Lydia, Scott, and Stiles carve pumpkins, before they visit an old friend, reflecting on the tragedy of their lives.
Set after season 4 finale. (very big spoilers from the end of season 3B though. I don't know if I need to add that, but better safe than sorry.)
"So, Malia and Kira can't come. They're helping Liam and Mason with something," Scott said, looking up from his phone. "And Derek and Braeden just glared at me when I asked, so I guess it's just us three."
Lydia sat across from him on his porch, legs crossed. In her lap was a sketchbook, as she absentmindedly doodle on an empty page. At her side was a carefully carved pumpkin, covered in delicate designs that create almost a piece of art. Stiles, on the other hand, was repeatedly stabbing the top of his, still trying to get the top off.
"Only the cool ones remain," he said, bringing the knife down ferociously.
"Stiles, just give me the knife," Lydia said in exasperation.
"What?" He said. "I can't get it open."
"Let Scott, the one who can heal if he impales himself, do it," she said. Scott looked up from where he lay on his stomach, staring intently as his own, semi-lopsided and slightly green pumpkin.
"I don't need Scott," Stiles said. "I know I'm doing." As he spoke, he violently drove the knife in, narrowly avoiding his thumb. Scott snorted,getting up and wrestling the knife from his friend's hand. They both fell backward. Lydia glared at them, pausing her drawing.
"One of you is going to get stabbed, and I am so not in the mood again."
"Don't make me go all werewolf on you," Scott said, sitting on Stiles' chest. He tried to
"Superhuman strength is an unfair advantage!"
"Boys!" Lydia snapped. "Do I need to call Derek? I will call Derek!"
"You told me to do it!" Scott said, as he stood triumphant with the knife in his hand. Stiles, however, lay among the shattered remains of his pumpkin.
"Oh, my god, Scott!" He said. "You killed it! You pumpkin murderer!"
"Just duct tape it back together."
"Duct tape cannot return life to a pumpkin! It's dead!"
"You two are such idiots," Lydia said, rolling her eyes. She glanced at her book again, holding her pencil on the manilla paper again. Her hair fell into her face, and all she could focus on was the gentle scratching. As the tip hit the edge of the design, she paused, looking at the whole thing for the first time.
She gasped in horror.
"Lydia?" Scott said, looking up. "What's wrong?"
She met his gaze, struggling to speak, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. Stiles jumped up, running next to her.
"Hey, hey, Lydia," he said. "What's the matter?"
She gently took the book from her lap, and handed it to him, so that Scott still couldn't see it. He looked at it, taking a sharp intake of breath. He studied it carefully, and looked back at her.
"Did you know you were doing this?"
She shook her head. "No. I got distracted..."
"What?" Scott said. They both turned to him, before glancing back at each other. "What?"
Stiles sighed, turning it around. Scott dropped the knife.
"Allison," he whispered. He extended his hands, reaching for the drawing, as if he could reach her that way. Stiles handed it to him. Lydia shut her eyes, tears streaming down her face.
Stiles touched her shoulder gently, and she sank into his embrace. If anyone had been looking at him, they would have seen guilt and sorrow. They would have known, that deep down, in some twisted, awful way, he still blamed himself for all that had happened, for what the Nogitsune had done. He still sometimes had nightmares about it. But no one was looking.
Scott stood alone, staring at her face.
She had a look of dark intensity on her face, bow held in hand, arrow notched on the string, like Artemis, the Goddess of the Hunt, Goddess of the Moon, of Maidens, the Silver Goddess. Lydia had shaded it so it was silver. Silver. Argent. Silver had saved them that night. Allison Argent had saved them.
But she hadn't saved herself.
He hadn't saved her.
He clutched it to his chest, and he, too shut his eyes, as his own tears began to fall.
Stiles reached out, pulling Lydia towards his best friend, holding it together so that he could hold them together.
"Hey," he said quietly. They both looked up at him. "Let's go visit her."
Lydia bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, she'd like that."
Scott was silent, still clutching her picture against him.
They descend the stairs, together, feeling incomplete without her with them.
The stood in front of her tombstone, reading what was written on the marble surface.
Allison Argent
"Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes."
The Argent Code.
We protect those who cannot protect themselves.
It was what she lived for.
And it was what she died for.
Stiles bit his lip, as the others stepped back, and let him whisper his words to her.
"Hey, Allison," he said. "I hope you're doing okay. I mean, you're obviously not okay, you're dead, but... I hope, wherever you are, you're happy. You deserved that. I mean it."
He paused.
"I'm sorry... Allison, I'm so sorry for what happened. If it could be me lying here, and not you, I'd give anything. It was my fault. The nogitsune. And I'm so sorry."
He rested his hand on the stone.
"Happy halloween, Allison. I'll keep an eye on them."
Lydia stepped up next. She took a deep breath.
"Allison. I miss you. I really miss you. I miss your laugh. I miss your smile. I miss going shooting with you in the words. I even miss almost getting killed by you," she said, with a little laugh. "I just miss you. You were my best friend. And I'd do anything to get you back."
She took a deep breath, shaking her head, giving a small laugh. "Come back to me, Allison. Please. It's Halloween. I want to spend Halloween with my best friend."
She sat back on her feet, covering her eyes. Stiles touched her shoulder, and she straighter, running her hands over her face, and taking three deep breaths, composing herself once again. She stood up, with her usual air of regality, a queen of ice, and walked back to stand beside Stiles.
Scott came up last.
He didn't say anything, as gently put the drawing down on her stone, placing his hand on it. He shut his eyes, and whispered so quietly, only one soul heard.
"I love you. My first love. I'll always love you, Allison Argent. I love you."
He stood up, and turned, and left, followed by his pack.
A group of four stood stood unseen, watching the pack go. As soon as they were gone, a lone stepped forward, soundlessly. The others watched her as she walked forward. The wind did not seem to touch her, and she glowed like moonlight in the setting sun, all silver and pale and ethereal.
She must have been in costume, wearing a long white dress, no shoes, hair tumbling over her shoulder. She was beautiful, but if you looked straight at her, she would flicker, like a silver flame, becoming almost transparent on the edges.
Kneeling in front of her tombstone, she picked up the picture of her, smiling sadly. Lydia was such a good artist. She made her look so powerful, so beautiful, so terrible like a ancient goddess, wrathful and kind. Tears filled her eyes. She was no goddess. She was a ghost. A selfish, selfish ghost.
Halloween was the night the dead could walk on Earth, and yet, she couldn't bring her to face them. Stiles' guilt. Lydia's heartbreak. Scott's sorrow. She couldn't bring herself to see them, even if it would alleviate their pain. She would have to leave them again. She would have to leave them, and would break her heart.
"Happy Halloween, everyone," the ghost of Allison Argent whispered to the new ones, the young ones, full of hope, and not yet scarred by loss, Liam and Mason.
She whispered it to Malia and Kira, knowing that they would keep her pack running, uphold her code.
She whispered it to Derek and Braeden, glad they were happy together.
She whispered it Jackson, in London, and Ethan and Danny, hopefully happy, wherever they were.
She whispered it Sheriff Stilinski, to Mrs. McCall, thanking them for taking care of them all.
She whispered it to Aiden, Erica, and Boyd, who all watched her sadly from behind, understanding her pain, understanding her tragedy.
She whispered it Stiles, hoping that he would forgive himself someday, because it wasn't his fault. Bad things happen to good people, and it's wrong and it hurts like hell, but it happens.
She whispered it to Isaac, hoping that he was okay, out there, alone, without a pack to protect him.
She whispered it her father, the last true Argent, silently thanking him for fighting on, for not giving up, for continuing her legacy, for protecting her friends, for protecting those who cannot protect themselves.
She whispered it to Lydia, her best friend, feeling her heart being torn out from space she left, and knowing it must be ten times worse for the gorgeous, red-headed queen of Beacon Hills.
She whispered it to Scott McCall, the brave, True Alpha.
She held the drawing of her against her heart. "Happy Halloween."
A/N: Another one of my oneshots I'm doing for the collection thing on Wattpad. I don't really like how Teen Wolf dealed with Allison's death. I mean, I know that Crystal wanted to leave, and it would be better and more in character for her to die than simply abandon her friends, but I think they could have used more emotional fallout. I mean, she was a critical piece, my precious darling, and you can't just yank her out and expect everyone to be okay. So, this started out as fluff, and turned into angst, but lord knows, I can't write anything about Teen Wolf without crying over Allison.
Happy Halloween, Allison, my love. I will always remember you.