Author's Note: I thought it would be interesting to explore the idea of Isaac self harming when his body is a full blown healing machine. I feel like Isaac is at war with hi self a lot whether its choosing to be good or bad, or trying to lick between Derek and Scott as alphas, and that conflicted feeling of loving your abuser. to have his body literally be trying to harm itself and heal itself all at once is a good reflection of what I imagine goes on in his head. Also I just love a good angsty Isaac fic. And of course, self harm is not something to be taken lightly. It's not a trending fad or a cool hobby or something you do to make yoursec look cool. It's a serious issue that plagues a lot of teenagers and young adults who can't find another way to cope with confusing or unwanted emotions. If you are powering through a situation like this, my heart goes out to you. You can get through this.
...
Homesick
...
It was dark.
It wasn't pitch black, but it was obviously late. The moon was glowing in the window, coloring everything in Derek's loft different shades of blue. Isaac both loved and hated the huge window in Derek's apartment. He liked how it opened the room, making it seem bigger than it really was. It set him at ease to know that escape was always visible, only a jump away. He supposed this was bit morbid, but he couldn't control his thoughts when they wanted to pick away at him, no matter how unpleasant. Besides his suicidal ideation, the only other problem he had with the large glass wall was that it made it hard to sleep. He was so used to complete darkness at night that even after these few months of living with Derek, he still hadn't adjusted to the blue nights.
Isaac slept upstairs which helped a little. The wall was only half glass up there. The rest was wood connecting into the rafters which hung above his head as he slept. Isaac had tried to climb up there one night when he couldn't sleep. He had made it up there fine, and was feeling surprisingly free as he hopped from beam to beam, awkwardly hunched over so as not to hit his head on the scaffolding further above. He had always liked being away from the ground. He felt lighter. He didn't feel attached to things like he did when his feet were on the ground. It was liberating to be so unfettered, flitting across the rafters with an easiness that always escaped him while he was grounded. It was a mindless activity and the movement helped him exert the unresolved tension he couldn't seem to shake during the day.
So that's what he had been doing, the first time it had happened.
His foot had slipped right as he shifted his weight to jump to the next plank, causing him to fall forward too fast. He flung his arm out in time to grab one of the slimmer supporting timbers, but it snapped, too flimsy to hold him, and he landed on the floor hard, with fragments of the splintered wood sticking in his arm.
It was the shards of wood that had sparked his interest in it.
He remembered having to pull them each out and how it had hurt like hell as his body surged every ounce of healing power towards his arm. And then the pain was gone. More than that, the nagging pressure that always seemed to be behind his eyes had vanished as well. It was like his head was instantly clear for the first time in years.
And then that feeling was gone. The pressure returned inside his head and he wondered how he had never realized that buzzing feeling in the back of his brain before now. It felt like there was a hoard of hummingbirds trapped in his skull, their wings creating a current of gale force winds that shook his head and pushed at the back of his eyes. He felt brain matter was gonna start pouring out his ears.
He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop now.
He did the first thing he could think of, he unleashed his claws and planted them in his arm up to his fingertips. Slowly the buzzing faded and his body tried to heal itself. He left his claws in his arm, feeling his body rush up around them trying to reconnect the tissue he had pierced. It stung for a minute, having his nails so far into his arm, but after a while all he could pay attention to was the sensation of his body trying to fill itself in again, like two waves of water trying to crash into each other. His claws were in the way though, so instead of waves crashing, it felt like the tide coming in and out around his nails as they sunk into the sand. It was calming somehow, to feel his own blood coursing through him, fighting for him to heal.
He retracted his claws finally and watched as his skin reattached itself over the gaps he'd created. His blood hadn't even had time to reach the surface. Isaac found himself feeling slightly disappointed at this. He could feel he beginnings of a headache resurfacing and decided he wasn't done with this moment of clarity yet.
As quick as he had healed himself, he slashed his claws back out against his forearm, shredding his skin until all he could see was the bright red of shallow blood. The headache was gone and he felt an unusual stillness take hold again as he watched with glossed over eyes, his body put itself back together.
That was only the first time he'd done it. Over the past few weeks, he had found this new addicting habit to be a great distraction when he couldn't seem to fall asleep. Like right now.
Isaac could hear Derek's low, steady breathing, telling him he was long gone. The coast was clear.
He sat up in bed, shrouded by the blue light that clouded the room and his tired eyes. He started slowly, slicing his nails across his both sides of his arm, creating thin even lines that healed before the next one was made. Sometimes he carved words into his arms; his deepest worries or fears. It was soothing, and even empowering to watch them fade away in a blink, as if they were really nothing to fret about at all. Other times, he would carve the names of his family members. Even Erica and Boyd. All People he cared about, but was too weak to save. He watched them disappear without a trace and wished that that was how they had left in real life: without leaving behind this hurricane of emotions and regrets. But that was foolish. His dad would have ripped him a new one had he heard him talk like that.
"Shit happens son. You just gotta man up, and deal with it."
He didn't like to admit it, but part of why Isaac liked doing this-whatever it was- was that it felt...nostalgic. It made him feel closer to his father.
He bit his cheek thinking about it. He tasted the mixture of saliva and iron in his mouth and remembered all the times he had accidentally cut his cheek while gritting his teeth trying to protect himself or getting angry with his father during fights. He almost missed that irritating need to massage the open wound with his tongue.
Enough of the little things though. He could feel the pressure trying to build back up in his head so he gently creeped down the spiral stairs, to the first floor.
He spared a glance over his shoulder at Derek.
Still asleep. Good.
Reassured, he continued on his path to the bathroom, walking on the balls of his feet, trying to will himself be lighter.
He reached his destination without trouble and waited to shut the door before turning on the light. He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes drooping more than usual, the bags under his eyes darker than they probably should be. He took a deep breath and listened to Derek's heart beat again just to be sure he was still out. Then he swung.
His fist connected with his right cheekbone in a flash, recoiling even faster than it had approached. Isaac repeated that process a couple times, alternating between his cheek and brow bones before stopping to admire his handiwork.
The skin around his eye was dark purple, the edges a lighter, more maroon tinge: the sign of many successfully popped capillaries. He hadn't had a black eye since the last one his dad had given him. He traced the discolored skin with his fingertips, the same ones that had damaged it. It was weird, but he almost missed, being bruised. He never thought he'd feel that way, but he did. People would think it was stupid, but he couldn't help associating these things with family; the feeling of being cared for. To any normal person it would sound crazy, but Isaac knew that half the bruises and black eyes his dad dished out were given because he was just worried about him. Because he'd screwed up and he wanted to make sure it didn't happen again. Yeah, they hurt, and Isaac knew there were probably better ways of showing someone you cared, but they had meant something to him. They meant that he as wanted. Someone cared enough about him to get so angry as to lose total control and just force their worries onto him through their fists.
His black eye dissolved, painted over with perfect ivory, and the swelling above his cheekbone shrunk until it was gone as well.
Isaac sighed.
The world had a twisted sense of justice, letting him live and giving him all this power, for what? A couple hard nights locked in a freezer and a few broken bones? Why did he get to survive? How many times had he thought about killing himself? How many times had he looked too long at his steak knife at dinner or the windows in the French room at school? Why was he the only one who got to live, when he had wanted it the least?
That's not true. You wanted it. You wanted it bad and that's why you asked.
Isaac knew this to be true, but he hated himself for it. For so long he had been content with the idea of dying, but when Derek had told him about werewolves, about the possibilities that could be opened, he had wanted it. He had been so eager to finally grab life by the shoulders and shake it for all it was worth. But he didn't know it came with a cost. He didn't know it meant losing his dad. It was never his intention to trade his father's life for a second chance at his own.
It was illogical, but Isaac couldn't help but feel responsible for his death on some level. He had asked to stop feeling helpless and not twenty four hours later, the one person who made him feel the weakest was gone. His dad had always been a fan of the whole "careful what you wish for" thing. Isaac couldn't stop thinking that this was Karma's way of biting him in the ass. He had incredible strength, but no one to fight for anymore.
He was getting heated. He was so frustrated with himself. He didn't want o feel guilty. He knew in his head that it was Jackson who had murdered his father, not him. But his heart told him otherwise. Isaac hated these contradicting emotions running rampant inside him. He loved his dad. He missed him. But he was relieved that the punishments had ended. He hated that he could see any bright side to such a horrible thing, and he hated how pathetic he felt, mourning the loss of the person who made life hell for him. And then there was his mom and Camden. He hadn't spent nearly as much time getting angry over their deaths. How awful was that? Out of all his family members, he thought about his dad most, even though he'd treated him the worst. Didn't his mother and brother deserve more of his time than his father who had beaten him and locked him up for the second half of his life?
It was all getting too much for Isaac. He wanted to stop thinking.
He punched himself: everywhere. He dragged his claws all over his face and body until he couldn't hear his thoughts anymore.
He sat down on the edge of the shower, closing his eyes to focus on the whooshing sensation that was now his entire body lacing itself back up. It only took a few minutes for the slashes to heal, but Isaac knew that the bruises would take longer. He had aimed or his bones and bone bruises were much slower to heal than regular ones. They were a lot deeper even though they weren't visible.
Satisfied that the bone bruises would keep his mind busy and void of that constant pressure, he headed back upstairs to his bed, throwing his now ruined T-shirt in the trash can on his way.
He collapsed onto his bed, emotionally and physically exhausted, and wondered how his dad had made it look so easy.
Beating himself up felt good, he saw that now, but it was hard.
And with that, Isaac fell asleep, not knowing that for all the parts of him that he'd bruised and broken during the nights, it was his heart that took the longest to heal.
...
Author's Note: Thanks for reading guys. Sorry for the long note at the beginning, but I just feel its important to say these things. I know that a lot of times, I turn to fanfiction when I need to vent or emote vicariously through a character so I want anyone who feels the same to know they aren't alone. Also I'm just a helpless sap who naively wants to save the world from all the negative feels.