Isaac leaned forward in the seat of the backhoe, gently poking at the bruising around his eye. His dad wasn't usually so careless as to leave a visible mark of his disdain for his son, but sometimes his anger got the best of him. As if he wasn't always angry. Isaac's dad was the angriest person he'd ever met. It wasn't so bad after his mom died years ago, because his dad had gone more toward the depressed side of the spectrum. Isaac thought that was horrible, because who wanted to see their father hurt so much? But that was cake compared to how his father was now, after he'd lost one of his sons. The one with potential. The one who would follow in his father's footsteps and make him proud. Isaac missed his brother, sure, but they had never been that close. Camden was more about friends and partying than he ever was about spending time with his lame younger brother. But now that it was just the two of them left, there was nothing to stop the constant fury from flowing out of his father.

He wasn't even sure what set him off this time, if there was even a reason. Maybe it had something to do with all the press that was going to be descending down on the cemetery his dad ran, with the VIP corpse that was scheduled to be buried there soon. It wasn't Isaac's fault that his dad did the bare minimum to keep this place looking nice. Which is why he was digging this grave in the middle of the night, so he wouldn't be in the way of the extra groundskeepers who were coming in to try to get this place camera ready. But even if Isaac didn't want to be here, he was still going to do a good job. He didn't know the circumstances around the death, but he would be just as careful for anyone, from the richest to the poorest.

Isaac was just about to dig a little deeper when a strange sound caught his attention. It was loud enough to get past the sounds coming from his ear buds even, so he pulled them out to see if he could figure out what it was. After working around death for so long, he was pretty used to being here at night. Isaac had real things to be afraid of, instead of the possibility of ghosts.

He moved the machine, trying to turn the light as much as he could to illuminate the space. Of course his dad never sprung for proper lighting, since he cut corners like it was an art form. All Isaac could rely on was this giant vehicle that wasn't really made to be a flashlight. He caught the glimpse of what looked like a hand curling around a headstone, but it looked wrong. Isaac stared at the spot in concentration, waiting for the mysterious creature to make another appearance. He couldn't turn away now and let the thing sneak up on him.

Well, that was the plan. But when something was running at his side a few seconds later, Isaac didn't really have time to wonder how it moved around so fast unnoticed, since he was too busy falling into the open grave he'd just dug. He landed on his shoulder with a thud, barely covering his face as broken glass rained down on him. When he was finally convinced nothing was going to fall further and crush him, he uncurled from his position to look around. There was still a little light coming from the machine above him, but it wasn't much. Isaac had to tell himself that he wasn't trapped, wasn't in the freezer. He could still see the sky and feel the breeze. Those things didn't exist in the basement.

Isaac peeked over the edge of the grave, thankful that he wasn't finished digging and that he was tall. He saw those same hands throwing dirt out of another grave like an animal would. Isaac ducked down again trying to get his brain to figure out what he was seeing. Whatever it was looked human, but not. The best course of action was to just wait until that thing was gone and then scoot his way out of here. This wasn't one of those teen shows where the kids solved crimes in their spare time and still got straight A's at school. If some drugged out person wanted to steal Aunt Bea's pearl necklace, they could have at it. It wasn't worth dying over.

When the sounds finally stopped and it stayed quiet for a good five minutes, Isaac decided it was a good time to try peeking out again. It was only in the horror movies where he'd be met with the face of the monster as soon as he looked out, right? As quietly as he could, he stood from his protective ball, and moved to the edge of the grave again. There was nothing out there, as far as he could tell. Isaac breathed a sigh of relief, resting his forehead on his arm for a moment. Now was as good of a time as any, although maybe he should just die down here instead, save his dad the effort of having to kill him after he saw what happened to his equipment.

He reached his hands up, grasping at the ground surrounding the grave, but he couldn't get enough leverage with the space and angle he had. The machine was sitting too close to the ground and Isaac just couldn't get his body in the right position to pull himself out. He threw a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the whimper of fear that was trying to burst out. There was no reason to panic. The sun would be up in a few hours and someone would come save him. This wasn't even as bad as what he was used to. Except there was always the possibility of that thing coming back for him. It had to know he was trapped down here.

Maybe he could call someone? He wouldn't call his dad, because that would just piss him off, being woken up in the middle of the night. And he'd probably end up leaving him there and canceling the workers from coming in the morning, just to mess with him. Isaac didn't have any friends to call, so that option was out too. All that was left was the police, but that even seemed better than doing nothing, even though he hadn't had too much luck with them in the past. He dug his phone out of his pocket, resigned to making the call, when he noticed the giant crack down the middle of the screen.

"No, no, no!" Isaac mumbled, shaking the little device that was supposed to be his savior. He must've landed on it when he fell into the hole. Now that all of his options were gone, he couldn't stop the panic from taking over. He wanted to scream for help, but he didn't want the monster coming back. Isaac paced the small space, trying to regain his breaths from the gasps they'd turned into.

This stupid life and his stupid family. What had he done to deserve all this? He saw all the people around school treating others like trash and then going home to privilege and loving families. Isaac didn't need much, but all he got was shit somehow. All he wanted was one good thing in his life, one bit of light in the all consuming darkness. But all he got was himself stuck in a grave he'd dug himself. That was a saying, right?

Isaac couldn't stop the laughter that was bubbling up, because this was too much. This was so like him to die in a hole, but he'd thought it would be his father throwing him in. His laughter turned hysterical before it transitioned into full sobs, making him sink down to the ground on jello legs. He needed to get out.


Stiles kicked at a rock, muttering under his breath about Argent drama. He, Scott, and Allison were supposed to be out searching for Lydia together, but after a call from Allison's mother, threatening hellfire if she didn't get home within the hour, Scott had borrowed the jeep and dropped him on the side of the road to get Allison home in time. So what if their daughter was dating a werewolf? It wasn't like Scott did anything to deserve their ire. As far as he saw it, their family had the blood on their hands, not Scott. Scott hadn't killed anyone. Kate had killed kids.

So now Stiles was wandering around the woods alone, trying to follow a nonexistent trail to find Lydia. If he'd been allowed in her room, maybe she wouldn't have disappeared? It wasn't like he would've been in the bathroom with her, but he might've heard whatever caused her to take off. He just wanted to find her, because she shouldn't have been in this position in the first place. Damn Peter Hale, biting teenagers with reckless abandon. Stiles wasn't the type to wish death on people, but he and Kate had gotten what was coming to them.

The woods finally opened up to the cemetery and Stiles couldn't quite suppress his shiver as he stepped onto the grounds. It wasn't like he was afraid to be here, since he spent enough time over the years visiting his mother, but it wasn't usually in the middle of the night on his own. He usually had the sun on his side, instead of the moon. And he would never look at the moon the same way again, not after these past few weeks with Scott.

Stiles shook off those thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. He had his wits and he had his bat. That was all he needed. Stiles stuck to the edge of the treeline at first, since it would be easier to see over the expanse of the graveyard while still keeping himself from being completely out in the open. This would've been so much easier with a super sniffer by his side. Maybe he should call Derek? Yeah, that would probably go over as well as calling Chris Argent would.

The sound of breathing snapped him out of his musings, making him crouch down with his bat held tightly over his shoulder, ready to strike. Is this how he wanted to find Lydia though? Looking like he wanted to bash her brains in? That wouldn't help their relationship progress, that's for sure. He heard the sound again, but it was louder than normal breathing. This was more like crying.

Stiles sprinted forward, forgetting self preservation, which was kind of his norm. If she was crying, she might be hurt. He couldn't stand the idea of her being hurt a second longer than she had to. He turned a corner, seeing a big piece of equipment sitting on its side. Lydia couldn't do that, could she? That's where the sound was coming from though, as far as he could tell.

"Lydia?" Stiles called cautiously, bringing the bat back up. If there was someone holding her here, he needed to be ready.

"Hello?" a timid voice responded. One decidedly male and not Lydia. Was this a trap? "Is someone there? Help me, please!" Unless they were a very good actor, that was the sound of someone who was completely terrified. Still, he couldn't just rush into danger. Oh who was he kidding, yes he could. He ran over in a weird crab run that would impress anyone who played shooter games, keeping his eyes open for any hidden traps.

The machine was wrecked, tipped over in a way that wasn't easily explained. If they had another rogue werewolf issue on their hands, he was going to lose his mind. They just finished with their last one.

"Who's down there?" Stiles asked, deepening his voice so he'd sound older and more intimidating. He really just sounded like he had a frog in his throat, but whatever.

"My name's Isaac. I work here," the scared voice said. Okay, so the bad guys didn't usually introduce themselves and if they did, it was typically with a name like Bob or Jim, so this may be legit.

"Let me get my light out," Stiles said, fumbling with his phone. He flicked on the flashlight, shining it down into the hole until he reached the dirty, tear streaked face of his mysterious companion. A vaguely familiar face. "Isaac?"

"Yeah?" the boy mumbled, shielding his eyes from the beam of light.

"Sorry, I have terrible flashlight etiquette.," Stiles laughed, tilting the light a bit to the side. "You go to Beacon Hills, right? And play lacrosse? I feel like we've warmed a bench together a time or two."

"Uh, yeah," Isaac responded, lowering his hand back down.

"Oh, you probably have no idea who I am, since I just blinded you. It's Stiles, you know, of the dynamic duo of Scott and Stiles. Although, who decided my name comes second? I guess it sounds better that way, but it might just be a trick due to familiarity," Stiles babbled, tapping his phone against his knee.

"Um, could you help me get out please?" Isaac asked, taking in a shaky breath. Jeez, Stiles was such a dick.

"Oh my God, of course! I'm so sorry. What's the problem? How can I help?" Stiles stammered, looking around for the solution to this problem.

"The opening is too narrow for me to get out on my own. I think if you can pull my hands a bit, I'll be able to slide out," Isaac explained, his voice getting a little stronger now that the possibility of rescue was looking more likely.

"Shit man, I've got the upper body strength of a toddler," Stiles moaned, rolling up his sleeves. "I can just call my dad and he'll have people out here in no time."

"Please, can we at least try? Please, please, I don't even know how long I've been down here, but I can't take it anymore," Isaac begged, quickly losing any bit of control he'd built up.

"Yeah, of course!" Stiles gasped, forgetting his weakness for the time being. Someone needed him and he was going to give it all he had. "Just put your hands through and I'll start pulling." They both wiped their hands off on their pants, trying to give themselves the best chance at success. Stiles set his phone down so the beam was facing up, illuminating the space around them a little. He was definitely going to start training after this, since he seemed to find himself in situations like this a lot more often these days.

"Are you ready?" Isaac asked, stepping up to the edge of the grave.

"Let's do this. Teamwork makes the dream work," Stiles replied, sitting down on his butt with his feet braced against the sides of the downed metal beast. Isaac stuck his arms through, looking insanely big in this tight spot. Stiles remembered him being on the tall side of the height spectrum, which was going to be a big disadvantage in a situation like this. Nothing they could do about that though. Stiles put his hands under Isaac's wrists, gripping them as tightly as he could. "Ready, go!"

With a yell of exertion, Stiles pulled as he felt Isaac trying to find purchase with his feet from the inside. Isaac had to keep his head tucked to the side in what looked like a horrible angle, but Stiles wasn't about to stop now. Inch by painful inch they made progress, with Stiles alternating between pulling and just anchoring Isaac so he wouldn't slide back. Stiles' butt was wet and frozen at this point, but it just fueled him on. If he was this uncomfortable after only a few minutes, he could just imagine how Isaac felt all alone in the ground.

"I think I can pull myself out once my shoulders are clear!" Isaac wheezed, letting the side of his face drag against the ground as it came out of the hole. Damn Isaac and his deceptively broad shoulders and chest. He carried himself like someone much slighter, but there was real muscle in there. Stiles probably could have slid out of this spot like the pool noodle he was.

"Almost!" Stiles panted as soon as Isaac's whole head was out. Just a little bit more and Stiles would be able to grab under his armpits and pull. Is this what delivery room doctors felt like? "So close, so close." And then suddenly there were two big, beautiful shoulders visible and Stiles laughed. Isaac pulled his hands free, digging them into the dirt. With a shout he started dragging himself, now that he had full use of his arms. It was like a triumphant Shawshank moment.

The second Isaac's feet were clear, he scrambled a few yards away from his former prison. Stiles couldn't really blame him. The fear of being buried alive wasn't really something he thought about often, but when presented with the possibility, it shined in its full horrifying glory. This was pure nightmare fuel.

"Thank you," Isaac sniffled, trying to find a clean patch of clothing to wipe his face off with. His entire front was covered in dirt from that drag he just went through. Stiles quickly stripped off his outer layer, scooting over to offer it to the other boy. Isaac just stared at it like he wasn't sure what to do with it, so Stiles turned it inside out and used the clean inner material to carefully wipe at his face. Isaac was frozen, looking too shocked to put up a fight against the unusually intimate gesture. Stiles wasn't sure why he was doing it, but it looked like Isaac could really use a soft touch.

"Ouch, did you get that bruise from the fall?" Stiles asked, wincing as his jacket uncovered the discoloration. That question finally snapped Isaac out of his daze and he pulled back, looking away from Stiles' stare.

"I guess," Isaac murmured. Stiles immediately knew he was lying. Even without the evasive nature of his answer, contrary to what Mr. Harris may think, he wasn't an idiot. Stiles knew it took longer than a few hours to develop a bruise like that, so unless Isaac was in the hole for a day, he'd already had that bruise before this ordeal.

"How did this even happen?" Stiles asked, putting the black eye aside for now.

"I don't know. One minute I'm digging the hole and the next, I'm in it. Something pushed the machine over while I was on it," Isaac mumbled, staring at the upturned machine in slight shock.

"Something?" Stiles prodded.

"What's even strong enough to do something like this?" Isaac asked, darting his eyes around the empty space. Stiles sighed, running his hand down his face. He had a pretty good idea of what this could be.