A/N: So this is what happens when my Isaac/Daniel feelings explode all over my word documents. I just have a lot of feels, okay? There aren't enough fanfics for Isaac out there so I decided to take things into my own hands. I haven't written fanfiction in awhile; in fact, this is my first time writing Teen Wolf fan fiction and I'm not a completely obsessed Teen Wolf fan. Don't get me wrong, I freaking love the show and if It ever gets cancelled I will most definitely cry, but if I get the color of Scott's house wrong, don't judge me, okay? Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story. It's set in Season two. This chapter occurs right before 205 "Venomous." You would have figured that out later, but I thought it would be easier and would make more sense to you if you knew that now. I'm going to stop rambling now and let you read the story.

I don't even know why people bother with disclaimers on a site called "Fanfiction", but hey, why the hell not?

disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or anything affiliated with Teen Wolf. In case that wasn't obvious enough.

I bet Jeff Davis would write fan fiction on this website just so he can say in his disclaimer that he fricking does own teen wolf, because I would do that. Jeff and I are twins.

Rated M for language. Sorry to disappoint. You don't want to read my horrid smut anyways. Trust me on that one.

She had thought that the next time she would see Beacon Hills, she would be happier to return to her hometown. She gazed out the window shield, her eyes drifting to things other than the paved road. She remembered the small town better than she thought she would. The trees, the middle school, the town–it all looked the same. She probably would have been much happier to see the town if the circumstances surrounding her return weren't so unfortunate.

She took a quick left turn, cutting her reminiscence short. She stopped the car in front of a small, but nice house. She cut the engine and took a deep breath as she held the key in her hand. It was too late to go back in time, but it wasn't too late to run away. It wasn't too late to go to a new town and find a different family. Before she could begin to run away, she heard a tapping on her window. It was light, but she still jumped in her seat. Hands shaking she turned towards the window and saw the face of her mother-lightly smiling, in the same bittersweet way she always had when something went wrong. She returned the bittersweet smile and opened the door as her mother stepped away from the car door. She shut the door and stared at her mother. She looked much older than she had before. Her blonde hair was graying lightly at her hairline and her roots were turning dark. She had more wrinkles around her eyes, but she still looked like her mother. She brought her daughter into an embrace, her eyes glistening slightly. She stiffened, but soon relaxed into the hug. It felt good to know someone was there for her still. "It's good to see you, Clare," her mother said, still hugging her daughter.

"You too, mom," Clare replied, feeling a few of her own tears lingering on the edge of her eyelids. She hugged her mother tighter in hopes that it would help her keep herself under control. She didn't want to cry anymore. She had cried so much in the past two weeks, she felt like if she cried anymore she would never cry again. She could only hope.

They pulled back from each other. Clare had wiped her eyes, but her mother was weeping freely. Clare wished she wouldn't. It only made her want to cry more. Her mother, who had been quietly smiling at her daughter, suddenly shuddered and laughed slightly. "Enough crying!" she exclaimed, "Let's get you moved in." Clare nodded at her mother.

A few trips up the porch steps and the stairs, and Clare was moved back into her old room. Her mother was helping her unpack. Everything had been left exactly as it was when she was a little girl. It didn't exactly work for her anymore. With the green floral bedspread and the obnoxiously bright green butterfly wallpaper, it all felt very juvenile. She didn't mind as much as she thought she would. It was nice to feel like a kid again. She was happy then. She was carefree then.

"Alright," her mother said as she put away the last piece of folded clothing into the off-white dresser. "Looks like that's everything," she said, folding her hands in front of her. Clare sat on the edge of her bed and smiled lightly.

"Yup," Clare said with a sigh. "Thanks for the help, Mom," she said. Her mother nodded, wiping her hands awkwardly against her jeans. It was all very awkward. There hadn't been much talking when they were moving Clare back in. Neither really seemed to know what to say. The fakeness of whole thing really bothered her, but she didn't know how to be real with someone she hadn't seen in five years.

"Are you hungry?" her mother asked after a few moments of silence. Clare shrugged.

"A little," she admitted softly. Clare wasn't normally this soft-spoken. She usually couldn't stop herself from talking someone's ear off. But a lot of things had changed the past two weeks.

"I'll make something," her mother said warmly. "Why don't you go out and explore?" she suggested. "I'm sure you'd like to explore a little." She was right. Clare loved to explore. She had always been an adventurer. She had always been inquisitive and curious. Clare couldn't deny she was curious about a very specific something, or rather, a very specific someone.

She had thought about it for a moment before she answered. "Yes," she said decidedly, "I would like that." She smiled that same light smile at her mother before getting up. "I'll be back in an hour or so?" she asked. Her mother nodded.

"That's fine, Honey," she said. Clare smiled and went to walk past her, but her mother stopped her and once again enveloped her daughter in a hug. "I'm really sorry Clare," she said, sounding as if she might cry again. Clare wrapped her arms around her mother's waist.

"Mom, it's not your fault," Clare said. God she hated this. She hated crying. She hated the guilt. After all, they were both at fault. Clare didn't blame her mother, but she definitely blamed herself. It seemed that her mother felt the same. She pulled back. "I love you, okay?" she said, looking into her mother's watery eyes. She nodded. Clare gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll see you in a hour," she told her. She nodded again. She kissed Clare on the cheek and smiled. They stepped away from each other and Clare grabbed her purse. She walked out of the house and shut the door behind her. She took a big breath of air, feeling like she could finally relax. She loved her mom, but she just needed to clear her head. There was too much going on, too many emotions flowing through her. She just wanted to forget everything and be herself again.

That was why she decided to walk. Her destination wasn't that far anyway. She left her silver Honda civic behind and strolled down the sidewalk. It was a warm Saturday Afternoon in Mid March. It was rare that a warm day occurred in March in Beacon Hills. She felt the warmth of the sun on her skin despite the clouds. It was a little chilly, but she had always been accustomed to the cold. She breathed in the fresh smell of the pine trees and didn't miss the city. It was such a contrast from Philadelphia. She would readily admit that Beacon Hills was superior. Hands in her pockets, she walked along the sidewalk, paying attention to the street signs, hoping she could remember the way. She came upon a street called "Bleu" and felt that this was the correct one. She turned onto it and after a few short minutes of walking she was standing in front of his house. She wasn't sure exactly what she would say. She wasn't sure he would even speak to her. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't. She had cut all ties when she left. Not by choice, but it wouldn't have been smart of her to attempt to stay in touch with her old friends. They would have just stopped talking anyway. In fact, maybe it was better this way. Maybe they could start over this way.

Before she even realized what had happened, she was standing on his porch, knuckles against the door. She knocked. There came no answer. She moved over to look into the windows. The house was dark, but she could see the remnants of what had been her best friends house. Everything seemed to trashed and torn. Pieces of glass and debris scattered the hardwood floor. She began to panic. What had happened? Where did he go?

Clare stepped away from the house and looked around. After a moment she spotted a figure across the street. She cocked her head and squinted at the man. She stepped off the porch and walked towards him. Was that–no it couldn't be–"Jackson?" she called out to him as he stood next to his Porsche. It looked like he was going somewhere. She was in the middle of the street by the time he lifted his head to look at her. He seemed annoyed by her presence and sized her up, looking at her up and down. He didn't say anything for a moment as he too squinted in confusion. "Clare? Clare Lane? What are you doing here?" He said out of confusion.

She wasn't particularly fond of his tone, but she answered him nonetheless. "I was looking for–" she began, but Jackson cut her off.

"You're looking for Lahey, huh?" Jackson said with a spiteful laugh. "You two were always little freaky friends," Jackson said it with another laugh. Clare narrowed her eyes. She had become unaccustomed to Jackson's personality since the years had passed, but she was beginning to remember he was always this unpleasant. "Sorry, but Isaac Lahey doesn't live here anymore," he said with a shrug.

Clare furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean? Where did he go?" she persisted, but Jackson seemed bored with the conversation. He rolled his eyes and stepped into his car, ignoring her. Her eyes narrowed. She stomped towards his car door and knocked on his window. He reluctantly rolled it down.

"Watch the glass, okay? I just had it cleaned," he scolded. "Look, it's a long story that I don't have time for. Why not ask a loser who has more time on their hands? Try Stilinski. God knows he's not doing anything on Saturday night," Jackson rushed, beginning to back up his car before Clare could get a word in. He skidded away, leaving Clare alone in his driveway, fuming. That wasn't exactly how she had wanted to be greeted back into Beacon Hills.

After a moment of picturing Jackson Whittemore lying on the floor with broken nose, she decided she would take up his offer and go see Stiles. He would have been her second stop anyway. She wished Jackson was a kinder person and had offered her a ride, but alas he was not. Stiles' house was too far for her to walk there, so she would have to return to her car. She figured she would have time if she walked. It had only been about twenty minutes. She was less concerned about time and more about whether all of her friends had up and disappeared or if that was only Isaac. Perhaps the town had changed more than she thought.

Her walk back to the car was less enjoyable. She had taken a wrong turn somewhere and had been lost for much longer than she should have been gone. Her mother was probably worried about her. It was starting to get dark, and if she was being honest, Clare was starting to worry about herself. She supposed that Beacon Hills still had its "mountain lion" problem. She wasn't very keen on running into one of those on her walk home.

The sun was about to set when she seemed to magically appear on her street. She had never been more grateful about small towns' streets that went in circles. Walking up the porch steps she placed a hand on the door handle and looked towards the street with a disappointed sigh. She had really wanted to see some of her friends that afternoon. She just wanted to laugh again and be around people that made her forget what a terrible two weeks it had been. But she looked away from the street and stepped into the warmth of her house.

Immediately her nostrils filled with the sweet smell of mashed potatoes, grilled chicken, and asparagus. She thought she also smelled a hint of her mother's famous peanut butter and chocolate cake that Clare so adored. She was overwhelmed by the smell. It reminded her of this home and all the memories she had in it. Her mother making them delicious dinners, playing hide and seek with her friends, playing catch with her dad in the backyard–Clare stopped the rush of memories abruptly. She kicked off her converse and walked into the kitchen with a smile on her face. Her mother, clad in the floral patterned apron Clare had sent her for her birthday two years previously, was plating the dinner Clare had smelled onto bright blue ceramic plates. She looked up at Clare as she finished placing the asparagus. "Hey, Honey," she said warmly as she went to retrieve the pot of potatoes. "How was your walk?" she asked as she plopped scoops of potatoes onto both plates.

Clare shrugged as she seated herself at the counter. "It was alright," She admitted. "I was hoping to see more of my friends," she finished, as her mother placed her dinner plate in front of her. Clare muttered a 'thanks' to her mother. "I guess things have changed here," she said, looking up at her mother. This statement seemed more meaningful than how it appeared. Her mother attempted to read her teenage daughters' face for the deeper meaning, but she quickly averted her eyes, not wanting to address what her daughter was asking. She shrugged and stayed silent.

Nina Lane was many things. She was kind and thoughtful. She was always worried about things. She thought of others sinfully more than herself. She was a great cook. She was a great mother. But she had her secrets and things that she didn't like even her daughter to know. Unfortunately, one thing that Nina Lane was not: a liar. So, many years ago when her daughter had gotten involved in these secrets that Nina hadn't wanted to share, she didn't lie to her daughter. She told Clare the whole story and it wasn't long after that Clare and her father disappeared. Nina didn't want to lie to her daughter, but she had learned her lesson five years earlier to keep her secrets within herself.

There was little conversation after this. It seemed that neither Clare nor Nina wanted to discuss the changes that had occurred since Clare's last visit. Nina didn't have the heart to tell her daughter what had happened to her friends Scott and Isaac. She couldn't force herself to load on anymore emotional baggage on Clare. They made small talk through dinner and dessert, which Clare very much enjoyed. She didn't expect to reconnect with her mother immediately, but the home cooked meal and her favorite dessert was enough to set her more at ease.

She helped her mother wash up and then she swiftly went to bed. After her walk, the jet lag was catching up to her. She curled up in her girlish floral sheets and slept soundly until noon the next day. When she awoke, she found a note from her mother on her bedside table. It read: Went to the restaurant this morning will be back at 5. Breakfast's in the fridge. Love, Mom (: Clare yawned as she set the note down and got up out of bed. Stretching, she realized she had slept in her clothes. She changed into a new pair of light wash jeans and a tee shirt. She tied her hair up in a messy topknot before venturing downstairs to eat her breakfast.

Stepping down the stairs and into the kitchen, her hand flew to the fridge. Opening it she saw a plate of cooked ham, French toast, and assorted fruits. With a smile she took out the plate and placed it in the microwave for 30 seconds before chowing down. Her mother was really too good to her. Food may have been the way to a man's heart, but Clare would never leave if her mother continued to make her such great meals. Clare was sure the meals would get more infrequent as time went on. Her mother was a busy woman.

As she finished her breakfast, Clare decided that she would go see Stiles that afternoon. She was really desperate for some company and a familiar face. She hoped at least Stiles hadn't changed. If Jackson was any indication, she was sure he hadn't. She really hoped he would know something about Isaac. She was dying to see him. Stiles and Scott had always been her friends, but Isaac was always her best friend. She hadn't spoken to any of them since she had left, but she was so anxious about Isaac, he was really at the top of her priorities list. She had to know if he was all right. Her mind began to wander to "mountain lions" and people who killed "mountain lions." She only hoped that Isaac hadn't been a casualty in the quiet war that had been waging last time she was in Beacon Hills. She was sure that wasn't that case. He must have just moved or something.

Clare cleaned her dish, brushed her teeth, threw on some shoes, and grabbed her keys. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on her way out. Her dirty blonde hair was quite a mess, but she looked rested; not even a hint of a dark circle was underneath her green eyes. Her freckles, as obvious as they had always been, still bothered her, but she decided that Stiles wouldn't mind her appearance. Stiles had never been the type to worry much about appearances. It was something he always hoped Lydia Martin would look past. Clare wondered if she ever had.

Moments later, Clare was seated in her car, trying to remember the way to Stiles' house. She trusted herself to find it and not get lost, so she started the engine and followed her instincts. It was different remembering the way to his house from a car instead of a bike, but after about twenty minutes, Clare found Stiles' house.

Parked outside was a faded light blue Jeep that Clare could only hope was Stiles'. It seemed like that kind of car he would drive. In fact, as she parked her car on the side of the street and stepped out, she decided it would have been odd to see the hyperactive boy driving anything but the quirky blue Jeep that matched him so nicely.

Her nerves had begun to rise as she stepped out of the car. What if her didn't remember her? Jackson barely did. Clare had been gone for such a long time and she hadn't spoken to any of her friends. She then started to wonder whether Stiles would even want to talk to her. She hadn't thought of that. She should have contacted them no matter what her dad said. She didn't want Stiles to reject her and send her away. She just couldn't take that after all that she'd been through. Her heart was beating quickly. She was astonished at how nervous she was. She didn't like being this way. She hoped nervous, quiet Clare was only a temporary version of herself and that it would fade as time passed. She didn't want to be like this forever. She hoped Stiles could pull her old self out of this shell encasing it.

Clare had made it up the porch when she gave a hesitant knock on the wooden door. She heard a crash, and then footsteps, some grumbling, and a few moments later the door flew open to reveal a much older, taller, cuter Stiles Stilinski. She wanted to cry as she saw him, standing there in his loose jeans, white socks, and red plaid flannel. He was definitely the same Stiles she had left there in Beacon Hills. He looked at her for a moment before he seemed to recognize her. She stood there with a nervous smile on her face. She attempted to get out a 'Hey Stiles', but taller boy attacked her in a hug before she could speak.

"Clare!" he exclaimed. He immediately eased Clare. She hugged him back and tightly. It was so nice to see a familiar face. She smiled a true smile for the first time in two weeks. After a few moments he pulled back and held her by the shoulders at arms length. He looked at her up and down, a smile lingering on his face. "Well look at you, pulling off the disheveled teenager look with adorable ease," he said with a chuckle.

"Have been since 2006," she said with a grin. He laughed at her before practically pulling her into his house. She noticed a stack of books on the ground in the living room. She guessed that was the crash she heard. Stiles led her into the living room, picking up the stack of books off the ground. Clare noticed that among them was a book entitled Criaturas, an old yearbook, and a chem. book. She sat herself down on his couch as he placed the stack on the table. He looked at her, noticing her raised eyebrow paired with an inquisitive smirk. Stiles laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm as graceful as ever!" he said, referring to his knocking down of the stack. Clare laughed at him. Stiles then took a seat across from her in a faded blue armchair.

"So tell me, where has Clare Lane been the past five years?" he asked, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs.

Clare shrugged the question off. She had been expecting this when she saw her old friends. She had been expecting them to ask questions and wonder where the hell she had been. Some of them probably thought she died. This didn't make her anymore eager to answer these questions. She didn't want to talk about why she left or her dad, she just wanted to hear about their lives and do some mindless lacrosse playing like they used to.

"Philadelphia. It was really boring. Like, if you multiplied the boringness of Beacon Hills by twenty," she replied. It was well known that Beacon Hills was a sleepy town when "mountain lions" weren't running amuck. Being that her mother was still in one piece, she assumed things had quieted down.

Stiles' face had a hint of guilt as he shrugged and pursed his lips. "I mean–you know–its been SUPER boring. Like you shoulda' been here, Clare. Like there was definitely NO drama since you've been gone," Stiles stumbled out, his face betraying him. Stiles had never been a very good liar.

Clare laughed. "Sure," she dragged on. "What drama have I missed?" Clare asked, her eyes shining with curiosity.

Stiles blew a puff of air out of his mouth as he shrugged, racking his brain for something other than what had been actually happening. "Scott!" he said suddenly, more suddenly than he had wanted to. "Scott got this girlfriend Allison," Stiles said, smiling as if he was pleased with himself. "They're like, crazy 'in love'," Stiles said, using a crafty coupling of air quotations and an eye roll. "And there there's Jackson and Lydia," Stiles said this with bitterness.

"Still obsessed with Lydia?" Clare had to laugh. She should have known that Stiles would never change. Stiles frowned and pointed a warning finger at her as he sat up slightly.

"I resent that!" he exclaimed before continuing. "And then Erica and Isaac–" Clare stopped him.

"Wait, where's Isaac? Do him and Erica have a thing now?" Clare couldn't stop herself from interrupting him. Her desperation to see if Isaac was okay overflowed as Stiles said his name. He seemed taken aback by her sudden interjection. "I mean not that I care," she muttered, relaxing a little.

"I–umm, well," Stiles started, gathering himself. He shifted in the chair and looked at Clare softly now. Stiles of all people knew how close her and Isaac had been. Stiles uncrossed his legs and rested his hands in between them, leaning forward. "Well, you see, Isaac's had a rough couple of weeks."

A/N: Commenters get cupcakes!

- Dani