Why have you come, lift me higher, let me look at the sun:
You have almost $3,000 saved up from your allowance. Your parents give you $100 a month, for clothes and gas and doing stuff with friends, but you hardly spend any of it. You'd been saving it for college or in case your parents decide to disown you, and you're glad for your self-control now. Even the shittiest motel in Beacon Hills costs $35 a night and Isaac has to eat and take the bus too. Still, you'll be lucky if you can stretch it out over two months. Isaac either seems to realize this as well or, more likely, is uncomfortable with you supporting him, because the first thing he does when you meet after school is ask if you know of any places that are hiring. You drive him around to a couple places to pick up job applications, but you can't help but think this isn't a good idea. What if your family tries to go after him at work? Or Derek? Or his father? You probably shouldn't even be seen with him now. If your family realizes that you're friends, they might stop focusing on capturing Derek and instead try to kill Isaac instead. And they could do it, ridiculously easily, too. Isaac is completely alone now. Erica and Boyd didn't even glance at him once today at school and you have no doubt that Derek ordered them to stay away from him. He is completely vulnerable now, and if your parents or Gerard decide to go after him, there's not going to be much you can do to stop them.
"It sounds like they really need someone," Isaac says after he walks out of the Foods Co, exhaustion all over his face. "During the day, though."
"You're not dropping out of school," you says automatically, horrified that he would even consider it.
"I know," Isaac says with a shrug, walking ahead of you back to your car, but he doesn't sound too sure of himself.
"You'll find something else," you say quickly, walking quickly to catch up with him and look him in the eye. "They are always tons of 'Help Wanted' signs around here."
"They wanted to know if I had any work experience," Isaac mutters, slumping against the passenger seat once you unlock your car. "Because grave-digging is such a versatile skill and my dad would be a great reference."
"You're sixteen, they're not going to expect you to have any experience," you say, even though that's clearly not the case.
Isaac doesn't respond, and before you can think of anything helpful to say, your phone buzzes in your pocket.
It's your dad, wondering where you are, and you scowl down at his text, trying to think of an excuse.
"Your parents?" Isaac asks, looking over at your phone.
"Yeah," you say irritably.
"Tell them you have a group project at the library," Isaac says. "I used to use that one all the time."
You grunt in affirmation and start typing it out on your phone, trying not to think about Isaac hiding out at the library to spend as much time as possible away from his father.
"Your parents...when did you find out they were hunters?" Isaac asks on your way to the same strip mall you went to after Gerard threatened to kill you.
"Year and a half ago," you reply, keeping your eyes firmly on the road. "I saw them slit a werewolf's throat in my backyard. She was in my class."
"Oh," Isaac says, and you don't speak again until you get to your destination.
He picks up a couple more job applications, but then your parents start bothering you about coming home for dinner, so you reluctantly drop him off at the same motel.
"I'll be fine," Isaac says, waving off your concerned look as you glance back at him from the door, but he's lying. He's always been a horrible liar.
You tighten your hand on the doorknob to prevent yourself from going to him and...what- hugging him? Kissing him?-and just nod. You don't have that kind of relationship, after all, and to be honest you're not really sure you want to.
"I'll see you tomorrow," you say, and try not to let the pit of despair in your stomach drag you down as you close the door behind you and walk to your car.
A week later he still doesn't have a job and you're starting to get desperate. You're even considering taking the antidepressants your therapist gave you instead of flushing them everyday because every morning you wake up and stare at the ceiling, the crushing sensation in your chest only getting worse.
Budgeting and rebudgeting only makes your anxiety worse. Isaac doesn't say anything, but you know he's terrified as well. He quit the lacrosse team and you're pretty sure he's only eating one meal a day to save money, even though it's his room and board that costing the most.
Still, you're completely unprepared when Isaac tells you not to take him back to the motel at the end of another afternoon of fruitless job searching.
"What?" you say, giving him a quick look before turning back to the road ahead of you. "Where else is there?"
"You know those warehouses on the north side of town?" Isaac says.
"What?" you say and pull over onto the shoulder to stare at him, much to the annoyance of the driver behind you. "No."
"It's fine!" he insists, before you can protest, his jaw set in a surprisingly determined way. "It's not like I wasn't sleeping on the floor at Derek's anyway."
"He made you sleep on the floor?" you say furiously, even though that's hardly the worst thing Derek has done. You know he has money; you've seen that car he drives.
"Allison, it's fine," he says quietly, looking at you seriously, before looking away out the window and scrubbing a hand through his hair. "It'll be fine."
But it's not fine. Isaac breaks the lock on the door of an abandoned warehouse easily, but the inside is cold and dank and there are shards of glass and abandoned packaging everywhere.
"You are not staying here," you say in your most commanding voice.
"It's not that much worse than the train depot," Isaac says with a shrug, kicking a bit of broken glass around on the ground and looking over at the large windows, the gym bag he's been living out of the last week slung over his shoulder. "Least there's some light."
"There's no electricity," you say angrily, because he can't be serious about this, and you hate everything. It's already kind of chilly, too, and you can't imagine how cold it will get at night.
"It's fine to just sleep in," Isaac says, trying to sound firm, but the fact that he won't look at you speaks volumes. "I can shower in the locker room at school."
"Isaac-"
"Allison, you can't take care of me," he says shakily, still not looking at you.
"Why not?" you demand, hands forming into fists at your sides, because you can, you will, maybe you can convince your parents getting a job will be better for your mental health or...or something else to help out.
Isaac finally looks at you at that, his eyes wide and puzzled, as if he doesn't understand why you even care. His arm gives a small jerk and for a second you think he's going to close the gap between you and grab you. He's been watching you when he thinks you aren't paying attention all week, ever since you kissed him in your car. You know he likes you. Or you think he does, but he seems to realize it's just not a good time. Or maybe he's afraid to make the first move because of that first night.
"I'll be fine," he says quietly, turning away from you again.
Nothing's going to change his mind, you realize. And as much as you hate it, it's undeniable that it's the most economical idea.
"Let me buy you a sleeping bag," you say, trying to prevent your voice from trembling, looking down at the warehouse floor in shame. This shouldn't be so hard for you. After all, Isaac is homeless, and will now have to spend all of his energy on scraping by and avoiding being killed by your crazy family/Derek/his father. You just have to watch.
"Okay," Isaac says, voice barely above a whisper, and follows you back to your car.
Isaac finds a job at the local sporting goods store a week before the full moon because the owner likes that he has experience with lacrosse equipment. He's technically a "Sales Associate" but when you ask what he does, he just rolls his eyes and grumbles: "Everything."
Still, he works three afternoons during the week and all day Saturday and Sunday. Even at minimum wage that's more than enough to eat (though not to find somewhere better to live than an abandoned warehouse.)
You insist on celebrating by getting another motel room for the night and stay up late watching horrible TV and eating Mexican takeout on the bed. You end up falling asleep by accident and wake up to your phone buzzing annoyingly at 11:30, and Isaac spooning you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist and nose buried in your hair. He doesn't wake up when you squirm out of his grasp to answer your phone, but he does somewhere in the middle of you fending off your father's furious demands of where you are, what you are doing, and why you aren't home.
"Shit, what time is it?" Isaac groans when you finally hang up after promising to come home right away.
"11:30," you say and resist the urge to bury your head in your lap and groan. You have no idea what you're going to tell your parents when you get home. This is the problem with having no hobbies and no friends. You don't have a default excuse to use when you're hanging out with your secret homeless werewolf friend. "I better go."
You don't know why, but you expect him to wrap his large hands around your waist and pull you back into bed with him. He doesn't, of course. You're pretty sure he curled up against you in his sleep subconsciously. Not on purpose. At least you hope it wasn't.
He rolls away from you when you turn around to look at him, grabbing your takeout containers off the bed and throwing them in the trash can on the other side of the bed.
"I'd better go," you say, standing, suddenly feeling awkward. "See you tomorrow, okay?"
"Night," Isaac says, smiling faintly at you, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
You just nod and pull on your boots, grabbing your bag and heading outside without another word to him.
"What's wrong with you?" you mutter to yourself on the way home, annoyed at the way your hands shake. You don't know why your chest is tight with anxiety, your gut cold. It's not because of your parents, even though it probably should be. It's Isaac. He made you nervous and you're not exactly sure why.
Nothing's going to happen, you remind yourself. There's too much other stuff going on to even think of it. Derek, Gerard, your parents, the upcoming full moon. You should never have kissed him. It's just not a good idea right now. Maybe ever. You always thought you weren't mature enough for a relationship, even Before. Your plan was always to wait until college. And besides, Isaac is hardly your idea of an ideal boyfriend. He's too shy, too sarcastic, too damaged, too dependent on you. You shouldn't like those things.
But you do.
Your parents are relentless in their questions of where you were, so finally you throw some typical teenage girl tantrum about how you just wanted to be alone for once in your life, and stomp off to your room, though you wince when your mother orders you to come back in that no-nonsense tone that always scared you as a child.
Unfortunately, they follow you upstairs and refuse to leave you alone until you lie and say you were just driving around the town aimlessly. This results in an hour lecture by both of them about safety and responsibility that you tune out until they let you go to bed. You don't think Gerard is at home. That thought helps you sleep.
You can't sit with Isaac at school, because of Gerard. It's frustrating, and lonely, but you can't do anything to make him suspect you. You remember his threat against you and your parents' lives, and you don't think it was an idle one. What you really need is a plan to get rid of him, but you can't think of one that seems like an accident. You're not naïve enough to believe that you can get away with murder if they open an investigation. Maybe Derek will kill him, you think bitterly, as you walk under one of the video cameras in the empty hallway during your passing period to the bathroom. You're annoyed to hear someone talking on the phone in the handicapped stall, but at least there's not a bunch of girls putting on foundation in front of the sinks for half an hour.
It's only when you're halfway through peeing that you realize that the person on the phone is Lydia Martin, and she isn't so much talking on the phone as having a one-way conversation with herself.
"-no, can't do it that way, someone will see the body," she mutters in a low, unfamiliar tone. "Has to be at night, but not too late. Need the moonlight. Look up when moonrise is."
You freeze, hand outstretched for the toilet paper. What the hell is she talking about? Is she a werewolf, after all? But Scott said...wouldn't he be able to tell?
"What are you waiting for?" Lydia snaps, and you hear her stand and push open the stall door, walking to stand in front of the sink. "Don't just sit there!"
She's talking to you, you realize with a sinking sensation in your chest. You grab a handful of toilet paper and flush quickly, buttoning up your skirt with shaking hands.
When you open the door, Lydia is leaning against the bathroom sink, her arms crossed over her magenta skin-tight dress, a familiar smirk and unfamiliar gleam in her eyes. Her expression shifts a bit in surprise when she realizes who you are, and then she stalks towards you. There's something about the way she moves that makes you stiffen up, something about her gait that reminds you of sauntering, which you've never seen her do before.
"Stay out of my way," she says, stopping only inches from your face. Her face twists in a cruel smirk and she tilts her head to the side, another strange movement.
You don't say anything, just stare at her in confusion, and then she turns on her heel and exits the bathroom, her shoulders moving back and forth exaggeratedly as she walks. Like...like she's a different person completely. What the hell?
You keep an eye on her the rest of the day, but she mostly keeps her head down, uncharacteristically shy and reticent to speak, in class or to any of her classmates (former friends.) She completely blanks out during English when the teacher calls on her and gets so flustered that the teacher gets a very concerned look on her face and asks her to stay after class. You wait outside the door for a couple minutes, trying and failing to eavesdrop.
"What's wrong with you?" you ask her baldly when she exits the room, clutching a note in her hand.
"What?" Lydia says, looking very taken aback.
"You're acting weird," you tell her, pushing off the wall to stand up straight in front of her. It occurs to you that she's wearing four inch heels, yet she's still shorter than you. How tall is she? 5'2''?
"Excuse me, do I know you?" Lydia retorts, looking both offended and confused. "Why don't you mind your own business?"
She gives you an incredulous look as she brushes past you, and you make no move to follow her, watching her wind around the other students in the hallway in confusion.
What's going on? Why had she given you such a strange look? It was almost like...like she didn't remember your confrontation this morning.
Which means...what?
"I think Lydia's possessed," you tell Isaac a couple hours later when you're both hanging out in a secluded corner of the public library. You've dragged two bean bags from the young adult section over to the corner of the non-fiction section where barely anyone goes, and it's, well, nice. A little sanctuary from the rest of the world. "Is possession a thing?"
"I don't know," Isaac says, giving you a strange look. "Why do you think she's possessed?"
"She's been acting really weird lately. I talked to her this morning and then later this afternoon and she acted like we hadn't spoken in weeks."
"So she forgot," Isaac says, with a derisive sneer. "You think Lydia Martin can keep track of all of us mere mortals?"
You frown at him, wondering why that level of contempt was necessary. Had Lydia done something to him?
"I think I'm going to follow her tomorrow after school," you say decisively. "See where she goes."
"Really?" Isaac says incredulously, squinting at you. "Just because you think she's acting weird?"
"She did get bitten by Peter," you remind him.
"Who's Peter?"
You stare at him. Isaac looks genuinely confused.
"Derek's uncle. He was the one behind all those animal attacks last month. He was killing everyone behind the Hale Fire and then Derek killed him. That's how he became an alpha," you explain.
"Oh," Isaac says,the look on his face clearly stating that this is news to him. "And he bit Lydia?"
"Yeah, but she didn't turn or die. No one knows why."
Isaac pauses to mull this over and you resist the urge to once again insult Derek Hale's leadership skills. Isaac doesn't really like when you do that, because he's conditioned to agree with whatever abusive older men tell him, you think, not a little unkindly.
"Isaac, what are you going to do Friday?" you ask quietly.
Isaac stiffens up and then slumps against the wall, not looking at you.
"I'll be fine," he mutters. "It's not the first time, anyway."
"What are you going to do?" you press, sitting up and leaning closer to him to see his face.
"Woods, I guess."
"What?" you say, horrified. "Isaac, my family's going to be looking for you! They always go out all night on full moons. We have to find somewhere safe to lock you up for the ni-"
"No!" Isaac says, surprisingly harshly, and you jump a little at his tone. "I'm not locking myself up anywhere."
"What?" you say, confused at his vehemence. "Isaac?"
Isaac says nothing, just seals his lips shut, hands curling into the bean bag at his sides, shoulders stiff. He still won't look at you, and his reaction makes anxiety rise up in your chest. You scoot over to get a better look at him, heart hammering in your chest.
"Isaac?" you say quietly, reaching out to touch his knee carefully.
He looks up at you for a split-second and then looks away. "Not a fan of small spaces," he says, trying to sound casual, but the stiffness of his shoulders give him away.
"Okay," you say quickly, fingers tightening on his knee. You try not to think why, but you can't help it, did Derek-did his father- "Okay, what do you want to do then? You can't...you can't stay in Beacon Hills."
Isaac gives you a horrified look at that, his face going pale.
"I mean, for the full moon," you clarify, not moving your hand from his knee. "We have to...we have to go somewhere else."
"Okay," he says quietly, nodding jerkily and then leans his head back against the wall. You remove your hand from his knee awkwardly. You return to your beanbag and watch him uncertainly, but he doesn't say anything else and after a bit you return to your History textbook.
When you look up again, he's asleep, and your chest aches a little at the vulnerable look on his face. His neck is at an awkward angle against the wall and he must be exhausted if he's able to fall asleep like that. Maybe the warehouse floor is even more uncomfortable.
You try to focus on your reading, but the way his head keeps almost falling onto his shoulder only to jerk back upwards against the wall keeps distracting you. It's annoying and after fifteen minutes you put your book down and push your beanbag across the floor so that you're side by side and pull his body over to you. Isaac lets out a sleepy grunt, but he doesn't wake as you lie his head in your lap, his nose pressing against your right thigh, shoulders curled into himself. He shifts a bit after you let go, but seems to find a comfortable position and then breathes quietly.
You try to return to your book, but find yourself unable to reach it without disturbing him, so you just lean against the wall and try to reason away the warm possessive glow at the feel of him in your lap, the mine mine mine mantra in your head that makes you want to bury your hands in his curls. You compromise by slinging an arm around his back and tilt your head back against the wall to avoid staring at him like a complete creep.
He wakes around six, which is kind of a relief because your legs were beginning to fall asleep, and pushes himself up off your legs about half an inch, groaning quietly. Then his body goes stiff and he glances up at you in horror, cheeks flushing.
"Oh, shit, sorry," he says quickly and tries to get off you.
Your legs ache, but you don't like the panicked look in his eyes and grip his shoulder to prevent him from moving.
"It's fine," you say, annoyed at his reticence and the fact that he seems to think he accidentally fell asleep on your lap, and push him back down. Isaac goes easily, but he looks very confused, body rigid, like he's afraid that one wrong move will...you don't know. Something bad. "Just hand me my book," you say, pointing at the book to the right to you by your feet that you can't reach, but he can if he reaches above his head.
Isaac picks it up, careful not to lose your place, and hands it to you. You put it down on the floor next to you and read it like that, still holding onto Isaac's shoulder.
Isaac says nothing, and after a minute he relaxes just a smidgen, but you can feel his eyes boring into you, though when you glance down at him he's staring down at your jean-clad thigh instead.
You stay like that for at least half an hour, until your parents that texting you about dinner and Isaac slides off you so you can get to your phone. It's only six-thirty, but you figure you need to come home as much as possible to avoid suspicion and reluctantly leave the library to drop Isaac off at the abandoned warehouse.
Isaac is worryingly quiet all the way there, heedless of your attempts to start a conversation.
"You sure you don't want me to drop you off at a restaurant?" you ask, leaning up against your car door outside the warehouse as he unwinds the broken chains on the door that make it look like it's still locked. He hasn't eaten and it's not even seven yet. What is he going to do for the rest of the night?
"I have a box of granola bars," Isaac says with a uncaring shrug and you try not to scowl at his choice of dinner. "You better get back to your parents."
"Okay," you say, unable to think of anything better to say and turn around to open your door.
"Allison!" he says suddenly and you turn around in surprise at the urgency in his tone.
He doesn't say anything right away and you can't really see his face all that well in the dark warehousing district, the best light coming from the waxing moon. You think he looks confused.
"What?" you say finally, when several seconds of silence go by.
"Do you...do you even like me?" he says, an edge of something frustrated in his voice. "Because if you don't, you should just say so. I just...you should just tell me."
What the hell? Where did that come from? And more importantly, why on earth does he think you don't like him? I let you sleep all over me, you think in annoyed confusion. Why would I let you do that if I didn't like you?
You can't say that, though.
"I do like you," you say instead, and wince a bit inwardly at how flat it comes out.
"Oh," Isaac says uncertainly, shifting uncomfortably.
He doesn't say anything else.
"Is that it?" you ask, still a little confused why he needed clarification.
"Can I-!?" Isaac starts, taking a step towards you, and then stops in his tracks.
Can he what? "What?"
"Nothing," Isaac responds after a brief pause, turning back towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay," you reply, more than a little bewildered, and watch him go inside and shut the heavy steel doors behind him as quietly as possible.
You're already halfway home, waiting at a stoplight behind a group of loud teenagers blasting annoying pop music by the time you realize what he'd meant when he said "Can I?"
Can I kiss you?
You feel your face go very hot and you grip the steering wheel hard, staring blankly at the car in front of you. You're such an idiot. What did you think he meant? Fortunately, he'd stopped himself from saying anything irreparable. You can't-there's just too much going right now. It's not a good idea. Doing it at all is questionable-you can't help but notice that neither of you are particularly emotionally-healthy people-but doing it now would be not only really stupid, but also extremely irresponsible. It's good that Isaac realized that before he ruined things.
...Yeah, right.
"Shit," you snarl furiously, and when the light turns green you make an illegal u-turn and head right back to the warehousing district, anger burning in your chest.
It isn't fair, you think as you park haphazardly in front of the warehouse and leap out of your car, barely remembering to lock it. It's not fair. You were just supposed to be friends, less than that really, just two people who hung out at school because they were too screwed up to connect with anyone else. Why did he have to ruin it? You have always preferred to be friends with girls, because half of your male friends didn't even really want to be your friend, they liked you. You should probably stop being surprised at their betrayal, but you thought...you thought it could be different with Isaac.
"Allison, what-" Isaac says when you burst through the warehouse doors and stalk towards him across the filthy concrete floor. He sits up on the sleeping bag you bought him, a granola bar in one hand and a flashlight in the other, his Chemistry textbook lying adjacent to him on the floor. "What's wrong?"
"Shut up," you tell him flatly, sink to your knees between his spread legs and kiss him.
Isaac doesn't move for a second, obviously shocked into stillness, but then he loops his arm around your waist and drags you closer, mouth moving against yours clumsily. You cup his face awkwardly, more for balance than anything as you fall against his chest and groan at how hot his skin is. You wrap your arms around his neck to get closer, and push your hands through his hair, the familiar mantra of mine mine mine reverberating through your head. Your knees kind of start to ache from kneeling on the hard floor, even with his sleeping bag acting as a cushion, but you ignore them and revel instead at the feel of his hands under your jacket, your boobs against his chest, and his mouth on yours. It's not your first kiss-neither was you kissing him in your car a week and a half ago or Scott in the school hallway-but it's your first real one. Brushing your lips shyly against Jeremy Collins's in sixth grade behind an arcade game at Mitchell Ryan's birthday party didn't really count either.
It goes on for a long time, and when your knees scream in protest loud enough that they're impossible to ignore, Isaac goes easily when you press him down onto his back and climb on top of him, his cat-that-swallowed-the-canary smirk illuminated by the fallen flashlight. It's annoying, and there's only one way you can think of to get rid of it, so you roll your eyes and lean down to bracket his head with your forearms and take what you want.
A/N: Lololol, Allison is so weird in this fic and I love it. Please review!