Author's Note: This is slightly AU as it takes place after the end of 3B and before season 4 had announced its time gap. Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts. If that that bothers you in any way, please do not read. I did a bunch of research for this piece, but I am by no means an expert in banshees so forgive me if I made a mistake. Spoilers for season 3B finale. Please enjoy!
"One by one their seats were emptied.
One by one they went away."
—Courtnee Draper, "Will The Circle Be Unbroken"
They bury Alison on a Tuesday and then Aiden the very next day.
At both funerals, the sun shines and Lydia stands, numbly near the front, by Stiles and Scott. She watches with an odd detachment as her best friend and sometimes lover are laid into the ground, never to smile or laugh or joke with her again. She cries silently, but refuses to be taken care of. She offers her support to Scott and to Ethan and tries to be somewhat helpful at the wake of each funeral. People constantly ask her how she's doing and if she needs anything.
"No, thank you." She replies with a too bright smile and quickly, she vanishes to somewhere else. She does need something—she needs to stop losing people close to her. It isn't fair. She's a teenager for God's sake and she's already lost too many people because of this supernatural town. Alison didn't deserve death. Neither did Aiden. And what had Lydia done to stop it? She had screamed at the end of it all, knowing it was too late, knowing she'd never see them again.
On Thursday, she doesn't move from her bed. She lies there and ignores her the beeping of her phone and the way her mother's worried voice calls up the stairs. She doesn't budge; doesn't get up to go to school. She stares upwards at the white ceiling and tries to think of nothing.
She pictures Aiden holding her hand, how warm it feels. She remembers the feverish kisses stolen between passing periods and though she knows the two of them never would've worked out, the pain over what could've been stings. She imagines Alison sitting beside her, revealing some new information about her feelings for Scott and then later, Isaac. She remembers the nights the two of them spent in this room, gossiping and laughing over the stupidest things.
And now they were gone.
Forever.
"Lydia?" Her mother is at the door and she cautiously sticks her head through the crack. "Are you feeling okay?"
No. She's not. People die around her and here she is, still breathing. She needs to stop losing people she cares for. She needs to stop being the only one left standing at the end of a battle.
She needs to be normal.
"I'm fine, Mom." She lies, a tight grin on her lips. "Just resting."
Her mother buys it—hook, line and sinker.
And Lydia is left alone once more.
Monday, 11:24 AM—Message from Scott McCall:
Lydia, where are you? It's been two days and no one can get ahold of you. Please call soon.
Tuesday, 8:30 AM—Message from Kira Yukimira:
Lydia? Are you okay? It's not like you to miss so much school . . . Do you want me to swing by?
Tuesday, 6:30 PM—Message from Isaac Lahey:
It's not your fault. Please come back. We miss you.
Wednesday, 9:15 PM—Message from Stiles Stilinksi:
Lydia? You there?
Thursday, 7:30 AM—Message from Stiles Stilinksi:
Lydia, please, I know you're there.
Friday, 4:15 PM—Message from Stiles Stilinksi:
You're freaking me out, okay? It's been five days, Lydia. I went to your house, but your mom wouldn't let me in. Please respond.
Friday, 4:16 PM—Message from Stiles Stilinksi:
Look, what happened to Alison and Aiden, it's not your fault, okay?
Friday, 4:17 PM—Message from Stiles Stilinksi:
Lydia, I'm begging you, please talk to me.
Friday, 4:18 PM—Message from Stiles Stilinksi:
Lydia, please.
By the time the next message comes in, Lydia tosses her phone against the wall.
It doesn't beep or light up again after that.
She's lucky that Spring Break occurs the next week after the funerals because it gives her some time to do some much needed research. She manages to pull up every text she can get her hands on about banshees. She needs to know about her origin and if it can shed any light on her new powers. She feels invigorated now that she has something to focus her energies on. Her mother seems pleased by this turn of events too and Lydia even manages to eat a few bites of soup and keep it down. By all accounts, things seem to be turning around now that she can focus on something else.
Banshee—a female spirit in Irish mythology, usually seen as an omen of death and a messenger from the Underworld.
Her eyes scan over the page as she takes in all the information she can—how banshees were usually women who died in childbirth and were forced to wander the world, wailing the loss of people until the day that they would've died had they survived childbirth. She devoured related articles, such as those of the Scottish Gaelic bean-nighe, or a "washer woman" who went down to streams to wash the blood out of death shrouds of those about to die. All the mythology she could pull up told the same story—a lone woman bound to wander alone and cry at the loss of people around her. There was no way for a banshee to escape her fate. There was no way to break this curse. There would be no happy ending for her.
Death doesn't happen to you, Lydia.
Alison. Aiden.
How many more people could she watch be pulled away from her? How much longer could she deal with this before she snapped completely?
What's the point in it all?
It happens to everyone around you.
Who would go next? Would it be Scott? Kira? Stiles? She couldn't just sit here and wait for the next death to occur. She wouldn't let it happen. There had to be someway to stop this—to keep her friends safe!
It happens to everyone around you.
It happens to everyone around you.
It happens to—
"Shut up!" She screams, and the voice is silent. "I'm sorry." She is, truly, for everything that's happened. If she could've stopped Alison or saved Aiden, she would have. She saw their deaths, but she couldn't save them. That was on her, she understands that. But . . . there's nothing she can do to fix this. There's no magical way to put things back the way it was supposed to be. She couldn't just snap her fingers and bring Aiden and Alison back.
"Lydia?" Her mother, brows furrowed, pokes her head into the room. "Scott and Stiles are here to see you. Do you want—?"
"No." She growls. "No, I can't see them."
"But Lydia—" Her mother protests, but the strawberry blonde can't handle this. They would just remind of her what she lost, of what she could lose if she didn't figure something out. She couldn't see them—the pain would be too much.
"Please, Mom." Tears blur her vision, but she can make out her mom nodding her head before closing the door behind her. She's out of control; her feelings are spiraling, but she doesn't know what to do.
Beacon Hills is cursed.
And like the banshee that she is, she is forced to remain here until the end of her days.
Death doesn't happen to you, Lydia. It happens to everyone around you.
Isaac decides to leave three weeks after Alison's death.
A change of pace is what he needs, he tells her, and she pretends to accept the answer. He says he'll be back soon, but she knows better. Who would want to come back to this cursed town? He was lucky he could get out. Really, she's envious of him. She's thought about jumping in her car and just driving until this town is nothing more but a speck of dust in her rearview mirror.
"Lydia?" He shoots her a concerned glance as he takes in her ashen appearance. He's the first visitor she's seen since the funerals and she had been ready to refuse him when he sweet-talked her mom into letting him up. "You gotta get out of the house."
"I do." She protests, voice devoid of emotion. She makes a point to go to school at least four days a week, just to prove to everyone that she's fine. Sure, she didn't talk really or eat lunch with her friends—too many memories of Alison and Aiden—but she goes. That counts for something, right?
"We're worried about you." He places a warm hand on hers and she almost flinches at the unaccustomed heat. She tries to pull her hand back but he's got a good grip on her.
"You're leaving though." She retorts, running a hand through her hair.
"If I thought it would help you, I would stay." He means it. She can see it in his gaze. Her best friend's almost lover, as heartbroken as she is, would be willing to force himself to endure the memories out of pack loyalty. "But, Lydia, I just . . ." He grimaces, lips forming a thin line. "I can't."
"Go then." She weakly pushes him towards the door. "Go. Just . . ." She musters up a smile. "Just come back soon, okay?"
There's an indescribable look in his eyes, joy tinged with grief, but his smile is all happiness and as he nods his head, Lydia tries not cry. She's really done with crying. But a lone tear escapes and she laughs, bitterly and then Isaac is holding her, assuring her that it will be okay, that the pack will look after her if she would just let them in and Lydia wants to believe him, but she just . . .
She just doesn't know if she can anymore.
She sits on her roof a lot, watching the clouds pass in the blue sky. Birds chirp and she can hear cars driving on the road. All around her, people keep moving on with their lives, in blissful ignorance of the sacrifice that had been made to keep them safe. These people . . . they would never know how Aiden or Alison actually died. They'd never know the truth, be burdened with the knowledge of it.
Sometimes, Lydia wonders what it would feel like to jump—to be free of everything for those few precious seconds of falling. How wonderful would it be to feel nothing but the wind through her hair? And even more, to escape from this world that seemed to cause her more pain than she ever thought capable?
Lydia wants to get out of this nightmare.
She never acts on it though.
It's Kira who ambushes her at school, practically drags her into the janitor's closet that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Scott's new girl's—or were they not together? Lydia couldn't remember anymore—grip on Lydia's shoulder is strong but once the door is closed and the light turned on, she relaxes.
"Kira." Lydia greets softly, not recalling when the last time was that the two of them had talked. Alison's funeral? Had it really been a month since her best friend died?
"Lydia, I . . ." The kitsune seems almost at a lost for words now that she actually executed her plan. She runs a hand through her hair anxiously before meeting the banshee's gaze. "Hi."
"Hi?" Lydia echoes, perplexed.
"Eat lunch with us today." It's an order and Lydia raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to being told what to do. Kira tacks on, "Please."
"I'm not hungry." She replies quickly, which is true. She hasn't been hungry, not truly. She takes a few bites here and there to appease her mother, but it's like her taste buds have been burned off. Everything tastes like ash in her mouth.
"We miss you." Kira presses, rubbing a comforting circle on Lydia's back. She shudders at the contact, at the warmth that she hasn't allowed herself to feel since Alison and Aiden died. "Eat with us."
She wants to refuse. Being alone is easier than becoming attached to more people that she'll lose one day. But Kira is pleading and her eyes are so wide and full of hope that she can't refuse her.
"Okay." She caves. "Just today."
Kira just beams.
The walk through the lunchroom to the pack's table is one that seems to stretch on into eternity. She feels like everyone is staring at her—that everyone knows she was powerless to save her friends—and how did she used to own this walk? How did she capture everyone's attention and then make them want to be her? The old Lydia Martin seems like a stranger to her now.
"Here." Kira smiles up at her as she makes room for Lydia to sit. The banshee hesitates for a few seconds before doing so. She ducks her head down, feeling the gazes of Scott, Stiles and the new girl, Malia on her face.
"She's skin and bones." Malia states and Lydia meets her gaze.
"Malia—" Stiles hisses.
"What?" Malia shrugs. "She is." Then, glancing at Lydia. "Are you sick or something?"
Stiles jumps up from the table and drags Malia up as well.
"We're going to get some soda." He flashes an apologetic smile at her before dragging the confused werecoyote with him.
An awkward silence passes.
"Lydia." She meets Scott's gaze and she can see some traces of grief on his face, though he wears a tight smile. He reaches out and squeezes her hand within his, offering some of his strength. Frowning, she realizes a second too late what he's trying to do and she snatches her hand back. "Your pain; why are you—?"
"I have to go."
"Wait, Lydia—"
She sprints out of the cafeteria, into her car, and drives home, not even thinking twice about it.
All she can process is that Scott knows.
Stiles and Malia are a couple.
She takes the next few days off of school since she's decided she can't handle it—not until that incident at lunch blows over—but Kira brings over her work and accidentally tells her about it.
"I'm glad." Lydia states through a fake smile. "They suit each other."
Kira seems relieved.
"It's pretty funny to watch them actually," The kitsune confesses. "You have to see them argue about—"
But Lydia can't bear to listen, so she lets her gaze drift to her schoolwork. It amazes her how life can continue to go on, almost as if Alison and Aiden's death never occurred. How could the world keep functioning when she suffered so? How had her heart managed to keep beating? It made no sense.
"Lydia?"
"Huh?" She glances up. "Sorry. Lost in thought." It isn't exactly a lie.
"Listen, Scott said that when you two touched," Kira hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with what she's about to say. "He felt your pain."
"I know." Lydia breathes.
"You know that we're there for you, right?" Kira grips her hand tightly, her voice desperate. "Let us help you, Lydia. Please."
"Kira, I—" She wants to accept the kitsune's aid. She wants the pack to help her, to hold her and offer her their strength but she's not stupid. People around her are fated to die—that's what she's come to accept. Being around the pack would just endanger them more.
She couldn't handle seeing any more pairs of lifeless eyes staring up at her.
"I'm sorry." Lydia finally says, a tight smile on her lips. "I think you should go."
This is for the best after all.
"Hey, Alison."
She's sitting in front of her best friend's tombstone. The young banshee finds herself here more often than not, but it never brings her any comfort. The tombstone just reminds her of all that she's lost, of all of her faults.
Of how she could've saved them if she had been useful.
"I miss you."
It feels like her heart is broken, forever fractured into a million tiny pieces that can never been reassembled. She feels nothing but numb. She goes through the motions of her life, not particularly caring about anything.
"Alison, I wish I was with you." It's a whispered confession, but a true one.
And dimly Lydia wonders, if she were to die, who would scream for her?
"No one." She breathes, eyes locked on the grave. "No one at all."
She shouldn't be surprised that it's Stiles that refuses to give up.
He calls her house phone after he realizes her cell is broken, sends countless emails and even manages to get her mom's cellphone and leave her a few messages. It's getting out of hand to be honest and she's about to cave and call him when there's a knock on her door.
He doesn't even give her a chance to protest before he's standing in her hallway, his hands tucked in his jean pockets and that's so unlike him that it worries her. Stiles is carefree, not serious.
"Stiles?"
"Look, I don't know how else to say this," He tells her, meeting her gaze, his posture straightening. "So, I'm just going to come out and say it."
"Okay?" She breathes and for some reason, she knows what he's going to ask before he even does. It's obvious after all, he's best friends with Scott and the Alpha could sense pain.
"Lydia," Stiles hesitates and grimaces. "Are you thinking about killing yourself?"
Silence.
"What?"
"Scott said your pain was like someone on the verge of death." Stiles continues, his words giving him the conviction to say them. "And since you're not bleeding out or anything, the only thing he could think of was that you were—"
"Wanting to die?" She whispers, stunned.
"Yeah." He replies sheepishly.
Part of her wants to get mad at him, to hurl accusations of him butting his nose into her business, but deep down, she doesn't have the energy to argue with him.
Especially, when she knows that some part of it is the truth.
"Stiles, I—"
"Tell me it's not true." He demands, voice breaking as his gaze fills with an indescribable mixture of sorrow and pain. His hands grip her shoulders and he pulls her close, so close that their noses are almost touching. "Please, Lydia."
He's begging her to tell a lie, one that she's told herself so many times before, one that she could tell easily. But . . . there's something in the tone of his voice, in the way his eyes are focused on hers.
She can't lie anymore.
"I should've died instead of them." She confesses softly. "Alison and Aiden, they didn't deserve to die like they did."
"And what, you did?" Stiles challenges, shaking his head in disbelief. "Lydia—"
"What good am I, Stiles?" She questions, voice cracking as the grief she's been trying to bury bubbles up to the surface. Images of Alison's lifeless eyes and Aiden's bloodied corpse fill her mind. They had meant so much to her and both had died. What had she been able to do for them?
She just screamed.
"Without you, we would never be able to function."
"You're lying!" She shouts, stepping back from him. "I can't do anything. I deserve to die!"
"Don't say that!" Stiles snaps, voice low and dangerous. "Don't you dare say that."
"And why not? Who would miss me if I was gone?" It's a harshly tossed out remark, but she doesn't expect the tender look that enters his eyes.
"Lydia, you are what keeps the pack together." He insists, pulling her close to him. His arms wrap around her and she feels something snap in her, like a rubber band. All the emotions she'd been ignoring broke free and coursed through her.
"I scream, Stiles." She informs him, crying now. "All I do is scream."
"All you do," He starts, voice right by her ear, his hand rubbing comfortable circles on her back. "Is help research and decode things that the pack has needed, that we would've never figured out, not to mention you've helped save Scott and I from that fiery explosion and I'm not even going to list everything else you've done for us, Lydia."
He pulls her back and she's drawn to look at his face, to meet his determined gaze.
"Lydia Martin, you are this pack's saving grace and don't you ever think otherwise."
And for the first time since Alison and Aiden died, she begins to believe it.
It takes time to get better.
She learns to control the darker thoughts, to get help if she feels she needs it. She leans on the pack more, drawing comfort from their acceptance. Kira helps her stay on top of schoolwork, Malia offers survival tips, even Derek offers to teach her self-defense—though she wonders if that was his idea or whether Stiles asked him—and she finds that she can keep going on without Alison and Aiden.
It's incredibly painful, of course, because she loved them so and not a day goes by where she doesn't miss them, but she finds ways to cope and to keep pushing forwards.
Stiles is there—always there—whether she needs someone to be beside her during the long walk to the lunch table or someone to talk to when the nightmares wake her up.
"So?" He asks her one day after school as he's walking her to her car.
"So?" She echoes, wondering what he's getting at.
"You seem better." He replies with a small smile. "I'm glad."
"Thanks to you and everyone else." She answers quickly. "Without all of you, I don't think I could've made it through." She meets his gaze and sincerely adds, "I mean it, Stiles. Thank you."
"Anytime, Lydia." He grins.
Maybe one day, they could be something more—she and Stiles—for the connection between them is undeniable, but for now, she's content with her life as it is. It's a milestone for her and one that she intends on celebrating.
She wonders if this is what Deaton meant, when he'd been talking about anchors. Stiles had pulled her back from the brink and now, he helped her stay grounded. Isn't that what everyone looked for in life—someone to help them go through life?
"Stiles?"
He pauses by her passenger side door.
"Yeah?"
She presses a quick kiss to his lips and feels the spark pass between them. Pulling back, she grins.
"I'll see you soon."
He just waves, dumbfounded as she turns on the ignition and drives away.
It would take time, but Lydia could feel herself returning and at the end of the day, she owed it to Stiles.
Funny, how things worked out.
Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!