A/N: Hey guys! I'm reposting this fic from an old fanfiction account of mine, so if you've seen this before, that's why! I wanted to consolidate everything onto this account. :) You can find me at notwithoutlydia on tumblr!
"LYDIA!"
Stiles screams her name, all but throwing himself across the room to where the strawberry blonde lays. She's bruised, and broken, and blood all but gushes out of her side.
She's dying.
It happened so fast. They were ambushed, but none of them had the forethought to realize it was just a distraction. While Scott and the pack were fighting off five trained assassins, one stuck into the back.
They were distracted. They weren't looking for her, because they thought she was safe.
Now she's dying.
Stiles scoops her into his arms and clutches her to his chest. "C'mon, Lydia! You can't - you can't do this!" He brings one hand to her jaw, fingers moving over her cheeks. She has to wake up. She has to live. He can't watch the girl he's loved since the third freaking grade die in his arms. Not after everything they've been through together.
After a few seconds, her eyes slowly flutter open. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, a smile spreading across his lips.
"Stiles," she breathes, her voice raspy. A strangled cough catches in her throat, making her entire body convulse from the pain. He doesn't look, but Stiles is acutely aware of the warm, sticky substance already starting to coat his left arm.
He can't admit it, but she can. She's going to die.
"Stiles, look at me."
He wants to look away. He wants to pretend this isn't happening, to stare adamantly at the opposite wall as if it could somehow keep her there. She wants to say her goodbyes, but he can't hear it. He can't accept the fact the Lydia Martin could just... stop existing. Not in any world in which he'll be forced to exist without her.
"Don't. Don't do it. Don't say goodbye."
Lydia offers him her best attempt at a smile, a trembling hand lifting to gently caress his cheek. "I need to tell you something. I need you to listen." She pauses, drawing a shallow breath. "I'm going to die."
He tries to cut her off, but she presses a finger against his lips. "It's too much, Stiles. Scott can't save me. I've been bitten before, remember?"
She can't be turned. She can't survive this. In minutes, she'll be dead.
Lydia gives him just a few seconds to realize she's right before pressing on. She doesn't have much time. She can feel her own death creeping upon her.
(Is this how Allison felt? Wrapped up in Scott's arms with a confession lingering on the tip of her tongue?)
"I love you."
It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It should have happened naturally, at the right time, at the perfect moment when they were both ready. But timing is something that's never been on their side, and she can't - she won't - let him go the rest of his life without knowing.
"I've loved you for awhile." Lydia pauses, a tiny smile forming on her lips at the incredulous look on his face. "I didn't - I didn't want to mess up what you had with Malia, because I know she made you happy. I wanted to wait." She takes another ragged breath, trying to hold on just a few seconds longer. Her thoughts are constant pleas for just a little more time - just enough time to make sure he knows. "But - but I need you to know that I did. I do. I love you."
His clothes are downright soaked in her blood, but he hardly notices. He's too busy hanging onto every broken word.
(It won't be much longer. Her vision blurs so badly she can barely see him, but she fights to keep her eyes open. Just a little longer. Just a few more seconds with him.)
"I love you." He shakes his head, tears rolling down both cheeks. This isn't fair. This shouldn't be happening.
She wants to wipe his tears away, but she can't. He's so far away.
"It's always been you for me." He pauses, a sob catching in his throat. "It's always gonna be you for me, Lydia."
She wants to reply; wants to tell him to move on, to be with the person who makes him happy, to love another as much as he loves her. She wants to set him free.
But she can't. Her breaths are coming in slow, labored pants - she's too weak to manage anything more than a short nod of her head.
She holds his gaze for as long as she can, wanting nothing more than to hold him close and whisper that it's going to be okay.
But then her eyes close.
She's gone. Lydia Martin is gone. She took her final breath in his arms, and now she's gone.
This time, when a piercing scream fills the air, it doesn't come from a banshee - from his strawberry blonde banshee.
It comes from Stiles.