Okay, this idea came into my head late at night so bare with me. Basically, this is my attempt at writing an alternative season 6b or season 7. This will be a multi chapter story :)


An arrow is flying towards Lydia's head, and if it weren't for Malia standing a few centimeters away with super speed, she'd probably be dead. Although, she isn't sure that be such a bad idea at the moment.

She musters up every last ounce of strength she has from where she was pushed away and fell to the ground. It seems like a feeble attempt at fighting the hunters, but right now she needs to try something. Her hands are grazed, bloody from taking the impact of her fall, she winces and blows them to get the dirt and grit off. She gets up from the dusty road where she lay and puts every bit of energy into her voice and hands, pushing the hunter away with a scream.

Even though her voice is throbbing, she isn't ready to give up this fight. She tries to make it one of her loudest, and she thinks she succeeds because even Malia wriggles a finger in her ear.

The man, who had been attacking her, flies back. Almost as if he didn't know he was hunting a banshee and how arrowheads dipped in wolfs-bane wouldn't do anything to quell the voice of one.

She likes tricking people like that, makes some sick surge of pride run through her veins.

The hunter crashes into a wall with so much force a crack that resembles a lightning bolt is dividing the middle of it. It scares her sometimes, her power, and how she doesn't quite know what she's capable of.

She looks around the scene before her tired eyes, and it's absolute carnage. There are half-dead hunters scattered around the abandoned building site they were currently battling in. Gushing wounds from bullets, arrows and claws; puddles of blood surrounded the hurt. It was three against dozens.

Scott, Malia and Lydia had all been tracing a pack of hunters in Seattle that had reportedly branched off from Monroe and Gerard. It was exhausting trying to find them. They had been clever about the traces they'd left, so they'd been following leads that often resulted in dead ends. But they didn't give up. Scott wouldn't let them.

A bullet connects with Malia's leg and she roars out in pain as scarlet blood drains out of her leg and she looks at Scott for guidance. Scott always knows what he's doing. She isn't reassured when she looks at him. He has blood splattered on his face like a painting. Determinedly, he claws at one of the hunters that have attacked him, he tries to stop them or slow them down. Anything to mean he doesn't kill them. And he hasn't, at least not yet, and that's what they all fear, someone will get their hands too bloody.

Lydia's half way there. The way they've been going after the hunters, she's lost count of how many she's left unconscious and she isn't sure that even half of them would've woken up. She tries her best to put a mental block on that sort of stuff, otherwise her brain doesn't think straight and since they're hunting very skilled hunters, she needs her brain. It's her best weapon.

Lydia runs at the hunter who shot Malia. She's female, her hair a soft brown and her eyes even browner. It takes Lydia back at how oddly it resembles Allison, and she almost misses the knife trying to make a jab at her arm because of it. She moves out of the way quickly, and knocks her leg into the hunters so she falls, or so that's how she wanted it to go. Except the hunter swiftly grabs her leg, nails digging into her calf, and lifts her up so she falls hard on her back. A shot of pain darts up her spine, she feels it tingle in her nose and she winces.

"I can't believe it," The hunter snarls. "A banshee before my eyes."

"Well make the most of it while it lasts," Lydia spits, as she grabs her wrists because this crazy bitch is trying to put a knife through her skull. "Because I'm going to kill you."

And for that brief second she kind of means it.

She raises one of her legs that's trapped by the hunter's weight, it hurts every muscle in her leg to do so, but she manages to connect her knee with the side of her ribs. It doesn't do much, this woman is two-hundred pounds of muscle and she has a knife in hand, not to mention the shotgun that's sticking out of the waistband of her pants. She doesn't even lose her balance.

"You think you can intimidate me?" The hunter barks at her, as she pins her wrists to either side of her head with her knees.

If Lydia can't use her hands, she can't do much so she tries to swallow the flicker of panic that threatens to surface. She hasn't realized it, but she's getting good and not being afraid. At least for her own safety.

"Sweetheart," Lydia forms one of her dazzling 'Lydia Martin' smiles. "Get off of me before I shatter your skull with my voice."

To Lydia's horror she drops the knife right next to Lydia's head and reaches into her jeans to reveal her gun. She clicks the bullet into the chamber and jabs the barrel under her chin, digging in it so forcefully the tender skin breaks. She feels the blood warmly trickle down her neck, the pain making her eyes sting with tears.

She's aware that one of her hand is free, although it's numb with pins and needles from the weight of the hunter's foot. Nevertheless, she considers her options. She can make a grab for the knife, or hope Scott saves her in time. She knows how to take care of herself and she doesn't have the time to wait for Scott.

"Can't do that with a bullet in your head." She quips then, as her finger hovers above the trigger, Lydia grabs the knife with her free hand and jabs the butt of it into the side of the hunters head. She watches her brown eyes roll to the back of her head and she falls limp on top of Lydia so she pushes her off, gun still rested on her chest.

Another one she'll leave unconscious, she thinks.

She struggles off of the floor, every limb, bone and muscle aches with the impact of hitting the ground. Or it could be from knife wounds. Or the dead weight of a Hunter. She feels like jelly, adrenaline may be making her heart pound but her body is beginning to shut down. Her head spins for a brief second, and she can't afford that second, she needs to be hyper-aware of everything that goes around her in times like this, or she gets hurt.

"Lydia watch out!" Malia yells at Lydia, but she's not fast enough, Lydia turns and meets a man diving a knife into her stomach.

Without thinking Lydia shoots him in the leg with the gun that she hadn't even realized she was holding, then when he stumbles, she shoots him in the other leg. And in the brief moment it feels good, seeing the burst of crimson. Until it registers that she's been stabbed and blood is oozing out of her like there's no tomorrow. And at this rate, she won't have a tomorrow.

She digs the knife out, wincing and clutches it tight in her hand, then she collapses. She can't remember how many times she's hit this ground, but from the grazes on her hands she knows it's been a lot.

She takes her coat off shakily, balls it up and squeezes her eyes shut as she applies it to the gushing wound.

It's only when her coat is off she registers how bitterly-freezing it is. It's winter, and boy does Seattle get cold winters.

She isn't sure how long she stays led on the ground, waiting for everything to die out around her but she's relieved when Scott comes into her vision. She can tell it's been a while because her teeth are chattering and her hands have gone numb.

Scott rips his belt off and wraps it around her abdomen, tightening it as much as she'll let him. A dull throb has set in her stomach, and she's feeling so tired that she wouldn't mind sleeping right now.

She wonders if this is what Allison felt when she was dying. Maybe she felt the sticky, warm feeling of blood leaking from her stomach or if she had the same ache in her head as there is in her stomach.

"Think we should call Stiles now?" Lydia breathes.

When he understands what she's said he sighs, rolls his eyes and slumps onto the ground, waiting for an ambulance.


Lydia has always loved winter, no matter how old she gets. She's thought of it as a promise that family and friends get together at Christmas and Thanksgiving. She likes the cold when she can sit at her house with hot cocoa and have a blanket wrapped around her. She likes it when Stiles can keep her warm. Winter is the promise of a new year. A new chance to forgive herself for whatever she's done wrong in the year and a chance to set new goals for herself.

The only goal she'd be setting for next year is to not get stabbed again. Or shot. That can't be too good either.

But Lydia doesn't like winter when she wakes up in a dingy hotel room, with no central heating and a dull throb of pain radiating in her abdomen.

She opens her eyes to meet a drab white ceiling that has long, dark cracks running through it, like it might fall down any second now. She's lying on something uncomfortable, it's a mattress, but not a good one. Springs are poking into her spine at odd angles and the sheets are rough against her sensitive skin. She has no cover on, which explains why she's so cold, so she turns on her side and cuddles into herself.

As she turns she sees Scott slumped in a rickety armchair, and Malia on the bed with her, fast asleep. Their clothes still blood stained and smudged with dirt.

She sits up, which is a mistake. The room spins before her and she puts a hand over her mouth to stop herself from being sick. She has an urge to cry and has an urge to run away from this all and call it quits.

"Lydia, you're awake." Lydia snaps her head in the direction of the voice, panic running through her body as she fears they've been taken hostage and drugged. Relief fills her when she sees Deaton stood at the doorway of what she supposes to be the bathroom.

"How'd we get here?" Her voice croaks.

She remembers fighting the hunters and she remembers getting stabbed. Then it goes black. She probably passed out from the pain, or blood loss.

"Scott called me-"

"You were in Seattle?" Lydia cuts in, her mind is foggy so she tries to make sense of what has happened in the last twelve hours or so.

Sleep is tugging at her, she's exhausted, her limbs begging for rest.

"I tend to keep close to Scott, yes." He nods, and steps into the room, kneeling by the side of the bed and pressing the back of his hand to Lydia's forehead. "He said you were stabbed, Malia was shot and you lost the hunters."

"You make it sound like a total failure." Lydia sarcastically comments, and Deaton smiles at her.

A wave of drowsiness washes over her and she wonders if she's been drugged.

"I've given you a herbal treatment that should speed up the healing process."

"I don't feel like I'm healing." Lydia winces as she settles back down onto the pillows.

She wishes, suddenly, that Stiles were here so she could curl up in his arms and he'd stroke her hair until she felt better. He'd kiss her forehead and tell her everything will be alright. But she made him stay at D.C. where he'd be safer. She made him finish his FBI training so he'd actually have a future.

"Dizziness, nausea and tiredness are side effects but they'll wear off in twenty-four hours." Deaton reassures her, he fetches his jacket and lays it over her body which she's thankful for. She was starting to shiver uncontrollably. "Rest while you can."

But Lydia's already gone when he tells her.


"I'm telling you it's not necessary!" Scott objects, to what Lydia isn't sure because she's only just stirring awake.

Her bladder full and her mouth dry. She wonders how long she was out.

"Scott, maybe you should consider the danger you put him in if he doesn't know." Deaton says calmly, and Lydia knows immediately they're talking about Stiles.

Back in Senior year of High School they thought not telling Stiles about Monroe and Gerard and the Anuk-Ite was protecting him. Then they realized that if either was to cross his path he wouldn't know how harmful they were, except Gerard. Lydia knew that it would put him in more danger. She wasn't risking that again.

Who was there to take the brunt of not telling Stiles that? Lydia. Of course. She had to explain why they did it, had to reassure Stiles that she did it out of love, which wasn't a lie. Sending Stiles back to D.C. was awful, he'd almost refused to go but it's a good job Lydia's stubborn otherwise she would've caved in. Which she almost did.

She needs Stiles safe, she needs him to hold her and be here. But how could he be here without fighting? How could he be in D.C and be safe? There wasn't an easy way to go about it but Lydia was about ready to try anything to save him.

Ever since the Dread Doctors Scott had been losing his temper easily, Lydia was noticing it now more than ever. He tries to save everyone, gets frustrated if he can't but no-one ever blames him for not being able to help. Especially when they lost Stiles in the Wild Hunt Scott has been trying to protect him even more. Maybe too fiercely because his loyalties are stronger than the instinct to take care of himself.

Lydia slowly lifts herself off the bed, expecting her head to feel fuzzy again, but this time she feels brand-new.

"Hey, how you feeling?" Malia asks as she's the first one to notice that she's awake. Lydia nods and manages a small smile at the girl. "You've been asleep for a good twenty hours."

"Twenty hours!"

"Look on the bright side," Malia smiles. "You don't have any dark rings beneath your eyes."

"My dream came true." Lydia rolls her eyes as Malia helps her get out of bed. Lydia's legs are shaky at first, but they manage to support her weight quickly so she doesn't have to slump on Malia. "How's your leg?"

"Brand new." Malia shrugs.

Of course she's right, you wouldn't know she was shot in the leg just yesterday because her skin is so smooth. No scar, no nothing. That's a perk of having supernatural healing, she guesses. Lydia's mind quickly snaps to the nasty scar underneath her ribs. The scar just below her boob. The scars on her neck from The Beast which she covers with makeup. She hates that fact she's Supernatural but lacks the healing ability.

"What are we talking about?" Lydia asks when she meets Scott's eye, he looks pale, his eyes heavy and a crease in his brow that hasn't gone away in about a month. A permanent sign of stress.

"Scott still doesn't think we should tell Stiles about how bad this is all getting." Malia answers for him, reaching out for his hand and giving it a small squeeze.

She can't help but think about Allison every time they show one another affection.

"What if we die and Stiles comes home to no-one?" Lydia questions, eyebrows raised at Scott. She knows she shouldn't give him such a hard time, but she's struggling just as much as he is.

"What if Stiles dies?" Scott deadpans, which earns him a stern stare from the redhead and silence.

Lydia would never want to imagine what losing Stiles would be like. Never waking up to a text from him, never feeling his strong arms wrap up her limbs in a hug, never feel his warmth when they share a bed. She'd lose part of herself, like she did with Allison.

"My minds made up," Lydia sighs. "He needs to know."

Scott blinks at her, runs a hand through his hair and opens and shuts his mouth several times as if deciding on what to say next. "Things are getting serious now, Lydia. It's way too dangerous."

"I think you should consider telling him," Deaton speaks up, which Lydia is thankful for because he's on her side. "You could use an extra pair of hands and an extra brain."

It's silent between them all, for almost too long that it starts to make Lydia's ears buzz from it.

"Give us a minute will you?" Scott says to Malia and Deaton, they nod and leave the room.

Lydia isn't sure where they go, this doesn't seem like the kind of hotel that has a bar or a lounge.

Lydia sighs and follows Scott to the small window ledge at the other end of the room and they sit, side by side. They don't talk for a while, they just listen to each other breathe. Scott smells earthy and slightly sweaty, he probably hasn't showered in days. When Lydia thinks of it, she can't remember the last time she has. By the feel of her hair, that's knotted into a bun on top of her head, it's been a few days.

"Jesus, Scott! Speak you're making me uncomfortable!" Lydia exclaims because the silence between the two is deafening and it isn't helping that they both have dried blood on their clothes.

Lydia notices the rip in her bodysuit, which makes her oddly annoyed because this color complimented her.

"I know you love him, but believe me when I say that he'd benefit if he doesn't know." Scott tells Lydia.

He takes hold of her hand and runs a thumb along her palm. Her palms that are ripped raw and criss-crossed with red scratches. He's comforting her, she realizes, trying to keep her calm so she doesn't lash out at him. She guesses after the past few days they've had that her shouting and hitting him is quite likely.

"What good did it do us last time? He's still touchy about it now." Lydia sighs, she can feel herself tear up at the thought of lying to Stiles.

She can still see his pale, innocent face and whiskey colored eyes staring down at her as she tells him she's sorry, continuously.

"What if he gets hurt?" She knows what he's trying to do, he's trying to guilt trip her.

He's attempting to convince her that Stiles helping them out on this mission is absurd.

"What if we get hurt?" Lydia says, and she can't help the tear that slips free from her eye, she sniffs and wipes it away.

Scott pulls her under is arm and kisses the top of her head.

"You can call him," Scott tells her softly. "I'd hate myself if something happened to you and he wasn't here."

She allows herself a small smile, because after everything Scott's been through he still puts everyone before him. Saves everyone but himself. Maybe someone should start looking after him.

"Thank you." She whispers and grips him tighter.

She makes a mental note, she owes Scott, once again.

They stay there like that, hugging each other like any family would.