Okeydoke, here's the next chapter! It seems that I'm doing a chapter a week and I think I'll probably stick to that routine for awhile. I'm leaving next week for Europe and won't be back until July 10th so I probably won't update during that time. I know it's a bummer and I just wanted to thank everyone who has been so incredibly patient with me. Like I said I won't update during that time but I'll do plenty of writing so hopefully I won't have to write as I post. I think I'll probably be able to get one more chapter before I leave. Big thanks to everyone who has reviewed or read, it really means a lot and I love hearing what you think.
Please work. It becomes her own personal mantra, though she swears she can see her father's lips silently mouthing the same thing. As the seconds tick by her pleas grow more and more quiet, until her lips are just barely moving. While she doesn't know the specifics of the werewolf healing process, she's certain that it shouldn't be taking this long. The bullet wound sits there completely unchanging, just as bloody and open as it had when the bullet was still imbedded within it. She glances at where the bullet landed across the house and can't help but feel that the inanimate object is taunting her. It's lying innocently on the floor, mirroring the body on which it inflicted so much damage. She feels another spark of rage and tears her eyes away from the piece of metal.
The wound acts as a magnet for her and her eyes are once again trained on it. She stares at the bullet hole as if her focus alone will repair the damage. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed that her unblinking stare doesn't do a thing. She methodically takes note of every injury that litters Scott's body, every lash mark, knife wound, and broken bone is accounted for. It's sickening and she doesn't want to see the extent of the damage, but she's banking on the possibility of the lesser injuries healing first. Her father seems to be thinking the same thing because his eyes routinely scan Scott's body, searching for any sign of progress.
The situation is so preposterous and nonsensical that Allison can't help but wonder if it's all a dream. Because no reality should have her covered in blood with her father crying over the body of a werewolf. She's been plagued by nightmares before and has woken up in more cold sweats than she'd care to admit. And every time, the feeling of terror she felt in her dream remained with her long after she woke. The ridiculous psychobabble that most people spew is that simply opening your eyes will rid you of whatever demons haunt. Allison knows that's a load of bull though, because some nightmares can come true.
She knows this isn't a dream. Because whatever terror she felt during those sleepless nights doesn't even come close to what she's feeling now. She takes a moment to assess herself, a fraction of a second really, and takes note of every emotion coursing through her. She's terrified yes, but she's also greeted with an indescribable feeling of pain and desolation. Because, she realizes, in a world without Scott she'd be nothing more than an empty shell, broken and devoid of any emotion other than grief. She's never felt so lost and she realizes that, more than anything, in this moment she feels helpless. She's done everything she can, and she's beginning to think that it wasn't enough.
But the small voice in the back of her head disagrees. She didn't do everything. She could have stopped them.
Flashback
Stiles is chattering away in the passenger seat and Allison is beginning to wonder if his mind ever shuts down, if even for a second. Based on his incessant fidgeting, she bets that the answer is no. He's rambling on about something, and while she tries her best to listen, Allison finds herself tuning out a majority of what he's saying. Knowing Stiles, whatever topic he'd begun with had already morphed into a lengthy tangent concerning something entirely different.
The random spurts of information mixed with energetic hand gestures tended to keep most people away from the boy. Evidently people have a very low tolerance when it comes to Stiles, with the most tolerant tapping out after a few minutes. And while his behavior is sometimes a little irritating, and almost always inappropriate, Allison doesn't really mind. She knows that Stiles and Scott are a package deal, and is secretly grateful for it. The enigma that is Stiles Stilinski is someone who Allison has grown to care about more than most people in her life. Being an only child, she never really understood what it felt like to have someone other than her parents be unconditionally supportive. He's become the brother that she never wanted, but is grateful to have. It was a comfort having Stiles around, because no matter how un-relatable she thinks her life is becoming, he always seems to understand what she's going through. And while Stiles doesn't live in a house full of werewolf hunters, nor is he secretly dating said supernatural creature, he's as immersed in the situation as she is. He's one of the few constants in her life and her appreciation for him grows by the day.
"Allison…. Allison? ALLISON STOP THE CAR!" The shouting breaks her from her daze and she slams her foot down on the break. Her seatbelt is constraining her but it doesn't stop her head from jerking forward and slamming into the steering wheel. "Damn it Stiles! What the hell." She can already feel the lump forming on her forehead and she's certain that the next few minutes will bring a stinging migraine. One glance into the mirror and she can see the glaringly obvious red swelling on her forehead. Wincing as she prods the spot that took the most impact, she glances at Stiles whose eyes are wide and panicked. "Oh my gosh Allison, I'm so sorry! It's just I was talking and I asked you a question and you didn't respond and then I saw that the grocery store was having a sale on candy and I wanted some, and then I got a little overexcited and now we're here and Scott's gonna kill me for almost killing you and- can you stop looking at me like that cause you're really starting to freak me out." Her mouth is open and she has a feeling that her eyes are bugging out. One breath. He managed to get all that out in one breath! She'd probably be impressed if she weren't so exasperated.
"You're telling me that I'm going to have a killer migraine and a minor concussion because you have an uncontrollable sweet tooth?" She speaks slowly and deliberately, making sure that Stiles hears how stupefied she is by his behavior. It's a rhetorical question but that doesn't stop Stiles from answering. "Umm… yes...?" He adds a quirky smile to his shrug, as if the answer was obvious, and does a weird little wave with his hand, motioning her to proceed. Her mouth is agape when her eyes return to the road and she puts her foot on the gas. "Hey Allison?" She knows where this is going and fights the urge to roll her eyes. "Hmm?" He's looking out the window at something in the distance when he points and mumbles. "Grocery store is the next right." She wonders how she always manages to be stuck Stiles when he's hungry.
She barely has the car in park before Stiles is bolting out the door and running into the store, somehow managing to slow down long enough to snatch a cart along the way. Allison concentrates on deliberately presenting herself as a functioning human being who has no relation to the teenage boy who was literally riding the cart through the store. She makes sure to meander through the aisles at a normal pace. After a few minutes the bright fluorescent lights begin to give her a headache so she heads towards aisle 8, first aid supplies. She can hear Stiles three aisles over, no doubt filling his cart with a bag of every type of candy the store sells. The Advil is easy enough for her to find but the dull throbbing in her head makes Allison think that a quicker solution is needed. She's scanning the aisle for ice packs when she sees them. They'd be pretty hard to miss.
While it's true that most occupants of Beacon Hills seem to have a penchant for black clothing, this group takes the love of the color to a whole new level. The men are all wearing entirely ebony ensembles. Black pants, black boots, black everything. Allison notes that while her leather jacket is a perfect accessory to her outfit, theirs are simply making a statement. Dangerous. They're walking in a group but it's clear to Allison what the pecking order is. The shifts of their bodies are entirely reliant on the movement of their leader. Though each individual has a hardened expression, Allison's eyes are immediately drawn to the man in front, whose eyes are cold and unwelcoming. She doesn't miss the predatory gleam either. Allison tries to think of a word adequate enough to describe the threatening vibe that he lets off but nothing seems to do her bone-chilling feeling justice.
They're moving with a purpose and Allison realizes to late that the purpose is her. Her heart is hammering in her chest when the newcomers stop in front of her, spreading out so that she is trapped between the aisle and the human wall. "Allison Argent?" She isn't surprised to see that her initial instinct was right, this man is clearly the leader. The eyes of his three goonies continuously flit between her and him. "Yes. Who's asking?" She's grateful that there is no tremor in her voice as she speaks. The man signals the thug closest to her and when he reaches into his jacket she instinctually steps away. Bad decision. The men smirk at her and she realizes that whatever power she had is now gone, she's already displayed a weakness.
The goon removes an envelope and hands it to her. Attempting to regain some form of dominance, Allison crosses her arms and quirks her eyebrows at the leader, refusing to convey the panic she's feeling. "What am I supposed to do with that?" His smirk is gone in an instant and his expression immediately becomes sinister. Snatching the envelope from his number two, the man grabs Allison's arm and forces the paper into her hand. His face is inches from her own and she can feel every one of his breaths hit her face. "Give this to your father. Tell him Andrew is here to help clean up his mess." He pushes her away from him and her back collides with the wall. He stares at her for a second before jerking his head and walking away, his men quickly following suit. It isn't until she sees them drive away through the store window that she releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding.
End Flashback
He hasn't been breathing for a few minutes now.
Allison still isn't wiling to give up though. Her hands ghost over Scott's body and she realizes that her actions are more for her own comfort than her boyfriend's. She needs to maintain some form of physical connection or she thinks she'll have a full-blown mental breakdown. As her hands roam his torso, she reasons that she's searching for a pulse. She ignores devastating feeling that tells her she won't find one. Her mind is repeating itself, doing everything to convince her. You won't find a pulse because there's no pulse to find. Her father must have come to the same conclusion because she watches as his body collapses, whether it's from grief or exhaustion she isn't sure, and barely audible whimper escapes him. He pushes himself away from Scott's body and doesn't stop until his back makes contact with the wall. She looks at her father, broken and devastated, and her mind finally informs her what she'd spent so long refusing to admit. He's dead. Scott is dead. The air leaves her lungs and in an instant she finds herself cradling Scott's body in her arms.
She knows she's crying again, but as she sticks her head into the crook of Scott's neck, she comes to the conclusion that she'll probably never stop. She'll spend the rest of her life crying. She moves to hold his head in her hands and is immediately struck by how young he looks. She sometimes forgets that he's only sixteen. He's experienced so many things, protected so many people, that she often thinks he's older than even herself. He's always seemed like a man, but lying here, eyes closed and body relaxed, Scott finally looks like a boy. It's when she sees him for the teenager he is that the next stage of grief hits her
As she is swept with another overwhelming feeling of anger, Allison realizes that she is following the 7 Stages of Grief to a tee. Shock? Check. Denial? Check. Pain and Guilt? Check. And now the rage hits. Scott McCall, who had done nothing but help the people around him, was dead for no good reason. Allison viciously wipes the tears off of her face and feels her hands clench into fists. She has the overwhelming desire to hit something, so she does. It's an out of body experience for her. She sees her fists flying, repeatedly making contact with Scott's chest, but doesn't fully comprehend what she's doing. She hears a choked gasp and assumes it's her own.
It isn't until Scott bolts up and grabs her hand in an iron grip that her mind begins to work again. She's only able to process one thing before her body shuts down and she blacks out. Why are his eyes red?