title: two seconds, one lifeline
a/n: haii.. these two are life rn and it was impossible not to write something stydia. this is kinda a filler-ish oneshot.. i was listening to angel with a shotgun and well.. (i'm actually vidding them, too, rn, but sv is a boss ass bitch i'm leaving it for later).. this happened (as always). so yeah. :DD
idek what happened oki? xD i have something behind this, and i'm sure a lot of you will find out what happends to lydia in the end, but i still have no clue and i'm rambling and goodbye...
insp: angel with a shotgun by the cab... also an amazing stydia fan-vid i had the pleasure of watching xD
summary: It's in this moment does she realise that some circles have ends. She is staring at Stiles, and he is staring back, and his eyes no longer fluoresce to her desperate muses. —stiles/lydia, remembering.
two seconds, one lifeline.
"...They'll be okay without us. Those two... they're pretty good together."
"Yeah, they are."
"No super strength, or samurai swords... but they stay alive."
"He still likes her, doesn't he?"
"Yeah... yeah, but it's different now. I mean, you should have seen the way he used to be around her."
"Was it bad?"
"It was kinda obsessive, but not all bad. You know when Lydia used to pretend not to be smart?"
"Our Lydia?"
"Yeah, Stiles was the only one who knew."
"How?"
"He paid attention. He listened to her. He remembered."
There is a fine line between reality, and a trance. Something of a blur, and something of not—it it so easy, in one stolen moment, and in the next it's nothing. Gravity is drained. History runs proleptically. And there it is. The light, the finish line, and then its beat, it flickers, and everything—everyone—burns out. The embers once evocative left to wilt. To die. To d-i-s-a-p-p-e-a-r. And the memories escape within its silent abstruse scream, so powerful and deafening, direct.
Remember... remember... remember.
Lydia gives herself two seconds. Two seconds, and one lifeline.
Remember... remember... remember.
But it's disintegrating. All this picture-perfect reminiscence... this... these lies, entwined, free, beholding the ugly. It's fading. It's all fading. But she can't let this happen. Because she doesn't care about two seconds, and she doesn't care how long, how short this is going to be... but he—Stiles—is her lifeline, and without him, she's without herself, and Lydia's trying so damn hard not to let this happen to her—and to him—because she needs to fight for this, but with a deteriorating brain, she can't help it.
She needs to help it.
Remember... remember... remember.
Two seconds... one lifeline.
"Just for one second, please try and remember—"
"Remember what?"
"Remember what it feels like. All those times you see him standing down the hall, and you cannot breathe until you are with him. Or... those times in class when you—can't stop staring at the clock, because you know he's right outside waiting for you. Don't you remember what that's like?"
"No."
"What do you mean, 'no'? You've had boyfriends."
"N-none like that."
"You don't care about getting hurt, but you know how I feel? I'll be devastated.
"And if you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind."
"Just try and think about something else, anything else."
"Like what?"
"Uh... friends, family... Oh, I mean, not family."
"Oh, God..."
"Okay, uh, just... try and slow your breathing."
"I can't. I can't."
"Shh, shh... Stiles, look at me. Shh, look at me. Stiles."
"I... uh... read once that... holding your breath could stop a panic attack. So when I kissed you... you held your breath."
"I did?"
"Yeah, you did."
"...Okay, the three of you will get in. Each of us will hold you down until you're essentially... well, dead.
"But it's not just someone to hold you under. It needs to be someone who can pull you back, someone that has a strong connection to you, a kind of emotional tether.
"Lydia... you go with Stiles."
Lydia's heart stops.
It is somewhere along the line, and it stops. She jumps, disconcerted beyond explaining, and for a second... she can't breathing. Gravity is drained. She can't think anymore (or maybe she was never the thinker to begin with). And history runs proleptically, backwards, through and out. It stops, then starts, like frozen mist it's unforeseeable (and yet it's so clear, so clear, Lydia just knows).
And then she doesn't.
(Maybe it wasn't her heart stopping; maybe it was the world itself. An axle paused, as the vines await to build up.
Maybe it was her heart starting.
Maybe it stopped the moment... the moment...)
Remember, Lydia... you have to try and remember...
"It's always been him."
"I know."
"Nothing's changed."
"I know."
"...Except now you know."
"I... what?"
"It's like you have always been Lydia, I have always been Scott, he's always been Stiles..."
"Stop it."
"He's always been... madly in love with you. It's not too late now."
"But it is.
"He's in love with her."
"Look at the way he's looking at her."
"And...?"
"He's never looked at me like that."
"You never gave him the chance to."
"Because..."
"Somewhere along the way, Lydia, you know what you did, and I know, too. Maybe it's not too late."
Something is tugging at her sleeve.
An urge. The scream.
Remember... remember... remember...
Remember...
Remember...
Remember...
It's always been him. It's always been her.
She knew, somewhere along the way, and it was inevitable wasn't it? He'd known since they were in the third freaking grade, and no matter how hard he'd tried, she'd waved it off. Warning signs. Silver spots. Lydia's heart stopped the moment she knew. The moment she remembered.
"You'll forget me."
"I won't."
It's in this moment does she realise that some circles have ends. She is staring at Stiles, and he is staring back, and his eyes no longer fluoresce to her desperate muses. But this is not only her battle cry. Her final call. This is not her plead. This is her lifeline; he is her lifeline.
And her blood runs wild again.
fin.