When Scott first saw Isaac, he was confused. Sure, the boy was tall and well-built, but he just didn't seem like the sort of person who would end up as a totally epic werewolf. He was probably a boy who'd learn to control the shift quickly and then never make any sort of progress ever again.

Admittedly, he was a follower which was probably just what Derek was looking for; to Scott, it made Isaac undesirable-werewolf-numero-uno. He seemed like a nice guy, a bit awkward and shy, probably damn clumsy from his excessive height but he just didn't seem like a werewolf. Not like Scott or Derek or Laura or any other werewolf Scott had even heard of. That omega that Gerard had cut in half didn't count; he was an omega. If some future-reading person had told Scott that Isaac would be a werewolf, he wouldn't have believed them. Scott would've laughed and said that the bite would kill Isaac.

But damn was that beta resilient. Maybe not strong or a fighter or anything like that, but resilient as the bleeding and fiery hell that demons lived in. Which was pretty damn resilient.

As best as a non-caring fellow beta like Scott could tell, Isaac's life pretty much sucked. His father was a former swim coach killed by some sort of lizard, mother a once-lovely woman killed in a car accident that drove his older brother, Camden, to join the military and end up killed a year and a half later in Afghanistan. At school, he was invisible and freakish, one of hundreds (hell, probably thousands) of teens teased by Jackson Whittemore daily. He'd asked Lydia out in Freshman year, ending up being turned down with an extra side of burn. He was a loner with no friends and, now, no family.

Another unfortunate story of a long list.

Yet as Scott began to understand Isaac better, he understood one key thing. Isaac was afraid. It was fear of his father (who turned out to be an abusive jerk (to put things extremely mildly)), a fear of enclosed spaces (caused by being locked away in a freezer for half his goddamn life (once again, his father was a jerk)), a fear of being powerless (even though he'd been completely powerless for years (thanks, Mr. Lahey)), a fear of loosing those close to him (mother, check, brother, check, father (the abusive jerk), check), and a fear of pretty much everything he didn't understand (try attending chem class with Harris (another jerk)). Basically, Isaac had absolutely terrible luck and his personality slash social understanding suffered greatly because of it.

(Scott had once believed that someone out there made plans for everyone that suited them perfectly and would lead them to eternal happiness but after having lost his father, his second mother and met Isaac, that all changed. Seriously, no one made perfect plans for people if they sucked that freaking much. In a perfect world filled with perfection everywhere, there would be no werewolves or demons or death or life in the first place because humans had this bizarre tendency to mess up absolutely everything they did. Thank goodness that Scott was a werewolf at that point and no longer was included under the idea of a human. Wolf. Nothing else. And damn, it made living easier but life so much harder.)

Digging deeper into the nervous beta, Scott had found that Isaac was more than just claustrophobic and nyctophobic, rather a bundle of shyness mostly hidden beneath the leather jacket he wore as though it were an armor protecting him from his dead father.

Unobservant as he might be, Scott still found that Isaac was shy and sweet and actually quite gentle. Deaton had once explained wolf packs and their hierarchy to Scott in great detail; he called the alpha the strongest and most power-hungry, the beta hopeful to become the next alpha, the deltas those who cared not for power so long as they were not left scraps and the omega scapegoat for all of the pack's problems, the one who didn't care for power. In all honesty, steady and cruel as the truth might be, Isaac wasn't much of an alpha or beta or even gamma, rather the omega of Derek's makeshift pack.

It made Scott feel sorry for the tallest of the betas. Once again being honest, Isaac probably would have been better off as a werewolf omega than a wolf omega.

At least then there wouldn't be a pack forcing him to be the last of their group to eat or the first to be kicked away in hard times. The teen just didn't deserve it, not after what he'd been putting up with for his entire life. Yet if Isaac were to receive what he deserved, he'd end up as the adored omega of a family pack.

Each member would dote on him to no end and always make sure that he was safe and happy. His mother would adore him as her youngest child, father watch after him always and forever and elder brother be his best friend. None of them would be dead or abusive jerks but it wasn't a perfect world and Isaac had no family.

All he had was the pain of losing those who had loved him.

Or at least some of them loved him. Others were just pieces of crap who wouldn't have cared if he'd died. Mr. Lahey probably would have had a drink to celebrate, or complained that now it was he that had to dig the graves every night. The former swim coach was far from the protective father that Isaac deserved; in the harshness of the truth, Mr. Lahey deserved a far more painful end than he ended up receiving. He deserved to be tortured by Kali and Ennis from the alpha pack and then be torn apart by vicious and over-protective betas like Scott himself. It would have been glorious and amazing yet it could not be. Mr. Lahey had been brutally murdered by a psychotic teen just wanting revenge. He'd gotten the revenge but revenge never made anything better. It killed Matt.

A soft tap on his shoulder drew Scott from his rampaging thoughts. Standing before him in his six foot one glory was Isaac Lahey. His russet-toned curls glimmered slightly in the fading glow of twilight. Blue eyes the colour of the ocean waves were filled with light while his grin was spread across his face, firm lips stretched wide with his smile. Scott had to look up at him.

"You okay, Scott?"

Scott smiled in response, revealing his elongated fangs. "Yup."

Pulling Scott's hand into his own, Isaac massaged his fingers gently. His long fingers rubbed at Scott's knuckles soothingly. "You looked contemplative. And you never look contemplative."

"Just... thinking."

"About what, Scotty-boy?"

Scott grinned shyly. "You."