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A week after Allison's funeral, Stiles borrowed some books from Deaton and Mrs. Yukimura. They all knew what he was looking for, but nobody said anything. They needed to be careful with Stiles, give him the space he needed to heal from what was done to him...and what he'd been forced to do.
Also, the things he was looking for, the things he wanted to do...they just weren't possible. And if they were...
Nobody really worried until roughly two weeks after Allison's funeral, a knock came at Derek's loft door, accompanied by the stink of the grave: soil, filth, death.
Shaking like a leaf, grave clothes dirty and tattered, a very much alive Allison Argent collapsed into his arms as the first rays of dawn streamed through his window.
Stiles insisted he did nothing. Deaton backed up his claim after checking and confirming that no primordial power had been tapped. Still, there she was, huddled in the corner of his loft without moving or speaking, letting no one touch her save for Derek and Lydia. It was Lydia who coaxed her from the corner and out of her filthy clothes, Lydia who coaxed her into the shower and helped her clean up.
She trusted only Derek to clean and tape up her belly wound, still bleeding but no longer fatal. When urged to dress, it was one of Derek's shirts she accepted, and Derek's bed she finally fell asleep in.
She trusted Lydia for obvious reasons, but Derek...perhaps some part of her remembered that he had saved her father. Perhaps it was his absence at the time of her death that made his presence less traumatic, none of them were sure. Lydia stayed over while Derek spent the night looking for answers.
Instead of answers, he found an Oni.
While the creature harmed no one, with every passing night, it seemed to grow in strength...and with every passing day, so did Allison. For every piece of her they gained, the Oni only grew in power, becoming a greater and greater threat with no master to control it.
The second day, Allison allowed her father to see her, embracing him with tears in her eyes. That night, the Oni attacked three Sheriff's deputies near the hospital.
The third day, she finally began speaking. That night, the Oni's blade stopped just shy of cleaving Scott's head from his body before the creature fled.
Each day, Allison grew stronger, more alive...went to school, laughed, returned to them. Lydia began staying at Derek's loft more often, and often all three of them ended up in bed, Allison sandwiched between two warm bodies. It wasn't sexual, it was Allison's inability to sleep alone any longer...she needed bodies, warmth, touch to remind her that she wasn't in her coffin, lost to the grave.
It was Lydia who noticed it at the end of that first week: how the Oni attacked at night...how Allison was never in bed when they woke up. She was making coffee or showering or nibbling on a bagel on the sofa because she didn't want to wake them...
Derek said nothing. He did, however, make plans to be out on the eighth night, and made sure the girls knew about them.
He returned to the loft around eight PM, just as the sun was setting. Allison fell asleep early these days, and Lydia was already curled behind her, arm slung around her waist and face hidden in the soft mane of curls Allison was trying to grow back out again.
And as he slipped inside, he arrived just in time to watch his worst fears come to life.
Allison's prone form began to melt, fading into black vapor that slithered away from Lydia's embrace and wafted across the room. When it coalesced again, standing erect, it bore the form Derek should have recognized. He'd attacked it once, on the fourth night...he should have known those slender limbs, suspected when it incapacitated him without going for the killing blow...
Now he knew why it hadn't killed Scott.
"Lydia!" he barked, hoping she was only dozing yet. "Lydia, wake up! It's Allison...she's the Oni!"
Also, the things he was looking for, the things he wanted to do...they just weren't possible. And if they were...
Nobody really worried until roughly two weeks after Allison's funeral, a knock came at Derek's loft door, accompanied by the stink of the grave: soil, filth, death.
Shaking like a leaf, grave clothes dirty and tattered, a very much alive Allison Argent collapsed into his arms as the first rays of dawn streamed through his window.
Stiles insisted he did nothing. Deaton backed up his claim after checking and confirming that no primordial power had been tapped. Still, there she was, huddled in the corner of his loft without moving or speaking, letting no one touch her save for Derek and Lydia. It was Lydia who coaxed her from the corner and out of her filthy clothes, Lydia who coaxed her into the shower and helped her clean up.
She trusted only Derek to clean and tape up her belly wound, still bleeding but no longer fatal. When urged to dress, it was one of Derek's shirts she accepted, and Derek's bed she finally fell asleep in.
She trusted Lydia for obvious reasons, but Derek...perhaps some part of her remembered that he had saved her father. Perhaps it was his absence at the time of her death that made his presence less traumatic, none of them were sure. Lydia stayed over while Derek spent the night looking for answers.
Instead of answers, he found an Oni.
While the creature harmed no one, with every passing night, it seemed to grow in strength...and with every passing day, so did Allison. For every piece of her they gained, the Oni only grew in power, becoming a greater and greater threat with no master to control it.
The second day, Allison allowed her father to see her, embracing him with tears in her eyes. That night, the Oni attacked three Sheriff's deputies near the hospital.
The third day, she finally began speaking. That night, the Oni's blade stopped just shy of cleaving Scott's head from his body before the creature fled.
Each day, Allison grew stronger, more alive...went to school, laughed, returned to them. Lydia began staying at Derek's loft more often, and often all three of them ended up in bed, Allison sandwiched between two warm bodies. It wasn't sexual, it was Allison's inability to sleep alone any longer...she needed bodies, warmth, touch to remind her that she wasn't in her coffin, lost to the grave.
It was Lydia who noticed it at the end of that first week: how the Oni attacked at night...how Allison was never in bed when they woke up. She was making coffee or showering or nibbling on a bagel on the sofa because she didn't want to wake them...
Derek said nothing. He did, however, make plans to be out on the eighth night, and made sure the girls knew about them.
He returned to the loft around eight PM, just as the sun was setting. Allison fell asleep early these days, and Lydia was already curled behind her, arm slung around her waist and face hidden in the soft mane of curls Allison was trying to grow back out again.
And as he slipped inside, he arrived just in time to watch his worst fears come to life.
Allison's prone form began to melt, fading into black vapor that slithered away from Lydia's embrace and wafted across the room. When it coalesced again, standing erect, it bore the form Derek should have recognized. He'd attacked it once, on the fourth night...he should have known those slender limbs, suspected when it incapacitated him without going for the killing blow...
Now he knew why it hadn't killed Scott.
"Lydia!" he barked, hoping she was only dozing yet. "Lydia, wake up! It's Allison...she's the Oni!"
