au: allison is taken by the darach instead of her father and held in the root cellar beneath the nemeton with sheriff stilinski. rather than waiting for someone to rescue them, she takes their fate into her own hands – with the sheriff’s support.
Uncovering the perpetrator wasn’t difficult, not with two minds honing in on them more and more with every new clue that was revealed. They worked well together; John dipped into his previous experience, and Allison brought a new pair of eyes to the crime scene at hand.
“We were at dinner,” Allison murmured, arms folded as she leaned against the counter. Her thinking aloud drew John’s attention, and he moved closer, lingering there to stay away from the evidence. “So who’s got a key?” When she looked up at him, she pursed her lips and began ticking off names on her fingers. “Stiles. Melissa. Scott. I think Lydia has one of mine just in case.”
“Scott’s out of town, isn’t he?”
“And Lydia won’t come over unless she has a reason.”
“Melissa is on this really bizarre diet,” she filled in, a smile curving at the corner of her mouth as the suspects melted away and left only one.
John put a fist down firmly onto the counter beside her hip, and Allison bit her lip to keep from laughing. There was no anger in his eyes. He was stuffed to the brim with steak and potatoes; he didn’t have any room to fit anything else. “I swear to God, if that little asshole keeps eating my cookies.”
“Hey,” John says quietly, tilting his head a little so he can look into Allison’s eyes. “You’re gonna be okay.” And he knows she will be. She has to be.
Allison wipes away her tears with shaky hands, then nods and tries to smile. He straightens his back, takes a deep breath when his phone starts vibrating.
“What is it?” Allison asks and steps closer. He can feel her breath on the skin of his hands as she looks down on his phone, can smell her hair as he breathes in.
It must be the stress of the last days, John thinks when he notices his heart beating faster. It must be the stress, the lack of sleep, he tells himself as he notices the small quiver in his own hands. It’s the stress he convinces himself, it must be, it can’t be anything else. It has been the stress for years now, the long hours at the station, the worries, the responsibilities. So that must be it. It’s the stress that makes him want to give in again, let himself be surrounded by her again, in a close hug, because it took some of the tension in his shoulders, soothed the frown on his forehead for a second, took some of the pain in his heart. It made him feel strong again after feeling so helpless the past days, weeks really, maybe even years.