~Author's Note~
I'm not ashamed with how fast I've binge-watched this series, and I love everything about it. I'm now on Season Six and attempting to catch up with the live showings . . . so this is my first ever fanfic for Teen Wolf and hopefully I did alright? Stiles and Lydia are complex to say the least, but I do like them together. I came up with this fic after seeing 5x16, and it ended up way different from what I had originally planned.
Reviews would be greatly appreciated, as I hope I didn't just butcher these two, and I hope everyone enjoys! :)
Rated Teen for small mention of past torture, implied nudity and like three curse words?
Notes: Takes place directly after 5x16.
look at you saving the world on your own
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The words, "We should head home," are barely halfway out of Natalie Martin's mouth before Stiles is adjusting his flannel and voicing his opinion.
"I'm staying over."
It comes out as a determined statement, and he's looking only at Lydia as he says it. In fact, he only realizes his bluntness when Scott clears his throat, but he doesn't feel at all bad about inviting himself over the Martins' house or have any need to go into a panicked clarification. Lydia's mother was the reason Lydia was even in Eichen in the first place, and her choice nearly got Lydia killed. Her choice got a hole drilled in the side of Lydia's head.
Stiles, rationally, knew Natalie was just trying to protect her daughter the only way she knew how, but it wasn't the right how and the non-rational part of Stiles was holding a deep-rooted grudge. Lydia's looking at Stiles with an expression he can't read, and for a second he's afraid he's crossing a line with her, so he backtracks, wringing his hands. "If you don't want me to—"
Natalie's mouth opens to object Stiles' stay, but Lydia's speaking before her mother has the chance.
"I want you to stay." Natalie swallows her protest and Stiles' lips tic into a small smile.
Natalie feels Lydia gently attempt to pull back from the hug but her mother seems reluctant to let go. Lydia rubs her mom's back, closing her eyes for a moment just so that she can take in the fact that she's in a hug with her mom. It's like she's six again with a hurting heart because of the mean kids in first grade who made fun of her hair and this hug holds the same love as that one did, the same comfort.
"I'm okay Mom," she whispers, and Natalie holds tight for another moment before slowly letting go.
Stiles is crouched down in front of her as soon as her mom is out of her vision, and her lips can't help but curl upwards at the sight of him. It's like her brain can't help but be happy when he's near her, and her heart swoons with any fleeting touch from him. Natalie thanks Deaton with a hushed tone while Stiles grabs one of Lydia's hands and squeezes gently.
"Can you walk?" He asks quietly, Scott appearing on his left side in case any help is needed.
Lydia nods weakly, "I think so."
Stiles straightens up and keeps a hold of her hand while she maneuvers herself off the metal table, and she stays standing on her own for a good few seconds before her knees start to give out. Scott catches her by the waist before she can hit the ground and Stiles shifts his grip to her arm.
"Or not," Stiles exhales as he carefully brings one of her arms over his shoulder while Scott does the same with the other.
Together the two boys, followed by Natalie and Deaton, help Lydia outside and towards her mom's car. Natalie unlocks the car mutely, and Scott helps Lydia climb in the back of the car but she bats his hand away when he attempts to help her get buckled.
"I'm not totally helpless," she says, before successfully buckling herself.
Scott smiles but guilt still floods his chest because she was in serious danger and they nearly didn't make it to her in time; "I know you're not. Get some rest, okay?" She nods and Scott rests his hand on her knee before backing out of the car to face Stiles who's holding the car door open.
Natalie gets in the front seat and starts the car up, keeping an eye on her daughter in the rear-view mirror while Stiles digs around in his pants pocket for the keys to his trusty jeep. "Can you just uh—pick us up from Lydia's in the morning I guess?"
Scott hears the frantic beat of Stiles' heart before he sees his hands shaking as he holds out the keys and immediate worry seeps through his bones. "That's fine," he pauses, testing the water, "are you okay Stiles?"
Scott takes the keys from him and stuffs them in his own pocket without a second thought, keeping his focus on his best friend. He's always jittery, but now he seems even more so than usual.
Stiles meets Scott's eyes wearily, "It's just all . . . it's all catching up to me now and I'm," he laughs in that loud and obnoxious matter that tells Scott he's falling apart at the seams, and Scott's chest tightens, "I'm exhausted man, I'm freaking exhausted and—and Lydia," he lowers his voice and closes the car door a little, "she—Lydia almost died, Scott, I almost didn't get to her in time. If she hadn't screamed and shattered Valack's skull we wouldn't have gotten there in time. The—The door wouldn't budge. If she didn't scream I-I-I don't—"
His breathing quickens and Scott places both hands on Stiles' shoulders to calm him down.
"Hey. It's okay. She's alright. You got there just in time and we saved her. Okay? She's in this car breathing because of you. She's alive and she's okay Stiles." It takes a few shaky breaths before Stiles' heartbeat steadies out and is thundering in a normal rhythm again, and Scott pulls him in for a quick hug.
Stiles hugs him tight and Scott copies the action before they both pull away.
"Call me if you need anything. I'll text you in the morning when I'm on my way over."
Scott turns away and heads over to where Deaton is waiting by Stiles' jeep and that's the last thing Stiles sees before he gets into the back of the car with Lydia. He buckles up and wraps an arm around her so he can pull her close and Lydia doesn't seem to mind.
She leans into him, her head falling against his shoulder. Stiles stifles a quip and instead pulls her closer. Natalie watches him in the mirror for a moment before gently hitting the gas pedal. The car groans in complaint before it lurches forwards and Natalie guides it out of the parking lot.
The ride is silent.
The only sounds for a while is everyone's breathing; and even that disappears after a few red lights. Lydia's evens out after the halfway mark to her house—her eyes have slipped shut and sleep has found her somehow. Stiles finds sleep struggles with taking him under as well, but he wholly refuses, because if Lydia's asleep he's got to keep an eye on her, and he doesn't trust her mother worth a damn.
(Cue the non-rational part of Stiles speaking for him again.)
So he grapples with it, and eventually fights the feeling off. He can feel it lingering even after it slithers back the way it came but he does a good job with ignoring it . . . for now. It's only a fifteen minute trip from the animal clinic to Lydia's house, but it feels like an eternity in the backseat of the car to Stiles. Maybe it's because so much has happened, or the adrenaline hasn't quite left his system yet. Honestly he just wants to be—
"We'll be at your house in a minute, Stiles."
He nearly jumps at the sound of Natalie's voice from the front of the car, and her words throw him through a loop. His house? He glances out the side window, and sure enough she's right, his house is just around the next bend. Was she going to just ditch him at his home since Lydia was now asleep? How would she even pull that off? He's pretty sure Lydia would notice if there was a warm body next to hers one minute and not the next.
Stiles is about to tell Lydia's mother that if this is her grand scheme of getting rid of him she should try harder, but before he can she's pulling into the driveway and putting the car in park. The confusion must be blatant on Stiles' face, because a shadow of a smile crosses hers.
"I'm not cruel. If you insist on sleeping over, I know you're going to need clothes and a toothbrush at the least." The hesitance in his expression also doesn't past Natalie. She looks at him in the rear-view mirror, "Go ahead. Lydia will be okay for a minute. Promise."
Stiles accepts her answer and starts to untangle himself from Lydia, "Thank you." He whispers, and Natalie nods.
Just as Stiles pulls his arm back and reaches for the door handle Lydia gently grabs his sleeve, now wide awake. "Where are you going?" She mumbles, flicking her sight between him and her mom.
"Hey," Stiles whispers, "your mom drove me to my house so I could run in, get some stuff and check in with my dad. I'm only gonna be gone for a few minutes, okay?" He reaches over and rubs her shoulder with his thumb, and her grip on his sleeve loosens.
"Okay."
He smiles, "Be right back."
With a final reassuring look to Lydia and her mother, Stiles clambers out of the car and heads into his house. After a quick explanation to his father about all that's happened and that he's going over Lydia's for the night, the Sheriff tells Stiles he's proud of him and gives him a bear hug. Stiles then heads upstairs to his room and grabs a spare duffel bag from his closet and starts to fill it up.
He grabs clothes, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, hair gel, hairbrush—basically everything he needed for the night. He tosses his flat backpack on top and then zips the bag up, and takes a pit stop in the bathroom to use the toilet. After making sure his cellphone is still securely in his pocket from all the chaos of the night, he heads back downstairs.
The Sheriff tells him to be safe and to call him in the morning, and Stiles tells his father he loves him before he leaves. Closing the front door with a soft click, Stiles heads back to the car and climbs in. The duffel bag rests at his feet as he pulls his seatbelt on and Natalie waits a second before she pulls out of the driveway.
Lydia's leaning against the glass of the window, and Stiles stares at her for a moment in uneasiness before taking the limp hand that was resting in her lap. He squeezes once, and she squeezes back. The knot in his gut relaxes. Slightly.
Lydia's mom must've turned on the radio while Stiles was in his house, because now there's soft music humming through the speakers, quiet enough so it doesn't overpower but loud enough so it drones out the car's tires on the asphalt. Stiles doesn't recognize the song that's playing, something indie, but he's glad it's not silence anymore. He's kind of sick of silence.
When they get to the Martin household, Natalie shuts off the car and helps Stiles get Lydia into the house. Lydia's heading towards the stairs before Natalie has even locked the front door.
Stiles drops his bag by the door and hurries to keep up with her and help her up the stairs, and he chuckles when she says she doesn't need help. "You don't, but you do, so please just let me help," he answers, and Lydia bites back a stubborn comment and instead accepts his help.
Lydia makes it to her room with Stiles in tow, and then she's gathering things for a shower. He helps her put everything in the adjoining bathroom, a very nice and well-kept bathroom in Stiles' opinion, including grabbing a big fluffy towel from the hall closet when she nearly forgets to grab one herself.
"Call me if you need anything," he says as she stands in the doorway to the bathroom, gripping the knob tensely.
Lydia nods, "I will."
He gives her one last look before she shuts the door and he waits until he hears the water turn on before walking back downstairs to grab his duffel bag.
When he passes by the living room on his way back towards the stairs, however, he stops and feels a heaviness in his heart. Natalie's sitting on the couch by the fireplace with a glass of red wine in one hand and a remote in the other. She's mindlessly flipping through television channels as Stiles approaches the couch from behind, but she doesn't startle when he takes a seat next to her.
She pauses her channel surfing for a moment before resuming. Stiles opens and closes his mouth multiple times, struggling to get any words to actually come out. He feels like a fish out of water, and his hands are fidgety as they fumble stupidly with the strap of his bag resting on the ground in front of him.
Natalie takes a small sip of her wine and settles on one of the many Beacon Hills news channels before setting the remote down on the coffee table in front of her. The television stays muted. "I'm sorry," Stiles says as he nervously picks at a fingernail, "I'm sorry for inviting myself over and—"
"I'm sorry for not listening to you." She interrupts lightly, wiping at her nose. It's only now Stiles sees the box of tissues hidden behind the opened bottle of wine. "I was just so worried about Lydia and I swear only bad things happen when you kids are all together but . . . but I guess that's how it works right? You kids all need to stick together because of all the . . . things . . . that could happen."
Stiles knows she's talking about everything she's seen and the small amount of knowledge she's gathered, and he laughs humorlessly. At least she's somewhat in the know now. Once Lydia's all better, Stiles thinks to himself, they'll have to clue her in on everything else she's yet to learn about the supernatural.
"Well yeah," he mumbles, keeping his stare directed at the television, "the things that have happened have ranged from bad to really bad, but it's always better when we all stick together." He thinks for a second, and then tacks on an afterthought, "Sometimes."
Natalie takes another sip of wine and leans forward to grab another tissue.
"I am so sorry for everything I said to you," she murmurs, "I can't believe I locked my daughter in that nuthouse." Stiles has dropped the strap of his bag by now, and his fingers are drumming and tapping against his knees instead. He can never sit still. Something is always gnawing at him. His hate for Lydia's mother does lessen when he hears her admit she was wrong about Eichen, however.
"You didn't know. You couldn't have possibly known just how completely insane that damn place is."
"You told me and I didn't want to listen and because of that I put Lydia in danger."
Stiles isn't sure what to say. His fingers tremble more. Natalie wipes at one of her eyes. Stiles deems the television the most interesting thing in the room. "It's not your fault, Ms. Martin," he amends, glancing over at her. She meets his eyes over the rim of her glass, "It's not anyone's fault. Except maybe those dumbass doctors in the hospital who thought the best option was sending her to Eichen—"
Natalie raises an eyebrow and Stiles scratches at the back of his neck.
"Sorry." He swallows, and wants to kick himself.
Get yourself together Stilinski, his brain chides.
"What I'm desperately trying, and pathetically failing, to say is everyone's safe—including Lydia—and there's nothing else to worry about." If you excluded the giant werewolf demon running around and murdering people, along with the seemingly unstoppable Dread Doctors. "And I promise, I'll always protect her with my life, at all costs—"
Stiles' rambling is cut off by Natalie pulling him into an appreciative hug. Stiles freezes for a moment before hugging back. Lydia's mom keeps her wine glass at a distance so that she doesn't spill any on him, and his persistent bitterness melts away a little more. He can't hate someone who didn't know what exactly they were doing. Even if it was locking Lydia up in Eichen.
"Thank you for saving my daughter." She states in a low voice, so incredibly sure and certain, and Stiles' heart stutters. Lydia's mother, thanking him of all people. Instead of thanking Scott or the rest of the pack, she's thanking him.
Warmth fills him and a soft smile graces his features. "Y-Yeah," he stammers back, pulling back from the hug and doing his best to keep his voice sturdy, "yeah of course. Always."
And he means those words more than anything else.
After bidding Natalie goodnight, Stiles grabs his duffel and heads upstairs. He enters Lydia's room and drops his bag next to the doorway, making his way over to the closed bathroom door and knocking gently. "Hey Lydia? You okay in there?" The water is still running, and a glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand tells him she's been in there for a good twenty or so minutes.
When she doesn't answer, Stiles taps the door slightly harder, "Lydia?" Flashbacks of Lydia screaming and then disappearing out of a hospital shower so many years ago surface to the front of his mind. Fear seizes him and he turns the knob, finding the door to be unlocked.
He opens it slowly and keeps his eyes shielded with a hand just in case, and is met by a closed shower curtain and the silhouette of Lydia. He lowers his hand and keeps his toes behind the floor line that splits the bedroom carpet into the bathroom's tiled marble, and also makes sure to keep his eyes only on the shadow of her head. Modesty comes first and foremost.
He just had to make sure she was okay or else the apprehension would've suffocated him. She doesn't move at all from what he can tell, and his hands are already fiddling. "Lydia?"
The water shuts off with a loud squeak. "Stiles?"
"Yeah, yeah it's me, I'm sorry I just was freaking out when you didn't answer and I know that you can do something as simple as taking a shower but I was just worried and—and I'm sorry I just needed to make sure you were okay."
She doesn't answer, and then without any warning peeks her head out from around the shower curtain. She keeps herself covered with the curtain, and the sight before her warms her heart in a way. Stiles is standing there with his hands going in and out of his pockets and his whiskey eyes are full of nothing but concern for her. He looks frazzled and exhausted but here he is still standing, and still make sure she's okay even after she's safely tucked away in her home.
It's that part that strikes a chord with her; the part of him that refuses to rest until he's a hundred-and-one percent sure she's okay in every way. She loves him for that.
"It's alright Stiles, I'm fine. I was just . . . trying to wash it all off. The feel of," he meets her eyes and nods like he already knows what she's going to say before she's even done her sentence, "everything and everyone from that horrid place. But I'm okay."
She's not fully okay, no, no she's not yet, but she knows he'll help with that too.
Stiles edges back, running a hand through his messy hair, "Yeah. Yeah. Good. Okay. I'll just—I'll be right out here." He's afraid to let her out of his sight, really, and she sends him a small smile to try and calm his nerves as he exits he bathroom and closes the door behind him.
Lydia sighs and departs the shower, drying herself off and doing her best to avoid looking at herself in the fogged up mirror. When she walks into her bedroom, hairbrush still in hand, Stiles is lounging on the armchair in the corner, watching some old reruns on her new flat screen. He startles when he sees her, and lifts himself up from the chair, grabbing his bag and heading into the bathroom.
He thinks he closes the door all the way but doesn't, and instead it stays slightly ajar. Lydia takes a seat on the edge of her bed and continues to brush out her hair, keeping half an eye on Stiles in the bathroom.
Stiles is angled so she can see his side profile, but more back than chest. She fights against some particularly resolute tangles in her hair as he brushes his teeth and prepares for bed, and by the time she looks over at him again he's about to pull his pants off to get changed. Lydia glances away again, directing her attention to the television for few moments.
Now finished with her hair, and sure enough that it's been long enough for Stiles to have changed into his proper undergarments, Lydia looks back to the bathroom.
Her heart beats a little faster as she watches him tug his shirt over his head and toss it to the floor. She's captivated by the muscles in his back as he reaches for his nightshirt, and can't help but question herself on how she's gone without noticing how broad his shoulders were or the fact that his arms could rival Scott's. Lydia's even able to get a glimpse of his chest as he pulls the shirt over his head, and her cheeks heat up against her wishes.
When Stiles joins Lydia in her bedroom again, all the lights in the room have been shut off and the door closed; Stiles has to use the light from the television to find his way over to the bed and climb in. Lydia's lying down already, and her delicate body is taking up the entire left side of the bed.
He pauses mid-climb, realization dawning on him. He didn't even ask if it was okay to sleep in her bed with her, God, he was such an idiot. The guy's supposed to offer to sleep on the floor or something, and here he is just making himself right at home. Lydia turns her head away from the television to look at Stiles, who's frozen halfway onto the right side of the bed.
Her lips twitch, and if she wasn't so tired she'd laugh at the comical way he was currently poised above her bed. "Stiles," she whispers, tone worn with tiredness, "it's okay. I want you with me." Stiles slowly unfreezes and resumes getting into bed, and as soon as his back hits the mattress, sleep is clawing at his eyelids.
Unconsciously, he lays in the direct middle of the bed, or as far as he can go with Lydia there, because even his brain knows he can't sleep otherwise, and their arms brush as he pulls the blanket over him.
They lay there for a good while, watching TV and letting the soft murmur of voices lull them towards sleep, but even with that Lydia finds she's unable to. Her head still hurts like hell, and she's afraid if she goes to sleep she'll be back in Eichen and locked in a nightmare she can't get out of.
She knows Stiles had dozed off a good hour beforehand, she could tell by the way his breathing had evened out. She also knew he had stayed awake as long as he could, waiting for her to fall asleep first, but his fatigue had won instead.
A squint at her nightstand tells her it's nearing three in the morning, and she knows morning will come around soon. She's so utterly exhausted, and all she wants to do is sleep, but the fear is like a hand wrapped around her throat. The fear is choking her, mauling her, and she can't escape it. Even with Stiles right in bed next to her, warm arm pressing against hers—it's like it's not enough.
He helps, him being here is helping, it's keeping everything at bay, but it's not enough. She needs more. She needs him. Wrestling the next thought in her mind for a good two minutes, a stupid one at that, she finally decides to just do it. "Stiles?"
He doesn't even flinch. Lydia moves closer to him, poking his shoulder. "Stiles."
A low groan escapes him and he mutters something unintelligible before stirring. "I'm up," he mumbles, without opening his eyes. Lydia watches the steady rise and fall of his chest for a few seconds before speaking again.
"I can't sleep."
Stiles mutters something else Lydia doesn't catch, but then he's moving so that he's closer to her, and wraps an arm around her. She gets comfortable against his side and then rests her head on his chest. The fear that was choking her before now slowly starts to dissipate.
She breathes a sigh of relief because now she's not suffocating, now she's safe. She's safe. Even when Stiles is half-asleep, he still knows what she needs . . . and he's always there to give it.
"I'm sorry for waking you up." She says quietly, and Stiles' head gently comes to lay on top her own. Lydia closes her eyes and finds that being embraced like this by him is all she will ever need.
"S'okay," he mumbles, "that's what I'm here for." Her hand is resting near his stomach, and he takes it with his own. He interlaces their fingers and Lydia finds that sleep seems easier to reach. "Get some sleep," he says, "don't worry. I got you. I got you."
As Lydia dozes off in Stiles' arms, she realizes he does. He always has. He always will.
Love's a crazy thing.
Who knew it'd take Lydia this long to figure out that her true love was right here with her all along.