Unsteady | Sterek

Four: Cause this house don't feel like home

The person holding him is Isaac. The curly haired boy is curled around him on the bed, asleep, his face peaceful and calm. As soon as Stiles moves, Isaac shoots up, his grip tightening and his eyes worried.

"Are you okay?" He breathes.

Stiles dips his head and stands up, shaking off the young werewolf. He's tired and confused; ashamed that someone had witnessed him breaking down. He needs to be stronger than that, needs to be better.

"Why are you here?" He asks Isaac bluntly.

There's an apprehensive look on the boy's face. "You didn't show up for the Pack meeting," he explains. "Derek sent me to check on you."

Stiles lets out a disbelieving laugh. "Unbelievable," he mutters, shaking his head. "You're all unbelievable."

"Stiles?" Isaac looks cautious but Stiles doesn't care if he scares the werewolf.

"I haven't been at Pack meetings for two months," he hisses. "Why should anyone start caring now?"

Isaac swallows. "There's a new threat," he says in a small voice. "We need help."

The fight leaves him; all the anger drains away and he is hollow. Of course. They need his help. He sighs and rubs his forehead. It's alright, he supposes, it's okay because at least they need him for something. It's not like he can give them much else. He's too dark, tainted, evil. So if he can help them, he will.

He can give them that much.

"Why are you here Isaac?" He asks tiredly.

"Derek sent me-"

"No I mean why are you here? Why you? You've avoided me since Allison's death, so why would they send you?"

Isaac looks ashamed, fiddling with his fingers for a moment before giving him an answer. "I volunteered," he admits quietly. "Originally they were going to send Lydia or Scott. I asked if I could go instead."

"But why?" Stiles presses. "Why, Isaac?"

"I wanted to apologise!" He blurts, his emotional gaze meeting Stiles. "I practically abandoned you, Stiles! After Allison, I couldn't-couldn't-" he breaks off and scrubs at his face. Stiles can see his tears. "I shouldn't have blamed you," Isaac whispers. "But I did. Oh god, I blamed you for everything. I was so angry, so hurt. I didn't stop to think how much you would be hurting too."

Stiles stands and he stares. He doesn't know what to think, can't remember how to breathe properly. He'd accepted the fact that Isaac hates him, he hadn't considered that the werewolf was simply hurting.

"Stiles?"

He'd caused this, he'd caused all of this. He should've been stronger, fought harder against the Nogitsune. He should've tried harder and maybe Allison would still be here.

"Stiles, breathe."

He slumps, surprised when Isaac is there to catch him. He feels the world pressing down on him, the wrongness of the world, the lack of anything right crushing his shoulders as he scratches at Isaac's arms, wheezing.

"Calm down," Isaac instructs gently. "Stiles, it's okay. Breathe."

He latches onto those words, it's okay, holding on tightly as he counts backwards from twenty shakily. He counts his fingers, it was real, and fights away the buzzing in his ear.

"There we go," Isaac murmurs. "There we go."

"I'm sorry," Stiles croaks.

Isaac shakes his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he assures Stiles. His heart hurts for the teen, silently cursing everyone for not realising how much the Nogitsune has affected their friend. "Stiles, does anyone know about these attacks?"

"No," Stiles says. "And nobody needs to. I'm fine."

"You're not."

"They don't need to know, Isaac."

The werewolf lets out a strangled sigh. "I won't tell," he says. "If you promise to let me know that they're happening."

"Alright," Stiles agrees.

The two of them sit on the bed for the rest of the night, talking quietly. Stiles thinks it's nice to have someone to talk to.