[ The curly haired teenager can feel his heart jump into his throat when Castiel places a hand on him. Derek had said smiting was a thing Angels do, and that sounds exactly like something he doesn't want to happen to him. Focusing on their words is a bit too much for him, especially when Castiel's scent of sterilization and ozone mixes with scent of rot, of blood, of decay and grime that cover him and Allison. It's a literal godsend, and he doesn't hesitate to breathe it in this time, trying to use it to mask the other scent, get it out of his nostrils, out of his memory. It is by far the weirdest experience he's had aside from the bite and the way his body healed after his dad attacked him.
Allison is there and he trusts her judgement, and Castiel had said he tries to help. So far everything the Angel had said, it's all been true. There's something about the other that makes him want to trust him. He can feel his body fighting less and less to repair itself, to fight off what it had been trying to purge. At first, it's a scary thought, but then it makes sense, Castiel is helping him like he'd implored. Isaac cannot help but be thankful for the clear lungs and the feeling that he'd been hit by a bus disappearing. Baby blues try to watch, they try to squint past the blinding light that Castiel seems to be controlling, but it's too bright for Isaac's eyes and in the end he deems that it is not worth it by pressing them shut completely.
The fact that Castiel tries to do more than he really is expected, than what most would do - Isaac respects that. He'd answered the prayer of a stranger asking for help. It's the same trait that Scott has that earned his trust. Doing the right thing and showing kindness is something Isaac respects beyond all else. He knows what it's like to be devoid of both of those things. He knows what it's like to be angry at the world and lack morals, to be ignored and hated. Years of his father looking at him like he was the biggest mistake in his life, beating him as if he could just get rid of him and make Isaac hate his existence so much he'd just stop.
Then there were the days at school when he'd go in with a black eye, a busted lip, anything to show what his father had done. There would be whispers, rude names, but no one really cared more than to call him a "freak." If it wasn't happening to them, if they weren't getting hurt, it was not their problem.
No one cared that the boy that would pick up pencils they dropped, or subtly make it so they could see the answers to the pop test in mathematics, or even the boy that tried to help whenever he could, no one cared that there would be long periods of time where he just wouldn't come to school. They wouldn't even care to think what if his dad had gone too far? What if it wasn't broken bones or fingernails broken, bloody and raw from trying to scratch his way out of a freezer his father decided to stuff him in keeping him from going to class. It'd made him spiteful, and wary to trust anyone but unlike Derek, he couldn't bring himself to focus on the hatred; in Isaac's opinion not everyone could be so uncaring.
When it's done, he registers Castiel moving away to brace himself, and Allison asks the question that he is questioning himself: Castiel, are you okay? His fingers twitch as he feels the new limb. Castiel hadn't just helped him heal, fight off what was threatening to take his life -- he'd given him his arm back. ]
Yeah. I can. [ Even if the words are a bit breathless, they're an answer to Allison's question, an answer that is punctuated by him pressing his hand over hers to nuzzle into it slightly. First he looks up at her trying to reinforce the idea that he's not going to die or become one of those things this is cut short by him turning his gaze to Castiel. What does one even begin to say? ] Thank you. [ #NailedIt. There's the odd wish that he could do more, offer something in return, but the only thing he's good at is taking pain and being overly protective. ]
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Allison is there and he trusts her judgement, and Castiel had said he tries to help. So far everything the Angel had said, it's all been true. There's something about the other that makes him want to trust him. He can feel his body fighting less and less to repair itself, to fight off what it had been trying to purge. At first, it's a scary thought, but then it makes sense, Castiel is helping him like he'd implored. Isaac cannot help but be thankful for the clear lungs and the feeling that he'd been hit by a bus disappearing. Baby blues try to watch, they try to squint past the blinding light that Castiel seems to be controlling, but it's too bright for Isaac's eyes and in the end he deems that it is not worth it by pressing them shut completely.
The fact that Castiel tries to do more than he really is expected, than what most would do - Isaac respects that. He'd answered the prayer of a stranger asking for help. It's the same trait that Scott has that earned his trust. Doing the right thing and showing kindness is something Isaac respects beyond all else. He knows what it's like to be devoid of both of those things. He knows what it's like to be angry at the world and lack morals, to be ignored and hated. Years of his father looking at him like he was the biggest mistake in his life, beating him as if he could just get rid of him and make Isaac hate his existence so much he'd just stop.
Then there were the days at school when he'd go in with a black eye, a busted lip, anything to show what his father had done. There would be whispers, rude names, but no one really cared more than to call him a "freak." If it wasn't happening to them, if they weren't getting hurt, it was not their problem.
No one cared that the boy that would pick up pencils they dropped, or subtly make it so they could see the answers to the pop test in mathematics, or even the boy that tried to help whenever he could, no one cared that there would be long periods of time where he just wouldn't come to school. They wouldn't even care to think what if his dad had gone too far? What if it wasn't broken bones or fingernails broken, bloody and raw from trying to scratch his way out of a freezer his father decided to stuff him in keeping him from going to class. It'd made him spiteful, and wary to trust anyone but unlike Derek, he couldn't bring himself to focus on the hatred; in Isaac's opinion not everyone could be so uncaring.
When it's done, he registers Castiel moving away to brace himself, and Allison asks the question that he is questioning himself: Castiel, are you okay? His fingers twitch as he feels the new limb. Castiel hadn't just helped him heal, fight off what was threatening to take his life -- he'd given him his arm back. ]
Yeah. I can. [ Even if the words are a bit breathless, they're an answer to Allison's question, an answer that is punctuated by him pressing his hand over hers to nuzzle into it slightly. First he looks up at her trying to reinforce the idea that he's not going to die or become one of those things this is cut short by him turning his gaze to Castiel. What does one even begin to say? ] Thank you. [ #NailedIt. There's the odd wish that he could do more, offer something in return, but the only thing he's good at is taking pain and being overly protective. ]