AN: Hey guys, Merry Christmas! So I started this before season four had even ended, before we knew who the Benefactor was or anything. :') I just never got around to finishing it, but the Christmas holidays are here so hopefully I should get a few stories finished! This is just random Stydia angst and fluff- the best kind of Stydia stories there are. Let me know what you think, Merry Christmas and have a great day!
You stood apart in my calloused heart, and you taught me and here's what I
Learned:
That love is about the changes you make and not just three small words.
-The Way I Tend To Be, Frank Turner.
Sweaty palms,
Dark thoughts,
Pounding heart,
Voices.
Strawberry blonde hair,
Green eyes,
Bright lips,
Short skirt,
Her.
Lingering looks,
Meeting hands,
Lips touching,
Skin on skin,
Together.
Wide eyes,
Smell of fear,
Glint of silver,
Scream of pain,
Streaks of red,
Death.
Sweaty palms,
Dark thoughts,
Pounding heart,
Nightmare.
"Stiles?" your dad comes rushing in, his eyes full of concern, "you alright?"
"Yeah, Dad. It was just a nightmare. Go back to bed."
You of all people know that nightmares are real.
Messy hair,
Pounding heart,
Straining ears,
Silence.
Bow and arrow,
Short skirt,
Beautiful smile,
Her.
Air of death,
Taste of copper,
Flash of sword,
Streaks of red,
Gone.
Messy hair,
Pounding heart,
Straining ears,
Silence.
You of all people know that nightmares can't be worse than real life.
"Lydia!" Malia is running towards you in the hall and it stills kills you to think Allison will never walk them again. You put on a smile anyway-it's what she'd want you to do. "Hey, Malia," you greet the other girl as she comes to a standstill in front of you.
"I need your help," the were-coyote states, and you can't help but think that's all anyone ever wants from you these days.
"Yeah? Do you need to borrow my math notes or something? Because Scott has my algebra ones, but I'm sure he'd give them to you-"
"No, no. Nothing like that. It's about Stiles." Your eyebrows shoot up at that.
"Is he okay?" you ask, racking your brain to think of the last time you saw him-economics, maybe?
"No," Malia says in that blunt way of her. "Well, yes, he's fine-no danger, he's not on the Deadpool," she grumbles and you want to roll your eyes but restrain. "Malia, focus,"
"Right. Well, he's fine but-he isn't sleeping."
You look at the other girl. Insomnia is a common problem for some of you-a result of all the terrible things you've seen. However, while the girl hasn't been human for long, she isn't stupid and wouldn't say it was a problem if it wasn't.
"None of us sleep anymore sweetheart. Not now we know there are monsters under our beds."
"I can't help him, Lydia," she admits. "We're friends-" well that's a new development, the relationship must have fell flat, "but I can't help him. I wasn't there, I don't-I don't know what it's like," you can see how much it kills her to admit this, to admit defeat and weakness.
"Okay."
It's the middle of the night and you're lying awake in your bed when you remember that you're not the only one having trouble sleeping. You call him and he picks up after two rings and sounds wide awake when he says "hello?"
"Stiles?" you whisper, and in the dark with just your voices between you two, you suddenly feel very small.
"Lydia?" he sounds confused, but he doesn't hear any panic in your voice and then sighs. "You too, huh?"
"Can I come over?" you ask in a small voice and swallow thickly, admitting something you haven't in a very long time, "I don't want to be alone."
You open the door to her standing in the moonlight, bare faced and wearing a t shirt that looks too big for her, but still a woman's-with a pang you realise it must be Allison's. She gives you a watery smile and you silently offer out your hand-a lifeline- and without hesitation she takes it and steps inside.
You sit gingerly on the bed and she scoots over to the wall and leaves you plenty of room, and you can't help but think that a year ago you would have been freaking out, because you're about to share a bed with Lydia freaking Martin. But things have changed, because you actually know her and her imperfections and her pain. You've changed and so has she, and she's here and she needs you, craves human interaction. She doesn't need anyone to hold her and tell her it will be okay, because it won't. She lost her best friend, of course it won't. Dread twists in your stomach when you realise how tired and done Lydia looks, small in a way she never was before.
You left her alone.
You
Left
Her
Alone.
You swallow your regret and slide into the bed next to her, careful to keep some distance between you. You're both on your backs and you think she's asleep when her voice cuts through the silence. "We used to do this." You turn your head to her, and Lydia seems to gain the strength to continue.
"Allison and I. We used to sleep over at each other's houses a lot. Especially the summer after her mom died, after she and Scott had broken up and Jackson had left for London. She had nightmares and I was lonely, so we'd just…stay together. Never told anyone. But it always was the best sleep I had. Didn't really get doing it as much when school started up again and so did everything else. Never really have been able to sleep since," she finishes softly, and you can't help but think if it was Scott who had died. You don't think you could handle it, be in a world where he isn't. And you look at the girl beside you and you realise that she's living that. That's her reality, going to sleep and waking up in a world where her best friend, her sister isn't.
You feel like a fool, such a fool, that none of you have realised this, none of you have opened your eyes. You're doing nothing but push Lydia, just like you pushed Meredith. And eventually she was bound to crack. She probably already has, but she's always been too god-damn proud to admit it.
"Lydia, I-"
"Don't," she says, and it's surprisingly sharp. "I don't want your pity, Stiles. I don't need it. I'm not a…a…charity case."
"This isn't pity, Lydia," you're surprised, "its empathy. You lost your best friend." She sucks in an unsteady breath, and you feel your heart break even more. "And-and we haven't been there for you. I haven't been there for you."
Lydia is silent, and you know she's thinking the same thing. "It's not your fault," she admits finally, "there's been so much going on between Derek and Kate being back, and Liam and the Deadpool…." She trails off, lost in her head. Lost in worry.
"It's no excuse. I should have been there, should have talked to you."
"What difference would it make, Stiles?" she asks quietly. "Allison would still be dead."
It's blunt, painfully so, said in the tone of someone who has resigned themselves to a fact they haven't quite dealt with yet. "But you wouldn't have been alone." It's out there in the open now, the recognition that you were too busy with your girlfriend and everything else to even take the time to ask Lydia how she was.
For the first time that night, she falters.
"I was so alone," she whispers, blinking back tears that hadn't fell in a long time. "And…and Allison was gone, and Scott had Kira and you had Malia, and it was…it's hard. I go to school and she should be there but she isn't. She isn't there, Stiles, and she never will be."
"I'm sorry, Lydia," you choke out, the words as awful said out loud as they are in your head. She composes herself and looks at you. "It's my fault."
Lydia cocks her head. "Stiles…"
"No, don't tell me it isn't. It is. I'm the weak one, I let the nogitsune in. It's my fault she's gone." You've finally said it, this terrible truth that has been weighing you down for weeks-as it should. You deserve no less.
"Stiles, no." Lydia brings you back, she always brings you back. "Allison…she came of her own free will. I told her, I told her not to come-"
"How?"
"The message on my car."
"How'd you know it'd be her that would show up?" you ask, curious.
Lydia shrugs. "She's my best friend. It was always going to be her. But seriously, Stiles, it wasn't you. The Nogitsune was a completely different entity, you had no control over it. Allison left this life, but she came back. She came back because she was a hunter and she loved us, and she'd hate it if you blamed yourself. So please, don't."
You stare at this girl, this mad, impossible, wailing girl, and wonder how she can be handling this so well. How she isn't screaming to the world that it isn't fair. How is she so calm about this?
Lydia sees your look and makes a face. "What? Do I have mascara smudged, or something?" she asks and you shake your head.
"How're you…how're you coping so well?" you ask, dumbstruck. Lydia lets out a harsh bark.
"Oh, I didn't. I was mad. So, so mad, Stiles. At you, at Scott, at myself, at Allison. The world. The first time I had to help you guys, I told Mom I was going to Allison's- jerk reaction, I guess. I cried for hours." She smiles sadly, living her worst nightmare every day.
"I thought you said you had to study," you say quietly, hating yourself more and more.
"Nah. Just…couldn't face you guys. But it got better. Well, not really. But you don't notice it hurting as much."
"You're part of the pack, Lydia. You should have told us. We could have helped. I could have…"
Neither of you quite know the rest of that sentence.
"I didn't ask for it, Stiles. Not from you guys, anyway." You look at her sharply, and she realises her mistake.
"Who?"
She bites her lip. "Okay, this is going to sound weird, but…Jordan."
Your eyebrows shoot up. "The Deputy? Parrish?"
"Yes, Jordan Parrish. Is that so hard to believe?" she asks, and now you think about it, it isn't really. He seemed to have a soft spot for her, both of them showing up in the same places….it gets your back up.
"So are you together now, or something?" you ask, surprised by your own harshness. Lydia quirks a brow and shakes her head.
"No, God no. Maybe if I were older, or something, but no way. It's also illegal," she reminds you and you scoff. You've learnt that you shouldn't put too much faith in the law enforcement in Beacon Hills. "He just…he's a good listener," she shrugs.
"That's great, when was he listening, exactly?" you ask casually, and Lydia gives you a sharp look.
"When I saw him more than I saw my pack, that's when," she says pointedly, and you flinch. "He was in the bomb disposal unit in the army, and he lost friends. He lost his best friend. He was there and he was kind, and he cared. He wanted to help. So I talked to him. Is that a crime?" she asks defiantly, and you shake your head, hoping she can see it in the dark.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there," you whisper, and she sighs from deep in her chest.
"It's okay, Stiles," she concedes finally. "You didn't realise. Just….promise me something, okay?"
"Anything," you reply truthfully.
"Please don't leave me like that again," she murmurs bashfully, and your heart swells. You reach your hand out across the bed and take hers.
"Never."
You must have fell asleep beside him like that, because the next thing you know is his hand is yanking out of yours and he's fidgeting beside you.
Then the noises start.
It starts out like a low grumble, and then he starts struggling some more. "Stiles? Stiles, wake up!" you sit up and shake him, but he's twisting and turning and it's no good. He's moaning now like he's in pain, and he's begging for it to stop, please make it stop. Seeing him like this hurts you, and you can feel the tears streaming down your own face. You haven't seen anyone in this much pain since Chris Argent. "Please wake up!" you hiss at him, yanking his arm again.
You didn't want it to be like this.
But Stiles' dad cannot come in here and find you.
You have no choice.
You crawl over him and bend forward, careful to avoid his flailing limbs, and kiss him. Your eyes squeeze shut because this is not how you wanted this to happen, and he's still flailing. Then, as suddenly as it starts, it stops, and his lips part against yours and those flailing arms come to rest his hands gently on either side of your face. Stiles has shifted forward until he's sitting up, and you pulling your face away from his. You open your eyes and he's staring at you and it's so like last time it hurts, he moved on and you were too late. "You were having a nightmare and wouldn't wake up, I'm sorry, I just did it because it worked last time." You work so hard to sound matter of fact, and it comes easy to you-you've spent most of your life trying to be something you aren't.
You shift away, you stupid, stupid girl, and sit down on your side of the bed again. He's silent and staring at the far off wall, so you put your hand on his arm. "Hey," you ask gently, "what was that about?"
Stiles leans back against his head board and runs a hand down his face. "Nothing, Lydia. It was just a nightmare."
"Stiles, its Beacon Hills. Nothing is ever just a nightmare," you point out. His hand drops and he twiddles his fingers, staring at them intently for a few seconds before turning to you.
"I don't know if I can tell you," he answers finally. You shake your head in confusion.
"What do you mean, Stiles?"
"Because you might hate me," he whispers, and you scoot closer to him, your hands rubbing his shoulders soothingly. And you answer him honestly.
"There is nothing you can ever say that'll make me hate you."
He gives you a half smile over his shoulder and pats the bare part of your leg which is beside his. "I….it was the nogitsune. But I was the nogitsune. I knew what I was doing and I liked it. I had….I'd killed you all. Kira, Malia, Liam. Scott, my dad…you. And you were last….you were last because I knew you'd see it all coming. You wouldn't be able to stop it." You feel your breath catch in your throat at the thought of that- the thought of being the last one standing, helpless, that feeling you had with Allison over and over- but then you look at Stiles and see the utter terror and horror in his eyes and you know you aren't the only one this is hurting. This is hurting him more because he's as helpless in this as you are.
There's nothing you can say that can make this better, nothing he'll believe. You don't know what to say to make it better, because nothing can. He feels like a monster-he feels broken, invaded- and he's not wrong.
But if he's a monster, then you're a monster too, because you're the one that brought Peter Hale back from the dead, aren't you?
You don't know how to make this better for him, but you can help with the pain.
You lurch forward and hug him, his body twisting into yours as he melts into you.
Your shoulders may be small, but they're strong. They can hold you both.
You're not sure how long you stay like this, rocking back and forth and sharing in each other's pain and suffering but helping it too. "Thank you," he whispers finally. He's playing with the ends of your hair, his face buried in your neck. You feel tentative lips on your neck, and you stiffen and your eyes widen. Stiles moves away from you immediately, his eyes wide in horror. "Sorry, Lydia, sorry, that was- I didn't mean-"
"Stiles," you interrupt, moving closer. His eyes dart to you like Bambi caught in headlights. He gulps.
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
With that you kiss him, and it's real this time. No reason other than you want to, and you love him, and life is too damn short to play mind games. There is no point in denying simple pleasures in life because the way you all live who knows how long it will last?
You're the princess and he's the knight, and you're crazy and he's lost his mind. But maybe through each other you can find yourselves.
You don't have to say any of this because he knows, of course he knows. It's Stiles and somehow it makes sense, and now you can face the nightmares- both awake and asleep- together.
Lingering looks,
Head on heart,
Hand in hand,
Peace.
Maybe all you really needed was each other.