Not exactly the first time writing here...but definitely the first time working with the Teen Wolf verse. Please, let me know if you like it! ;) This idea came from, among other things: the love of manual transmissions, Stiles' old CJ, and a muse that just would not leave me alone.

A special thanks to fountainxxpenny for being so kind as to beta read this for me. Your help was invaluable, and greatly appreciated!

And last, but not least, I don't really own any of this. Sadly, no profit was gained here. Now read on, and enjoy!

Four on the Floor

"Is it always this...?" Lydia Martin trailed off and winced as Jackson Whittemore was tossed bodily into a tree, impacting with enough force to break a human's spine. A flurry of leaves descended down around his fallen form.

But of course, Jackson was not quite human anymore.

"Violent?" Stiles Stilinski supplied helpfully around a mouthful of curly-fries. Lydia and he were sitting side-by-side on a fallen log, watching Scott and Isaac train/fight with/beat the hell out of Jackson. Stiles had to admit, it was great entertainment.

Lydia hummed and shrugged delicately in agreement. Stiles tried his damnedest not to stare at the patch of bare shoulder that Lydia's sundress revealed, namely because Lydia's werewolf boyfriend probably would not hesitate to rip Stiles' head from his shoulders. And Stiles felt, well, rather attached to his head, thank you very much.

"You know, it might help to not think of it in such negative terms," Stiles suggested. "It's more like...rough-housing! Think of it as lacrosse practice...but without the lacrosse." Stiles gesticulated wildly at this. "You know, when we were little, Scott and I wrestled all the time -"

"Did you throw one another into trees?" Lydia inquired dryly.

Stiles frowned as he racked his memory. Then his eyebrows shot up and he snapped his fingers in triumph. "No, but this one time Scott launched me off of the trampoline WWE style - look! See, he's totally fine!"

Jackson was up now, crouched on all fours, growling furiously as he looked up at his opponent with blazing blue eyes. Isaac Lahey calmly tilted his head to the side until his neck cracked. He bounced lightly once on the balls of his feet and motioned with a clawed hand for Jackson to come at him again.

Jackson snarled and leapt forward. He took a vicious swing with his fist, and everyone watching was surprised when Isaac made no move to block Jackson; his head whipped to the side and he took a step back to absorb the blow. Isaac rubbed at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, wiping away the smear of blood even as his split lip healed itself.

"You hit like a girl," he noted, his voice raspy around his own fangs. Then he smiled.

It was the cocky grin that did it. Jackson roared and leapt back into the fight, swinging and slashing wildly. This time, Isaac did block most of the blows - and landed several of his own in return. The two werewolves moved in a bizarre, vicious dance back and forth across the forest clearing. Even Stiles, who was no stranger to werewolf brawls, was a little surprised at how intense things were getting.

"Um, Scott...?" Stiles started as Isaac jerked back to avoid being disemboweled by Jackson's claws. Why the heck was Scott just hanging back, looking all brooding-like as he watched? In that moment, Scott reminded Stiles of no one else so much as Derek Hale. Jackson had been particularly quick with his last attack, and Isaac had been caught flat-footed between attacks of his own; he stumbled back again, almost falling over this time.

The smile that Jackson wore was distinctly feral as he raised his hand over his head, claws shining in the sunlight...

Until Scott appeared behind him and promptly buried his own claws into Jackson's sides, right over his kidneys. "Don't forget, there's two of us," Scott growled into Jackson's ear.

The supernatural blue light in Jackson's eyes fizzled and faded as the pain finally caught up with him. He slid off of Scott's claws as he dropped to his knees, coughing and wheezing. His canine features faded to leave Jackson looking human: very pissed, but very human. "That wasn't fair," he managed to get out as he shot Scott an accusing glare.

"Any fight worth your life probably won't be fair," Scott countered with a shrug. "You need to be able to pay attention to every threat around you." He calmly examined the bloodied talons that he possessed in leu of fingernails before casually wiping them clean on his t-shirt. At least now his mom knew where all the dirt, grass - and blood - stains were coming from. To Isaac he inquired, "You okay?"

Isaac, also appearing more human than wolf, leaned back against a tree, panting from exertion. He nodded. "Thought you were gonna sit that one out, McCall," he quipped. One corner of his mouth turned up in a faint grin.

Scott grinned right back. "You were doing just fine on your own."

Isaac pushed himself away from the tree and stepped up to Jackson. He held out his hand to the other teen, palm up. "Great energy, but you could use more focus. And creativity." Isaac smirked. "Derek would say that you're predictable."

Jackson scowled at the mention of Derek's name, but he did accept Isaac's offered hand and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. Derek was...still a bit of a sore subject for most of those present. Jackson was understandably bitter that Derek's solution to the Kanima problem was to "kill him." Derek might be Jackson's Alpha by virtue of delivering his Bite, but feelings of fondness towards the man were understandably lacking on Jackson's part.

Jackson was equally perplexed that Scott's solution was to "save him." Despite all the evidence to the contrary, such as restraining orders and multiple school fights often resulting in multiple detentions at the behest of Mr. Harris, Scott never gave gave up on Jackson.

No one had ever done that. Jackson could still vividly recall the conversation that he had overheard outside of the prison transport between Scott, Allison, and Stiles - though he would only admit to anyone on pain of death that those words actually moved him.

A strange change had taken place in Jackson ever since he had become a werewolf. Most of the school had taken a step back from him after he had seemingly risen from the dead. A simple, but horrible, medical misunderstanding, Mrs. McCall had explained it as. Still, like Lydia, Jackson now found himself on the outside looking in, more often than not - he was the newest act in the social freak show. Although you might never know it, for Jackson's hyper-narcissistic attitude was still very much intact.

He still tended to act like mostly a jerk to Scott and Stiles, but somehow...a bit of the edge had been worn off. Jackson was willingly letting Scott - and even Stiles - teach him about his newfound powers, although such an arrangement had never been formally verbalized. It just sort of...happened.

The dynamic between Isaac and Jackson was still a bit of an unknown, though. To be sure, they were cordial enough with one another - more than likely Scott's doing - but there was still an icy undercurrent between them. The fact that Jackson had murdered, albeit unwillingly, Isaac's father had yet to be brought up between them.

In any event, though the threat of the alpha pack still loomed over their heads, several weeks into summer vacation had yet to reveal any sign of the marauding werewolves, or of the group of hunters that Allison's dad all but assured everyone would no doubt be following the pack. Still, it would not hurt to be prepared.

"Well, that was lovely!" Stiles quipped as he bounced to his feet. "I mean, it's not every day I get to see Jackson's ass handed to him - totally kidding, dude," he amended when Jackson snarled at him, eyes flashing electric blue again. "You totally gave as good as you got. Except, you know, for that last part where Scott skewered you into a Jackson-kebab -"

"Stiles!" several voices shouted.

Stiles blinked, perplexed. "What?" he asked.

Isaac walked up to where the boys had stashed their backpacks, and on the way down to retrieve a bottle of water he took a playful swing at Stiles' shoulder. "So when are you gonna hop in there and take your turn, Stilinski?" he teased. "You could probably talk him to death quicker than the rest of could beat him."

The indignant "Hey!" that Stiles squawked sounded completely natural. The most recent rendition of the Stilinski Flail looked natural as well, complete with pinwheeling arms and a dramatic flop backwards off of the log. Lydia tittered softly from where she sat, and Stiles gave her a wounded look.

It all looked and sounded completely normal, but for a split-second Isaac caught a distinct whiff of an acrid terror-smell coming off of Stiles. That gave Isaac pause.

"Sorry dude, I didn't mean to startle you," Isaac apologized sincerely.

Before Isaac could even offer him a hand up Stiles was back on his feet, frantically brushing leaves, twigs, and other forest detritus off of his clothing and out of his short-cropped hair. "No, no, it's fine! We're fine! I'm fine..." He glanced at Lydia and before he could stop himself blurted, "You're fine!"

Lydia's expression never wavered, save for the slow, delicate arch of a single eyebrow. Stiles did not know whether he should have been relieved or offended that Jackson simply snickered.

Despite the humor of Stiles being Stiles, Isaac could not help but notice the way that the other boy rubbed twice at his left cheek, as though checking for an injury. Stiles had definitely not hit his face when he fell off the log.

Isaac glanced over at Scott, who was watching the proceedings with familiar amusement. His head had a slight tilt off to the side, though, and his brown eyes were faintly narrowed in thought. Scott felt Isaac's gaze, and the two boys locked eyes for a split-second. It was a wordless conversation: You saw it, too?

Before he really knew what he was doing, Isaac was saying, "I'll sit this next round out, guys." He parked himself down on the log, sitting to Stiles' right.

"Aw, poor puppy dog is tired?" Jackson smarted off with his trademark arrogant sneer. He might have been just as worn out as Isaac was, but he still made sure to stand up a little taller and to square his shoulders into a more confidant stance. Everyone was quite sure that Jackson would rather drop dead from exhaustion rather than be the first one to call the training off.

"The dog jokes?" Scott groaned, slapping a palm over his face. "For serious?"

Jackson and Scott continued to banter back and forth, and Isaac took the opportunity to reach for some of Stiles' curly-fries. He jumped, surprised when his hand was abruptly slapped away. "No! Bad dog!"

Isaac could only stare incredulously, and Stiles either did not notice or did not care when Lydia took that moment to liberate a few fries for herself. "Fricken double-standards," he muttered before taking a swig from his water bottle. "What says I don't just...take those from you?" Isaac threatened after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, sounding semi-serious as a glimmer of gold sparkled in his otherwise blue eyes.

Stiles' mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, like a fish gasping out of water. "That - that would be a poor use of your wolf-powers, Isaac," Stiles countered. "You wouldn't stoop so low. You have standards. A code of conduct, if you will. Rules about this sort of thing."

"Well," Isaac said with an easy shrug. "I always thought of the rules more as 'guidelines,' but anyway." Stiles gulped.

Isaac watched as Scott and Jackson continued to train - the emphasis shifting more towards the proper application of Jackson's newfound strength rather than the outright knock-down, drag-out fighting that they had been doing previously. Stiles and Lydia talked amongst themselves as they watched, and Isaac could not help the pang of sympathy that he felt for the boy. Even pre-werewolf, when Stiles was no one to him other than a name in a class and a just another body on the opposite end of the lacrosse bench, Isaac could see how much he pined after Lydia Martin. Everyone in the warehouse that fateful night had seen how Jackson and Lydia had clung to one another - and it probably did not bode well for any future romantic happenings between Stiles and Lydia. Still, the guy kept trying. Isaac could only shake his head in wonder.

A motion out of the corner of his eye caught Isaac's attention. As Stiles talked he rubbed again at his cheek, like he was scratching some itch.

Stiles had been less than forthcoming about what had transpired after the championship game. Isaac knew that Gerard had let Stiles go. Isaac knew that Gerard's treatment of Stiles had been...less than gentle. Isaac also knew that, even to Scott, Stiles was always very evasive when the conversation steered towards that particular subject. And Isaac also knew that this fact bugged the hell out of Scott, who realized that something was wrong with his best friend and could do nothing about it.

Whatever you might think about Stiles Stilinski, Isaac was positive of at least this much - there was no way in hell that Stiles deserved whatever had happened to him that night. Isaac found himself growling lowly, and he could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

"Dude, you okay?" a voice asked.

Isaac blinked. Both Stiles and Lydia were giving him a strange look. "What? No, I'm fine," Isaac dismissed, somewhat more gruffly than he had originally intended. The bare bones of a plan were forming in Isaac's mind; he opened his mouth to say something to Stiles, but the words died in his throat. Could he really do this? His teeth clacked as he slammed his jaw closed. Isaac still struggled with the idea that he might be actually considered a good person. Despite the reaffirming opinions of those around him, of people like Scott and Dr. Deaton, there was just no way that Isaac could be good...for anything. Right? So this dumb plan had to be DOA.

Are you sure you're even my son? It was spoken in jest. I didn't think that anything with my genes would be able to get a C in chemistry. Somehow his father's abuse always cut deepest when he was not actually yelling - or even beating him with the buckle-end of a belt.

To hell with it.

"Stiles, can you teach me to drive a stick?" Isaac asked.

Stiles turned around to face Isaac so fast that it was a wonder he did not get whiplash. "Say what?" he managed as his face screwed up in confusion.

Isaac reflexively winced, half-expecting to be sprayed by a mouthful of partially chewed curly-fries.

Lydia leaned forward to peer at Isaac around Stiles, her brow furrowed in thought. Genius that she was, she had already probably figured out exactly what Isaac was up to. Judging from the faint, upward curl of her lips, she approved.

"I, uh...," Isaac trailed off and scratched at the back of his neck, lacing his fingers into his dark, curly hair. This plan had sounded a lot better in his head. "I don't know how to drive a manual transmission. Teach me?" Stiles gave him a look that clearly portrayed his questioning of Isaac's sanity. "It'd be a good way for us to hang out, you know," Isaac added.

"I don't know if -" Stiles started.

"Great!" Isaac interrupted as he stood up. "Hey, Scott! Stiles and I are gonna hang out for a bit! Meet you at your house?"

He had been listening the entire time, and contrary to popular belief, Scott was not as ignorant of others as most people would believe. Well, perhaps not willfully ignorant, anyway - he was just horrible at multitasking. Scott knew that something had been eating at his best friend, and despite asking him numerous times Stiles had never let on what was wrong; if Isaac could help him work it out, then more power to him. Even Jackson sensed that something was afoot, and he did not protest - at least out loud - when Scott called for a break. "Sure," Scott said. He hid a grin as Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes. "We probably won't be at it for much longer. Besides, if you're half as good a teacher for Isaac as you were for me...," Scott trailed off, and this time he gave his best friend an encouraging smile.

"Does Stiles' opinion in this matter count for anything?" Stiles grumbled. "Maybe Stiles doesn't want to put his baby through this kind of trauma."

"Doesn't look like it," Lydia said in a sing-song voice.

"You guys'll call if you need anything, right?" Scott asked. He pinned Isaac with a pointed look.

"Sure, whatever," Isaac said with false nonchalance. He gripped Stiles' arm to help hoist him to his feet and tried not to frown at the way that Stiles flinched at his touch.

Behind them, the sounds of Scott and Jackson's dueling grew fainter. Stiles kept glancing sideways at the werewolf beside him as the pair trudged up the trail through the woods to where the cars were parked. Isaac was a tough person to figure out, two-sided as he was. One could almost forget that Isaac was not exactly a slight-framed person when he acted scared and cowed, trembling in the corner like some kicked animal. Not an untrue comparison, Stiles begrudgingly admitted to himself, for multiple reasons. On the other hand Isaac could be impressively violent, and every now and then a cocky streak would shine through that could put Jackson to shame. At least he seemed to have cycled down from the bizarre goth, bad-ass persona that he had adopted right after the Bite. Still, Isaac struck Stiles as a bit bipolar, and Stiles was never quite sure which Isaac he was dealing with.

Stiles had no idea what to make of the Isaac of the last five minutes. At least the boy walking beside him, with shoulders hunched up and hands shoved in his pockets, did not look like he was about to flip out on anyone.

"So, uh, what's with the sudden urge to submit yourself to the School of Stiles?" Stiles asked when the silence became unbearable.

Isaac shot Stiles a wry grin. "I just figured it'd be a useful skill to have. And the School of Stiles was the only institution taking applications, so..."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere with me," he muttered. They arrived at the clearing where Stiles' battered Jeep was parked next to Jackson's massive Toyota pickup truck. Apparently the rutted forest track was not conducive to Porsches. "Well, here we are," Stiles said unnecessarily. He frowned when Isaac stepped confidently up to the driver's side of the Jeep. "Now, I'm warning you fair and square, Lahey, right now. If you hurt my baby, I will end you."

Isaac quirked an eyebrow up, unimpressed.

"I'm serious!" Stiles sputtered. "Like, 'would you like some sugar in your coffee, Isaac?' serious. Only I won't put sugar in there. It'll be, like, powdered Wolfsbane. Or Mountain Ash. Or...something."

A beat passed were no one said anything, and the only sounds to be heard was the gentle breeze and the birds playing in the trees. "Are you done?" Isaac finally asked.

Stiles sighed and tapped his foot on the ground for brief second. "Yeah. I left my disclaimers at home, otherwise you'd be signing paperwork right now granting me the legal right to terminate your life should this event go wrong. So, yeah, I guess we're done."

The two boys climbed up into the Jeep. Stiles held out the keys, and moving with a quickness that was more werewolf than human, Isaac snatched them up. Stiles yanked his hand back as though he were afraid his fingers might get nipped.

To his credit, Isaac paused after inserting the key into the ignition. He glanced down at the pedals, then at the jumble of levers on the floor between the bucket seats. "Um...where do I start?" he asked.

"Oh, boy," Stiles muttered. "Okay, it goes like this: For now, just worry about the gear shift. It's in first right now, 'cause the parking brake cable snapped a while ago. Haven't gotten it fixed yet. So, before you start the engine - holy shit!"

Stiles yelped as Isaac keyed the ignition. He had not put the clutch in, and the Jeep immediately lunged forward, aiming straight for the fender of Jackson's truck.

"Turn - stop!" Stiles screamed. "Brakes, brakes!"

Isaac cranked on the wheel and slammed both feet onto the brakes; the Jeep slid sideways in the dirt and stalled to a halt in a cloud of dust with feet to spare before hitting the other vehicle. Isaac fought to suppress a grin - Stiles' heart was jackhammering away like a squirrel amped up on Speed. "Oops?" he offered.

Stiles' right leg was cramping up from stomping on an imaginary brake pedal, and his right hand had a white-knuckled grip on the overhead roll bar - his left hand gripped the useless parking brake handle. "Str...strike one," he stuttered. He shot Isaac a withering glare. "I did NOT mean start, like start now, you idiot," he fumed. Stiles makes a spastic flailing motion, gesturing wildly with both hands in the direction of the car they had just almost hit. "You could have...we almost...gah! If Jackson wouldn't have killed you...I would have!" He reached over and jiggled the shift lever until the Jeep popped into neutral. "I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered. "Bad Isaac won't hurt you again, I promise."

"I heard that," Isaac stage-whispered in retort.

Stiles ignored him. "Alright, once more, with feeling," he sighed. "Go ahead and start the engine - and crank the wheel all the way to the left!"

Isaac gave Stiles a look that clearly said, 'I'm not an idiot,' but he otherwise did as instructed.

"Okay, you do know what the clutch is, right?" Stiles started.

Isaac's blue eyes blinked as he stared owlishly at his instructor. "Oh my God," he said. He gestured around them. "And this is...this is called an 'automobile,' right?"

"Smart ass," Stiles retorted. "Do you want me to teach you or not?"

"Yes, Stilinski, I know what a clutch is," Isaac grumbled. "I just haven't used one before."

Stiles held his hands up in front of him. "Fair enough," he conceded. Stiles frowned and stuck his tongue out of one corner of his mouth as he thought about how to proceed. "Okay, it goes like this..."

Once Stiles had gotten over his initial scare, Isaac had to admit that the normally spastic boy was actually a pretty good teacher. He explained the wonders and workings of the manual transmission with passion and enthusiasm. He did not skimp on details, and other than some initial friendly ribbing he never responded to Isaac's questions like he was an idiot.

"Alright, so let the pedal out, real easy-like...," Stiles encouraged. Isaac did so, and the Jeep began to creep forward. "Good! Now give it a little gas - not too much, though, or you'll smoke the clutch. Nice and easy-like... Yes! Hey, we're moving!"

And they were! The genuine feeling of joy, of a meaningful connection with another person, who would not beat him for any mistakes, made Isaac smile.

"Great!" Stiles encouraged. "Let's hit second gear. Remember, clutch in, off the gas, shift... Clutch back out, easy on the gas... And there's second gear! Only two more to go before we're cruising at mach one!"

Isaac tilted his head curiously at this. "It's only a four speed?" he asked.

Stiles looked offended. "Well, if you want something more high-tech, maybe you could get Jackson to teach you in his Porsche," Stiles retorted.

A split second passed before both boys started snickering at that idea. Though Jackson had improved by leaps and bounds in the last several weeks, in some areas he still had miles to go.

"Well, that start was actually pretty smooth," Stiles complimented. "I figured, once we get out onto the road, we could take a spin through town. Maybe practice starting on a hill or something, once you're comfortable."

Isaac hummed in acknowledgement as the Jeep bounced down the dirt road. "Thanks, Stiles," he offered after a moment. "I...certainly don't have my own car. Never got to drive much, actually. Always took the bike. Thank you."

Stiles bobbed his head in agreement, and a genuine smile played over his face. "Don't mention it!" Stiles grew mock-serious and added, "No really, don't mention it. If word gets out that the Stiles has grown soft, I'll have people lining up for lessons left and right! I don't think my baby, or me, could take it!"

Isaac laughed and nodded. "Fair enough. The secret's safe with me," he said. This felt good, Isaac thought. It had been a long time since he had done something so...normal. The high of being a werewolf was starting to fade, and Isaac was growing to appreciate 'normal' again. Then, he frowned - this was not the real purpose of this little endeavor.

"What?" Stiles asked curiously.

Damn, he noticed, Isaac thought. "It's just...oh, never mind," Isaac trailed off, and Stiles shrugged and turned to watch the forest pass by outside of his window. Isaac balled his fists up on the steering wheel for a moment. Great start, genius! "Stiles, you need to talk to someone about what happened with Gerard."

Well damn, that just sort of slipped out all on its own.

Though there was no air conditioning in the ancient Jeep, Isaac could swear that the temperature plummeted at least twenty degrees with that statement. Stiles stiffened, and the tendons in his neck visibly tightened beneath the skin.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, his voice suddenly going dark in a way that did not sound like Stiles at all.

"Trust me, you don't want to keep -" Isaac started to say.

"Oh, what the hell do you know about anything?" Stiles suddenly shouted. It was like a miniature explosion, with all of the suppressed rage surfacing in one moment. Stiles banged his fist against the dashboard for emphasis, and even though he was not a werewolf his eyes still flashed with a sudden, intense anger as he rounded on Isaac. "Like you're such an expert in recovery for this kind of thing!"

Isaac felt his temper flair at this, felt the beast inside snarl vehemently in disagreement, felt it rise to the perceived challenge. Anger was actually not one of Isaac's normal triggers, but this time an exception might be made. Isaac hauled back on the wolf, clenching his fist again and allowing his lengthening nails to dig painfully into the skin of his palm. "Maybe I know a thing or two about what not to do," he countered in a low, growly voice.

All of a sudden Stiles' entire countenance changed, and he gasped in shock and his eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, Isaac...," he moaned before suddenly hiding his head between his hands. Stiles shrunk in his seat. "I didn't even think...ah, crap, I'm a terrible person! I'm sorry, I'm really sorry...stupid Stiles!"

Isaac huffed and rolled his eyes, and all of his anger bled off in an instant. "It's fine," Isaac said, though even he had to admit that he did not sound at all convincing.

"No, it's not fine!" Stiles replied. "I just threw everything you've ever gone through back in your face." Stiles let out an unintelligible growl and added, "I'm such an asshat!"

After that it seemed for all intents and purposes that Stiles had shut down; he folded his legs up until his knees rested under his chin and he settled listlessly against the door. Isaac silently mouthed a curse word. This had definitely not gone according to plan! All that he had succeeded in doing was make Stiles feel like crap. Now he was not talking at all, about anything, and for once Isaac missed Stiles' normal babbling.

Isaac was truly convinced that he had utterly failed to help Stiles. It was just like what his father said would happen. More than that, it looked like he had hurt the boy even more, which was something that he never wanted to do. Isaac contemplated simply leaping from the moving vehicle and dashing off into the woods, as Stiles appeared like he would rather be alone - or at least, around anyone but me, Isaac thought.

They were just coming up to the paved road, and Isaac figured he could at least bring the Jeep to a complete stop before making his exit. Isaac's hand was on the door handle when Stiles started talking again.

"It was an absolute cluster-f, right after the lights went out," Stiles began in a toneless voice. "You know, I had almost forgotten everything that had been going on. I was so excited about winning the game. And then the lights went out, and I remembered everything."

Isaac could only nod along. Scott and he had still been trying to make it back out to the field, with Isaac's half-paralyzed body slowing them down. For not the first time, Isaac wondered what might have happened had he managed to stay out on the field. How would things have gone if the damn Kanima had not paralyzed him?

"I guess I figured it out pretty quickly that I was the person that Jacks-" Stiles clipped off the boy's name on purpose. "The Kanima - was going for. I couldn't see worth crap, so I just...waited. I froze, honestly, and I hate that, you know?" Stiles chuckled humorlessly, shaking his head, and Isaac gave him a funny look. "For all the crap that we give Jackson - and probably rightly so, mind you - I think that he fought the Kanima and Gerard the whole while. I was pushed down before I even knew he was beside me. He had his claws raised and everything, but he hesitated... In the end, he ended up stabbing himself." Stiles chuckled again. "Who'd of thought, Jackson passing up on a chance to beat up on me."

Stiles did not notice when they came to a gentle stop at the highway. Isaac checked both ways before pulling smoothly out onto the main road, shifting through the gears with nary a hitch.

"Not much to say after that," Stiles muttered as he stared forward, his face expressionless. "Got a bag tossed over my head and I got chucked into the trunk of a car. Got to take a quick ride to the Argents' house and an even quicker ride down their basement stairs." Isaac winced at this. "Erica and Boyd were there. I tried getting them out of their chains, but the damn things were electrified. Then Gerard showed up and we, you know...talked. Simple."

Stiles turned and scowled at Isaac, daring the other boy to disagree with anything that he has just said.

Isaac just nodded once in acknowledgement and continued to drive. Stiles was not expecting that reaction, nor Isaac's next words.

"I'm sorry."

Stiles blinked. "Sorry for what? Did you sneak into my room while I was gone and steal all my snacks, and are now apologizing for that? Because I swear, I was down on Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and my dad is supposed to be too health-conscious to eat those. Not to mention he was already sick with worry. Or did you, like, sell me out or something?" Stiles made a squawking, strangled hissing noise that sounds remarkably like a walkie talkie. "'Stiles is the helpless human at the 20 yard line. Go get 'em, boys.'"

Isaac sighed and shook his head in near-exasperation. "No, Stiles," he calmly replied. "I'm sorry you were kidnapped, and that we weren't there for you. I'm sorry you got pushed down the stairs. I'm sorry you were beat up. I'm sorry you faced all that alone."

It takes all of Stiles' self-control not to sneer at this, because Isaac sounds incredibly sincere. Instead, Stiles settles for continuing to project his meager tough-guy impersonation and glares angrily forward. "Yeah, well. Whatever. You didn't do anything wrong." Stiles' jaw clenches at the next, unsaid part. You and Scott didn't come for me, either.

"You're probably mad that you weren't rescued," Isaac muses aloud.

Stiles flinched. "So, your psycho now?" He shakes his head a grins ruefully, still hiding behind the humor. The effect was somewhat ruined by Stiles' fowl mood. "I mean psychic?"

Isaac slouched down in his seat a little, trying to make his tall frame appear smaller - a natural reaction of his to being uncomfortable, even now as a werewolf. "No, just not as dumb as some people think I am," he replied.

Stiles groaned and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "I didn't say you were dumb. I don't think you're dumb," he said.

Isaac nodded, humming in agreement. He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel for a few seconds before speaking. "Do you want to know why Gerard let you go?" he softly asked.

Stiles scrunched up his nose into a frown. "Because he had bigger and better things to worry about, I suppose," Stiles supplies.

"Wrong." Isaac shook his head in the negative at this, too. "He did it so that you wouldn't be rescued."

Well, that's different, Stiles thought, his frown deepening. "Come again?" he said a little louder.

The quick look that Isaac gave him is almost pitying, and Stiles did not know what to think about that. Actually, there are a lot of things these days that Stiles did not know about anymore. "It's about control, Stiles," Isaac said in a flat, emotionless voice. "Gerard kidnapped you, beat you, and set you free. He did all of that. He controlled you throughout the entire process." Stiles' eyes grew wider as Isaac talked, and Isaac can hear the way the other boy's breathing became more strained. Isaac smiled a sick, humorless grin. "So yeah, you're partially right when you say that all of what happened was not meant to hurt just you. But that little detail? Yeah, that was definitely for you."

Stiles nervously licked his lips and busied his hands by playing with the hem of his t-shirt. The weight of the memories bore down on him, making it physically difficult to breathe. Was this what Scott felt like just before an asthma attack? Stiles so did not want to be having this conversation - not now, not ever. Damn Isaac for cornering him in his own car. But despite the maelstrom of emotion that Stiles was feeling, Stiles sensed in the back of his mind that Isaac's words were still worth listening to.

"So... So is this where you tell me that no one can make me feel inferior without my consent?" Stiles asked with a chuckle that could have been taken as either giddy or insane.

Isaac barked out a harsh laugh at this. "Ha! Oh, that's rich!" He snorted with laughter again and covered up his sardonic smile with the back of his hand. "Sorry... No, that's just what people say who've never gone up against anything in life. Dude, that's such a cop-out! Sticks and stones might break your bones, but words will always hurt you."

Stiles could only smile and shake his head at this. Isaac has a point, he mentally conceded. "So where do I...we go from here?" he asked.

Isaac shrugged. "Hell if I know," he admitted. When Stiles gave him a sour look Isaac just shrugged again. "What? They say that knowing's half the battle right? I'm down with that. So we're half way there. Better than not starting the trip at all, right?"

Stiles could only shrug in utter bewilderment at this. The other boy did have a point. Who would have thought that Isaac Lahey, child abuse victim-turned-werewolf, would be such a fountain of wisdom? A new thought crossed Stiles' mind, and his smile faded and was replaced with a frown again. "I didn't fight back," he murmured. Stiles figured that he probably had not been far from the truth when he said that he could have kicked Gerard's senile ass up and down that room - but he did not so much as raise a finger to defend himself. Why? He looked at Isaac, silently hoping that the other boy would have an answer. "What does that say about me?"

Isaac's brow furrowed in thought for a moment. He had not fought back, either; at least, not towards the end. Isaac blinked, long and slow, at this - it's because I was used to it, he thinks bitterly. "It's...it's nothing. You shouldn't -" Isaac swallowed a lump in his throat. "You shouldn't have been in that situation. Not your fault."

Though the words felt utterly hollow to Isaac, Stiles at least seemed to accept them. He had done some of his own research into the matter, discovered some drivel about how he as an adolescent was not psychologically equipped to fight back against an adult in a position of authority over him. Sure, it made sense - sure as hell did not make Stiles feel any better about it, though. Funny, but any mention of hunters and werewolves were conspicuous by their absence.

That was the part that was hardest for Stiles to wrap his hyperactive mind around - there just were no instructions manuals around, no matter how deep he delved into Google, to explain how to live with the supernatural. High school was already tough enough without all of this added crap. He said as much to Isaac, and rather than point out that an actual werewolf like himself had it ten times worse, Isaac simply laughed and agreed that it was all pretty "fucked up."

Stiles sighed and intently examined the tops of his knees. "I wish... I wish I could do more. You know? Well, maybe you don't." Stiles snorted humorlessly. "You're a kick-ass werewolf, now. Me? I got nothing. I can't even -" he cut himself off. Images of his dad, slumped over unconscious while still handcuffed to the police station wall, flashed unbidden through his mind. He shuddered.

Isaac knew that Stiles must have just thought about something awful. It was impossible, especially inside a confined space like they were, to miss the way the boy's scent changed with his roiling emotions.

"I couldn't protect my dad. Everything went so wrong that night, and I couldn't do anything." Stiles pawed suspiciously at his eyes as he turned away for a second. "Scott's mom found out about everything. Scott got shot. All those officers were killed. Matt drowned. And I was so scared that I'd lose the only family I have left," he continued. "I don't know what I'd do if something ever happened to my dad..." Too late Stiles recalled Isaac's relationship with his own late father, and he cringed slightly again. "Sorry," he murmured.

This time it was Isaac's turn to explode; the boy went near-nuclear as if a switch had just been thrown. "Don't ever apologize for that, Stiles!" he all but snarled. The Jeep swerved and dropped off the shoulder of the road for a moment before Isaac managed to correct it. "You really want to make me feel like shit? Then go ahead and act ashamed of what you and your dad have!"

As quick as it started, it was over. Stiles barely had time to register the jump to 9.8 on Isaac's emotional Richter scale and contemplate whether or not he should be scared of a suddenly enraged werewolf before the other teen settled back into a more sane state. "Duly noted," Stiles deadpanned before nervously licking his lips.

Isaac nodded and let out a deep breath. "I'd apologize for yelling at you...but I'm sick of apologies by this point." He tilted his head and frowned thoughtfully for a second before adding, "And I doubt I'd mean it, anyway."

"Scott said it was okay," Stiles mused.

"What's okay?" Isaac asked with a confused frown.

Stiles shrugged. "Before the lacrosse game. I told him that I can't do everything that he does. He...he said it was 'okay.'"

Isaac snorted softly and rolled his eyes. "Well, McCall never was the best with words," he scoffed. "But he's right, Stiles. You're not a werewolf. So what? Does that make you worse...or someone like me or Scott better? How lame is that? Sometimes I think that you might be the bigger person - you didn't need the Bite to make you what you want to be - or at least, what you think you want to be."

The words were spoken with such confidence that Stiles was momentarily taken aback. Actually, the entire conversation was currently making Stiles rethink his opinion of Isaac. "I... Okay, fine, you've done the impossible," Stiles admitted. "I don't know what to say right now."

Isaac just shrugged. "Then don't say anything." Then a wry smirk tugged up one corner of his mouth. "If you can even manage that," he amended. The boy grew serious again and added in a lower voice, "Don't think you have to deal with this all of this by yourself. You've got friends who are pulling for you."

Stiles smiled faintly, and after a moment he dipped his head in agreement. "Right back at you," he said softly. Stiles felt inordinately pleased when both of Isaac's eyebrows climbed in surprise.

So much had been said, and right now Stiles was frantically trying to file it all away for later review. Before he could think of a comeback for Isaac's latest words, he registered the fact that they were driving through Scott's neighborhood. "Holy crap, we're almost there," he blurted when he saw his best friend's house around the next corner.

"Yeah, well, I was tired of talking," Isaac said quickly, his words accompanied by a quick, dismissive smirk, as if they had both not just been brutally honest with each other.

Before, Stiles might have been offended by Isaac's tone. Now he simply inclined an eyebrow at the other boy, strongly suspecting that there was much more beneath that brash exterior than he had at first thought.

They pulled into Scott's driveway to park behind Jackson's truck and Isaac keyed off the engine, leaving the Jeep in first gear so that it would not roll anywhere of its own volition. "Listen, Stiles, you're a smart guy, right?" Isaac began.

Stiles groaned in mostly mock-exasperation and rolled his eyes. "Ugh, this is where you ask me for some kind of favor, isn't it. Because, dude, after beating up on my baby, I think I'm all favored-out for a while."

One corner of Isaac's mouth turned up into another smirk, a smirk that Stiles noted with some trepidation appeared to be rather devious. Isaac actually did 'devious' very well. "No, actually, I'm gonna do you a favor and save you some time," he said.

Stiles expression screwed up into something resembling puzzlement.

"My after-school job was digging graves at the cemetery, Stiles," Isaac said, speaking in a patient, placating tone that somehow managed to really irk Stiles. "I know how to drive a skid-steer and a backhoe. The groundskeeper's pickup was a manual because he was a cheap-ass who didn't even want to pay extra for a cassette player. I've known how to drive a stick since before I got my license."

Stiles' entire world seemingly ground to a halt in that moment. "But, what about back there, when you started...?" Isaac's smug grin could best be described as 'shit-eating,' and Stiles felt his jaw drop open. "You - I can't believe - I oughta!" Stiles sputtered and fumed, and his face began to redden alarmingly.

Isaac, much to Stiles' chagrin, simply tossed his head back laughed.

"Hey, you guys are back!" Scott's voice interrupted Stiles just before he could launch off into a truly epic tirade. "How'd it go?" Scott asked from where he stood on the front porch. Then he grinned, also. Scott tried to look innocent, he really did, but everyone knew that Scott could not bluff worth a damn to save his own life.

"You knew?" Stiles practically shrieked. He jabbed an accusatory finger into Isaac's arm, who grimaced in annoyance and tried to scoot closer against his door. "Do you have any idea what he put me through?" Stiles yelled. Scott - and Isaac - they had teamed up - the fricken nerve!

"Scott!"

Even Stiles, sitting outside in the car, heard Melissa McCall's authoritative bellow. Scott cringed and hunched his shoulders, as if he expected his mother to swoop out of the house at any moment and drag him back inside by the ear. "Yes, Mom?" Scott tentatively called over his shoulder, his voice squeaking hopefully.

The front door slammed open, making all three boys jump as Mrs. McCall burst outside. She brandished a red-splattered spatula like a weapon, and Scott shrank back a step. Stiles sincerely hoped the red was from some kind of sauce. "Scott, get your butt back inside and mind the garlic bread! You're going to burn it if you're not careful. Again!"

Scott looked mortified. "Can't Jackson or Lydia check -"

"Lydia is helping me with the spaghetti and the sauce, and Jackson is still trying to scrape the pan clean from the last batch of rolls that you carbonized! Get in there!" Scott took off like a shot back into the house. Melissa turned to Stiles; her entire countenance transformed, and she smiled sweetly. "Stiles! I'm so glad you're here. Won't you stay for dinner?" Stiles sensed it was more a thinly-veiled order than an actual question. Mrs. McCall turned to Isaac. "You, too," she said with a somewhat dangerous grin, pointing with the spatula for emphasis.

Isaac and Stiles glanced at each other as though silently comparing notes on the situation. At some unspoken signal both boys threw open their doors, leapt from the vehicle, and walked hastily towards the house, both talking over one another in an effort to offer Mrs. McCall some kind of meaningful assistance.