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Erica, while admittedly one of the slyest scarers in all of Beacon Hills, is anything but elusive when it comes to Isaac. And so he reads her shifty eyes and light fingers easily at the dinner table, keeping quiet only because it's clear even now that Deaton won't approve of whatever she's planning. She makes her move late at night, just after the eerie silence has been cut in half by Dr. Deaton's loud snores in the room below theirs. The telltale creak of the wonky floorboard in her room alerts him and Isaac scrambles to his door.
"What are you doing?" Isaac hisses as Erica slips out of her room, completely dressed. She's wearing one of her tightest skirts with a jacket that Isaac recognizes as Boyd's and the axe in her left hand is most definitely her favorite. Isaac's is in his room, carefully tucked under his pillow. She only leers at him as she walks past, raising her eyebrows in a 'Wouldn't You Like To Know' sort of way that Isaac's never been able to resist.
“Are you going to the Hale Mansion?” Isaac asks as he follows her and he can’t help the eager lilt of his voice. Erica picks it up easily and laughs. Her legs look especially stable tonight as they sneak down the stairs together, and neither of them make a peep when they pass Deaton's room. She's probably tightened them, Isaac realizes.
“Yes." She's never bothered with lying to Isaac. "Why do you ask, Brother Dearest?”
She stretches the stitches on the corners of her lips when she smiles hard and Isaac squirms. She reads him like an open book too. They make it to the giant front door that stretches even over Isaac's head and Erica plays with the knob while she watches him preen nervously. There're about fifty or so locks, because Deaton's been paranoid ever since his human death in the late 1800's when he'd been chased out of his village for his experiments. But that's another story.
“No reason. It's a school night.” Isaac tries to pass his interest off, picking at the fabric of his raggedy t-shirt. He's still in his pajamas. She starts on the door, sliding open links and carefully dragging pulleys until one by one, the door gradually loosens.
“Liar.” she pokes him in the stomach when she finishes. Isaac rolls his eyes and smacks her hand away. “You just want to see Scott.”
"Hey!-"
She swings her axe in a wide arc, letting the butt rest against her nose in a signal for Isaac to be quiet while she twists the knob. Isaac snaps his mouth shut and helps push the heavy door open.
They’re already outside, running down Carcass Lane when Isaac teases "-and you just want to see Boyd.”
Erica sniffs with faux dignity, flipping her long, yarn-like curls behind her shoulder.
“Even if I did, Boyd’s the scariest Reaper in town. Not some stupid, mangy dog with a hero complex.” She laughs at the barb and Isaac yanks her blond locks, irritated. Erica only smiles harder, winding around him with a fond laugh.
“Scott isn’t a dog! And he isn’t stupid.”, he protests. Erica yelps when he rips a couple of strands free, then rounds on him, tearing off an arm with a graceful twirl of her axe and an easy strength. Isaac scowls.
“Give it back!”
“Not until you admit you’re head over heels in love with Balto!” She wags the arm at him. He sighs and starts to turn around, heading back home. Everyone thinks it’s so fun being Bombshell Erica’s twin. She pulls on his still-attached hand and frowns at him. “Don’t be like that, Izzy. I’m only teasing.” She swings his arm back at him, the bounce in her step gone.
Isaac pounces, sends them both tumbling to the ground and lets out a blood-curdling scream right above her. Erica’s eyes widen to comical proportions and her mouth thins as she slaps her hands over her ears. She laughs nervously after she recovers from the fright, slapping his chest with his still-loose arm. Isaac grins.
“You were scared.” he crows, pleased. It isn’t often that he can pull one over on Erica.
“I was not.” she scowls and shoves him away. Isaac digs around his pockets for the needle and thread to put his arm back together.
His stitches are never as even or neat as hers, but Isaac manages, and soon he’s regained full use of the limb. They climb Dreary Hill, do somersaults up the grass covered in ashes and race to the looming mansion that sits at the very corner of Kanima Ave.
“Ladies first.” Isaac drawls, and Erica shoots him a glare.
“Chickenshit.” she hisses, then stands on her toes to reach for the huge, brass knocker on the door.
The door screeches like its actually been pummelled, which it probably has. Erica’s so inconsiderate.
“Do I look okay?” Isaac blurts and Erica turns around to roll her eyes.
“You look fine.” she huffs, pulling his hands away from attempting to tidy his ever-messy hair.
"But I'm wearing jammys."
Boyd opens the door and Isaac feels satisfied in that he no longer has to crane his neck to speak to him. They’re almost of a height, with Boyd only four inches taller than him. He folds his arms and glares at the both of them, eyes a glinting red that Isaac won’t admit scares him.
“Well, if it isn’t the Terrible Twins. I ought to toss you two right back into Deaton’s hands.” he drawls in his deep voice and Erica titters, twirling her axe on the threshold between his legs.
“Oh, Vernon you know I love it when you make threats.” Isaac wants to vomit, but settles for shoving her out of the way and ducking under Boyd’s arm to scramble into the dark house. He’s gets enough of their weird flirting in school, thanks.
The walls are grey with a tinge of spiderweb strewn everywhere because Mr. Hale absolutely refuses to redecorate even though it’s so nineteen-sixties Munsters meets Addams Family gauche. Through the dusty archway there’s a painfully empty living room with a fireplace and a mantle where a life-sized portrait of the late Talia Hale is displayed. There are scorch-marks everywhere from the Great Hale Fire years ago and even whole sections of the walls have completely burned, leaving lonely holes everywhere. It’s all very structurally unsound and Isaac- he loves it.
“Isaac.” the voice is dangerously familiar and Isaac squeezes his eyes shut in mortification as Lydia Martin descends down the old, rickety grand staircase. She’s wearing another of her patented black dresses that barely grazes her knees and a pair of wicked-looking heels.
Lydia’s on him in a flash and Isaac barely registers being moved before he’s laid out on the floor with the spiked heel of Lydia’s left shoe lightly trained on his neck.
“Darling.” she smiles, delighted. “You didn’t tell me you were coming. Up, precious. I want to look at you.”
Isaac scowls as she lets him sit up and places her foot on his hand, keeping him still on the cold floor. Ever since middle school, Lydia’s taken a special interest in him.
“Good boy.” she brushes his hair out of his eyes and inspects with something like motherly attention. “Still adorable as ever. Why are you here? Still pining after Scott and others?”
Isaac grits his teeth and glares up at her.
“Let him go, Lyds.” sighs another girl and there’s only one person that calls Lydia that. She pouts but lets him up and Isaac shakes out his limbs, folding his arms mulishly.
“Aww. Don’t be like that.” Lydia says, trailing one of his folded arms with her long, red nails. Allison comes up behind him, sliding her hands up his neck and biting his ear playfully. Isaac tries to keep his body under control, but it must not work if the heat in his cheeks is anything to go by.
“Hello, Pretty.” Isaac still isn’t sure why she calls him that. Only that she must enjoy it because she’s been doing it since the seventh grade when they met at the Black Lake. She fiddles with the stitches in his neck and he bites his lip so that the tickling doesn’t make him laugh.
“Someone’s happy today. Finally out from under Deaton’s thumb? Or is it his knife?” Lydia remarks, still eyeing him slyly. Isaac grimaces. Lydia never knows when to mind her own business, the harpy. Though Isaac has to admit that all the harpies he’s met are just fine. At least Allison is.
“You’re one nosy witch.” is all he says and she grabs onto the banister near them to swing on it, laughing. Her red, red hair sways gently, hypnotizing Isaac for a moment.
“I can’t help it, dear. All part of the deal. Speaking of deals-”
“No.” Isaac says before she even gets started because he knows this game and he’d rather not become one of the scores of people that have sold their poor little souls to Lydia Martin.
“You’re no fun.” she sighs airily, but Isaac doubts she was really trying. He is, after all, one of the few people that Lydia does not actively root against.
“Lydia.” warns a heavy, angry voice and Isaac looks up towards the ceiling, squinting before he can make out the broken chandelier above and the pair of bright, blue irises staring down at them.
"No soul-stealing in this house."
Derek Hale isn’t old. Not in the slightest. Isaac thinks that he’s somewhere around twenty-five. He inherited the Hale mansion when he was only thirteen, after the fire. In fact, there are some who speculate that the fire was all a ploy of Derek’s so that the young boy could come into his fortune early.
But whenever Isaac looks into those eyes all he can see is sadness and regret. And so he doesn’t believe the rumors, no matter how suspicious the townspeople become. It helps that Dr. Deaton has a soft spot for Derek too, sometimes sending Erica and Isaac up to the old mansion with nice things.
“Hog’s-foot stew.” he’ll tell Isaac patiently, handing him a large cauldron. He doesn’t dare try to give the liquids to Erica, who’s heavy-handed at the best of times.
“The boy deserves it after all.” he often mutters under his breath before they run off.
Isaac won’t lie. He’s curious. He considers asking as Derek drops down from the ceiling and lands on both feet, claws still extended. The Hales are one of Beacon Hills’ oldest families. Well, were. Nearly older than the Argents, not that you’d know it. Allison never lords it over them.
“Besides,” Derek bares his fangs in Lydia’s direction. “even I know the rules. What is dead may never die.”
She only raises an eyebrow. Lydia has a way of making everyone in the room feel at least half as intelligent as they regularly would, Isaac notices.
“Did Deaton send you?” it’s directed at Isaac and he gulps.
“Well,-”
“So that’s a no, then. Sneaking out on a school night, Isaac?” he asks and Isaac isn’t sure if he’s being sarcastic or if Derek’s legitimately disappointed. Isaac picks at the threads on his wrists nervously.
“What’s it to you?” Erica asks from behind him and Isaac turns to glare at her. ‘Stop picking fights.’, he mouths and she leers at him, snapping more stitches in her cheeks.
Derek only shrugs.
“Not my business. But I won’t be lying to Deaton because he couldn’t keep his little ragdolls in check.”
“Is Scott here?” Isaac asks hurriedly to change the subject, and the comforting weight of Allison against his back shifts as she pulls on his arm. He turns and lets her guide him away from the ruckus. Erica and Derek are already back to arguing while Boyd and Lydia watch, amused.
“This way.” Allison says. Isaac admires her form as she leads him through the dank kitchen and up another set of stairs.
A loud snapping startles Isaac and he gasps as the rail beneath his hand becomes all scales and teeth. He moves to protect Allison even as the creature rips away his left arm, elbow down to fingers and- ugh, again?! Allison clucks at him, scolding and sidesteps him to jump on whatever just ate half of his arm. Isaac tumbles back, neck snapping a bit on the cold, rotted wood and he tries not to panic.
“Bad!” she yells, scolding. “Bad Jackson!” and slaps at the creature’s snout when it tries to go for one of Isaac’s legs. It growls, but lies still, compliant under Allison’s tender weight.
“Now. Give Isaac his arm back.” she commands.
It whines and in the sudden, golden light emitted by Allison’s eyes Isaac can truly see the beast. It’s some cross between a giant lizard and a man. Allison’s still sitting on his back brazenly, but her form’s changed a bit. The thick, black wings she keeps tucked beneath her skin have unfurled and her face is a twisted mess, teeth all sharp as daggers. Her normally sweet dimples have deepened to the point of forced grimacing and her cheeks are sharp points. She’s perfect.
“Open.” she commands. The beast shakes its head beneath her stubbornly, and she raises a clawed hand threateningly. “Now.”
It relents eventually, widening its maw obediently and Allison sticks her hand inside to fumble around inside.
“Gross.” Isaac comments and Allison giggles.
“Here, Pretty.” she says withdrawing with Isaac’s arm in tow. It’s covered in disgusting lizard-man saliva and probably more, but Isaac decides not to look too closely. She hops off of its back delicately, and Isaac hears the tell-tale crack of her bones and watches the wings recede back into her body. Isaac eyes the creature warily while she changes back. Her teeth shrink and her dimples return and Allison is unassuming beauty once again, except-
“Eyes.” Isaac tells her as he gets up and dusts himself off with his remaining hand.
“Oh.” she shakes her head a little and Isaac watches the blank, eerie yellow recede and knows that pupils and irises have returned. She hands him his forearm and it’s slick with general grossness. Isaac shudders.
“Actually can you turn them back on? I have to sew this. Second time today.” he complains and she acquiesces. They’re golden and glowing again with a blink, lighting his severed arm.
He digs around his pocket and finds his thread, but there’s no prick that signifies his needle. He groans.
“My needle. I think it fell out of my pocket when- whatever that was- knocked me down.”
“Oh. Jackson? He’s Lydia’s.”
“Lydia’s what?”
“Yeah.” Allison simply agrees and Isaac just leaves it. “It’s alright. Scott will sew it back on for you. I think he’s got some thread from last time.”
Isaac blushes. Everyone loves scaring Isaac and watching his lanky body fall apart and they take advantage all the time. It’s so embarrassing. Allison pinches his cheek; it doesn’t annoy him as much as when Lydia does it.
“Fine.”
“Jackson.” she directs her attention back to the- thing. “Go back to Lydia. No lurking.”
It makes a grumbling sound but soon Isaac can hear it clopping away and down the wooden stairs. Allison grabs his hand and their back at it, climbing the stairs for what feels like too long. Why does Scott insist on being so far away? he wants to ask petulantly, but suddenly they’re there. Allison looks up pointedly, illuminating a trap door with a latch hanging from it. Isaac slings his useless arm around his neck and pulls. Dusky light fills the space and Isaac kneels to give Allison a boost with his shoulder. She vaults up and leans back in to help him up.
“Hey!” he comes Scott’s excited voice, and Isaac searches for a moment before windmilling when Scott comes up behind him. “Isaac? What happened to your arm?!”
The excited yellow is already fading from his irises, replaced with a warm brown as he inspects the ripped limb around Isaac’s neck.
“Ah. You know how it is.” he sighs and sits gingerly. They’re on top of the entire house with it’s half-burned shingles and many holes. Allison lowers herself too, gracefully sliding down to his right. Her skirt flares prettily on the ugly, rusted shingles and Isaac mourns the clean, white fabric.
“Jackson got his fangs in him.” Allison tells him anyway, the big fat traitor. Scott rolls his eyes so hard Isaac worries they’ll pop out of his head. He’s had that happen before. Not pretty.
“Why doesn’t Lydia keep her pets at her own house? Remember Peter?”
“She still has him.” Allison points out. “She keeps him in the attic though. Aunt Marian’s new rule.”
They all shudder in remembrance of Lydia’s immortal snake. It had been prone to sneaking up their legs in the cafeteria and making horrible hissing puns.
“Here.” Scott says, perching next to Isaac. He pulls a needle from the pocket of his Beacon Hills lacrosse varsity jacket and it’s too large to be anyone’s but Isaac’s.
“You have my needle?” Isaac frowns, confused.
Scott shrugs. “Never know when you might break.” he tells him, scratching the back of his neck and Isaac should be embarrassed but instead the thought of Scott being ready to fix him at a moment’s notice has him feeling very warm.
He hands over the needle, a pristine blue that matches Isaac's skin. Allison gently takes the arm from around Isaac's neck and holds it in its proper place.
“May I?” Scott asks tentatively when Isaac digs out his thread.
“Um. Sure.”
Scott threads the needle, watches Allison wedge the bones together correctly, and sets about sewing Isaac back together. Scott sews slowly, not like he’s afraid, but like he wants to make sure that every single one of Isaac’s stitches are perfect. He hums gently while he does it, and Allison joins in after a moment. Isaac listens while his heart performs a complicated beat in his chest to go along with the music. Erica might know about Scott but she doesn’t know about Allison. It isn’t just the one. It’s both. He's never been able to choose. Isaac feels absolutely overwhelmed between the two of them, both warm beacons that he cannot resist. Isaac's never really been close to anyone but Erica, not even in what he can remember of his human life, and he isn't sure they'd still be thick as thieves if they hadn't been born together.
But Scott? Well, Scott is like a weed. Try to cut him down and he'll just find a way to grow right back, and Isaac is tired of trying. Scott is almost brutally sensitive, so much so that Isaac finds himself dazed at the amount of care and attention he gets from him. Allison had snuck up on him, filling the gaps between his protective distance and Scott's unwarranted honesty. She understands Isaac, understands his flaws and his hows and she still wants him. And that's something Isaac's never had before.
He wants to keep them. Both of them.
Allison strokes his back and leans her head on his shoulder and Isaac swallows drily.
As Scott finishes, biting the thread with an errant fang, he laces their hands together. Allison joins hers too for a strangely pleasing mix of brown and cream and blue. The sun sets with a hazy glow, Isaac thinks that he could get very used to sneaking out on school nights.