chapter twenty-six {part one}

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wednesday, august 6
beacon hills, california
third person pov

Allison watched the sun set, left alone with a beaten Liam, her tears, and the smell of Peter's corpse. It was strangely sad to see him lying there, his blood splattered around him and the betrayed shock still frozen on his face, the mangled flesh of his detached neck hanging loosely around the stake.

It played in her mind, over and over, watching that thing rip Peter's head off with less effort than one would use to step on a bug, and then the sight of Thomas, unconscious with blood staining his hair, being taken away. She had been helpless. The training, the experience, it had done nothing but watch a sociopath die and her friend be led to-

She took a shuddering breath, closed her eyes, and turned her head away, as if that alone would rid her of the memories burning across her vision.

Allison knew she shouldn't fall asleep, her head ached and she had a nasty cut on her shin that was probably infected, but the knowledge didn't seem to matter, her eyes drooping as darkness closed around them.

She stayed like that, half conscious, mumbling incoherently to Liam, who was still so young and new to this side of the world that she didn't want him to feel alone. "They'll find us," she told him at one point, silence echoing in response, "It's going to be okay, they'll find us."

When she repeated it, she wasn't sure if it really was for Liam, but for herself, "They'll find us."


thursday, august 7
beacon hills, california [1:17 am]
third person pov

They found them. It was hours later and the grip Allison had on consciousness began to slip further at the sign of light breaking through the darkness of night, the whisper of voices growing louder.

Then Scott was in front of her, hands cupping her face quickly before starting to free her from the chains, "Ally, can you hear me? You got to keep your eyes open, babe, just keep them open for a little longer."

Allison nodded, the motion heavy and sluggish, eyes catching the flurry of movement, she saw Stiles standing a few feet away, talking to Nat.

He looked terrible, raking his hand through his already tousled hair, eyes darting around slowing Allison to see the red rim that contrasted the darkened colour of whiskey. Her hand lifted, the land tilting as her headache sent the hunter into another dizzy spell, but Stiles glanced over, saw her motioning toward him and came to crouch in front of her.

"Shh, calm down, don't strain yourself," his hand gripped hers, his smile soft with a hidden edge that Allison grasped onto, guilt clinging to her words, "S-Stiles-"

"Ally, you need to see a-" he froze, swallowing around the next word before straightening and correcting himself, "you need to get fixed up, alright? We can talk later if you want to."

"N-no," she took a deep breath steeling herself against the pain grating against her senses, "They took him," she mumbled, partially aware that she once again sounded nonsensical, hysterical in her obvious trauma. She clung to Stiles' hand even when he shook his head gently, pointing his free hand in the direction of Liam who had Deaton patching him up, "Liam's okay, Peter took him, Allison, but he's okay. He's okay."

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