It took a while, but eventually Isaac Lahey got his hormones under control. As the days went by with no direct contact with Scott McCall, he came to the conclusion that what he felt for Scott was respect. He respected his prowess as a Beta/Omega/Alpha (whatever the fuck Scott was that week). He respected his noble intentions, admired them, even (because Isaac's eyes were too old and too full of asshole to ever be like Scott's). He respected his commitment to protect those he cared about, his lacrosse prowess, the almost overwhelming strength of his feelings for the Argent bitch. He even respected Scott's unwillingness to fuck anyone who'd say yes (Isaac was all front and no bite and he didn't want to fuck some stranger, not just yet, but he wished it was that easy, like ripping a bandage).
So he played it cool. Played it casual. He kept his distance, watched the other boy as he stumbled to and fro trying to do everything at once, trying to save everyone at the same time, watched how everything slipped through Scott's fingers and oh, wasn't that nice, wasn't that a tasty, sweet reminder that Scott McCall was still only human. That he could still fuck up and lose everything he cared about. And Isaac didn't care that he was being an asshole, but he enjoyed watching McCall fail, he enjoyed watching him suffer (he felt a little guilty but he buried it like he buried caskets after school). After all, it was due payback for the ice rink and the failed attempt on Lydia's life and all the times the little shit had got away with humiliating Isaac.
(It felt so one-sided and he knew, 'you had it coming', but he hated that, didn't want to think about it, didn't want to deserve the humiliation; so he buried it, buried it deep, and planted wolsfbane over that truth's grave).
And as he watched Scott showering and admired his assets, thinking "Hm.. I'd hit that," he decided he was going to lay back and see what happened, let everything unfold. He knew, deep down, that Scott's epic love story wasn't going to last. Not when every passing week just widened the gap between him and the Argents. People didn't forget things like the death of their loved ones, or lines drawn in the sand or insults, threats, affronts. The bad blood between the Argents and the werewolves of Beacon Hills just festered and festered, and Scott's ties to Allison were bound to snap one by one under the tension.
Isaac was content with watching it all unfold before his eyes. Playing smart meant being like Derek. Tell nobody what you know unless it's absolutely necessary, don't intervene unless you absolutely have to and let what you want come crawling to your feet. And Isaac was determined to play his entire life smart.
Scott unlocked the door to Deaton's vet clinic and Isaac suppressed a grin. McCall wasn't happy to see him at all. Isaac didn't care (it stung, like a needle through the sole of his foot, but it was temporary. He didn't care, he was above it; Scott held no power over him, no moonlight enchantment).
"What's he doing here?" McCall asked Derek with overt annoyance, nodding at Isaac like he was some sort of eyesore.
"I need him," Derek replied curtly. Isaac remained quiet. He was content to watch from a distance (emotional distance).
"I don't trust him," muttered Scott, almost to himself. Isaac wondered if McCall had thought aloud.
"Well, he doesn't trust you either," Isaac retorted with just the right amount of sass (it felt like a riposte, aimed at the throat; but it missed, it missed and went wide). He didn't even spare McCall a glance. He was above everything.
"And Derek really doesn't care," the Alpha interjected, clearly annoyed.
Isaac pressed his ass against a nearby desk, too cool for a proper seat, too cool to stand around stiffly. The vet appeared and led them inside. Isaac wasn't paying too much attention. He didn't care that McCall had apparently won a battle of wills against Derek. It didn't matter. Derek was smarter than that. He knew they needed the vet's help and they were willing to spin a few lies to get him and McCall on board. But at the end of the day, Isaac knew the kanima would die.
Deaton led them inside, showed them a tray with glass flasks. They contained... herbs, powders. Weird voodoo shit.
Isaac instinctively reached out to pick one of them up. He wanted to get a closer look, he had never seen weird voodoo shit up close. Derek held him back.
"Watch what you touch," he growled and oh, right, yeah, that was probably a good idea. Isaac was a werewolf now, a creature of the night. His hand might shrivel and turn to dust if he touched something he shouldn't. Or worse.
So he tried a new approach. He could still get his curiosity sated. Isaac leaned forward and decided to be coy. "So," he began, "what are you? Some kind of witch?" He was testing the waters, pushing the boundaries. Deaton was an unknown and he wanted to find out more about him. How'd he react if Isaac threw a metaphorical dart at him?
"No," replied the vet, almost as if he was answering a five-year-old, "I am a veterinarian." And nobody in the room believed it. Or so Isaac hoped.
He made a soundless "oh" as if he was playing along.
There was a talk about defending against the kanima's attacks, but Isaac was having none of that. Maybe a good defence helped you avoid losing, but it didn't help you win.
"What about an effective offence?" he asked intently.
Derek tried to rebuff him, but Deaton touched on an important question: weaknesses. And then McCall jumped in with a fact Isaac couldn't tell if it was useless or not. That was McCall's way, it seemed. Very confusing. The conversation went on as Deaton showed them a weird charm and proceeded to explain what everyone else had already sort of put together on their own. But it sounded more intelligent coming from the vet's mouth.
Then McCall said something (and he had no idea he was saying something crucial) that sparked an idea in Isaac's head.
"How d'you know it's not part of the rules?" he asked, shapes and thoughts coalescing in his head. "The kanima kills murderers. If Jackson kills the wife, then the baby dies too," he uttered. It made sense. Perfect sense. He was onto something. His head turned towards Scott absently (looking to the Beta for confirmation and not to your Alpha? Isaac, what are you doing?).
"Does that mean your father was a murderer?" inquired McCall and Isaac wasn't going to think about that, it was behind him. He didn't care. It was dead and buried.
"Wouldn't surprise me if he was," Isaac replied nonchalantly. Baggage? What baggage? Isaac had no time for baggage.
Deaton got an idea and it was also something they had all kept somewhere half-formed in the back of their heads. The difference was that Deaton was a magnifying lens, a force of focus, and put everyone on the same page.
"Meaning what?" asked Isaac, wondering what the vet's ultimate plan was. It was McCall the one that had followed his boss's train of thought.
"Meaning we can catch them," he said, on the cusp of a tiny epiphany, "both of them."
And that was that. Isaac left with Derek, mulling over the whole kanima ordeal and the plan they were brewing. Derek seemed to be fine with going with McCall's lead. Anything to get him in the pack, Isaac figured. Derek must have been either plotting something or hiding how weak he thought his pack was, if he was willing to bend over so much for Scott. Or maybe Derek had a soft spot for the kid. It wouldn't surprise Isaac. Derek wouldn't surround himself with teenagers if he didn't have a soft spot for them, sentimental, sexual or otherwise.
The following morning was amusing, if quite baffling. He was staying out of Scott's way, as usual, when he caught Stilinski's cringe-worthy attempts to get Danny to give him his tickets. When the word "abstinence" came out of Stiles's lips, Isaac just couldn't help himself. He yanked back the two of them from out of Danny's space (Danny owed him big) and just let his confusion out.
"How. Do you two losers. Even survive?" he uttered, a whirling mixture of utter astonishment and frank disgust in his voice. Stilinski had the social grace of a tap-dancing walrus and McCall's sole mode of persuasion was his trademark puppy eyes. And Danny was gay, yes, and recently dumped, yes, and currently dateless, yes, but he still had self-respect, and he wouldn't just sell his best chance at some hot rebound sex. That the Dumbass Duo hadn't picked up on that little fact spoke volumes of where their talents actually lay.
He looked back and forth between the two morons. Eventually McCall spoke with a foreboding sense of defeat.
"What are we supposed to do?" he whined. Isaac enjoyed it. Ah, so Scott didn't have all the answers. Good to know. "No one's even selling," he added, as if that justified his incompetence. Isaac needed only to look at the other teens to see them passing tickets among themselves. He grinned. Finally a chance to prove himself better than Scott.
"Wait here, boys," he muttered, patting Stilinski's chest as he moved past them. It was going to be a piece of cake.
The details are irrelevant. Tickets were obtained. People were thrown against lockers (and benches, and other people). Fists connected with soft, pliable parts of other people's anatomies. He didn't break a sweat. By the time he was done, he had tickets for Erica, himself and even two to spare for the Dumbass Duo.
He pressed them against their chests and turned around, with a triumphant, "Enjoy the show."
He walked away. He felt their dumbfounded stares on his back (he hoped they were dripping with admiration and want, but he didn't turn around) as he left the locker-room like a champion.
The rest of the day went by in a blur as Isaac carefully plotted what he was going to wear to the rave, how he was going to look. He wanted to be a head-turner (more than he already was), to blow everyone's minds. He knew Erica, his partner in crime, would be having the same goal. It was a friendly competition that urged them to be better themselves. There was no malice, they were a team, and the whole world would splay itself open like a hooker's legs when they walked into that rave. They complemented each other well. She was the aggressive one, balanced by soft curves and sweet perfume. An iron fist wrapped in a designer glove. Isaac was different. He was distant, quiet and understated, tall and impossible to miss. He didn't need Erica's overt sexuality to get attention, and he was more than fine with letting her take the lead (he was icy wind and she was scorching silk and somehow that went together so well).
He couldn't put a name on what they were. Once upon a time, before the bite, they had been friends. It had been an awkward, tentative thing, with unspoken secrets hanging between them like gutted corpses both of them made a point not to look at. He had pitied her, once, before the bite, and she had pitied him in return ("I feel so sorry for you," was the one thing they never said to each other and the one thing that kept them together). That had been their bond, their mutual sympathy, but there had been respect there too. She didn't coo over his bruises and he didn't fret over her exhausted form after a seizure. They gave each other what nobody else had given them: normalcy. Dignity. They just talked, as if nothing had happened, and sometimes it was enough to put up with everything and get through the day.
Isaac had thought of Erica immediately when Derek had given him the bite. Nobody deserved it more than her. Not even Isaac. And just as both of them had emerged from their ugly cocoons of misery and filth and bruises and seizures together, becoming something powerful and beautiful, so too had their relationship shifted. There was no more pity between them, save for a shadow, a trace of shared memories that wouldn't go away (the day they caught her seizure on video, the night his dad broke his finger, the time they were both rejected on the same day). And so they had been bound by something stronger than pity. Isaac had no name for it. It was a strange emotion, a sort of understanding. They were both eerily in synch, wanting almost the same from life and making the same choices as to how to take it. They got each other, and that made them more than friends. Not quite siblings, not with the way they were perfectly comfortable kissing or writhing their bodies together for someone else's benefit. Yet there was no romantic attachment between them either, the chemistry between them was artificial, to make someone else jealous or horny or angry.
Isaac had no idea what Erica was to him, but he didn't care. He had read once that the Greeks had a name for every kind of love and he figured one of these days he was going to pick up a book and find out which one applied to him and Erica, but he wasn't in a hurry. He smiled at her as she slid into Derek's Camaro beside him. Derek was driving, Boyd was in the front seat. He slid a hand down her arm, taking in the hair, the make up, the perfume, the outfit.
"You look gorgeous," he said breathlessly, with no small amount of admiration (you win this one, Reyes. You can take the night, it's yours now).
"Thank you," she said, awfully pleased, grinning like it was her birthday. "You look delicious too," she paid him an honest compliment (she was always a gracious winner with him, with her little Isaac).
"Remember," growled Derek from the front seat, shattering their intimate moment with the carelessness of an elephant traipsing through a bazaar, "we're not here to have fun," he spat the word out like it was poisonous, like the very idea of Derek Hale having fun was a sin (will he pray for forgiveness if he catches himself smiling? if he catches himself bobbing his head to some nameless rhythm?), "we're here to catch a monster." Honestly, the emphasis was unwarranted. They had all seen the kanima before. Derek and Erica had felt in their own flesh the horrible sensation of paralysis, of helplessness.
Erica and Isaac nodded simultaneously.
When they made it to the rave, Isaac and Erica left Derek and Boyd behind without looking back, got through the front door and exchanged knowing glances (time to own this fucking place. Own it like everyone's waiting for us to show them how it's done). Up the stairs, and take a left. He took the lead at first, opening the way for her, not letting his eyes focus on any one thing in particular. They went through a narrow corridor, heading for the dance floor. He looked back at her (are you ready for this?) and she looked back at him, a teasing smirk dancing on her lips (she was born ready). They stopped before the plastic curtains, facing each other. She grinned. Strawberry excitement came off her in waves. He grinned too, couldn't help himself. They were both new at what they were doing. Raves and clubs were foreign to Erica and her epilepsy and Isaac's father was loath to let him socialise (he wanted Isaac to be alone, alone like him).
But that was the past. That didn't matter. They weren't the broken, frail children they used to be before the bite. They were adults, transformed and improved. They were ready. They gave each other a nod. She had been thinking the same. Isaac swallowed his nervousness like it had never existed. He focused on Erica. It was their night (and they were going to own it).
They parted the curtains at the same time.
The smells and sounds and lights caught them unaware. They stood for a moment, frozen, as their enhanced senses struggled to filter all the input, all the sexfunlightmusiclifepulse that hit them like a freight train. Their fingertips touched, subconsciously, and their silent mutual reassurance grounded them, galvanised them against the noise. Their grins returned. Fuck you, Derek. Time to have fun.
It wasn't music to grind to, it was music to bounce to, but they didn't care. A light touch here, a come hither look there, and they both got themselves plenty of people to press their bodies against. It was nice, Isaac thought, being surrounded by the thick, musky scent of arousal all around him, getting sandwiched by two smaller guys while a girl pressed her breasts against his side. He cast a look towards Erica, whispering something absolutely filthy in another girl's ear (judging by the blush on the stranger's face) as a tall guy ground his groin against her ass. It was stupid, but they were sixteen and they had never been to a party in their lives, much less a rave, and nobody could fault them if they completely forgot about their mission in the soft press of bodies and heat and want.
It took McCall's irritated expression to break them both out of their trances, as he gestured at them to get off the dance floor. The mission, right. But sex was still not entirely off Isaac's mind, and he idly wondered if he could get some grinding time with Scott later. After all, he had spotted Allison hand in hand with one of the geeks. Fair was fair, right? But McCall wasn't having any of that (or any fun at all), and he quickly explained that the all too important part of the plan where Jackson had to get drugged was now up to Isaac (and Erica, of course, she was his Stiles).
"Why me?" Isaac asked. Something had gone wrong, he could practically smell it in Scott's apple-scented anxiety.
"Because I had to make sure that Argent doesn't completely ruin the plan," he replied with bitter-tasting exasperation. There was rancour there, a hint of scorn. Isaac noticed how close they were, and what a shame it was they weren't going to kiss. He couldn't get sex off his mind. Maybe giving into it had been a mistake. Maybe Derek had had a point.
"Now, you gotta do it intravenously, which means in the vein." Isaac nodded, trying hard to focus on what he was being told and not on how great Scott's aftershave smelled up close. "You find him, you pull back on this plunger right here." Isaac took the strange syringe. It was important. Scott said something, but Isaac missed the first part when McCall's knuckle brushed against his neck. The touch burned for a moment.
"...will be the easiest," Scott continued, completely oblivious to Isaac's reactions. "So you find the vein, jam it in there, and pull back on the trigger." Isaac tried to nod. He didn't know if his head obeyed. "Be careful," Scott told him, and that definitely helped to dispel some of the fog in his mind. The notion was so ridiculous, it made Isaac chuckle. Or snort, he wasn't sure which.
"I, ah, doubt I'll even slightly hurt him," he understated, too distracted for his words to have any real bite.
"No, I mean you," Scott replied intently, and huh, that was like dunking Isaac's head in cold water. He focused on Scott's face, on his intense, earnest eyes. The way he seemed to... care was deeply disturbing. Isaac's confusion must have shown on his face, because Scott immediately had an addendum. "I don't want you to get hurt," he insisted, and Isaac was almost taken aback, but Scott's eyes kept him glued to the spot. They both held each other's gaze for a few long seconds, while Scott tried to convey something to Isaac that Isaac's mind refused to accept. To the outside world, it was a moment of silence, a weird stare between two intense kids. But for the two of them, it was Scott pounding on thick glass while Isaac watched, scared as fuck, from the other side ("Let me in, I'm not gonna hurt you" Isaac thought Scott said as he pounded on the glass; but it was a lie, it had to be, the world didn't work like that.).
Eventually Scott realised he had more pressing matters (or that he had successfully conveyed his message) and turned to leave. Isaac remained staring forward, blankly. He smelled Erica's perfume behind him and felt the metal in his hands. He had a mission, he was an adult, he had responsibilities. So he took everything he was feeling, all the confusion and fear and other feelings he still hadn't named, and shoved inside a box in his head. He shook his head, closing the box, to be reopened later when lives weren't at stake.
"Do you remember how Jackson smells?" he asked Erica, leaning forward into her personal space. Anyone would have mistaken them for a couple.
"The guy puts on a whole can of body spray every times he leaves the house," she replied disdainfully. "Of course I remember."
"Good, because you're gonna help me find him," he told her, and she nodded like a soldier.
Jackson sashayed into the dance floor like he was trying to one-up Erica and Isaac, but they knew there was no competition. Sure, Jackson was quite hot, but he was wearing his "psycho killer" face and that just ruined the whole thing.
"We'll distract him," Erica whispered as they made their way through the crowd. "Then you jam that thing in his neck. Follow my lead."
"Of course," Isaac replied with a nod.
Erica exuded confidence as she placed a hand on Jackson's neck. He closed his eyes, seemingly affected by the contact. Isaac idly wondered when was the last time the psycho killer lizard had got laid if he spent most of his time killing or stalking people. Perhaps this would be easier than they thought. Would teenager hormones and sexual frustration be enough to overpower Jackson's master's control? Well, only one way to find out.
Erica dipped her head onto Jackson's neck to whisper something in his ear. Proving that she was more than capable to be smart in a situation where arousal was oozing from every direction, she deftly placed herself directly in front of him, cutting him off from wherever he intended to go. This left room for Isaac to come up from behind him and press his entire body against Jackson's. The other guy was warm, Isaac dimly noted, and smelled like that body spray Erica had mentioned. He was getting hard. He couldn't help himself. He had tried to sober himself up while talking to McCall but going back to the dance floor to grind had sent his blood rushing south. He could barely think straight ("follow my lead," she said. Erica knew him too well) . Erica was the first to kiss Jackson, tongue slipping straight into his mouth as he moved a hand up to cop a feel. Isaac heard the jock groan into the kiss, and it sent a current of pleasure down Isaac's spine.
Erica broke the kiss just as Isaac circled them to position himself behind her. Jackson looked up, eyes half-lidded and full of lust, and Isaac leaned over Erica's shoulder to kiss him. He tasted Erica's lip-gloss, too sweet and with a slight hint of citrus. Jackson's mouth was slow to kiss, as if he was already drugged. His tongue moved lazily against Isaac's, but Isaac drew a nice, hot moan from Jackson when he sucked on the jock's lower lip (like Erica taught him). He was so hard he was sure Erica could feel his erection pressing against her hip even through his jeans. He noticed Jackson moving his hands to cop a different kind of feel, as the jock slid a hand under his shirt. It didn't last, though: the position was very uncomfortable with Erica in the middle. Isaac tried not to feel too disappointed when Jackson moved his hands to his hips instead.
Erica reached back when Isaac pulled away from Jackson, she grabbed the back of Isaac's neck and tilted her head back. It was secret code for "let's drive him wild." Isaac leant forward and kissed her, right in front of him, making sure he could see how he licked her lips with his tongue and how she groaned with pleasure for him. The scent of arousal that Jackson let out hit them both like a heatwave, and the two smirked into the kiss before breaking away (they were too clever, too hot, too confident and it would all come crashing down).
Jackson kissed Erica's neck and she moaned, because it looked like the prettyboy knew some moves after all. In a fit of hormone-driven lust, Isaac reached past Erica to grab at Jackson's ass. He grabbed two nice handfuls, rough and intense, and heard Jackson grunting against Erica as if he was being fucked. Dude liked the assplay, Isaac thought, as he rubbed circles with his hands on Jackson's cheeks. Erica, even more forward than that, had slid a hand down Jackson's groin and was palming his hilariously obvious erection (that's what you get for wearing tight jeans that show off your perfect ass) with intent. Isaac bent down to kiss Erica's shoulder (you're doing great, girl, just a little more).
Erica and Isaac gave Jackson twin sexy looks ("if it was just the three of us, we would fuck you so hard there would be nothing left of you come dawn"). Isaac fished the syringe from his pocket. He suppressed a disappointed sigh at realising he wanted to fuck a lizard monster. If only things were different... But they weren't, and Isaac had a mission to do. He thought back to McCall and the box full of weird feelings threatened to spill. Isaac mentally shoved it away and focused on the task at hand. He leant over Erica's shoulder again to get a better look at Jackson's neck, which he covered up with a tiny, chaste lick. Jackson shivered. Everything was perfect.
Isaac moved his head back to get a better aim, and his trepidation must have given him away or something, because Jackson was suddenly pissed. Before Isaac could react, before he could do anything, there was a fucking SHARP pain in his side and Erica was gasping in pain. He tossed back his head and opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out (it was too sudden and it all came crashing down).
"He belongs to me" said an unnaturally grave voice using Jackson's mouth. As Isaac tumbled to the floor, fighting the paralytic toxin, he idly came to the conclusion that the master's will overcame Jackson's horniness. Which was too bad, really. It would've been nice to have an excuse to fuck that jock all night long. And for the greater good, even.
His first thought when he finally hit the floor was Erica. He glanced back and saw her staring straight at him from her prone position. "The syringe," she mouthed, but no sounds came from her mouth. Jackson walked away, but Isaac was having none of that. The adrenaline had shoved all the stupid horniness out of the way, and all he had in his head was McCall's voice repeating his instructions. "Be careful," he had said (he hadn't been), "I don't want you to get hurt," he had added (too late). His blood was adrenaline. The toxin was numbing his body but he was having none of that. Not yet. He had a mission. He wasn't going to disappoint Scott any further (he had already failed him in everything but the most important part. If he got Jackson everything would be fine).
He saw the syringe lying on the floor and he crawled towards it. A foot kicked it away. Motherfucker. He had the urge to claw at that foot but he held himself in check. No time to waste being childish. He had a mission. He kept crawling. It felt like forever went by crawling after that thing. His heart raced in his chest. Fear coiled in his stomach as the syringe felt like it was miles away and feet kept moving around it. Any stray step could crush the thing and fuck everything up, or kick it even further away and waste his precious time. But he wasn't going to give up. He was not going to tell Scott that he had got himself all clawed up by Jackson for nothing. The venom in his body was trying to slow him down, like chains wrapping around his chest and legs, but he could beat them. He knew he could. If he wasn't completely paralysed by then, then Jackson hadn't used enough toxin (perhaps because he hadn't transformed fully) and so it was only a matter of time before Isaac was back on his feet.
Wrapping his fingers around that syringe was the most triumphant moment in a long time for Isaac. He stumbled to his feet, smelling Erica not far behind him. He felt an almost indescribable rage as he tumbled towards Jackson. He probably had a smug smirk on his face, the asshole. But oh, that was going to change soon. He caught up with the jock in no time, pressing his body behind him like they had been boyfriends for years. He was going to inject someone in a highly public place and everything he did to cover it up would help. The syringe found a jugular and the ketamine found its mark. Jackson struggled for a moment, but soon fell limp into Isaac's arms. Isaac growled in Jackson's ear. Fucking asshole. He had almost ruined everything for him. Dragging him out was easy when Erica caught up to him.
"That was close," she said.
"I wasn't going to let him get away," he replied, letting his residual anger ebb out.
Finding a place to put Jackson was easy. They had already found a weird room with a chair and a sink that Scott had secured well away from the dance floor but still within the building.
Stiles showed up, things got extremely weird and Isaac decided he'd rather forget the whole affair. Because yeah, they had followed the plan to the letter, but the kanima had broken loose all the same (through a fucking wall) and gone ahead and killed its target. Isaac felt like a fucking failure after that. He didn't want to face Scott at all. Or Derek. Sadly, they didn't have much a choice. He and Erica followed Stilinski outside, where Derek was waiting for them. No Boyd. That couldn't be good.
Yet before he could say anything, or even react, he felt a powerful dread hitting him like a gust of wind. It spread through his body from the tips of his feet to the roots of his hair. Isaac looked down. There was something on the ground. A line of black dust. The substance emitted dread like it was made of fear and evil in equal parts and Isaac did not like it, not one bit. It felt like it was made of a demon's pulverised bones or something equally vile. He knelt down to get a better look at it. It had a very subtle scent, unlike anything Isaac had ever smelled before. If he had to put a name to it, he'd say it smelled wrong. Evil. He had absolutely no desire to even approach that dust, much less cross it. In fact, he didn't know if he could cross it, even if he put all his will into it. He looked back at Erica, suddenly worried he had lost his mind and was imagining things. He saw his own dread reflected on her face. That calmed him somewhat, but the dread was still there.
Stilinski found the occurrence a joyous affair, because he started bragging to Derek about how it was all his doing. Isaac afforded the hyperactive spaz a smidgen of respect. That line of dust felt powerful, almost like a force field. If he strained his ear, Isaac could almost swear it thrummed. It was profoundly disquieting. Derek, on the other hand, looked fairly impressed (for Derek, anyway), and was starting to formulate a plan to evacuate the building so that the kanima and its master would be trapped inside, when Derek heard something.
"Scott," the Alpha muttered to himself. He turned to Stiles. "Break it."
"What? No way!" was Stilinski's knee-jerk reply.
"Scott's dying!" Derek exclaimed, losing his patience very swiftly.
"What? How do you know that?" Stilinski's idiocy had no depth, no bounds, no limits.
"Oh my G-Stiles! I just know! Break it!" Aaaand there went Derek's patience.
Stiles knelt by the line of dust and used his hands to make a dejected "parting the waves" gesture. The displaced air blew a breach in the line of dust and suddenly the powerful, ominous dread in Isaac's chest disappeared. He looked down at the powder. It was still something he didn't want to touch, but the hold it had had over Isaac had disappeared. When he looked back up, Derek was gone. He wanted to follow him ("I don't want you to get hurt either," he wanted to say. But it was too late and he had never even considered the possibility, because who would want to hurt Scott McCall?), but he stayed behind. He let Derek handle it. He could get in the way and fuck the whole thing up.
He didn't want to see if Scott was really dying.
He'd be fine. Derek was on it. He looked at Erica. She looked worried too. Isaac swallowed dryly and calmed himself. Everything was going to be fine. Everything had gone to shit and they had fucked everything up, but things weren't that bad.
A foreboding feeling clutched his chest and did not let go for the rest of the night: Things weren't so bad because they could still get far, far worse.