SELECT chapter 11 ↵ FROM union all

He'd tried to draw a line about the bed. Tried to. He liked privacy. Preferred it. Craved it. Stiles had secrets, and having someone in his space was fucking with his head already. So he tried to draw a line about sharing a bed.

But Isaac Lahey simply stared at him, nodded as if he understood, and completely ignored him. Stiles had been woken over and over to arms or hands touching him. He'd never liked sleeping in the same bed as someone else, and his nerves wouldn't really let him do it comfortably.

He'd have to lock the kid out.

Except. There had been Isaac's nightmares. And Stiles had been the one to have to calm them, because they were silent night mares, the kind that crept in and sat on your chest and watched you slowly suffocate. So he couldn't. Not really. Not with the weight of his own guilts keeping his mouth shut.

The first time he woke to the bed shivering and golden eyes blankly staring on a silent fanged scream. It had burrowed deep in Stiles' mind to become a nightmare of his own. Because it wasn't just the overwhelming situation, the kid was also dealing with the change. It wasn't easy like Scott's had been, his body shifting and morphing with the untold fears arcing through him like lightning.

He'd had to reach out to that frightened wolf and hope it wouldn't take his head off. Stiles' had to bring the kid in close and tuck his face into Stiles' neck and grit his teeth at the quiet sobs that would rack the other teen's body. Isaac didn't wail, didn't make noise when he cried. Even with fangs, he'd bite his lips and hold his breath as his lungs shuddered in spasms of grief and fear.

It was frightening. So Stiles didn't kick Isaac out of his bed. He let the pup curl around him and breathed through the roiling, coiling, uncomfortable sensation of it and tried to sleep.