Stiles woke up to Lydia screaming.

He flung himself out of bed, crashed into his desk, and dropped completely on the floor before he could do anything but think Danger! Bad!

And then he heard her crying.

Stiles scrambled for the light at his bedside table, succeeding in only knocking it too the floor where the light bulb cracked. Stiles cursed. His sheet was still tied around him and a very cold breeze pushed through the room. The window was open. Moonlight streamed inside and rain started to pour through the open window.

Lydia dropped to the floor. She had been silhouetted by the moonlight, but now she was a huddled black lump on the floor. Any fogginess from sleep was now thoroughly purged from Stile's mind.

"Lydia? Holy crap, Lydia-" Finally managing to rid himself of the sheet, he crawled over the carpet and grabbed her by her shoulders with more intensity than he really intended.

She jumped, hands up to defend herself, and seemed about to jerk away but her eyes met his. She stilled, although her entire body was trembling. There was a cloud of incomprehension over her eyes, but Stiles kept talking to her. He didn't know what he was saying exactly, and it didn't matter. After a few minutes, she was breathing with him. Her scream still echoed in his ears

The cloud lifted. She relaxed slightly and then she looked around his room, baffled. "Stiles?" she croaked.

"Yeah, it's me."

"How did I-?"

Before she could continue, Stile's door flew open and they both shrieked now, crawling away from the door in unison. But the hallway light revealed a very tousled Noah Stilinski, who appeared to have jumped out of bed just as rapidly as Stiles. He had his gun in his hand, Stiles noted. "What on earth is going on!"

Silence.

Stiles cleared his throat and raised a placating hand. "We're fine. Everything's fine. It's just Lydia."

Noah blinked. He squinted down at the girl on the floor. She looked very small then, not at all the bossy, larger than life, completely impeccable girl they were used to. She looked confused and afraid and very wet.

Noah dropped his gun to his side and scrubbed a hand over his face. He glanced around the room briefly before switching on the light. It was obvious now that the light was on what had happened. The lamp was broken on the floor, the window wide open and sending drops of rain onto a pile of homework Stiles had been neglecting. Noah shut the window.

"Did she- did you climb through the here?"

Lydia didn't say anything. She blinked, her eyes wide like a deer's caught in headlights. "I… I don't know."

Wonderful. Stiles got to his feet. "Can you stand?" He reached out a hand to help her, but Lydia pushed him away, her face suddenly heated with embarrassment. She pulled herself up and pursed her lips, slowly drawing that curtain of perfection around her again. She was wearing pink shorts and a dark t-shirt, both which were soaked to the bone. She swiped her wet her behind her ears and hugged her arms to herself. "Well?" she said after a moment.

Both Stalinski's stared at her without understanding.

She rolled her eyes.

"Are you going to offer me a towel or do I need to beg for it?"

Stiles nodded rapidly. "Oh. Right. I'll just-" He dashed out of the room and came back a moment later. She'd sat down at his desk chair and Noah was crouched, talking to her quietly when Stiles came back.

"I, uh, I figured you might want something dry to wear as well." He handed her a pair of basketball shorts and a white t-shirt along with a towel, and his dad nodded approvingly.

Lydia, on the other hand, was less than impressed. She took the clothes, smelled them, and apparently decided they would do.

Stiles fidgeted. "They're probably too big but-"

"They're fine, Stiles." She smiled at him, sort of. She had this way of smiling that didn't really move the corners of her mouth. It was a sad sort of smile that she did not wear often and Stiles couldn't tell if this was a real one. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. On one hand, it wasn't carefree and completely fake, like she sometimes wore at school, but it was still hiding a sort of sadness.

How funny. A year or two ago, she might have rejected the offer completely. She probably would have thrown an absolute fit about having to wear his clothes. But a lot had happened in those few years. Lydia was a royal pain in the behind, but she also had grown some sense, Stiles thought. They all had. Danger did that to a person. Death did that to a person.

So after a few moments of quiet talk, Stiles and his father stepped out of the room so that she could change.

The instant the door closed, his dad hit Stiles with a look. "What's going on here, Stiles?"

Stiles balked. "You know, I don't really appreciate the insinuation that I automatically must have done something bad for things to happen. I mean, it's totally inconsiderate-"

"Stiles-"

"I have no idea. I woke up to her screaming. She must have been sleepwalking."

Stalinski raised an eyebrow. "She walked all the way across town, more than ten miles, while she was asleep. And she ended up. In your bedroom."

Stiles shrugged. "I mean, I slept walked into the middle of the forest so-"

"You were- no, you were possessed, Stiles. I don't think that counts as normal sleepwalking-"

"Who said it was normal? She's a banshee! She predicts evil and death and all that with her screams." He might have taken a moment to contemplate just who's death she'd been screaming about in his bedroom, but he didn't really want to. And then he didn't have to because Lydia opened the door, startling the both of them into silence.

Stiles was not going to deny that seeing Lydia Martin in his bed clothes did something to him, but he really have time for that right now. He nodded once, cleared his throat, and stepped back so that she could come out of the room completely.

Lydia had brushed her hair somehow, and she had her arms wrapped around her stomach tightly. Her feet were bare and muddy but surprisingly unharmed. "This is only slightly less awkward than walking through the forest naked, but I suppose not much competes with that."

Stiles had to agree, but he didn't say anything. He was sort of stuck, completely unsure how to proceed and not wanting to look like he was staring at her, but not sure where else to look and-

"How about we sit down." Stiles breathed a quiet sigh of relief, glad that his dad was taking control. Stilinski laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided Lydia down the hall and into the kitchen. They sat down at the kitchen table and Stiles followed them, tripping on the edge of the carpet and almost knocking over the only remaining glass lamp they had in the entire house (he'd broken them all over the years). He caught it, however, and his dad gave him a short glare before turning back to Lydia.

"How about you get in touch with Lydia's mother," Stalinski said to him.

Stiles nodded maybe too many times. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that." So he went back to his room, grabbed his cell phone, and scrolled through his contacts. He had Lydia's number and her mothers.

He'd gotten her mother's number after an unfortunate phase at age fourteen where he spent a good portion of his time trying to figure out ways to contact Lydia, only to never actually call her or her mother (thank god). But either way, he still had her number.

As he wandered back into the kitchen, he could hear the sound of clanking dishes. Lydia spoke in a soft voice. "No, I don't remember, Mr. Stalinski."

"Does… does this sort of thing happen to you… usually?"

Stiles paused in the hallway, phone at his ear but not dialed.

"It's sort of hard to… I guess usually I'm awake, and then I find myself where I need to be."

"And where is that usually?"

"Usually?"

Dead silence. Clinking silverware. Stiles guessed his dad gave her cereal, which was the default action in the Stalinski house.

Stiles kept listening.

"Sweetheart, it's okay. You can tell me the truth."

Lydia huffed. She was upset. Stiles could tell. But she was doing a nice job of covering it up. "Usually, I end up finding a body. But there aren't any dead bodies here, obviously, so it must have been a fluke! I honestly might have just been sleepwalking like a… normal individual." Was she smiling that smile again? Or was it the other smile she wore at school; the one that didn't entirely hide how frightened she was? Was it the blank, I'm-a-dumb-teenage-girl smile she liked to put on?

The silence after that was so skeptical, Stiles could almost smell it. "I don't think you even know where we live, Lydia."

"Yes, it's very strange. Do you think Stiles has my mom on the phone yet?"

That was his cue. Stiles rounded the corner, phone out. "You better not be feeding her my Lucky Charms. I'm saving those for the apocalypse." He handed Lydia the phone and she took it with an eye roll. Meanwhile, his dad narrowed his gaze, not quite sure if Stiles meant that or not.

"I wouldn't put those dyes in my body," Lydia said. She took another spoonful of what appeared to be wheat-thins and then put the phone to her ear. The conversation with her mother was short. "Hi, Mom… yeah. No, I'm fine… I'm with the Sheriff, actually… not like that! It's fine. I… um…" She glanced at Stiles's dad, and Stalinski held his hand out for the phone. She gave it to him.

"Yes, hello, Mrs. Martin. I found her wandering around outside… yeah completely asleep... I'll drive her back. Don't worry… oh absolutely… Of course… See you soon… no problem."

Stiles noted the slight fib his father gave. 'Wandering around outside' was more plausible and less worrying than 'happened to break into my son's room', he supposed.

Lydia stirred her soggy wheat-thins and wouldn't look at Stiles when he tried to catch her eye.

As soon as his father hung up, he sighed and stood up. "I'm going to get some shoes on and a jacket, then I'll drive you home, alright?"

Lydia nodded. When it was just Stiles and Lydia in the kitchen, Stiles scrambled for a seat and leaned in. "Okay, so what do you know?"

Lydia scowled. "I don't know anything-"

"No-" Stiles shook his head. "Don't do that. I'm not stupid. You were screaming in my bedroom and if I'm going to die soon, I would like to know about it." He felt shockingly calm about this. Things didn't phase them like him used to. After all, death couldn't be any worse than being possessed. In fact, Stiles imagined it was like a refreshing nap in comparison to that. A shiver ran through the back of his mind. No, he would far rather be dead than be anything but himself thank you very much. This wasn't to say that he wanted to die, but he was not afraid of it as much as he might have been otherwise. It had been weeks since they killed the nogitsune and sure, he wasn't exactly in perfect mental health, but he was managing. Compartmentalizing. He could do that. If he kept thinking enough thoughts fast enough, he could cover up the ones he didn't like.

Lydia stirred her soggy wheat-thins.

"I don't remember anything. I'm not… this isn't always reliable, Stiles. I've been wrong before and I could easily be wrong again."

Stiles chewed his lip and sat back. "Fine. Okay, fine. So I'm supposed to just sit on this and pretend it didn't happen? Because that is so dumb and I know you're not dumb."

Lydia was silent again. "We'll talk to Scott at school. Maybe… maybe it was someone else's death."

Or maybe Lydia was just getting better at this whole predicting thing and actually managed to find someone before they died. Like banshees usually did.

Stiles forced down is irritation and looked up when his dad came back in the room with a rain jacket on and a pair of sneakers. Stiles jumped up. "I'll come with you guys-"

"No," His dad shook his head. "Stiles, you have school tomorrow. You need to go back to sleep. You both have to be up in four hours."

"But-"

"No buts." His dad gave him a look and Stiles grumbled but agreed. There wasn't any real reason for him to come anyhow.

However, once Lydia and his dad shut the door behind them and left Stiles in a very empty house with too many lights on for this late at night (or early in the morning depending on how you put it) he wished he had protested more.

There was no way he could possibly go back to sleep.

School came rapidly and Stiles found himself locking his jeep up in the school parking lot. He ruffled his hair in the window's reflection, but it didn't look any better.

He looked different after the whole nogitsune thing. It wasn't super obvious, but it was there. His eyes were darker and a bit more alert than Stiles remembered. His hair didn't stay flat and tame the way he wanted it. He was pale and thin and sleep deprived (and that honestly couldn't be helped. He was trying but sleep was an enemy he had wrestled with for too long). A few days ago, one of the school stoners asked him what he was on, which was a little jarring. Sometimes Stiles would see himself in reflections and for a second, his heart would start hammering. Its back it's back we didn't kill it it's back.

But the nogitsune wasn't back. It was just the tinted window and his own messed up face looking back at him. He probably needed therapy. He probably needed a lot of things, a complete brain-wipe of that entire experience, for one. If he could just forget about it, it would be so much easier.

Stiles turned away from his window, shrugged his backpack on and jogged toward the building. He was early for school, which was a first, but he hoped to catch Scott before the first period so he could tell him about Lydia.

There were students milling around, talking to each other, laughing, generally being dumb like kids are supposed to be. Stiles scanned the courtyard for any of his friends. Despite Scott's recent popularity, Stiles hadn't reaped a lot of benefits social-circle-wise from being the best friend of the lacrosse team captain (not that he cared). He didn't know a lot of people, and not many people cared about him. He was still the kinda weird kid that spoke too loud on accident and was usually in detention for something stupid like flicking his pencil into the ceiling tiles or dropping things everywhere or spilling milk or happening to be in the wrong place at the wrong time always. So yeah, nothing really had changed. Except for Lydia, he admitted. He knew Lydia now, which would have had fifteen-year-old Stiles skipping around the courtyard for joy.

Stiles took out his phone.

Where are you?

He waited a minute, leaning against a tree and chewing his lip incessantly.

omw why?

Stiles didn't know how Scott was texting on a motorcycle.

Lydia-

"What about her?"

Stiles jumped about three feet in the air before pocketing his phone and spinning around. "Scott! I hate it when you do that!"

Scott smiled. "I know. What was that about Lydia?"

Stiles's stomach squirmed. He had to tell him because he was pretty sure Lydia wouldn't, but that didn't mean conveying a death omen was any easier. "Last night she-" An uneasy commotion rippled across the courtyard, and Stiles stopped.

They frowned and pushed their way toward the knot of students that was forming near the back end of the school, the side nearest the forest. "What's going on?"

"I dunno-"

But in a moment, they stood still, stunned as they looked out at the field behind the school. Stiles's stomach dropped.

Deer, squirrels, raccoons, opossums, a few coyotes, hundreds of birds of all types. They all lay dead across the lawn, their heads crushed in. Someone gagged and ran off. People started shouting, calling for teachers, calling for anyone. Scott and Stiles just stared.

"Look-" Scott pointed at the back end of the building. Stiles looked and wished he hadn't. The wall was completely covered in blood except for a large symbol that the blood dripped around as if that part of the wall was pushing the pain away. The symbol resembled a P, but with the curved part in the center of the line. Or perhaps a triangle that's vertical edge continued past its edges. Or a half-mast triangular flag, Stiles settled on. Duh. A flag. He didn't know what it meant but something (besides the bloody, dead animals everywhere) set him on edge.

He felt like he was standing on the thin tip of a pane of glass and it he moved even slightly, he'd fall into a deep abyss. Stiles didn't dare move. Something whispered in the back of his mind but he couldn't understand-

"Stiles!"

Stiles shook himself and the feeling fled. "Hmm?"

"The animals. They threw themselves into the wall." Scott grimaced. Stiles didn't blame him. They stared at the debauchery until someone demanded they go inside. A teacher was moving everyone along, calling out orders. The school bell rung. Someone called the cops along with animal control, and Stiles fell inside the school along with the crowd.

However, he slipped back out the minute a teacher wasn't looking at him. He ducked behind a bush and watched as cop cars drove up. His dad was one of the first. Noah Stilinski took one look at the wall and sighed tiredly. They were stepping around dead animals, in a field soaked in blood, and Stiles didn't envy that one bit.

This had to be what Lydia was warning them about. Or it was at least part of it. He pushed the leaves away from his face to get a better view. He was practically inside the entire bush.

As he watched, another car drove up. It wasn't one he was familiar with, but he recognized the face inside. Dr. Deaton. The veterinarian. Stiles cocked his head. That was weird. They didn't usually call vets right away like that. And animal control was already here, getting ready to dispose of the bodies. They were dead. Why did they need a vet? Stiles watched Deaton exit his car and join Stiles's dad on the field. Ah, that made more sense. Dad called him.

Deaton's mouth was open, mid-sentence when he saw the wall. And seemingly, the symbol on the wall. His face grew slack and he took a nervous step back, glancing at the Sheriff. Stiles strained to hear their voices and he wished Scott had done the responsible thing and come outside here with him so that he could hear what was being said. But he couldn't hear anything because they were much too far away.

"Stalinski!"
Stiles cursed and fumbled but someone grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out of the bush with surprising strength before depositing him on the concrete. Stiles looked up with a smile. He had leaves in his hair. "Hey, Coach. You look nice today! Did you get a haircut?"

"Shut your trap, Stalinski!" His coach barked. Barking was kind of his default, though, so it wasn't exactly frightening. "Get inside and mind your own business, you Kreetan!"

"But the-"

"Do you want another detention?"
Stiles blinked a few times. "Ah... uh, another? What do you mean another?"

Coach laughed. "On top of the one you already have for not being in class right now, of course-!" He dragged Stiles to his feet and pushed him toward the building.

"Aw, Coach-"

"Literally! Shut! Up! Stalinski!"

Coach was talking loud enough that Stiles's dad actually turned his head at the mention of their name. Stiles's dad caught Stiles's eye and Stiles waved cheerily before being forcefully pushed through the front doors and into the dreaded horror that was high school.

The last sight he got was the terrified eyes of Dr. Deaton, who was looking straight at him in a way that suddenly killed every spark of snark in Stiles's belly. The door closed and Stiles stood still, stunned.

The hall was silent.

At that moment, Stiles knew very suddenly, and with complete, composed clarity that he was going to die.