Allison pushed her way through the deep water, kicking behind her when she began to lose momentum. Her eyes were wide open; they would've been burning if there was actual chlorine mixed in. Allison allowed a steady stream of air escape from her mouth as she reached Stiles. His eyes were closed and his mouth was gaped open, and Allison prayed that there was still a shred of oxygen left in his lungs.
She brought the lock pick in front of her, and began to wheedle away at closest handcuff. Allison had been practicing with a variety of locks lately, all containing a different set of tumblers. Luckily, this particular lock had two, but even then it was tricky given the underwater circumstances. She couldn't hear the clicks due to the pounding water muffling her hearing, but she felt the sense of the tumblers clicking into place and unlatching. Her heart sagged in relief when the first handcuff was released.
Allison tugged Stiles' wrist out of the loosened cuff, and proceeded on the second one. A thin trail of air bubbles billowed out of pursed lips. Her chest was burning, screaming for oxygen. She was so close, but she'd be no good to Stiles if she passed out now. Cursing herself, she pushed her body toward the surface, gasping and choking for air. She gathered a swallow of air into her mouth, and pushed back down the rampaging waves. The water was reaching the edge of the tank now.
Getting back into the rhythm, Allison inserted the lock pick into the second cuff and moved as swiftly as she could without backtracking or losing her progress. Stiles' body was swaying back and forth, but it was because of the whim of the moving water and not his conscious decisions. Allison's hand shook, and her chest seized with panic, but settled when the lock clicked open. She yanked the cuff open, pushing it away.
Stiles' body hovered in front of her, even though it was free of its restraints. A flurry of panic Allison gripped her, and she reached out to her friend. She dug her hands under his armpits, keeping a tight grip on him as she surged both of their bodies upward.
The water levels were still rising, nearly reaching the top of the diving tank. Stiles' head broke through the surface, lolling on his shoulder as Allison emerged and gasped for air. Her hair was clinging to the sides of her face like cold tendrils. Stiles', meanwhile, was plastered across his forehead. Allison held him against her chest and swiftly pushed back his hair with one hand. He was quite still in her arms.
"Stiles," she said urgently, "Wake up. You have to wake up."
There was no answer, not even a gasp for air.
Water spilled over onto the floor as Allison lifted and rolled him onto the cool surface, now lying flat on his back. She was at his side in seconds. She pressed her ear to his mouth, desperately listening for a breath as she watched his chest. It remained motionless.
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. Allison hastily wiped them away, shivering in her wet clothes. She quietly maneuvered herself over onto Stiles' right side and positioned her fingers to face his left side. With the heel of her hands positioned directly over his sternum, Allison shot two breaths into Stiles' open mouth and began the compressions.
Two breaths, thirty compressions.
Two breaths, thirty compressions.
Tears of frustration rolled down her face as the minutes crawled by without any response from Stiles. He wasn't waking up, but she could've sworn that she saw his chest rise a fraction before slumping back down by the cruelty of gravity.
Two breaths, thirty compressions.
You can't die, Allison frantically thought. A lump was forming in her throat, and it hurt like hell to swallow it down. You can't die, not after all of the shit that we've been through. You'd be so pissed if you went out like this. You'd want—well, I'm not exactly sure, but certainly not something this normal and not so young. Please wake up, please wake up, Scott needs you—
It was as if he had heard her thoughts. Allison blinked in disbelief; her eyes must be playing tricks on her because she could've sworn that she saw Stiles' eyelids flicker open for a moment.
"Stiles?" she breathed, daring to believe it. Her hands hovered over his chest, just in case she needed to continue the compressions.
She was instead greeted with a convulsing body that craved air.
Stiles sputtered and gasped, causing Allison to sob in relief. He had pushed himself into a sitting position, and coughed loudly in succession. Some water spilled from his mouth, and he breathed in the air with a wide mouth.
Stiles' eyes were wide, blinking rapidly as he twisted his head to look around in all directions. They finally landed on Allison, looking confused.
"Allison?"
"Thank God!" she cried, pulling him into her arms. He slumped against her, all of his energy finally exhausted as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. A quiet minute passed with Allison sobbing delightedly because he was alive, she was able to save someone.
She wasn't a murderer.
The giddiness of the accomplishment overcame her, and Allison pulled Stiles away just far enough to cradle his face and plant a kiss on his mouth. It was chaste, lacking tongue or even the scrape of teeth. Stiles blinked, looking perplexed as Allison drew away.
"You're blushing" was his first reaction.
Allison giggled nervously, brushing back the tears. "They're soft," she replied. "Your lips," she added quickly, seeing the weird look he was giving her.
"Not my first rodeo, though," he murmured. Stiles' eyes were then examining her, taking in the drenched attire and red eyes. "Thanks."
"For the kiss?"
"Uh, that too," Stiles said, a strange blush creeping up his neck. His hand pushed away his damp hair, which was beginning to dry itself in the cold air. "But for, you know, saving me just now. He—he just left me in there, looking so fucking pleased—"
"You're my friend," she said, cutting him off. "That's what friends do, right?" Allison saw Stiles shivering, whether from the water or the memory. She pulled him close, giving him a quick squeeze before drawing back.
Stiles' eyes widened. "How did you know where I was?"
Allison's mouth went dry, suddenly remembering Scott. She was so caught up in the adrenaline and relief of the rescue that she'd forgotten him. "I was with Scott," she whispered. "He took the front entrance to distract Peter long enough for me to come find you—"
"Do you know where he is now?!" Stiles demanded, his voice going high. Allison shook her head, shame burning below her sternum.
"Not too far," she replied, just as a loud crash was heard. Both she and Stiles' head swung in the direction of the door.
"Scott," Stiles said, rising to his feet. His teeth were chattering as he half-stumbled, half-ran towards the door.
"Stiles, wait!" Allison shouted at him. She went to grab her crossbow before pursuing after Stiles, who had already wrenched open the door.
"You wouldn't be able to turn him anyway," Scott gritted out. "And even if you could—"
"Even if I could, what?" Peter sneered, pressing the tips of his claws into Scott's throat. He gasped, struggling to breathe without aggravating the puncturing pain in his windpipe. "He wouldn't want it? It's almost funny that you bring that up, because he and I had the exact conversation months ago."
"What?" Disbelief flushed through him. His gripped Peter's wrist, trying to extract his claws from his chest but the older werewolf gave him no leeway. He just smirked victoriously.
"It was quite simple, really. He helped me, so I wanted to help him. Sadly, he turned my offer down."
The moment of realization crashed through Scott like a tsunami wave. He felt cold all over. "What offer?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "I know that you know the answer, Scott. Try not to parrot everything I say. Really, do we have to repeat what's already been said? Have you been listening at all?"
Scott was speechless. His grip on Peter slackened. Peter withdrew his claws slowly, delicately, causing Scott to hiss in pain. Standing up, he towered over Scott, who quickly scrambled to his feet.
"You gave him a choice?" Scott whispered.
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"Yes," Scott replied, "because you never gave me one."
Peter sighed. "Are you still hung up about that? We all make mistakes." He shook his head as if Scott was being unreasonable. He ducked as Scott threw another piece of the chair in his direction, eyes glowing with rage. "He was lying; I could hear it in his heartbeat. It was steady until he refused my gift." Peter inspected his claws, casually eyeing Scott for his reaction. "He would still be alive if he—"
"Shut up," Scott growled. His fangs felt crowded in his mouth. He wanted to sink them into something, preferably Peter's throat for saying these lies about Stiles.
He's not dead, he's not dead…
Peter smiled. His eyes were patient and cruel, a sickening combination. That look broke the last restraint in Scott's body, snapping the floodgates open. For once, Scott almost felt glad that his other side would be taking the reins of the fight.
"Can a werewolf recover from a broken spine?" Scott asked coldly. "How about if it was ripped out through their throat?"
In an instant, Peter was lunging at him, catching his claws into Scott's forearm. He dug them right in, scratching the bone underneath before grabbing the bicep with his other hand. Scott roared in pain as blood spurted from the puncture marks. Peter gripped him tight before tossing him, his claws ripping out of his flesh. A wide arc of blood flew through the air in his wake. Scott slammed into the help desk, causing an almighty crash from dented metal and splintered wood. His wounds were closing up fast, but the raging pain was still there, ebbing and flowing underneath the skin.
"Scott?" said a shaken voice, barely audible if it weren't his enhanced werewolf hearing.
Stiles was standing halfway through the pool entry door, his skin wet with the remnants of water. His amber eyes were wide and the ghost of a sentence fading from his lips.
But the darkness refused to let go, even as Scott's mind filled with relief. He wanted to sob, wanted to touch Stiles to make sure that he was real.
Dark Scott had other plans, however.
He gingerly rose from the remains of the help desk, grinning viciously. Peter had slunk back into the shadows, no doubt watching to see if his poorly-planned "lesson" would pan out.
"If it isn't the little fuck toy himself," Scott sneered, stalking towards Stiles. Stiles stood his ground, however. His eyes were fixed on Scott's wolfish ones as his body trembled from either cold or fear.
The darkness was hoping for the latter.
Allison barrelled through the door just as Scott was grabbing Stiles by the throat and slamming him into the opposite wall. She instantly trained her crossbow on him, a single bolt notched and ready to fire. Scott held out a clawed hand, turning his head to glare at her.
"This is a private conversation," Scott hissed, and Allison shivered involuntarily. "Let the boys talk it out, alright?"
Allison lowered the crossbow slightly, but it remained fixed on her former boyfriend. The last time she'd threatened to shoot him was back when she was under Kate's thumb.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Peter. Anger roiled through her, but she elected to ignore his presence for the time being. Scott was squeezing Stiles' throat, causing tiny whimpers to escape from his mouth.
"Let him go first," Allison said firmly.
Scott bared his fangs at her, causing her to gape in surprise. "What part of 'private conversation' don't you understand?"
"Allison—" Stiles gasped out. His eyes did the rest of the pleading for him. Allison bit her lip, hesitating. She finally stepped back, dropping her hands to her sides.
Scott had a triumphant look on his face. It was a terrifying and surreal expression, one that was alien for a person like Scott. There was bloodlust in those eyes, whereas the real Scott would've had kindness in them. There wasn't a trace of that left, and Allison felt helpless.
She hated that feeling. She thought she got rid of it long ago.
Scott, meanwhile, had swung his head back to face Stiles. He pressed his face up to Stiles', their lips brushing the air between them.
"Are you there, Scott?" Stiles asked. "It's me, Stiles."
Scott rolled his eyes, but his grip on Stiles' throat lessened by an eighth of a fraction. He rolled his eyes at Stiles' quip just before slamming his lips into his friend's. The kiss was harsh and bruising, and Scott grinned viciously before adding his tongue into the mix. Stiles elicited a small moan, looking aroused and terrified at the same time.
Scott broke the kiss, his eyes dark with lust. His hands slid down from Stiles' throat to his naked shoulders, his thumb tracing his collarbone.
"Scott's so happy that your human limitations didn't kill you this time around," Scott said. He began to bite kisses along Stiles' jawline, and he could tell from Stiles' averting gaze that he was trying to ignore the sensations enrapturing his body. "As am I." He licked Stiles' bruising throat, traveling upwards all the way from the base and ending at Stiles' swollen lips.
"This undivided attention is really distracting right now," Stiles said. He winced when Scott's grip on him tightened. "Scott," he began anxiously, "please, I need you right now, not this parallel universe version of you. Come on, I know you can hear me—"
"Oh, he can," Scott replied cruelly. His attention was back at Stiles' wide-eyed expression. The werewolf's face was devoid of everything that remotely resembled his best friend. He choked back a sob; this isn't what he wanted.
"Then let me talk to him!" Stiles screamed. He was tired and every breath was a miracle no thanks to Peter and his absurd scheming. He wanted Scott back so badly, and this bastard inside of him was refusing to let go.
"I'm afraid that Scotty can't come out to play anymore," Scott said. "He's been a bad boy, you see. If he had let me be in control then this 'lesson' would've gone a lot smoother."
"Scott—" Allison started, but Scott growled at her. She brought her crossbow back into position, watching Scott with a wary eye.
"But of course he wouldn't need me if it hadn't been for you, Stiles," Scott said accusingly, stretching out the last word with such venom. He gripped Stiles tightly before throwing him to the floor. Stiles' body skidded across the smooth, cold lamination. He groaned, trying to get to his knees as Scott sauntered over to him. He stood over Stiles before bending down. Scott pushed Stiles back down onto his back, his claws now stained with fresh blood.
"Scott—" Stiles whispered, wincing.
"YOU DID THIS TO HIM, REMEMBER?!" Scott roared. His claws sunk deeper into Stiles' chest, causing more blood to well up. Scott shook his head before he gave Stiles a calm, icy smile. "Scott needs me because of what you did to him. You caused him to be this monster that you admire so much."
