The Huntress ➳Allison Argent

A Hunt

The blade slides right on in below her sternum and her breath whooshes from her lungs in shock as she arches in on herself. The wound burns hot even though the night's air is chilly and the fight around her has gone quiet.

"Allisooonnnnn!"

She's no supernatural creature, but Lydia's scream rings loud and clear. The blade is pulled from her body and the Oni all disappear in a cloud of black smoke. The bow falls from her hand and as she stumbles and falls, Scott catches her before she hits the ground.

"Did you find her? Is she okay? Is Lydia safe?" She pants.

"Yeah. She's okay," Scott assures her.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Her hand is laying over her wound when Scott grasps her bloody hand. He stares down in concentration, gripping tighter before a brief flash of panic and disbelief takes over his features. "I- I can't," he says and readjusts his grip again. "I can't take your pain."

A sense of peace and acceptance floods through her, and Allison stares up at the pitch black sky. "It's because it doesn't hurt."

"No."

"It's okay," she cries.

"Allison, no, please."

"It's okay.. it's okay. You have to- you have to tell my Dad. Tell him- tell him-"

Her breathing stutters- she can't catch a full breath- and Allison gasps awake.

Her clothes and bed sheet are damp with sweat as she pants harshly to try and even out her breathing. Ever since every single memory has made itself known, nightmares about her past have started acting up and with the added memories of Hell, Allison doesn't get much sleep now-a-days.

For the last few days, it's been nightmare after nightmare and Sam's been there to pick up the pieces whenever he catches her stumbling around the kitchen in the dark or zoning out. At first, she had flinched away from his touch and tried to hide her vulnerability, but Sam pushed through her walls and was there to still her trembling hands.

"This has got to stop," she mumbles tiredly to the emptiness of her room.

Heart still pounding and knowing that sleep will not come anymore this morning, Allison climbs out of bed and dresses for the day. A dark gray tank top with a printed dream catcher on the front is pulled on over a black sports bra and cut-off jean shorts replace her sleep shorts. She pads barefoot out of her room, tying up her hair in a small messy bun as she makes her way towards the kitchen. Coffee had never been her drink of choice, but she recently found herself enjoying the hot liquid that gave her an extra pep in her step since the nightmares have started.

She fills a thermal mug full of the dark liquid with only two spoons of sugar and tightens the lid on it. Her mind is too frazzled to even attempt reading a book or staring at a computer screen, so as she contemplates what to do she doesn't realize that her feet have carried her to the weapon's range.

Her gaze slides over every weapon glinting under the room's overhead lights and she has a sudden longing for a gym so she can properly stretch her muscles. But since there is no proper gym, Allison settles for doing a couple of yoga stretches, some push-ups and then a few more yoga poses to loosen up. Then feeling limber, Allison finishes off her now cool coffee and heads straight for the bow and arrows. Her hands work as if they have a mind of their own, she numbly pulling on an arm-guard and a thumb shooting glove before scooping up all the practice arrows and a recurve bow.