"Lydia! Lydia! Open the door!" Stiles screamed, slamming his fists against the door.
"I'm sorry." She said, softly.
He could hear the slow ticking of the timer through the door. Counting down. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Jerking awake, Stiles looked at the clock. 3 a.m., shaking his head, he tried to get the images of her out of his head. It had been six months, and he still couldn't sleep through the night without reliving the nightmare of that day. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm down. But that night just played out on the back of his eyelids.
It was always the same dream. Him slamming his fists against the door of the Hale vault, screaming her name. She had gone in to the vault to leave the bomb left in the school. The door wasn't supposed to close behind her. She should have made the drop and came right back out. But the door closed as soon as she was through it, he tried, but he couldn't hold the door, it was too heavy. He had caught her eyes right before the door closed.
"Stiles!" She said, eyes wide with fear.
"Lydia! No!" Stiles screamed, trying to hold the door.
Putting the bomb on the floor, she turned back around, "Stiles." She whispered, tears filling her eyes.
He had moved out of the door's way, and was looking at her. His eyes begging her to move, still attempting to hold the door still. To somehow get her back before it was too late. The look she gave him. Broke him. Because she knew, she knew she wouldn't make it back in time before the door closed on her. At that moment, the door slide closed. Separating Stiles from Lydia. He tried in vain to get the door open. It wouldn't move. He began slamming against the door. Calling her name. Begging her to somehow get the door open.
He could hear the timer, counting down the time she had left. He only barely heard her last words to him; "I'm sorry".
Still beating against the door, he felt the building shake around him. But he only heard screaming in his ears. Sliding down the door, he hit his knees, tears falling.
He usually woke up right before the screaming. Other times, he didn't. Tonight, he was lucky, he didn't have to relive the rest of that nightmare. Shaking his head, he got out of bed and walked downstairs. Putting on a pot of coffee, he turned the TV on, trying to drown the sound of the explosion from his head. It didn't work, it never did. Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned to see his dad.
"Couldn't sleep again?" He asked.
"No. Same thing." Stiles told him, moving to get a cup of the now finished coffee.
"You need to go to the doctor, Stiles. You're having this dream every night. You need to sleep, son." John told his son.
"Maybe." He told his father, drinking his coffee.
Nodding, the Sheriff turned back and headed back upstairs. Stiles rinsed his now finished coffee mug and set it in the sink, following his father back upstairs. Walking back into his room, he laid back on his bed, praying that he could get another hour of sleep before school. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, he slowly fell asleep. It wasn't the nightmare he had earlier in the night, it was every memory he had of her. They all played like a movie for only him to see.
Stiles woke up a few hours later to the alarm on his phone. Quickly getting dressed, he grabbed his bookbag and went downstairs. His dad already in front of the sink, handed him another cup of coffee, "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked.
"Not really. It was the same dream again." Stiles said quietly.
"I figured that." He said. "It seems to be getting better. You didn't wake me up screaming. Something must be getting easier."
Looking up from his coffee, Stiles stared at his father.
"Yeah, maybe. I've gotta go. I'm going to be late for class" Setting his mug in the sink, Stiles walked out of the house to his Jeep. Leaving the house, he went down the same road he always did, the one that lead to Beacon Hills High. It killed him to have to go back to the same place where she died every day. He struggled to walk through those doors and go to class like he always had, and try not to think of what happened just beneath the floors in the Hale vault. Pulling into his empty space in the parking lot he looked over to the empty spot a few rows down. Lydia's spot. It stayed that way since that night. No one would park there even if they gave the spot to another student. For the first month, it was covered in flowers, stuffed animals, cards, photos, candles. Anything that reminded them of her. Now, it just stayed empty. All the stuff was boxed up and taken off. The other students began to forget her. By now, she was just a sad memory. But to Stiles, to everyone in the Pack, she left a gaping hole that nothing could fill. Looking away from the empty space, he shook his head again, pulling his thoughts back to the present. Grabbing his bookbag and phone he headed into the school.
Walking into the school, he made his way to his classes. He barely heard anything in most of them. Sitting in silence he waited for the day to be over. All he wanted during this part of his day was to just go home. It was too painful. She had been in almost every class he had. He couldn't accept the fact that she wasn't there anymore. Leaning forward on the desk, he stared at the board, not hearing what the teacher was saying.
"Mr. Stilinski?" the teacher asked.
"What?" He asked, sitting back up and focusing back in on the class.
"How about you?" he replied, gesturing to the question on the board.
"Maybe. Maybe someone else could?" Stiles said, leaning back in the seat. He felt like everyone's eyes were on him at that moment.
"Participation is required for part of the grade in this class." The teacher whispered, holding out the chalk.
Wrapping his hand around the chalk, he looked up. The teacher just looked at him, with a look of pity. Something he was all too familiar seeing when people looked at him these days. Sighing, he stood up and walked to the board. Looking behind him, he looked around the class. Looking over at her chair, he did a doubletake. He way the light hit, he swore, he could see her. He could see Lydia Martin sitting at her desk, texting through class. When he looked back, there wasn't anything there. Just a trick of the light he told himself. Turning back around, he stared at the equation on the board. Quickly filling in the problem, Stiles turned and sat back down. Trying to hide in his chair.
"Nice job, Stiles." His teacher said, nodding at him. He gave a stiff nod and slid lower in his chair. The rest of the class passed by in a blur. When the bell rang he jumped up and was the first out of the door. He bypassed his locker and went straight to his Jeep. Moving to unlock the door he stopped. It was blocked. Scott was leaning against it. For a minute, they stood in silence staring at each other. It was Stiles that spoke first.
"Move Scott." He said.
"No. We need to talk." Scott told him.
"I don't want to talk, Scott. I want to go home."
"First. We talk." Scott said, grabbing the keys out of Stiles' hand. "Get in."
Sighing, Stiles climbed into the passenger side of the Jeep. "Be nice to this thing."
Stiles spent the entire ride staring out the window. He hadn't talked to Scott much since that day. He hardly talked to anyone. He didn't see the point. He had lost all the will to be around anyone when she died. Looking out of the passenger window, he zoned out. Leaning against the window, he watched the trees pass until he fell asleep. He dreamed of her. He dreamed of her smile, feeling her hand in his. He dreamed she was back, until his dream changed. He was back in the hallway beneath the school, fists slamming against the door.
"Stiles!" A voiced screamed.
"Stiles!" It came again, something shaking his shoulder forcefully.
Jumping, Stiles woke up in the Jeep, Scott leaning over him with his hand on his shoulder.
"What?! What happened?" He asked, sitting up.
"You were screaming in your sleep." Scott replied.
"Great. What was a screaming about this time?" He asked.
Scott looked at him, confused. "You were screaming Lydia's name. Has this happened before? You don't seem surprised."
"I'm fine." He told him.
"That's not what I asked." Scott said quietly.
"I'm fine. Leave it alone." Stiles warned, fire in his eyes.
"Get out. We're here." Scott glared, getting out of the Jeep. "We aren't done with this."
Rolling his eyes, Stiles got out and walked around to the front of the Jeep. Looking around, he figured out where they were. The Hale property. Leaning his back against the front of the Jeep, he waited. Looking around, he saw where the Hale house used to be. It was just an empty plot of land now. There were almost no signs that a house used to be there, other than the small amount of grass that grew there. In the middle of it, was Scott. Staring at his back, Stiles waited. Wondering what he was waiting for. A few minutes later, he saw flashes of movement. Moving out of the trees was Allison and Derek. They walked over to where Scott was standing and stopped.
"What is this Scott?" Stiles called out.
Scott didn't say anything, just looked over at Derek with his eyebrows raised. Derek looked over Scott's shoulder and nodded. Turning to look where Derek had motioned, Stiles saw more movement, a flash of strawberry-blonde hair and pale skin. Blinking hard he looked again. Nothing was there. Hearing leaves crunch, he looked back. Deaton was walking over to join Scott.
"Great. So, this is an intervention." Stiles said.
"You're right. This is an intervention." Scott told him.
"Because you have ignored everyone for six months! Because anytime any of us try to help you, you don't want it! Because you were just screaming Lydia's name on the way over here and you still say that you're fine!" He yelled, walking towards him, his eyes flashing red.
Stiles didn't say a word. He looked over Scott's shoulder at the others standing behind him. He didn't see any sign of pity on the faces. It was a change from the people at school. But it still pissed him off. It pissed him off that they weren't going through what he did every day.
"So, that's what this is about? You're mad because I don't want your help?" Stiles sneered, walking over to where Scott was standing.
"I don't need your help, Scott! And my nightmares, are exactly that! MY nightmares. Not yours. Not Allison's or Derek's. Not even Deaton's. I'm fine without your so-called 'help'!" He yelled. "And as for ignoring you, all you do is remind me that she isn't here anymore."
"You don't dream about her. Every. Single. Night. You don't relive that nightmare. None of you do!" He yelled, eyes stinging with tears.
"Stiles." Allison said, walking forward. "This isn't just your loss!"
Stiles slowly turned to face her. "You. Weren't. There!" He screamed. "You didn't try to hold the door back from closing. You didn't try and find a way to get back into that vault!"
"You weren't there when that bomb when off! You weren't there when she DIED!" Stiles screamed, the tears running down his cheeks.
Allison stumbled back, as if she'd been slapped. She fell against Derek, who reached out steading her. Stiles walked back to the Jeep and fell to the ground, leaning against the front tire. Rubbing his hands over his face and back through his hair, he stared at the ground. Derek moved over to where Stiles was sitting. He waited a moment and sat next to him.
"She didn't deserve that. None of them do." Derek said. "You can't take everything out on them since she's gone."
"What would you know about it?" Stiles said glumly. "She died and no one was with her. No one was there to help her. I couldn't help her."
Looking at Stiles, Derek raised his eyebrow at him.
"What would I know about it? Do you remember how Paige died? In my arms. I know exactly how hard this is for you" He growled. "And you were with her. You may not have been right beside her, but she knew you were there."
"I couldn't save her!" He said angrily. "I was right there, and there was nothing I could do."
"What would you have changed, Stiles? Would you rather have been in there instead? Would you have rather gotten trapped with her?" Derek challenged. "We both know that she knew exactly what was going to happen. It's why she went with you. She knew it would have been you if you walked into that vault."
"He's not wrong." Deaton said. No one had heard him walk over.
"Lydia knew exactly what she was doing that night. The power of a Banshee. She knew that it would be you if she didn't walk through that door first. You can't blame yourself anymore." He said, laying a hand on Stiles' shoulder.
"It doesn't matter now, does it? She's gone. There's no getting her back." Stiles whispered.
"No, there's no getting her back. But you still have Scott, you still have the pack." Derek told him. "Just because one person is gone, doesn't mean that you cut out the rest."
"It makes it harder. Seeing them and not seeing her. It makes it so much harder." He said.
"It will get easier. With time." Deaton said. "Until then, make an effort. They are only trying to help. They may not have loved her the way you did, but they still loved her."
Nodding, Stiles stood up and leaned against the door of the Jeep.
Walking back over to Scott, Derek whispered something and took off with Deaton in tow. Allison and Scott moved to where Stiles was standing and handed him the keys. No one said a word, they just loaded into the Jeep and headed to take Allison home. The whole drive was quiet. No one wanted to talk about what had happened. Pulling up to the door, Scott let Allison out of the car and got back in, shutting the door.
"Allison!" Stiles yelled out the window.
Turning around she stopped to look back.
"I'm sorry. About earlier. I'm- Just-. Sorry." He said.
"Thanks." She said with a sad smile. "We all miss her." Turning back around she disappeared into the house.
"We still need to talk." Scott said.
"There's nothing to talk about." He replied. Pulling out of the drive and heading to Scott's.
"Stop acting like everything is fine! You were screaming in your sleep earlier and even that didn't wake you up!" He said, annoyed.
"It's called a nightmare, Scott. Leave it alone." Stiles warned.
"You're having them every night?" Scott asked, ignoring him.
He sighed, letting go of the wheel with one hand and rubbing his eyes. "Yeah. Every time I close my eyes."
"Why didn't you tell me?" He questioned.
"I didn't tell anyone. Dad only found out because my screaming woke him up one night." Stiles told him.
"I can see how that would wake him up. Derek said he could hear you from where they were walking in the woods." Scott told him.
"So, that's what that was about." He said, tiredly.
Scott nodded. Stiles turned the Jeep into Scott's driveway and put it in park. He made no move to get out. After a few minutes, he put his hand on the door handle and stopped.
"You aren't alone in this." He said, repeating Allison's statement from earlier. "We are here for you. You may have been in love with her, but we all loved her."
Opening the door and getting out, he turned to face him before closing the door.
"Call if you need anything." He said, closing the door and walking up the steps.
Stiles backed out of the drive and drove as fast as his mom's old Jeep could go. He went right past his house. Instead, he drove to the cemetery. He hadn't been since they buried her. He couldn't bring himself to go back. This night was different he felt drawn there. The cemetery was on the outskirts of town. Hidden away from those in the town. As though they didn't want to be bothered to see the reminders of their dead. Pulling into the cemetery, he found the row he was looking for and parked. Getting out of the car, he walked around and stared up at the large concrete priest standing guard at the end of the row. He laid his hand on the base of the statue and looked out at the row. The sun was setting behind the trees casting an eerie glow on the stones ahead of him. Moving between the rows, he made his way to where she lay.
He found her headstone easily. It only took being there once for it to be burned in his mind. He stood at the foot of her grave for a moment staring at the words on the stone.
Lydia Martin
March 8, 1994 – February 17, 2014
Daughter, Friend, Banshee, Philologus
Beneath the words was a picture of the tree she drew in class. His eyes began to burn and his chest got tight. He walked forward and put a hand on the stone and collapsed in front of it. Blinking hard the tears spilled over and down his cheeks. Looking back at the words in front of him, he ran his fingers over the word, 'Banshee'. It was as if someone casually tossed it into the mix and it wasn't noticed. Closing his eyes tight he could almost hear her scream. The cry of the banshee, forewarning someone's death. He choked back a small laugh. It was right here for the entire town to see and yet no one noticed. No one saw the conveniently placed words that described Lydia Martin for what she truly was. It was true. She was a daughter and a friend. But no one knew that she was a philologus or a scholar. She didn't show that part of herself to many people. But he knew, he had always known. And then, there was that other word. Banshee. The one word that marked her as different. As not being human. And not one person questioned it at her funeral. That was one thing he learned that day. No one questions much about the dead.
Turning around, he leaned against her headstone, leaning his head back against it. Digging his hands into the ground beside him he stared up at the sky.
"Lydia, I can't do this without you." He whispered into the air.
"I wish there was some way, something I could do to go back to that day and change it." He choked out.
"I never should have let you go into the vault alone. I shouldn't have let you go in at all." The tears were freely flowing by now and he didn't bother to brush them away.
"I'm sorry, Lydia. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. That I let you down. I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you." He said, bringing his hands up to wipe away the tears. Stiles stayed leaning against the headstone. Now silent. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes against the setting sun and without meaning to, fell asleep.
A while later, he jerked himself awake. It was the first time that he had been asleep that he didn't dream about that night. He hadn't dreamt at all. Checking his phone for the time, he jumped to his feet. Midnight. Taking one last long look at the headstone, Stiles ran to the Jeep and booked it back home. He hadn't stayed out this late since before she had died. Meaning, his dad was going to pick his brain over where he was. The joy of having a sheriff as a dad. Parking the Jeep, he grabbed his bag and headed inside. A note was taped to the fridge: Got called into work. Pizza is in the fridge. See you when I get home. -Dad P.S. Don't eat all the pizza! Opening the fridge, he found the box and grabbed two slices out, eating them cold as he went upstairs. For the first time in a long time, he actually felt tired but not from lack of sleep. It was a different tired. Like, he could crawl into bed and be out in minutes and sleep through the night. Taking advantage of the change, he showered and went to bed. Hoping for at least one night without the nightmare. Without waking up drenched in sweat in the dark. Just. One. Night. Grabbing his phone, he set an alarm for the next morning and set it back on the nightstand. Rolling over, he pulled the blankets over his shoulder and stared into the dark. After a few minutes, his eyes drifted shut and he was asleep.