Work Text:
The first time Isaac tries the whole relationship thing, he realizes he's gay.
Maybe when Erica was straddling him was not the best time to figure that out, but hey. Epiphanies don't always happen at the best of times. (Erica, to her credit, merely frowns and says it's a pity for all the girls at BHHS. She then loses that credit when she demands a video if he and Derek ever have sex.)
Luckily, the few weeks preceding the straddling incident have given Isaac a vague idea of how to have a normal relationship. He's fairly sure there's usually a little less physical violence while making out than there was with Erica, and that werewolfing does not usually count as couple-time, and that he should keep his fangs to himself when things get heated. But before he has to worry about anything like that, Isaac knows he needs to figure out what he likes.
He gets right on it, flirting with Danny in the locker room after practice. Danny is the obvious choice, and Isaac feels pretty good about it. Things just come naturally with Danny. He's safe, and he's in the know, and he's witty enough and savvy enough to keep Isaac on his toes. Danny's smile and snarky banter send shivers shooting down Isaac's spine.
Unfortunately, those particular smiles and snarks are always aimed at Jackson, so Isaac goes hunting for someone else.
Jackson is obviously not an option, seeing as he's straight, an asshole, and reserved for Danny if he ever decides that girls aren't his thing. Derek is too threatening, Boyd is too calculating, and Scott is too dumb, not to mention the whole straight-until-proven-gay thing that is the code of suburbia. But Isaac has heard Stiles say some pretty not-hetero things, so Isaac picks him for try number 2.
Isaac knows he'll have to do some groud work before Stiles will even look his way without running for the nearest gun. He starts simple. Stiles drops his binder in the hallway, and his papers spill all over the floor, so Isaac helps pick them up. Stiles gives him a suspicious look, but says thanks anyway, so Isaac counts it as a win.
Stiles is many things- intelligent, talkative, funny- but none of them is coordinated. It gives Isaac plenty of opportunities to be helpful. He gives Stiles a quarter for lunch when he's short, he lends him his History textbook when Stiles leaves his at home, and he may or may not fuck up the inside of Stiles' Jeep during study hall so Isaac can conveniently fix it for him, all being fair in love and war. It's after the last one that Stiles finally loses it.
"Okay, Michael Landon, what's your plan?" Stiles demands, rounding the Jeep to get in Isaac's face. It's a far cry from the grateful thanks he'd been getting a minute ago. "What does Derek need me for this time?"
Isaac pulls on a tried and true face of innocent confusion. "What? Derek- he's not- I just saw you needed some help," he says, gesturing to the hood of the car with a grease-blackened hand. "I mean, Derek taught all of us some car stuff for emergencies, but that's it."
Stiles narrows his eyes. "So, on the day my baby decides to crap out, Isaac Lahey the handyman just so happens to walk by and know exactly how to fix it? You can't expect me to believe that."
"Uh... You have really good luck today?" Isaac suggests. All he gets in return is a raised eyebrow, and he sighs. "Alright, Stiles, you caught me."
"I knew it!" Stiles crows, doing a little fist pump that Isaac can't help but find endearing. "So what have you managed to get yourselves into this time? The Stilinski Getting Your Ass Out Of The Fire service is willing to take your case if Derek promises not to lurk too hard."
Isaac looks over his shoulder, watching other students wandering to their cars, chatting. "Uh, mind if we talk somewhere else?" he asks, nodding to Greenberg two cars away. Stiles catches on fast, climbing into the driver's seat and patting the passenger's when Isaac hesitates with his hand on the door handle.
Stiles chatters and Isaac fiddles with the radio, shooting him little smiles whenever he looks over. There's something about Stiles' ability to fill up silence that Isaac likes. Sure, some of the talking is nonsense, but there's lots of humor and plenty of spot-on observations about the pack. Isaac never knew he paid so much attention to them.
Eventually, Stiles pulls onto a skinny dirt road that no one ever uses, and he parks. "Alright, time for super-secret werewolf business. What's up?"
Looking down at his hands, Isaac starts picking at his nails. He's sure Stiles will feel a lot more comfortable if he doesn't come on strong, and he can eventually ease out of the shy act. For right now, though, he knows it's his best bet. "Well, it's not... it's not really a pack thing. Or super-secret. But it's kind of secret, since you don't know," he says quietly, chancing a glance up to give Stiles a soft, nervous smile.
"Wait, not pack business? And a secret? Oh god, you didn't have me come out here so you could kill me, did you?" Stiles is pressing his back against the door and staring at Isaac, so Isaac grabs his hand.
"No! No, I don't want to kill you, I just. I. I fucked up your car so I could fix it for you, and maybe get a chance to talk to you. Alone. Because." Isaac swallows, and he realizes that the nerves are only half an act. "Because, you know- wait, do you know Erica and I aren't a thing anymore?"
"Yes," Stiles says slowly. "Wait, you haven't been being nice to me in the hopes that I'm a good shoulder for crying on, have you? Because my shoulders are way too bony for crying."
Isaac can't help but laugh at that, and Stiles actually smiles at him. "Yeah," Stiles says, "I'm hilarious as well as sexy."
"You are," Isaac agrees, and watches understanding dawn on Stiles' face.
"...hold on just a second," he says, watching Isaac with suspicion. "Is this along the same lines as the, the, the history book and then the pen and that Snickers bar and the change? You hurt my baby so you could ask me out?!"
Isaac nods.
"You evil asshat! You're lucky I'm not kicking your ass out and making you walk home." Then he mutters something about stupid werewolves feeling the need to do dumb things for his attention.
"Is that a no?" Isaac very nearly holds his breath.
"No, it's a yes," Stiles says, still with a tone of aggravation, but he's smiling at Isaac again. "But if you ever fuck with my car again, I will let her have revenge in whatever manner she chooses."
Then Isaac agrees and pulls him over by the collar of his shirt, and the car stays parked for a while.
-
StilesandIsaac are a good thing. Stiles has someone to chatter to, and he no longer has a reason to bitch about not getting any. Isaac has someone to talk to outside of the pack, and he no longer feels lonely. They work. Derek is pissed, and Scott is pissed, and Erica laughs her ass off the first time she startles Stiles off Isaac's lap, but eventually things settle down and no one can deny that it's an improvement.
At least not until four months later, when the Sheriff is out of town on a conference.
Isaac and Stiles have been trying out the whole sleeping in the same bed thing, and they like it. Sex, cleanup, and straight to sleep, no travel time for either of them. It suits. They fall asleep with their limbs tangled together at night and head off for school in the morning. It's a good routine for them, since they're still in the phase where they can't get enough of each other.
Nothing bad happens until the fifth night in. They go through the usual routine: homework, Skyrim, falling into bed. Isaac falls asleep just after Stiles, with a smile on his face.
He wakes up in a cold sweat to the sound of someone screaming, screaming as loud as they can in the blue light falling from the window, and Isaac whips his head around, looking for- "Stiles! Stiles, calm down, stop screaming, what's wrong--"
And Stiles takes a deep breath and squeezes his lips shut, smacking at Isaac's hand, which is clawed and covered in blood. Stiles' blood. And Stiles has four great big gashes in his hip, right where Isaac remembers setting his hand before falling asleep. Why would he- maybe a dream- no, he remembers a nightmare, remembers being curled up in a corner and flexing his hands into fists while trying not to cry-
"Call a fucking ambulance, call Deaton! Jesus, Isaac!" Stiles has a grip on his other hand, tight enough that Isaac can feel his bones protest as he flails on the night table for the phone.
-
It's not a surprise, two weeks later, when Stiles breaks up with him. It's gentle and apologetic and a perfectly rational decision. That doesn't make it hurt any less.
-
Isaac spends a lot of time in the Hale house after that.
It's still a wreck. Neither Peter nor Derek have tried to repair it or have it torn down. It would be hard to do either, Isaac supposes. If it's repaired, they would have to live in a house with all of those memories, or sell off the last link to their family. Wrecking it might be even worse.
So there it sits, a lonely, hollowed-out mess in the middle of woods that are crawling with magic and violence. It's only fitting that Isaac goes there to brood, and even he can't deny it's brooding, plain and simple. He sits on the charred stairs and looks back on the day he asked Stiles out, the look on Scott's face when he found out, the way Stiles squeezed his hand while chattering to Allison at lunch. He wallows in sadness until all he wants is to curl up on the floor and sleep for days. He whines to himself about how every single thing he ever tries, he fucks up at. Isaac tries not to tear up, tries to sit and be stoic, and just ends up with red eyes and frustration for his efforts.
Which, of course, is how Peter Hale finds him, because that's just Isaac's luck lately.
He somehow manages to give off sympathy, pity, and condescension with one look. "So, this is where you've been slipping off to? I must say, points for location. None of us thought to look here until now."
"I've been here the whole time," Isaac says, and it's entirely unfair that he sounds like he's been crying while Peter is always so put together.
Peter sighs, extending a hand. "Come on, get up. You have places to be."
Isaac ignores it. "No, I don't."
"School, Isaac, people will think you're pathetic if you don't show up."
A shrug. "People thought that for a good sixteen years. Another few days won't hurt."
"You're being ridiculous."
"I'm a teenage werewolf, I think I'm allowed."
Peter rolls his eyes. "Fine. Brood with company, then. Is this still over the Stilinski boy?"
When it's put that way, it sounds even more pathetic, and Isaac tells Peter so. "That's because it is," Peter replies, "but tell me about it anyway."
Isaac does. He tells Peter about the times Stiles was especially sweet, and he tells Peter about how guilty he feels, and he tells Peter about how lonely he is. Peter makes sympathetic noises in all the right places and doesn't pretend he actually cares about Stiles and Isaac being together. Isaac appreciates it.
Once Isaac is done, they sit in silence, watching the sun set through the holes in the wall.
"You know," Peter says, once the sky is more orange than blue, "Derek knows what it's like to lose someone over something entirely unintentional. Granted, for him it was on a larger scale, but he understands."
Isaac turns to look at Peter, who's still watching the sun, and waits for him to continue.
"He wanted us to leave you alone. He... When things happen to him, he likes to be by himself. He thought we should extend the same courtesy."
"Then why are you here?"
He's given up on a response by the time Peter speaks. "I've never enjoyed suffering alone."
-
Things get better.
Time, as Peter is fond of saying, heals all wounds. It's one of a thousand worn-out platitudes he throws out while they waste their evenings on the stairs of the Hale house.
Sometimes Isaac brings his stick, bouncing a ball off the wall and catching it, bouncing, catching. One day, Peter brings a notebook and a pen. Isaac wows over his drawings, and the notebook and pen become a staple.
Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes one or the other says something and it makes the other clam up, but neither pry. It's not always relaxing, and it's not always easy, but the pair are always there.
September 26 is a Friday. Isaac wanders into the old house at five, carrying his lacrosse bag and whistling, and Peter is sitting on the stairs with a smile.
And then the picture is interrupted when Peter's face squishes up, and he yanks a tissue out of his pocket to sneeze into. His entire body shudders when he's done, and he sniffles pathetically.
"I thought werewolves couldn't get sick," Isaac says. He starts pawing through his bag for the Sudafed he's got in there for appearances, tossing it over once he finds it.
"I'm fairly sure it's got something to do with my being on my second life. Maybe you lose certain privileges of being a wolf once you've died," Peter says. His voice is nasal and unhappy, and Isaac hands over his water bottle so he can take the pills. "Thank you."
"No problem." Isaac sits down next to him. Peter's forehead looks a little sweaty, and this close, Isaac can feel him shivering. "Have you ever been sick before?"
Peter shakes his head and blows his nose. "Never. I have- had?- a Herculean immune system."
"Now it's my turn to say you're being ridiculous," Isaac says, tugging on Peter's arm. "Go home. Sleep. Chug down some orange juice in the morning."
"At least give me company on the walk home."
"Fine, but only because you'll just come back here in ten minutes if I don't."
"That I will," Peter agrees, picking up Isaac's backpack. "Sha-" He sneezes again, coughs, and keeps going. "Shall we?"
"We shall."
When Isaac gets home, he finds one of Peter's drawings stuck in his backpack. It's Isaac, laughing, just from his neck up. He sticks it in his binder so he won't lose it.
-
A month later, Peter tucks a slip of paper into Isaac's jacket as they head off. It's another picture of Isaac, this time pensive. Isaac remembers that day. Peter had been talking about the great big family he had before the fire, and Isaac had been picking at his nails, trying not to be jealous.
He keeps it in his pocket. By the time he pulls it out again, the folds are frayed and some of the ink has been rubbed away. Isaac likes it better this way.
He shows it to Peter, who agrees that Isaac looks better with a bit of wear and tear.
-
Two weeks after that, it's a picture of Isaac smiling, running his thumb across his bottom lip to catch a smudge of chocolate. The next day, Peter brings them both Three Musketeers bars. They talk about winter and how cold it's getting, and Peter asks Isaac to come back to his apartment. "It's much warmer than this place," he says, shivering for effect.
"Any place with four whole walls is warmer than here, Peter," Isaac says, but gathers up his stuff anyway.
The drive is short, and Isaac kicks off his shoes and curls up on the little sofa as soon as he walks in. He knows Peter won't mind. "It's cozy," he says. The small rooms don't feel as closed off as they should, and the clutter makes it feel lived in and homey. It's much better than the railway car he and Derek share.
"Glad you think so," Peter says. He's already microwaving milk for cocoa in the kitchen. "Minty or not minty?"
"Not minty. Especially if you're putting marshmallows in."
"Who do you think I am? Derek?" Peter snorts. "No point without the marshmallows."
The marshmallow conversation had taken place about a month back, and Isaac was pretty sure he was the one who'd said that hot chocolate was pointless without marshmallows. He hadn't thought Peter would remember that.
Peter comes over and hands him a mug, sitting next to Isaac and tucking his feet under him. There's no space between them on the little couch. "Non-minty with marshmallows, just as you ordered." He takes a sip of his own, and then he glances at Isaac and scrambles for his sketchpad. "Stay like that, just like that- no, sit up a little. Keep your face the way it is."
Isaac obeys, bumping his knees against Peter's while Peter's hand flies across the paper.
He never knows how to feel when Peter is drawing him. Most of the time he doesn't notice. Peter can be very stealthy when he wants to be, and he says that his little ink sketches don't take much time. He never saw Peter do any of the drawings he gave to Isaac, after all. But on the rare occasions he does notice, he tries to stay still and quiet, letting Peter focus. It's the polite thing to do.
Maybe, Isaac realizes, maybe he does it for the little grin Peter flashes when his drawing is turning out really well, like it's all he can do not to jump up and do a victory dance. It's so alive, so different from dry, sarcastic Peter, although he likes both just fine. It reminds him of the rush of adrenaline he gets when he can use his new abilities on the lacrosse field. Even though he's just sitting down and doodling, Isaac can practically see the energy thrumming under Peter's skin.
Before Isaac realizes it, Peter is done. He's scrawling his signature in the corner and shoving the pad at Isaac. "Do you like it?"
The picture... Isaac can barely tell it's him. Not that the likeness is bad, but he's never seen himself like this. His eyes are half-open in a lazy, relaxed way, and his lips have the barest hint of a smile. The rest of him is all long, lanky limbs and rumpled fabric, every line of him spelling out contentment. He looks inviting. He looks like sleep and safety, like someone who's home, and he thinks he finally gets what Peter was trying to tell him with the pictures before.
"You-" watch me, see me, care, Isaac thinks. Instead, he says "It's a work of art," and Peter's face lights up at the compliment. "Can I look at the rest?"
Peter nods, and Isaac flips back to the beginning of the sketchbook. There's Isaac, rough and angular and unhappy, and Isaac is pretty sure it's from the day Peter found him after Stiles broke up with him. The date tells him that it's drawn from memory, and there are notes in the margins. Things like "linework" and "higher cheekbones" and "different light?", and as Isaac flips through, there are less and less notes, and Isaac looks more and more like himself. Most of these are more detailed than the little pictures he tucked into Isaac's pocket, but this sketchbook is large enough that he would have noticed it, and all the drawings are from familiar moments.
"Is your little book for reminders? So you can draw it in more detail when you get home?"
Peter nods, looking pleased. "I gave you the ones that were at their best in the rough stage. Thought you might like them."
"I do." He flips a few more pages. "Do you draw anyone else?"
Peter takes long enough that Isaac looks up at him, seeing something like worry cloud his face. "Not for a while, no," he says eventually. "Sometimes I get stuck on someone. Their face, the lines of them... I just have to keep drawing them until I get them out of my system."
"Looks like I've been in your system for a while now," Isaac says neutrally, but he knows Peter can hear his heartbeat picking up.
"You have, yes."
Isaac scoots closer, pointing to one small sketch on a page full of individual ones. "That's from the locker room," he says, his finger tapping a miniature Isaac who is in the middle of changing out his lacrosse jersey for a T-shirt.
Peter, being Peter, is completely unashamed. "Yes, well. An awful lot of dangerous things tend to happen at the high school, you can't blame me for keeping an eye out."
"You've been watching me a lot."
"No watching, exactly, more like noticing."
Isaac realizes just how ridiculous this is becoming at the same moment that Peter pulls him closer and kisses him on the lips, fast and hungry. "I didn't read you wrong, did I, Isaac?"
If the fingers wrapping in Peter's hair and the hand curling around his hip are anything to go by, he was entirely right.
-
They work.
Neither of them can fill a silence with easy words. Both of them can make a mean mug of hot cocoa, and both of them revel in leaving hickies in the most obtrusive spots they can. Peter draws Isaac in every way imaginable, clothed, naked, moving, sleeping. Isaac keeps Peter company whenever he gets sick.
Things aren't always easy. They say things that remind the other of bad times, and they can't find good ways to apologize. They both have a week or so of awkwardness when Peter's nephew starts dating Isaac's ex-boyfriend. (Pack meetings are more that a little uncomfortable for the following month.)
Things aren't always easy, but Isaac and Peter can hold their own with each other's neuroses. Isaac lets Peter get away with his stalking, Peter lets Isaac get away with disappearing and brooding for days on end.
They curl up on the couch together, most nights. Sometimes they talk. Sometimes they don't. But they're always there, and that's what matters.