Author's Note: So look at this, it's my first TW fic. I'm spreading out and that makes me happy. This, as you've probably noticed, is an Allisaac story - they're my favorite pairing in the show right now and I'm excited to see their relationship continue to bud and grow. So I wrote this as a sort of abstract look of that 'emotional tether' that they were supposed to have in 3.11. * You have to note that I wrote this before 3.12, so I'm well aware that this is not what went down when Allison, Scott and Stiles sacrificed themselves. It's just a sort of 'what if' kinda thing.

The water was frigidly cold – the kind of cold that cut through flesh. It stung and bit all over her body, causing her lungs to stutter and making it hard to breathe. That was entirely the point, she supposed. Her fingers curled tightly over the silver bullet, pressing that fist to her chest.

Think of Dad.

She felt Isaac's hands on her shoulders as she sunk lower into the ice water and she looked up at him. There was nervousness written all over his features but resolution resting in his blue-grey eyes.

"But it's not just someone to hold you under – it needs to be someone who can pull you back. Someone who has a strong connection to you. A kind of emotional tether."

Resolution because he knew she had to do this. He knew that she had to die.

She had tried to let as much air out before the water covered her head but somehow she still managed to hold her breath for a long time. Long enough to go numb. Then it felt like her chest was caving in.

As she much as she tried to hold still and let herself drown, her body would not allow it. Her mouth opened to draw air that wasn't there and her body tried to lift itself – she could feel Isaac's fingers tightening on her shoulders, keeping her down. It was painful, she wanted to cry, she wanted to kick and scream but he continued to hold her under.

Dad. Dad. Dad.

"Daddy!"

Her tiny bare feet padded across the hardwood floors – they were too cold. She didn't like it. But she didn't want to wear her shoes either – they were stiff and uncomfortable. It was snowing outside. Now she liked the snow, even if it was cold. She ran across the living room to the front door where her father was just coming in from outside. At the sight of her, he broke out into a warm smile – warmer even than the fire her mother had made in the fireplace – and held out his arms for her. Then she was lifted into the air and Allison pressed her face to his cool jacket. He smelled like snow.

Like the snow that crunched under her heavy boots as she trod tirelessly through the patch of woods, following his trail. She didn't know how far the target was – she didn't know really what a yard or ten of them meant – but it was pretty far. She looked up at her father, unsure as he tested the practice bow, pulling to gauge the tension of the string. He pushed her hat back a little off her forehead so that she could see clearly and placed the bow in her hands.

"You can do it, Allison," he encouraged, adjusting her position as she raised the bow and aimed it at the red-painted canvas, resting against a tree. It was a little intimidating, the way it contrasted to the the softer forest colors and brushed with stark white snow.

"What if I miss?"

"Then you try again," his low voice said from behind her. "Remember to breathe."

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She couldn't feel anything except the sharpest of pain inside of her heart. Faintly, she was aware of her father's arms around her, keeping her from collapsing right there in the hallway of the hospital. Screaming would have been a relief but all she could manage was to wail. Her mother was dead. This was not a lie spoken to make her a better hunter – this was truth meant to break the girl. Still, her father held her up.

"Breathe, Allison."

"Okay."

"You'll be fine."

"I know. It's just..."

"... A new school."

"What if they don't like me?"

"Then you try again."

"Bye Daddy!" The little brunette girl squealed bounding through the kitchen and out the back door into her aunt Kate's waiting arms. Out of her vision, a man in all black carted heavy black cases through the living room on route to the basement where, unknown to Allison, there lay an unconscious werewolf.

"Well, there's my favorite niece! How about we go get some ice cream, huh?"

"But it's cold!"

"That's the best time, don't you know?"

"Hey, hey!" Her father called before the young teen could skip out without being noticed. There had been a fight between her and her mother the night before. Her mother was under the impression that she had poor taste in friends to which Allison countered that she rarely had friends and sometimes beggars can't be choosers. It would have been nice to feel normal, for once – to feel like she had someone who wanted her around. Someone to be close to, to come back for. Her father ignored the expressionless look on her face, adjusted her hat and rested a hand on her small shoulder.

"One day, you're going to find someone who -"

The water burned it was so cold. It pierced like knives, like those Chinese ring-daggers her father bought her, all over her body, into her brain. She couldn't move, it was like she was being held down, under the ice. And she was afraid. Afraid the darkness would swallow her up and the emptiness would suck her down. She tried to scream, she tried to swim, but everything was frozen. She was drowning. Until her father's hand gripped tight and pulled her free.

"Bye Dad!" Keys jingled in her hand, a broad grin on her mouth.

"Be sure you bundle up," her father instructed over a cup of hot coffee. "Hey and don't you hang around that wer -"

"Allison, what did you do?"

She could see her breath in the slow-moving, chill air. She saw herself running. She saw herself fighting. She saw her knife go into his body like a sheath. She felt him collapse.

"Is that supposed to be an apology?"

"Allison," her father low voice called her from the living room. "Be careful out there."

"Allison, stop -"

"Allison, he's calling you." Her phone slid across the counter to her. She had to pull off her gloves.

Her hand touched his. This was not as strange as finding him trapped underneath his bed, shaking as if it were the middle of January. Don't crash. Don't die. Don't kill me. He was trapped in the closet but it wasn't just a closet anymore and he was thrashing and she was afraid. He was running on too much heat, he was about to explode.

"Allison, don't!"

His hand was over hers. Pieces were falling into place. He felt warm. How was he so warm? When she was so cold. Her body would have collapsed but he held her up, he held her close. The world had fallen apart and yet he was in one piece, keeping her together. He covered her. She could feel his hands on her, comforting, reaching for her.

"Bye Dad!" There was a laugh in the girl's voice as her father looked up confused. She went to explain, but she was already being pulled away, fingers lacing with her own and leading her out of the door. She had to look up and squint in the sunlight to see him, smiling gloriously at her before he snapped his arm back, tugging her hard into him.

"Isaac -"

Her bow arm lowered slowly, knowing that she should follow her quarry. That she should stay in the shadows. This wasn't supposed to be her life anymore but she couldn't let her friends go it alone. Friends. Her eyes fall on a lone werewolf, staring up at her in a mix of bewilderment... and awe? The same she had so viciously tried to kill. She offered her a small smile before taking off, running across the roof. Yes, friend.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that -"

He pushed her to the ground just as a pair of .45 pistols started to fire off. He shielded her, stretching his longer body over hers, keeping them low. For a moment, Allison could feel the heat of Isaac's breath across the back of her neck as he protected her. His hand tightly holding her arm.

Pulling her into the empty History classroom, catching her off guard. Instead of frightening her, she burst into bright laughter. He didn't let go of his arm, but a strangely mischievous look passed over his face, lingering in his eyes. It felt familiar to her. It felt okay. Still laughing, she pushed the door shut behind her then raised her arms to wrap around his neck.

"Allison..."

Isaac's hand were unexpectedly gentle as they explored her body. They had laid her gingerly down on her bed and brought her knees to his waist. She watched him as he watched them climb up her legs, move over her hips, slide across her ribs. Her own hands and the fingers attached tangled into his curls and pulled him down to her, her mouth waiting. Her lips captured his, stealing his breath and she kissed him until the skin he touched felt like it was on fire.

"I want you."

He turned on his heel, as if he had missed what she had said entirely. Her father lingered on the edge of the room as if he were trying to decide whether to fully come in or not but Isaac was oblivious. Allison didn't mind that her father was hearing every word about the 'other' werewolf as he was prone to refer to him at times. There were cool tears on her cheeks. She didn't want to argue about Scott anymore, she didn't want to hide anymore and she didn't want Isaac to think something that wasn't true. He stalled in his moving away from her enough for her to reach out and take his hand.

"You're cold."

"Where are you?"

"Right here. Can't you feel me?"

"I – I –"

"Breathe, Allison."

"Isaac -"

"You have to."

"I –"

"Breathe, Allison!"

Her numb body barely registered the hand against her cheek, and the voice coming through was muffled and distorted. Like someone screaming from underwater. But that hand was warm, so much warmer than her. Like a flood, she felt something shift in her chest and suddenly, she was choking. Her head turned and a mouthful of freezing water came rushing past her lips. She gasped for air, feeling as though she hadn't breathed in so long that her cold lungs had forgotten how to work. The warm hand brushed the wet hair back from her face, lifted her slightly from the floor as her eyes opened.

"Is -" It was hard to talk. Her body ached, her chest heaved but she could see him. He was holding her, cradling her. He looked relieved and … in awe. "Isaac."

She struggled to pull herself up, gripping onto his shirt and using it as a rope until she could put her arms around his shoulders. For a second, he must have been surprised, since he hesitated before wrapping his own arms around her. Then he was hugging her tight to himself, their chests flush together. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, his heat almost burning her icy skin, but she didn't care. He was so warm. It felt good.

"You – you brought me back."

"Shh," he hushed her, lightly running his hand up and down her back as her hands made fists into his shirt, clinging to him and he freely let her share his body heat. "Just warm up."

A/N:Tell me what you thought of it! Thanks for reading.