John Stilinski sat in his patrol car, parked in front of the hospital. He was holding a worn out wallet sized photo, staring into the honey colored eyes of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She was dressed in white, happy tears in her eyes. They'd just gotten married and the world was ahead of them. Seven kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. That was the plan. But the cancer didn't care about their plans.

"Oh, Mary," he whispered, his voice a little hoarse. "Mary, I wish you were here. I need you. You always knew what to say. I could use some of your words of wisdom right about now." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Mary, there's a little boy in that hospital. He just turned four."

It had been nearly two years since he'd actually spoken to his wife, but he could still see her so clearly in his mind. He could almost smell her floral perfume. She would be resting her chin in her hands, eyes locked on his from across the dining room table. She'd be smiling, she always was.

"He's been hurt, Mary," John continued. His voice broke a little as he told his wife what had happened. "We got the call last night. The neighbors heard screaming. When we got there, we thought the house was empty, but we searched it anyway. Thank God we did. He was in the basement, Mary. His father had locked him in a freezer. I don't know how long he'd been in there. I don't want to imagine it. He'd been beaten up so badly and the doctors are saying it's not the first time.

"I guess the reason I'm talking to you right now is that…well, you always did see the good in the world. Right now, I don't see it. The boy's father is on the run, his mother refuses to come for him, and his brother was killed in combat last month. Mary, the child has no one. Things like this just really make me miss you. Because you'd know what to say to give me the courage to go in there."

John lingered in the car for a while longer; wishing desperately for an answer that he knew would never come. He tucked the photograph into his wallet and opened the car door. Beacon Hills General Hospital was fairly quiet, as always. He paused to look at the clock hanging above the front desk. He had about an hour until it was time to pick his son up from school. He headed down the hallway, passing a familiar face on the way.

"Sheriff Stilinski, how are you?" the nurse greeted with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Melissa," John replied.

Melissa McCall was a good friend of the family. She'd been there for John after Mary died, making sure there was always food in the house. Her son, Scott, was Stiles' best friend. The boys were like brothers. John smiled for the first time that day and he couldn't help but feel like somehow Mary had something to do with this. He'd wanted to see the good in the world, and there was a glimpse of it.

"Are you heading up to see the Lahey kid?" she asked, keeping her voice low even though there was no one else around.

John nodded. "How has he been?"

"It was a rough night," she said solemnly. "John, I've never heard a kid scream like that." She looked like she was about to cry. She wouldn't be the only one to have shed tears over Isaac Lahey. "Please tell me you're coming with good news."

John couldn't comment, but he knew the look on his face was enough. "We're doing all we can."

She shook her head. "I should go, but call me later. Scott's been begging to have Stiles sleep over and I finally caved so we need to agree on a day."

John nodded and resumed his trek down the hallway, stopping in front of the fourth door on the right. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Seeing Isaac on the bed made John want to turn around and leave. He looked so small and helpless. He wore a child-sized oxygen mask that was still much too big for him. Pillows were piled up behind him, giving him support as he watched cartoons on the TV. His face was bruised and his blue eyes looked much too old to be on the face of someone so small.

The social worker looked up from her phone and noticed John. She stood and walked to the doorway, looking sad and serious. "Hello, Sheriff," she greeted tersely.

John glanced at Isaac, who was still watching the TV intently. "Nothing has changed on our end. I'm just coming to check on him."

"He had a hard night, but he's been doing alright today. He still hasn't spoken."

"Has there been any luck finding relatives to take him in?"

She shook her head forlornly, "Unfortunately it appears that his mother is his last living family member and she's refused."

The sheriff glanced at Isaac again. The boy was staring at the TV, but by the way his lip was trembling it was clear he was listening in. John's heart ached with sympathy. "There's a place for him, though, right?"

"There aren't many licensed foster homes in the area with space available." She consulted her phone for a moment. Her eyes darted to John's chest, then back to her phone. "John Stilinski?"

"Yes," John replied hesitantly. He couldn't remember telling the social worker his first name.

"You're on the list," she said.

John opened his mouth but couldn't formulate a response. He and Mary had started the process to become licensed when Stiles was about ten. They'd been trying for years to have another baby, but couldn't due to what the doctor's called unexplained secondary infertility. John had always believed that they hadn't completed the final steps of the process because of Mary's diagnosis. "Are you sure?" he finally managed to say.

She nodded. "You're the only one in Beacon Hills. Our closest other options would be all the way in Bakersfield."

John didn't have to close his eyes to imagine the way Mary would have reacted. "I'll have to assign his case to someone else."

"That's a yes?"

John nodded. "That's definitely a yes."

:::::::::::

"Have a good weekend, Lydia…who is ignoring me again," Stiles called hopelessly after the strawberry blonde beauty as she flounced past him.

Scott laughed. "Man, when are you gonna give it up."

"Things are gonna be different," Stiles said. "We're in high school now!"

"We've been in high school for a month now, nothing's changed."

"But next week are lacrosse tryouts! I've been practicing all summer." Stiles slung his arm around Scott. "We're gonna make first line, I know it."

"You're insane," Scott laughed.

Stiles spotted his dad's patrol car and started to run toward it. He turned back to Scott and shouted, "You'll see!" before he opened the door and piled into the passenger seat. "Hey, Dad," he said breathlessly, still smiling.

"How was your day, Stiles?"

"Oh, same as always. Harris assigned us an insane amount of homework. I'm seriously considering having him investigated for breaking child labor laws."

"Do you think you'd have enough time to help me clean out the second bedroom?"

All joking was gone in an instant. "Why?" Stiles asked urgently. "That was Mom's painting studio. We can't get rid of her stuff!"

"We're not," his father reassured him. "We're just going to store it in the attic."

Stiles was indignant. "You want to shove her stuff in the attic! Dad, come on!"

"Stiles…"

"No, Dad. This is crazy. Why do you want to do this?" Stiles was shaking at the thought of destroying the last place he could go to feel close to his Mom.

"Before she passed away, your mom and I became licensed foster parents. She wanted to help kids. There's a little boy named Isaac that really needs a home right now. We're going to give that to him, but he'll need a room."

Stiles can't think of anything to say so he's silent for the rest of the ride home. They both got out of the car and went inside.

"I'd really appreciate your help, Stiles."

"I need to do my homework."

::::::::::::

Stiles felt guilty for giving his dad the cold shoulder for the past two days, but the thought of his mother's unfinished paintings collecting dust in the attic renews his anger. It just doesn't seem fair. His dad keeps trying to talk to him, but Stiles doesn't feel like listening.

The doorbell rang and the sheriff practically sprinted to answer it. Stiles lingered behind him, a bit curious in spite of himself. At first, Stiles couldn't see the kid, but when they all came in he finally got a good look.

Isaac looked small for his age, not that Stiles really knew for sure. His hair was in a fluff of brownish-blond curls and he was looking up at Stiles with nervous blue eyes. What really got to Stiles were all the bruises. Stiles wanted to be sick at the thought of someone bruising a four year old like that on purpose.

"Well, Isaac, let's get you settled into your new room," the sheriff said.

The social worker gave Isaac a nudge and they headed down the hallway. Stiles really didn't want to follow. He didn't want to have to see the bare walls and notice that the lingering floral smell was gone. He followed anyway.

The social worker was carrying a trash bag and when they got to Isaac's room, she emptied it onto the bed. Clothes and a few toys fell out. Stiles swallowed, realizing that probably everything Isaac owned had been in that trash bag.

Stiles could no longer keep up his disgruntled teenager façade. He had the overwhelming urge to hug his dad, but he held back. They were moving again, the social worker was getting ready to leave and listing off instructions to Stiles' dad. Isaac still hadn't said anything and Stiles started to wonder what the boy thought of all this. Stiles can't imagine being dropped off at a stranger's home.

Once the social worker was gone, both Stilinskis watched Isaac closely for a few moments. Isaac looked scared and confused, but he didn't cry so they took it as a good sign.

"Are you hungry, Isaac?" the sheriff asked. There was no reply so he added, "I can make spaghetti. Would you like that?" Isaac still didn't say anything.

Stiles and his dad exchanged a look. Neither of them knew how to handle this. After a while, the sheriff went to the kitchen and started cooking dinner. Stiles felt awkward just standing there so he went to his room. He could hear Isaac's soft footsteps behind him and out of the corner of his eye he saw the little boy go into his own room.

Stiles didn't have any homework left to do, so he just sat in his desk chair and leaned back. It didn't take long for him to get curious about what Isaac was doing. He tiptoed his way out into the hallway and peered through the doorway.

Isaac was sitting on the floor. He'd pulled a teddy bear from the pile on the bed and he had his arms wrapped around it. "Don't be scared, Percy," he whispered to the raggedy stuffed animal.

"What ya got there?" Stiles asked, trying not to startle Isaac but failing.

Isaac's eyes were wide and looked at Stiles like he wasn't quite sure if he should run or just stay still and hope to disappear. Stiles really didn't want to give the kid a heart attack, so he slowly walked into the room and crouched down on the floor so that he was close to eye level with Isaac, but stayed far enough away that Isaac didn't feel threatened.

"Is that your bear?" Stiles asked. Dumb question, but he wasn't sure what else to do. "I used to have one of those too." Stiles left out the fact that his teddy bear was actually still in his bed, hidden under some pillows.

Isaac looked a little less wary of Stiles. Even though the teenager had no idea what he was doing, he rolled with it. "Is your bear scared?" Stiles asked.

Isaac quickly nodded.

"Well…what's your bear's name?"

"Percy," Isaac whispered.

"Alright. Well, Percy," Stiles addressed the bear even though he felt ridiculous doing so, "it's OK to be scared, but nothing's going to hurt you here. My dad is really nice and so am I."

:::::::::::::

John's heart swelled with pride as he listened to Stiles interact with Isaac. It also ached a little bit. He wished that Mary could see their son now and he wished that they'd been able to give Stiles a little brother or sister. He tapped on the door frame and announced, "Dinner's ready."

The boys followed him to the dining room and sat down at the table. John smiled at the adorableness when Isaac had trouble reaching over the table. The problem was quickly remedied by a stack of old phone books.

Stiles had already dug into his food and John was about to go for his, when he glanced over at Isaac's plate and realized he'd forgotten to cut up the noodles. Without thinking, he reached over with his fork to fix it before Isaac made a mess. That turned out to be a mistake.

Isaac let out a heartbreaking yelp and jerked back as far as he could. John flushed with guilt. "Isaac, it's alright. I'm just cutting up your food for you. I used to do it for my son too."

Isaac was still shaking. John quickly chopped the noodles into smaller pieces and moved away to give Isaac his space.

"It's good, I promise," Stiles encouraged.

They finished the meal in silence. Isaac had stayed clean for the most part, but there were still smudges of red sauce on his cheeks. John was a bit nervous, especially after his earlier slip up, but he knew that part of the healing process was showing Isaac that there were adults he could trust.

"Stiles, do you mind clearing the table?" John asked.

"Sure," Stiles responded.

John was glad that Stiles seemed to have gotten over his anger at repurposing the extra bedroom. He saw compassion in his son's eyes and he knew that that was completely Mary's doing. Stiles stood up and carried away his plate.

"Isaac," John said. "I think we need to clean you up. Let's go get your clothes."

John offered his hand to Isaac, but the boy climbed down from his chair on his own. John went to Isaac's room and sifted through the pile on the bed. Most of the clothes were worn out and John made a mental note to go shopping for Isaac. He found a matching set of pajamas and a pair of underwear and tucked them under his arm.

"Alright, bath time," he said.

For reasons that John didn't want to think about, Isaac looked absolutely terrified, but the boy followed him anyway. John ran the bath water and Isaac stood silently near the door. John turned toward Isaac. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. He held out his hand, but Isaac didn't take it. The boy quickly shed his clothes and went toward the bathtub. John helped Isaac get in and winced at the scrapes and bruises, all at different stages of healing.

"Is the water OK?" John asked.

Isaac nodded and hugged his knees to his chest. John tried his best not to make Isaac flinch as he reached for the shampoo, but of course he failed.

"It's alright," John said, trying his best to sound soothing. Mary was always so much better with this sort of stuff. John was the fun parent, always able to make Stiles laugh, but Mary was the one that wiped away tears and chased away fears.

It was slow going, but John managed to get Isaac bathed without causing too much trauma. Isaac seemed relieved when he was dressed in his pajamas and John was able to help Isaac comb his hair and brush his teeth without any fearful reactions. John returned to Isaac's room and started to put away his clothes. Isaac played with his teddy bear quietly on the other side of the room.

John wasn't sure what to do. Stiles had been so different. He remembered his son at that age was like a blender set on high without a lid, constant chaos and excitement. Isaac was just so quiet and scared. John hoped that somehow that would change and that justice would be served. Though he wasn't on the case, John had stayed updated and he knew that the police now suspected that Sam Lahey had fled California.

When everything was put away, John turned to see that Isaac was just about ready to fall asleep right where he sat. "You ready for bed, champ?"

Isaac nodded sleepily and climbed up into the bed.

"Hey, I brought you something," Stiles said cheerfully from the doorway.

John easily recognized the book in his hand. After all, Stiles had been so in love with Where the Wild Things Are that John probably could have recited it from memory. However, Stiles didn't hand the book over. Instead, he sat at the foot of the bed and read the story to Isaac.

:::::::::::

"I'm proud of you, son," John said as soon as Stiles closed the door quietly behind him.

"Thanks, Dad," Stiles said. "I'm sorry for how I was before."

"It's alright," John replied.

"I was just scared you wanted to forget her."

"You know I could never do that."

Stiles sighed. "I remember she used to read that story to me at least six times a day."

John laughed. "Yeah and then I'd read it to you twice before you went to bed."

"Dad, Isaac was really hurt, wasn't he?"

John nodded solemnly. "Afraid so."

John was taken by surprise when Stiles hugged him tightly. "Dad, I love you."

::::::::::::

That night, Isaac dreamed of Wild Things. It was a nice dream at first. But then, things changed and Isaac was in a box. He scratched and scratched, but he didn't have claws. He couldn't get out.

::::::::::::

John rushed into the hallway when he heard Isaac cry out and Stiles was close behind him. They burst into Isaac's room and found that the child was still thrashing around in his sleep. John wrapped his arms around the boy and spoke gently to him. "It's over," he said. "It's alright now."

Stiles watched nervously at first, looking more and more concerned when Isaac just continued to shake and cry instead of waking up. Stiles could remember all too clearly the panic attacks he'd had and if Isaac was going through anything like that, then Stiles felt sorry for him. Finally Isaac's eyes popped open and he looked around the room wildly.

"It's alright now," the sheriff reassured.

Gradually, Isaac's tears slowed to a stop. Stiles grabbed the teddy bear from where it had fallen on the floor and handed it to the sniffling child. They all sat there in silence until Isaac fell asleep once again.

Please note that for this fic, I'll be taking requests. So if there's anything you'd like to see, let me know and I just might use it (:

Be kind, review.