Post S4. Canon-divergence. Eventually leading to Stalia breakup and endgame Stydia.

As of January 24, 2019, this story will NOT BE CONTINUED, and so it has been marked as finished.

Chapter 1

It had been months since Allison, since Aiden, since the Nogitsune. And it had been a lot to take in for the banshee, who lost two people she cared about at once, almost a third. Stiles almost died and Lydia can only be thankful that he didn't because what would she have done without him too?

It was hard in the beginning. Lydia had felt hollow, unresponsive, sad. And guilt, oh she had felt such guilt. For screaming for Allison without any chance of avoiding her best friend's death, for almost not being able to save Stiles, for all that followed. Because Lydia had also felt torn, even when she knew how unfair it was. To her, to him, to the both of them, to Malia.

Malia, who had appeared at a time no one needed or wanted her (but who's Lydia kidding anyway? The girl is still not wanted nor needed, not to Lydia's concern). Malia, who got under his skin even before he knew. Malia, who saw an opportunity and took advantage of it before Lydia could. Though Lydia can't blame her; she can't really deny the feelings she started having towards a certain brown-haired boy but Lydia wasn't ready. Plus, the timing was shit, and both Stiles and Lydia needed closure on events they knew were out of their hands and that would haunt them forever. And so Lydia quieted.

All of them grieved on their own way. Scott had channeled his inner wolf and focused on learning more from Derek as well as on training Malia, but Stiles and Lydia had stayed indoors for a while, mostly Stiles. Lydia hadn't talked to anyone for over a week and the only person she saw during those days was her mom, but she was taking care of herself, slowly healing. Eventually she started texting Stiles and Scott but only the Alpha answered, and when she felt ready to face him, Lydia called Scott and he stopped by which ended up in both of them drunk at 3:00 am, moping and crying together over Allison. It had felt good, to get it out of their system, but something – someone - was missing. She asked about Stiles, telling Scott that she'd tried to reach the boy to no response, and Scott told her he wasn't getting out of the house, much like Lydia had been, only Stiles wasn't eating or sleeping much and kept saying the fault was on him. Scott hadn't been able to reach out to him yet, not successfully.

The Sheriff can't say he ever saw Lydia more upset than that night, the night when she left a sleeping Scott back at her place while she walked the whole distance from her house to Stiles' - because she was tipsy. Hadn't she been, she would had driven and got there much faster but hell, she was not gonna wait until she got sober –, knocking at his door at almost four thirty in the morning. She had cooled down by then and her features where a mixture of anger and hurt and bewilderment at what the boy had been doing. The Sheriff had been ready to yell at whoever went knocking on his door at such a late hour, or early depending on the perspective, but he opened it to find Lydia, shoes in her hand and disheveled hair, uneven breath and rosy cheeks, and she only asked "Can I see Stiles?" and the man stepped aside to let her in. If there was someone who could bring Stiles back to reality it would be the strawberry blonde, so he only answered "He's upstairs. I'm gonna make some coffee."

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Lydia gives the man a small smile and trails up to the boy's bedroom, one she has gotten too familiar with in the past few months. She figures Stiles must be watching TV because there's faint light coming from his room, his door slightly ajar. Not sure of what she's going to find, she peeks inside. The boy is sitting on the bed leaning against the wall, looking like he's in a trance looking at the TV like it isn't even there. He looks as sleep deprived as he did when he was still possessed. His room is a mess.

Her voice comes out hoarse. "Stiles?"

He comes out of his reverie at the mention of his name and his head snaps quickly in her direction. "Lydia?"

The girl places her shoes on the floor and takes off her jacket, then paces until she's in the middle of his room. "Get up."

Her tone is so assertive that it takes Stiles by surprise. "W- What?"

"I said get up." When he quirks an eyebrow at the girl, Lydia crosses her arms. "I'm waiting."

He reluctantly complies and stands awkwardly at the end of his bed. Lydia walks up to him until she's chest to chest with the boy, too close for two friends whose lines between friendship and something more always seem a little too blurred. But he looks too tired, too worn-out for Lydia to care about what she's doing. She's tired too.

"I'm gonna say this once, Stiles Stilinski, and I'll be damned if I have to repeat myself." The boy swallows, slowly nodding. He can feel her breath on his skin. Lydia cups his cheeks, forcing him to meet her gaze. "It was not your fault. Not the possession, not Allison or Aiden, not those innocent people that were killed." He opens his mouth but Lydia doesn't let him interrupt her. "No one believes that, Stiles, and it makes me feel mad that you do." Being so close to the boy, Lydia notices how pale he looks, and thin. "I already made you get up from the bed and I won't be leaving until you eat properly and get a good night sleep. We'll tidy your room and make your bed, get you in the shower and dressed, and then we're gonna go out and take a walk in the park to get some fresh air. And then we'll talk about trivial things like the weather or the economy, and after that I'll bring you home and I'll stay until I'm sure you will eat and sleep by yourself as you should. I don't care that it takes me days." She lowers her tone. "I'm worried about you."

He's not sure when he started crying but he is, stray tears rolling down his cheeks that Lydia wipes away swiftly. Catching her hands in his own, Stiles holds on to her as his voice falters, his forehead lowering to meet hers absentmindedly. "I uh- I… Lydia… I- I'm so scared…"

"Shh," Lydia hushes, "I know. I am too." She cups his cheeks again, her thumbs caressing the smooth skin soothingly. "It's okay to be afraid. I believe in you, Stiles. You can get through this." The words are whispered to his lips. "We can get through this. I believe in you."

And she does. And when he leans down and kisses her, she lets him. She knows it's not burning passion or desire that moves him, nor her when she kisses him back for that matter (even if there are feelings she won't share with him just yet, maybe not at all, that she pushes aside), but solace, comfort - and it won't take them much time to adjust to how close they become in the months that follow. They're each other's anchor, after all.

When they break the kiss, both flushed and a little breathless, Stiles is about to whisper "Thanks" like Lydia expected he would - and like he had done once before - but she stops him, smiling, and asks him if he'd rather sleep in or have an early breakfast. They settle for the bed and Lydia lets out "Good choice, my feet were killing me" as she pats him on the chest and he chuckles. Lydia couldn't be more proud of him or herself for being able to bring some color to his cheeks and a small smile to his lips.

Almost half an hour later and seeing the kids have yet to come downstairs to find him, the Sheriff heads to the upper floor to check in on them, see how it's going, and finds Lydia and Stiles curled up on one another under a blanket, completely passed out on the boy's bed. And when he leaves in the morning to head to the Station they're still asleep. They only wake up past lunch time and Lydia ends up making them some scrambled eggs as Stiles showers and gets dressed, and just like Lydia said, once they're done eating they clean his room and head out, and walk through the park for most of the afternoon talking about meaningless topics and for the first time in too long they feel carefree. At the end of the day, Lydia makes him dinner and his dad joins them when he gets back from work. When they're done, she makes sure that Stiles is all set to sleep properly for the first night in weeks, kissing his forehead before leaving and wishing him sweet dreams. And as the Sheriff drives her home, Lydia feels warmth and happiness for all the times – and they were many, mind you, for such a short ride – the Sheriff thanks her for what she did, for what she brings out in Stiles.

They quickly go from friends to good friends to best friends even. Some could say they are a little too close, sometimes on the verge of crossing that line that always seems to be between them but they don't care. They are what they're meant to be and they work together like no one else in the pack does. That first night was a turning point. They become inseparable after that.