A/N: So this is inspired from the rumors of a death and the stydia spoilers for s5 and multiple tumblr posts I've seen about them. (So trying not to get my hopes up but it's not working) The lyrics are from Never Let This Go by Paramore.

Unbeta'd as always. xoxo

*Warnings in the end notes*

Maybe if my heart stops beating it won't hurt this much...

Cold.

That was the only way to describe how Lydia felt. The air in the warehouse was eerily calm, like all the movement in the world had suddenly stopped. Without that movement, the temperature in the room had dropped to absolute zero.

Which was ironic, because nothing can survive at absolute zero.

She had seen the flash of silver and heard the blade plunge into her chest, but she hadn't felt it. The pain she knew she should feel never came. She'd been trying to escape from the steel walls of her prison - but her captor had come back too early. She'd broken free of the ligatures around her wrists and neck, only to be stabbed in the chest with a hunting knife. It was like it happened in slow motion, but she was paralyzed, a helpless bystander to her own end. All she could do was listen to the voices, telling her that this was it. She was about to die - and yet - her banshee scream lodged in her throat, choking all sound. Not that she was sure she could scream anymore anyway - her throat had become sandpaper from overuse.

Her attacker smiled coolly, his pearly white fangs glistened in the dim lighting. The sight of his glee sent pangs of disgust to Lydia's stomach, enough that she had to choke back a violent gag in the back of her throat.

"Goodnight, Lydia." His voice was full of satisfaction, success dripped in his tone, while still remaining flat and nonchalant.

Peter Hale had always been good at getting what he wanted. Since he'd kidnapped her, he'd violated her space, her body, and her mind to finally get what he wanted from her. The way to destroy the true alpha he had unknowingly created all those years ago on a cold night in the woods, and in turn, destroying the rival pack in Beacon Hills. He was cold and calculating, choosing to throw suspicion from himself by not using his supernatural weapons to dispose of her.

Lydia watched from the resolute concrete floor as Peter turned away, his dark boots moving out of the room. Everything went still and silent, even the voices that had been swirling in her mind for the past 2 years had abandoned her.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and she wanted to tell someone - anyone - things only she knew. She wanted her last moments to be remembered. Instead, she was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Never will I have to answer again to anyone.

A silent tear escaped her eye, cooling her cheek as it fell onto the dusty floor. Lydia let out a distraught sigh and closed her eyes, waiting for the end. For the light or the tunnel or something.

She doesn't know how long she'd been laying on the cool slab before she hears something. From out of nowhere, she swore she could hear footsteps. Faint at first, then growing louder. It almost sounded like running, frantic and fast.

She heard the door bang open, and a strangled sound come from the unfortunate soul who had come across the bloody scene. Suddenly she felt warm, strong hands collecting her from the ground, fingers cradling her head and lifting her into their lap. Lydia's eyes fluttered back open, only to see the one person she last expected.

Stiles.

He had bags under his eyes - he obviously hadn't slept since she was taken a few days ago. His dark hair was sticking up in every direction, and he was donning his usual plaid attire. The major difference she saw was his face. Instead of the usual external spasms and rambling sentences, he was almost stone-faced.

"Oh god, Lyds." He chokes out, his voice shaky and uneven. Lydia looks up and him, and their eyes lock. Leaking amber eyes search green, his fingers tangled in her hair, and his other hand resting on her chest under where the blade was still protruding. Lydia wills her voice to work, her small prayer of speaking out her last thoughts and having them heard granted.

"It was Peter, Stiles. You - you have to tell Scott." She whispers, clinical and methodical, even in the most emotional moment of her life.

"No. Lydia, You can tell him yourself." He says, moving his hand from her chest as if to retrieve something. She reaches her arm up and grasps his wrist as tightly as she can manage.

"Stiles, please. You have to tell Scott that it's Peter who's trying to kill him!" She pauses and Stiles tears his eyes from her, like he can't handle watching the blood drain from her face. "Okay?" She says as fiercely as he can manage. She needs Stiles to understand.

Lydia uses all the strength she can muster to squeeze his wrist harder to get his attention. "Promise me."

I'll never let this go,

She sees him trying to bite back sobs that are now wracking his body and he clutches her tighter. So tight, she feels her heart ache. She can almost hear his inner thoughts - "No, Lydia you can't die. Not here, not now, not ever!".

Instead, "I promise." is what he says, almost inaudible.

Lydia relaxes her grip on his wrist and feels her lungs struggling to familiar sense of dread becomes prominent, the banshee instincts pointing further that these will be her last moments. She knows it's nearly over, but she also knows she has to hold on for just another minute. She has so much left to say, and no plan on how to say it.

Trying to steady her very much intermittent breathing, she finds the courage to say what's been weighing on her mind and in her heart. It's now or never, and he deserves to know. God, does he deserve to know how she feels about him.

"Stiles, y-you need to know that I-" She tries, before he lifts up her face and cuts off her sentence with his lips.

Lydia doesn't have a chance to be surprised, she just gives into him. The kiss is salty and desperate, he's still holding her tightly and his thumbs are grazing her cheekbones. She returns the pressure with the same fervor, his lips soft and pliant. She can feels his tears mixing with her own and her hands involuntarily curling around his biceps.

As she kisses him, all the moments they've shared in the past few years comes bubbling to the surface. Hugs, stolen glances, solving supernatural mysteries, saving their friends. Lacrosse games, pack fights, the cold desert of Mexico. How her heart ached when she saw him finally move on, frustration and anger as they bickered about nothing and everything at the same time. And finally, the kiss in the locker room that made her question everything. Lydia's emotions crest over her in waves as she tries to communicate it all through their pressed lips; to the boy who stole her heart without her even really noticing, until it was too late.

Stiles slowly and softly pulls them apart, his forehead coming to rest on hers. His breathing is ragged, but the tears seem to have subsided. Then, he whispers lovely words that twist the not-so-proverbial knife that is already in her heart. "I know."

But I can't find the words to tell you.

He wraps his arms back around her, letting her relax in his lap. "I love you." She whispers, her voice cracking as she feels her eyes slowly closing.

Lydia feels a single tear drop onto her cheek from above, and she swears she hears Stiles whisper it back to her before the blackness swallows her. It consumes her thoughts, feelings, and breaths until there's nothing left.

A/N: **MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, implications of rape.**

So I kinda hate myself for writing this. I've posted this as a series on ao3, but will be posting the one shots together here for easy reading on this site. Please don't hate me too much.

Check me out on tumblr - savingsciles