hollowchild | IC Inbox

[she blocks, in that she takes the hit to the thigh, shielding herself with her leg as she not incidentally raises it to kick him. it's not really intended as a strike so much as a way to shove him backwards, but she doesn't put enough force into it for it to be an attempt to send him sprawling. then she's on the offensive again, coming at him with quick strikes and feints of her hands. she's fighting mostly openhanded, the kind of hits that sting but don't bruise. it's an attempt to force him to focus, to do less angry swinging]

[The kick hits and makes him stumble backwards, and Isaac lets out a quick breath at her next blow. It's all he can do to deflect, and she still winds up striking him more often than not- Isaac knows that he'll be sore as hell in a few hours, but he doesn't care.

He forces a step forward then, letting her hit him in a sacrificial move so he can just strike out against her again, powerful and frustrated.]

[this time he hits, and even though the shadows absorb some of the force she still staggers backwards as her breath goes out, and then she hops an extra step back to put space between them. her lungs don't want to properly expand, so she's on the defensive, but she doesn't panic or try to stop him from coming]

[Isaac steps forward, using the moment to his advantage- and he doesn't see Sophie, not really, he sees Scott, he sees you're just like your father, he sees violent lives and it hurts.

His attack is less precise, more of the brute strength and size that he'd had when he first got here, all wild blows, fueled by anger, by guilt, by loathing of himself and everyone around him. Isaac's teeth are set into a grimace, and by the third blow, he lets out a loud growl of frustration that seems to build in volume with every further punch he throws.

If he hurts her, he'll stop immediately- part of him still knows who she is, what she's doing. But right now, the movement and strain is good for him, even if none of his attacks really connect.]

[sophie is all right with this, with letting isaac take out his frustration on her defense. she's run herself ragged in similar ways, after all. he's not being careful so she's being careful for both of them, beating him back if he comes too close to cornering her and not letting him put her on the ground or hit her face. he's bigger and stronger, but isaac is fighting what's in his head, which means he's not fighting smart enough to really hurt her.

she'll keep it up until he's tired or he does something to really try and hurt her.]

[It goes on for a few long minutes, until his body jars and he's reminded that he doesn't have the stamina he used to, and he throws a punch that misses her entirely and the momentum of it sends him stumbling, brings him to his knees.

He doesn't try to get back up, doesn't look to see if she's going to counterattack. Isaac just- sits there, breathing hard, staring down toward the ground with his teeth grit and his shoulders wound tight.]

[she doesn't counterattack. instead, she gives him a moment on the ground before she squats down beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder, light enough that he could just twitch it off]

[He doesn't. He just breathes like that, letting her touch him, but not moving to reciprocate in any manner. They sit like that for a long time, Isaac just breathing out heavily with Sophie's hand on him, before he finally speaks.]

...Scott said I'd become my father.

[when he says that, she shifts to actually kneel, and her hand moves slowly up his shoulder and then back down again. it takes a moment for her to answer, because she needs to rein in her own anger and make her voice even, although she doesn't quite make it to calm]

Scott doesn't know what he's talking about. Why would he even say such a thing?

Because-

[His voice is strong, defensive because he can see it too and it scares him. He knows why Scott said it, knows the implication behind it, and it makes sense because the world revolves around power and control, and he'd sure as hell rather be the abuser than the victim, wouldn't he?]

I hit Jackson. And I hurt Stiles, and I'm just- I keep hurting people, but I have to, Sophie. I can't stop, I can't let them-

[Isaac's tone cracks and he falls into silence then, trusting her to understand what he means.]

Hurt you anymore? I know.

[the hand on his shoulder rubs a slow circle, down over his spine and back up again, and the fingers of her other hand carefully card through his hair.]

That doesn't mean you are your father, or that you have to be. You haven't done anything even remotely like that, and you don't have to. There are ways to control a situation without hitting anyone.

[Isaac takes a deep breath and lifts at a hand to rub his eyes. His knuckles have split in one place, and are already beginning to swell with bruising. And when Sophie speaks, Isaac holds back a sad little scoff. Controlling situations without hurting people- all that is, is scaring people so they don't make you hurt them. It still leads to violence.]

He's dead, Sophie.

[And it's quiet, through gritted teeth.]

He's dead, and the city seized the house and everything in it. It's over- it's done. That part of my life is gone.

[So why is it still affecting him like this? Why does it still fill him with enough rage to almost break a young man's jaw? Why is he still so afraid of it that he'll destroy his own fists trying to fight something that only exists in the past?]

I think you told me once that he's still your father, regardless. People--the influences they have, the things that have happened--those don't disappear because they died.

[her fingers run through his hair again]

For better or worse.

[Isaac nods, trying to take a deep breath. He doesn't push her away when she touches him, just closes his eyes and lets himself try to understand her words.]

...it shouldn't affect me so much.

[she's going to keep carding her fingers through his hair until he makes some sort of movement of protest, because she's not sure he would accept a hug but she can't just not do anything]

Should and shouldn't have very little bearing on what is, in my experience. Home and family, such as they may be...they shape who we are. But in the end, we choose too. You aren't the person you were when you came here. I'm not either. New options presented themselves.

[The touch is actually nice- tentative enough that Isaac doesn't feel stifled by it, but there enough that he can feel comforted by the gesture.]

But I'm going to go back to being him.

[He tilts his head to look at her.]

That's the end result of all this, isn't it? None of us remember.

We won't remember. We won't remember anything, it will be just like it was. And it won't hurt, because we won't know anything was ever different. It's the cruelest kindness I can think of.

[she makes a soft sound, something almost like a scoff, but not quite, and her voice goes very soft and a little faltering]

And I suppose one could say that it's pointless, to try and be anything better here, because it won't last. But...so? We are never going back, not really. I want to have these things now, and try to be this now, because I won't have another chance to have friends and be safe and all the other stupid little things I do here that make me almost a person.

I can't guarantee your future, Isaac, any more than I can my own. Neither one looks particularly sparkling, from where we're sitting. But you don't have to become your father. You don't have to now, and maybe you'll learn that again when all this has unhappened.

[Isaac is quiet at that, not entirely sure if he trusts himself to respond. After a long few moments, however, he moves to stand, pulling away from her touch and slipping his hands in his pockets with a deep sigh.]

...my entire life, I've been surviving. I've been enduring because... well, because I've been hoping that there's more than survival. Something to live for. But what is there?

[He slowly turns back to her, his expression open, lost.]

If this place is the other side, if I can live here, what am I supposed to do? I don't know- I don't know how to not be just surviving. And I think I've been doing it wrong this entire time, if hitting people is the only thing that makes me feel better when Scott gets mad at me for hitting people in the first place.

There's more than survival. It's those precious little things you claw and scrape out for yourself while you're surviving, as far as I can tell.

[she steps closer behind him, close enough to touch but not doing it, her hands loose at her sides]

Suppose that the things that keep you alive will be there, even if you don't keep your fist tight around them. When I first came here, I kept rationing my food, you know? Because I was starving, then. But the food didn't disappear. No one drove me out of the Hall, or set traps to try and kill me if I was unwary.

Living, it seems to me, is reaching for the things you always wanted, those things other people seemed to have that you didn't. I never thought I was a likable person, or a trustworthy one. It's easier, in a way, because I'm alone here. No family.

If you're doing it wrong, I'm doing it wrong too. Do you remember the first time we sparred? You wanted to fight Connor, but his ribs were cracked. Because I cracked them. We weren't playing, when that happened. We were really trying to hurt each other. And then we stopped.

[she sighs, and runs a hand through her hair]

And then the night after that I went out and picked a different fight with a different friend, and that one had to carry me home, because I couldn't walk. The impulses don't just disappear. Half the training I do is to keep myself in check, so I don't do that again. Because it hurt other people. I still don't much care about being hurt.

You did hit me, but you didn't hurt me. That's not the same thing as hitting someone to do them harm.

[Isaac nods as he listens to her words. He never particularly had a problem with home or food (long, hungry hours locked in the basement nonwithstanding), but he supposes that his own physical safety has always been... uncertain at best. And now that he's here, that he's not constantly under threat, he- decides to go and get himself hurt as often as he can?

That's not the intention of course, but what else does he know? What can he do but find other people who speak with insults and fists? His father raised him with cruel words and crueler punishments, and Isaac was sure that something in the rest of the world had to work like that too.]

So that's it, then? You eat, sleep, and go to work? You don't hurt people intentionally?

[He knows the point she's trying to make- it just doesn't settle well with him.]

Sounds pretty boring. Is that the point?

This isn't eating, sleeping, or working, right now. I have friends, I read books, I talk to people, I cook because it turns out that feeding people is something I actually enjoy, and I never knew. I teach. Apparently occasionally I break into palaces and rescue the stolen souls of gods.

What do you think living is, exactly?

I don't know.

[He shrugs, because that's the honest truth. Before Derek, he'd been living under the thumb of his father, merely surviving. After Derek, he'd been scrapping for food, curled in the back of a train car at night, fighting for his life.

And now? Considering he's been in Asgard for over three months, it seems too late to ask that question, doesn't it? What has he been doing?]

...this is stupid. Forget it, Sophie.

It's not stupid.

[her voice comes out vehement, almost harsh despite the fact that she doesn't raise it at all, and she immediately softens, because she's not yelling at him.]

It's really, really hard. You met me just after I was starting to figure it out, what it was I considered living. And that was after we survived what should've been the end of the world.

[Isaac turns sharply toward her at the ire in her voice, his brows furrowed slightly.]

So what do I do, then? I can't just change how I react to things. I'm going to hurt someone someday, Sophie, and I don't know if I'll regret doing it.

No, you don't 'just' change. You decide you want to, and then you try. It's just like learning to fight, or with shadows. You try, and sometimes you succeed and sometimes it goes poorly, but you're always learning. Some things don't go away, not entirely.

[she looks down at her hands for a long moment, fingers wrapped around each other and twisting until it looks painful]

What you regret depends on who the person is, doesn't it? There's a lot of people I wouldn't regret hurting. I think you'd regret hurting Scott. I'd regret hurting you. Which is no guarantee I won't, but it's a guarantee I'll try. You just...always try.

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