A/N: damn it's been forever since i've posted anything. time to fix that. i've got a lot of stuff in the works and i'm finally glad this one's finished.

Wrote this because in my opinion, Lydia lost more than everyone else int he season finale, and she deserves her own kinda piece to look at the aftermath of that. that and i also really ship her with stiles so win win. Enjoy!

Lydia had to stifle a scream as she jolted awake again. She sat up, covering her mouth with her hand, suppressing the broken wale that every fiber of her being wished to release. After a moment, it passed, and she let her shaking hand drop to the tangled covers around her.

Beside her, Stiles remained asleep, dead to the world. At least for now.

There had never really been any formal arrangement between them about her spending the night with him. In the wake of all that had happened with the Nogitsune, everyone was having trouble sleeping. There were nights Lydia had been woken by her own screams, her face streaked with tears and her words choked by sobs which she couldn't hold back. Her mother, of course, offered no comfort. She spent most nights out on dates, happily oblivious to the supernatural happenings of Beacon Hills.

Being possessed hadn't left Stiles much better off, so in the end they did what broken people do: band together and try to make each other whole again.

Nothing ever happened between them though. They were both too tired for that.

Lydia watched as Stiles's eyes danced behind his eyelids as he dreamed. He'd tell her about them sometimes, in the early hours of the morning when they were both too tired to get up, but too shaken to sleep. She'd lay in his arms, and he'd tell her of the scenes his mind concocted while he slept, the visions of pain and sorrow left behind by the Nogitsune. He'd absentmindedly twirl a strand of her hair between his fingers and she'd rest her head against his chest, watching as the sun slowly rose through his bedroom window.

Why, she couldn't help but wonder as she lay back down next to Stiles, did the universe find amusement in resting its fate on the shoulders of six teenagers? On her? What cruel twist of fate had landed them in this constant battle between good and evil?

Fate. She mentally scoffed at the thought of it. What had fate done for her lately? How many people had she lost because of it?

In her head, she couldn't help but list them off.

Jackson.

Her first love. The one she thought she'd be with forever.

Allison.

Her best friend, her sister. The one who was unfairly taken far too soon.

Aiden.

Her distraction, her regret. The one she had barely given a chance, and now never could.

Each one had left their mark on her. Some were old, reduced to silver scars like the one she bore from Peter's attack. They still hurt, but it was a dull throb induced by memory. But others were like fresh open wounds, so new that crimson blood still trickled from them.

And not a week ago, Stiles's name was nearly added to that list. Had she lost him as well, Lydia was sure she'd have broken completely, shattered like a glass window in a hurricane. When had this clever, sarcastic, hyper active boy come to mean so much to her?

When everyone was gone and he was still there, her mind supplied.

No matter how many times she had ignored him, pushed him away, Stiles remained, always there in the background, always waiting to catch her when she fell and lift her up. He was as much her tether as she was his.

She remembered the first night she'd stayed over. It hadn't been planned, of course, but then again, neither were horrifyingly real nightmares, which was why she found herself on the Stilinski's front porch at two in the morning.

To her surprise, it was Stiles who answered when she knocked, looking just as haggard and tired as she did.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, silently inviting her in. She wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, as if desperately trying to hold herself together, and gave a small shake of her head. "Yeah, me neither."

She sat down at the kitchen table, arms still clutching her sides. Stiles rummaged through the fridge, the light casting a glow around the dim room.

"You want anything to drink?" he offered, but she just shook her head again. He shrugged and pulled out a can of soda for himself, which he popped open with a hiss.

He sat down across the table from her and took a sip. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Her voice cracked as she said the word.

Stiles sighed and took another sip. "Yeah, me neither."

For a moment they just sat there in silence.

"I can't stop seeing their faces," Lydia whispered. "I hear their voices in my sleep. They keep...screaming at me, begging for me to save them." The words came spilling out of her mouth quicker than she could stop them. "And I can feel their pain, their fear. And I try to save them - I try everything. But nothing changes. They always..." She couldn't bring herself to say the word. "And then I'm just left there. With their pain and their bodies and the -"

"- and the blood." Stiles finished. "And they just keep coming back. No matter how many times you wake up and tell yourself that they're gone, that nothing you're seeing is real, you know they're still waiting for you in here." He tapped his finger to the side of his head. "Just waiting for you to fall asleep again."

Lydia stared at him with wide, tearful eyes and nodded. All it took was a single tear escaping the corner of her eye for her to collapse into deep sobs. Stiles leaned forward and held her in his arms, gently stroking her back, pressing a kiss to her temple. Over her shoulder his own eyes flooded with tears. They cried together until their eyes ran dry, until all their grief had been spent and they were too tired to carry on.

"Please," she said, her voice hoarse. "I don't want to be alone. Not right now, not tonight."

He gave a nod of silent understanding and quietly led her by the hand to his bedroom.

He lent her one of his shirts to wear, an old black one with a batman symbol printed on the front. It was a bit large on her, falling just above her knees, but she didn't mind. Now she wore it every time she slept over. He didn't know it, but he was never getting that shirt back.

Sleeping next to Stiles didn't make the nightmares disappear. No, only time could help with that. But somehow, waking up next to someone who knew what it was like, who understood the pain and the sorrow, made them easier to bare, for both of them. Though they were both broken, they seemed to be the only one's capable of putting the other back together. Fate was funny like that Lydia supposed, and, for now, it would have to do.

Lydia curled against Stiles, wrapping her arm around his waist. She listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, willing herself to fall asleep. They had school in a few hours, and she'd be damned if she showed up with bags under her eyes.