My Tears are Becoming Sea

The explosions came out in five short and sweet blasts. Each one louder and deafening than the next.

It was a battlefield, a war zone of supernatural with the help modern weaponry.

They were smarter than most of the other creatures they've encountered in Beacon Hills, Stiles had to give them that. Not only did they use their celestial strength but the most important defense mechanism they could have—their brains.

But as he peeled himself off the floor of the dirty forest, the ring from the blast forever echoing through his auditory system, he noticed two significant things.

1. Malia was still on the ground, unconscious and bleeding.

2. Lydia, who was surprisingly still on her feet, struggled against the creatures as they circled around her, trapping her in.

"Stiles head back! Go!" He heard Scott scream from his left, but he couldn't see his best friend for the combination of the fog and dust from the explosion still hung in the air.

He wanted to go. He knew the potentially fatal position he was putting himself in, but he couldn't leave them there.

"Malia and Lydia are down–!" He caught himself screaming back. But after that came no response.

Desperate but determined he rose on his wobbly feet and tried to keep his balance, his eyes darting between the girls with hesitation.

He could help Lydia fend off the creatures, then grab Malia and take her back to the jeep.

Yes, that's it.

But as he approached her Lydia, noticing his attempts, shook her head, her eyes filling with utter fear and shock as she glanced down at Malia then back to Stiles.

"Go." She mouthed, her arms up in surrender. But Stiles continued to hesitate, blood heating through his pressured skin.

"Go." She mouthed again. Lydia had seen him struggle between the two of them and it was clear Malia was in more need than she was—or, at least she saw it that way.

This way it was more easier for him, he didn't need to choose, she chose for him.

He knew time was running out, he had to make a choice now. So with one last nod to the strawberry blond, he set his sights on the unconscious were-coyote in the clearing.

The plan was still the plan. Just tweaked a little bit.

Grab Malia, take her to the jeep, come back for Lydia. It was simple—and definitely a lot easier said than actually done—especially with all the supernatural creatures hunting around for them.

"I'll be right back." He mouthed and somehow Lydia got the gist of it because she nodded and tried to smile for his sake.

Still, it empowered him with enough confidence that his legs ran faster than his brain could possibly process the amount of danger around him. And his movements, although convulsive, were quick and he was grateful he could preform so well after such shocking events.

Stiles reached out for Malia, carefully engulfing her in his arms before his legs took over once again and he was running through the dark and cold forest.

The jeep was parked at the side of the road just where he had left it and for once it functioned at his touch.

He swiftly laid Malia on the back seat then took a moment to look her over. She was definitely breathing—in fact she had began to stir on his way over—so that at least he knew she was okay.

As the disturbed dust from the previous explosions began to expand their way in the outer directions, reaching the jeep. And it nearly blinded Stiles as he traced his course back to the field. Back to Lydia.

Masked by the dust and utter despair, Stiles ran like he never ran before. His heart thundered in his chest and often a strike of lightning would force against his heart letting him know he was close to reaching his limit.

But there was no chance he was stopping now. Even when nature itself stood like an obstacle against him.

With Lydia Martin as his only primary source of motivation, he persevered through. And as he reached the clearing he could instantly tell something was wrong. The wrath of the dust was stronger here and although the threat of the projectiles was imminent, he couldn't help shake the feeling of impending doom.

"Lydia!" His lungs screamed as he shouted, trying to locate her.

Scott and the others were still nowhere to be found. And for a second he thought maybe their fate was as sealed as Malia's—that is until another small explosion hit at a distance. Stiles quickly braced himself thinking they were only going to advance. But surprisingly nothing came after and he quickly figured the rest of the pack must still be fighting at an interval.

"Lydia!" He cried out once again. It was hard to see—even in the empty clearing. And for a second, the thought of her possibly making it out quickly ran through his mind.

Maybe Scott—or one of the others helped her. Maybe she's off somewhere else helping to defend them.

Relief filled his core, but it only managed to last a brief moment before a small cough erupted through the silence from the edge of the clearing. And just like that, he knew it was her.

Instantly, as if instinct, he raced to the sound, skidding on his knees to a complete stop. And in those small insignificant seconds, his mind raced in utter denial.

Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe it was one of the others.

But as he dropped to the ground there was no denying the strawberry blond that contrasted the forest floor, or the smile that appeared across her face as he came into her view.

She was on the ground, breathless words leaving her.

"Y-You came back." She mumbled as he quickly looked her over with the comfort of his warm hands.

"Of course I came back." He frowned. How could she think I'd just leave her here?

"Come on, we gotta go." He insisted, the calm in his voice quickly disappeared, replaced with and urgent rush of fear as he attempted to get her up. Lydia smiled softly, but shook her head. Her hand reached to her side, then slowly returning with a sickly crimson. She didn't need words to tell him what was going to happen.

"No." His voice was smooth and demanding. "No, no, no." He repeated in a whisper, shaking his head as he quickly took her into his lap.

"I guess I'm no match for the supernatural, hu?" She whispered so faintly it nearly crushed him.

"Hey. You're not dying Lydia–I got you." He swiftly made another attempt to stand with her in his arms but she placed her hand to stop his, crimson red staining his palm, seeping through the creases in his skin.

"Stiles—"

"You don't get to do this Lydia. You don't die today–do you hear me?" And he tried once more but was haunted by the hitch in her throat.

Tears of defeat and utter frustration sprung from his eyes as he sat there watching her. He couldn't help but notice how, even with dirt matted to her hair and bloody limbs she still managed to look simply beautiful.

Forcing back tears, she spoke.

"I feel it." It was three words that sealed Lydia Martins fate. Stiles just never thought they'd be her own.

This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

Stiles fought the abstaininity in the back of his mind. But still, he shook his head. "No."

He wouldn't have it. Lydia dying was simply unacceptable to him.

He held her right in his arms, pushing down on her wound to keep it pressured. "You're a good guy, Stiles Stilinski." She whispered. But he quickly countered with the shake of his head.

"Don't say that."

But instead of frowning at his disagreement, she smiled, red staining the corners of her mouth. "It's true—" "No." Stiles insisted. "We're not doing this, Lydia. Not today." He refused quickly coming to the realization that he didn't need her permission to save her life.

He picked her up, cautious of her wounds and bolted straight the hell out of there.

...

The wait is long—excruciating long. In fact there's a point where Stiles debated if anything should take this long. He stands in the waiting room refusing treatment until someone brings him news of Lydia's status. And although he's too anxious to sit, he paces around, his quick breathing, shaky figure and hunched posture only bringing more concern to the eyes of Melissa who stood beside and watched as he unravelled before her eyes.

She wanted to speak, reassure him with the comfort of false hope like any mother would. But also knew Stiles better than that. He was realistic. He wouldn't actually accept that until it was backed up with cold hard facts, and if he did try to pass it off as anything but, she knew it'd only be to make her feel better.

And although she did long to say something about the red that dried along the slope of his hands, she just kept to herself.

It's only later, when the rest of the gang shows, nearly defeated and broken that news of Lydia is revealed.

"She's okay. They're running a few more essential tests, she has a significant puncture to the abdomen that resulted in minor internal bleeding, a few bruised ribs and couple stitches, but she should make a full recovery." Melissa explained bringing smiles to nearly all their faces. All except Stiles who seemed to struggle with the facts.

"C-Can I see her?" He speaks, fidgeting with his hands. "Only after you've been checked up and cleaned," She then eyes the rest. "and that means all of you. Go home, shower, get some rest and then we'll see."

Scott, displeased with their orders attempted to voice his disagreement but his mother quickly caught him before he could breathe another word.

"Ah, ah. You may be the alpha Scott, but nothing is getting past Mama McCall. Now go." She insisted.

"Stiles, come with me." His head shot up as the others glanced his way. And with one last hug from Scott and a reassuring that they'll be back, he walked in the opposite direction along Scott's mother.

Melissa brought him to the clinic where she closed the curtain around them. "Let's check you over, uh?" Stiles just nodded and she plugged the stethoscope in her ears before bringing it under his shirt.

His heart raced. "Breathe out for me?" Melissa asked, and she quickly noticed that even with the news about Lydia his hands trembled and his posture lacked his normal, proper confidence.

"Stiles, honey?" She asked, dropping the instrument and turning her head on its axis to get on his eye level.

But he said nothing, refusing to meet her eye and instantly she knew he was still beating himself over with this.

"You did good." She pressed, gazing straight into his eyes. "You did everything you could—she's going to be just fine." Melissa insisted, wanting nothing than to get the message clear to him.

Instead, he shook his head and continued to fumble with his fingers, rubbing the red off his hands.

"I didn't though." He began, his voice rough with the reveal. "What do you mean?"

"I-I could've helped her—I could've—"

"You did."

"I didn't. He shook his head vigorously. "I didn't. Uh, Malia—she was on the ground—unconscious a-and those things were going after her a-and Lydia was being cornered by the others and I didn't... I didn't help her. I-I got Malia out of the way but by the time I got back she…" His voice broke not being able to go on any further.

His breathing sped and the trembling in his hands had yet to fade.

"I didn't know what to do. Lydia was in danger, Malia too, I-I had to choose—I couldn't have left her there vulnerable to those things b-but—" he struggled with the morality of his wording.

"Stiles." Melissa's voice snapped him out of his stuttered ramblings. But she couldn't blame him either, he was put in a bad spot—having to choose between the impossible. Of course he felt the need to justify and calculate his actions.

"You don't need to explain anything to me. You did the best you could. Now, Lydia? She's going to be fine, as well as immensely grateful you got her out of there alive." She stated as a matter-of-fact.

"Now go wash up, there's a sink in the corner. I'll be right back."

When his hands are washed free of the heartache that bound him, Melissa guides him up the elevator and down the hall.

"The only reason I'm not sending you home is because Natalie is trying to get a flight back from Seattle and Lydia's all alone." She tries to advocate for her actions but Stiles see's right through it.

"Now, she's probably still asleep. Keep it that way. That young lady needs rest. Got it?" She warns before granting him entrance inside.

Stiles nods. And Melissa runs a hand over his shoulder in support. "You okay to go in by yourself?" Stiles nods once again. "Good, I'll be back in a little while. I just have to check on a few things."

"Y-Yeah, okay."

Chest tight and breathing shallow he reaches for the handle, making his entrance inside. Most hospital rooms felt cold, scrubbed, reeked of disinfectant and engulfed in blinding florescent lights, but not this one. It was dim, with only the glow of the street lamp outside from the bottom of the closed blinds peaking through, creating a thick but comfortable atmosphere.

Lydia was asleep like Melissa had said and he was kind of grateful for that considering he didn't want her inevitable confrontation just yet.

Stiles exhales and lingers by her bedside, his fingers just barely toying with the corner of the blue blanket.

"I'm sorry." His voice was rough and scratchy and found he had to clear it. "I couldn't help you…" He mumbled taking in her bruised composure and broken figure. But those were the only words he spoke before he dragged a chair to where he was standing and resided there.

Stiles couldn't take his eyes off her knowing he was the one who caused all this. But in the end exhaustion from a both mentally and physically draining day took hold of him and with his elbow propped on the arm of his chair supporting his head he fell asleep.

He dreams she dies in his arms over and over again. Blood pouring from her mouth as he sobbed, as she breathed her last words on the cold forest floor, covered in leaves, dirt, and blood.

"She's going to be fine, a couple days in the hospital to clear any sign of infection, a few weeks of taking it slow and she'll be good as new, Natalie." Melissa whispers upon bringing Lydia's mother into the room. Ms. Martin sniffed but thanked the heavens her daughter was alright. She almost didn't want to know what caused all this knowing it had to be the forces of something beyond her imagination; something supernatural.

"And how long has he been here?" She asks referring to Stiles who remained asleep in the chair beside her. "Stiles? All night. He hasn't left since he brought her in." Melissa nearly chuckled. Stiles Stilinski was a sort of boy wonder.

"He brought her in?" Natalie questioned quite impressed as Melissa nodded. "Yeah, poor kid refused help until we got news of her." Mama McCall continued. And as Lydia's mother gazed at the sleeping boy she began to realize the complicated and necessary dynamic that co-existed between the two.

"Remind me to thank the hell out of that boy." She had to admit, she had a new appreciation for the Stilinski boy.

...

As Stiles' eyes peel open into the land of the conscious a voice rang out. "Hi." Lydia exhales snapping him out of his lulling race.

He's quick to fix his posture, rubbing his eyes as he looked her over with a small but significant frown. "You're okay." But the tone in his voice confuses her. "Did you think I wouldn't be?"

Stiles shrugs. "N-No it's just for a minute there, you…" He shakes his head not wanting to continue but Lydia gets the gist of it for she reassures him with a, "Stiles, I'm fine…" She mumbles observing that guilty look on his face she knew too well. It seemed to plague him for a while now.

And through the complexity in his eyes, Lydia knew he didn't accept her statement. "So, thank you." She quickly added, before he could say anything else. She knew what he planned to do. And there was no way she was going to let him apologize for saving her.

"You came back and saved me," She reach over and grabbed his hand. "so, thank you."

But stiles just shook his head, his eyes filled with fault and remorse.

"D-Don't thank me."

And all Lydia could do was stare back at the broken boy before her and demand an explanation. "Why?" Why was it that he could never own up to his own heroic actions? She knew he was wrong, but she somehow let him continue on the count of wanting to know where his head was exactly.

"I-I should've helped you. I-I didn't know what to do I—"

But Lydia wasn't having it any longer. "I'm gonna stop you right there, Stiles." She had to get it in his head that his actions not only saved her, but Malia. And it was the right thing to do. She just hoped she'd actually get through to him.

"You did the smart thing Stiles. Malia was going to die out there if you didn't move her. Please don't beat yourself up for this like you do everything else. You did everything you could humanly do." She expressed. "And I couldn't be more grateful. Because if you weren't there, things would've ended a whole lot differently." She finished revealing a small smile of appreciation through the tears glazing her eyes before she leaned in to kiss his cheekbone. Her arms wrapped around his frame as he scooted closer into her.

She didn't want to imagine a world where Stiles Stilinski wasn't looking out for her.

If someone had told Lydia her freshman year of high school, that in four years she'd be laying in a hospital bed thanking the spastic Stiles Stilinski for saving her life, she'd laugh.

I love you. She wants to voice but doesn't because the two things that scare Lydia most in this world are losing her mom and emotionally admitting to what's good for her. Plus she's positive the actual words aren't needed to get across to him because she's sure he already knows it.

So instead, she pulls him closer to her touch, his forehead resting on the shape of her shoulder as all the emotions start to surface inside him. "I just-I can't lose you."

Lydia swallows, and with a shaky breath replies. "You won't."

Inspired by the song My Tears Are Becoming A Sea - M83