the silver one

she tried so hard to not appear scared

But she was.

Allison Argent had been consistently terrified, all the time, back in Beacon Hills, but she had learned to be brave and face off her potential death every single time they encountered a new enemy. Who was to know that one of those times would lead to her death? She had gone to save her best friend, to save Lydia, and to save Stiles. She didn’t go expecting to die.

Yet she wouldn’t change a thing, not really. She had sacrificed herself to save her friends, and she had died doing what she swore to, protecting them. There wasn’t anything the Argent would do differently, from meeting and becoming so close to them, to falling in love, to being heartbroken. If anything, she wished she could comfort her father, and her friends, but she couldn’t.

Allison was so far away, in a town that meant practically nothing to her, with almost nobody she knew, besides Stiles. It was a miracle to find him, to see that she wasn’t alone in this, but it brought up new fears inside of her. She didn’t know what had become of Beacon Hills in the time she had gone. Truly, the girl didn’t even know how much time had passed, and she didn’t know how to ask that question to Stiles.

Whatever she was facing now had to matter more than what she could possibly face in beacon, because she was alive. She had died and been brought back, and there had to be a reason. She couldn’t bear to think there wasn’t one if she was brought back from beyond the grave. There had to be. 

it was like her breath was stuck in her throat.

Scott McCall had been her first love. That was a simple, irrefutable fact, and in her last moments, she had used her breaths to tell him she loved him, that he was the first person she had ever loved, the person she would always love. She had also told him to tell her father, of course, because they were two of the most important people in her life. Even when she had moved on with Isaac, she had always loved Scott.

Seeing him was something she had begun to lose hope in. She had met a girl with hair like Lydia’s, but not her best friend. She had even seen Stiles, the one source of familiarity, the only link to HOME she had in this place. But she doubted she would see her father, or any of the pack, especially Scott, ever again. They were so far from Beacon Hills, thrust into a terrifying and zombie-infested reality where they didn’t seem prepared, or at least not as much as they had once been.

It was easy to assume, then, that as Allison crept forwards, avoiding ditches and climbing as carefully as she could over piles of rubble, she wasn’t prepared to see him. She was merely trying her best at survival, using odds and ends as weaponry, equipped with a knife and whatever else she could find. Allison didn’t think she would spot the flash of a familiar shape, a form that she had once known so intimately, back turned to her so she couldn’t believe her own eyes.

The woman’s heart was beating loud enough she swore she could hear the blood rushing in her ears, dark eyes widening and arm lowering the knife she had been carrying in a defensive position. She almost couldn’t find the words to speak, and when she did she almost winced at how uncertain her own voice sounded. “Scott?” She almost couldn’t continue, wanting to ask if this was real or if it was another trick her mind was playing on her.

Allison didn’t have time for big terms that meant nothing to her, she just wanted to know if any of this was useful for weaponry. In everything, the Argent was trying to find a way to maximize her potential for survival, and if that meant scrapping what had appeared to be spare parts to make a weapon, she was willing to try.

It was almost laughable, really, that Allison had found herself in an almost nightmarish landscape with monsters that had no rhyme or reason behind their actions, but instead were senselessly killing. Truly, she had been brought back from the dead for this? At least there was a way to kill them, and if they could do that, surely she could go back to Beacon Hills, or even go visit France. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she stayed alive through this, but she’d like to not be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life.

Encountering somebody who knew what the hell was going on was good for her to plan, as well, so that she could figure out how to get close enough to kill them without getting hurt. “Does anybody have an estimate of how many there are?” If they at least had a general number, perhaps there would be enough people to divide and conquer, right? If not, well, there had to be a way. She and her friends had always found a way back home, so there had to be one here.