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He doesn’t go home when Derek kicks him out. He doesn’t go anywhere, really. He just walks. It’s terrifying knowing that no one cares about you, it’s terrible knowing that your alpha - the man who made you - doesn’t need you. He feels something wilt inside of him when he walks passed the school. He almost misses the Jeep. Almost.
Isaac stops and wipes the rain from his face, then rolls his eyes. Fucking Stiles. Part of him wants to keep going, there’s a shelter on 15th that he can stay at; the other part is curious. And curiosity, well, it didn’t kill the wolf but he’s pretty sure that’s because the wolf killed it first.
He walks to the Jeep, sees Stiles sitting in the driver’s seat with his phone shining against his face. He looks pale and his hair is sticking up at the ends; Isaac smirks as he walks up, let’s his wolf surface and his eyes sharpen before he pounds on the driver’s side window with a growl. When Stiles jerks into the passenger seat, arms chopping in the air and a small scream echoing in the car, Isaac laughs. It feels good, the fear and the power. It reminds him that he doesn’t need Derek. He is a predator. He is powerful.
He is bigger than a closet, stronger than a pack.
He pulls the driver’s door open and smirks as Stiles slowly stretches out to sit in the passenger. “Funny,” he shakes his head slightly. “Nothing says ‘creature of the night’ like attacking the one person who knows about you and tries to help.”
“Yeah? And what have you done lately?” Isaac doesn’t try to keep the nastiness out of his voice. He’s feeling mean, he’s feeling mean towards Stiles who has a father who loves him, a friend who loves him, and Derek who ...
“Um...solving a murder spree so you don’t have to?” Stiles’s brow furrows as he starts rambling about the murders and Isaac fights to keep from rolling his eyes.
“What have you done for me?” he cuts in before Stiles can go any further about Harris. Because that guy? A dick who probably deserves to be sacrificed, if that’s what’s happened.
“I don’t ... Nothing?” Stiles freezes and swallows, loudly. His hearts starts pounding, faster and faster, and Isaac can smell fear and sweat spreading in the car. It’s when the fear turns into panic that he realizes his wolf has surfaced, again, his eyes probably yellow and he pulls it back.
“Sorry,” he sighs and drops his head against the headrest. “I’m having a not-so-great night.”
“And you needed to take it out on someone?” Stiles asks quietly. Isaac nods without looking over and can hear Stiles shift in his seat. “So what happened?”
He tries to think of something to say: It’s his mother’s anniversary, the Alpha Twins, detention with Allison. “Derek kicked me out,” is what he ends up saying.
He expects Stiles to throw his arms out or knock his head against the window. He expects Stiles to raise his voice. He doesn’t expect the quiet voice, or the light from his phone being abruptly shut off. “Why?”
He laughs and thinks back to the loft, Cora hiding behind the pillar and Derek drinking the beer and yelling at him. “Family. Apparently the Hale pack doesn’t need --”
“That’s not it,” Stiles cuts in, his voice sure and his hand grabbing Isaac’s arm before he can finish. He doesn’t pull away; part of him wants to lean into the touch. He hates that part.
“You weren’t there, Stiles. I’ve been kicked out.” Again, goes unsaid. He turns his head and he sees when Stiles gets it. Stiles frowns at his phone then looks out the window.
He also sees when Stiles’s face shifts, when he mouth sets into a firm line and his eyes harden slightly. He turns back to Isaac and nods slowly, “You should go to Scott’s.”
Isaac laughs and starts to open the door but Stiles stops him by tightening his hold and pulling him back.
“No,” he says more forcefully, “He can help. And Derek hasn’t kicked you out of his pack. He probably needed the loft for--”
“Stiles,” Isaac rolls his eyes and can’t bring himself to say it again. It’s hard enough to think someone doesn’t want you, harder to say it aloud. Again.
“Go to Scott, trust me, he’ll be thrilled to help.” And if Isaac hears more behind those words than Stiles lets on, he doesn’t say anything. He needs something to hold onto. “Seriously, man, go to Scott. I’ll,” he waves his hand with the phone in it in the air, “talk to Derek. Figure this out.”
Isaac doesn’t say anything, he looks down to where Stiles’s hand is still holding his arm, and nods. Because he needs this. He needs to hope that someone cares if he shows up at school tomorrow, he needs to hope that someone cares about him. He pulls free and shuts the door behind him, ignores the rain that’s coming fown harder. At the edge of the parking he turns back and sees Stiles on his phone, shouting into his phone.
If he wanted to, he could listen. But, he won’t. He can’t.
He runs to Scott’s, because he can and because if he waits too long he’ll lose his nerve. Common sense will come in and tell him that Stiles was wrong, Scott doesn’t want him, no one does.
Scott’s light and the downstairs lights are on, the light above the porch shines against the rain. And when he knocks, Mrs. McCall lets him in. She eyes the bag in his hand, smiles, and opens the door wider.
“Come in, Isaac.”
When he knocks on Scott’s door he steels his nerves, ready to leave again. But when he sees Scott, sees the surprised smile, he holds onto the hope.