►Can I Pose A Question?◄

[algidity]

Who: Isaac & You!
Where: Mostly the jail but he'll also be outside at some point.
When: Zombie Event!
Rating: R; Violence, mutilation, cursing, death, mentions of abuse.
Summary: Catch-all for the event, we do not need prior plans if you want to tag in, just try to be mindful of current plans please and thank you!
The Story:

[ There will be day summaries in top comments in here, try to find the one that best fits what you want to do if you haven't plotted with me! Please and thank you <3 Bless bless. For those of you I have plotted with I'm gonna do Starters in the proper days.

The first day is going to go by a little bit better than the days afterwards, after day one is when it's gonna get pretty gruesome and also Isaac's mental stability is quickly going to be deteriorating until the final day when he gets bit. ]

Comments

⤷Allison

[algidity]

[ The pain had knocked him out, he couldn't take it anymore. Of course the pain is what wakes him up again, and it's sort of like going to bed while you're getting sick, you think you feel like crap, then the next morning it's like you swallowed razor blades. His arm hurts so bad, well, what's left of it. It takes him a moment to realize that he's in a bed, or the sad excuse the cells have for beds. When ice blue eyes open, it's hard to focus them, he's dizzy from blood loss and pain. His throat is dry and raw, probably from screaming. It's like it's just another night living with his dad.

When the world does come to focus there's Allison, and even with the worry, stress, and zombie guck, Isaac cannot help but think she's beautiful. Where they'd found a chair for her to sit in was beyond him. ] Allison? [ His voice is hoarse and strained. He's not sure if it worked, his forehead could be sweat-slick from the pain, the amputation or the infection. He ignores the curls flattened down to his damp forehead and instead reaches with her with his existent hand. God it hurts.

He refuses to look at the injury, instead he closes his eyes again for a moment as he clears his sore throat. Idly he wonders where Derek went, where the rest of them went, but knowing Derek, they were probably looking for something to help him instead of whatever makeshift bandages he had. ]

Re: ⤷Allison

[driven]

[ when isaac does finally pass out, allison's glad for it. she knows it'll be easier on him if he's not conscious, easier on the immediate pain. it also helps her, in a way. his screaming had made it hard to keep her hands steady, keep back the sobbing each breath threatened to break into. with him out cold, she can breathe and not worry about him watching her. she could still feel derek's eyes, but he was silent, and really that was all she needed. it hits her, when she's cut through the bone (that took the most pressure, the most effort), how she's done this with scott. different time, different situation, but having all this blood on her hands - all of their blood, it has to be theirs - is going to haunt her for the rest of her life.

but this is worse. she knows it's worse. because she is the one slicing through his flesh and bone and she is the one that put him in this and she is the one who killed him.

she's glad derek's there. more than glad. thankful for his silent presence because she must have gone into some kind of trance. isaac gets bandaged, they all relocate (derek must have carried him) and she knows, at one point, that this is going to go wrong. everything was dirty, everything was wrong. if she somehow managed to keep him from bleeding out it'll be the infection and he's going to be in so much pain. derek and allison end up talking, but not really talking. she's shaking worse than ever and derek- god. derek. first jackson, then scott, and watching isaac like this...it's weird to think that just over two weeks ago, she hadn't said more than five words to him. and now?

after some time to calm down, she sends derek to go find water. maybe if she can clean the wound with something, anything, it'll help. that, or something from the safe-house. or to check in with stiles and cora. she's not even sure where he went, now that she thinks about it, because all she's done is pull up a chair and set her face in her hands. she can't remember the last time she felt this exhausted - emotionally, physically, mentally - and it's only belatedly that she realizes isaac's blood is still on her hands. now on her face. when she finally lets herself cry, with isaac asleep on the bed and derek gone somewhere, the tears leave trails down her face.

but at some point she must have dozed off too, because she hears his voice and the startle of her body hurts everything. ]

Isaac? [ he's alive is her first thought, which is ridiculous to think about but at the same time, not. he's moving, he's asking for her, and her body moves on its own to lift her from the chair, finding his hand with her's as she stands right up next to the bed, checking him over. ] I'm here, it's okay. [ the smile she gives him is tired, more tired than she's ever felt in her life. when his eyes close, her smile breaks a little, just from the fact she feels like she can see the pain on him. ]

Derek went to get water. [ she doesn't know if isaac even wants to know about where derek is, but allison feels the need to say something. she wishes she had something encouraging to say, but she really doesn't, and instead just squeezes his hand gently. ] And to check on Stiles and Cora.

#ThisMightHurt

[algidity]

[ He stays silent simply listening to her talk. Derek had gone to get water and check up on Stiles and Cora... They were all okay as far as they knew. No one else got bitten, something Isaac was thankful for. He needed to thank Derek, for helping him, for holding him down. He doesn't know that he carried him here, he doesn't think about it really; it's hard to focus on his thoughts, hard to think of anything really.

When he opens his eyes again, what is meant to be a smile ends up looking more like a toothy grimace. He's still having a bit of trouble focusing his eyes but her hand feels so warm so he continues to hold it. His voice is a bit above a whisper when he speaks again. ] You have blood on you - are you okay? [ Of course he'd worry about her when he'd gotten his arm hacked off and is probably close to bleeding to death. She's more important than he is, she's what matters. Just like when he'd been injured in the hospital back home, he'd been more worried about that girl. He can't help it, caring is something that seems to be ingrained in him, he's not sure if he's always been like that or if it's a change Scott caused.

He wants to ask if she thinks it'll work, if chopping at his arm like she was carving into a spring chicken was actually going to save him, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. Instead he just closes his eyes again and sucks in a breath. ] Water sounds good. [ It doesn't register to him that she means to clean his wound. He's thirsty, his throat feels dry, he feels like he's going to be sick from the throbbing white pain from his arm. Blue eyes open again, languid in the way they look at her. ] I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier. When - when you were coming to get me, I didn't mean to. [ He ignores the fact that it hurts to talk, it hurts to stay awake; every cell in his body screams for him to sleep, to try to rest and hope that he wakes up again. But he refuses because she's there with him, and she's safe. And somehow if he keeps his eyes on her, she'll continue to be safe, even with the walkers shambling around all over the place, eating people. ]

[ When his hand releases hers it's only to reach up, reach for her face, he comes up short but doesn't let his hand fall, instead he seems to hope that she'll understand the gesture. It's actually tiring to hold his arm up, and this observation makes him wonder just how much blood he's lost, makes him wonder if he's still bleeding, but he doesn't want to look, doesn't want to accept that he's just had most of a limb chopped off. A rather vital one at that. If it keeps him from becoming one of those things, he's happy for it, but if he becomes one of those things. ]

If - If I stop breathing, if I become one of those things - I saw someone turn... [ His thoughts are jumbled, hard to grasp onto but he tries anyway. ] They stopped breathing before they turned, it was like they actually died... [ He's obviously forcing the words out, through pain and fear. ] Don't let me become one of those things. I don't want to hurt anyone. [ He doesn't know how long it takes - hell he doesn't even know if he's actually going to, maybe they cut his arm off in time so the infection couldn't spread. ] One of those mindless things that hurt and kill their friends and everyone around them... Just... Make sure, okay?

[driven]

[ allison can't keep her eyes off his face, watching his every move, every slight indication he makes. she knows he's in pain, she's not even sure why she's looking for it, because when she sees it written in every crease, every slight movement, she feels like more and more of herself is chipping away. there's something in his light grip that's reassuring, because at least it's a grip, but it's weak. she squeezes it back as if to make up for it as she almost wants to laugh. her smile is sympathetic, if anything, as she looks at her hands. ]

It's your blood, not mine. I'm fine. [ and then as if she's trying to calm the situation down even more, she just squeezes his hand. the fact he's worrying about her, even when he's feverish and in pain and god, god, why can't she be useful? in any way? she reaches forward with her free hand, where she's torn more of her undershirt away to make a sort of rag and wipe off his forehead. try and make him feel a little bit better. she holds back a wince when he mentions how much he'd like water, and she can't help but look to the door. derek, where are you?. when he starts speaking again, her eyes are drawn back to his face, very pointedly ignoring his other arm. trying to ignore how thick the stench of blood is in the room.

for once this event, she's glad he's human. she can't imagine what that would smell like with heightened senses. but then he's apologizing, and she actually ends up looking at him, more than just a little confused. ]

What? No- no, Isaac, it's fine. You were worried about Scott, we both- [ but her voice cracks then, because scott's dead, and she should have been able to protect him, and she didn't, and now isaac is in this kind of pain and dealing with this kind of horror and she couldn't save him either. couldn't save anyone. the fact she can't even tell him it's alright is pathetic enough in itself, and the way her hand shakes when it holds his? god. she's a mess and she's not even the one missing a hand-

allison holds back the sudden urge to vomit at the memory of cutting isaac's hand off. of burning the skin to stop the bleeding, of the smell and the feel and everything built around it. derek kept asking if she needed help, the fact that holding isaac down wasn't necessary after he passed out from the pain. i have to do this, it has to be me, i have to-

her eyes open back up when she feels his hand slip from her's, and when she looks up to watch him, she sees him reaching for her with it. she doesn't give him any time to hang there before she's leaning foreward, pressing her cheek into his hand, giving him a very small smile as she feels the slightly colder press of his hand against her skin. her hand comes up to cup the outside of his, holding his arm up so he doesn't necessarily have to put work into it. that smile falls when he starts talking again, feeling all the blood drain from the rest of her. right out and right through her until she's as white as he is. when she speaks, her voice is clipped, as if to mask the way it wants to be a sob. the way she wants to sob. ]

No. You're not- we did this so you wouldn't turn. It's not going to happen. [ she's not paying attention to the way tears fill up in her eyes, the way they spill over her cheeks again, following the same paths they have been all day. ] You're not going to hurt anyone. I promise. [ she squeezes his hand as it's pressed against his cheek. ] Okay?

[algidity]

Oh. [ She has his blood on her, that should probably prompt something from him - something... But it doesn't. He seems like that answer - the fact that she's okay, is enough. When he feels his forehead get wiped he lets out a sigh. He's hot and cold at the same time, and so tired, not that he's really all that coherent to pay attention to worry about blood loss or infection. He's glad she's fine - she's okay - and despite how shaken up she looks, she's not actually hurt. In the end, he'd rather be the one injured or dead than her. Thoughts keep buzzing around in his head but they get lost before they can reach his tongue. Where are the others? Where are we? Simply listening to her voice though, it's soothing.

He wishes he could do something - anything. And that has him frowning, because he can't, he can barely keep his eyes open, and it's enough to drive him mad. He's useless, completely and utterly useless. It's frustrating the way he feels fuzzy and lightheaded, the way he's cold and hot, the way it hurts to even move because it jostles his arm. His throat is so dry and raw it hurts to swallow. His lips are even dryer still, to the point they're beginning to crack. If Hell is actually a place, he imagines this is what it feels like to be there. Maybe this is what it will be like when he dies, or maybe it'll be worse - if angels and demons are real, surely heaven and hell are too.

He watches her lips as she talks, eyes only moving from them when tears start spilling over her cheeks. The sight makes him want to scream, to cry, to reassure her that everything is going to be okay... Even if it's not. But he doesn't have the energy to do any of those things, not anymore. Not after the tears and the screaming earlier. ] Okay. [ He sounds like he's just agreeing to agree, like he's just given up, refusing to argue with her. Isaac can't even argue with her when he's healthy, now? While he can barely keep conscious, pain and general fatigue wearing at him - it'd be impossible. He really doesn't feel like making her feel worse either. The thought is sickening to him. ]

Do you know... [ His question trails off, either he's lost interest in asking it, or has forgotten what he was going to ask. Instead he falls silent to simply watch her, eyelids half mast. He still feels bad, feels bad that he snapped at her, that he snapped at Derek, and Stiles. God, he hurt Stiles. The memory has him pressing his lips together, they're so dry. He hates it, he hates it all. How now he's useless, he can't help them. He can't even take any pain she's possibly feeling. It's a familiar feeling - being so entirely worthless. They should have just put him down, like a freaking dog. Not that he even is a werewolf anymore. Just a human, a freaking human that's dying. He knows if things were going right, he wouldn't feel like this. He wouldn't be so weak.

She's upset and he would give anything to be able to fix it and make her happy - it's his fault. It's all his fault and Allison never deserved anything like this. This whole goddamn situation is just beyond fucked. His eyes drift shut again, obviously trying to fight off the urge to sleep. Eyebrows knit together as he shifts slightly wincing with pain. No one deserves this, not Derek, not Scott, not Allison, not Stiles, or Cora, hell even Jackson didn't. ]

Thank you. [ For being there for him. For protecting him. For cutting his arm off. Which is actually a pretty morbid thing to thank someone for, but she saved him from turning into a flesh eating monster and at least bought him some time. He's not sure what's worse, being out cold, unable to know what's going on, if they are in danger or not or being awake and in excruciating pain, unable to do anything and simply see her in a state of such distress.

He swallows hard - his throat and mouth are dry so it doesn't do much good. Then a moment later he's watching her again. ] I love you. [ His thumb rubs over her cheek weakly, in what might be an attempt to rub her tears away. He's kept meaning to say it to tell her he loves her, but he's chickened out at the last moment every time he works up the nerve. But now? It's easy, there aren't thoughts of her judging him, or it being the wrong things to say. And he means it, he's just chickened out of it so many times... ]