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When Allison dreamed these days, she dreamed of Tris and her glass prison.
As long as Allison could remember, the Priors were a good, if odd family. Before she knew about werewolves, they struck her as a good Christian family, reserved and maybe a little strict, but they were kind people, and the few times she'd met Caleb and Beatrice, they were nice. Off and on, amidst all the moving, the Priors were always there. Andrew Prior worked for the FBI and bought weapons from Dad on a regular basis, Natalie Prior was a retired cop...
Beatrice came to live with them around the time they arrived in Beacon Hills. Victoria and Chris called it a behavioral problem...one Allison never saw...but after the world went mad, and werewolves were real, she discovered 'behavioral problem' meant 'trauma while hunting.'
It brought them closer together. Allison was encouraged when the other girl told her to call her Tris instead of Beatrice, when she asked to learn archery, when she would patiently sit and listen to her talk about her problems with Scott, things she couldn't tell Lydia for fear of the stern looks she'd get. Tris was more than a friend through those terrible months after Gerard showed up.
She was present when Scott couldn't be. She knew her world when Lydia couldn't. She was always there, always ready...always exactly what Allison needed her to be.
Like an anchor when she needed someone to pull her away from the brink of death itself...
After the surrogate sacrifice, Tris told her about the dreams to try and make her feel less alone. About the crows, the fire...the box filling with water to drown her.
Now, with Dad home and safe, with the Darach gone and Deucalion redirected...with the Alpha pack gone and everyone's parents alive, Allison was bolting upright in bed in a cold sweat, still trapped in that glass box from someone else's dream, choking on water and mistletoe again while Tris stood outside, banging uselessly on the glass to try and reclaim her own nightmare.
It drove her from her bed to creep through the apartment to Tris's room. She couldn't help it, she was still shaking...and Tris understood. Needing a place where no one else could see, where it was safe to be weak...when Tris woke screaming from her own nightmares, Allison bore her up, and when Allison could no longer stand up under the weight of being the Argent family matriarch...
Tris was fragile, but she was strong.
Just like Allison.
She knocked softly on her door before easing it open and poking her head into her bedroom.
"Tris?...you awake?..."
As long as Allison could remember, the Priors were a good, if odd family. Before she knew about werewolves, they struck her as a good Christian family, reserved and maybe a little strict, but they were kind people, and the few times she'd met Caleb and Beatrice, they were nice. Off and on, amidst all the moving, the Priors were always there. Andrew Prior worked for the FBI and bought weapons from Dad on a regular basis, Natalie Prior was a retired cop...
Beatrice came to live with them around the time they arrived in Beacon Hills. Victoria and Chris called it a behavioral problem...one Allison never saw...but after the world went mad, and werewolves were real, she discovered 'behavioral problem' meant 'trauma while hunting.'
It brought them closer together. Allison was encouraged when the other girl told her to call her Tris instead of Beatrice, when she asked to learn archery, when she would patiently sit and listen to her talk about her problems with Scott, things she couldn't tell Lydia for fear of the stern looks she'd get. Tris was more than a friend through those terrible months after Gerard showed up.
She was present when Scott couldn't be. She knew her world when Lydia couldn't. She was always there, always ready...always exactly what Allison needed her to be.
Like an anchor when she needed someone to pull her away from the brink of death itself...
After the surrogate sacrifice, Tris told her about the dreams to try and make her feel less alone. About the crows, the fire...the box filling with water to drown her.
Now, with Dad home and safe, with the Darach gone and Deucalion redirected...with the Alpha pack gone and everyone's parents alive, Allison was bolting upright in bed in a cold sweat, still trapped in that glass box from someone else's dream, choking on water and mistletoe again while Tris stood outside, banging uselessly on the glass to try and reclaim her own nightmare.
It drove her from her bed to creep through the apartment to Tris's room. She couldn't help it, she was still shaking...and Tris understood. Needing a place where no one else could see, where it was safe to be weak...when Tris woke screaming from her own nightmares, Allison bore her up, and when Allison could no longer stand up under the weight of being the Argent family matriarch...
Tris was fragile, but she was strong.
Just like Allison.
She knocked softly on her door before easing it open and poking her head into her bedroom.
"Tris?...you awake?..."
