Isaac is alone. He forgets that sometimes now, because he's surrounded by people. People who sometimes care. But he is alone.
His mother is gone. Has been gone for a long time. So long he almost can't remember. Almost. He can't quite remember her face, can't remember if her hair was curly or straight, can't remember the way her face changed when she laughed. But he can still hear her. Her voice, soft and soothing. Her laugh, loud and beautiful. And her smell. He remembers her smell. Like wheat and powder and roses. That smell, like everything is going to be okay.
And her screams as she died. He still hears them, the sound still haunts him at night.
His brother is gone too. Left years ago. Six years. Six years since he last saw him. He'd joined the marines the second he graduated high school. Ran away the first chance he got. And he didn't even care that he was leaving Isaac alone. Alone with only an abusive father. And it only got worse. The anger and the drinking and the punches. Locking him in the freezer, in the closet. It all tripled when he realized that Camden wasn't coming back. But Camden didn't care, didn't think what would happen to Isaac when he left. Didn't care. Never planned to come back.
But then he did come back. Less than two years later. In a box. Isaac choked when they men in uniform came to their house. Dad was drunk, passed out on the couch, but no one bothered to ask. No one mentioned the bruises on Isaac, the purple and yellow marks that covered his arms. No one cared. No one cares.
He didn't go to the funeral. Not really, not like he should have. He stands far off, watching the procession from the tree line. Camden hadn't cared about him, so why should he feel any differently toward his brother?
He cried himself to sleep every night for the next week. He tried not to care, tried to tell himself that Camden didn't deserve his tears. He still cried.
He didn't know what to feel when his dad died. Abusive, drunk, hateful. But still his blood. The last of his blood.
And now Isaac's alone.
Alone with a bunch of idiots who pretend to care, who pretend they give a damn about him.
He still has nightmares, almost every night. His mother screaming. His father throwing glass bottles at his head. His brother clawing his way out of his casket, bloody, decaying. His mother's face, distorted with fear. He can't remember what she looks like without the scream. Locked inside a freezer and he can't escape. Camden laughing all the while. And Isaac is alone.
And then there's Derek and Stiles and Scott and Erica and Boyd. The people who stupidly care only because they have to. But he cares, because they're all he's got left and he clings to them, terrified that they'll all be gone soon, too.
Scott taking a dozen bullets to the chest, each of them laced with wolfsbane. Stiles shredded by the Alpha of another pack. Derek poisoned by the Kanima, falling into the water, sinking. Dead because there's no one there to keep him afloat.
He jars from the dream, a whimper caught at the back of his throat. It's a moment before he realizes that he isn't alone. Erica and Boyd are curled up in his bed, both fast asleep. Erica's fists are grasped tightly around his shirt, and Boyd's arm is draped over both of them protectively. His abdomen twinges, still not fully healed, but he doesn't move. He doesn't want to disturb them. They're worried too.
He isn't alone. These people stupidly care for him for what reason he doesn't know. But they do. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks they only care because they have to, because they're pack.
But it's enough.