𝗜𝗩.  𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗨𝗥𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡.

there's the smallest uptick to her pulse when she says it, and he doesn't know if it means anything. if it's from the situation itself, the overwhelming shock of it all, the jarring reality that she was gone and now she's here, or if it's because she's holding something back. ( he can't decide which is worse. bardo, or darkness. in - between or nowhere at all. he can't decide which is worse and he can't bring himself to ask. )

you saved me.

and lingering in it should be easier, shouldn't even be a question, because this is what he wanted : he wanted her to live. but he can't let go of how it happened. can't just have this and forget how they got here — forget what it had cost. he wanted her to live, and he can still taste her blood. ( and she had asked. she asked for the bite, offered her wrist like a sacrifice, told him to go through with it, and scott is still afraid. that maybe she didn't know what she was asking. that it was fear and desperation and maybe now, on the other side of it, she'll hate him for what he did. she'll hate him for this too. )

in his dream, she asks him why he didn't save her. asks it over, and over, and over again, bleeding from her stomach, bleeding from her mouth, demanding to know why. and every time he tries to answer her, he chokes instead. mountain ash in his throat. the dream feels like a nightmare, feels like bardo, feels like somewhere in between, and he hadn't meant to fall asleep at all. it's her voice that jolts him out of it. the touch of something solid, something real. something living. scott catches the noise in his throat before it can turn into anything beyond a short, sharp breath.

" allison — " her name is all he can manage at first, and he's checking her wrist, touching her face, half - afraid that this is a dream, too. " you're okay. you're okay — ? i thought — i mean, you were — " dead. you were dead. i let you die. all impulse, all panic and relief and something else that he can't name, he catches her mouth in a heated kiss.

and she's warm. she's real.

her blood in his mouth tastes like every wrong decision he's ever made, from the moment he'd been bitten himself. maybe even earlier than that. it's every loss, every misstep, every failure to act — or to act fast enough. that's what he can hear, with each slowing heartbeat that carries her further and further away from him : he didn't act fast enough. he didn't do enough. it wasn't enough. they'll memorialize her with a headstone and a decorated locker, and all he'll ever taste is her blood in his mouth.

he channeled as much of the pain as he could, so that no more of it could come for her. and she's still leaving. she's still dying.

" i'm here. " it's caught in his throat like mountain ash. like a barrier that his voice can't get past. " i've got you, i'm right here. allison ... ? "

she's looking at him, she's been looking at him, but she isn't seeing him anymore. she isn't seeing anything. the scent is different now ; from one second that bleeds into the next, it changes.

because she's not dying anymore. she's dead.

                                     “   ALLISON  !   ”

there's so much blood, heavy and iron rich, that he can't find her scent underneath it anymore. he's losing her. an increment at a time, he's losing her. ( and so is lydia ; so is isaac, and her father — what the hell is he supposed to say to her father? what could he possibly say, to any of them, ever again? he should have left her alone. that first day at school, he should have just left her alone. she wouldn't be bleeding out in his arms if he hadn't put her there. )

it's okay. she tells him that, and they both know it isn't true. all it does is mirror his own lie. you're gonna be okay. what happens now doesn't matter — even if they win, they've already lost.

" i'm here. i'm here, stay with me, okay? allison, please — "

her hand rises. at first, he thinks she's reaching out for him, seeking that last moment of comfort before it all stops, but something else slips out in a choking rasp from a blood - slick mouth.

bite. it sounds like bite.

" wh— what? " scott's heart slams against the base of his throat and there's a rushing sound in his ears. he's staring at that sliver of exposed skin like he knows what she's asking, but can't process what it means. " no, i — allison, no. i can't, i've never — "

her pulse is getting weaker. fluid rattles in her lungs and red spills from between parted lips, and there's no time. the bite could kill her. if he bites her, he could kill her, and if he doesn't, then she dies anyway. she dies tonight. she dies in his arms.

and there's no time.

without thinking, he's pulling back her sleeve and widening the space between. he could kill her —

or he could save her.

in  the  dark  she  remembers  her  mother  ,      how  she  killed  herself  when  she  was  bitten  .      her  aunt  kate  ,      her  throat  carved  so  wide  that  allison  was  sprayed  with  her  blood  as  she  fell  ,      dead  before  she  hit  the  ground  .      her  grandfather  ,      bleeding  black  from  the  wound  on  his  wrist  ,      from  his  nose  ,      his  mouth  ,      everywhere  .      even  his  brother  ,      alexander  ,      had  given  his  life  for  the  code  .      &      now  here  she  was  ,      dying  in  a  werewolf's  arms  ,      asking  for  what  those  before  her  had  shunned  .

there's a word for this. for the exact moment that the earth tilts from its axis. the tectonic shift, how it splits open the ground and everything starts to collapse. no sound. no color. the air smells of ash and metal and blood. cataclysmic. a sudden, violent upheaval. he can think of the word only in hindsight, because right then, in that exact moment, he isn't thinking at all.

it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

scott catches her in his arms and they both go down, and she's breathing, she's still breathing, but the bleeding won't stop. he can't make it stop. he can't take her pain. she's asking about lydia and he can't take her pain. her skin is getting colder under his hand. where he can't stop shaking, she almost looks calm.

she looks like she's letting go.

" allison — " don't. don't go. it's not supposed to happen like this. " don't do this. just hold on. please — just stay with me. we're gonna get you out of here. you're gonna be okay. "

“   it's  okay  ...   ”      her  voice  doesn't  sound  like  her  own  ;      blood  bubbles  at  the  corner  of  her  mouth  and  coats  her  throat  .      there  is  an  odd  awareness  of  her  legs  despite  the  fact  that  she  cannot  feel  them  ,      but  above  all  she  feels  that  dreadful  cold  that  creeps  through  her  veins  as  they  empty  ,      each  faltering  heartbeat  pumping  her  blood  out  of  her  body  ,      spilling  it  upon  them  both  ,      hot  and  red  .      she  wants  to  tell  him  that  she  knew  ,      that  she  isn't  scared  ,      that  she's  ready  ...      but  he  isn't  ,      she  can  see  it  on  his  face  .