This was prompted by a conversation between atimelesslove and me.

I don't own Teen Wolf.

Lydia knocked on the door, taking a deep breath as she waited.

You're fine, she told herself. You just came to check on Stiles.

The door opened, and Sheriff Stilinski was standing in the doorway.

"Lydia," he said, a softness to his voice. Not pity, but understanding. Lydia appreciated that. "How are you doing?"

"Okay," she said, forcing a small smile on her face. "Is Stiles home?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "He's upstairs."

"Thank," She went up the stairs, stopping at Stiles' closed door. What if he was asleep? Maybe she should just come back later.

But she needed to see him. Scott had said that he was okay – well as okay as could be expected – but she needed to see for herself. So she knocked.

"Come in," she heard his voice say through the door.

Hesitantly, she opened the door, finding Stiles on his computer. He was probably researching something random so that he wouldn't fall asleep and see the images she knew had to plague his dreams, turning them into nightmares that he would do anything to escape. Including evading the sleep he so desperately needed.

She knew the feeling well.

"Hi," she said, standing in the doorway.

He spun around in his desk chair, surprised. "Hi."

"What are you doing?" she asked, gesturing to the computer.

"Oh, just, um reading," he said. "I started out trying to find a topic to do the English assignment on. Now I'm reading random dog facts."

She couldn't help but give a small smile at that. A genuine smile. It was the first one she'd given in a couple of weeks, atleast.

"Did you know that dogs are as smart and two-year olds?" Stiles asked her.

"Yes, actually," she said, coming into the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I think you're forgetting that I own a dog."

"Yeah," he said, closing the laptop and turning completely towards her. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she answered. "Why?"

"You don't look okay."

She rolled her eyes out of reflex. "You're one to talk." He didn't look much better than he did when he collapsed in the tunnel. Yes, he wasn't nearly as pale as he was, but he still had the huge shadows under his eyes that told her he still hadn't slept like he needed to.

After looking at her for a moment, he went over and sat next to her. "You don't have to pretend with me, Lydia."

And that was all it took. Suddenly her chest was tight, and it was hard to get a breath in from the lump in her throat as her vision went blurry from hot tears. She wasn't okay. She wasn't fine.

She was hurting and broken and lost. She'd been through a lot of shit in the last few weeks. Figuring out her powers – atleast getting an idea of them – and finding out that not only shape shifters, banshees, and dark druids existed, but Japanese fox spirits did as well. The evil one going after everyone she cared about using the boy that would rather die before hurting any of them. Watch another one of her exes – whom she did care about, maybe not as much as Jackson, but she did care about him – die, the only difference being that Aiden didn't come back.

And then there was Allison. Her best friend. The girl who showed her what true friendship was. The girl who loved and protected. Who lost so much and came through stronger – though a little more broken – every time. The girl that lost her innocence, her aunt, her mother, even her grandfather in a way, all in less than a year. The girl who was the pinnacle of strength in Lydia's eyes.

But she wasn't there anymore. She was dead.

A sob escaped Lydia's throat as she felt her face crumple. She leaned forward, putting her head in her hands.

This was the first time she let herself cry since the funeral. She thought that she had cried everything she had in those few days, but now she knew that there would always be tears to cry. There would always be the hollow feeling in her chest to remind her what happened. And it would consume her if she didn't release it.

So she cried, her sobs coming with every rattling breath. She felt her face flush as the tears fell, and she knew that not even Stiles would think she looked beautiful like this.

She felt an arm go around her shoulders as a particularly shuddering sob went through her entire body.

"Hey," Stiles said soothingly. She leaned towards him, and he brought her close, her head resting against his chest. She felt him reposition himself where he could hold her closer to him, and she leaned into him farther, going limp other than the shaking with every breath she took.

He just let her cry, holding her. One of his strong hands held her right below the shoulders, and the other stroked her hair. After a few minutes, she felt him kiss the top of her head, but he didn't move his lips away after a second. He kept them there, and squeezed her tight, almost as if he was trying to keep her together.

She wished it was that easy. She wished that she could just let him hold her together forever, because if her life kept going like it was, she wasn't sure how much longer she could stay in one piece on her own.

She felt her hair getting wet, and that made her cry harder, because in her minute of grief and despair, she had forgotten how much Stiles had gone through. Yes, Lydia had been through a lot and witnessed a lot as well, but it was nothing compared to what the Nogitsune made Stiles witness through his own eyes.

She tried to take a deep breath, but her breath caught, causing her to silently hiccup. Stiles held her even closer – if that was even possible – and rubbed his thumb over her shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry," he said thickly. "I'm so sorry."

That confused her. What did he have to be sorry for? "What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice cracking. "I feel like this is all my fault."

"No, it's not," she said. "It's not your fault."

"That's what everybody keeps saying," Stiles told her. "But it doesn't stop me from feeling like it is."

Lydia pulled back just enough to look up at him. His face was wet with tears, and she could see the guilt in his eyes. It broke her heart even more than it already was. She was familiar with that feeling. Feeling out of control of your own self, not knowing what was happening to you until it was too late. Knowing what they made your body do, and blaming yourself for not being strong enough to fight it.

"I know," she said. "I know how that feels."

Stiles nodded, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. "Yeah. How did you stop feeling like this?"

"I didn't," she answered, putting her head back on his chest. "I haven't stopped feeling like it."

"How comforting," he muttered into her hair, kissing the top of her head again.

"Yeah," she said. "It sucks, but you just...you take like anything else you do. You accept that it's done and that you can't change it, and you move on."

"I can't move on from what happened," Stiles said softly, his voice breaking again. "I can't. People are dead because of it. She's dead."

Wrapping an arm around his waist, she nodded. "I know. I don't think any of us can. But we have to get through. That's what she would want."

Lydia knew that was true. Allison would never want them to be stuck in grief like they were over her. She would want them to remember the good times, and be happy. That's just who she was.

But it was going to take time. A lot of time. Until then, they would just have to find comfort in each other, and make sure that Allison wasn't forgotten. So Lydia relaxed back into Stiles as the tears kept coming. She could remember the good times tomorrow, but now all she was remembering was that her best friend was gone and wasn't coming back. Tonight she would let herself wallow in her grief, safe in Stiles' embrace.

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