles. "I'm going to teach you."
"No." Isaac speaks instantly, his chest tight as he does so. "I...I don't want to."
"Why not?" Stiles frowns, looking at Isaac.
"I…" Isaac looks at the ground. "I don't want to be like him," Isaac whispers.
"Oh...Isaac." Stiles bites his lip, shifting awkwardly, because yeah, he didn't even think of that, and it makes sense, but at the same time, he wants to help Isaac past that. "You're nothing like him, and just because you know how to throw a punch, that doesn't mean you will. You know what it's like to be on the receiving end of an undeserved hit," he says, his voice gentle, comforting. "You would never put someone else through that."
"How do you know?" Isaac challenges.
"I can tell, you're not that person." He smiles at Stiles. "I'm not teaching you how to pick a fight, I'm teaching you how to safely throw a punch. At a punching bag. Yes, you could use it to defend yourself, but right now, what we're doing is projecting. You're gonna project your feelings onto that punching bag. It's not living, see?" Stiles squares up and punches the bag, watching it swing back and forth as he steps back. "No damage done. You can't hurt it. But you could hurt yourself, which is why I'm going to show you how to do this correctly."
"Oh." Isaac takes a deep breath. Stiles has so much confidence in him, and it's hard not to believe the things that Stiles says. He's so convincing.
"So first things first," Stiles says with a smile. "Make a fist."
"Okay." Isaac nods, making a fist, tucking his thumb beneath his fingers.
"Oh, buddy." Stiles shakes his head. "That's...the very best way to break your thumb."
"Oh." Isaac turns a little red. "You told me to make a fist, I just...I don't…"
"You've never fought back," Stiles says softly. Yeah, that part is pretty clear. Isaac has always been the kid getting wailed on, he's never the one that threw a punch of his own.
"Right."
"Okay, here, let me show you. Do you mind?" Stiles reaches out, his hands hovering about an inch over Isaac's poorly made fist.
"Go ahead."
"Okay." Stiles takes Isaac's hand, moving it until the fist is in the correct position. "There." He smiles. "That way, you won't break your thumb."
"Good." Isaac definitely doesn't want to add a broken thumb to the list of things that were wrong with him.
"Now stand like this." Stiles opens up his stance, standing, both his hands fisted, his body angled just perfectly towards the bag.
He watches as Isaac mimics the stance.
"Good, now, square your shoulders...like this." Stiles, though shorter, walks behind his Isaac, his hands on the other man's shoulders, helping him stand up straight, lining his body up the way that it needs to be.
It's strange for Isaac, having someone touch him, and at first, he wants to shy away, to pull back, because touches in his life? They haven't always been good, but just like the rest of him, Stiles' hands are gentle and comforting, and there's not a bone in the other teens body that would be used to hurt Isaac.
He trusts him, and that's a lot, coming from him.
"Alright!" Stiles steps back, getting back into stance himself. "You're ready, so take a deep breath, and then just like this." He throws a much slowed down one-two punch at the bag. "Think you can do that?"
Isaac nods.
"Okay." Stiles relaxes his own position. "Just think about everything that's upsetting you. I know you don't want to think about it, but it's all in there, it's boiling around, and instead of letting it make you panicky, or anxious, or sad, let it make you just angry enough to hit that bag. It won't hit back. It can't." He moves in front of Isaac. "You're safe here. That's the most important thing to know."
Isaac gulps and nods, taking a deep breath before throwing one very slow, very weak punch at the bag. It hardly moves.
"That's a start, but Isaac, really let the thing have it. You're way more upset than that. I can see it on your face. Don't hold back. We're alone here. You can cry, you can scream, just hit that bag with everything you've got. You'll feel better, and if you don't, if it's uncomfortable, you can stop and tell me, and we'll go do something else, okay?"
"Okay." Isaac nods, closing his eyes this time.
He thinks about all of it, what his father did to him, what his father is still doing to him. He thinks about he's going to have to face the man again, and say to the court everything the bastard did to him. He thinks about how his father is going to ask him questions, questions designed to hurt him, and how he's going to have to answer them, because it's the law. He thinks about how scared he is, how helpless he is...and how angry he really and truly is at his father for turning him into someone who can barely function on a daily basis.
And then he throws a punch, a real one. Hard, and aimed right at the center of the bag. It goes flying, and comes back at him with another, and another, and there are tears, and fists flying everywhere, and it's like every emotion he's never know how to express is coming out, and he's using it against this punching back, this inanimate object that can't do him any harm.
When he's done, he's covered in sweat, his curls are hanging over his eyes, and he's panting, out of breath, but he's standing tall, his hands still balled into fists. He turns to Stiles, and Stiles is smiling at him.
"How did that feel?" Stiles asks.
"Good," Isaac admits.
"Do you feel better?"
"Yeah." And it's true, he does feel better. He's not quite sure how that works, how hitting something can make him feel better, and he's worried that that's how his father saw him, as a way to make himself feel better, but Stiles is right. Isaac would never transfer that feeling onto another person, he's just not like that. Maybe his dad didn't know about this, about gyms and punching bags, and the cathartic effect it could have.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Stiles asks softly.
"I…" Isaac bites his lip. "I was just thinking that...what if hitting me made him feel better?"
"That...very well might be the case," Stiles admits. "But that doesn't make it any less sick."
"No, I know." Isaac nods. "It just sort of makes more sense now."
"Yeah, but it's still not okay," Stiles pushes. "Whatever you do, Isaac, don't justify what he did to you."
"I'm trying not to," Isaac says softly. That's so much of what he's working on with Dr. Jacobsen, with not justifying his father's actions. It's not because he's not good enough, or because it made his dad feel better, it's because his father is a mean, cruel, twisted son of a bitch, and deep down, he knows that, but sometimes it's hard to accept.
"Wanna get out of here?" Stiles asks.
"Yeah." Isaac nods.
"Where do you want to go? Ice cream? I'm thinking Ice cream."
"Ice cream...sounds nice," Isaac says slowly.
He's not usually one for sweets, and hasn't spent a lot of time eating them, but right now he's in just the right mood, he thinks, to enjoy something like that. He's spent energy wise, but for the first time in a long time, that's a good feeling.
A/N Sorry! I know I promised to post by the weekend, and it's still Sunday where I am, so I'm slipping this right on in there! I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and thanks so much for reading! It really does mean a lot time that you're spending your time reading my strange writing! Hope you all had a killer weekend!