Chapter Text
Stiles swivels himself around to face his computer screen, manning his usual water gun, which he is now pointing directly at at Scott’s pixeled face. Sometimes Stiles really wishes that Scott had a real internet connection instead of DSL. No, Stiles does not mean the sexual form of DSL, which he is now thinking about.
Anyway, Stiles lowers his water gun from his screen. Scott looks like a hormonal mix of concern, shame, and goofy happiness. And though the third is obviously linked somehow to Allison, Stiles is sure, he’s curious about the other two.
“So, are you ready to get your ass beat in Bioshock?” Stiles (somewhat) jokes. If there’s anything Stiles can focus on, let’s be honest, it’s video games.
When Scott doesn’t respond to Stiles’ expectant grin, he rephrases. “I’m taking that silence as the feeling of doom seeping through your bones because you’ve just realized you don’t have a hope of defeating me?”
Scott’s only response is casting his eyes downward and taking a deep, nervous breath. “Allison called and she thought her and I could-”
“I swear to god, if you are trying to tell me you’re abandoning me for Allison on a friday night, our gaming night, I- I actually wouldn’t surprised,” Stiles finishes, wondering why he wasn’t expecting this before.
“It’s just one night, man. We’ll play tomorrow night, any game you want.” Scott’s obvious pleas for forgiveness have no effect on him, though.
Stiles just rolls his eyes. “You don’t get to say a damn thing about it later, got it? I don’t care if it’s the Buffy the Vampire Slayer game you got me for Christmas four years ago; You don’t say a thing.”
Scott hesitates, but nods his head. “Thanks, bro. I’ll text you later, promise.”
“Yeah yeah. Just go, you freakishly accurate depiction of puppy-love,” Stiles manages to get in before Scott disconnects. “Goodbye to you too, Scott,” he mutters under his breath.
And really, Scott is supremely lucky. If it was anyone else, Stiles would bring the wrath of hell down on them. But if he could stick through the werewolf-o-rama, he could deal with being ditched for Allison, again.
So, after a few more hours of playing Bioshock, Stiles starts to doze off around the 5th level or whatever, which would be fine if it weren’t for the loud-as-hell tapping going on at his window, signaling that someone is here.
Over the last few months, the amount of times that Derek and Scott have climbed into his window has almost desensitized him completely from these types of situations.
But, come to think of it, who the hell knocks at this point? Scott climbs in, announcing his presence by drumming on whatever surface he finds first; Derek has never announced his appearance because he is a professional loomer, and Stiles is almost certain he gets off on creeping around and giving people heart-attacks.
So, being used to these types of entrances, the tapping causes Stiles to let out a manly squeak and topple over in his chair.
Stiles hopes that Derek hasn’t suddenly acquired manners because there was no way he would live it down if it were him at his window.
Speaking of which, he picks himself up and creeps to the window. Okay, that’s a bit silly because anyone who was there has already seen his fall. But, oh fucking well, this is his room goddammit, not a werewolf Bed and Breakfast.
So, Stiles, now standing at his window, rolls his eyes because of course as soon as he thinks that, it’s another werewolf. Stiles briefly wonders if he’s got a Bella Swan type smell that draws them in. Stiles does not want to be Bella Swan.
He opens the window a bit slowly, (because he’s being cautious, not because it’s heavy as hell and Stiles is too tired for all this) and contemplates just walking away and going to sleep on the bed that is clearly calling out to him.
That may be a bad decision because who other than a fugitive has come to his house for some R&R? Stiles doesn’t think they got the memo that this is a sheriff’s house.
“Well, hello Isaac. May I interest you in some fine wine and a massage?” Stiles hopes his words drip enough sarcasm to get through to him.
“Can I come in?” Isaac asks sweetly, like he’s not already at Stiles’ window. When Stiles doesn’t answer, Isaac gives him his innocent doe eyes and asks again. “Please? No attacking you, I promise.”
Stiles questions everyone’s sanity.
“Has it slipped by you that this is the house of a sheriff and you were a fugitive?” Stiles’ one again hopes that somehow, someday, he’ll get through the thick skull that is obviously a gene passed through via werewolf-bite.
“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” And if that doesn’t weaken Stiles’ resolve, nothing will.
Stiles’ remembers what Scott told him about the torture dungeon and, really, this is all getting to Stiles, and he feels bad enough for the guy to let out a long-suffering sigh and step back from his window.
“Well, come on in then, Bambi.” Did Stiles really say that out loud?
At Isaac’s huff of subtle indignation, it’s clear that he has.
"And what exactly are you doing here," asks Stiles.
Isaac hesitates and sort of curls in on himself, which makes Stiles want to ruffle his hair, and mumbles, "I was just going to- I mean it's just that- I think Derek is getting-"
Stiles thinks he's got the jist of it. "Derek's showing how poor his people skills are and you need a break?"
Isaac nods, and then shakes his head. "More like he needs a break. he gets a bit angsty after a-" Isaac cuts himself off. "Oh god I'm talking this way about the alpha and this is bad and-"
This time Stiles cuts him off. "Hey, it's fine. It's cool, I get it. We all know about Derek's angst level." Stiles speaks gently, as if he's talking to a spooked animal, and in a way, he is, isn't he?
"I just, well."
"Use your words, Isaac," Stiles interjects.
"Could I maybe stay here for a night or two? No more than five, I promise."
Stiles sort of just stares because, really? How is this his life?
"Five? You go from one to five? Jesus. I'm really starting to regret this whole your-best-friend-is-a-werewolf-so-now-all-werewolves-are-friends nonsense. Because this is too much." Stiles may be freaking out a bit.
"I'd go back to my place, but with the emptiness, and no running electricity... Not to mention the memor- You know what? I'll just go. There has to be more than one abandoned subway tunnel around here. Sorry that I-"
"Uuuuuugh. You can stay, alright? Now stop with the kicked puppy look because I am sick of dog jokes, and you're probably better company than Derek anyway." Stiles will never admit that he totally caved because of his soft heart, and how Isaac's eyes were actually watering. "But, I swear to god, if you wolf out in my general direction at all, I am tossing you out and lining my window with wolfs-bane. Got it?" If Stiles is letting him stay here, he is so taking control here. He's all about control.
Stiles starts to turn around to get back to his video game because werewolf be damned, he is going to finish this level, when Isaac kind of lurches forward to catch him in a hug.
Stiles goes to awkwardly, not without hesitating, reach around to partially return the gesture, and Isaac full-body flinches.
And, wow. Even when he initiates the physical contact, he's still afraid. Then Stiles realizes that it's unlikely Isaac's had any sort of non-violent contact in a long time.
Stiles is starting to get all mushy, and he really needs to stop that because Isaac is a dangerous werewolf who could kill him with almost no effort, and yet he can't bring himself to feel anything other than sorry for the guy.
And Stiles can't just leave that be.
"Hey, it's okay, man. Just a gentle human hug, here," Stiles whispers soothingly. He brings his hands up to rub comforting circles along Isaac's back. And when the hell did this become normal for him?
When Isaac finally relaxes, Stiles slowly pulls back. Isaac has a self-depreciating smile on his face, and that just won't do.
He gently wraps his fingers around Isaac's wrist and pulls him along to sit on his bed, Stiles occupying the swivel chair once again.
"Okay. Ground rules: One, Stay ninja sneaky; Remember, dad equal sheriff. Two, ask before borrowing clothes. You do not get to make fun of my fashion choices. Three, my cooking is amazing, and you do not get to say otherwise. Four, you sleep in the sleeping bag on the floor; It's carpet, not hardwood, so no complaining. And last, but not least, no whining when I beat your ass in any and every video game of my choice. If you do not agree to any of these rules, speak now or forever hold your peace."
When Isaac just nods, Stiles grins widely.
"Great. You may yet survive my extremely wonderful company, which is obviously much more entertaining than Derek's, so really, what do I have to compete with? This'll be totally great. Now let's play some Bioshock."
~~~~~~~~~
"What do you mean you've never played Bioshock?" Stiles asks.
"I've never really had the chance to play video games. My father didn’t approve of them, and I haven’t really had friends to play with at their house." And damn if Isaac doesn't look guilty for that.
Instead of giving Isaac any more reason to think about his dad, Stiles adds, "Oh man. That means you've never played Dead Space, or Mass Effect, or, jesus, any game. Well, we're gonna fix that, got it?" Stiles asks, raising his eyebrows, daring him to refuse.
"Um, well." Isaac starts, but Stiles maybe interrupts him.
"You don't need to sleep as much, right? Scott doesn't sleep that much, only needs a few hours. It's the same for you, right? Because oh my god, we are so fixing this right now. I don't care how long it takes."
Isaac nods, looking as if he knows very well that there is no way out of this.
"Go to the third shelf right there, no, to the left, okay. Look through the games and pick at least five. Yes, five," Stiles directs.
After a minute or two Isaac comes back with Bioshock 2, Mass Effect, (Clearly going off what Stiles said earlier) Dead Space, and, oh my god, Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
"Oh my god, you are actually perfect, aren't you?"
Isaac stares at him, looking very confused, and a bit shocked.
"Buffy!"
Isaac looks down to the games he's bundled.
“Also, that’s four.” Isaac nods to the empty Bioshock case in front of Stiles.
"Oh, right. By the way, I'm proud of you, and you are so much better than Scott. Scott never wants to play Buffy. Therefore, you are perfect. You actually listen to what I say, and you have good taste," Stiles explains. (Okay, joining up with Derek may not have showed good taste, but a guy can't always make good choices.
Isaac actually looks embarrassed, the tips of his ears getting red. Stiles suddenly wonders how many people have told Isaac they're proud of him, even nonchalantly.
Stiles' face softens a bit, and he motions his hands to hand over to games.
Stiles immediately puts in Dead Space. Might as well show him the fucking terrifying ones before it gets too late. After about 4am, shit starts freaking you out like nothing.
"Okay, just warning you now, this is probably the scariest game in existence. It's a toss up between starting you off easy, or adjusting you quickly. The other cakes will look like children's games after this. We good?" Stiles has to make sure.
Isaac just narrows his eyes slightly and nods.
"Alright then! Let's do this."
Stiles sits cross-legged on the right side edge of the bed, in the center. He pats down on the space next to him, grinning with excitement. For the game, obviously. Obviously not over the prospect of sitting close to someone who isn't Scott, once. A very attractive someone.
So, if he grins a bit wider when Isaac sits down next to him, leaning against the headboard, legs stretched in front of him, it's only because he's enjoying that he's the one introducing Isaac to video games.
Stiles grabs a controller and presses the little ps3 symbol in the middle to turn him on. It! It on.
The opening bit starts to play, and Stiles leans forward. This is going to be great.