Note: Yes. Yes. YES! This is a new chapter! I am so so so so so so SO sorry I lost steam on this series, but thank the muses for S3 of Teen Wolf because the Scisaac has been so good so far that I've just been overloaded with feels for these two. Finally getting a handle on myself and I wrote some more! Thank you all for reading, reviewing and encouraging more. You're awesome! I incorporated some elements from episodes 3x04 & 3x06 for Isaac's trauma flash in this scene, but nothing overly spoilerish for those who haven't seen the episodes yet.


Despite his self-made promise to lay off the stuff, Isaac is nursing another glass of punch as he stands awkwardly by the others on the patio.

This party is not his scene. It never has been and, apparently, even without his father's refusal to allow him a social life, it seems parties would never be his thing.

He's there with Scott and Stiles and it just is not working. The moon has him too on edge to be civil to Stilinski or anyone else when the wolf inside him seems to be pacing beneath the skin in want to tackle Scott to the ground and just take him.

Or be taken by him. Isaac is surprisingly open to anything so long as it involves Scott, gratuitous nudity and him. And sex. Sex would be really good to take this edge off.

There must be something in the air, because everyone seems to be having similar thoughts.

He's leaning back against the wall of the house and just watching the party unfold because it is showing definite orgy potential. Bodies are grinding on the 'dance floor' by the pool, couples are flirting in the open areas and people are blatantly making out in whatever semi-secluded places that they can find. There's boys kissing girls, girls kissing girls, boys kissing boys, girls kissing boys kissing boys, boys staring mindlessly at girls kissing girls and Stiles's cross-dressing friends are circling it all in apparent fascination.

The hormones in the air are more intoxicating that whatever they've spiked the punch with.

When he isn't forcing himself to act casual and scope out the party to keep his eye out for Jackson, Isaac is staring fixedly at the steady pulse in Scott's neck. He has no idea if his hearing is just so keyed to the rhythm of that pulse that he's imagining he can see it or if he's really staring so hard at Scott that he can actually see the infinitesimal shifts of skin as blood pumps through the arteries in the other boy's neck.

Regardless of that, he wants to go over there, nudge Scott's head to the side and just bite into that throat to feel that blood pulsing into his mouth. He wants to bite firm and deep with his fangs, wolfing out without giving a damn about these people seeming him as he bears Scott's body to the ground and just ruts against it to get rid of the damned boner he's had since he watched the first couple drift off the dance floor and move behind a tree to start making out with increasingly loud kisses and moans.

As he stares, Scott's throat visibly flexes on a gulp and Isaac looks up to find amber glowing eyes staring right at him. Scott draws in a breath, nostrils flaring as he stares at Isaac and the amber glow turns golden as a low growl vibrates his chest. He looks ready to meet Isaac's fantasized assault with one of his own and Isaac wants to play that game. He wants to know just how frenzied McCall can get in these circumstances.

Stiles, though, ruins the moment and effectively blocks their cocks from having any fun. He thuds a hand against Scott's chest to get his friend's attention and then begins to talk about Allison. The same Allison that is currently several feet away being talked to by Lydia. The agenda that both Lydia and Stiles have is to question Scott's 'weirdness' with Isaac and encourage the reunion of Allison and Scott.

Isaac is in no condition to listen to that, so he gulps down his fourth … fifth? … glass of punch, pushes away from the wall and wobbles back into the house. The place has gone from embarrassingly empty when they'd first arrived to claustrophobically packed in the hour or so that they'd been here.

Isaac puts his empty glass down on a nearby stand then blinks in confusion as it falls to the floor and shatters. He takes a step toward the stand with some thought of picking up the pieces and he stumbles right into the thing, tangling his feet with the legs of the little table and having to do a quick jig to stop them both from crashing to the ground.

"Stay there," he warns the stand when he gets free of the cursed thing.

He realizes that he is well and truly fucked up when he wags his finger at the table to add to his warning and he sees himself wagging three separate index fingers.

Derek is going to kill him.

On the bright side, though, Boyd and Erica might kill Derek, so it won't matter that Isaac's losing all his senses and coordination to an alcoholic stupor.

The noise, heat and smell of all the bodies filling the downstairs is too much for him in this condition, so he pushes and staggers his way to the stairs. Lydia had warned everyone against venturing up to the second level and it seems that most everyone had taken her death glare seriously when she'd said it.

Other than a few wallflowers that had perched on some of the steps to be out of the way and observe the festivities, Isaac doesn't encounter many as he trudges upward. After the first landing, it's just him daring to explore the dark shadows and corridors of the second floor of the home.

He leans briefly over the railing to look down at the guests, doing his supposed duty and looking for Jackson, before turning in search of a bathroom to get a drink of water. And a bed to catch a quick nap on would be a definite bonus.

He finds both with the first room he enters, giggling as he realizes that he has breached the inner sanctum of Lydia Martin. He slips into her bedroom, closes the door quickly behind him then moves to turn on a lamp for some quality snooping.

Her bed is big and inviting, with lots of pillows and a really comfy looking comforter. She's got clothes and mirrors and pictures and girly things all over the place, but nothing to the degree that he would have imagined. He would have thought more princess, with a canopy bed and everything frilly and pink, but it's rather disappointing. He rummages through a few draws and finds himself utterly uninterested in her thong underwear and push-up bras. Even drunk, he pulls his hand from that drawer feeling pretty skeevy.

It's safe to say that he is definitely over this crush.

He moves through her room to the open door of the in-suite bathroom and shuts himself inside to regain some composure. Without bothering with the lights, he splashes some cold water on his face and neck, cupping his hands to drink the cool water. Moonlight filters in from the high window in the room and he lifts his gaze to stare at his own reflection. The lighting plays tricks on him and he could swear that he sees his father's reflection behind him, but he blinks and it's gone. Then he blinks again and his face has become his father's and he shrinks back from the reflection.

"Is this what you do now?" it asks in his father's chilling tones. "Stay out late and get wasted? I did not raise you to be a damned bum, Isaac!"

"No, sir," Isaac's back hits the wall and he begins to slide down it as he knows what's coming next.

"Grab the chains."

Isaac's claws slip out, etching into the wood as he digs into the wall, head shaking in silent denial of the remembered nightmares.

"Are you not hearing me, son?" his father's voice is sharp; angry.

The punishment will last longer if he doesn't get the chains.

Gulping down a cry, he pushes to his feet to reach for the door, but his palms are sweating and his hand slips off the knob. He reaches again and grabs air as the handle blurs and multiplies in his vision.

He hears the clanking. Hears the heavy thunk and drag of the chains over the top of the freezer as his father prepares to lock him in.

The knob disappears and the white door becomes the glowing white inside of the freezer's lid; slick, cold and unmoving as the padlocks click into place and the chains draw tight to prevent the freezer from opening.

He's trapped.

Stuck inside with the cold and dark and his breath is too loud in the enclosed space; there's not enough air for him to breathe.

He needs out.

"Come on," he begins to whimper, pushing and shoving against the lid without it budging.

"No," he inhales a shaky breath and strives for calm as he tries again. "Come on."

The door rattles on its hinges and in his mind he hears the chains rattling against his struggles; his father taunting him not to waste his air.

Words cease come from him in favor of a long, drawn out wailing that grows into a furious howling as he can't get out; has to get out; can't get out!

He slams his whole body against the barrier, head thrashing hard against the door and fist jamming through the wood in the moments before he's freed.

The door moves away from him, but he's still caught in his own head, twisting furiously inside the cramped confines of the freezer and feeling the last of the fresh air turn to hot and humid expulsions of breath that he's breathing back in, poisoning his body with carbon dioxide and suffocating. His dad means to kill him this time, he is going to forget and go away and leave Isaac to die and he's so scared and so angry that he lashes out.

His clawed hand lashes out and sinks into something as he blindly strikes out in his impotent rage. He smells blood and imagines it to be his own, remembering all the times that he's clawed his fingers raw, fingernails jagged or broken clean off in his frenzy to get to clean air. He struggles harder; hearing a voice and imagining it to be his father, so he begs and pleads for release even as he keeps fighting.

Suddenly a hand clamps around his throat and his body is hurled to the ground. A knee slams into his chest to pin him down and he can't breathe.

"ISAAC!"

Somehow Scott's above him, his voice commanding as it calls his name and his eyes flaring gold as he brings Isaac back to himself. He blinks and feels his own eyes shift back to normal, licks over his dry lips and feels his fangs retracting. Scott's hand remains tight at his throat even as the fierce expression leaves his face to be replaced by fear and concern.

Blood covers his left cheek from three still healing gashes and Isaac doesn't have to look to know that he has Scott's flesh and blood under his fingernails. Shriveling inside himself he draw quickly away and moves to hide under Lydia's bed with his shame.

He'd hurt Scott.

The moon, the alcohol, the memories; none of it was reason enough for that. In his blind panic he could have done far more than scratch and the images that flood his head are sickening. He imagines Scott dead at his feet and feels his stomach heave at the thought of being responsible for that fate.

"It's okay, Isaac. I'm okay, Isaac. You're going to be okay, Isaac. You can come out now. I'd like you to come out now," Scott's voice is a soft, soothing loop through Isaac's struggle with the guilt, fear and humiliation.

For several minutes, he just keeps saying these things over and over until Isaac's breathing returns to normal and he's just lying there hiding under Lydia Martin's bed wishing the floor would open up and swallow him five minutes ago.

"Don't make me come under there," Scott's tone changes as he seems to sense Isaac's relaxing. "I'll drag you out, if I have to," his hand suddenly reaches out to curl around Isaac's shoe to shake it in playful threat.

"Can we just forget this ever happened?" Isaac asks without moving; his voice raspy from screaming.

"That'll be easier to do when we're both not bleeding."

That pulls him quickly out from under the bed and he shifts immediately to sit up and grip Scott's face to see just how badly he'd scratched him. The cuts are nothing more than angry red welts on the boy's dark skin; the blood there is dried and flaking. Fearing he'd done ever more damage, his hands shove Scott's blazer off and start pulling at his shirt to search for whatever else was bleeding.

"Not me," Scott stops him with a gentle hand and a tone that implies, rather than outright says, that Isaac is an idiot. "You."

His hands curls around Isaac's forearm and lift to show Isaac the gouges and splinters in his flesh from punching through the door. Isaac looks up and stares at the busted wooden plank hanging crookedly from its hinges.

"I'm never going to be invited back, am I?"

Scott huffs a little laugh at that before pushing to his feet and dragging Isaac up with him. He moves them into the bathroom, turning on the light and pushing Isaac to sit down on the commode while he begins to rifle through the vanity for supplies.

While he's pulling down tweezers, peroxide, rubbing alcohol and way more other things than they need now as werewolves, Isaac grabs a washcloth and leans toward the sink to dampen it. When Scott pauses in his raid to stare curiously at Isaac, he takes advantage and hooks a finger in Scott's pocket to pull the other boy closer so that he can wipe away the traces of blood on his face.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Isaac whispers, keeping his eyes firmly on his task to avoid anything that might be showing in Scott's gaze.

"You've done worse," Scott's cheek flexes and dimples on a grin and Isaac's hand drops away.

"Yeah, but I meant to then," Isaac replies, referring to their few fights and sparring sessions since Isaac turned.

"I get that that somehow makes sense to you, but I have no idea how that makes those other times different," Scott's brow wrinkles in equal parts amusement and confusion as he gives his head a little shake and reaches for the tweezers.

"I was out of control just now," Isaac explains, barely feeling it as Scott begins to carefully pluck the splinters from his fist and wrist. "Anything could have happened and I wouldn't even have known what I was doing to you. Before, I always had some control. Always made sure I wouldn't do anything to really hurt you. I could have ki-"

"No one was killing anyone; then or now," Scott interrupts, pulling a few splinters out with a little more vengeance than necessary. "I can protect myself and, if you'll let me, I can protect you, too."

His voice drops to little more than a whisper at the end as he smooths his fingers over Isaac's healing skin to check for any missed slivers of wood.

"I want to protect you, too, but-"

"Then we just do our best," Scott interrupts again, moving to soak a cotton ball in peroxide to rub over Isaac's cuts. "Derek warned us that it would be bad tonight. We just need to stick together; watch each other's backs."

Isaac just nods as Scott throws the swabs in the trash then soaks more with alcohol to clean the cuts.

"I think I'll live, doc," he reluctantly pulls away from Scott's too caring touch and tugs the sleeve of his shirt down to cover the last of the healing scratches.

"Something happened to me, too," Scott says quietly as he begins to put the supplies back away. "Nothing like what you went through," he rushes to add when Isaac whips around to stare at him with concern. "I think it's the punch. I finally had some of it and then Jackson showed up and I was coming to find you and … it's like I just had this vision. It was so real, it was staggering. I think there's something in the punch and we need to stop people from drinking it."

The fact that Scott has just said that Jackson is at the party now registers with Isaac, but his brain focuses on other details.

"What kind of vision?"

"It was nothing, really," he tucks his hands in his pockets and leans back against the wall, drawing Isaac's attention briefly to the claw marks he's left in the wood there. "I was coming up the stairs and I saw Allison on the bench at the top of the landing. I was going to call out to her, tell her that Jackson's here but suddenly Jackson was with her and they started kissing."

Isaac wishes that he'd ignored his brain and just leapt on the fact that Jackson was at the party, they should go beat him up. Because he's the Kanima and stuff.

"I was so jealous and I was going to storm up the stairs and break them apart then Jackson turned to look at me with this knowing smirk. I wanted to pound his face in. Then he turned back and he wasn't making out with Allison anymore."

Scott's jaw clenches shut and a muscle tics in his cheek as he remembers. His whole body goes tense and he rolls his shoulders to try easing the tension before he suddenly stalks out of the room.

"What was he doing?" Isaac asks as he follows Scott into Lydia's bedroom, moving to sit beside him when the other boy sat down on the edge of the bed.

"He was making out with you."

The words were low and quietly spoken into Scott's chest as he couldn't seem to look up as he spoke.

"What?"

"He was making out with you," Scott repeats, louder and with a flash of heat that's matched by the golden flare in his eyes. "I saw you under him, tangled with him and kissing him and I wanted him dead. I charged up the steps to kill him, but there was nothing there. I stood at that bench for like five minutes, wanting to tear it to pieces because I'd imagined him touching you and all I could think was, 'he's mine.' You're mine and when I heard you crying out…"

Isaac's shock is so complete that he's taken unawares when Scott twists around and shoves him back to the bed.

"I was so scared for you," the other boy confesses into the hollow of Isaac's neck as he flattens their bodies together on the bed. "I didn't know what was wrong or if it was even real, all I could think was that if I was too late…" he works his arms under Isaac to hug him close. "I can't lose you."

The tightness of his embrace seems the complete opposite the softness of his tone as he says those words, but both are so intense that Isaac can think of nothing to say in response.

He just wraps his arms around Scott, squeezing tight and burying his face in the other boy's hair as they just lie there in silence.