The moment everything clicked, her mind was an avalanche of memories, a waterfall of feelings, a blizzard of realization. Lydia's brain had turned into a hurricane named Stiles, and she was miles away from the eye of the storm.
She remembered. She remembered everything, from freshman year, to sophomore year, to junior year, to now. She remembered their dance, Stiles' first ever; she remembered his crush; she remembered what he said seconds before he was ripped from her hands, literally, leaving her frozen in place, his hand like a piece of her, gone from existence, just like that.
"Remember I love you." He muttered. She did. She remembered the soft whisper he spoke in, how he was protecting her then, still; always protecting her. She remembered his lips on her cheek, only briefly, but long enough to leave a ghost of his kiss lingering. She remembered all those nights he would wake her up, dragging her out of bed, swearing there was actually something wrong this time. She remembered how she got up every time, no matter the hour, no matter how much sleep she had gotten. She got up for him, she realized. She got up because it was Stiles asking her to.
And now she could feel him begging to be found, practically hear his voice, desperate and weak, pleading for someone to find him, for her to find him. He believed she could, so she would.
Almost mindlessly, she found her way back to the mirror she reached through; that had to be it. She felt as if there were a string connecting her and whatever was behind it; like there was a tether pulling her to something- someone.
Lydia closed her eyes, willing whatever led her there to take over, to take her to him. She felt herself extend her arm toward the mirror, but the glass didn't stop her. Her fingers slipped through like it was nothing but a beaded curtain, or a thin wall of water. She kept going, stepping through whatever this strange barrier was, clueless as to where she was going, or how she'd get back, only one thought echoing in her mind, bouncing off the crowded memories that lived there; she had to get him back.
When she opened her eyes, it was dark. A blue haze hung heavy in the air, and she felt as though she'd just woken up from a dream. Once her eyes adjusted, she whipped her head around, searching for the mirror she'd just apparently walked through, but there was nothing but brick now.
It appeared she was in a train station of some sort, obviously abandoned. There were people sitting on benches, staring straight ahead, their eyes lifeless, oblivious to her presence. Did they care that she was there? Could they even see her? Lydia scanned their faces frantically. He had to be among them, she felt it, she knew it.
"Lydia." She froze, though the breath on her neck was hot. She studied the shadow on the floor in front of her for a moment before realizing who the figure belonged to.
"You." Lydia felt her heart fall to her feet as she stepped forward, creating distance between them, spinning on her heel to see Peter Hale's gaze focused on her.
"Me." Peter smirked, raising his eyebrows, taking a step toward her. His demeanor alone sent shivers down Lydia's spine, and it took everything in her to not take another step back. "So I see they came for you."
Lydia swallowed hard, her expression made of stone. "Where's Stiles?" She had no time to explain to him that they didn't come for her; she came for them.
Peter sighed, titling his head in disapproval. "You're really wondering about that sad excuse for a human?"
She let out an exasperated breath, pushing past him, exhausted from his games and the empty feeling that had weighed down her heart- her whole soul - for far too long. "I'll find him myself."
"Stop." Peter grabbed her, wrapping his entire hand around her upper arm. His claws were slightly extended, ready for a fight at second's notice. "You'll get lost in here. I'll take you to him."
Lydia shook him off of her, slinging herself off balance. "You can do it without the man handling." She crossed her arms, waiting on him to lead the way. She hated the fact that she was relying on him to find Stiles, but at this point, she'd take directions from the devil himself if it meant getting to him.
"I have to warn you, he's not in the best shape." Peter started off around a corner, revealing an open area filled with what looked like street lamps standing tall above benches upon benches of more people, their eyes more lifeless than the ones in the other room. "I mean, he never really is, but now especially. This place does things to you."
"Is that your excuse or his?" Lydia snapped back. They rounded another corner, now standing alongside train tracks, the tunnel ahead of them more like a black hole; dark, consuming, boundless.
Just before the darkness stole their eyesight, there was a figure laying on the ground, slumped against the wall, looking left, into the nothing. At the sight of it, Peter only nodded, then turned to go back the way they came.
"Stiles!" Lydia knew she ran before collapsing on the ground next to him, though she swore she floated; in the distance it took to get to him, she couldn't feel her feet hit the ground, or the air on her skin, or her legs moving, or her arms swinging. She could only exist again when she felt him, when she knew he was real, and alive.
"Lydia?" Stiles turned toward the light, searching for a sign this wasn't another dream. He found it in her eyes; in all his dreams they'd been black; dull and lifeless and scary and not the girl he loved. But now, now her eyes were green, the brightest, most hopeful green he'd ever seen, the green that only belonged to her.
Lydia wrapped herself around him, unable to do anything else, again letting her body take the lead. She pressed her head to his chest, listened to his heartbeat; she wanted it echoed in her mind forever, wanted it burned on a CD, to make it her ringtone, to blast the sound of his beating heart to the rest of the world through giant speakers, to let everyone everywhere know that no sound would ever be sweeter to her.
She held his face in her hands, noticing how his skin was paler than usual, how the bags under his eyes seemed to be a deeper, sadder purple. He seemed skinnier, or maybe it just seemed like he took up less space. It was like he'd had the life sucked out of him, but he was still Stiles. He was still her whole soul. "I love you too." She whispered so quiet, she was afraid he wouldn't hear. Lydia stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, traced his jaw with her fingers, all while blinking away tears, casting a shower of relief onto his flannel.
Stiles held her, as she did him, his hands around her waist, rubbing circles in her side, stuck to her body, afraid of what letting her go would mean. "What?" He wasn't sure if he'd just heard her right. Maybe dream Lydia had changed eye colors.
"What you said before they took you…I remember. And I love you too." She was crying now, turning the shower into a storm, holding back sobs. The emptiness, she realized, the hole she'd felt- it was gone. She felt fuller, even, holding him now, even if they were in some strange limbo place. She rested her forehead on his, her hands on his shoulders, though to her it felt less like she was touching him and more like she was becoming of him, fingertips and legs and faces all melting into each other, blurring the lines on their individual selves.
And then they were kissing, and she found herself again, her senses coming back to her, heightened. His pulse under her thumb was leaping out of his skin, his hands on her waist were climbing, and then falling, and then climbing again, setting her torso ablaze. And their lips, oh god, their lips were setting a fire themselves. They were slow yet frantic. They kissed like they were making up for lost time but also as if they'd never die. The kiss contradicted itself, then made sense, then contradicted itself, then made sense, until they ran out of breath, and even then they kissed a second longer, risking their last breath for that last second.
Breathless, they sat together, still wrapped in each other's embrace, still individuals, yet more connected than ever. Lydia rested her head in the crook of Stiles' neck, his hand on her thigh, both of them ignoring the devouring darkness feet away from them. "Are you erased?" Stiles asked, terrified of this place being her doom.
"I..don't know. I came here by myself. I'm not sure how to get back, but, I wasn't taken." Lydia glanced up at him, knowing she'd be okay if she were stuck here, with him, forever, but not accepting her fate. Never that.
Stiles smiled down at her, the first time he'd done that in what felt like decades. He'd missed the kind of smile only she could pull out of him. "We'll figure something out. We always do."
"Together." Lydia nodded optimistically, believing him, in him, in them. "I remember." They believed they could, so they would.