#And like I love how even when we aren't in the pov of Zeke I can still guess what he's thinking because of what's stablished about his char

[coffehbeans]

OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH... *explodes*

Isabell and the Lads CH 2: The Healing Process (2.4)

Writing Masterpost First Part | Last Part | Next Part (eventually) Word Count: ~2.1k Warnings: Angst, blood mention, injury mention, nightmares, talk of dehumanization

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Isabell lays down on the tiny couch, letting herself sink into the cushions. Just for a moment, she thinks,, resting her head on the plush pillow and hugging her arms around herself. I can be cozy for a little while. She watches the movie play with bleary eyes, and her blinks begin to grow longer and longer.

She’s not going to fall asleep here.

She couldn’t possibly let herself fall asleep here.

Not in the middle of a gigantic room, displayed in the center of a coffee table with two humans lingering nearby. That’s not going to happen. No chance.

She’s just going to rest her eyes for one second.

---

She floats in an endless expanse of nothing. Well, no, she’s not floating. She’s still solidly grounded, her leg anchors her to this table, taking away all her autonomy, her ability to move, to run, to escape. From her grounded position, the ‘endless expanse of nothing’ extends out all around her. The dark open space seems to stretch on forever. This only punctuates the fact that she is entirely other. Ever since she was caught- rescued? – Ever since she’s been out here in the open, with the humans, fully aware of her, she has been painfully, unavoidably aware that she does not belong in this world. Even with the best intentions at the heart of the humans around her, this world was simply not made for her. At best all she could ever hope to be is insignificant. A mild nuisance for anyone kind enough to pity her, perhaps. Of course, she is already well acquainted with what ‘at worst’ looks like for someone of her kind. It’s cages, it’s dehumanization, it’s the act of endlessly being observed. Placed in a plastic box, on a shelf, to be a curiosity for all those who pass by.

She briefly registers Zeke’s form kneeling over her. She manages to blink up at him with hazy eyes, not entirely convinced that she’s not just dreaming this. He seems to move in slow motion as he reaches forward to drape a blanket over her.

Shards of thoughts float to the forefront of her mind as she shifts to pull the blanket close around her.

Warm.

Soft.

Smells nice.

Her mind dances on the blade’s edge of consciousness. Dipping into the void of sleep, and yet remaining vaguely aware of the waking world around her, that horrible, never-ending openness. The vulnerability of her position never leaves the back of her mind. Somewhere inside her there should be instincts, alarms going off. There should be some semblance of self-preservation to pump her with more adrenaline, to keep her going, to push her just a little further. There should be. But it would seem as though her supply has run dry, and then some. Her body aches, her emotions are sapped, she has to face it, she’s already grasping at straws here. She’s already pushed her body well beyond the point of exhaustion. The consequence of that is that now, her body has relinquished the reigns from the part of her brain that holds her rational thought, the part of her that is responsible for keeping her safe, out of the hands of humans. Instead, the control is finally given over to sleep. Once sleep claims her, it digs its claws in deep.

And it is not kind when it lets her go.

Isabell wakes with a start, some unknowable amount of time later. In that split second before her mind catches up to her, a heavy fear pounces on her.

Where am I?

The room is dark. It’s massive. It’s a space for humans, and she’s in the open.

No, no, no.

As soon as she attempts to move, her whole body is wracked with pain. Her leg throbs, her ribs ache. There’s something tangled around her, ensnaring her.

Stuck. Trapped. Captured.

Despite great protest from every inch of her, she sits up. If she had just one second to breathe and take in her surroundings with a clear mind, she maybe could calm herself down. She could assure herself that she is safe.

But she doesn’t get that luxury. Out of the corner of her eye an impossibly large shadow rises over her. A human. Its eyes glint in the darkness and she knows that it is focused right on her.

She’s hurt, she’s vulnerable, out in the open, and she’s been spotted.  She does the only thing that sounds rational to her, she panics.

Isabell shoots to her feet, whirling around to face her captor. That’s her intention at least, unfortunately, she’s still tangled in the blanket. When she goes to correct herself, she places too much weight on her wounded leg. Her leg is of course tired of being pushed beyond its capabilities. Her leg is of course tired of her increasingly stubborn refusal of rest. So, her leg makes its own executive decision in that moment. It buckles underneath her weight, making her cry out with the shock of pain it delivers. Her leg demands rest and rest it will get. Even now, even one arm’s length away from the giant looming above her.

She crumples to the ground in a tangled heap, betrayed by her own body. The shadowy monstrosity leans forward, closing the distance between them. Leg or no leg, she’s not getting swept up into a massive hand today. She scrambles, kicking herself free from the blanket, and shoving herself backwards. She foolishly attempts to secure her footing once more. The effort is fruitless, and painful. Her leg simply refuses to cooperate.

“Hey,” the giant’s voice rumbling through her does little to calm her nerves.

She continues attempting to abscond. Her mind is focused on creating any kind of distance between herself and the looming creature. So focused in fact that she doesn’t see that she’s running out of table, until she’s already falling. She lets out a sharp yelp as she’s pulled over the edge. The human curses and instantly there’s a cacophony of sound and movement. The human lurches forward, much faster than a being that large should reasonably be able to move. One massive hand slaps down against the face of the table, the other swoops in beneath her. She lands flat against the center of his palm, knocking the wind out of her, but leaving her otherwise unharmed. Suddenly, she feels as if she’s falling in the opposite direction as she’s yanked through the air, entirely out of her control. His warm, leathery fingers curl around her securely. She can’t possibly just sit here and wait for him to squeeze the life out of her, she needs to act, now.

She has no weapon, she can’t escape. She twists in his grasp and sinks her teeth into the nearest digit until a hot metallic taste filters into her mouth.

The giant swears again, jerking his hand away sending her tumbling into his other hand. Before she can even think about defending herself, the human is ready for her. He clamps his massive thumb down across her middle, pinning her back against his fingers. The side of his thumb digs firmly into her bruised ribs. She sucks in a sharp, pained breath. He stands to his full height and strides across the room.

Isabell’s breathing staggers, her mind flooding with all of the gruesome possibilities of what’s yet to come.

“N-no!” She cries out, her voice breaking with panic, “I-I’m sorry. I’ll be good! I’ll be good, I swear!” She doesn’t want to go in a jar, she doesn’t want to be stuffed in the back of a dark closet without food or water or light for days on end. She doesn’t want to be-

A light clicks on, jerking her fully into the reality of the waking world.

“Stop,” Zeke’s voice is firm. He gazes down at her with wild eyes, his hair tousled, one hand clutched close to his chest.

All at once she realizes where she is, and against all odds, part of her stills at this revelation.

Then all at once she realizes what trouble she caused, and she can feel panic and dread welling up inside her chest all over again.

“I- Zeke, I’m –” she begins stammering out an apology.

“No,” his tone is clipped, “stop.”

Oh, he’s mad. He’s got to be. What is he going to do to her? He’s going to retaliate, humans always do. They only have so much patience, and she bit him. She’s displeased him so many times in the last two days or however long it’s Been. He’s got to be at the end of his rope with her.

He sets his hand down on the coffee table. Releasing his thumb from across her midsection, he tilts his hand so she gently slides off.

“Just… breathe,” he says rising and extending a hand to give her a gesture that very clearly says ‘stay there.’ With that, he walks off down the hall.

She blinks, piecing together the whirlwind she just went on, separating fact from fiction.

Isabell pulls herself onto the couch, gathering her discarded blanket. This doesn’t look like it belongs with the sets of doll clothes and furniture. Zeke must have made this, she realizes. He made me a blanket, and I bit him. A weird sense of guilt burns at the edge of her consciousness. She’s felt a lot of things concerning humans, but guilt was never one of those feelings.

Zeke comes back into the room after clattering around in the kitchen for a moment. When he returns he’s carrying a few things, but she can’t get a good look at what he has. He kneels down beside the coffee table.

“Drink this,” he says, setting a tiny cup down. The bright pink vessel is only slightly oversized for her. They must have gotten that today with all of the doll stuff.

She hesitates for a moment, looking at the cup placed in front of her with a dull suspicion.

“It’s just water,” his tone is flat, impatient. Right, of course, nothing gets past him. Great, now she’s bitten him, and she’s subtly accused him of trying to poison her.

“Sorry,” she obediently drinks the water, not wanting to upset him any more than she already has.

“Do you want to splash some water on your face?” He asks, setting down a small dish. As he reaches forward, she catches that his finger has a small Band-Aid on it now. She tears her eyes away from his hand, feeling that weird sensation of guilt again. She nods numbly and scrubs her face with the cool water placed before her.

“Better?” He asks after she’s dried her face off with a scrap of washcloth. She doesn’t trust her voice, so she just nods. “Here. Try to eat something.” The snack Marcus said he was going to make was resting on a plate close by, she didn’t even notice it before. Zeke slides it over to her. There’s a variety of things on the plate, some peanut butter, a cracker broken up into manageable pieces for her, some cheese, and some small bits of fruit. With a trembling hand, she assembles herself a small snack and nibbles on it cautiously.

Seemingly satisfied, Zeke heaves a long sigh, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He leans his elbow against the table, resting his head on his hand. Her eyes are drawn back to the scattered pictures decorating his arms, his tattoos he called them. Humans are so strange, but she thinks she likes his tattoos. In a strange way, they make him easier to look at. Like, she can focus on this one small part of him, without having to confront the entirety of him.

“I, um, I didn’t know where I was,” she explains sheepishly to the picture of a broken wishbone placed near the middle of his forearm. “I’m, um, I’m fine now,” she adds, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. This isn’t exactly true, she’s jittery, and she hurts everywhere, but the human doesn’t exactly need to know all that. It’s unclear whether or not he buys it or not, but he nods anyway.

“I’m sorry for startling you so badly,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. Um, thank you for not letting me fall… I’m… sorry that I bit you.” Silence hangs between them. “A-are you… are you going to put me back, um, back in the box?” She stammers the question out, wincing at how small she sounds.

“No. Isabell, of course not,” he says, his voice softening.