"No. Definitely, absolutely not," Stiles says, gesturing wildly with his hands as he paces between his bed and the door. It's 3:30 in the morning on a Wednesday, and to be honest he's getting a bit tired, literally, of these unexpected visits. "I am not, repeat, am not showing up on Lydia's doorstep at this hour."
"But she's my-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know she's your best friend, Allison," he says. "Was, I mean," he adds, all of the frustration from before having vanished from his voice. He decides to give the carpet a break, taking a seat next to her on the bed. "That, uh, wasn't supposed to come out like that," he begins. "Lydia will always be your best friend."
"Well it's not exactly like I'm in the position to go out and make more, now is it?" She allows Stiles to enjoy the silence for a few moments before delving into what she really wants to talk about- what she always seems to have on her mind during these late night appearances. "All I'm trying to say is that Lydia is, was, the closest friend I ever had. So if anyone is qualified to recognize that she's hurting, it's me."
"I know that," he whispers, not chancing a glance in her direction.
"No, Stiles, you don't know. You can't possibly know, because the Stiles I know couldn't see how much pain Lydia's in and continue to do nothing about it," Allison stands up as she utters the final words, wringing her hands as she leans against his bedroom door. "This is Lydia, the girl you've been in love with since you were still sipping juice boxes and sitting in a circle reading The BFG. Are you seriously expecting me to believe that in the ten years you've known each other, you haven't learned enough to notice when something is really not right with her?" The anger seeping into her voice is enough to make Stiles look up.
"You honestly think I don't see it? Think I don't notice the circles under her eyes? The way she spends more time picking at her food than eating it, if she even decides to have lunch with us at all? How a life or death situation is pretty much the only way to get her into the same room as her friends? The way she nearly jumps out of her seat at the sound of someone setting their textbook down? Because it reminds her of the time she spent in that sorry excuse for a medical facility, whether she's willing to admit it or not? You think I can't make a pretty good guess as to why she hasn't voluntarily made eye contact with a single one of us in months? She's fucking terrified, Allison! She's scared out of her freaking mind and every single thing in this hellish town makes it harder for her to feel safe, including me," he'd clenched his fists, nails biting into palms, at finally having admitted that last part. He'd hoped the pain in his hands would prevent the other pain from escaping his mouth, but it hadn't been enough. He gives up, dropping into a seated position on the floor at the foot of his bed, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
The floor creaks as Allison sits down across from him, back still pressed against the door. "You really are here, aren't you?" He asks.
"Really does seem that way, huh?" She replies. She shakes her head gently and smiles. It isn't the smile that made half of the guys in Beacon Hills, Scott included, fall in love with her; it's the saddest smile Stiles has ever seen, and he wishes for nothing more than to be able to say it's the first time he's ever seen it, but it isn't.
"Don't get me wrong, Allison, I still get the urge to cry happy tears every time I wake up to you sitting on the edge of my bed. But if you can be here with me, why can't you be there for Lydia yourself? We both know it's what you want," he says.
"As much as I want to be there for Lydia, I just don't… It's just not me who she needs right now," she says. "She needs you, Stiles. She wants you."
"Lydia looks at me and sees every horrible thing that's happened to her in the past year," Stiles says, realizing he's whispering again. "Do you know what that's like? To love someone and to wake up each morning just to remember that it's thoughts of you that are contributing to the fear that keeps them awake all night?" he asks. "She needs comfort, not a sick reminder."
"What exactly do you think I am, Stiles, if not a sick reminder?"
"Uh, friendly neighborhood poltergeist with a penchant for tormenting heartbroken teenage boys, particularly ones named Stiles?" Honestly, she's a bit disappointed in herself for not seeing that one coming. However, it doesn't stop a small smile- one of the good ones- from tugging at the corners of her lips. She leans over and lightly punches him in the shoulder, a light thud resounding through the room.
"Seriously though, are you here or not? Because if you really are here, in my room, inches from my bed, in all of your hot-girl-by-day, kickass-hunter-by-night glory, Scott is going to be pissed," he says, putting his hands up in surrender. This time, he manages to get a whole laugh from her.
"Enough with the stalling, Stilinski," she says when she's able to put on a straight face.
"I'm not- ", but he stops when he sees the look she's giving him. It's the kind of look that reminds him that Allison is, in fact, an Argent, and could probably give him an agonizingly slow death if she wanted to, even from the grave. "Okay, I'm done."
"If I were to go see Lydia, I wouldn't be delivering her the reassuring embrace of a friend long lost. I represent every horrible thing that's happened to her in Beacon Hills. Seeing her dead best friend is just going to further remind her what it is, exactly, that she has to be afraid of." For the first time in a long time, Stiles really doesn't have anything to say.
"If it were just me, and not this," she pauses to gesture to herself, "version of me, it might be okay. But I'm dead, Stiles. I'm gone and as far as I know, I'm never coming back. Lydia needs someone real, someone that she doesn't still grieve over every night."
"She doesn't look at you and see reasons to be afraid. Yes, you were there for all of the bad things, there's no denying that. But Stiles, you were always the one rushing in to save her. From Peter Hale, from the Dread Doctors, from yourself. Lydia looks at you and sees all of the reasons she's always made it out okay, including the fact that your faith in her is so unwavering that she can't help but feel a bit stronger when you're around. So if there is anyone in the world who makes her feel less terrified, it's you," she waits for him to say something but minutes pass and he remains silent. "For the first time in over a year, Lydia Martin really needs you, and you're nowhere to be found." She watches the exaggerated rising and falling of his chest, his nostrils widening and narrowing in time with his breathing. She can see that he's working the right side of his jaw in thought, just as she can see the muscles in his hands lightly contracting and releasing. But his eyes don't shift to meet hers, not even for a second.
It's just past four by the time he breaks the silence. "What happens if you're wrong?" She opens her mouth to speak but Stiles is already moving on. "Because I thought things were going to be different after Eichen. Because we rescued her and I would keep her safe. Because she was finally home where we would be able to protect her. But there's no bursting in and saving her when the trauma is happening inside of her own head. She's not having a panic attack, Allison. I can't just kiss her until she stops breathing long enough to realize she's going to be okay." He moves to rest his head in his hands again.
"I don't know how to help her this time," he finishes, trying hard to conceal the cracking in his voice.
"Stiles, you are so smart. You might not be Lydia-smart, but you're too smart to get hung up on this. Have you ever thought that maybe it doesn't matter if you know exactly what to do? She feels safe with you. You're the one who always figures it out; she said that. So she knows that when the time comes, you'll either figure it out or help her do so." Stiles scrambles to his feet.
"I should go, shouldn't I? That's what you're trying to tell me, right? That I should go find Lydia?" He's already shrugged on his jacket by the end of his final question. He leans down to finish tying his shoes, his tattered wallet hanging from his mouth.
"Finally, he gets it!" Allison cheers, raising her fists in the air. She's standing by his open door now, the Jeep keys dangling from her index finger. Stiles yanks them out of her hand, nearly sprinting out of the room. He turns around at the last second, pulling her into a bear hug that lifts her feet four or five inches off of the ground.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he says against the top of her head, the words muffled by her hair. Soon she's back on her feet and Stiles is long gone.