Genre: Let's just say tragedy and go with that.
Rating: T
Warnings: Isaac-the-Silent-One angst. Oh noz!!1!!eleventy1!! (Sorry, couldn't resist)

Someday - SOMEDAY! - I will write something not so depressing. I know, I keep saying this, and then I turn around and make even more of the characters into little angst-buckets of fun. But, I did promise another Isaac-angst oneshot to a certain threatener-of-toes a while ago, so 'tis only fair.

One last thing, a review response.
Yugi the Other White Meat: Heck, yes! XD And Leon! Wasn't that rumored to be Picard's English name at one point, too? Or something like that. Ah, fun times... But, definitely, I'm open to and grateful for any criticism, even on these small stories. Rereading my own work months later and wondering what was wrong with me only helps me improve but so much. ;P

Okie dokie, now on to story #7, before my tired mind puts this off by another half week!


It was all a very bad dream, really. The definition of the word, "nightmare." But that's all that it was: a nightmare. For as much of his fourteen years that he could remember, Vale had never had such horrible storms. Vale had never been attacked. Vale had never been raided. Vale had never faced monsters, bandits, or any sort of evil-doer. To put it simply, Vale had always been quiet. Vale had always been peaceful. Vale had always been safe.

Hence the arrival to Isaac's earlier conclusion: it had been nothing more than a nightmare. The storm, the river, the boulder, the intruders-- None of it could have been real. Never mind the aches, stings, and bandages, or even the high ceiling of the Sanctum room above him, or the pungent smell of potions and herbs around him. They were just another part of the nightmare.

"Hey… You finally awake?"

Isaac turned the best he could towards the voice, ignoring the headache that screamed at him that this wasn't his imagination. Garet's eyes were shut, but at the sound of the movement, he at least attempted to return the gesture from his own cot by glancing over. The mayor's grandson grimaced, however, and returned to squinting at the ceiling with a hiss. "Hard to believe any of this could ever happen here, huh?"

If a person were to stand in a cave, in an area where he knows stalactites or icicles could easily fall upon him if any loud noise were to be made, would he risk a shout to those nearby who are trying to find him? Or would he be better off to continue standing still, silently hoping that the noises elsewhere won't bring everything down around him instead?

Isaac couldn't answer the other boy. He wasn't ready for the world to come crashing down just yet. Which, of course, meant that he could do little more than to simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling much like Garet was doing nearby. Either the older boy took the hint, or didn't have the energy to be sour over being ignored, because nothing more was said. The silence wasn't broken until one of the Sanctum elders finally entered to examine their wounds – Isaac having received the worst of it, it seemed – and Garet's older sister appeared soon after. It was perhaps the only time Isaac had seen her so quiet when interacting with her brother. The siblings talked for a while, Isaac not bothering to listen much, and then he heard his own name mentioned.

"And Isaac– is he…?"

"I haven't gotten him to say anything yet."

Kay said something more, but Isaac didn't hear it. He didn't miss how the tone was laced with pity, though. Pity… He didn't need pity. This was all just a nightmare. What was there even to pity him for?

The icicles tinkled eerily in his mind.

The eldest of the Jerra children eventually left, and the room fell back into silence. Isaac tried to doze, tried returning to the other dream world where hopefully he wouldn't hurt so much, but sleep refused to cooperate. Whether it was the Sanctum settling, people moving in other areas of the building, or his own body protesting its poor state, something always pulled him back from the brink of his desired rest. He'd open his eyes to bleary vision, blink to clear his view, then drift back into darkness.

It was during one of these cycles that he opened his eyes to someone's blurred form standing beside him. No, not standing. They were sitting on the edge of his cot, filling a third of his vision. He blinked… and he blinked again. The icicles rattled against one another, but still held fast.

Thoughts and memories he'd been holding back were becoming restless, but he valiantly kept them at bay. The woman smiled sadly, half-heartedly, desperately trying to reassure but uncertain of what. "Isaac? Sweetie?" A thought nagged at him: there should be two figures looming over him, not this lone shadow. Where was the second? Why was there only one? Of course, he already knew that answer. He'd known it since the moment he'd awoken the first time.

The second figure was gone. There would never be more than one to stand over and comfort him again. The single figure sitting here now was the only one left, and it needed just as much comfort now as he did. "…Mom?" His voice was but a whisper, cracked and raspy from an unwilling voice box. But it was enough. He didn't hear what she said next. He could only listen to the ice and stone shattering down around him.


-Fin-