when he’d left the states, he’d expected someone to follow him -- or text, or call, or give him any indication that it wasn’t his fault. when he closes his eyes, he can still see exactly what went down only a few short months ago; the blade, poised and ready to kill him, the arrow that saved his life, the temporary elation on her face.
her hand hitting the ground at the same time as her last breath.
three months. no calls, no texts, and certainly no visits. isaac had no choice but to bury himself in training after burying her body. it seemed alien, that the only one intent on reminding him it wasn’t his fault was her father of all people. then again, maybe he understood just a little bit too well, how easy it was to shift the blame. isaac thinks it’s pretty likely he shifted it to himself.
three months in paris feels like a fever dream, and it’s exactly the kind of fever dream he’s needed -- so unrecognisably different from the life he’d known before in a freezer in the basement, a pack that never felt like family bar scott and-- and the girl with cadbury eyes. everything seems normal, or at least as close to normal as he can imagine, having never experienced it before. chris trains him from dawn until noon. they enjoy a homecooked meal -- usually from isaac’s repertoire in gratitude. chris disappears until dinner time. isaac wanders the city, making sure to avoid all scents of werewolves the minute they pass. what he isn’t expecting is a vampire to pull him aside one day with an offer that sounds ludicrous; a school for supernaturally inclined teens located back in the states. he laughs her off. she gives him her card. he throws it into the garbage can at the end of the street and stuffs his hands back into his jacket as the wind picks up.
when he asks chris about vampires that evening, the hard look he receives in response solidifies his choice. it couldn’t be real.
that should’ve been the end of it.
it isn’t the end of it. she approaches him four more times, and he learns her name is caroline. he learns about the other types of supernatural entities her school houses -- learns he doesn’t quite fit into the werewolf box like she assumes he should, but he doesn’t bother to correct her. she asks him if he’s killed anyone. he smiles and lists the names on his fingers; allison. erica. boyd. mom.
caroline seems to think there’s still some good in him, despite the trail of bodies left in his wake. it reminds him of scott. it’s also why he can’t say yes.
three days after his latest rejection and isaac is sitting in his favourite café, drinking a strawberry milkshake and watching a group of tourists outside as they try to decipher an absurdly large map. the bell above the entry door chimes, but he pays it no mind as the man behind the counter speaks in rapid french to the newly arrived customer. instead, he snickers when the map is blown from the tourists’ hands and he’s left watching them chase after it down the paved streets. ah, paris.
- ̗̀ @geminaes ̖́ - ╱ plotted starter.
