most of them start out as dreams. then, as if a switch was flipped in her head, they turn into nightmares. they shift and change, the monster in the dream always winning. she ends up dead or someone she loves ends up dead. for a brief but fleeting moment – her mother is her mother again. there is no visitation to a grave that only makes her feel more hallow. in the dream, her mother is tangible and is not the person who tried to kill someone innocent. in an instant, her mother is no longer her mother. she is someone ruthless and cold, someone willing to kill her own daughter for sport or to prove a point about allison not being strong enough.
the nightmares are why she barely sleeps. why dark circles have become a frequent experience for her and why she forces herself to stay up for days at a time. she clutches coffee cups as if they’re life rafts and lets the fear of closing her eyes keep her awake. she’s been awake for forty-three hours when she falls asleep this time & maybe that’s why the nightmare is worse. as if her own mind was making up for lost time.
she sleeps with ring daggers under her pillows. there’s a crossbow by her bedside table and inside her bedside table, she has enough weapons to get herself out of the room if someone were to attack her. there’s no weapon in her entire room that can help her fight against her own head. in her nightmares, she’s defenseless. weaponless, terrified of the person coming after her ( her mom, kate ). she hears someone shouting her name & she’ll blame the fact that her fingers instinctively found her dagger on the nightmare.
derek’s voice and the pressure of his hands on her shoulders pulls her out of a nightmare & for a second, she’s grateful. for a second, she feels relieved until she sees the blood on his shirt. she pales, eyes widening before she’s moving away from him. of course the person she hurts is someone who already doesn’t trust her. someone who more than likely will think that she did it on purpose, even if she looks seconds away from having a panic attack. ❛ i’m so sorry. ❜ she doesn’t have anything else to say. no explanation for why her first instinct is to attack. she swallows the lump in her throat before letting out a breath to keep herself steady.
( a nightmare that lead to her breaking her own code
was bad enough. she didn’t need a panic attack too. )
her own words come back to haunt her this time. how am i supposed to help people when i’m like this? her hands are shaking and she feels too vulnerable. more vulnerable than she ever wanted to be around derek. ❛ are you okay? i didn’t i didn’t mean to. ❜ she probably doesn’t need to explain that she was having a nightmare. she’s sure that part was obvious. ❛ don’t tell them. about the nightmares. they don’t need to think i’m crazy. ❜
the pain isn't the worst part, it's the smell of her fear. because he knows it's not the nightmare anymore, it's him. she's scared of him and he watches her scramble out of reach with a rising anger born of pain and resentment. it's a feeling he's lost control over, claws and fangs extending, eyes glowing. taking hold of the dagger's handle in a white-knuckled grip, he pulls it free of his stomach in a quick jerk. his other hand coming up to apply pressure and stem the tide of blood. he can see the claws, hear the growl low in his throat, knows somewhere that this is a terrible response, but he'd been trying to help and she stabbed him.
it's the small tremble in her voice that pulls him back a few steps from the edge, allowing the reality of the situation time to sink in, to dilute the saturation of hostility. she wasn't attacking him, she wasn't afraid of him, she was afraid of herself. that was a feeling he knew well. his body was already beginning to heal, not as quickly or efficiently as when he was an alpha, but the tissue was mending, the blood clotting. a few steps from the bed and he's rolling his shoulders, the shift back to his human appearance taking just a moment.
ignoring her in favor of controlling his emotions, his eyes scan over her room. he'd been in other parts of the argent's apartment, but not in allison's room, and it wasn't what he'd been expecting at all. it looked like the bedroom of a teenage girl, and while he knew there were probably more weapons stashed where he couldn't see them, it still wasn't what he'd thought it would be. he wants to run from the sudden sensation that he's INVADING her privacy, treading on ground he shouldn't, seeing things he had no right to. the distraction of looking around welcomes a guilt into his chest and he busies himself with pulling off the bloody shirt and using it to mop of the mess left against his skin.
don't tell them. the plea freezes derek in place. don't tell them about the nightmares. don't tell them I woke up screaming and stabbed you with the knife I keep in bed with me. don't tell them that there's nothing's healing, that death still has a hold on me. he finally meets her eyes, the shadows ringing them makes that guilt in his chest ache.
‘ what if I had been lydia? or stiles? ’ a pounding starts at this temples, all the wrong words trying to pile up in his mouth. she has to know this can't stay a secret, but trying to force her hand was only going to make her push him away too. ‘ you're a liability like this. you want them to come in here one day not knowing? ’