The veterinarian doesn’t want to let him in and the man had enough magic protecting the place that Isaac knows he won’t be able to force the issue. His hands curl into the wooden door frame; made from mountain ash to dispel creatures of the night like himself. His claws extend and bore into the wood as he puts on his more innocent and harmless expression.
“Come on,” he urges as Dr. Deaton keeps his body solidly placed in the opened doorway to physically bar the entrance.
“They need rest,” the man sighs, finally stepping aside with obvious reluctance.
Isaac rushes inside without acknowledging the comment.
The back door leads almost immediately into the operating room where Scott is lying motionless on a cold stainless steel table. Something lurches within him at seeing that; McCall lying unmoving.
His eyes dart around the room and he finds Derek leaning tiredly against the wall; watching him.
“Where’s Erica?” the Alpha asks with a familiar glower taking shape on his face.
“Taking care of Boyd,” Isaac answers with the speed and honesty of a teen that knows fists tend to accompany expressions like the man wore.
A curse and sigh escape Derek at those words; he slumps back against the wall with the glower wiped from his face.
“I forgot,” he confesses softly, rubbing wearily at his forehead. “He should have been brought here.”
“He went back to the station…”
“You need to bring him here.”
Isaac hears the order but for a moment balks at it, his eyes inexplicably drawn to the still form on the table.
“I haven’t figured out how,” yet, Derek’s tone implies, “but the doc seems to know something about what he’s doing. Scott’ll be ok.”
Isaac jumps guiltily at the rare reassurance from his Alpha and determinedly looks away then forces himself to leave the building as quickly as he had entered it.
He passes Stilinski on his way out and growls low in his throat when the other teen is granted entrance to the establishment without any challenge to his right to be there.
Just for that, Isaac doesn’t hesitate to hop up into the kid’s abandoned Jeep. He’s fully prepared to tear out the steering column to get at the wires to hot-wire the vehicle, but, regretfully for him and luckily for Stiles, the keys are in the ignition. He starts it and tears off without a backward glance.
He doesn’t get to drive often; never having been allowed much time behind the wheel of his father’s car and never having been given an allowance or permission to work a job so he could actually save up to buy his own vehicle. He grinds the gears a little as he finds the right one to pick up the most speed and he grips the steering wheel tightly while bearing down on the accelerator.
This has been one hell of a night and the confusion of it leaves him craving distraction; an outlet for his churning thoughts. Reckless driving and high speeds are the perfect release; especially in Stilinski’s Jeep because if he wrecked it, what the hell could the kid do to him?
He arrives at the entrance to the old subway stop far too quickly for his liking; causing him to curse yet again the smallness of this damned town. He jams on the breaks, grinds the gears into park, turns off the engine and takes the keys from the ignition.
One seriously could not just trust in the goodness of people and leave the keys in the ignition of a vehicle no matter how small the town; Isaac being case and point of that lesson which he is happy to teach Stiles.
He hurries past the barricades across the entrance to keep people from poking around the abandoned depot and navigates the defenses Derek has added to keep out any who might want to explore the Alpha’s new den.
“How’s he doing?” he asks Erica as soon as he makes it into the rail car where she’s tending to Boyd.
She looks up with an angry twist to her lips that does nothing to hide the worry in her eyes.
“How the hell should I know? He’s still breathing,” she dabs at the other wolf’s face as sweat rolls off it. “I think it’s getting worse.”
“We’re getting him outta here,” he nudges her aside to bend down and pull Boyd up.
Even with the strength given to him from the werewolf, Boyd is no lightweight and with him unconscious while his body struggled to fight the Wolfsbane the other teen is a literal dead weight. He doesn’t struggle with the burden; could have managed just fine on his own, but Erica slips herself under Boyd’s right arm while Isaac pulls the left across his own shoulders. Between the two of them they get their packmate to the Jeep in minutes.
“Stiles?” she stutters to a stop at the sight of the Jeep and looks around as if expecting to see the bumbling teenage.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her for having any kind of reaction to Stilinski, Isaac continues onward to dump Boyd in the backseat of the vehicle.
“Stiles let you borrow his Jeep?” Erica asks with an arched bow and disbelieving sneer as he digs out the keys and gets behind the wheel.
He doesn’t acknowledge the question because the answer is really obvious to anyone with even the basest brain function. She gives up waiting for a response when he starts the engine; rushing to jump into the passenger seat before he can leave without her.
He pushes the speed limits of the old beater on the way back to the vet’s office; grinning with satisfaction when Erica’s hands move to brace, white knuckled, on the dash to keep her from being thrown around during the ride.
Dr. Deaton is waiting for him this time and ushers him inside with a red carpet virtually rolled out for his return. He follows the veterinarian’s direction to put Boyd in another room then gladly steps aside to let the man work. Erica remains, watchful as Boyd’s shirt is cut away to reveal the bullet holes Argent’s men had put in the guy.
An unexpected wall stops him from backing too far, too fast from the room and only the familiar sense of his Alpha keeps him from startling like a little girl. Derek’s hand clamps down on his shoulder and helpfully shoves him out of the way so that the man can move into the room to watch the vet work on the wounded member of the pack.
One watchdog down, Isaac thinks, seeing his Alpha nicely occupied with Boyd.
One to go, he steps into the room where Scott still lies unmoving on the table and glares at the teenager bowed over the unconscious werewolf.
“You have any idea how dumb it is to just leave your keys in the ignition?”
Isaac twirls said keys around his index finger as Stiles’s head whips around to gape at him.
The fish out of water impression is spot on, as always, and Isaac smirks maliciously to prod the other teen into action.
Stilinski rushes to grab the keys from him; mumbling curses and threats as he races out the door to check on his beloved Jeep.
Left alone with McCall, Isaac finds himself at a loss for what to do.
His feet move slowly to the table until he assumes the position Stiles has just abandoned. He braces his hands on the cold metal edge of the gurney and drops his head forward to hang over the still form.
He hears the wheezy rasp of air still struggling to move through Scott’s lungs; hears the irregular beat of the boy’s heart. He can smell the foul traces of the Wolfsbane that that bitch had used to try killing the kid.
If it had been anyone else, Isaac could understand the malice of Mrs. Argent’s plan; could have applauded the creativity. But she had focused her venom on Scott McCall, of all people, and werewolf or not Isaac doesn’t understand how anyone could want to kill this one.
Sure, Isaac has fought the guy and would undoubtedly battle him again, but never with the intent to kill. Even before tonight he’d never had any desire to hurt Scott.
After tonight he’s left with this insane urge to do something like protect the other boy.
Scott’s too trusting; too earnest to deal with some aspects of this life; the harsh realities that have been the only thing Isaac has ever known. He wants to shield the young man from those realities. He’s used to the brutality that leaves it’s scars inside and out of a body, his father had conditioned him to it for as long as he can remember; there’s no reason for a person as good as Scott to take such abuse as well at this point in his life. For as much as he might scorn and scoff at that goodness, it would be a real crime to see it tainted with cynicism and distrust.
Isaac had been given a choice to become this; Derek had sought him out for his weaknesses and offered him strengths that he was all too happy to accept along with the consequences. Peter made the decision for Scott without any consultation with the teenager.
Scott’s body jerks suddenly; jarring him from his thoughts. The tanned torso rises as a breath labors to enter McCall’s lungs while his throat seems to be constricting.
Unbidden, Isaac’s hand moves to touch that bare skin, sliding over warm flesh until he can press against the center of Scott’s chest to force the boy back down on the table. He’s seen CPR enough to know the basics and his other hand moves to position Scott’s head to a better angle to aid in breathing before he bends to put his mouth over the other boy’s.
Thinking only of that wheezing breath struggling in Scott’s lungs; Isaac breathes deeply to force air past the resisting muscles of the werewolf’s throat. He feels the chest beneath his fingers expand with the breath, but knows it isn’t enough until Scott’s breathing on his own. He puffs another breath into the boy’s mouth then pulls away to apply pressure to the sternum and force the lungs to expel the air.
Once the lungs are deflated of that breath he immediately moves to force fresh air into them; repeating the process until Scott suddenly rears up under him with a gasp of breath all his own. Isaac falls back; both relieved and regretful that Scott appears revived.
The kid sits up and immediately doubles over; sucking in oxygen with the greed and gratitude of any asthmatic would after a near death attack, his hands grip the edge of the table with enough force to dent the stainless steel before he gains enough control over himself to let go.
“Jackson?” Scott gasps out.
“Got away,” Isaac replies softly, shaking his head in wonder and disbelief that the guy’s first thought after all of that was concern for their objective of the evening.
“Are you ok?”
He can’t help but laugh at that and once started the sound doesn’t stop; he knows he sounds like a maniac but he allows himself the excuse that it’s been a long and rough night. He finally winds down when he realizes that Scott’s studying him with some real concern in those dark eyes of his.
“Have you noticed that you’re back at the vet’s office having nearly been killed yourself and you’re asking if I’m ok?”
Scott’s head tilts to the side; considering him and his words.
Any urge to laugh is sucked from him along with his breath as those eyes just look at him. It’s not just that Scott has these eyes that can seem to see into a soul; it’s that the guy seems to want to see what’s in your soul and, even more troubling, he cares about what’s inside of you no matter how bad or dark or secret.
Until earlier tonight Isaac hadn’t let himself notice that, but Scott had gone and shattered his deliberate ignorance of how powerful those eyes were by adding words to the mix.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
It’s hard not to read into a statement like that with the guy looking so intent and sincerely at him. Harder still to brush it aside as meaningless when Scott’s sitting there with a hint of pallor still leeching at his tanned features and all he cares to know at that very moment is that Isaac hasn’t been hurt.
So, really, no. Isaac isn’t ok.
Because all he wants to do is put his hand back on Scott’s chest to push the boy back down then put his lips back over Scott’s so that he can allow himself to learn what that mouth feels and tastes like during a kiss.