She didn't sleep for three days after everything was said and done. How could she? She felt Allison die. She felt it. The only person she really, truly, cared about died, and all she could do was sit there, and scream.
She talked to Stiles on the first night after everything… happened.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled to her. His eyes were still bloodshot and ringed with darkness, but it was definitely him. The nogitsune was gone. Hopefully forever. "For the part I played in…. It's my fault that Allison is…. I'm so sorry, Lydia."
"It's not your fault," she told him, saying the words she had practiced to herself. It was absolutely his fault. If he hadn't collapsed on her, she could've run outside. She could've done something. "It's no one's fault."
If he hadn't gone into the nemeton, the nogitsune never would've found him. Logically, she knows that she just wants someone to blame, and blaming Stiles is easy, because he does half the work for her.
It's not his fault, though. He was as much a victim in this as Allison was. Right now, he needs support more than anything, so that's what she gives him. She wishes she could be angry. She wishes she could hate him, just for a little bit.
But then she remembers the look he gave her, and how they both started crying, and she knows she can't blame him.
On the second night, she talked to Isaac. He was traumatized. He spent the whole night staring into space and talking very little.
"She died to save me," he whispered at one point. "If I was a little stronger, a little faster? A little more anything, really, she'd be alive."
Just like with Stiles, she wants it to be true. She wanted to tell him it was his fault. He'd never been a good fighter. Vicious, yes, but with no real skill. But she knows what Isaac went through with his father, and she knows he loved Allison, too.
"It's not your fault," she told him. "It's no one's fault."
They passed the rest of the night in silence, sitting side by side on Allison's bed. Everyone was gravitating in that direction. Chris bolted once everything had calmed down. Derek offered to go with him, but he said he needed to be alone, for a little while. Lydia said she'd stay. She'd watch the apartment for him. He would've gone either way, but she likes to think it helped him a little.
Everyone was going to come by, sooner or later. She knew that. Everyone who knew Allison was going to want to be in her room one last time, and pick out a trinket or something to remember her. Truth be told, she wasn't ready to say goodbye. Staying in Allison's room helped her hold on. It's just a study session. It's just a normal hang out, and Allison will be home soon. She's just waiting in her bedroom.
Scott finally came by on the third night.
"I could've done something." His voice was pained and rough. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping, either. His eyes were red and puffy. "I could've told her to get away, or I could've bitten her. I could've done something, but I just watched her die."
He could've done something. He should've done something. She almost said it that time. She could feel the words on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself. Scott loved Allison as much as she did. He did everything he could for her. She knows that.
"It's not your fault," she told him instead. "It's no one's fault."
He actually slept that night, like he'd been waiting for someone to say those words to him, while she stayed up again. She fiddled with Allison's jewelry. She ran her fingers across her book collection. She tried on one of her jackets that she'd always liked. Scott left after breakfast the next morning. This morning.
"I feel a lot better now," he said, and she lied and told him she did, too. If anything, she felt worse.
Now she sits on Allison's bed, legs crossed, hair a mess, but she doesn't care. She hasn't cared in days. No one is coming tonight. She can feel that, somehow. She'll be alone in this apartment, in this room that belonged to the person she loved most.
And, now that she's alone, her own guilt and doubts come creeping back in. Allison was only there to rescue her. She was there to save her. If she hadn't gotten herself captured, Allison wouldn't have had to save her.
"It's my fault," she murmurs to herself as the tears start to slide down her cheeks. "It's no one's fault but mine."
And then, at long last, she falls asleep.
In her dreams, she's standing in the middle of the road. It stretches, on either side of her, into dense fog. It's night. The only light is from a flickering street lamp. She can't see anything behind her, but directly in front of her is a forest. The branches on the nearest trees begin to creak and rustle. Something is coming toward her, and fast. She takes a step back and realizes she's barefoot. She doesn't have any weapons. She wants to scream, but it's caught in her throat, like it's not ready yet.
The shadows between the trees start to move, and then a deer jumps out into the street and stops. It's a doe, almost fully grown, but with a few spots in a neat line down its back. It looks right at her and freezes. For a long time, neither of them moves. Then the doe bounds away into the darkness on the other side of the street.
"Wait!" she calls, and runs after it. It wants something. It needs her. She can feel it.
It easily outruns her, but she runs after it anyway. She can hear it ahead of her, crashing through the trees. Its hooves hammer against the ground, propelling it forward. Her bare feet slap hard earth, trying to keep up.
She runs right into a large clearing, and the doe is standing just past the line of trees. She stops short and looks at it. It stares right back, and then slowly turns its head. She follows its gaze, and the scene before her makes her heart stop.
The deer has led her straight to the nemeton. There's a figure laid across it, seemingly resting. It's so pale, though, almost blue.
"Allison," she breathes, and runs across the little clearing to her best friend's body. She sits right on the stump and pulls the other girl into her arms.
And then she wakes up.
She looks around the forest, and places her hands on the nemeton beneath her, and takes a slow deep breath. This isn't the first time she's gone sleepwalking, and it won't be the last, but it hasn't failed to surprise her yet.
A throbbing in her hand draws her attention. She lifts it up and her eyes go wide at the sight of blood. It's tricking out of her palm. She's already smeared a lot of it across the nemeton. She looks around for a knife or a sharp rock. Something she could've cut herself with. But then she looks closer at the wound, and sees four deep cuts, not just one. She turns her gaze to her other hand. Her four main fingernails are caked with blood.
"This is just great," she says out loud. She checks the pockets of her jacket, dripping blood all over the cloth in the process. They're empty. "I'm alone in the woods, with no phone and no weapon. What could possibly go wrong?"
As if waiting for her cue, the ground beneath her begins to shake. She jumps up and scrambles to the edge of the clearing, pressing her back to a tree. The nemeton itself is moving. Its roots writhe like snakes through the dirt. They shoot up and down, all in different intervals, and then, as suddenly as they started moving, they stop. The entire forest around her is still, except for a pulsing white light coming from the nemeton. It grows brighter and brighter as she stares at it.
When it gets so bright that it drowns out everything else, the scream in her throat finally unsticks. It pours out of her, reverberating through the trees, while she shuts her eyes tight. Long seconds go by that feel like an eternity. Then her voice gives out, at the exact moment as the light.
Something is moving near the ancient stump. She opens her eyes, but she can only see green and blue spots. She presses herself closer to the tree, crouches down, and tries to feel for something that could be a weapon. The world swirls, slowly, back into focus.
"Lydia?" The voice is small. It's achingly familiar. It's timid and confused. Whatever is on the nemeton is pale. It's moving now, standing, walking to her on two legs. She stands up slowly, staying against the tree. Her empty hands are smeared with dirt now, as well as blood. She realizes that she's crying again.
The thing is human. They stop right in front of her. She can't make out the person's face, but she doesn't feel like she's in danger. She's dead, she tells herself. I'm still dreaming, because she's dead.
Hands curl through hers. Lips press lightly against hers, then pull away.
"You did it," the voice breathes. She pulls one of her hands free to wipe at her eyes. When she looks, at last, on the person's face, she starts to cry all over again.
"Allison," she sobs, and throws her arms around her best friend's neck.