dephigravity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dephigravity) wrote2012-08-14 08:55 pm
dephigravity) wrote2012-08-14 08:55 pm
Entry tags:
fic: nobody wants to be lonely
Title: Nobody Wants To Be Lonely
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Scott/Isaac
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Minor character death
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Things are back to normal in Beacon Hills, well, as normal as they can be. Stiles want to be left alone, and Allison is still trying to work through everything thing that's happened lately. Scott's trying to live his life as good as he can, throwing himself into school and work, all the while Isaac is still trying to find his place in all this madness.
Author Notes: So I haven't written anything in almost a year and to get me back into the habit,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
transfixeddream gave me the prompt: Scott/Isaac, heightened senses. Pretty sure he intended me to write porn. Whoops! Oh well, maybe next time.
Also at
A03
The locker room is empty and quiet, the only sounds coming from Scott as he gathers up the leftover equipment from practice. Lacrosse sticks and soiled uniforms are tossed haphazardly around the benches, and someone’s sweaty jock strap dangles undignified from their locker. "Fucking Greenberg," he says under his breath, grimacing as he uses the end of a shaft to pull it down and throws it into the laundry cart.
It sucks, but he can’t really complain too much, he is, after all, still part of the team; even if that means he’s now the team’s new equipment manager instead of co-captain. Equipment manager, he thinks. A far more dignified title than what the role actually entails, being the team’s bitch is more like it—something which his teammates haven’t exactly been subtle about making known to him. But until he can get his grades up, this is better than nothing.
An hour or so later he grabs his book bag and locks the door, shutting it behind him and makes his way across the field.
His heart drops a little when Stiles isn't there to greet him like usual. He's not sure why he'd expected things to be different, or Stiles to be any different, for that matter. Ever Since Matt died, there has been something eating at Stiles, like something has knocked all the exuberance out of him and it's starting to worry Scott. Sure, the whole Lydia thing has something to do with it; it has to suck for him to see her with Jackson again, especially now that Jackson has his new werewolf lease on life.
Scott tries to play down their sickeningly sweet public displays of affection to Stiles, tries to explain how they've both been through a lot lately. Stiles just shrugs it off and says it doesn't bother him anymore and that he's happy for them, or her to be more precise.
What Scott doesn't bother telling him is that he understands all too well how strong the pull to Lydia is for Jackson. It's uncontrollable like gravity itself, something that Dr. Deaton calls pheromones. But whatever it's called, it literally feels like you can't breathe without that person, can't sleep or eat; all you can think about is that person. And being horny doesn't even begin to cover the rest. It's exactly how he felt about Allison back when he first met her, back before her mom died anyway. Now it's just, well, different. But yeah, Stiles is going through a rough time right now and wants to be left alone, which for now, Scott is willing to give him that distance.
It only takes a few minutes to get to the clinic; thank god it's only a few blocks away from school. The parking lot is empty like it usually is, but Deaton's car is gone as well; not really a big deal since he frequently has to run out for house calls and whatnot. Plus, Isaac helps out now, so there's always someone to cover.
The bell rings as he walks in the door, but no one's in the lobby. The menagerie of animals floods his senses, his nostrils flaring with a dozen unique scents and he has to forcibly tune out all the sounds. He tosses his backpack on the couch in the office, then pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside. He reaches behind the door and grabs his scrub top from the hook on the wall and pulls it over his head, carding his hands through his hair to make it more presentable.
He hadn't noticed it at first, maybe he was just lost in thought, but something doesn't feel right. Doesn't smell right. It smells like, like death. His heart suddenly races, panic taking hold of him as he rushes to through the clinic.
"Isaac?" he cries out, only to be greeted with an occasional bark or hiss.
The back room reeks of cleaning supplies, probably cleaned within the last hour or so. Scott scans the room quickly, his eyes stopping on the unmoving lump of fur on the table. He approaches it cautiously, expecting to see some kind of movement, even if just the slow rise from breathing. Rounding the table, he is greeted by the blank stare from a familiar dog, the same exact dog that he and Deaton had introduced to Isaac the night he turned up here, scared and alone.
He reaches out, his hand trembling as he does. The soft fur of the dog's coat is cold, the heat from its body already long gone. Scott frowns and has to choke back his tears; he strokes the dog's head once more before brushing his hand over its eyes, closing them one final time.
That's when he hears it, a soft muffled sound coming from the kennel. He shuffles towards the door, pausing to look back one last time at the table before continuing on.
"Isaac, is that you?" he asks, his voice soft and timid.
The lights are out in the kennel. Dark shadows paint their way across the rows of cages lining both sides of the room; an occasional set of eyes glow back at him as he makes his way slowly between them. Just past a supply cabinet, he can just make out a pair of long human legs, Isaac's distinct set of Converse sneakers at the end of each one of them.
"Hey, you okay?"
Isaac doesn't say anything; instead he just sniffs, pulls his legs in closer, and wipes his sleeve across his face. Even though it's dark, Scott's wolf enhanced eyes can still make out Isaac, his eyes puffy and his face flushed and tear stained.
Scott doesn't say a word, just huddles back in the tight corner that Isaac has worked himself into. He slides down the wall, Isaac excruciatingly close beside him as he adjust slightly to allow him in. The silence between them is deafening, and Scott is relieved when Isaac finally breathes out a burdened sigh.
"He's gone," he says achingly.
"I know." Scott unfolds his arms and places his hand tenderly on Isaac's knee, the other boy not even flinching as he does.
"I," Isaac starts, cut off by his own sobs. "They dropped him off a few hours ago, said that he has been more lethargic than usual today. Doc wasn't here, so I had 'em put him on the table and I told them he would be back soon. I tried to call, but he's not picking up."
Scott stares blankly at the wall; just lets Isaac talk, all the while rubbing circles over Isaac's knee with his thumb.
"Oh God, I need to call the owners still. How fucking inconsiderate can I be?"
"Don't worry about it, I'll call in a minute," Scott says.
"I could sense it, y'know? Like last time, but way worse. I knew he wasn't getting better this time. God, Scott, I could feel it. Without even touching him I could feel his pain." A fresh set of tears starts to roll down his face, his muscles tensing all throughout his body. "I tried to take it away, I did. But when I touched him, he just whined and then it was… He just… I killed him, Scott. I killed him."
"What? No. How can you even think that, dude?" Isaac's words startle him, he wasn't expecting that. Not in the least. He can feel Isaac trying to pull away, like somehow his very touch is burning him. Scott clamps his hand down harder, not letting him pull away. When he's sure he isn't going anywhere, Scott releases his knee and reaches his arm around Isaac's shoulders, pulling him closer.
"Look, we can heal, but we can't kill. Not that way anyway. But we can only take away so much pain, never all of it. You said it yourself, you could sense it was going to happen. There's nothing you could have done. This isn't your fault," Scott says.
"Well, it sure as hell feels that way." Issac slumps, letting his head lie on Scott's shoulder, like it is completely natural for the two of them.
Scott's trepidation melts away as soon as it appears; he reaches his hand up to stroke though Isaac's hair. "I know, I know."
Scott doesn't say another word, just sits brushing through his hair as Isaac cries against his shoulder until he falls asleep. When Doctor Deaton arrives, Scott lifts his finger to his lips. Deaton nods knowingly and backs out of the room, leaving both boys alone.
Scott sighs softly as he slowly works his cell phone out of his pocket trying not to wake Isaac. Doing it single handedly is difficult, but he manages to text his mom and asking her if she can make up the spare room and order an extra pizza for movie night. He slides the phone back into his pocket and leans his head against Isaac's, letting him sleep for a few more minutes before waking him to take him home. He starts working out what he's going to say to his mom, how to ask her, but he knows now that Isaac needs him and that's really all that matters right now.
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Scott/Isaac
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Minor character death
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Things are back to normal in Beacon Hills, well, as normal as they can be. Stiles want to be left alone, and Allison is still trying to work through everything thing that's happened lately. Scott's trying to live his life as good as he can, throwing himself into school and work, all the while Isaac is still trying to find his place in all this madness.
Author Notes: So I haven't written anything in almost a year and to get me back into the habit,
transfixeddream gave me the prompt: Scott/Isaac, heightened senses. Pretty sure he intended me to write porn. Whoops! Oh well, maybe next time.Also at
The locker room is empty and quiet, the only sounds coming from Scott as he gathers up the leftover equipment from practice. Lacrosse sticks and soiled uniforms are tossed haphazardly around the benches, and someone’s sweaty jock strap dangles undignified from their locker. "Fucking Greenberg," he says under his breath, grimacing as he uses the end of a shaft to pull it down and throws it into the laundry cart.
It sucks, but he can’t really complain too much, he is, after all, still part of the team; even if that means he’s now the team’s new equipment manager instead of co-captain. Equipment manager, he thinks. A far more dignified title than what the role actually entails, being the team’s bitch is more like it—something which his teammates haven’t exactly been subtle about making known to him. But until he can get his grades up, this is better than nothing.
An hour or so later he grabs his book bag and locks the door, shutting it behind him and makes his way across the field.
His heart drops a little when Stiles isn't there to greet him like usual. He's not sure why he'd expected things to be different, or Stiles to be any different, for that matter. Ever Since Matt died, there has been something eating at Stiles, like something has knocked all the exuberance out of him and it's starting to worry Scott. Sure, the whole Lydia thing has something to do with it; it has to suck for him to see her with Jackson again, especially now that Jackson has his new werewolf lease on life.
Scott tries to play down their sickeningly sweet public displays of affection to Stiles, tries to explain how they've both been through a lot lately. Stiles just shrugs it off and says it doesn't bother him anymore and that he's happy for them, or her to be more precise.
What Scott doesn't bother telling him is that he understands all too well how strong the pull to Lydia is for Jackson. It's uncontrollable like gravity itself, something that Dr. Deaton calls pheromones. But whatever it's called, it literally feels like you can't breathe without that person, can't sleep or eat; all you can think about is that person. And being horny doesn't even begin to cover the rest. It's exactly how he felt about Allison back when he first met her, back before her mom died anyway. Now it's just, well, different. But yeah, Stiles is going through a rough time right now and wants to be left alone, which for now, Scott is willing to give him that distance.
It only takes a few minutes to get to the clinic; thank god it's only a few blocks away from school. The parking lot is empty like it usually is, but Deaton's car is gone as well; not really a big deal since he frequently has to run out for house calls and whatnot. Plus, Isaac helps out now, so there's always someone to cover.
The bell rings as he walks in the door, but no one's in the lobby. The menagerie of animals floods his senses, his nostrils flaring with a dozen unique scents and he has to forcibly tune out all the sounds. He tosses his backpack on the couch in the office, then pulls off his shirt and tosses it aside. He reaches behind the door and grabs his scrub top from the hook on the wall and pulls it over his head, carding his hands through his hair to make it more presentable.
He hadn't noticed it at first, maybe he was just lost in thought, but something doesn't feel right. Doesn't smell right. It smells like, like death. His heart suddenly races, panic taking hold of him as he rushes to through the clinic.
"Isaac?" he cries out, only to be greeted with an occasional bark or hiss.
The back room reeks of cleaning supplies, probably cleaned within the last hour or so. Scott scans the room quickly, his eyes stopping on the unmoving lump of fur on the table. He approaches it cautiously, expecting to see some kind of movement, even if just the slow rise from breathing. Rounding the table, he is greeted by the blank stare from a familiar dog, the same exact dog that he and Deaton had introduced to Isaac the night he turned up here, scared and alone.
He reaches out, his hand trembling as he does. The soft fur of the dog's coat is cold, the heat from its body already long gone. Scott frowns and has to choke back his tears; he strokes the dog's head once more before brushing his hand over its eyes, closing them one final time.
That's when he hears it, a soft muffled sound coming from the kennel. He shuffles towards the door, pausing to look back one last time at the table before continuing on.
"Isaac, is that you?" he asks, his voice soft and timid.
The lights are out in the kennel. Dark shadows paint their way across the rows of cages lining both sides of the room; an occasional set of eyes glow back at him as he makes his way slowly between them. Just past a supply cabinet, he can just make out a pair of long human legs, Isaac's distinct set of Converse sneakers at the end of each one of them.
"Hey, you okay?"
Isaac doesn't say anything; instead he just sniffs, pulls his legs in closer, and wipes his sleeve across his face. Even though it's dark, Scott's wolf enhanced eyes can still make out Isaac, his eyes puffy and his face flushed and tear stained.
Scott doesn't say a word, just huddles back in the tight corner that Isaac has worked himself into. He slides down the wall, Isaac excruciatingly close beside him as he adjust slightly to allow him in. The silence between them is deafening, and Scott is relieved when Isaac finally breathes out a burdened sigh.
"He's gone," he says achingly.
"I know." Scott unfolds his arms and places his hand tenderly on Isaac's knee, the other boy not even flinching as he does.
"I," Isaac starts, cut off by his own sobs. "They dropped him off a few hours ago, said that he has been more lethargic than usual today. Doc wasn't here, so I had 'em put him on the table and I told them he would be back soon. I tried to call, but he's not picking up."
Scott stares blankly at the wall; just lets Isaac talk, all the while rubbing circles over Isaac's knee with his thumb.
"Oh God, I need to call the owners still. How fucking inconsiderate can I be?"
"Don't worry about it, I'll call in a minute," Scott says.
"I could sense it, y'know? Like last time, but way worse. I knew he wasn't getting better this time. God, Scott, I could feel it. Without even touching him I could feel his pain." A fresh set of tears starts to roll down his face, his muscles tensing all throughout his body. "I tried to take it away, I did. But when I touched him, he just whined and then it was… He just… I killed him, Scott. I killed him."
"What? No. How can you even think that, dude?" Isaac's words startle him, he wasn't expecting that. Not in the least. He can feel Isaac trying to pull away, like somehow his very touch is burning him. Scott clamps his hand down harder, not letting him pull away. When he's sure he isn't going anywhere, Scott releases his knee and reaches his arm around Isaac's shoulders, pulling him closer.
"Look, we can heal, but we can't kill. Not that way anyway. But we can only take away so much pain, never all of it. You said it yourself, you could sense it was going to happen. There's nothing you could have done. This isn't your fault," Scott says.
"Well, it sure as hell feels that way." Issac slumps, letting his head lie on Scott's shoulder, like it is completely natural for the two of them.
Scott's trepidation melts away as soon as it appears; he reaches his hand up to stroke though Isaac's hair. "I know, I know."
Scott doesn't say another word, just sits brushing through his hair as Isaac cries against his shoulder until he falls asleep. When Doctor Deaton arrives, Scott lifts his finger to his lips. Deaton nods knowingly and backs out of the room, leaving both boys alone.
Scott sighs softly as he slowly works his cell phone out of his pocket trying not to wake Isaac. Doing it single handedly is difficult, but he manages to text his mom and asking her if she can make up the spare room and order an extra pizza for movie night. He slides the phone back into his pocket and leans his head against Isaac's, letting him sleep for a few more minutes before waking him to take him home. He starts working out what he's going to say to his mom, how to ask her, but he knows now that Isaac needs him and that's really all that matters right now.