Notes: Sorry this is late, it's been a rough two days for me and I just didn't have time to edit 11 pages. The book Isaac and Ally discuss is called Under the Dome by Stephan King. Thank you for reading!
Chapter 9: That type of Rage
When Isaac steps back out onto the deck, Lydia is twirling a piece of hair between her fingers and smiling devilishly at Charlie as he recounts a summer spent here with his parents. They both sound a little tipsy, Charlie's words are meshing together and Lydia's breathing is heavier than normal. Stiles is shooting daggers at both of them from across the campfire, muttering under his breath that no one is having sex in his goddamn cabin unless it's with him.
But as he turns his attention around the fire he doesn't see Ally anywhere. Isaac frowns and sticks his nose in the air, trying to catch her scent and manages to pick up a hint of her perfume in the breeze that's coming in off the lake. He should probably stick around for when Allison and Scott come back out so it seems like he didn't just spend the better part of ten minutes eavesdropping on everything that they had said about him. But he can't find the energy to sit next to Stiles and deal with the jealousy that's practically leaking off of him or the pungent hormones that smell too much like sweat and primal based want surrounding Charlie and Lydia.
Before he can change his mind he turns to head back down the steps, through the grass and out towards the lake where he picked up on Ally's scent. She's not very far away but for some reason the prospect of her heading down to the water by herself in the dark with basically only the low hanging moon to guide her footing makes him uncomfortable. His improved vision in the dark helps him immensely when it comes to stepping over overturned rocks, roots above the dirt, dips in the earth and tree branches…to be quite honest he's got no idea how someone without perfect eyesight makes it down here in the dark without tripping over something or themselves. Not to mention if the siblings aren't the threat that Isaac thinks they might be there still could be something out there that's keeping a close eye on this cabin. He doesn't know Charlie or Ally very well but that doesn't mean he wants them to get hurt as some sort of collateral damage either.
Isaac really wants to believe that all of this is just what Scott suggested, a mixture of paranoia and not scenting Ally's attraction to him correctly but…he also said that he's got to start trusting his senses. Because his wolf intuitively knows more than he does and it's been hinting at him for a while now that something just isn't quite right.
Ally is sitting on an exposed root under a tree near the bank of the river, her flip flops are off and she's dipping her toes into the water. She hears him coming and tenses because she doesn't know who it is until he sits next to her, slowly getting comfortable as her shoulders relax. Neither of them speak for a few moments, taking in the surroundings instead. Isaac listens to the steady sound of her heartbeat and the slow suction of her breathing as his eyes flitter across the top of the lake water. Insects lazily bounce against the surface and he's surprised that none of them seem to get their wings wet enough to drown.
"Do you feel better?" Ally asks, turning her head. She probably can't see him very well in the dark but the outline of his face is most likely highlighted by the moon reflecting off the water.
He's confused by the question a moment because, no, eavesdropping on Scott and Allison actually just made him feel worse instead of better like he thought it would. But then he realizes she's probably talking about earlier today when he got sick in the woods.
He clears his throat, "Oh, yeah. A lot better. Heat had been getting to me."
She hums. "You don't think with all of the trees that it can make it past that shade but…it's almost like the leaves hone in the heat. Like…the rainforest or something." Ally blushes, he can smell it, like chalk dust. "All that humidity, like someone put a plastic dome over the forest."
Isaac smiles softly, leaning closer to her, which doesn't help the blush situation at all. "I think you're in the wrong story, King." He teases, making her laugh softly.
"You know that one?"
He nods. "I love to read."
He hadn't really gotten into reading until his mother and brother passed; any story was better than his at that point. It was soothing to place himself in a world where his father didn't exist, in place that didn't hurt or break his bones. The library was always somewhere he could hide out in for hours at a time when his father was on a particularly bad tangent and the librarian even let him stay after closing hours when she saw a black and blue mark under his eye the one day.
"My mom used to read to Charlie and I all the time, especially when we came up here. The lake sort of reminds me of her, peaceful. You know?"
Isaac nods softly, leaning back a little before looking out at the water. He can tell that she had just lost her parents recently, the wound open and still fresh, the ache of it clear on her face and the way she carries herself. He understands, in a way, that sort of longing to be close to someone lost because missing them is almost too painful to deal with. He used to hide inside his mother's closet for weeks after she had died just because all her clothes still smelled like a mixture of laundry detergent and her perfume.
"I'm really sorry about your parents." He says after a moment, his voice is soft and almost gets carried away in a passing breeze. But he figures he should offer something since he hadn't had a chance earlier in the day.
As much of a relief it is to lose his father, he still finds himself mourning the father figure that had disappeared a long time ago. That had been his real father, the person without the bourbon soaked memories, without violent hands, harsh words; someone he'd lost before the kanima had ripped his muscles and skin from his bones.
Ally runs a hand through her hair before tucking a piece behind her ear. "Car accident," She shrugs her shoulder but he can tell it still bothers her, even though she's probably had to tell this story a million times to so many different people. The action should be monotonous but…it isn't, the wound as it starts to heal is ripped open every time. "Someone drove through a red light and ran them off the road."
The amount of pain that's in her voice is enough to nearly take his breath away, it's a cold grip reaching inside of his chest and squeezing his windpipe. He empathizes, knows that losing a parent can sometimes be like losing a part of yourself, that connection to family, that blood, that kind of love, something that can't be replicated or replaced.
"They didn't even stop," She chokes out and laughs but its humorless and broken. She wraps her arms around herself but Isaac knows she's not cold; she's trying to hold herself together. "Who does that? Who doesn't even…stop?"
Part of him doesn't know what to say; Ally isn't looking for some sort of answer, the questions are rhetorical because there are no answers as to why random tragedies have to happen to good people. He hates for thinking it but he briefly wonders about the person in the car that had hit Ally's parents; he thinks about what kind of life they lived and what could have provoked them to just keep on driving.
He wonders why too often.
Anyone can be pushed to become someone they're not with the right amount of pressure. The old just buckles under the new, is swept under the rug, is changed and forgotten. He wonders about the driver, he wonders how scared or angry or alone they had to have felt to just…keep on driving.
To leave a couple dying in their car. Quick and violent.
Isaac stops thinking about it when he hears Ally sniffle beside him and quickly wipe under her eye with the back of her wrist. He knows she's trying to hide this reaction from him but he can smell her tears, strong and overpowering like salt water. He's never been one to have the right words; they always seem to get caught between his brain and voice box, he doesn't know what to say and if he does manage to force syllables out it's always at the wrong time or place. Or just simply wrong.
"I'm sorry," Ally says, when the moment has passed and there's been too much silence. Isaac just shakes his head because she really doesn't need to apologize to him. "I didn't mean—"
She's embarrassed. "No, don't." He gently bumps his shoulder against hers because she can't see his soft smile in the dark. "Don't be."
His eardrums pick up the gentle thrumming of the get together on the deck a few feet behind them, glances over his shoulder to see Scott moving around the campfire to sit next to Stiles and ask him where he is. He licks his lips and looks over at Ally, placing his hand over hers to squeeze before standing.
"We should get back."
Ally curls her hair around her ear before nodding, moving to slip her flip flops back on before taking Isaac's hand to help her over the exposed root of the tree and up the small hill to more even land away from the lake.
"Did they ever catch the guy who did it?" Isaac asks and then wonders if he shouldn't press on something so personal.
It's clear that while Ally looks like she's coping with what happened she's still very distraught over it. Which is perfectly understandable. Even though Ally has opened up to him about what happened that doesn't translate into any of this being his business. As they walk towards the cabin the light around them grows clearer and she can look up at him and actually see his face. She stops a moment and shakes her head.
"No, never." Her fingernails dig into her arm; he can hear the catching of flesh, like a pin snagging the skin of a grape. "I just wish the police had figured out who it was."
There's something flickering between the letters of her words, exposed to him like he can reach out and touch it, fingers running over braille. The spike in her heartbeat, the venom etched into her words, the quickening of her pulse as she looks up at him with eyes that are weary from heartache.
Rage.
He understands that type of anger; it calls out to him for an embrace like an old friend. That anger, while easy to hide, is the kind that never disappears. It just stays there, it builds, it eats away at your very insides until there's nothing left but to do something about it.
Isaac swallows as Ally gives a small smile in his direction before turning to head up the stairs to where everyone is on the deck. He tries to picture it, the rage in her voice filling up her entire body and what she'd do if she knew who had taken her parents from her. Revenge is a potent thing; it starts out small, like cancer, a single harmless cell. It's not dangerous until it attaches to other cells, until it breeds and builds and latches on, until it's breathing with you and beating with your heart and filling your veins. Until it's a part of your very being.
He wonders what she would do to the person if she knew who it was.
He thinks she's not exactly a threat, barely a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet with a kind smile and a pretty blush when she's close to him. But then he thinks about the person behind the wheel that had hit her parents and that it's very easy to become someone you'd never thought you could be with just the right amount of leverage.
Isaac hates to admit he knows that because of experience more than anything else.
0o0o0o0o
When he was little and his mother would give him baths, sometimes he would hold his breath under the water just to see how long he could. She'd tell him time and time again, upon pulling him up, about how that wasn't good for him. But it wasn't like she was the best person to take advice on what was and what wasn't good for someone. She drank too much and began to smell like an ashtray instead of her perfume, her fingers were rough and her smile wasn't bright and he hadn't needed werewolf senses to know how lost she was. How being with his father was eating her up from the inside out.
He'd sink into the tub when his parents would fight and their words would drown in his ears as water rushed to his eardrums. He'd hold his breath until black dots swarmed his eyesight and he grew dizzy and his lungs ached for oxygen to the point where it felt like his ribs were buckling in on themselves and the only thing he could hear was the frantic beating of his own heart.
Isaac bursts through the surface of the lake water, taking a large intake of air as his arms balance to tread water as he breathes.
"Dude," Scott says, a little further away.
His hair is matted down from the water, plastered across his forehead as the moon reflects off the water droplets on his shoulders. The luminescent beads travel gracefully along the strong muscles of Scott's collar bone before slipping back into the lake.
"I didn't think you were ever coming back up." He treads mostly with his arms and the action of it sends small waves of water washing over his shoulders. "You could be on the swim team with a pair of lungs like that."
Isaac snorts and shakes his head adamantly. "I think Matt has officially ruined the prospect of me ever joining the swim team."
There's a small amount of humor in his voice but he means what he says. Not to mention his dad, surprise, has poisoned that aspect of it also. After all, the whole Matt thing wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for him.
Scott smiles. "I don't think I blame you."
Isaac and Scott had managed to slip away from the cleanup crew after Charlie and Ally had left to go home, they still had a ton of things to pack away before they left in a day or so and couldn't stay any longer. By then it had reached one in the morning, everyone had said their goodbyes and Charlie had given Allison his number while Ally managed a small smile at Isaac, thanking him for listening.
He still has no idea how they managed to sneak away from the group (and by group he means Stiles) without so much of an eye roll or sarcastic comment. He thinks it has something to do with the fact that Allison and Scott won't make eye contact with one another and maybe werewolf hearing and eavesdropping skills aren't needed to know what they had been arguing about in the kitchen.
He wants to say something about it but his mouth doesn't form the words and Scott makes the same choice in avoiding it so it hangs over them, like an invisible fog, settling on their shoulders and seeping into their windpipes, heavy on their lungs.
Isaac swallows and clears his throat, looking away as Scott paddles closer to him. His hands reach out and settle low on his hips, they've forgone clothes just like they discussed earlier. So when Scott's thumbs brush below his pelvis and through a tuft of hair guiding lower—a sharp shiver runs down his spine to the point where he nearly jolts.
And Scott is too fucking pleased with that grin on his face.
"Why so jumpy, Lahey?" He teases; running his thumbs over his skin and making him do it again.
Isaac huffs and makes a move like he's going to push Scott away but the shorter wraps his arms around him and draws him close. They've drifted to a part of lake that is closer to the shore and Isaac grounds his feet into the gritty bottom that reminds him of sand.
"Knock it off."
"Make me." Scott challenges, leaning closer to dip his nose into the curve of Isaac's throat.
Even in the chilled lake water, Isaac feels himself stir below his waist and purposely drags himself forward into Scott's stomach. He hears a gasp claw up the other's throat and takes the distraction as a chance to slip free and knock his legs up from under him. Scott goes under and Isaac skitters back so he can't grab at him when he finally makes it to the surface and floats on his side, grinning when Scott splashes him.
They spend a while in the lake, floating around one another, occasionally getting into heated tussles that involve way too many kisses and the wandering of hands. When they pull themselves from the water to put their clothes on their skin is pruned and bodies are cold. Even though the prospect of fooling around somehow near the dock sounds like a good idea they don't want to get caught so a half n hour later Isaac finds them laying on a grassy hill near the lake, looking up through the trees. The moon has moved across the dark black night sky, the soft ring surrounding it looks smudged against the stars, a lazy haze of soft brightness.
His body is still wet from the river so the fabric of his shirt is sticking to his back but it's oddly comforting somehow, his clothes hugging his skin tight. Scott is breathing slow and shallow next to him, his hand close enough to feel the heat of his fingertips but not moving to touch him.
"You smelled like her."
He nods. "Yeah," Scott means Ally and Isaac bites his tongue on telling him who he exactly smells like (vanilla and pine and Allison's shampoo). He's one to talk. "The lake water should have taken care of most of that."
"When I came back out onto the deck you weren't there. What did you and her talk about?"
Isaac isn't sure on whether he should tell the truth or not. Regardless of his allegiance to Scott, he feels something like betrayal crawl up his throat at the prospect of admitting what Ally spoke about in terms of her parents.
"Nothing really," His eyes trace the stars into patterns; he settles his hands onto his own stomach and knots his fingers. "About her parents." Isaac walks around specifics but still manages to tell Scott something to answer his question. "I think she hasn't really had anyone to talk to about it…I kind of understand what she's going through."
Scott leans up and turns onto his side, his hand running through Isaac's damp curls. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost my mom." He admits quietly, his fingers playing with a few strands of hair by his ear.
Isaac looks up at Scott and takes the hand off his hair and holds it in his own, squeezing hard enough that his bones creak. "That's not going to happen, Scott." He tries to put as much reassurance into his voice as he can, knows that that's a genuine fear of the boy beside him. "Okay?"
Scott nods and lets himself fold into Isaac's side, his nose and forehead pressing into his shoulder as the taller rubs circles into his knuckles. They're quiet for a moment, the only noise between them crickets, the brushing of tree branches in a soft wind and their breathing meshing with the thumps of their hearts.
"I think I'd run away," Scott says softly, into the fabric of Isaac's shirt. He can feel the heat from his breath seep into his pores. "If anything happened to my mom," He admits. "I'd run away."
He breathes out, eyes flickering over the low hanging moon before tracing patterns into the back of Scott's hand with his thumb. He understands that contemplation more than he should…but he doesn't know if Scott would really do as he says, even if he lost his mother. He's not the type of person to just up and run, abandoning the people who might need him the most. Even if he's desperate or has lost all hope, Isaac just doesn't see it happening.
But that doesn't mean he can't entertain the thought with him. Running away. Away from Beacon Hills and all of its supernatural problems. Away from the weight digging into Scott's shoulders. Away from responsibilities and pain and almost certain death.
He's thought about running away before, after his mom and Camden died. After he was left with his father and bruised memories and empty beer bottles, broken bones and torn skin. He thought about running away with Erica and Boyd during that lacrosse game and then once more after Erica had died.
But at least he can admit he hasn't thought about it in a while because of Scott.
"Would you ever do it?" Scott asks him, tilting his chin to look up at him. "Run away?"
Scott glanced down at the metal table before him, playing with a package of gauze before looking over his shoulder at Isaac. His eyes were cautious, contemplative, rolling over his words in his head before speaking.
"I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you mean. I have too many people here who need me."
Isaac cards his fingers through Scott's hair as he runs over those familiar words spoken in Deaton's clinic; they barely knew one another at that point. Scott hadn't been as sure about Isaac as a person but Scott had earned his trust with barely even trying. Ever since the rave, ever since he learned that there was someone who actually cared about his well being and had no trouble admitting it right to his face.
Erica and Boyd had been leaving, with or without him. The family dynamics of his pack that he had convinced himself were there was getting torn apart at the prospect of them disappearing to find another alpha. The trust mentality was broken...and Isaac hadn't known what to do; to stay or run away. Scott had seemed well rounded; he seemed trustworthy, grounded in his morals and his dependability. He was invested in always trying to do the right thing, which had included worrying about Isaac's safety when he had neither wanted it nor deserved it at the time.
Scott wasn't running away because he had too many people who depended on him to be there; too many people who needed him. Isaac wonders if that will ever change, if for some reason Scott would run if no one was there to need him anymore.
Isaac nodded, glancing down at his shoes to avoid the wandering and analyzing stare of the wolf across from him.
"Well, I guess that makes me lucky cause uh…cause I don't have anyone." He figured it was as simple as that and got up to leave; even though he could basically feel the sympathy that rolled off Scott's shoulders as his eyes bored into his back.
Well, that's changed too, hasn't it?
"Maybe." Isaac says slowly and turns the question right back on Scott, asking him where he'd even go.
Scott laughs and sits up, his back has grass on it but Isaac doesn't move to brush it off. He watches the muscles strain and contract in his lower back and shoulders as he speaks.
"I could go see the world's largest ball of twine…open up a coffee shop on a corner in New York." He can hear the smile in his voice. "My own little hole in the wall."
Isaac doesn't know if he's serious or not, the two comments seem too unrelated but he knows they're both deflecting at this point, knows they don't want to talk about something that they should.
"Scott," He grins, all teeth. "You suck at making coffee."
He turns his head to the side and Isaac can see the outline of a small smile, a twitch of his lips before he shifts his body to face him. "Guess I'd have to take you with me then."
There is a long moment between them in which Scott just stares thoughtfully at Isaac, letting his words seep in, letting him understand their meaning. I'm not leaving without you and he guesses he can at least find some comfort in that even though this whole conversation is supposed to be hypothetical and not an actual plan.
"Guess you'd have to. You probably shouldn't leave me here by myself…since I can be 'unpredictable and irrational'." He lets it slip out before he can stop himself and he can feel the tension returning to Scott's shoulders, sees his smile fade from his face. "Not to mention I can be violent."
They've been dancing around this damn thing for hours, Isaac pretending that what he's overheard hasn't made him angry (deep down all that translates into is that he's hurt) and Scott pretending he didn't hear Isaac eavesdropping on the whole thing.
"So you did hear the conversation between Allison and me." Scott looks down at his hands on his lap.
It's not entirely an accusation but it feels enough like one. "Even if I hadn't followed you two inside, you weren't exactly quiet. I could have probably heard it back in Beacon Hills."
Scott can obviously sense how upset he is through his tone because his eyes soften and he goes to touch his leg as Isaac sits up and wow, that shouldn't piss him off even more but for some reason it does. He's just…he's so damn frustrated because no matter what he seems to do he can't break even with Allison. It's like she wants something out of him that he just can't give. And he knows he wouldn't care, wouldn't even be trying to figure it out if it weren't so important to Scott that they get along. Because Isaac? Isaac doesn't really give a shit. He considers not working together, or better yet not even speaking to one another, a pretty fair exchange since Allison doesn't trust him and he's still bitter about being stabbed thirty times in the back.
"She's just…being protective. You understand, don't you?" Typical Scott, always trying to avoid a confrontation unless he can't. "She does have a point…sometimes you do things without thinking about them."
Isaac isn't in the mood to make this easy for him and it's a low blow to go after one of his less than admirable traits. Sure, he can be irrational—but it's never without a good reason. He's recalling the time he punched Ethan senseless during that bus ride to the track meet or maybe that threesome dance to distract Jackson at the rave to go through with the injection plan hadn't been the best idea. But he had done both things for Scott, which had been reason enough.
"No, I guess I don't. But I guess if you agree with her I should move my things out of your place before I do something irrational, like hurt your mom."
He stands up and Scott quickly does the same. He grabs his forearm as gently as he can but Isaac shakes him off. Isaac isn't great with sudden movements, especially in the midst of a fight where he can feel the anger leaking off the other's body. It reminds him too much of conversations he's had with his father and that usually generates a certain amount of fear against his will. But he's not scared of Scott (scared of him and scared of losing him are two completely different things). And while he usually appreciates Scott's thoughtfulness, the gentle gesture does nothing more but piss him off because how many times does he have to tell him that he's not made of glass? That he's not going to break.
"That's not what I meant." Scott lets his hand fall to his side.
"Is that why you're so reluctant to tell everyone about us?" He spits, the resentment and fear and anger and hurt that's been building up for days finally reaches a peak in his voice. He's so fucking tired of gray he can't stand being there for one second longer. "Because someone like you couldn't possibly be with someone like me."
The words are unspoken but they dangle loosely in the air; someone damaged, someone broken, someone violent and unreasonable and capable of switching his loyalties if that's what he absolutely has to do.
Scott's mouth opens and closes, his face falls like he can't honestly believe Isaac has inferred something like that and his heart starts beating wildly in his chest.
"Isaac, I'm not ashamed of you." It's wounded sounding and comes out in a breath.
He refuses to let the hurt in Scott's voice get to him even though it feels like pins and needs sticking into his skin; his chest aches because of it. He never wants to be the one to put that look on his face or pain in his voice…but he has to keep a clear head. He'd rather deal with this angry. If that disappears he'll retract his words and refuse to say things he's been thinking about for a long time. It'll just build up inside his body, stay between the etching of his bones and the connective tissue in his lungs. Become a silent part of him.
"That's not why we agreed not to tell anyone." He argues, his voice raising an octave.
Isaac laughs, the sound harsh and rough in his throat. "Right, your 'priorities'." Isaac recalls from the conversation at the gas station. He bites the inside of his cheeks hard. "I'm not asking you to rearrange them."
Even though Isaac thinks he should, which is probably selfish but it's not Scott's job to save everyone. "I'm asking you to consider this, whatever this is," He points between the both of them, signifying a deafening us, "Even being one."
He can't take the amount of sympathy coming from Scott, it's sickeningly sweet smell is enough to make him sick. He turns on his heel and just starts running, into the woods, his wolf scratching at his veins to provoke him to turn it into all fours. Scott tries to call after him but the sound is drowned out with rustling leaves, feet hitting dirt and his own heartbeat in his ears.
Isaac doesn't stop and he doesn't look back.
0o0o0o0
It's been a long time since Isaac ran with no sort of direction or destination; he runs until his legs burn and his lungs ache and when he can no longer hear the echoing of Scott's heartbeat gently reverberating in his ears. He has no choice but to wander back, eventually, it's not like Beacon Hills is close enough to disappear to…and even if it was, where would he go? Back to Derek's? Maybe back to his father's abandoned house? It's a truthful statement that Isaac doesn't have anyone but Scott no matter how much it makes him feel like some sort of obligation.
He's gone for an hour before he makes his way back to the Stilinski cabin.
It's late and his limbs hurt and through the trees he can see that the lights are still on in the kitchen where Scott (and Stiles, according to the fast chatter and second heartbeat) are apparently holding an all nighter until he comes back. He rubs the back of his neck as he reaches the bottom of the deck steps, seriously debating spending the night outside when the back door opens and both of them hurry out.
Isaac has a firm grip on the steps railing and tries to avoid Scott's gaze, which he can feel burning into his chest and neck.
"Dude, we've been waiting up for you for forever," Stiles stresses and when Isaac look up Scott is equally trying his hardest to avoid Isaac's eyes too. "This," He makes a circular motion to his face. "Does not work for me without some Grade A beauty sleep."
Isaac walks up the stairs to the landing and is about to reply when a sharp noise cuts through the air and pierces his werewolf hearing like a knife.
PSEWWW
Isaac turns in the direction of the sound and realizes a second too late that that's not the greatest idea he's ever had. He sees the arrow pierce his chest before he feels it and the force has him stumbling back onto his heels. He lets out a low growl of pain before another arrow hits him in his upper stomach; Stiles and Scott scurrying to catch him as the last arrow causes him to lose his balance. He collapses back into their arms, Scott is screaming and Stiles is scrambling to help him pull Isaac through back kitchen door.
Then the pain comes, with his blood seeping through his clothing and dripping onto Scott and his jeans and the white tiled floor of the kitchen. It's searing, white hot, like someone poured liquid fire into his chest cavity and stomach, it's so overwhelming that he can't even breathe properly. He opens his mouth and all that leaves it are short little pathetic gasps and fingers digging into Scott's forearms as he struggles to pull him into the living room.
As Scott and Stiles put him on the couch and Allison and Lydia make their way downstairs, awakened from the commotion and the screaming—all Isaac can do is stare down at those arrows protruding out of his body and wow—
so much for that 'remaining sanguine' thing.
