AS A KID, ISAAC LAHEY HAD BEEN POPULAR. He used to be witty and outgoing, with a disarming half-smile he copied from his older brother and an innocuous gleam in his bright eyes that eased his punishments into fond warnings, all with a height that warrant to keep the attention of girls as they transitioned from elementary school to junior high. At one point, he even had Lydia Martin playing the push-pull flirting game with him.

Back then, he had countless friends; more importantly, a family, too. An affectionate mother who adjusted his uniform every single morning before leaving and a strong father who helped him with homework, and a superhuman brother who would smash his Lego creations on purpose only to gift him a new set each time.

Then his brother died, and the loneliness that encased him made him realized popularity suited Camden more. It hurt, but he had his mother to comfort him. Then he didn't. When his dad laid a hand on her, his mother left as well—and Isaac couldn't blame her for leaving him when he had been the one to shout at her to go. After all, how could he be kind to her but remain strong in front of his father?

Isaac can deal with isolation. He can deal with it quietly and without complaints. But he didn't want to, and he didn't need to, at least for right now.

In front of him stood the only living person he loved.

His first memory of Remington is this; a tranquil mid-August day, walking through the tall grass field after a morning spent in the river. His dad carried him on his shoulders, and he recalled bone-deep exhaustion of a fun day. Camden taught them how to swim that day; or more like, he had thrown Isaac headfirst into the lake with a cackle while he held Remington to his side closely, coxing her to paddle resembling an over-the-top father.

In his mind it was blurry, but he remembers looking to the side and seeing Remington—The younger girl had fallen asleep in Camden's hold, her golden hair drying in curls just like Camden's and Isaac's own. Her slumbering face had been blushed red and bird-boned shoulders sunburnt despite his mother and Eva's best efforts. His brother had covered her with a large towel, and he had laughed loudly when he caught Isaac staring; You look a little jealous, Camden teased.

Isaac remembers thinking, isn't she like my sister?

Now he knows Camden meant if he felt left out—if Isaac was jealous because Camden wasn't carrying him instead, something so like his smug brother to say.

Seeing Remington for the first time since his transformation, he wonders, isn't she like my sister?

Isn't Remington Sinclair his best friend? If so, why haven't they seen each other before today? He hasn't spoken to her in a while. He couldn't use Derek as an excuse, since the Alpha didn't care much about him or what he did as long as he didn't cause too much trouble and stayed away from the hunters. Before then, only Stiles Stilinski threatened him to stay away from her, but Isaac never cared much for people who ordered him around, even if he ended up doing just that amidst trying to find the Kanima and training to gain control over his powers.

Today, he expected a lot of things—maybe a dead body or two—but he did not imagine seeing Remington in a rave dressed in her pajamas, her favorite tweed coat placed inside out, unbrushed blonde hair—so much like Camden's hair, a little like Isaac's own, wild and blond with dark overtones—disarrayed and just overall looking very disarray for someone who generally dresses like a modern-day princess.

She held onto Stilinski like a lifeline, knuckles paling with the ferocity of her grip.

"The police station told Kira Simmons about a serial killer targeting the 2006 swimming team; she asked for a temporary relocation after she heard of Sean, Jessica and Tucker 's deaths. The Kanima showed up, realized she wasn't here, and left." Stiles was telling her, not even bothering to face her. "It might come back for her, or move to another member of the 2006 swimming team."

Remington, Isaac wanted to call out. Mostly to scold her, who gave her permission to attend a rave dressed in pajamas, of all things, on a Friday night? With Stilinski, much less. Certainly not Eva, and the thought of Remington being here without her mother's permission is terrifying enough to quickly exit his mind.

Remington, Isaac tried to call her telepathically. When it didn't work, he scowled.

Because it seemed fitting, Isaac decided to blame Stilinski.

The spasm held his phone to his ear, trying to call Scott for the fifth time in a row. Whenever he twisted one way with his never-ending need to move, Remington followed like a duckling, stubborn in her grip. Each step Stilinski took, Remington did as well. When he frowned, so did she.

It felt like junior high again—with disgust, Isaac finally said. "Teddy! Can we talk?"

The girl snapped her head towards him; Stilinski did the same but with a frown. "Come up with a new nickname, asswipe." He spat out; call forgotten, he shoved his phone back into his pocket, missing the first three attempts and nearly tumbling to the ground. "I've been calling her that since, like, we were seven!"

"You ignored her until eighth grade." Isaac resisted the urge to swipe his brand new claws at the Stilinski boy, gritting his teeth. "I've known her since we were toddlers, asswipe. I was the first one to call her that. You come up with a new nickname for her."

Stiles, the spitfire, opened his mouth to reply until Remington said, "Actually, Camden was the first one to call me Teddy." She looked embarrassed, hands moving to grip her coat. "I—I'm fine getting called Teddy by both of you, though! But he was the first one, and I'm the one who can decide who calls me what, so you shouldn't argue about something so silly..."

Stiles snapped his mouth shut. Isaac did too, uncomfortable at what could possibly be the politest 'shut up' he has ever heard.

"C'mon, let's get you home, Teddy." Stiles glowered at him as he spoke, searching for his car keys.

In an impulse, Isaac said, "Give me a ride."

Stiles spluttered. "What? No!"

"Give me a ride," Isaac repeated slowly.

"Are you deaf? I said no." Stiles gave him a weird look, ushering Remington to the beat-up junk he calls a car. She hesitated, looking at him with those glazed eyes. Stiles regarded her with disbelief, muttering irritability. "Are you kidding me?"

Isaac tilted his head to the side. "Give me a ride," he repeated. "Or I'll just pick her up and run."

"What?" Stiles scoffed, uneasiness narrowing his eyes. "You can't do that!"

"Technically, he can!" Remington said thoughtfully. "Lycans can keep up with most vehicles easily, plus the terrain difference doesn't mean much, unlike with a car, because their enhanced agility and reflexes allow them to leap very high and across large distances! So, if he wanted to kidnap me, I don't think you would be able to stop him, Stiles."

Stiles looked betrayed. "You're not supposed to agree with him! No one is getting kidnapped. Just—just get in, fine. Fine!" He got in the driver's seat, slamming the door loudly. Remington followed, sitting in the backseat so they could speak; when he shut the door behind him, he turned to see Remington twiddling with her fingers nervously.

Stiles glared at him through the rear-view mirror.

Now that he had the opportunity to speak with Remington, he wasn't quite sure what to say. He had a lot of things to speak of —his transformation, his father's death, his absence, how she shouldn't be out so late, why she shouldn't spend so much time with the Stilinski boy, the dangers of dating someone who had a habit of ignoring her, a thousand and one things—but what came out was this; "So, uh, I won't be coming back to school."

Immediately, Remington's eyebrows burrowed, and she looked agitated. "Does that mean we can't match our schedules next semester? We were supposed to take the art class together." Her eyes widen, and her hands raised towards her face quickly. "Ah, that must sound insensitive! It's okay if we can't Isaac! We can do it the semester after."

Isaac couldn't help the fond smile. For someone so innocently cunning, she could be so airheaded. "No," he said. "I don't think we'll be able to. I'm sorry, Teddy."

Remington cheered up her expression, perking up posture and brightening smile like sunshine, something she did often in an attempt to have the other person mirror her; Isaac knew her, saw through all her little tricks. "It's okay," she comforted him earnestly. "We'll always have an opportunity later!"

She proceeded to ask him several things—if he is eating enough, if he's been sleeping enough, offering what little money she earned from working at Eva's flower shop in case he needed it, asking how his shifts are going and how happy she is that he has a new home, but he must go visit her soon—then it became obvious to him that something was amiss.

No, he hasn't been eating enough, nor had he been sleeping well. Derek isn't well-adjusted enough to provide any resemblance to security. He had constant night terrors and the abandoned subway car he's been staying with his Alpha doesn't provide much comfort. It's too dark and cold and reeks of metal, suffocating in the same way the freezer had been. He doesn't have money. He can't go outside either unless he wants to get arrested for allegedly murdering his dad.

All considered Isaac hasn't been okay lately.

At the moment, Stiles jerked his car to stop. Remington squealed, nearly banging her head against the seat if it hadn't been for Isaac's reflexes. When he moved his eyes to glare at Stilinski, the boy was already look back at him through the mirror. His brows were moving furiously, and his lips were pursed as he tried to signal something to him.

Confused, Isaac just nodded slowly. He didn't understand until Remington said, "I'm really glad your group home is taking care of you, Isaac! But know mom and I will always welcome you, even during full moons."

She thought Isaac was staying with a group home. And judging Stilinski's panicked expression, he had been the one to tell her that.

Isaac frowned. Stiles coughed, raising an eyebrow when Isaac looked at him but changed his expression when Remington checked on him.

"Ah," he said gradually. "My group home—they are—they're nice, yes. Thank you for the offer, though..."

Remington appeared satisfied. "Good! If you're ever having a difficult time with control, we can always help, okay? Actually, if you come over soon, I can make you spell satchel for serenity and protection. You too, Stiles!"

Isaac nodded, a weird feeling settling in his chest as he watched Remington muttered ingredients to herself, studied the way outside light shadowed her cheeks and nose. How brittle her fingernails appeared as she raised her hand to cover her mouth as she yawned, how bony her wrists are. He breathed in her peach scent and wondered; "Do you think Eva would mind?"

He didn't mean the visit for the satchel or him being a werewolf now. Remington nodded, nonetheless, agreeing merely because she wouldn't deny her friends anything.

The rest of the drive was relatively quiet, aside from Stiles' knack of smacking his fingers on the steering wheel and the way he would crack his joints every stop sign. Remington was falling asleep, gravitating towards Isaac; she couldn't quite rest against his shoulder comfortably due to the height difference, so her head rested against his stomach, his arm over her head protectively.

Stiles announced, "I will murder you."

"For?" Isaac asked, unamused.

"Because I want to, okay? You don't ask people why they want to murder you; they just do and bam! You're dead." Stiles snapped his fingers. He clarified, "Don't thank me for covering your ass. Next time you worry her, I'm going to tell her you decided to run off to Europe in chase of salvation and proof of the Teletubbies' existence."

Isaac paused. "She would actually believe that,"

"I know," Stiles sounded exasperated.

Unsure of what else to say, Isaac mumbled. "Thank you, though. I... know stress isn't good for her. That's why I said not to tell her, back in the field that day."

"I had to—she had the sad puppy eyes and stuff. Trust me, if it was up to me, she wouldn't give a damn about your furry ass." Stiles grumbled, looking out the window as the light turned red. "But she does, so I might as well try to make things lighter for her. Try to not be a bother, please? Eva will skin me if she cries."

They didn't speak for the rest of the ride. The Sinclair family lived in one of the nicer neighborhoods of Beacon Hills, far from the construction area the rave had taken place in. Derek's hideout was in the opposite direction; Isaac didn't know how he would get home again besides running back, but he wasn't too worry despite the late hour. He really didn't have anything to get home to.

When Stiles stopped the car outside the ivy-covered mansion, he turned to Isaac. "Take her inside; the bathroom window on the second floor is always open because she doesn't freaking listen to me." Despite how he said, Stiles looked at Remington with soft eyes. "Make sure Eva doesn't see, and if she does, you're taking the blame."

Isaac glared at him but did as told, carefully carrying her out the car. She woke up twice by the time he managed to climb up to the second floor and looked entirely alert when he actually got inside her room, but she still smiled thankfully when he let her down in front of her bed.

When he returned to the car, Stiles was chewing on his nails nervously. He let out a loud sigh when he caught sight of him, turning the key to start the engine. "Finally, I almost had like, two heart attacks waiting for Eva to—"

He turned the key again, waiting for the starter cranks. Stiles covered his face, banging his head against the steering wheel. When Isaac went to speak, he raised a single finger. "Don't,"

Isaac nodded. When he was sure Stiles wouldn't see, he smiled; small and barely there, but a smile nonetheless, because even if he is stuck outside Remington's home with one of the more irritating people he could think of, at least he wasn't alone.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !

Hopefully, the next chapter will be the last filler! It will be Eva's chapter!

Please comment and vote! Until next time!