Hi all. Long story short I have a lot of feels and a lot of plot bunnies, so here's the result of that. It's going to be short, only a few chapters, depending on how much interest there is. It's set somewhere in 3B, but nobody's died and let's just assume that after Stiles and the nogitsune split, the latter just disappeared. And here's where we are. Usual disclaimer: this is dark. Character death is always a possibility, so be aware of that. I like playing around with writing styles so this may seem a little weird at first but bear with me.
Reviews make me really happy, so if you feel the urge to click the Follow/Fav button, please take a second to also hit Review and let me know what you think.
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"You're not Stiles."
"Oh, no. Stiles is long gone, sweetheart."
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The music is a nice change.
Lydia has become so accustomed to the reverberations in her head, echoes of death and lingering screams, that the meaningless beat pulsing against her skull is somewhat of a comfort. She knows they should be out looking for the nogitsune, especially now that it's walking around wearing Stiles' skin, but for now they allow themselves this brief moment of release.
Her eyes roam around the club, taking everyone in, doing a mental check to make sure everyone is still here. (Part of her is convinced that if she looks away for a second one of them will be gone.) Scott and Kira, over by the punch bowl. Isaac and Allison, dancing near the middle of the floor. Ethan and Aiden talking quietly by the door.
And Stiles, walking toward her.
He hitches a clumsy smile on his face as he weaves through the crowd, his eyes fixed on her and a drink in his hand. A girl bumps into him and Lydia sees some of the liquid splash over the top of the cup, but his smile never wavers. He reaches her.
"Hey," and his smile tilts up at the edges.
"Hi," and her eyes are shining.
He holds the cup out to her and she takes it, and for a few minutes they say nothing. This isn't the place for talking about the big things; it's a place for noticing the little things. The feeling of his hand brushing against hers. The light dancing over his skin, like he's lit from within. The threads of music swirling between them, tying them together, anchoring them to this moment.
"Having a good night?" he asks, and she nods, and his smile takes up his whole face as he meets her eyes.
(She has to pinch herself to be sure this is real because nobody's ever looked at her like that before.)
Lydia sips her drink and slips her free hand into Stiles'. It fits perfectly. She looks around again, checking. Scott, Kira. Allison, Isaac. Ethan, Aiden. Then she turns back to Stiles, and he squeezes her hand.
"Do you want to get out of here?"
She shakes her head no. "I'm enjoying the music," she says, but that's only part of it. It's not even the main part of it. In this one room are a hundred people she's never met and doesn't care about, and then there's a handful of people who mean the world to her. She wishes every night could be like this, every moment so bittersweet, because even though she's here with Stiles she knows there's something out there plotting their downfall.
(She had asked Scott if he thought they could win against the nogitsune and he had told her that they would, but she read the words swimming in his eyes and knew he was lying.)
"You look beautiful tonight," Stiles says, and she finishes off her drink and tosses the cup aside.
"Let's dance," she says, and Stiles wraps his arms around her.
She takes a step forward, and then she freezes. Blood to ice, heart to stone; she can't move. Something cold and sharp is pressing against her back, right where Stiles' hand is. She tries to step back but he pulls her in close, his words a whisper against her ear.
"Go along with it and they don't get hurt," and then he pulls away, his smile wicked and his eyes aglow with something that Stiles, the real Stiles, could never be capable of.
"You're not Stiles," she says, an accusation not a question, because she already knows. She can see it in his eyes.
"Oh, no. Stiles is long gone, sweetheart." One hand is wrapped around her wrist and the other is still pressing the knife up against her back. (For a second she thinks of throwing herself backward with enough force to drive the knife into her back, but she knows that wouldn't kill her and it wouldn't save her friends.)
"What do you want?" she asks. The music pulses on, filling her veins and emptying her heart, and she curses herself for ever coming here.
"I want you to come with me," he says simply. "Come with me now and I leave your friends alone."
The knife slides up her back, like the demon in front of her is playing with her, tracing a pattern on her skin. Then it digs in, just a little, and a whimper of pain escapes from between her teeth.
"Shh," the creature says, pulling her in and kissing the top of her head, "it's okay, it's going to be okay."
It sounds like Stiles and for a second she lets herself believe that it is. "I'm not scared," but she is, and he knows it.
And he enjoys it.
The knife digs in again, harder this time, and a trickle of blood flows down her back.
"Let's go," he says, a command not an invitation.
Her feet are moving before she's aware she's made a decision. The creature in Stiles' skin holds her hand tightly, the knife hidden underneath his belt, his intentions hidden in the guise of a person so pure nobody would ever question him. They pass by Allison and Isaac, and Lydia keeps her head down, keeps them safe.
They reach the back of the club, slip out through the door, and nobody questions it. He leads her to his Jeep, sitting there like a faithful hound, and he pushes her into the passenger seat. And that's when the dizziness hits.
Wave after wave, taking over, until all she can see is black. She feels sick. She feels trapped. She feels like she's going to die.
"By the way," she hears Stiles' voice say, "the drink I gave you was spiked. Tranquilizers. They'll wear off in an hour."
An hour. They could be out of Beacon Hills by then. He could have taken her anywhere, done anything with her. Nobody knows she's gone.
She swims her way back to consciousness, just for a moment, long enough to look at him.
(She has to pinch herself to be sure this is real because nobody's ever looked at her like that before.)
His eyes are black and she falls into them, and her eyes close and she knows it's over.
Lydia Martin is about to die, and in some strange way she's okay with that.
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So there you go. Please review, and I hope to see you all next chapter!