Isaac's head is pounding as he stands in the middle of Deaton's office. The veterinarian is speaking to him, but Isaac isn't paying much attention. He can only see the grey, metal tub sitting nonthreateningly in the middle of the room. Ice was piled inside of it, making Isaac cringe as he prepared himself for the freezing temperatures he was about to sink himself into.
He caught a few of Deaton's last words, and glanced up at the aging man in alarm. "It's safe, right?"
Deaton looked at Isaac, his expression solemn and his eyebrow raised. "Do you want me to answer honestly?"
Isaac took a deep breath, dropping his gaze to the tiled floor he stood on. "No," he admitted, kneeling down next to the tub. He dipped a finger into the ice, and recoiled instantly from the cold. "No, not really."
He pulled his shirt off, and rubbed his hands together as if to psych himself up. It hardly worked, but it made him feel better nonetheless. He closed his eyes, and stepped into the tub.
The ice water stung his skin, making him breath heavily in the drop of his body temperature. Deaton took his place at the front of the tub, while Scott and Derek stood on either side of Isaac's trembling body. Stiles stood off to the side, and Isaac was somewhat glad the careless yet amusing human wasn't in the way.
"All right," Deaton said. "Lower him down."
Derek and Scott both grasped Isaac's upper arms, and pushed him under. He thrashed, beginning to feel panic settle inside his stomach. He breathed when his head hit the surface for the last time, trying in vain to calm himself. The situation reminded Isaac of being locked inside of that freezer box, and he pushed away the thoughts. Unlike his father, no one in the room was out to harm Isaac—only recover the memories the alpha pack had stolen.
Isaac's mind seemed to slip away, leaving him barely aware of what was happening. His head broke through the surface, and he took a desperate gulp of air.
"Isaac?" Deaton's voice rang dully in Isaac's ears. It was distant, but still there. "Can you hear me?"
A shiver ran down Isaac's numb spine. "Yes." He breathed deeply. "I can hear you."
"This is Dr. Deaton." Isaac heard distant shuffling, and then silence. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, is that alright?"
"Yes."
"I want to ask you about the night you found Erica and Boyd." There was a distant clap of thunder, making Isaac's stomach pinch in anxiety. Deaton continued, "I want you to remember it for me in as vivid detail as possible. Like you're actually there again."
Anxiety clutched at Isaac's heart, and he shook his head vigorously, making droplets of water splash his face. He didn't want to go back to that night, for a reason he didn't know. Whatever happened that night, Isaac thought, he wasn't sure he wanted to remember.
"I don't want to do that," he protested weakly. "I don't want to do that." He shook his head, fear taking over him. Another clap of thunder had him shaking, with both terror and the chill. "I don't want to do that!" His voice was a bit stronger, but still so very weak. He thrashed around, moving as if to run away from the memory his mind didn't want to recover.
"It's alright, just relax," Deaton said, trying to futilely calm Isaac's frazzled nerves. "They're just memories. You can't be hurt by them." Behind his eyelids, Isaac could have sworn light was flickering.
"I don't want to do that," he objected once again.
"Relax. Just relax." Isaac felt himself settling down, and Deaton breathed a faint sigh of relief. "Good. Now let's go back to that night. To the place you found Erica and Boyd. Can you tell me what you see? Is there some kind of building? A house?"
Isaac could faintly hear himself replying, but his mind was focused on the visions dancing across his eyelids. He could see a set of carpeted stairs in front of him, leading up to a sort of loft. Dust ticked at his nose, making him have the urge to sneeze or cough. The place was empty. So empty, abandoned.
There was the subconscious sound of footsteps. Panic once again filled his mind. Warning bells rang inside of his head, and he began thrashing around in reality. He could see a figure hulking around the corner of his subconscious memories. He grabbed at the arm that rested on his shoulder, and could tell just by the secure feeling that overwhelmed him that he'd grabbed Scott's arm. And that was good.
"Someone's here," he heard himself saying in reality, while someone stalked toward him in his memories.
"Isaac, relax."
"No, no, no they see me! They see me!" He thrashed around, splashing water onto his face. He heard himself scream, and he gripped Scott's arm tighter, in need of something secure, something to keep him in tone to reality.
It was as if his mind was spilt in half. One half was focusing on Deaton, and his questions. That half replied to them and rattled off descriptions of what he saw beneath his eyelids. The other half was watching visions unfold, as if he were there, back in the abandoned bank and back in danger.
He could hear people talking, and the reality-tuned half of him told Deaton and the others, while the vision-focused half kept glancing around the messy, trash-filled bank. He told Deaton about the vault, seeing them, but he was only half-focused on that. Because in his memories, in the visions playing under his eyelids, he saw someone who's face made his heart race.
No. Isaac's subconscious self blinked, and squinted as if to disprove what was clearly there. It can't be. Isaac didn't know whether to be ecstatic, or horrified. He's dead. He died years ago. But, no matter how hard he tried to come up with a logical explanation—he was hallucinating—the cold, hard truth was right there, staring back at him with a smirk and red eyes.
Camden.
I still don't know if I'll make this a three-shot fanfic or a multi-chatper fanfic. I guess I'll just see how it goes.