A/N:
Enjoy this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked it, they make my day!
Trigger Warning for this chapter: apparent suicide. Aftermath and body witnessed only. See end notes if you want basic details but to skip description (starts after " tune out the panic of bystanders" ends at "A tug at his hoody sleeve". It's mentioned later on though so read carefully.
Stiles eyed the ticking clock in his jeep with dread. 3:35 pm, it ticked menacingly. Time moving forward remorselessly despite Stiles wishing with all his imagined psychic powers that it would magically be tomorrow already so he wouldn't have to do this. He wasn't ready to face up to Allison yet despite what Lydia thought. Stiles glared intently at the ticking second hand, eye twitching, fingers pressed to his temple in his best Professor X impression. He could almost see the invisible force of his will, reaching out and stopping the clock—when a loud knock on the passenger window startled him violently out of his concentration. Arms floundering like a drowning man he accidentally honks the horn with a wayward elbow. He twists awkwardly, tangled in his seatbelt to face Allison, her lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, eyes twinkling with mirth. Narrowing his eyes at her in playful, exaggerated irritation, he reaches out to flick open the passenger door lock. He tries to summon up some real irritation at being startled so badly, but Allison just dimples at him as she peeks through the ajar door.
"Am I interrupting something? Do you want me to come back later?" her faux sincerity undermined by the faint twitch of her lips in repressed humor, dimples deepening further into her rosy cheeks.
How do you even dimple at someone? Is dimple a verb? Can dimples be weaponized? Maybe that's how Danny-
"Stiles?" Allison's questioning voice breaks through his pondering. He'd gotten lost in a thought wormhole for a second there.
"Sorry! Just – uhh- trying to stop time?" he ends on an uncertain question, as though not really sure if that's his answer.
"Riighhtt" Allison drawls, squinting at him in amused suspicion. The jeep door creaks loudly as she opens it wider, one hand planted against the rear panel for leverage. Cautiously, she turns side on and lifts a leg into the footwell of the passenger side, hand grasping the handle above the door. Stiles flounders for a moment. He's not used to seeing Allison as anything other than her graceful, gazelle-like self. "Do you need a hand?" he asks uncertainly.
"No, no. I got it. The seat's just higher than I expected," she assures Stiles, but the strained effort in her voice belies her words. It takes her a long moment to get seated and shut the door. Stiles notices her shaking hand gently prodding at her ribs as she takes measured breaths through the pain. He fiddles with his radio to try and give her a few seconds of composure, eyes darting anywhere but at her. He waits until he hears the seat belt buckle into place before turning the key in the ignition. The jeep rumbles to life beneath him as he pulls away from the curb. Stiles tries his hardest to avoid the slightly anxious and awkward atmosphere smothering him by focusing almost too intently on driving. He can feel Allison's stare burning a hole into the side of his skull, as he drives so carefully it's giving him flashbacks to his driver's test.
"Stiles. I'm not going to break if you have to brake."
"Whaaat?" he evades, voice reaching a cringe-inducing pitch, "I'm just being road safe. Safety first!"
"Stiles," Allison begins patiently, "I'm not made of glass. I got hurt, yes. But that was two weeks ago. I'm fine."
Stiles twists to face her, disbelievingly. "You got stabbed!" He waves a hand at her midsection, "Like, a lot. That's not something I would call fine!"
"Red," she says, pointing at the traffic lights in the vacant intersection ahead. Stiles swears under his breath as he hits the brakes a little too abruptly. A hiss escapes between Allison's gritted teeth as the seatbelt jerks across her injured ribs.
"See? Not fine. You got shish-kabobbed by a Japanese ghost wearing a Halloween mask and it's my fault. I don't even know how you can stand to see me right now!" Stiles blurts out, worry that he's hurt her roiling in his gut.
Allison carefully maneuvers herself as best she can in the confines of the seat to stare at him incredulously. "Okay...," she counts off on her fingers, "one, am too fine; two, I was not shish-kabobbed—"
"Mmm, no, it was a definite shish-kabobbing. An impaling at best…"
"Two," she repeats, louder than his rambling interruption, "there was no shish anything," she stresses. "It wasn't anybody's fault but the Oni and three, all I see is my friend. A friend I'm grateful is alive and well, even if he's being a complete weirdo over this."
Stiles sputters, "I'm not a complete weirdo. I'm only like…65% weird on a good day." Allison squints at him, a disbelieving hum sounding in her throat matching the so-so gesture she makes with the hand not clasped to her side. Their amused huffs of breath die down as the jeep turns onto the road leading to the hospital.
"I've missed this," Allison says quietly, her forlorn sigh at odds with the amusement of a moment ago.
"Missed what? I mean, it's not like we used to hang out all that much without Scott there. I was just the permanent third wheel in your little Romeo and Juliet drama."
Allison fiddles anxiously with the zipper on her clutch bag as she struggles to corral her thoughts. "Not this exactly," she gestures between them, "but the…I dunno, normal, teenage conversation that isn't about the latest threat or newest supernatural whatever. Everyone's been treating me like I'm some poor broken porcelain doll and it's just so - rrrgh—" she lets out a frustrated growl. "You get it, don't you? The looks, the constant walking on eggshells? I just want everyone to just be normal. Well…as normal as werewolves, banshees, and kitsunes can be."
"Well as I am none of the above, I can be your fellow token human." He pauses for a moment, bewildered, "How is it that we're the only two humans? Are we the diversity cast?" he asks, disbelieving.
"Three now with Danny." She gives a derisive chuckle, "He had the right idea staying out of it. He should've laid low, now that Lydia's sniffed out his involvement you better believe she'll be using him for all he's worth. She said something about building an online bestiary?"
Stiles drums the wheel as he waits for a break in the traffic to turn into the hospital parking lot. He scoffs, "She told me there's gonna be a 'girl's night' she's forcing me to come along to. What do you even do at those things? These things were not made for nail polish!" Stiles says, waggling his lanky, bitten to the quick fingers at her.
"Talk about boys mostly," she winks cheekily at him. "Anything you want to share with the class?"
Stiles furrows his brows, puzzled. "Uh…no? I've been texting Derek? Does that count? Hold up, shouldn't I be asking you that question? I heard about…y'know. The confession thing?"
Allison's face falls instantly and Stiles immediately regrets his big mouth. Well, that's one way to kill the mood. Silence reigns in the jeep's cabin as they search for an open parking space.
"Famous last words, huh."
"To be fair, we all kinda thought they would be so you get a free pass on that one."
Stiles wrenches the wheel to snag a parking spot before the soccer mom van can. The driver gives him a filthy look when he smiles beatifically at their frustration. He crunches the jeep into gear. He should really get that fixed but he still vividly recalls what happened with the kanima last time he was at the mechanics and decides he can live with grinding gears. He chances a glance at Allison. Her gaze unerringly focused on her clenched hands in her lap. Nails perfectly painted as always, she's trying hard to maintain the illusion of poise but it looks to Stiles like she's slowly coming apart at the seams.
"Isaac won't talk about it. I've tried explaining – it wasn't like that. Scott…was my first love, y'know? I'll always have a place for him in my heart. I didn't say I was still in love with him. Isaac's been a bit too defensive about it."
"I get it. I thought I loved Lydia for a long time. Too long. But I think that was just wishful thinking and idolization. I mean, who wouldn't idolize her? She's a strawberry blonde goddess. But we like each other far better as friends."
"She would have destroyed you," Allison sighs fondly, tilting to meet Stiles' eyes.
"Oh, absolutely. I don't doubt that for a second. Wait there for a sec," he unbuckles himself and makes his way to Allison's door, offering her a hand down from the jeep.
"Stiles, I didn't ask for help—"
"I know, I know. You're a big tough hunter who doesn't need to ask for help, even when you should," he stresses, eyes darting to her injured side. "That's why I'm offering instead. C'mon, Katniss."
Her defeated sigh clashes with the fond smile she gives him as Allison takes the helping hand. They make the trek to the main doors in companionable silence, Stiles slowing his pace subtly so Allison didn't overexert herself in her quest to keep up. He knows what that's like – pushing himself beyond what he should so he doesn't feel left behind by the wolves.
Their peaceful trek is shattered when the automatic glass door entrance way glides open.
Patients and visitors alike are scrambling to the wall furthest from the administration desk. The abrupt cacophony of loud sobs and panicked voices slams into them. A harried mother barges her way past Stiles, covering her young son's eyes with a hand. Stiles and Allison reel back, confusion and trepidation in their eyes. Stiles ventures forward first, a few cautious steps into the foyer. His gaze skitters about the lobby, looking for the source of the disturbance. It's a sad thought that he's so used to being in horrible situations that he's learned to tune out the panic of bystanders.
"Oh," Allison's soft, sad noise of realization draws his attention to the bottom of the welcome desk. A rapidly spreading puddle of dark ruby blood stains the linoleum leads to a limp body splayed on the floor like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Her once sandy blonde hair now matted in gore. A pair of steel handled scissors protrude grotesquely from her temple. Her vacant eyes stare unseeing at the ceiling. She looks young. In her mid-twenties perhaps. The secretary behind the desk flinches back when the body's fingers twitch in death throes. A sudden thundering noise heralds the arrival of the hospital security, beefed up since the Nogitsune's visit, Stiles supposes, but just as incompetent as ever.
"She- she just leaned over and snatched them from the desk!" the secretary howls, gripping a guard's shirt tight in a white-knuckled grip. He leads her away from the commotion as a doctor takes the woman's pulse, searching for a sign of life. He gives a small shake of the head, the nearby guard stepping away, phone already held to his ear as he calls the Sheriff's department.
The sudden influx of staff begin shepherding the shocked onlookers away from the grisly sight.
"That girl weren't right in the head," mutters a hunched over pensioner to her friend. Their shiny foil 'get well soon' balloon bobbing alongside them in stark contrast to the mood of the room.
Stiles can't seem to drag his eyes away from the macabre sight, even as the small crowd bustles around him. The blood shines brightly in the fluorescent lighting, gleaming sickly from the scissor handles embedded to the hilt in her skull.
A tug at his hoody sleeve shakes him out of his stupor, he tears his eyes away to see Allison, her gaze riveted to the scene, pale and queasy looking.
"That's awful," she murmurs to him. "Who could do something like that?"
"Someone desperate."
Allison's hand darts to her mouth to cover the sharp intake of breath, "Oh my god, she's crying."
She's right. When he glances over he can just make out the soft trails of tears winding their way down her dead cheeks.
Allison finally steps back into the small patient waiting lounge looking more exhausted than ever.
"All done, finally," she sighs. "God, I want a shower. That ultrasound gel is so sticky even after you wipe it off," she says, pinching her shirt away from her skin in disgust.
Stiles gasps scandalized, "Ultrasound? You've been holding out on me! Is it a boy or a girl?"
"It's a liver," Allison deadpans.
"And is it all…good?" Stiles questions, waving an uncertain hand at Allison's midsection.
She sighs in relief, "Yes, thankfully. No leaking from the perforation or bile duct."
Stiles holds up a hand to stall her, "Woah, woah. I'm not good with blood and bodily fluids. Let's just uh, nope."
A wicked gleam sparks in Allison's eyes. "But you've missed out on so much these past two weeks, Stiles," she simpers. "Don't you want to stay updated?"
"Can't you just, like, email me the deets?" he deflects, as they make their way down the corridor to the parking lot.
"And have you miss out on all the imagery? No way!" she teases.
On the drive back, Stiles does his best to nod along to Allison's vivid descriptions of the shattered ribs, perforated liver, the close call with her bile duct, partial lung collapse and blood transfusions she's undergone since the near-death experience from the Oni's blade. He's pulling into Argent's driveway as she details the botched blood collection today to check her liver function and blood counts.
"…you can still see the squirt mark the blood left here," she enthuses, pointing at the faint brownish dots that extend from the taped-on cotton ball on her inner elbow.
Stiles all but leaps out of the driver's side door, his face a sickly pale shade. He's not sure how, but Allison's resulting giggle is both charming and maliciously gleeful all at the same time.
"You're cruel, you know that?" Stiles asks as he helps her down from the jeep.
She hums in amused agreement but as Stiles moves to pull his hand away from hers, she grips tighter and tugs him into a hug. Cautious of her wounds, he gingerly pats her shoulders, taken aback by the sudden affection. He didn't think they were close enough for this kind of overture of friendship without Scott as an intermediary. Maybe it's time for that to change, he thinks.
"Thank you. For letting me be me again."
"Uhh-"
"It's been so good to just, not think about it so much, y'know? I know I shouldn't joke about what happened…but…" she hesitates.
He feels a sudden stab of sympathy, "But they've been treating you like…"
"Like I actually died that night," she finishes. "I know they're just worried, but it feels like they're just waiting for me to drop dead."
"Like they're waiting for the other shoe to drop," he says solemnly.
"I think you've got a good idea of what that's like right now," she sighs and squeezes tighter.
"So…this hug has been going on for a while now…" he awkwardly points out.
She snorts inelegantly in his ear and releases her grip.
Together they make their way onto the porch. Allison unzips her clutch bag searching for house keys when the door opens inward suddenly to reveal Isaac, eyeing the both of them with suspicious curiosity.
"You guys are a bit late…what was all that about?" he asks, eyes darting between them and lingering on Stiles' stabilizing hand on Allison's elbow.
"Sorry, confidential Team Human business," Allison breezes as she glides past him through the open door. Well, glides as best as she can, Stiles supposes. He follows the sound of dinner plates clattering together to find the living room a hub of action. Lydia stands at the head of the coffee table, directing the organization of the Chinese takeout like an orchestra conductor. She shoos Scott away when he approaches with a fistful of forks muttering about amateurs needing anything but chopsticks. Stiles still spies him surreptitiously stashing a few at the far end of the table. He hangs back, reluctant to get involved. He knows intellectually that Scott had said they all missed his presence, but emotionally he's still unsure of his welcome. He doesn't think he could stand to see the briefest flicker of doubt in their eyes at the mere suggestion he's anything other than himself. Isaac and Danny bustle past him with armfuls of cushions to sit on the floor.
Danny winks at him as he passes by, claiming a corner of the couch for himself. Stiles isn't sure what to make of that. It's weird adjusting to his presence in pack business, but at least he won't have to watch his words so carefully now.
Kira unpacks the cartons, arranging them in a specific order only known to her as everyone grabs a plate and crowds around the small table.
"Wait, there won't be any of that green stuff right?" Scott asks worriedly.
"The wasabi?" Kira asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"That's Japanese, not Chinese. Honestly, he calls himself your boyfriend," Danny jests with an eye roll.
Isaac adds sardonically, "There are differences in the food, you know."
"Oh, yeah?" teases Lydia, "name one."
"Uhh…"
"No Scott, there's no wasabi," Kira assures Scott.
Scott lets out a relieved sigh, "Oh thank god! I mean- not that there's anything wrong with Japanese food! Or that Chinese food is better – I just-"
"Yeah, keep digging that hole deeper, buddy," Stiles drawls. Danny snorts in response as he's loading up his plate and a ping of surprised happiness zips through him. Maybe he can do this, he hopes.
Plates full with a variety of dishes they all find seats on cushions on the floor, or if they're one of the lucky few, on the soft leather couch.
Stiles is content to let the boisterous conversations of the pack carry on around him as he watches. He's missed seeing his friends so carefree and unfettered by the constraints of school work or the latest supernatural shenanigans. That is partially his fault, he muses, locking himself away like Rapunzel in a Doritos scented tower.
He vaguely hears Lydia enquiring into Allison's appointment as he twists noodles around his fork (thank you, Scotty). He's brought sharply back to reality when he catches his name—
"It was horrible, wasn't it, Stiles?"
He whips up to face Allison who's looking at him expectantly, noodles hanging from his lips. Hurriedly, he slurps them up, ignoring Lydia's revolted noise.
"Uhh…"
"Something about a girl at the hospital," Scott whispers out the corner of his mouth, disguising his help by taking a sip from his glass of water.
Stiles grimaces at the reminder. "Urgh, yeah. Scissors girl," he shudders.
Danny raises one well-groomed brow. "Scissors girl?"
"Yup, she uhh…grabbed a pair from the admin desk and uh-" he mimes stabbing himself in the temple with his fork.
Kira looks vaguely sickened at the notion. Lydia however, has a knowing expression, like the puzzle has started coming together.
Lydia turns to Allison, "That was before your appointment?" At Allison's nod she continues, "I thought something was off all day. I kept hearing…" she shakes her head dismissively. "It took me twenty minutes to get back with the Chinese food because I kept taking auto-pilot detours around town."
Isaac casts a worried gaze at the assembled pack. "Is – is that something we should be worried about then?"
Lydia purses her lips in consideration. "I'm not sure. I don't know enough about how this works. I mean, maybe it was just because this girl died in close proximity to these two that it was trying to warn me?" She points her chopsticks at Stiles and Allison. She shrugs, "It led me on a wild goose chase around town, that's all. No body, no problem."
"Wow…" Danny drags out. "If your stance is 'no body, no problem' I'm kind of glad I kept to myself this long," he shakes his head in disbelief.
"Hmm," Lydia hums in thought, "It's an occupational hazard of being a banshee. God knows I found enough bodies when Ms. Blake was around that it's just one of those things now."
"Yeah, but someone stabbing themselves in the head with a pair of scissors? There's something up with that, right? That's not normal, right?" Allison ventures.
"In this town?" Isaac snorts.
"Isaac's right," Scott speaks up, "It's sad, yeah, but suicides happen a lot. If she'd gone to the ER instead of the main entrance she probably wouldn't have been able to reach other the desk and grab them," he shrugs.
"Yeah, because the hospital has such strict security measures," Stiles drawls sarcastically.
Isaac flicks his eyes up to meet his, challenging. "After you? They do now."
Stiles doesn't miss the subtle elbow Allison jams into Isaac's ribs, nor the dangerous, flinty glare Lydia levels at him.
"Look, it's not our thing, so let's not worry about it anymore, ok?" Kira rushes in a futile attempt to dispel the tension.
Stiles maintains the defiant eye contact Isaac is making with him. Guess he blames him for Allison's injuries, even if she doesn't. "Yeah, but it's not the only thing happening lately, is it?" Stiles challenges.
Scott lets out a frustrated huff and slams his water glass down too heavily, sloshing water over the rim. "We've been over this, dude. There was nothing in the preserve!"
"Oh yeah? So what killed the deer? You were there, man. There's no way that was normal!" Stiles argues.
"But it was," Scott stresses, "Deaton did the autopsy – the fawn died of dehydration. Not poison, not some supernatural thing, but dehydration. Its mother had died, it had no milk!"
"What about the samples, huh? You're telling me that those dead animals just happened to all die around that creek?"
"Yes!" Scott all but yells.
Kira reaches across a highly uncomfortable Danny to pull Scott's arm back. "Scott…that's enough, you need to take a break—"
"What about Daniel Ellis, huh? Drowned in his sink, dumped in a creek in the preserve too. That a 'fact of life', huh?" Stiles accuses.
"I don't even know who that is, but it's called murder, Stiles. It happens every day – ask your father. You know, the Sheriff? It's his job to sort those things out, not yours. Tell me, does he think there's something supernatural about it?"
"Well…no, but—"
"But nothing. You're so hung up on this! You so desperately want to help with some supernatural issue that you can't even see that you're the issue!" Scott's chest heaves with the effort of his angry breathing, rising to tower over him. "Look, maybe it's for the best if you have a time out."
"I just came back—" Stiles pleads.
"And maybe it wasn't long enough for you to get your head screwed on straight," Isaac cuts in.
"You don't believe me? Fine," Stiles spits out. "I'll prove it. But until then? You can forget this." He pushes to a stand and tosses his empty plate none-too-gently onto the table, spilling Scott's water onto the pristine carpet.
He storms out, unheeding of the raised voices behind him, the girls of the pack rising to his defense. The door slams with a note of finality.
He's just turned the key in the jeep when his phone buzzes in his pocket.
He withdraws it to read:
|Allison| 6:43pm | I believe you.