Brett is pretty sure he's lost his mind now.
For context, Brett didn't see Stilinsky for a long time after that locker incident, although her pack did save his ass a couple more times from bounty hunters since.
He doesn't remember really well what happened, but if he's to trust the fuzzy pictures in his mind, he chomped on her shoulder and passed out. She was already gone when he woke up, his sister taking care of him.
Next time he sees her is the dawn after the battle with Monroe's hunters.
When he and a bunch of both their packs walk in on her standing in a meadow of the preserve surrounded by fifteen unconscious or dead bodies to be precise.
Her back is turned to them, the same
baseball bat he saw last time in her hand. She's out of breath and her shoulders move with every expiration she takes.
She doesn't really look human under the morning light, encircled by the morning mist.
But she looks human when she drops to the floor passed out with the others.
"Jeesh, Stilinsky," Peter snorts.
There were about fifty hunters following Monroe. Sasha handled over a quarter of the total. With a baseball bat. And the guy's reaction is laughing.
Brett feels his own heart beating in his throat.
"Alright," Hale starts with a more serious tone "Check who's dead and who can make it. I want two piles. Sheriff Parrish and Halwin will come in a while to take care of both. And someone check on that nutjob with the bat." He declares, waving a hand dismissively.
And Brett thinks he's lost his mind.
Because he watches his own feet walk up to her.
The next time Sasha opens her eyes, the first thing she sees is his face.
Because the idiot used his knees as a pillow while he was checking the scratches on her face.
And he didn't get the time to think it through.
"Hi."
She doesn't answer and just stares at him, so he panics a little and stops controlling his own mouth.
"You-you have very long lashes."
Someone kill him.