#stiles 003.

Now that the chaos has died down, the adrenaline has worn off. She's exhausted, feeling like she's trying to wade through water and unable to come up for air. It's no secret that Scott's in bad shape, bad enough that Allison doesn't feel good about having out of her line of sight. She'd helped him shower off the gasoline, skin scrubbed raw in an attempt to feel clean despite the obvious. Holding him through it was no question, the only sound of the shitty hotel room being her soft voice trying to reassure him with It's okay, and I've got you. Once the smell of gasoline is dulled, she gives him a moment to himself to get dressed, while she gets rid of the gasoline soaked shirt and jeans balled up on the floor. It's the perfect opportunity to check in on Stiles, knowing he's worse for wear. He'd been the one to step forward, right into the large pool of gasoline to get the flare out of Scott's hand.

With a quiet reassurance that she'd be right back, Allison made a beeline for the trash can at the end of the hall. She made the executive decision to throw out the soaked clothes, the smell alone made her want to gag. Once she's making her way down the hall again, Stiles comes into view -- Seemingly having the same idea as her. "Hey," she greets lamely, chewing on her bottom lip as she moves towards him. The cool night air causes goosebumps, despite the comfort of Scott's sweatshirt. The obvious question goes unsaid, both knowing the answer. "I was just getting rid of uh -- Scott's clothes." She sentence out of context sounds absurd enough that it almost pulls a laugh from her. "They were starting to make me nauseous."