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tetheredtoelena asked: “it’s just a cut, really.”

protegeons:

five word prompts  /  accepting 

jeremy,   she says, concern pouring out of every syllable. her eyes are as serious as they’ve ever been when she looks at him. and she thinks, god, please, no. i can’t lose him. she truly, honestly believes that she would not survive jeremy’s death. logically, she knows that’s just her being a stupid, crazy, in love teenager, but that’s the way it feels deep in her soul. like if one of them were to die, they would both die. or if one of them were to die, the other would feel it in their soul. her hands are shaking as she presses gauze to the wound. 

i need you to be serious about this, you idiot. this isn’t just a scrape. you could’ve hit an artery, you could of — we don’t know! we don’t know.   she’s clearly panicking, and she wishes her father were here. he would know what to do. all of her first aid training seems to be lost in her brain, locked away somewhere her panicked, worried head can’t get to.   god — why won’t it stop bleeding?  she cries, desperately. allison knows she has to calm down, that her being hysterical isn’t helping him any, but she can’t seem to settle herself. not while he’s bleeding this much in her hands. if he dies in her hands… 

she stops the thought in its tracts. that’s not going to happen, she tells herself. swallowing hard, she lifts the gauze from his leg to study the cut. she’s kind of wishing right now that she went into medical school instead of the argent school of hunting and killing monsters.   we have to close it,   she says, trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice. the next thoughts make her feel sick as she’s thinking them, but she’s gone through all of their options in her head. none of them are good. this one, at least, is most likely to keep him alive. 

one time, scott and the wolves got into a huge battle, and scott was hurt bad. and they thought derek was killed. scott blamed himself. he blamed himself so much that he actually stopped himself from healing,   she’s just talking, just trying to keep his mind on something other than what she’s doing with a lighter and pipe.   he was dying. i had to stitch him up in a bus stop bathroom because stiles was too scared of needles. ’  allison laughs dryly.   i thought i wasn’t gonna be able to do it, but my mom was there. she basically yelled at me until i got myself together enough to stitch him up, and then his werewolf healing kick in.

she wishes her mother were here now, to talk her through what she’s about to do.   baby,   her voice squeaks out the word, barely. her eyes fall to the small fire she’s started next to them, and she uses a branch to hold the pipe over the flame, heating it up and turning it red.   this is really gonna hurt. but it’s the only thing i can think of to stop the bleeding and close the wound. ’  she hands him a large stick.  ‘ you’re gonna wanna bite down on that, okay? and promise you’re still gonna love me after i do this.   she knows he must have figured out what she’s doing by now, so she doesn’t bother explaining it to him. she knows that he’s so much smarter than she gives him credit for. that will change, she vows. every day she’ll make sure he knows how smart he is, how much she appreciates him and all the many ways he makes her life better.   i love you so much.  

allison waits until he’s biting down on the stick, and then she hesitates a moment. he’s gonna hate her, she thinks. and then, it doesn’t matter if he hates her for this. it doesn’t matter if he’ll never look at her or talk to her or love her again. as long as he’s alive. that’s all that matters to allison. his life is more important to her than anything else. and she keeps repeating that to herself as, in one swift movement, she presses the red hot pipe to the wound on his leg. and jeremy’s screams of pain haunt allison for months after that. for years. 

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