Stiles couldn't breathe. Malia's words hit him like a punch to the gut. Without thinking, he bolted for the mouth of the tunnels, determined to get to Lydia. She couldn't be dead. She wasn't dead. If he just got to her, she'd be okay. He just had to get to her. But, before he made it to the entrance to the caves, Scott had locked his arms around him in a vice-like grip, stopping him in his tracks.

"Let me go, Scott! Scott, Lydia's in there, we can't leave her, she's in there and we can't leave her. She can't die, Scott." His voice was strained and cracking. He struggled as hard as he could against Scott's arms.

"Stiles…Stiles, Malia said she's gone. She's gone…We have to get out of here…" Scott's voice was thick with tears. He had already given up. Stiles didn't give up though. Not ever. Not with Lydia. He kicked, he clawed at Scott's arms until they both fell in a heap.

"I have to get…to her…Scott. Scott, I can't leave her. We can't lose her. Not her too. Not after Allison. Scott, please." Tears were forming in his eyes and trailing down his cheeks, mingling with the dirt and sand on his face. As the weight of realization settled on Stiles, his chest began to feel tight. It was as though his throat were closing. There wasn't enough air in the desert. There wasn't enough air in the fucking world. Spots appeared in his vision and he began to gasp for oxygen, spiraling into a powerful panic attack. He couldn't breathe. He was going to suffocate from the weight of Malia's words. Everything slowed down, the world was spinning in slow motion. Then, as though his body were attempting to spare him the pain of his breaking heart, he fell limp in Scott's arms. His eyes were open, staring blankly ahead, but it was as though he were unconscious. Scott heaved him up, fighting his own tears and half carried him to the jeep. It was the longest drive that Scott had ever experienced, and Stiles was quieter than Scott had ever known him to be.

Stiles kept his promise to Lydia. If you die, I will literally go out of my freaking mind. For the first few days, Stiles didn't eat. He refused to go with Scott to the police station to report Lydia's death. When Malia came to visit him he pretended to be asleep, his door locked while he buried himself in the covers of his bed as though he could entirely disappear within them.

Lydia's death was the final straw. They had all been through so much. But, Stiles in particular had gone through more than anyone thought possible. He had been possessed by the Nogitsune, Allison had died and he still felt responsible, and now Lydia…Lydia. He couldn't take it anymore. The only person he spoke to with more than a few mumbled words was his father. Scott came to visit him regularly, trying to get him to show interest in something, but weeks passed and still Stiles mourned.

The more time passed, the worse it became. It's always worse before it gets better. He had heard his father utter these words as they held each other months after his mother's death. His father's breath had reeked of alcohol. Stiles began to eat and talk again, but he still looked thinner, paler, and he laughed less. The twinkle in his eye had disappeared, leaving his amber eyes a dark, hollow brown. He and Malia no longer had sex. He couldn't bare the physical contact. They barely even talked and she could feel him slipping farther into himself despite his attempts at returning to normal. Malia's stomach churned with guilt. She couldn't bear to see him this way. His grief was consuming and threated to pull both of them down into its depths.

Malia laid awake every night, her stomach aching as she wondered what had happened…what if Lydia had survived? Where was she? Had the Calavaras captured her? Or had they left her petite, fragile body lying in those tunnels, alone and forgotten? The thought made tears spring into her eyes and she would bury her face in her pillow and cry silently, so she wouldn't wake Stiles.

It was killing her: the not knowing. She didn't know rather Lydia was dead or not. She wanted to tell Stiles and Scott…she wanted to end their suffering, but she also didn't want to give them false hope. A couple months after their fatal trip to the desert, Malia snuck out of bed and ran all the way to the caves where she had left Lydia behind. It was a long run that took most of the night, and when she arrived there was nothing there to ease her guilt, to quell her sadness. The tunnels were empty, there was nothing of Lydia left there. For this, she was glad. If she had found Lydia's body lying where she had left it…she didn't think she could have handled that. The run home seemed to take even longer than the run there. She didn't get back until mid-morning. When Stiles asked her where she had been she added another lie to the pile.

"I was visiting my mother and sister's graves." Another secret that she had to keep…

Two more months passed. Malia cried as Stiles mumbled Lydia's name in his sleep. He seemed to finally be feeling happier again though. 4 months had gone by since Malia had left Lydia. Stiles was laughing again. He was more himself, and he ate more. But, the words that floated from his mouth in the night told a different story. He would toss and turn and mumble… Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.

Malia hated herself for lying to Stiles, to Scott. And she hated herself for leaving Lydia behind. She should have taken her. Lydia had been weak. She couldn't have stopped Malia from taking her out of the caves…She felt as though she would never rid herself of the what-ifs that ate at her all night. During the day, she would stay busy, she would be a relatively normal young girl, but at night, she would experience her own nightmares.

She and Stiles began to have sex again. It felt different though. It was slow and halting and Malia felt Stiles' tears against her shoulder as he pushed against her. Her teeth lightly grazed his shoulder, her own tears falling down her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked her, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead tenderly.

"I'm fine. Are you okay?" She whispered to him in the dark.

"Yeah. Of course I am. I'm always okay." But, his voice sounded unsure, uneasy. They settled down and snuggled against each other, Malia wrapping her arms around him tightly as though she could absorb all the hurt boiling beneath his skin.

6 months had passed. Stiles finally started getting his hair cut regularly again. He cleared out his room, put away Lydia's drawing of the nemeton, and hung up pictures of his friends. Pictures of her and Scott, of his mother, his father, Allison…but, there were no pictures of Lydia on his walls. He moved his furniture and reorganized his closet. Malia smiled at him as he pulled a flannel shirt from the pile of clothes he was going through. Her smile faltered as she saw him hesitate. He stared down at the shirt, his nostrils flaring as he visibly tried to control his breathing. It was the blue plaid shirt he had worn into the desert that day, months ago, when his life had been forever altered. He wadded it up and shoved it deep into a bag with the other clothes he was donating.

Malia could see that Stiles was trying desperately to return to normal life. But, it's impossible when you've lost such a large portion of your life. First Allison and now Lydia. Two major blows in only a handful of months. He was as normal as he could be though. He did everything that he had done before. Only he did it slower now. He was less spastic and energetic. But, he was still Stiles. Even if he was a mere echo of his former self…

Stiles regularly visited Lydia's empty grave. There had been no body, but there was still a tombstone erected in her honor. Malia never went with him. It became easier each time he went. His chest still ached, but considerably less and he no longer felt the beginnings of a panic attack when he crouched to run his long fingers over the smooth letters of her name, etched into the stone.

8 months had passed. It was a stunning morning, the light of the sun just barely touching the tops of the trees. Stiles had set out early, before school to visit Lydia's grave. He knelt before it, laying out some flowers he had picked up. He smiled at the other flowers laying on the stone, from Scott and Mrs. Martin. He brushed his hand over the letters of her name, closing his eyes and picturing her as clearly as he could in his mind.

"I miss you so much, Lydia. Why'd you have to start being nice to me and spending time with me? Huh? What'd you go and do that for? You become my friend and then you die one me. Nice one." Stiles said aloud to himself. He let out a short, soft laugh. "I know if you were here, you'd probably just tell me to stop being such a sap, but hey…you know me. It's hard for me to skip the sappiness with you." He grinned and stood up, staring down, thinking. They had lost so many people in the last year. Their lives had been turned upside down and it felt as though their world was always on the brink of total destruction, as though the world would tilt even further, wobble, and fall off its axis to plummet into the darkness of space. Stiles often found himself feeling much the same way. He was always wobbling, these days, always struggling to find something concrete enough to hold on to.

Scott was an immense help to him. Just as Stiles had looked out for Scott in the months after Allison's death, Scott looked after Stiles. He and Scott didn't discuss what had happened until Stiles felt he could form coherent words on the matter. "Scott, how did you do it?" Stiles asked Scott, looking at his best friend, his brother. "How the hell did you get through it?"

"I don't know. I mean, in some ways, I'm still not through it. But, I know that Allison would have wanted me to keep going. She died so that we could keep living. I would never want to dishonor her by giving up on something she gave her life for. I love her. I'm always going to love her. Just like you're always going to love Lydia." He gave Stiles a knowing look and clapped him on the back. "We'll get through this, Stiles. You're going to get through this."

"It's my fault. I should have made sure that she was safe…" Stiles muttered. "No matter how much time passes, I can't get rid of that feeling. I didn't get to apologize, I didn't get to say goodbye, I didn't get to tell her…Scott, I never got to tell her…" He loved her. The unspoken words that she would never hear hung in the air as Stiles fought back tears. He was so tired of feeling like a little kid.

"Stiles. It isn't your fault, man. You can't blame yourself. We all should have been more careful. We should have done things differently. We never should have gotten ourselves into that position anyways. I should have protected my pack better." Scott said, his eyes dropping to the ground.

"Scott…" Stiles said, his brows furrowing. "You did what you thought was best. You're a good alpha. Lydia knew that. I know that. It's not your fault either. Everything just sucks."

"I second that. It just sucks."

Stiles wiped at the tears that had escaped him. Without warning, Scott pulled him into a tight hug. It was the kind of hug that relieved aches Stiles didn't know he was harboring. He clung to Scott, his face screwed up as he struggled not to cry anymore. In that moment, he felt incredibly lucky to be a part of his family. His father, Scott, Malia, Kira…they were all his family, blood relation or not. It didn't matter. Your family was the people that you surrounded yourself and the people you loved. It was your pack.

Stiles would get through this. He could get past Lydia Martin. He could get through this darkness.

Malia began to feel as though she could keep this secret awhile longer. Stiles was getting better. She couldn't spoil that. She couldn't tell him the truth, give him false hope, and then watch him fall apart all over again. No. She could harbor this secret a little longer…