Lydia's fingers traced the letters, a sad smile pulling at her lips.

She sat down to her knees, sounding the name out, whispering it quietly into the air. "I never knew your first name," she said softly.

"He was my best friend for years and never told me," a voice said from behind her.

She turned her head. "The world's greatest secret," she said, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob falling from her lips. "Undone by a single headstone."

Scott sat next to her, a hand pressed heavily to her shoulder, and she could feel his grief, hear the dark storm raging inside of him. He hid it well, but she knew. She always knew.

She wondered if there was ever going to be a day when she didn't hear Stiles dying in her head, hear his mind screaming for it to end. She could still feel his torment, like a weight on her heart.

She could still see the Sheriff, seeming to age before her very eyes, as the grief took it's toll. She wondered how long it would take for him to drink himself to that empty grave between Stiles and his mother.

Stiles named blurred as her eyes burned. She swallowed tightly against the emotions building up beneath the surface, threatening to spill over. She's grieved quietly, alone but it was always just there, waiting.

A single disease that took his own mother undid brilliant Stiles; always fighting, always trying, and he couldn't stop it.

Scott sighed next to her, palms pressed against his eyes. "I begged him to let me change him and he refused. Said he couldn't do it. It was never the life he wanted," he explained.

She smiled proudly. "Of course," she breathed. She reached out again, drawing her fingertips over the letters again. "Why would they name him that?"

Scott stared blankly at the gravestone, the storm growing stronger. "I don't know. I'd say ask his dad but…"

Her gaze dropped to the grass, the bright green that was a stark contrast to the dull grey. She dug her nails into the ground, watching as the dirt and the grass stain her nails. "How is he?" She wondered.

Scott shrugged, eyes distant as he stared at a point she couldn't see. "My mom has been bringing him food but she doesn't know if he's eating," he explained.

If Scott was a storm, then the Sheriff was a hurricane. His son's sickness blew it and uprooted everything. The ground unsteady, it didn't take much to knock him over. And now the man couldn't rebuild. Lydia thinks her shattered heart breaks just a little more as she thinks of him sitting at home, alone with his bottle.

"This isn't fair," she said, pursing her lips together as she stared at the headstone helplessly. "It's not. He should be here."

Scott seemed to crumble. "He refused. He wouldn't let me help. What use is it, being powerful, if I can't even save my own best friend?" He said angrily.

She shut her eyes, the echoes of his thoughts running through her head. "It was never what he wanted," she reminded him. "Stiles knew he was more useful researching. He would have been an even clumsier werewolf than you."

She began plucking the grass absently. "I never stopped to think what a world without Stiles would feel like. I just assumed he'd always be right there. Even when he told us, even when I knew what was happening with him, I just thought 'it's Stiles, he'll find a way around this.' And he isn't here and it feels wrong. A world without Stiles just feels empty," she said, hand pushing her hair back from her face. She spared a glance in Scott's direction. "Where's Kira?"

"Home. I told her I wanted to come alone. Where's Allison?" He asked her.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, plucking more grass up. Maybe she was trying to reach in some way. Maybe she wanted to hurt something as much as she was hurting, as much as Scott was hurting, and the earth was the only thing in her reach.

She wanted to scream.

"With Isaac. I think I've been avoiding her," she admitted. "I've been avoiding you too, but I was here first, so I wasn't going to leave."

She wasn't in the habit of avoiding people, typically if something like this happened, she surround herself with the people she loved, counting on them to help her through. Except they were suffering and she thought she might drown under the weight of their grief, and she had her own to deal with.

It was new to her. She has seen Allison's name lighting up her phone late into the night when she was buried beneath layers of blankets, wondering she could create a new world in the creases, a world where Stiles lived and breathed and jokes and laughed and loved. She missed her best friend, but if she called, Allison would answer. And if she showed up at her place, Allison would be in her room, studying or with Isaac. Allison was out there, living and Lydia wasn't sure she ready to join her in that just yet. Living seemed too cruel when Stiles didn't have the same luxury. Instead he was six feet beneath her feet, where living wasn't a possibility.

"How often do you miss him?" She asked quietly.

Scott hesitated. "Every day. There are times I'll wake up and it takes me a few minutes to remember. I think I could call him and he'd answer. And then I remember and it's a cycle of just wanting my best friend back."

She nodded slowly, lips pressed together. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of his skin, still picture his freckles clearly, and still remember the way his face lit up when he smiled at her. She spent so many years not noticing him that she felt the universe has tricked her. She was supposed to be making up for what she lost.

People said grief comes in waves but she disagreed. It was constant. Maybe one day she wouldn't feel the need to sit by his grave, and just miss him. She wouldn't bury herself beneath piles of book that she couldn't even touch because the first person to appreciate her for just how smart she was Stiles and he was no longer here to tell her that.

Until then, she would stay here until dusk came, and she had to return home. She would stay as close to him as she could and resent the space between them. Separated by death was possibly the cruelest form of separation, she considered.

She tangled her fingers together and glanced at Scott. "I don't know how to be okay with this," she said with a sigh.

Scott spared her a sad smile. "You won't be."

"Death doesn't happen to you, Lydia. It happens to everyone around you, okay? To all the people left standing at your funeral trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives without you in it."

Scott stared at her. "What?"

She licked her suddenly dry lips. "It was something Stiles said to me," she said slowly. "It was right after we thought Jackson had died. But I never fully understood what he meant until now."

Scott glanced up towards the sky. "When his mom died, Stiles had a hard time coping. I didn't even know everything about it. I didn't know about the panic attacks and I didn't know he was in the room when she died. I just remember he was closed off. He wasn't like my best friend, he was a completely different person."

"Yeah." She wanted to explain to him why that was. She wanted to be the Old Lydia who had all the answers, who could explain to Scott why Stiles personality changed so drastically. But Stiles wasn't there to hear it. Stiles wasn't there. What did it matter?

Her fingers drifted over the headstone again, just wanting to reach him somehow. Was he truly in a better place? Could he see them, Lydia and Scott staying by his side? Was he happy, wherever he was, reunited with his mother? Or did he desperately miss them like they desperately missed him? "It's a full moon tonight."

Scott sighed, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Yeah. I know."

"If he let you change him, it'd be his first full moon," she said faintly. "His first night…" she drifted off, picturing Stiles as a werewolf, unable to control his shift, with Scott and Derek by his side to help him.

She could have been his anchor. She'd happily stay by his side and guide him back to reality. Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she thought about wild, untamed Stiles; scared of the animal he couldn't control and never wanted to be.

But at least he'd be alive.

Was that selfish? To wish a life on him that he never wanted, just for him to live a long, full life?

She considered Scott, and the desk he broke when a classmate took the seat next to him that always belonged to Stiles. She thought of Allison, whose barely been seen at school since it happened, withdrawing bit by bit. She thought of herself, sitting by a headstone day after day, clinging to whatever she could to hold on to the memory of a boy who loved her and who she loved back.

And she thought of his dad, sitting at home, bottles of whiskey and uneaten food. She thought of how, after they called time of death, he shouted himself hoarse, grabbing up the lifeless body of his son, holding him, begging to some higher power to bring him back, but no one complied.

It couldn't be selfish when so many people were suffering, could it?

Danny said Stiles was one of the most attractive boys in their class, Derek howled and it was a sound so mournful, Lydia cried, and Aiden has respectfully left her alone. Isaac locked himself inside his room and only took Scott coaxing him out for him to finally emerge, eyes red. Melissa McCall hung a photo of Stiles and Scott in their living room. Dr. Deaton even mourned, in his own way.

But was it selfish of Stiles to refuse the bite? It was never the life he wanted for himself. He was always content with being just a human. He was Normal, human Stiles who sat on the sidelines, researching and investigating, but always letting Scott take over when it came time for it.

Yes, he'd be alive, but how happy would he be?

She missed him fiercely and wondering what if didn't help. But she couldn't stop herself. So she stayed by that headstone until the sun began to set and everything was a bright orange. Her eyes shut as the light shone on her face and just for a second, it felt like Stiles was with them again, making their lives brighter with his warmth.

She would cling to his memory. She'd remember the caress of his hands, the light of his smile, or the kindness of his heart. She'd remember his laughter. She would remember the softness of his lips or the way he loved her, like there was no one else in the world that mattered.

She would always remember his brilliance, strength, and bravery.

Forgetting Stiles was not an option and she was Lydia Martin. She could do anything.

It wasn't until the sun had set completely and the cemetery was too dark to read the name on the headstone that she allowed Scott to help her to her feet and leave. Maybe she'd bring some soup to the Sheriff.

Lydia thought that what Stiles would want is to know that his dad was okay. She could do that much for him. She knew Melissa was bringing him food but perhaps she could stay there and make sure he eats it.

Maybe what she needed to do was honor Stiles memory, instead of hiding from the ghost of it. She wouldn't be consumed by her grief, but preserve in the face of it. She would come out on top. She would remember Stiles every time she helped Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Derek with the next monster they faced. He would be there with her as she fought against whatever supernatural Beacon Hills threw their way. And she would save his father, let him know that he still had people who loved him, who were willing to fight his own demons with him.

The storm was dark and dangerous, but the thing about storms was the sun always had to come out eventually.