Summary: At a time like this, Lydia hated being a banshee more than ever. All she wanted to do was drive aimlessly and lose herself in the lingering scent of musk and Stiles's favorite cologne. The yearning for escaping her fervent nightmares was stronger than a siren's song, yet she could not follow it. Her fight or flight response, or perhaps the supernatural interference, did not lead her on a directionless drive. She always ended up in the same place / or, lydia visits stiles's grave and has a lot of flashbacks to the night he died.

Word Count: 3.2k omg what

Rated: T (teen)

Pairing: Stydia (obvsss) with a Scydia brotp for Jenny (:

Notes: I used Written?Kitten! to help me write this bc perf. Also, I listened to these 8tracks mixes for inspiration.

Dedicated to Elle bc she believes in me (plus whenever I got blocked I would read the stydia drabble she wrote for me) and Jenny bc she's just lovely, and I'm her little ladybug.

Lydia pressed her bare foot down on the gas pedal and backed out of her driveway. The blasted Jeep made quite a bit of noise, and she saw the lights in her mother's room flicker on. No matter, she had stuffed pillows under her comforter before she left. There was no reason to wake up the sheriff so early in the morning, especially not now.

Stiles curled around the katana in a way that resembled Allison to a tee. Lydia heard Scott yell, and she saw Kira's frozen face of horror, but she couldn't comprehend what was happening. She watched as Stiles fell, seemingly in slow motion, into Scott's arms. She watched Scott pull his best friend close to him and hold his head to his chest. It was almost identical to the way he had held Allison just a day before; the universe could be so cruel. The Oni vanished after ripping the katana out of Stiles's stomach, soon followed by a leering nogitsune. The four shell-shocked teenagers were left in the garden, alone but the rapid beating of panicked hearts. The snow continued to swirl, collecting in windswept hair and kissing pale, bloodless cheeks.

At a time like this, Lydia hated being a banshee more than ever. All she wanted to do was drive aimlessly and lose herself in the lingering scent of musk and Stiles's favorite cologne. The yearning for escaping her fervent nightmares was stronger than a siren's song, yet she could not follow it. Her fight or flight response, or perhaps the supernatural interference, did not lead her on a directionless drive. She always ended up in the same place.

Her mascara was waterproof. She had spent an outrageous amount of money so she could be Scott's rock today, and keep her own feelings under wraps. She had three 24 packs of Kleenex tissues and a bag full of makeup for touch-ups. She knew she should cry, but she also knew she couldn't. Scott needed her.

It had been a closed casket wake, for the sake of Lydia and the Sheriff. Scott had argued with them on this subject for awhile, but his objections had ceased after Lydia's first breakdown.

The only sounds Lydia could hear were the gentle humming of the Jeep's engine and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. The headlights illuminated the backroads in a way that was almost creepy. Lydia remembered the time she and Allison had almost been killed by a deer on this same road. Stiles and Scott had been there, instantly ready to make sure they were okay. Stiles had provided Lydia with cliche words of comfort, and she had swallowed and buried her face in his shoulder. She had done that a lot.

"Lyd, I know it's hard, but he's my best friend. I need to be able to see him," Scott whispered. Lydia sniffed and looked away. "Lydia, please. I-"

"Scott, I can't see him like that," Lydia choked out. Still sniffling, she dropped her focus to her hands, which she clasped firm in her lap. "I won't be able to handle seeing him so…so…"

Scott didn't say anything. He didn't have to. he knew what she was thinking. Stiles wasn't supposed to be still, he was supposed to be hyperactive and jumpy. He was supposed to never shut up. Seeing him so motionless would kill Lydia.

After a long period of silence, Lydia looked back up at Scott. Tear tracks etched in black makeup ran down her cheeks, and fresh tears were glistening in the corners of her eyes. "Scott…he's my anchor. Metaphorical and literal. If I have to see him like that…I'll go mad." Her lower lip was trembling, and the pain of fresh loss shone through her eyes as she stared into Scott's eyes.

Scott's adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, and he bent down, opening his arms. Lydia met him halfway and buried her face in his shoulder. She linked her fingers around his neck, bedraggled nails digging into the soft skin and her tears soaking through his shirt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so, sorry."

They both knew she wasn't talking to Scott.

To Lydia, if felt like the trees were leaning in towards her. A tight feeling was forming in her chest. She used to attribute this feeling exclusively to a Banshee Scream, but lately, that hadn't been the case. Since the day she held Stiles's hand until it grew cold, Lydia had become aware of Stiles's awful mental demons. Panic attacks had plagued her for the past week, frequent and foreboding, hanging over her head like a dark cloud. The heart palpitations and shuddering breaths had first come at the Sheriff's office. She had just finished giving her statement.

Deputy Parrish had been asking her questions about her story ("They came out of nowhere. There were five of them, gang members, and they had something sharp and silver, maybe a knife. It all happened so fast.") when she realized she couldn't breathe. Her own words kept playing back in her mind, but she didn't have a solution. Stiles wasn't there to kiss her.

Since then, the feeling of panic had become quite familiar to Lydia.

Swallowing, Lydia pressed down hard on the gas. The jeep lurched forward and picked up speed, and Lydia wiped fresh tears from her eyes. She was going to make it.

Lydia's world returned in full technicolor as Stiles's head landed in the crook of Scott's elbow. She couldn't move, her feet seemed frozen to the ground, and she could only watch. A wail rose up her throat, and she didn't try to stop it.

The once-silent drive had take a turn for the deafening. The wind had picked up, and was raking through the forest. The howling sound of branches hitting each other and leaves colliding was loud, and adding the sounds of the banshee was making made it even worse. Lydia couldn't breathe without gasping, and a scream was building in her throat. Tears were running in rivulets down her pale, drawn cheeks. Twice she had almost driven into a tree because her hands were shaking on the wheel. She rolled the windows down to get some air, and the wind was tossing her strawberry blonde locks in every direction. Almost choking on tears, she pressed on. She was on a mission. She would make it. She had too.

"Scott," Stiles whispered. He cracked a smile, but blood trickled down the corner of his mouth. "It's alright. I'm alright. You're alright."

Lydia could see the panic on Scott's face. "No, no, Stiles, don't. You're - I'm - I'll get you to a hospital. My mom - she'll fix you." Scott's breaths were coming in shaky, panicked gasped, and he clutched Stiles's shoulders.

"It'll be okay, Scotty. L-look after my dad, will ya?" Stiles coughed, and more blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth. "He'll blame himself, you know he will."

"No, Stiles, please - please don't make this a goodbye," Scott whimpered. "You're - you're not dying."

Stiles wrapped his shaking fingers around Scott's t-shirt. "Please, Scott."

"No - no, Stiles," Scott wailed, pulling his best friend's broken body to his chest.

Stiles cried out in pain, his breathing rapid and harsh.

"I - I love you man. You're my brother." Stiles gasped. "I - Lydia -"

After a sharp turn that nearly took her off the road, Lydia made an abrupt stop against the curb. She stumbled out of the car and ran, chest heaving, across the grass. Her movements were frantic, and several times she tripped on loose stones. She was full-on sobbing now, and her breathing was equivalent to an athsmatic after a marathon. She hadn't come here yet, she was going to go with Scott sometime in the next few days, so she didn't know where it was. Where he was. Crying and screaming, Lydia Martin staggered through Beacon Hills Cemetery at 3:28 am, searching for the newest grave, the eternal resting place of Stiles Stilinski.

The frozen feeling in her feet seemed to dissipate, and she teetered forward. Reaching the two boys, she fell to her knees. She reached out with a shaking hand and smoothed Stiles's hair back. Her bottom lip was trembling, and she was on the verge of sobs. She looked up at Scott, who was staring at his best friend with a look of distraught fury. She turned her focus back to the dying boy in front of her, and pulled her hand from his hair. In the most gentle way she could, she took her index finger and wiped the blood off his lips and chin. He shuddered at her touch and closed his eyes, and for a second, Lydia thought he was gone. Before she could scream, however, he blinked up at her.

"I still think you look beautiful when you cry," he whispered. This was all it took for Lydia to dissolve into sobs, and she leaned over his chest. Wordlessly, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and tried to ignore how cold it was getting.

"I'm so - so sorry Stiles," she sobbed into his cheek. "You don't deserve this. A-allison didn't deserve this. Aiden didn't deserve this. We could've - we should've saved you. P-please don't die. Not like this. I can't - I won't let you."

Slowly, Stiles reached a weak hand to her face and wiped her tears away with his thumb. This cued more hiccuping sobs from Lydia, who grabbed his hand and held it to her heart as she sat up.

"Shh, Lyd. It'll be okay. You're going to be okay."

It took her almost ten minutes, but Lydia eventually collapsed in front of Stiles's grave. The brand new white marble stood out next to the older, grayer marker next to it. GENIM 'STILES' STILINSKI had been laid to rest next to CLAUDIA STILINSKI, and Lydia sat up in front of the two graves and broke down.

"I'm s-so sorry St-stiles," she choked out. She was crying so her that her nose was running, and she raised her fist to wipe away the snot. She took several more seconds to compose herself again, and then continued. "It's not f-fair that you had to die. It wasn't your f-fault," she sniffed again, raising a shaking hand to the top of the pearly marble. She ran her fingers up and down the cool surface, trying to slow her shuddery breathing. "I don't understand why you had to d-die," she mumbled. "You were the best of us, you still are. Y-you were always the good guy, Stiles." Her throat constricted and she let out a ragged sob, leaning her weight into the gravestone. "The good guys aren't supposed to die."

She closed her eyes and let the tears fall, not even attempting to wipe them away. She could still feel his thumb on her cheek like a phantom limb. She sat there for a long time, silent except for the occasional sniffle, and tried to ignore the ringing in her eyes, the voices in her head just begging her to scream. The urge was overwhelming, but she held her ground. She didn't want to scream. The last two times she had screamed, her best friends had died. She never wanted to scream again.

She couldn't tell if the tight feeling in her chest was supernatural, or just an aftershock of the panic attack, but it was becoming unbearable as time went on. The voices were getting louder, yelling screamscreamscreamscream in her ears. She screwed up her face and squeezed her eyes shut. No.

The voices became a shriek, and Lydia began to sob."No, n-no, NO!" she yelled, putting her hands over her ears in a desperate attempt to make them go away. She knew it wouldn't work, they only way they would stop is if she gave in to the temptation. She tried to resist it, she really did, but eventually, she slapped her hands down on the white marble and let out a terrifying, broken, banshee scream. When she was done, she crumpled against the grave and wailed.

Stiles smiled sadly. "I'm going to see my mom again. Allison, Erica, Boyd, Heather. I'm going to watch over my dad, and, of course, you two." Lydia's hands shook and Scott let out a mournful whimper.

"It doesn't have to end like this, Stiles," Scott put his hand on his best friend's arm. "I can - "

"No," Stiles said firmly. "I'm not strong enough, it'll kill me. I don't want you to have that on your conscience, Scott."

Fresh tears slipped down Scott's cheeks and he nodded, squeezing Stiles's shoulder. "O-okay, dude."

Lydia held Stiles's trembling hand to her cheek, silent tears slipping from her eyes. He looked up at her and stroked her cheek with the back of his index finger. "This isn't your fault, Lydia," he murmured.

Lydia didn't say anything. She couldn't look at him.

"It isn't. It's not your fault, or Scott's, or Kira's, or anyone's except the nogistune," Stiles was rasping at this point, his breath coming in short, painful gasps. "I don't want any of you to blame yourselves. Okay?" he coughed, and a fresh trickled of blood oozed through his lips.

"Lydia?"

Lydia didn't respond, just continued to cry. She didn't want to look up, in fear that someone would tell her some other terrible news. Her eyes were closed, her face resting against the 'stil' in Stilinski.

"Lydia, c'mere."

Slowly, she lifted her head and forced her eyes open. They were slightly glassy from all the crying, but she had figured out who was behind her before he even spoke. "Hi, Scott," she mumbled.

Scott was wearing a white t-shirt and cotton pajama pants, his hair mussed in a way that made him look like he had been sleeping, but his eyes were red and puffy. He had been up, and crying, as well.

He crouched in front of her and held out his hand. Lydia took it in a second and fell into his embrace. Her small body shook with heaving sobs. "It's not fair!" she wailed. "It's - not - fair!"

Scott's ran his hand through her hair and cried with her. "I-I know, Lyd. It's not." He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away from his chest. She didn't look at him, so he put his hand under his chin and lifted her gaze until it met his. "But he wouldn't want us out here, crying. Honestly, he would probably kill me if he found out I let you drive out here in the middle of the night."

Lydia sniffed, but a small smile curled up the corners of her lips. "He - he wouldn't kill you, Scott. He loved you."

Scott smiled. "Yeah, he did. He loved me the same way you love me, like a brother. But, Lydia, he was in love with you. He cared about you so much. You were his tether."

Lydia blinked as fresh tears collected in her eyes. "R-really?"

Scott looked at her incredulously. "Are you kidding me? He thought the sun shone for you, Lydia Martin. He was in lovewith you. I've never seen him feel that way about anyone else."

Lydia smiled and turned back toward Stiles's grave. She ran her fingers over it with a look of longing. "I was in love with him too. I denied it for a long time, but I was. He was…" she trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Special?" Scott asked, taking her hand off the marble.

Lydia bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah, special."

Lydia burst into tears once again, but she nodded. "O-okay, Stiles. I p-promise," she cried.

"Me too," Scott mumbled, squeezing Stiles's shoulder.

Stiles nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. His hand slipped from Lydia's grasp and fell to his stomach, his fingers stained scarlet. A few tears trickled down his cheeks as his breathing became more ragged, yet he still clung to life.

"I really love both of you, you know that, right?" he choked out, blood and bile rising in his throat. Lydia sobbed, and a choked whimper escaped Scott's stony face.

They were silent for a few minutes, and they all knew that Stiles was slipping away. Lydia continued to run her fingers through his hair, pretending not to notice when crimson blood starts to tint her pale fingers pink.

Stiles coughed several times, and on the last one he started to choke on the blood trapped in his throat. Scott frantically thumped him of the back, and Lydia became hysterical. Wheezing, Stiles spit out red liquid and slumped back into Scott's lap. Lydia knew this was the end. She clutched his trembling, bloody hand and whispered empty comforts in his ear.

"I really mean it, you look beautiful when you cry, Lydia Martin," he whispered, and Lydia sobbed.

With a gentle smile on his face, Stiles relaxed into Scott's embrace. His breathing hitched and his eyes fluttered shut. The scream seared in her chest, merely seconds away. Scott cried out in panic, but there was nothing he could do.

Beneath Lydia's hands, a heart stopped beating.

And she screamed, a heartbroken, agonizing scream.

Scott held out his hand to Lydia. "C'mon. I should get you home. It's getting too cold for you to be out here in just pajamas."

Lydia took his hand and stood up, but she looked hesitant. "I - I don't want to go home. My mom - she just doesn't understand."

Scott nodded and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "We have a spare coach, and my mom won't mind if you crash there. I'll call your mom so she knows you're alive, and you can stay at my house."

Lydia sighed and leaned into him. "Thank you," she mumbled. "I mean, this is probably even harder for you than it is for me, and you've been catering to my every need, and I feel like I haven't done anything for you."

Scott rubbed circles on her shoulder as they walked towards the Jeep. "Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you."

With a small smile on her face, Lydia wrapped her arms around Scott. Even in heels, she was nowhere near as tall as him, so in bare feet she had to wrap her arms around his chest. He was a bit taken aback, but he hugged her back.

"What was that for?" he asked, once Lydia pulled away.

"For being the most amazing, supportive, strong friend and rock I've needed the past week," Lydia murmured, and few tears collected in her eyes.

Scott gave her a watery smile, and they walked to the Jeep in silence. The ride back to Scott's was quiet as well, and halfway through, Scott looked over and saw that Lydia was asleep in the passenger seat. He looked up at the sky and as a small smile crossed his face. "Thanks, Stiles," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Lydia whispered, her eyes still closed. "Thank you, Stiles."

i am so sorry you can kill me now

my tumblr is lydiamaartins come yell at me