She had to be wrong. She prayed she was wrong. Sadly, Lydia was never wrong, but she wished with all of her might that this time she could be. Although, as time was passing, it was becoming more apparent that she was right.

Sensing death was something she was getting used to. If she drove by the hospital, she could feel it. Some times there was a twinge of it around the animal clinic, but it was never enough to send her into blood curdling screams. But the notion to scream, the small need to, was around her more often now. And as she deducted where it was coming from, it broke her heart.

Deaton was right about the darkness, she saw the effects on all three of her friends. Scott and Allison acted very similar in their new states of day-to-day living. There were times when she would notice one of them staring off into space, tense bodied, with a look on their face as if they were deep in troublesome thoughts. But just as a bit of worry would prick at Lydia's brain, they'd snap out of it. It was obvious that the darkness weighed on them, but it was something they were learning to manage.

Then there was Stiles. His new self didn't just have twinges of blackness like the other two, his was constant. He was still himself, nonetheless, able to crack jokes and throw sarcasm into conversation like he always had. But at the same time, he was different. He was quieter, as if retreating into himself, he always looked exhausted, and sometimes he snapped. He'd never snapped at Lydia before, and the first time he did made her jump a little; shocked that he'd ever do such a thing. She noticed the paleness of his skin, his dark brown hair losing its shine, his soft, honey colored eyes had dropped the spark that once was always present. And the absolute worst, terrifying, gripping part for Lydia- was the sense of death.

It wasn't strong, but it was definitely there. It grew very slowly but steadily each day, and no one else could notice. Stiles was spiraling. Stiles was dying. She wondered if he even knew; it choked her if she thought about it for more than a second. She hated being around him, and yet at the same time, she strived for it. Lydia never really took notice to the boy that always had an undying infatuation with her, but now he flooded almost every single thought she had. She was lost as to what move to make about it; soon enough Scott and Isaac would smell it on him, and would it be too late then? Stiles was dying, and she had no idea what to do.

The Friday he didn't come to school was just a blur. Lydia felt the dull tug of death on her mind the entire day, and she couldn't wait to get the hell out of school to find him. The final bell of the day pierced her eardrums, and it was her ticket out.

"Lydia!" Aiden called out from down the hallway as he neared her. All she did was look at him for a second before turning back to her locker to throw more books into her bag. "What are you doing later tonight?" He asked with a smirk as he leaned up against the locker next to hers. Some kid was standing there awkwardly, it was obviously his locker and he obviously didn't dare ask Aiden to move.

"I can't talk right now. I have to go." She said in a clipped voice, throwing her bag over her shoulder and readying herself to bolt out the door.

"Okay, but-"

"I'll text you later." She cut him off and ran. Lydia almost felt bad as she quickly weaved her way through the crowded halls, and even felt a pang of guilt when she completely ignored Allison's warm smile towards her. But she had no time to sit around and talk, at least not today.

First she sped home, changing out of her dress and heels into something more comfortable; tights and a sweater with small brown boots. She gave her mother a jumbled response as to where she was headed, hoping it would pass off as making sense in some way. Then she jumped back in her car and peeled down the road.

Her car came to a halting stop in front of the Stilinski's home, the patrol car and Jeep parked in the driveway. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to slow her brain down to a normal thinking and processing speed before she got out. It was difficult though, because the sense of death was tangible, even from where she sat. She quickly found herself standing on the front porch, hastily knocking on the door.

The sheriff opened the front door, he looked surprised to see Lydia there. "Hello, Lydia." He said, grinning but giving her a strange look. She imagined she must have looked a bit crazy at this point.

"Hi, Mr. Stilinski. Is Stiles home?" She immediately cringed at her own question, turning her head to look at the Jeep, then slowly looking back at Mr. Stilinski, who was also peering over at his son's car.

"Yeah," He nodded once. "He's upstairs in his room. I can get him if you want."

"Uh, I was just wondering if I could go talk to him for a minute."

"Sure," He stepped to the side, letting her in the house before closing the door behind her.

"Thanks," She nodded and did her best to smile, before darting up the stairs.

She crossed the short hallway to his bedroom door, knocking on it quickly. "Stiles?" Without even allowing him time to answer, she opened the door anyway.

He was on his bed, facing away from her. He rolled over quickly, looking thoroughly surprised and confused. "Lydia? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." Obviously. She stepped in and closed the door. His room was a mess. She remembered the last time she'd been there, which seemed like ages ago, his room was relatively clean for a sixteen year old boy. It was like he'd lost the drive to pick up his clothes and toss them in the hamper. She wondered what else he had lost the drive to do. Was he keeping up his grades? Was he still eating? Did he remember to take his Adderall? "Why weren't you in school today?"

"I'm sick; haven't really been sleeping well lately." He replied. If only he knew how right he was. He looked more tired today, skin paler.

She sighed, but felt her breath hitched in her throat already. The thought of it all made her want to cry.

"We need to talk." Her voice sounded hoarse.

He furrowed his eyebrows and scooted upright in bed, nodding slowly. She closed the space between them and sat on his bed, edging closer to him.

"Talk," Was all he said. She even noticed his voice wasn't quite the same anymore, it was softer but seemed more forced. All of a sudden she felt a surge of anger. How the hell was no one else picking up on any of this? Why weren't his other friends seeing that he wasn't well anymore?

"I… lately I-" She tried her best to find a good way to word it. She felt like a doctor trying to bear grim news to a patient.

"Lydia, are you okay?"

She only nodded, swallowing a hard, enormous lump in throat. She had to tell him.

"Are you crying?" He leaned forward, sounding concerned. She wasn't the one he had to worry about.

She ran her thumb quickly along her bottom eyelids, making sure tears weren't spilling over them. "Lately I've been getting a weird vibe from you."

"I think that's expected, Lydia. All of us should be giving you weird vibes now."

She shook her head. "No, it's different. You're different. The feelings I've been getting from you are… darker."

His facial expression changed, like he was catching on.

"Stiles," She breathed out his name, though her breath was feeling ragged. Her hand reached out and took his. She squeezed it, and it seemed colder than usual. She remembered every time she'd ever touched him, he was warm and comforting and welcoming. Not now, and it made it worse. "Stiles, I think you're dying."

She couldn't read his expression as he slowly leaned back against his headboard, shoulders sinking. The look in his eyes made it seem as if he were a million miles away.

"I didn't know how to tell you, but I couldn't just walk around and feel it all the time and not do anything. I didn't know what to do and I don't know who to talk to about it and I just don't know. I don't know anything." Words fell out of her mouth in a jumbled mess while her vision started to go blurry and watery.

"But you do know I'm dying." His voice was flat. "God, I knew I was having a rough time, but I didn't know- I mean I felt like I was but I didn't think I literally…" His voice trailed off and he breathed in deeply and slowly, covering his mouth with his hand. His slender fingers trailed down over the Cupid's bow of his lips.

"Whatever the three of you carry now is killing you, it's slow and I don't know how to stop it." Now she was crying. Sensing it all the time was bad enough, but telling him about it made her heart feel like it was crumbling in her chest. And she felt like it was her fault too, she was the one that was supposed to hold him under and pull him back. Maybe she had done it wrong.

"My dad," He whispered.

She shook her head, following his train of thought. He thought if he died, he'd be leaving his dad all alone. She understood his concern, but all she wanted to do was focus on him and make it stop somehow.

"I can't leave him." He shook his head slightly, and she watched a tear slip out of his eye and slide down his cheek.

All of a sudden she was reaching out for him, holding him against her. A sob escaped her chest as she held him tight, his head nestled against her chest. She could feel his body shaking.

"Shhh, we're going to fix this. We're going to fix this. I'm going to fix this." Her fingers stroked his hair as rushed words came out of her.

"How?" He asked in a muffled voice against the fabric of her sweater.

"I don't know." She shook her head. "But I'm not going to sit here and let it happen. I won't lose you. I won't let anyone lose you. I won't let you lose yourself, okay? We're going to be okay."

"Lydia," He started.

"Do you hear me?" She lifted up his head so he was looking right at her face. She could feel the damp trails left by tears on her cheeks, she saw his eyes follow one down her face. "Do you hear me, Stiles? You've thrown yourself out there to save my life more than once, and now I'm going to do everything I can to save yours. We're going to fight this and you're going to win."

He just looked at her. His eyes looked understanding but scared. Neither of them knew what this was going to take, but Lydia was hell bent on finding out.

"It's going to be okay," She whispered, resting her forehead against his. "I promise, Stiles. I promise. No one's going to lose you." She pressed a light kiss to his hairline and kept her face close.

He nodded and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around her too, holding her close against himself. In that moment, Lydia felt every emotion she had shift in his direction. All of her attention was now on him, and it wasn't moving, she was dedicating herself to making him better. In that moment, she felt something miraculous. The feeling of death, the one that was looming in the room, seemed to subside just a bit. Death's grip on Stiles had lessened, just a little.

That's when she realized it. If holding him was working, if loving him was working, then that's all she wanted to do. Nothing else mattered anymore.