I thought writing this would be cathartic and help with my feels bUT IT JUST MADE EVERYTHING WORSE! *sobs*
I HAVE A LOT OF FEELS OKAY. I'M GOING BACK TO SEASON ONE WHERE EVERYTHING WAS SHINY AND BRIGHT.
Oh god, I am so not ready for tonight's finale ;A;
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf belongs to Jeff Davis, not me. If it did, my babies would still be alive.
One second she is looking up at Scott, tears clouding her vision, and the next, Allison is standing beside his crouched form with her prone body in his arms.
She blocks out the cacophony of noise around her—her father shouting and running, Isaac's howls, Kira's sobs—and steps back. A beat later Lydia stumbles out an open door and freezes, immediately zoning in on the tragic scene across the courtyard. Her best friend's face is tear-streaked and eyes rimmed red but she is safe. Stiles stops behind Lydia, looking more pallid than before, but he does not falter when she practically drags him toward everyone.
Her father slows to a stop in front of Scott and drops to his knees. He holds out his shaking arms and Scott carefully hands her body to him. Chris holds her closer than Scott did, pressing his face in her hair, sobs muffled by her curls.
Allison just stares at the gathered grievers and feels nothing.
She should be angry.
Angry she will never go to college or backpack across Europe or try-out for the Olympics' archery team. Angry she will never enjoy Isaac's kisses, Scott's smile, Lydia's laughter, Stiles' jokes, Kira's chats, or her father's hugs again.
There is a glimmer of sadness though. Sad she inflicted heartache and grief upon her loved ones, knowing they will never fully recover from her death.
It seems like forever before anyone starts moving.
Chris tucks her close, like he always did when she was a little girl and he carried her off to bed, as he staggers to his feet and walks back to his car at a snail's pace. Isaac follows behind, wanting to stay near, but not before giving Scott a brief look in passing.
Kira sheathes her sword and trails after her mother, occasionally glancing over her shoulder.
Lydia clutches to Stiles and hobbles along; Allison spots a darkening bruise blossoming across the redhead's ankle. Stiles' head is bowed, no doubt wallowing in guilt. He keeps an arm firmly wrapped around Lydia's waist, just like how she keeps a death-grip on his shirt, acting as if they let each other go, they will fall apart.
Scott remains where he is, sitting motionless on the concrete.
Allison kneels next to him and brushes her wispy fingers across his cheek, miming his gesture from that rainy night at the clinic.
I'm sorry.
She blinks and everything fades to white.