A/N:While there is no written graphic description, this story deals with the aftermath of sexual assault. If you are sensitive or easy triggered (both of which are TOTALLY OKAY, btw) please read with caution or consider skipping this altogether.
When she wakes up, her first thought is, where's the body?
Because by now Lydia has the banshee drill down cold-zone out, wander off, find a body, call Stiles.
Except there is no body.
There's just mud and trees, dirt under her fingernails, a strange ache between her legs. What the hell?
Lydia jumps when a muffled ring blares through the woods. Her phone, zipped into the pocket in the skirt in the red dress she wore to Jungle with Danny.
"Are you okay?" Stiles voice is frantic through the speaker.
"Yeah, I'm in-"
"The woods, I know. Danny hacked your phone when you didn't come back."
Her stomach drops. "Come back from where?"
"Um...Danny said you went off with some guy."
Lydia shivers, pulling herself up on her feet. "I don't...remember that."
There's a pause. Lydia can hear Scott's voice in the distance. "Lydia, just stay where you are, okay? We're coming to get you."
"Okay." She wraps her arms around herself, goosebumps rising on her skin.
Maybe she doesn't want to know what happened.
xxx
It's so much like the first time he found Lydia in the woods, it's almost scary. There she stands, arms wrapped around her chest like she's trying to cover herself up, freezing in a little red dress.
This time Stiles doesn't fall on his face when he takes his jacket off to give her. Lydia's still on a pedestal but after two years of genuine, don't you dare die on me friendship, it's moved a little lower to the ground.
Lydia flinches at his touch, shifting away from him. There's something wrong with her eyes, a flatness in her expression that makes a chill run up his spine.
"Lydia-"
"I'm fine, Stiles."
"You're not fine, you're freezing and your knees are bleeding."
Lydia looks down at her legs in surprise, watching blood roll down her shins.
"Where is it?" Stiles is twitching in the dark, eyes scanning the woods.
"Where's what?"
"The body."
She shakes her head. "There isn't one."
He stares at her, confusion swirling in his head. "Then what are you doing here?"
She curls her fingers around the warm weight of his jacket. "I don't know."
"You don't know?" There's something in the pit of his stomach, something that makes him swallow back bile.
Lydia shakes her head, skin glowing in the moonlight. "I can't remember."
xxx
Scott almost throws up from the smell when Lydia gets in the car. He has to crack a window as Stiles swings the jeep back on the road to drive towards Lydia's house.
Her chemo-signals are a tangled mess of feelings. Fear, panic, confusion. But it's the two smells layered over them, permeating the air in the car, that make him feel sick.
The bitter tang of iron and salt, a smell he'll forever associate with Allison, and death. And something thicker, musky and sharp.
Blood. And sex.
xxx
Scott knows something. Lydia doesn't know what, but she sees the way his nose twitches in disgust. Like she smells bad. His eyes won't meet hers in the review mirror when she whispers his name.
Lydia presses her cheek against the cool glass of the window and pretends she doesn't see the streak of blood on the inside of her thigh.
xxx
"My mother's out of town," Lydia explains to Stiles when she gets out of the car, pointing at the dark windows of her house. "You guys can come in."
Stiles follows her into the house, Scott trailing behind, strangely distant. Lydia stops short in the living room like she's unsure of what to do now that they're inside. She looks small, like she's trying to take up as little space as possible.
When Stiles reaches for her she pulls away, sits down on the couch instead.
"We should clean up her legs," Scott mutters, looking everywhere but Lydia.
"There's a first aid kit in the bathroom," she murmurs, curling up in a ball.
Her skirt rides up and Stiles squints at the dark smear of blood on her thigh. "Lydia-"
Her hands are already tugging down the skirt. "I'm fine."
Scott makes a sound in the back of his throat, looking resolutely at the wall. Unease coils in Stiles' gut. "Scott."
"Get the first aid kit," Scott says quietly.
"Um...okay." Normally this is when Stiles would go on a rant about not being Scotty's lapdog but Lydia is bleeding and she and Scott are both so quiet. He has that feeling, that bad, something is wrong feeling, even if he doesn't know what's wrong.
Why does he feel like Scott does?
He finds it under the bathroom sink, brings antiseptic wipes and bandages back out to the living room.
Scott's still doing his living zombie impression while Lydia hugs a pillow tightly to her chest. Stiles sits on the couch next to Lydia and reaches for her leg, making her jump.
"Hey," he says quietly, because he's never seen her like this. Scared, sure, terrified too, but this is different.
She looks like a wild animal, wide eyed and untrusting. Like she expects him to hurt her.
"I need to clean you up, okay?" he whispers.
Lydia nods slowly, and lets him pull her legs into his lap. He dabs the cuts on her knees with an alcohol wipe and Lydia hisses in pain.
"Sorry, sorry," he murmurs, guilt rising in him like a wave.
"It hurts," she complains, her fingers clutching the pillow.
Stiles waits for Scott to jump in, offer his magical pain reducing powers, but he's still halfway across the room, looking nauseous.
"I know it hurts," Stiles says, throwing the blood soaked cloth in the trash can. "You're doing great, almost done."
He tapes bandages over both of her skinned knees, catching her by the ankle when she tries to pull away.
"Lydia, there's blood on your thigh," he reminds her.
Lydia goes pale. "It's fine."
"Lydia, I saw it," he says in exasperation. "Scotty, want to help me out here?"
Scott looks at Lydia for the first time, and she cowers, bending her head down. "Please," she whispers brokenly. "Don't tell him."
"Tell me what?" Stiles asks in confusion.
Scott winces. "You can't pretend it didn't happen."
"I don't remember anything," she shoots back. "I can't tell him what I don't know."
"Lydia."
"Guys, what's happening?" Stiles' chest feels tight, like he might have a panic attack.
"Ask Scott," Lydia snarls.
"Ask Scott what?"
"Tell him," she says to Scott, who looks like he's about to cry. "I know you smell something, I know you know what happened."
"Lydia," Scott whispers, shuffling forward. "Just because I smell it, it doesn't mean that's what happened. If you don't remember then maybe..."
She shifts, the skirt riding up to reveal thighs crusted with dry blood.
"Oh, God," Stiles groans, feeling sick. "Oh Lydia."
"Just say it," Lydia says, like she needs to hear it, needs Scott to say it. "What do you smell, Scott?"
Scott sniffs, his eyes welling up. "I'm sorry, Lydia."
She ducks her head, like she can't bring herself to look at him. "Just say it, Scott."
Scott rubs his eyes, looking at Stiles, like he's begging him not to freak out.
"Scott," Stiles whispers. "What does she smell like?"
Lydia's shaking, her eyes shut in pain, like she already knows the answer. Stiles thinks he knows it too, but he doesn't want to, refuses to until he hears Scott say it.
"Sex," Scott says hoarsely. "She smells like sex."
xxx
"I don't remember anything," she whispers, like that matters, like that means it doesn't count.
"I'm sorry, Lydia." Scott looks guilty, like its his fault she-what? Blacked out? Was attacked?
What the hell happened to her?
Stiles looks panicked. "But if you don't remember...we don't know what happened, we don't know for sure that anything happened-"
"Stiles-
"She was at the Jungle for Christ sakes, it's like a freaking cesspool of sexual fluids-"
"Stiles is right," she interrupts. "We don't know anything for sure if I don't remember."
She looks meaningfully at Scott, who recoils. "No way!"
"Scott-"
"I'm not doing that to you. Not after Theo..." Scott trails off, looking sick.
Lydia turns to Stiles, his hands clenched into fists and no one to punch. "Stiles, tell him he has to do it!"
Stiles blanches, head twisting rapidly between her and Scott. "I...I...I don't like being put on the spot like this! Scott, Lydia wants to know what happened, and you're the only one who can help her with that, which you should consider. Lydia, Scott doesn't want to stick his claws in your neck because the last person who did that Theo, and he's afraid he's going to, like, re-traumatize you. Is that helpful?"
Scott steps up until he's a foot away from her. "Lydia, are you sure?"
She glances sideways at Stiles, who looks pale and worried. He holds his hand out to her, nodding gently. She reaches out and grips his fingers, lets the warmth of his palm sink into her skin.
"Yes. I'm sure."
xxx
It never stops being creepy, Stiles thinks, watching Scott stand behind Lydia with his claws in the back of her neck, their faces slack.
Stiles watches nervously, chewing at his bottom lip, trying his very best not to be sick at the idea of watching some do that to Lydia, goddess of Beacon Hills and his own personal light source.
Stiles knows the moment they get the memory, because Scott roars and Lydia vaults off couch and runs to the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him.
Scott's half transformed, his hands curled into fists, breathing heavily.
"Scott," Stiles says shakily. "Just calm down buddy, okay. You can't wolf out right now, Lydia needs us."
Scott shifts all the way back and just kind of crumples, his hand clutching his chest
"Scott?" Stiles asks, eying the bathroom door nervously.
Scott shakes his head, his eyes clenched tight, and Stiles feels his chest contract. "You saw it? What happened?"
Tears slip past Scott's closed eyelids. "You should go check on her."
When Stiles checks bathroom door is locked.
"Lydia," Stiles calls out, knocking on the door. "Lydia, open the door."
Nothing happens.
"Lydia if you don't unlock the door Scott's going to have to break it down. I don't think you want to have to explain that to your mom."
There's a small click and the door gives way. Lydia's huddled on the lid of the toilet seat, a blank stare in her eye.
He doesn't know what to do, or what to say. He's fighting every instinct in his body telling him to pick her up and hold her to his chest, because Lydia looks like she might freak out if anyone touches her.
He ends up kneeling in front of her on the floor. She blinks rapidly, adjusting her gaze so he can't look her in the eye.
"We saw it," she says flatly.
Stiles swallows back the lump in his throat. "I know."
"Scott's upset," she whispers, picking at the hem of her dress. "I heard him screaming. In my head."
"Don't worry about Scott, okay? We're worrying about you right now." Stiles' eyes burn and he blinks back tears.
He can't cry right now. He has to be strong, for Lydia.
Scott shows up in the doorway. "I talked to my mom," he says thickly. "She's getting a room set up."
Lydia recoils, curling up in a ball. "What?"
"Lydia," Stiles says gently. "We have to take you to the hospital."
She suddenly launches herself at Stiles, who catches her and somehow manages not to fall over when she crashes into his chest.
"Please," Lydia whispers fiercely, her arms winding around his neck. "Please don't make me go."
"I have to, Lydia," Stiles says, his voice breaking. "You're hurt."
Lydia starts to cry into his shoulder and Stiles holds her tightly, one hand smoothing her hair.
"I'm sorry," he says, in a choked whisper. "I'm so sorry, Lydia."
"Everyone's going to know," she whimpers. "I can't look at your dad and tell him-tell him-"
"I'll tell him." Scott's voice is clear and firm. "You don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to, but you have to let my mom and the doctor look at you."
They convince Lydia to get up and she latches onto Stiles, turning into him so she can cry into his chest. Stiles throws Scott the keys to the jeep so he can get in the back with Lydia, who's making little pitiful whimpers that crack his heart into a thousand pieces.
"It's okay," he says softly, like he's trying to soothe a child. "It's going to be okay."
When he catches Scott's eyes in the review mirror Stiles feels like a liar.
xxx
Scott grips the steering wheel, replaying the memory over in his mind as he drives to the hospital.
Hearing the man's words, the ones he whispered to Lydia, beautiful, bleeding, half conscious Lydia, as he pushed up the skirt of her dress.
I want you to give your alpha a message for me.
Lydia's broken scream before she passes out, and then, softly, whispered in her ear like a lover's prayer.
You're the message.
xxx