Lydia stared into the cold, flat eyes of the Nogitsune. It may have been wearing Stiles' face, but somehow the eyes were different. When Stiles looked at her, there was a glowing warmth that sent tingles from the top of her strawberry blonde head straight down to the tips of her toes. When the nogitsune looked at her, there was nothing. Well, not nothing. The nogitsune looked at her with contempt and vague amusement, occasionally a flash of wariness that she might have been imagining. And when Lydia looked at the nogitsune, all she could feel was a crushing fear that she might not get Stiles back, and a desperation to prove that wrong.
"He gets a little extra upset when it's you," the nogitsune mused in a voice that sounded like Stiles but was not Stiles at all. "He yells all the time, makes the most – the most entertaining remarks, what you humans call sarcasm. But when it's you, or that mockery of an alpha werewolf, he gets louder. Almost gives me a headache." It flashed her a smile that was more like a leer or a snarl. "'Not her', he begs. 'Not Lydia.'" It wrinkled Stiles' nose, and its voice changed to something high-pitched and mocking. "'Not Lydia, not Scott, I'll do anything!' How can you do anything for them, human boy, when you can't do anything for yourself?" The last question was spoken quietly, more to itself or to Stiles, who was somehow still in his own body and his own mind, watching but not controlling.
The idea of that made Lydia feel sick to her stomach.
"You underestimate him," she said evenly. "Everyone always does. Even me. But I don't anymore, I learned better." Her eyes narrowed. "And I think that soon, so will you. And it'll be when you die because Stiles will have beaten you."
The nogitsune shook Stiles' head at her and made a tut-ing sound. "Oh, little banshee, haven't you realized? Stiles is dying. You can feel it, I know you can. You're a walking, talking death omen, aren't you? Surely it wants to come out, the scream you'll scream when your precious little boyfriend kicks the bucket and there was nothing you could do but scream and scream and scream." The nogitsune put its hands on its cheeks – Stiles' hands on Stiles' cheeks – and mimed a silent exaggerated wail. "There's nothing you can ever do, is there? All you do is scream. All you do is find the bodies. Always too late, you can never save anybody. Stiles will be just the same. You'll be screaming over his corpse when I win. The wailing woman, wailing over her dead love."
Lydia wanted to put her hands over her ears, but she couldn't. She had to be strong in front of the nogitsune, in front of Stiles. She had to show him, both of them, that she wouldn't back down, that she believed in him just like he had in her.
The nogitsune made a face. "He gets annoyed by the most inconsequential things. Here he's calling me a liar. He's not saying I'm lying about his death, you're right, the boy is not stupid, at least not by human standards. He knows he's going to die. No, no, he's telling me I am wrong, he's not your love, you're his. And I shouldn't get them confused." It snorted, actually snorted. "You two humans may be blind, but I am not. You were his emotional tether, brought him back from the sacrifice. Brought me back, too – that sacrifice let me in. His rope, tied around his waist to keep him from being pulled away. Don't you two idiots know that a rope has to have two ends?"
Lydia swallowed. A rope has to have two ends. If she's his, then he must be hers. "Stiles," she said very softly. These words weren't for the nogitsune, they were for Stiles trapped deep inside himself. "You're wrong, and this thing – it talks almost as much as you do, maybe it's catching your rambling. Much as I hate to say it, this thing is right. You're my – you're mine. I'm your tether and you're mine. Stiles, I - ."
"NO!" The shout rang in Lydia's ears, raspy and desperate. She looked up and saw Stiles' eyes, alight with panic and urgency, but so much more like the ones she adored. She immediately started going forward but stopped when he retreated from her. "Lydia – Lyds, Lydia, I can't keep it back for long. I just – I had to stop you. I know what you're going to say, and you can't. You can't say it." He looked like everything in him was aching. It was, of course it was. "Not like this. Never like this."
But what if he – and he never knew, she never got to tell him - ! "Stiles, please, let me - !"
"No!" he repeated, reaching out towards her. But he was holding his palms up in the classic stop gesture, so very much like himself that it made her chest cramp. "It's okay," he choked out. "Oh – god – I know it is so far from okay, but – I'd rather never hear it at all than hear it now, when I'm being driven crazy by a fucking demon from ancient Japan, and you're just trying to keep me alive. I appreciate that, though, thanks. I mean – it's okay if it doesn't – if you don't – if you don't keep me alive. It's okay if I die, it won't be your fault." His eyes burned into hers. "It's not your fault."
She was opening her mouth to say it again, she didn't care, she had to – she was just opening her mouth when Stiles' head snapped back, his eyes rolling up, and then the nogitsune was back.
It wasn't amused anymore. It was gritting Stiles' teeth. "Run, banshee, I've grown tired of your presence. Run!" It roared the last word, and Lydia turned on her heel towards the door despite herself.
She looked back, though, she looked back and saw him – it – doubled over, clutching Stiles' head like it was about to burst. Stiles was fighting back again, and for that, for that and so many other reasons - !
I love you.