diealone | ✈ day one hundred and seventy one, video

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✈ day one hundred and seventy one, video

[Jack looks a little stressed. Understandably. He's got a mean five o'clock shadow going on, and from the angle he's got the journal at, you can see Scott standing by the door to the infirmary, looking similarly tense and worried, but okay. They're both fine.

They're just also alone, in the infirmary, with limited weapons, resources, and access to things like morphine and anything more useful than bandages and basic antiseptic.

(Jack's made do with less, but that doesn't stop the resentment from coiling in his gut again, setting him further on edge.)]

Scott and I are in the infirmary. It's safe, but the hall outside seems pretty bad.

[Or at least, Scott had said it smelled weird, and Jack is not really in a position to be doubting his teenage werewolf warden right now.]

If anyone needs medical attention, we're here, and we can help. If you're stuck and need help, call us, and I can try to talk you through how to get up here without hurting yourself or your friends worse. If you're in your room, get first aid kits, scissors, water, food, alcohol if you don't have anything else to sterilize a wound, anything that can be made into bandages. People are going to get hurt, and I will try to save you, but I can't do that if we're not being smart.

[And then his expression twists into something that's bitter and fond, and a little less psychotically focused, because he throws this out there like he doesn't mean it, but he does. Or at least, he's starting to again.]

Live together, die alone.

[Jack lets out a breath, composes himself again, and then the same incredibly focused energy is back in place of whatever that was.]

Has anyone seen Dillon or David?

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[The gut-check answer is no, because she's not alone out here. She's already cut her hand up from hitting a mirror, she knows that...

She also can't put down her gun.

Swallowing thickly, Allison shuts her eyes. She nods, then shakes her head, lips moving slightly, forming words that are just barely audible.]

Thread the needle...thread the needle, I...got to thread the needle...

[She finally opens her eyes. She doesn't look any steadier, but there's another click as she safely brings the hammer back down on her gun, then shifts to tuck it into the back of her jeans. It's less dangerous if it's not in her hand...]

I can try. I don't...I don't know, but I can try. Just...don't let Scott come out--

[Her head whips to the side again, a sharp gasp tearing loose from her throat. She knows she heard something that time...that wasn't a reflection in the corner of her eye, there's someone there...]

Can you...keep talking to me? [She hates herself for how small and scared she sounds, but she knows Jack's voice. If he's talking to her on comms, he's not out in the corridor. He's in the infirmary, with Scott, and she can hang onto that. Whatever else she hears or sees, she can know that's real to get her through the maze of mirrors.]

Edited 2014-07-25 00:10 (UTC)

[Jack glances over his shoulder to make sure Scott's still otherwise occupied and takes a couple steps closer to the door, not leaving to peer out into the hallway, but far enough away that he should hopefully be able to buy them both a little more time before Scott starts getting ideas about running out to get her.]

Yeah, I can keep doing that. [Unfortunately, he doesn't exactly look or sound calm when he says it - more like stressed and unhappy, but can you really blame him? - but at least he's talking.] What floor are you on?

[They haven't been outside yet, so he doesn't know if that's what they're walking into or not.]

Second level. I just...walked out of my room and...

[She's starting to move down the hall, step by step. He's keeping a hand against the wall, feeling the smooth glass under her fingers, the stickiness of blood from the cuts on her knuckles streaking the surface...a reminder that the faces staring out at her, plotting to eliminate the weak link she represented, were all in her head...

The faces she could touch were harmless...but the ones on the other side of the hall, they were planning to kill her...

She clutched her comm harder, resisting the urge to go for her gun again.]

She's out here, Jack...she brought others this time... [A high, thin note of hysteria is entering her voice, which has dropped into a panicked whisper.

She keeps walking. Step by step. Inch by inch...threading the needle and fighting the riding, irrational panic welling in her chest that was screaming for her to shoot, to strike, to defend herself against the reflections she knew were waiting to kill her.]

[He's ransacking the clinic for supplies, lining up as much as he can find and wishing it was a little more like the clinic at home, where Deaton might pull out god knows what from god knows where. At least there was more opportunity there. Now he has some painkillers, numbing agents, needles - they can get by, he hopes, at least until someone brings a key for the infirmary supplies.

It doesn't take forever, though. Eventually, Scott comes back out, carrying supplies. He lines them along a counter before pulling out his comm to see if anyone needs them - it takes a moment, to put together why Jack's drifting closer to the door. But he finds Allison's reply eventually, and his heart just...stops.

He sucks in a breath and starts for the door.]

Allison - Allison it's okay, you're on our floor. We can get you, okay? I can get you.

[She doesn't want him to come out, and he doesn't care. He can't leave her.]

[No...no, no no no, Allison was afraid of this. She can't let Scott come out here when she's here, her and the others...when none of this is real but God it's happening, and she can see the light of the flare illuminating his features, glittering over the streaks of tears and sweat and gasoline mingling on his face...

She'd rather die. She'd rather die.]

Scott, if you come out here, I will kill you.

[Her voice is thin with panic, but she's no longer whispering. Yes, the faces in the mirrors are coming for her...yes, they want to kill her, but she'll let them if she can protect Scott. Just saying it, she tastes bile on the back of her tongue, but with tears in her eyes, a mixture of self-loathing and that visceral terror, she looks right into the communicator and she says it.

And she forces herself to mean it. To protect him from worse than death: to protect him from the faces she keeps forgetting aren't real. To protect him from the madness...to snuff out the flare she can still see lighting his features taut with inner pain.

This is her role: to do the unspeakable so her pack doesn't suffer. Because this...it's monstrous, but it's the only way she can think of to keep him away.]

People on this ship come back from the dead, right? Well, if you come out here, I will kill you. You'll come back, but...I will have killed you, Scott. I will have killed you, and no one will forgive me, and...and I won't be part of the pack anymore. So shut up and stay put, do you hear me?

[He softens, a little, because hearing it feels like being stabbed all over again. He wants to break down the door, throw her over his shoulder and drag her back here until whatever she was breathing is gone, until she's herself again.

He's practically vibrating, wondering if the comm will break if he squeezes too hard.]

I don't believe that.

[He's quiet, alternating between losing his fight and doubling it.]

You'd never hurt me, Allison. And I can't let anything hurt you.

[She shakes her head a little, and it's all on the tip of her tongue in that moment: how much she still loves him, how terrified she is of this exact thing...how she's drawn the gun at her back again without even thinking, because the weapon is all she has left.

And Scott...her Alpha, her first love, her hero, pure heart and a shining beacon of such goodness that it made him an Alpha, he didn't have to take it from anyone...he believes what he's saying. He'll come for her, and that will kill her.

So she walks a little faster. She doesn't care if she dies now, she has to get to the infirmary before he comes for her.]

Protecting me isn't your responsibility anymore, Scott.

[A thousand footsteps echo in her ears for every one of hers. She cocks back the hammer of her weapon again, and ten thousand firearms sound, ready to shoot.]

It's mine. You're my Alpha. I'm your hunter. That's what we are now.

[She can hardly breathe for the fear, the countless ragged breaths coming from every reflection she sees...for the agony that every word brings, agony she hides behind the cold, the stillness that comes so naturally to her now.

The place where she maims. The place where she hunts...the place where she kills.]

I will do whatever it takes to do my job. Even if it means...I make myself an omega in my own pack.

[The bottom drops out of his stomach when she says that. She's not his responsibility anymore. He wants to yell at her, say of course she's his responsibility, she may not be his girlfriend anymore but he still cares, he still loves her, and he can't just stand aside and watch her die again.

He can't say any of that. Words flutter away from him, and he looks around the infirmary like he'll find something to help her.]

You're my friend!

[He finally chokes it out, eyes on the screen again.] Allison, you're not my hunter, you're my friend and I'm not letting anything happen to you, okay?

[That's not all they are now. Scott has never thought about any of them in terms of pack, they're just - they're just his friends. They're his family.]

I don't care about packs, or what you think you have to do right now. Whatever you're breathing is messing with your head, so just listen to me, okay? How far are you from the infirmary?

...I don't know.

[She can answer questions. Quietly. The voices in the mirrors are getting louder in her ears again...

...we'll find him. We'll follow. We'll kill him. We'll make you watch, and then we'll slit your throat, you pathetic...

She shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again.]

I don't know, but I'm coming. Just...keep talking to me. Please keep talking. [She pauses, and her breath hitches with fear, her focus growing hazy again under that panic and that sense of dread.]

They won't shut up, and I can't...I'm going to shoot them if I have to...

I'll talk so much you'll hate the sound of my voice.

[It's a bad joke, and he doesn't really feel like it helps much anyway, but he doesn't care. He just listens, and starts talking.]

You're gonna be okay, Allison. It's just the gas, or whatever it is. Did you ever read comic books? Stiles and me, we used to go to this comic shop all the time. The owner used to yell at us for reading issues there. Then it closed up. You know Batman? And the Joker? They made that movie with him. It's the Joker, okay? He makes this gas that messes with people's heads.

Don't let him mess with your head, Allison. Just trust me, and keep walking toward the infirmary. It's safe in here.

[As Scott talks, Allison keeps walking, fingers sliding along the mirrored wall beside her, cool and sticky and reassuring. It's enough, for a moment, to make the voices in her head recede, instead filling her mind with a vivid image of Scott and Stiles at the comic book store, standing by a rack and fighting about something stupid, like who would win in a fight: Batman or Superman or something equally ridiculous.

It's enough to make her smile, and listening...really listening to him is enough to bring her a moment of clarity right before it slides away again, and those dark versions of herself are ready to strike, ready to execute her for imagined crimes...

I trust you.

She's bleeding, she's frightened, and she's lost...but she shuts her eyes and keeps walking, fingers trailing along one wall of mirrors.

Every step that echoes is the sound of a dozen hunters coming for her. Every breath is an arrow being loosed. Every creak, every distant echo is the sound of a gun being cocked or a voice signaling another soldier in hushed whispers, a brush of cloth as hand signals communicate her location, her vulnerabilities, the precise moment to strike...

She keeps her eyes shut. She trusts Scott.

And she keeps walking until the slick glass under her fingers shifts, from wall to door. The moment it happens, she starts knocking, pounding...not caring if her cuts bleed, if her wounds open.

She just keeps knocking, too frightened to call out lest they find her.]

[He talks and he listens. He watches her move, and he tastes his heart beating in his throat, but somehow he talks around it. He'll talk as long as she needs, about nothing, about stupid shit, he doesn't care. As long as she gets here.

When the pounding starts he falls silent: his comm clatters to the floor, giving her just a view of the ceiling. But it's only a second later that he's wrenching open the infirmary door, wrapping an arm tight around her and hauling her toward him, forward, out of the hall. He slams the door shut again, and for a moment, just holds her against his chest. He's afraid to let go, even though he knows he has to make sure she's uninjured.]

It's okay. It's okay, you're here. You're safe. You're safe now.

[Allison lets herself be pulled in, falling against Scott with a relief that brings tears to her eyes, rips big, gulping sobs from deep in her chest...sobs that shake her thin frame as she speaks. It's a tearful, incoherent stream she can't stop, punctuated by earnest assurances of I'm okay and panicked yelps of don't let them in and angry howls of I'll kill them all.

All of it is muffled against Scott's shoulder, where her face is pressed so tight there's a question about how much air she's getting.

Scott's shoulder is the only safe place in the universe right now. It's the only thing in the universe she can trust.

And, as the first kernel of clarity sinks back into her mind, she feels it's the only safe place she can ride out the worst of the violent, paranoid hysteria that has her in its grip.]

[Scott just keeps his arms tight around her, promising her in the same stream - they won't get in, they won't, you're safe. He lets her stay against his shoulder, hand stroking over her head, hair, back. She's okay. She'll be okay. He can stop freaking out now.

It's easier said than done.]

Scott. [Jack reaches out to grip Scott's shoulder, trying to get his attention on him and off Allison for a second, because this is falling apart quickly.]

Scott, stop. You're not going out there. You said there's something wrong out there, so you're going to stay here until we figure out what's going on.

[Scott pulls away almost immediately, bent on reaching the door - but he pauses, because barelling forward hasn't exactly worked out for him in the past.]

Yeah, there's something wrong and she's breathing it in! I can't just leave her!

[Jack's just as quick to step back around him, blocking the doorway, getting more or less right up in his face to get this point across.]

If you go out there, you're going to get hit with whatever's making her sick. Is that really going to help things?

[Because if you wolf out, that can really only go badly.]

Maybe--[Scott huffs out an annoyed breath as Jack gets in the way again. He doesn't back down, but he doesn't let himself push through. He doesn't want to risk hurting Jack.]

Maybe it won't affect me the same! Maybe I'm immune to it!

[And Jack's not budging. He might not be getting up in Scott's face as much as he could be either, but he's definitely got that sort of trying to physically intimidate him into backing off thing going on right now.]

Do you seriously want to take that risk? You could wind up being the one that hurts her!

[If it wasn't Allison out there, maybe Scott would back down. Maybe he wouldn't. It's so hard to tell if this is just experience pushing him or not.

But Jack picks the right words. He knows just what to say, and Scott folds around that. You could hurt her. He was so scared of that, at the beginning. And now, after remembering how the other him killed Lydia - he doesn't want to risk that. He can't risk that.

Scott rakes a hand through his hair and turns away, walking off a few steps.]

I can't just - leave her out there. You're right, but I - can't.

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✈ day one hundred and seventy one, video

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