"Little Talks"
You know how things are, when it's late, you're tired and you're still up, talking to someone and little secrets and things you're scared to say just slip out...
"Fries?" Stiles said through a mouthful of soda, thrusting food in Allison's face.
"No."
"Suit yourself" he said, shoving a handful into his mouth.
The night was colder than usual for summer, the moon large and round hanging above the Jeep. Allison's iPod played smooth background music which did little to still her nerves at the thought of her friends running around potentially killing people if they broke free from Derek's basement.
"What do we do if this all goes wrong?"
"Huh?" Stiles jerked his head up "Oh, if they escape or something? I dunno... Run maybe?"
"I'm serious. If they're stronger as a pack, what happens if they get out? If we're just sat here, what if they, I don't know, try and kill us? Or someone else for that matter?"
"Well we'd be dead so it wouldn't be our problem,"
"Stiles," Allison turned her head to look out of the window and stared at the Hale house. She turned the heating up a bit and curled further into a sweater Scott had left at hers when they were together. It wasn't long before her thoughts turned to her dead mother, wondering what she'd be doing now if she was still there.
"Do you miss your mom?" She asked before even thinking. Stiles stiffened.
"Yes. All the time, but y'know, it was a while ago, I was a lot younger then,"
"I feel like I'm supposed to miss my mom, but all I can feel is guilt, that it's my fault she's dead. I should have been there..."
Stiles sucked loudly through the straw of his soda. Allison nodded, wiping her tired eyes and staring with glazed eyes out of the Jeep.
"It's not your fault, Allison. Your mom... she... it... it wasn't you, okay? It's easier to blame yourself for something you couldn't control because you're the only person you CAN blame. My dad, he misses my mom. And I sometimes know what he's thinking, that it's my fault she got sick. If I hadn't been so... mental, maybe she'd still be here."
"Your mom was sick, Stiles. It wasn't your fault. My mom killed herself, and... I should have said something to her. I had pushed her away because of Scott..."
The two sat in silence, listening to the noises coming from the charred, broken house they were staring at.
"At least we have our dads," Stiles said, after a while. Allison slowly looked at him, her eyes searching his for an answer to a question she was afraid to ask.
The night grew lighter and when Stiles woke the next morning, the moon had been replaced by a milky white sun, hidden behind a mist of clouds, shrouding the Hale house in a smoky fog. Stiles yawned, and glanced at Allison. She looked about 7 years old, and she didn't look like the Allison he knew. Quietly, he started up the Jeep and drove her home.
Any ideas, let me know (I know this is really bad, I'm just getting into writing again and this is my first TW fic)