Chapter Text
>> remember me, I'm the one that's back from over
time's gone by and I'm still so far from over
you reappeared like you had never been gone, I lose composure
you're touching me like you have no desire for closure
Love is this word that comes out of people's mouths when they're feeling too elated, he's concluded. It didn't mean anything. He knew what it was, feeling elated. He's been there. A lot more often than he's imagined he ever would.
It was his call, in the end, though, Isaac's. It was up to him, to decide whether to call it love or just- Some people were awfully careful with words. For they mean too much, if you listen. They could be lies, told to the self, told to others; they could be hidden truths. They could punch you in the guts. Their absence could leave you hanging forever.
(He's accustomed to lies.)
He's also been scared of calling it love for years now. He still is. He won't say it.
It was everything but.
He'd call other things, love. Things that were, love. Only they weighted far less. Or far more- honestly, it aches too much to think that it could have been. Bigger, better, stronger, it could have lingered. In some other way, in a way that didn't hurt, that he could think of it as love without the subsequent thought, the- it's left a mark but it could have been deeper, it could have reached his core, it could have meant everything. It could have made him full. Instead it just left him empty.
But then, it's his saying, in the end. And he says it could have been.
It was- but it also- it should have been.
--
He swears his plan ticket weights more than anything he's ever held.
And that includes that time he tried to support the fucking ground while a crazed druid wanted to kill them all as a freaky sacrifice-
He also hates planes; traveling in a very closed space with a bunch of strangers, having to stay sit and quiet for hours on end. It makes his skin itch.
The first time Isaac's done it, he was sore all over. From grief (so much of it it filled his mouth, his eyes, his lungs) and- words unspoken. And empty spaces.
His body felt like a piece of paper full of holes on.
It would be funny, he had thought, fucking hilarious, if the plane fell off the sky or exploded or whatever it is that happens to those things. The screaming and the desperate people calling their loved ones. Or just thinking about them, really loud, their emotions flaring up in their eyes.
He would have gripped the arm of his seat, released its belt, just to feel a little bit free of it all. And then he'd give in and think. Of his holes. Not from the people he's lost, but from the people who'd lose him. The people he had left. He wondered if he was a hole on their papers. Whether he'd become one if he died.
He didn't; die. Arrived physically unscathed, feeling almost renewed from the whole experience, thinking new place new life maybe new friends- maybe I'll love again.
Except he doesn't really remember loving that one time. That first second chance.
(Except he does; he did. Love, that is. A lot. Too much.
But then, that's not the point.)
While coming back to the States for the first time since leaving it, Isaac feels like he's the one bearing the weight of the plane, the entire way.
It's really a surprise the pressure doesn't make his heart pop out of his chest.
--
There's a thrumming in his ears while he descends to the kitchen, probably caused by the remnants of one of the dreams he pretends not to have, so maybe that's why Scott doesn't notice it. He's got unprepared.
Isaac Lahey's carefully arranging pieces of bacon and eggs on a plate, while humming a song unknown to Scott. He's fully concentrated, tongue picking out, brows furrowed, eyes unmoving, even swaying a little to the melody, and maybe they are the worst werewolves in the history of lycanthropy, because how could they not have sensed each other?
Maybe they had, unconsciously, you know, maybe their wolves had. Maybe it was in the back of their minds. Maybe it had felt natural, this scene. It has happened so many times in the past, why would their bodies have the impression of something being wrong?
They do, though. Once they actually notice each other's presence. Because the second Scott enters the kitchen he stops abruptly, almost backtracking, and Isaac's hunched shoulders from the dancing become stiff and he stands taller-
as if prepared to run, as if defending himself. How they would while facing a threat.
Which makes no sense why would they they're friends aren't they?
Scott exhales for a long moment, trying to make it up for the intake of breath he's just taken- while their eyes keep locked on each other, unseeing, yet unable to look away.
Unseeing, yet taking everything in.
His dream from last night tickles his mind and he licks his lips, brushes it off. He won't think about it now.
"Why are you cooking and singing at 5 AM, dude?", he blurts out, and he prides himself on his voice coming out neutral. Isaac doesn't notice his struggle, though, for his whole posture changes, shoulders sagging and then he sort of laughs, looking almost relieved, and for a second it seems like nothing has ever happened.
Only it has. It had to. And the second passes.
"Your mom said I could suit myself. Thought of making us our favorite breakfast.", and then he shrugs in that non-but-actually-very-committally way of his. Scott remembers now, he used to do it a lot. Before.
It all seems to be coming back.
Shifting from one bare foot to the other, he tries not to dwell too much on the fact that he can and he has acknowledged, on this past few minutes, Isaac's appearance changes in scary detail.
He seems to be healthier (less pale, less dead, rosier, even), and Scott gives in a little, throws him a small smile, puts his limbs to work- tries not to be too self-conscious. Says, on his way to picking up the oranges to make their favorite juice, "Hope you haven't forgotten how I like my eggs. I mean-", grabs the jar, and starts squeezing the cut fruits with his bare hands, even chuckling to himself, and then shrugs, pretending not to have lost his line of thought, too focused on acting and breathing and beating normally.
(Isaac looks light as feather in his movements, and Scott has become a master in disguising his own, but- but in reality he feels like he weights tons. He feels big and clumsy. And honestly, that's not even new.)
In response to Scott's teasing, Isaac puts a plate on the counter, wearing that knowing smirk of his, and he seems at ease when he winks at Scott and says, "Mixed with butter and just a bit of salt."
And that's it.
(From the moment they sit, a chair away of distance, that's it.)
Aside from the thank yous and the pass me the juice pleases, they don't talk, they barely look at each other, and their breakfast revolves around itself, as if its immutable taste and familiarity to their old mornings can actually make them believe nothing's changed-
and it's like this bubble of time, distant from reality. Like this living memory when it all appears to be the same, except for this nagging at the back of their minds. For this bitter taste in Scott's tongue that has nothing to do with how hard he's bit it.
(Once it downs on him, that time has passed, it's just- too much of a shock. This unannounced apparition. This sudden breath of befores and afters that hits him like a train. And maybe Isaac was prepared, for he gives the impression of being, if not slightly more aware, still freaking content, chewing on his bacon and eggs, praising Scott's usually sweetish orange juice. But Scott isn't.
It's a succession of everything is the same until it isn't and honestly the whole thing feels like a rollercoaster.
It's exhilarating and terrifying.)
And then Scott says he needs to get dressed and head to work, which leads to raised eyebrows and a quick (and rather embarrassed, he doesn't know why) explanation that yes he's still at Deaton's but it's summer and things are hard and he's a werewolf with super-strength so why not also work in this construction thing that earns him money and get his mind off stuff- except he only says the very first part.
On his way out, he even manages to joke that the dinner's dishes will be his! and only halfway through downtown does he think that maybe they will be. That maybe he had some hallucination or maybe Isaac's home for something else that doesn't involve staying or-
He breaks rocks and carries heavy shit for hours before he realizes.
And if Scott's honest with himself (which he usually tries to be), either Isaac stays or is gone when he gets home, it won't matter. And he knows the healthiest way to deal with it is to break more rocks, but his limbs just feel like lead again, and he nearly throws up once everything (that he can't name) crawls up at his throat.
--
Scott ends up looking at his image on the construction's dressing room with raised brows and a shocked shade to his eyes, his face heating up, for some reason. Has he really just forgotten that his mom's getting married in two days hence all of his friends were coming back to town?
What was he thinking?
His cheeks are burning.
He's still shaking his head in disbelief at his own silliness thirty minutes later, knocking on Lydia's door, feeling anxious but giddy- they had talked about meeting at her house as soon as she's gotten back, not only to catch up on the wedding, she had said, but also- well, because they have missed each other.
(Also because he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of seeing her- all of them, really- sane; without those shadows coloring their eyes.)
As soon as she opens it, though, her smile falters and her entire being furrows at the sight of him, sweaty and with bits of plaster on his nails and knuckles. She studies him from head to toe, as she used to, and pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Oh, honey, please tell me you've forgotten to take a shower only to praise my kinky side", and he lets out a choked laughter that could be mistaken by a sob if heard closely, smiling so wide it nearly breaks his face in half, hugging her almost too tight. "Ugh, Scott, you stink!", though she sounds amused, though she hugs him back just as fiercely.
He feels like saying "I can't believe you've made it", here, in life; alive.
("I can't believe we still have ourselves")
But then that would probably kill the mood.
Instead, his face reddens and he says, "I'm sorry I'm not shirtless then", and she doesn't even blink while replying "Aren't we all?", in that endearingly snobbish way of hers.
Lydia looks older, but Scott guesses they all do. It's not only about their clothes or how much they had fill in on their sides, or fill out, for that matter; it's more about the way they hold their bodies, their posture, the way they talk, or even smile, or move their hands. They've changed; and seeing Lydia for the first time in almost a year, and even remembering Isaac's carefree posture that morning, Scott thinks it was for the better.
Their whole demeanor resembles this adultness he's never thought they would achieve, even though sometimes, with what they've been through, it was impossible not to have done it.
They lose themselves in conversation, of college and classes and colleagues and even foolish parties and hook ups they've found themselves involved in-
And- it's obvious that the supernatural hasn't disappeared from their lives. It never will; it's literally part of who they are. And they end up talking about it, too. (Mixed with their normal lives, for this is how it's always been, one thing in the midst of the other. It's how they cope.)
About wolves coming up to Scott to join his pack (or just to see him, which was just about the weirdest shit ever and it made Stiles red of laughter when Scott had told him via Skype), about the research they are all still collecting on it, even if residing on different states, specially about their own powers, seeing that they both still have only a small idea of the length of what they are able to do.
She mentions some cases of predictions she's felt, not only of death, specifically, but of tragedy; and still seems like a very frustrating and sad inexact science, but it's getting better, she says. It's getting easier, and Meredith, with whom she still stays in touch, is always around sharing whatever knowledge she may have acquired.
And it can be seen in the lack of dark circles under her eyes, that she's happier, she's brighter. That being bonded to death doesn't mean she is death; doesn't make it her.
She's Lydia Martin; top student and actual frat girl, who sometimes has a deeper connection with the supernatural than most, who can sense darkness wherever it can be found. But she's also a young genius with a pretty awesome closet and some incredible shoes, and, you know, a very healthy sex life.
And she admits it may seem sadder, even, that they're used to this; but it's not that. It's not that death became part of their lives. She's just realized it's always been around them, they just couldn't have seen it before. And they do now. And maybe they can't always help, but they can try; right, Scott?
(He smiles knowingly and a little subdued at that, but agrees whole-heartedly.)
They're in the middle. She's whole but she has halves. And it wouldn't make sense except that it does. They are themselves but they are also them.
The True Alpha, the Banshee. They might have had those things literally thrown at them - and fuck you, Peter, really - but they had managed around it. And they came out of it whole.
Or as whole as they could be.
She mostly rants this to him over their years of self discovery, after school's over and they all run different paths.
And he knows it's not as easy as her words make it, for they've exchanged too many supernatural-related calls and messages while away, but he envies her strength and resolution nonetheless.
She's got a grip on herself he's only barely grasped; that he only pretends to have.
It's sad that she thinks they're alike.
(It amazes him that them, in all their hidden fears and solitary heroism, could let these slip. That their texts and phone calls left off those snippets of thoughts they wouldn't normally share. Which they believed was only theirs, individually. When in truth, it wasn't.
They were a pack for a reason.)
"College helps, you know", she adds, for she knows him and sometimes he really needs to hear it. "That thing you used to say, about how having a life helps... And honestly sometimes I'm so caught up in my researches that the entire library could drop dead and I'd think it was just something I'd eaten", and there's a glint in her eyes that confirms it. She's lighter than ever, and even her heartbeats sound like this steady march; so he smiles happily at her, and sighs, almost relieved, whenever she's not looking.
By the time the sun's starting to set, sending orange shadows on her living room walls, they are spread out on the carpet, eating some chocolate thing he's decided to make (that he's convinced her to eat, for old time's sake Lydia you'll love it), with sillyhappy smiles on their faces, and there's a lightness in Scott's heart he hasn't felt in a while.
"Ugh, your mom's gonna be such a beautiful bride, you know. When you sent me her dress' pictures I nearly broke my cellphone in half", she gushes, her head laying on his stomach, her long locks reflecting the reddish lights coming from the windows.
He breathes out a small chuckle before whispering "I do know", scratches his scalp in mild-embarrassment, "And I will most probably cry my eyes out, just an FYI."
"Don't worry, sweetheart, I won't let you forget how cute you'll look crying over your mom's wedding", and winks up at him, before stuffing chocolate in her mouth, and saying, a more somber quality to her voice . "Is your dad going to be there?"
Scott covers his face with both hands and lets out a tired sigh in response, unable to stop himself. She pats his thigh patronizingly, and it seems like something his own mother would do, calming him down, even in his childish moments. "At least your mom's family will be there, right? Didn't you tell me they're super awesome?"
They both laugh at his choice of words. And he feels so calm; he feels easy in his own skin. Like he's settled.
"Yeah... That'll be cool", and he can't stop his next words from coming out of his mouth, his breath hitching and his heart skipping a beat, like his skin couldn't stay put. "D'you know who else is going to be there?"
He senses Lydia literally freezing mid-chew before saying, tone deadly serious: "If you say freaking Deucalion I'll start planning his mid-celebration murder", and he lets out an incredulous laughter.
"God, no! What the hell would he be doing in my mom's wedding?"
Lydia shrugs, like she couldn't be bothered with an answer, but says nonetheless, scorn dripping out of her voice, "I don't know. He's such a suck-up I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one paying for the damn th-"
"Isaac", the name bursts out of his mouth. The whole room seems redder, with its wine walls and the sunrays and Lydia's hair; his face burns.
He actually counts her blinking twice before asking, almost incredulously, "What- Lahey?" She looks up at him, he looks up at the ceiling.
"I don't remember us knowing another Isaac...", he mumbles. She looks thoughtful for a while, still chewing on a mouthful of chocolate, watching the ceiling too, now, but with less enthusiasm (less intensity); then shrugs again, undisturbed, disdainful, even.
"Well, I didn't even know he was alive. Less so that he still gave a shit."
For that comment she receives a bump on the shoulder and a whispered, "Lydia."
Scott swallows the lump in his throat.
Somehow the room seems smaller.
"I remember that you invited him for graduation and he didn't even reply to you, Scott", and suddenly her voice is too soft, too apologetic, too gentle. "So color me surprised he decided to show up this time." And then she huffs and starts playing with his available hand, rubbing her thumbs over the dirty spots on his knuckles that not even his meticulous pre-cooking wash-up covered. The caress only makes his eyes feel heavier, more watery, and he swallows again, hard.
"He must have had his reasons."
'cause I don't stand a chance in these four walls
and he doesn't recognise me anymore
burned out flames should never re-ignite, but I thought you might
take me home <<