The cold water felt like heaven against Stiles heated skin. He stared straight ahead at the white tiles, unblinking as cold droplets of water cascaded down his pale back, marking his skin with tiny droplets of freezing water, but despite the cold and the intense shivers raking through his body, Stiles couldn't pull himself from his still couldn't believe what he had done, using his powers to seek some sort of emotional revenge against Scott, it wasn't right and at the time he knew it but he was just so angry and upset and angry about the fact that he was upset and before Stiles could talk himself out of it the damage was already done, he had already hurt Scott. He's nothing but a monster. A freak.

Stiles slammed his fist against the hard tiles. "Shit-Fuck!" he shook his throbbing hand around as if it could take away the sudden burst of pain. Tiny droplets of blood collected at the surface of his skin and a deep red tinge spread over the surface of his knuckles. Knowing his luck there would be a deep purple bruise come morning.

"Stiles?" The sudden sound of his father's deep voice sent his heart into overdrive. He whipped his head around, his eyes as big as saucers. Right there, just passed the glass doors of the shower was his dad, standing in the doorway, one hand on the door handle and the other resting on his hip just above his holster. "Dad!" he most defiantly did not squeal. Stiles scrambled to cover his privates. Both on his hands cupped himself as he tried to angle his body so that his dad wouldn't cop and eye full of his…stuff but realized too late that the shower doors were glass and thereby see through from all angles. "What are you doing? I'm in the shower!" Naked.
"Oh, relax, it's nothing I haven't seen before."
"oh my god please leave!"
"OK, OK, I'm leaving. I was just making sure you were still alive, you've been in here for nearly forty-five minutes." With one last chuckle, his dad turned and closed the door behind him. Stiles quickly shut off the water and jumped out of the glass box before his dad could get any more ideas about striking up a conversation with him while he's still naked.

Even once he was fully dressed his body still quivered from the long cold shower he had endured. Time had eluded him, Stiles hadn't realized he had been in the shower for so long, standing there, lost in his own thoughts.

He just felt so…Vulnerable and angry at the fact that he feels so vulnerable. The past couple of months he's faced a crazy Alpha hell bent on killing them all, a jerk turned Kanima, a resurrected psycho wolf and a crazy old man with a wicked right hook and after all that he's never felt like this, but after one small incident in the cafeteria and now all he wants to do is curl up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and cry into his dad's shoulder. His dad has too much on his shoulders as is, what with the increase in 'animal attacks' and being understaffed at the station, no thanks to Jackson. Stiles doesn't want to add his own drama to the mix, his dad doesn't deserve that.

The Sheriff was rustling through the fridge when Stiles entered the kitchen. He leaned back against the door frame, knowing full well that his dad would only find half a carton of milk, 2 slices of cheese and an old tube of yogurt that dated back at least three years- if the smell coming from it was anything to go off. "Hey-o Daddy-o!"
His dad jumped back, his hand instinctively going to his empty holster. "Jesus Christ, Stiles!"
"What's wrong, don't like being scared to death?" he asked, "At least you weren't in the shower, Naked." The refrigerator door slammed shut with an audible click.
"Oh for the- It's nothing I haven't seen before kid. Who do you think cleaned your backside and chased you around the house when you refused to wear pants?"
Stiles bristled as he walked across the small kitchen. "I was a kid then!" He grabbed a clean glass from beside the sink and filled it with water before sculling it down in a few short gulps. No matter what his dad says, having your parents see you naked is horrifying. He'll need therapy after this.
"You're still a kid, kid."
"Nah uh! I am a mature adult thank you very much!" The sheriff snorted, the sound was magnified thanks to the silence of the kitchen. He quickly turned his back to Stiles and opened the refrigerator door, but Stiles could clearly see his dad's hand clamp down over his mouth to stifle the sound of his laughter. "Thanks a lot, dad, way to make your only child feel loved." The glass clinked noisily against the bench top.

It has been far too long since he's been able to act like this with his dad, being able to joke around and smile without feeling like the weight of the world is pressing down on his shoulders. "Oh please," his dad snorted. He closed the refrigerator once again and turned to face Stiles, the corners of his mouth was upturned in a rare smile. "You and maturity do not go together kid, not at all."
"I could be mature If I wanted to."
The sheriff wrapped his arms around Stiles' shoulders and mumbled against his hair. "No, no you could not." Stiles instinctively lent into the warmth of his dad's embrace. They stood there for a few moments in silence before his dad pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. The Sheriff pulled away, keeping Stiles held at arm's length. "Come on, go put your shoes on. I'll take us out for burgers."
"Ok, but you're driving, it's the least you can do after scaring me for life. I'll probably need therapy because of this."

The diner was busy at this time of night. People of all ages were crammed into the red 'leather' booths and hoarding along the counter. The noise was on a whole other level though, it was like everyone was talking at once, their voices getting louder and louder just so that they could be heard by the person sitting right beside them. Stiles glanced up from his milkshake. His dad didn't seem to have a problem with the noise. He was at ease, leaning back against the booth and sipping leisurely at his diet coke. (It took nearly 20 minutes for Stiles to convince him to get Diet instead of regular coke)

John leaned forward, bringing his hands to rest on the table in front of him. "So, how's school?" Oh great, small talk.
"School's OK I suppose. Harris is still a jerk, he gave me detention last week because I asked to go to the bathroom, like sorry my bodily functions annoy you- and Coach is busting my balls in gym, he's making us do rocking climbing until the end of year. I nearly fell to my death yesterday and died. Dead, gone, no more Stiles-"

"Here you are boys." Sandy, their waitress said. She was a kind older woman with graying hair, gentle blue eyes, and a kind smile. Her whole persona reminds Stiles of his own grandmother- which reminds him, he needs to call her soon. Sandy placed Stiles plate down in front of him with a wink."One double bacon and cheese, extra cheese and no tomato and a side of curly fries and for you handsome, one bland tofu burger with a miserable side salad." Sandy offered the Sheriff a pitying look and mumbled what sounded like 'you poor thing' before she left to attend to other customers. The smell of the bacon alone made Stiles mouth water and the large serving of salted curly fries was like heaven, a salty, deep-fried heaven.

Stiles grabbed the ketchup, fully intending to drown his food in sauce but from the corner of his eye he caught John dragging his plate across the table."What are you doing?" he all but screeched.
John smirked. He lifted the plate off the table and held it away from Stiles grabby hands. "I'm confiscating this as part of an ongoing investigation."
"investigation into what?"
"The murder of one Mieczyslaw Stilinski."
"Oh, haha very funny dad." Stiles reached for the plate again but his dad moved it further out of his reach. "Real mature dad." The last time he ate was at least six hours ago and it was only a measly portion of curly fries, he's starving and his dad is holding his food hostage, this has to be some form of child abuse. The noise in the diner was slowly dying down, several of the surrounding booths were now empty and Sandy and one of the other waitresses were walking around collecting plates and empty glasses while they made small talk with the regulars. John tapped his free hand against his chin in thought for a few moments before he placed the food back down on the table. Stiles instinctively reached for it but his dad was quicker and slapped his hands away with a quiet 'tsk'. "This," he said removing a handful of curly fries from Stiles plate and placing them on his own. "Is compensation for making me eat this crap and this." John used a fork to shovel some of his salad, tomato's included onto Stiles plate. "Is because there is not a single bit of greenery on your plate."
"Don't pretend you care about me eating vegetables."

* Φ *

Dinner went by smoothly after that, well as smoothly as can be expected when it comes to the two Stilinski men. "You ready to go kid?"
"Yea, I just gotta hit the can first."
"OK, I'll meet you by the car." John slowly rose from the booth, cringing as his knee gave an audible pop. "Say anything and your walking home." Stiles held his hands up in surrender even though there were at least a dozen sarcastic comments sitting on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes his dad made it way too easy.

The diner was mostly empty now, there was only the odd person scattered around. Stiles stopped in his tracks, his hand raised halfway to the bathroom door. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end and there was a strange prickling sensation trickling down his spine like he was being watched. He glanced over his shoulders and sure enough sitting in one of the bar stools was Derek 'Sourwolf' Hale. His eyes were bleeding red and his upper lip was pulled back in a snarl, revealing pointed canines.

Stiles swallowed thickly. Something about the Alpha always manages to make Stiles fear for his life, he doesn't even have to do anything, just looking at his face is like seeing his own life flash before his eyes.

With shaking limbs Stiles pushed open the bathroom door and all but ran inside. He steadied himself against the chipped, white sink and managed to drag in a few wheezed breaths before the door burst open and a pair of rough hands grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him face first into the bathroom wall. Pain exploded along his jaw, igniting his old injuries. "Dude, what the hell?"

A deep roar rumbled from behind him, too close for comfort. Stiles clenched his eyes shut against the sudden prick of tears. He tried to shy away from the sharp claws pressing against his already bruised flesh but he was stuck between a wall and a hard place. "Shut up." A warm voice growled against his ear. Against his will, a whimper bubbled up in his throat. "You are going to relay a little message to Scott for me."
"Scott?" he asked, "Look, dude, Scott hasn't spoken to me since the whole Gerard thing went down." Even the name sent a tingle through him and not the good kind of tingle either. The sharp claws retracted but the feeling of human fingers on his neck brought back images of lying under Gerard while the older man beat him down, all the while whispering horrible things into his ear. He can almost feel his warm breath against the side of his face. The smell of his cologne- the mix of earth and wolfsbane still burns his nostrils.

Stiles was jerked back to reality. The hand on the back of his neck forced him back, he stumbled over his own feet but quickly regained his footing. Red eyes glared at him from beneath dark eyelashes. Derek growled, low and rough. "Don't call me dude."

"OK, OK. Just let go." The hand on the back of his neck only clamped down harder. He winched. Why is it that every wolf thinks it's OK to use him, beat him up and push him into walls, he might not be like them but that's no excuse. "I've already told you, you're going to have to find another messenger cause Scott ain't talking to me anymore. He hasn't said two words to me since Gerard beat the crap out of me and frankly I've had enough of your werewolf bullshit to last me a fucking lifetime! So find someone else Derek, I'm over this shit! Or better yet, why don't you get one of your little puppies to do your dirty work, everyone knows they've been hanging off Scott like a bad fur coat!"

"He's not lying." The new voice caused Stiles to jump. For some stupid reason he thought he was alone with Derek, but of course one of his little puppies had to follow after the big bad Alpha. "Scott doesn't talk to him anymore. He's too busy off in his own little world with Allison." Derek's grip on his neck prevented him from turning but if Stiles had to guess which of the Betas had followed them in he would say, Isaac, it defiantly wasn't Erica and Boyd was more of the brooding silent type.

Stiles should really stop talking, unfortunately, he seems to have an unsavory habit of making Derek mad, however, for the second time today his own anger won out over reason. "Listen to your puppy Derek." The Alpha's eyes seemed to burn a darker shade of red."What, hmm, what are you going to do? You gonna throw me into another wall, maybe threaten me a little more, add to the already agonizing amount of bruises I already have? What Derek, What are you going to do? Because I have had it up to here with being a supernatural punching bag for you and the rest of the wolves in this godforsaken town!"
"No one said you are a punching bag." His voice sounded oddly sincere if Stiles didn't know him he would take his sincerity at face value, but he did know Derek and knew without a doubt that he is full of shit.
"This," he gestured wildly to the still healing marks on his face. "Says otherwise!" The hand on the back of his neck fell away. Stiles took the chance to step away from the Alpha. "I may not be a werewolf or a Kanima or a bloody Banshee, but just because I can't defend myself against you doesn't give you or any other supernatural ass hole the right to shove me around and threaten me into doing your bidding. I might be weak on the outside, fragile even but mark my words, Derek, if you or any other wolf in this town tries to threaten me again you'll find yourself on the wrong end of a stick of wolfsbane." After a beat of silence, he continued, somewhat calmer this time. "You can take your message for Scott and shove it."

Stiles didn't want to stick around and listen to whatever else Derek has to say. He stormed passed the Alpha, their shoulders bumping-almost painfully.

Isaac pushed himself off the bathroom door and straightened quickly. His blonde hair was disheveled, standing out at odd angles, his usual smug grin was nowhere in sight, he looked more like a kicked puppy than a scary Beta. "Stiles-I…I-I'm…"
"You're what Isaac?" he asked, "You know, you have become a real ass hole since Derek bit you." Isaac's hand shot out, grabbing Stiles already outstretched arm. The pressure around his wrist wasn't enough to bruise but tight enough that he wouldn't be able to pull away. The blonde kept speaking, words spewing forth from his mouth but Stiles couldn't hear anything, there was a loud buzzing in his ears- like a swarm of bees have taken refuge inside his head. Stiles tried to yank his hand away as a familiar sensation washed over his body, however, Isaac continued to hold tightly to his wrist.

Distantly Stiles could feel his phone vibrate in his back pocket but it was like the sensation was coming to him through layers of cotton. He blinked. When his heavy eyes opened Stiles was no longer standing in the boy's bathroom- instead, he was crouched behind an old set of metal bleachers. He recognized the blue buildings in the distance, the basketball hoop by the office-still missing the backboard, the bright yellow bus parked by the side of the road, this is his old elementary school. He hasn't thought about this place in years.

The grass beneath his hands felt like water, trailing between his fingers. He could see the wind rustling the leaves of the nearby trees but it seemed to pass right through him, his body remained untouched by the winds.

Stiles gazed down at his hands. His breath hitched. He was see-through, his entire body looked like rice paper. Through his hands, he could see the grass swaying in the wind beneath him. "What the hell?" Stiles didn't even recognize his own voice. It was like hearing his voice from a distance, soft and almost ghost-like. A momentary spike of fear rose up before he quickly realized what this was. He's not really here, well not in the normal sense at least. The only thing he could think to describe what is happening is that it's a sort of empathy link- at least that's what his mother used to call it.

Sometimes his mind takes him places, it usually only happens with contact to a certain item or person- in this case, Isaac. It's almost like going back in time, except he can't influence or hold sway over anything he sees or hears.

The first time this happened he was seven years old. Mrs. McCall had taken him and Scott to the precinct to visit his dad while he was on duty. He had been the first to reach the doors and tried to open them but his body had suddenly gone ridged and images began to move before his eyes like time was moving backward, suddenly he found himself standing at the front desk, invisible to everyone around him. He watched, unable to do anything as a woman strode inside- no older than his own mother. She reached inside her jacket and pulled out a gun. Stiles could do nothing but watch in horror as she shot down two deputies before a well-placed bullet hit her between the eyes. When he had finally come back to himself he was lying face down on the cement outside the precinct with Mrs. McCall and his father standing over him. His parents tried to tell him that it was a gift, that he could see past events, past crimes, and memories- both good and bad. They kept telling him that he was special and he should be proud of who he was but to Stiles his empathy link is just another reason to hate himself. Whatever he is-he's not special.

Stiles looked up. A small boy with a mop of blonde curls was crouched beside him. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a gray hoodie that was at least two sizes too big. His shaky hands were clutching a bouquet of purple Lillie's, the tissue paper around the flowers was crinkled and ripped in small places where the boy's hand fiddled needlessly with the paper. "You can do this," the boy repeated to himself again and again.

Stiles crept forward to get a better look at him. One of his blue eyes were swollen with dark purple and black bruises, his bottom lip was split and if you looked close enough you could make out deep indentations around his neck, like finger marks. There was no mistaking that this beaten and bruised boy was Isaac Lahey.

Isaac stood suddenly. Stiles followed suit. The younger version of the wolf he knows so little of sped across the field, his hands were shaking and more than once he had to stop to rub his sweaty palms across his thighs. Isaac shoved the bouquet behind his back as he approached a tiny figure. The other boy was sitting a few yards from the busy playground, his head was down and he was absentmindedly fiddling with the strings of his red jacket. "S-Stiles?" young Isaac stuttered. Stiles' eyes widened as the younger version of himself looked up. The younger him looked like hell warmed over, his eyes were bloodshot and wet like he had been crying for hours, his lip was split from where his teeth had bit down trying to stifle his sobs.

There's no doubting that this is him and no doubt that the cut across his younger self's forehead is the same wound his mum gave him during one of her fits (where she forgot who he was) but Stiles can't remember this- this whole scene, Isaac, the flowers, he doesn't remember any of this ever happening but yet Isaac remembers.

Mini Stiles straightened and quickly wiped a tiny fist across his eyes. "What do you want Isaac?" he asked. "If you have come to laugh at me like everyone else then just go. I don't need it from you too." Mini Isaac's fingers curled tightly around the flower stems.
"That's not why I'm here," he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I actually…I um…I brought you something." Isaac shoved the bouquet at Mini Stiles.
"Whats this for?"
"My brother says flowers make people feel better and you were sad so I thought maybe they might make you feel better…" Stiles could see that he was losing his nerve. His hand that was holding the flowers was shaking and he constantly rubbed his sweaty palm on his trousers. "If-If you don't want them I can-"
"I want them!" Mini Stiles screamed. His tiny hands shot out and snatched the bouquet from Isaac. He pressed the flowers close to his chest and dipped his head ever so slightly to breathe in the smell of freshly cut lilies. "They're pretty, thank you." Tiny fingers straitened the purple petals. "You can sit down if you want." Mini Isaac all but fell onto the bench beside his younger self. Neither spoke for a long moment. It was like watching a car crash, painful to watch but you find yourself unable to look away.

Isaac's hand slowly inched along the bench, his fingers twitched beside mini Stiles little hand. Their eyes met briefly, a red blush flared up on both boys faces. Mini Stiles cleared his throat, "You can hold my hand…if you want."
"O-OK." Stiles couldn't help but smile as the younger version of himself and Isaac held tightly onto each other, their fingers entwined in a white-knuckle grip, neither seeming to want to let go of the other. It was almost adorable (as long as he didn't think about the beta wolf and his stupid smug grin.) He was so busy mulling over all the ways he hates the blonde haired wolf that he nearly missed when Isaac leaned over and kissed mini Stiles flaming red cheek. His younger self-broke out into a fit of giggles, he gripped Isaac's hand tighter and turned to smile at the blonde. That look in his younger self's eyes- it's the same glint he reserved just for Lydia Martin. It makes Stiles sick to think that he had once used to look at Isaac that way- even though he doesn't remember this.

Blackness crept through the corners of Stiles vision until all he could see was inky blackness. A tingling sensation settled through his body- like pins and needles on steroids but the feeling was a comfort from the bone-crushing numbness he had encountered in the empathy link. Stiles jolted up suddenly, dragging in a gasp of air. Isaac's face was the first he saw as his vision returned. His brow frowned in concern and his eyes were wide with unshed tears. Isaac seemed to visibly deflate, his shoulders sagged and he released a deep breath. "Thank god," he mumbled. He ran a shaky hand through his tuft of blonde curls. "What the hell happened? I thought you had a heart attack or something." It was just then that Stiles realized he was laying on the bathroom floor, his head was propped up on a leather jacket which felt oddly soft against his skin and smelt of a weird combination of cinnamon and pizza sauce.

Slowly Stiles pushed himself up onto his elbows, he immediately noticed that the Alpha was missing and felt oddly…happy that Isaac had bothered to stay with him."Why am I on the floor?"
"You collapsed, Stiles. Your eyes rolled back and you just…dro-" The blonde was cut when the bathroom door was thrown open, narrowly avoiding Isaac who jumped out of the way at the last second. John barreled into the small room, closely followed by a flustered Derek. His dad dropped to the floor by his side, his hands instinctively going to Stiles' face and cupping his cheeks in a way that has always made him feel safe. John twisted his head this way and that checking Stiles over for any visible injuries. "Dad, Dad, I'm OK."
"Your O-What the hell happened?" his gaze flickered from Stiles to the two wolves crowding around them.
"I slipped." The lie rolled easily off his tongue. "Might have hit my head on the sink and blacked out a little." John's fingers pressed firmly into his cheeks. His dad's brows frowned in concern, a look he has become all too familiar with lately.
"Jesus kid…Do you think you can stand?"
Stiles replied, "Yea."

With the help of his dad, Stiles managed to get back on his feet, although a bit wobbly at first. He regained his footing quickly, silently thanking the heavens that he wouldn't need to use his dad as a human crutch while they walked through the diner.

It wasn't until he was sliding into the passenger seat of his dad's cruiser that he felt a tugging at his shirt sleeve. He glanced down at the long fingers entwined with the sleeve of his plaid over shirt. Slowly his eyes traced up, over long lithe arms and across a slender chest until Stiles' eyes met a pair of deep blue orbs. Absentmindedly his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips. "Are you OK? I mean, really, after everything?…I mean, what you were saying before…and, I'm really sorry" Isaac stuttered out. Stiles mind was a bit preoccupied with the tingling sensation running up his arm from where Isaac's knuckles were gently resting against the tender skin of his wrist. God, what the hell is wrong with him. Stiles quickly snatched his arm back. "I'm fine, Isaac." There was no hiding the obvious disdain he felt for the werewolf.