A/N: Hey everyone! I was pleasantly surprised at the response I got to the first part so thank you all sooo much for indulging me :) I hope you enjoy this installment!

Lydia didn't know why she was taking the time to freshen up, but here she was standing under the shower spray. She eyed the cluster of shampoo bottles on the side before grabbing one, popping the cap, and sniffing it. It smelled like Stiles.

She put the bottle down like it was too hot to touch and reached for the familiar bottle beside it. It was the exact same shampoo Lydia used. She wasn't sure why she was surprised. This little world seemed to take pride in being accurate. Well, asides from her relationship with Stiles, anyway. And yet, she couldn't quite bring herself to take the ring off.

She washed up quickly and slipped into a cute white skirt and blue blouse she'd found in the closet, and swiped some mascara and red lipstick on to make herself feel composed.

She surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked professional, cool and collected; just the way she liked it. Except- she frowned. The hickey she'd discovered last night was starkly obvious now against her pale skin and the collar of her shirt wasn't high enough to cover it. She bit her lip and reached for the concealer.

A few minutes later, she found Stiles sitting on the couch in the living room, already dressed in orange plaid over a white shirt. His hair, as usual, stuck up adorably every which way. He didn't look up when she entered, and she noticed his focus on something he held in his hands. A picture frame.

She came up behind him quietly, but he seemed to sense her anyway. "Hey," he said quietly.

She peered over his shoulder and took a look at the picture. It was of them- Lydia and Stiles, standing on a cobbled street. Stiles had lifted Lydia into a hug, pulling her off her feet, and Lydia had her arms wrapped around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He was laughing, and she… she looked incredibly happy. It looked like the perfect life.

Except, Lydia had to remind herself, it didn't happen. She had no memory of this photo ever being taken.

"Scott took this picture," Stiles spoke out of nowhere. "On our four-year anniversary."

"Four years," she echoed.

"Well, going on five now," he replied. "Five years together… some of the happiest years of my life. Of course it turns out they might not even be real," he half-mumbled this last part to himself, but Lydia heard him anyway.

She slid on the couch next to him. "Tell me."

He turned to look at her now, and his expression seemed to be shut off somewhat. "Tell you what?"

She opened her mouth, hesitating. Did she really want to know? Did she really want to open this can of worms? Her mouth decided for her. "Tell me about... us."

He squinted at her in surprise but didn't comment on it. "It was in the middle of college. Malia and I had just broken up– "

"Right," Lydia said. She remembered that all too well and with a little too much satisfaction- and guilt at that because she remembered how sad Stiles had been for a while. In any case, some parts of reality were intact, it seemed.

"Yeah," he said, now staring off into space. "And… a few weeks later, you asked me out. I felt sort of emasculated but, there you go." He paused in the story to wink at her. Lydia felt an absurd pride at her alternate self for taking charge of her own romantic life for once. "We went to some really shitty restaurant, they gave me the wrong order and then I might have spilt a drink on you," he made a face and she tried not to giggle, "but apparently that wasn't enough for you to change your mind about dating me. And after college we moved in together. And a few weeks ago, I proposed," he said softly. "And you said yes." A small smile graced his lips and his eyes crinkled up at the edges at the memory.

Inexplicably, Lydia felt some of that happiness fill herself at just the idea of it. Undeniably, there was some part of her that absolutely sang at the thought of sharing her life with Stiles Stilinski.

And that freaked her out. A lot.

She stood up suddenly, almost knocking Stiles off the couch in the process. "We should really get going," she said loudly, hitching her purse a little higher onto her shoulder. "The pack will probably be waiting."

He got up slowly. "Right." Then he seemed to shake himself out of it, and he squared his broad shoulders. "Right. Let's go."

Half an hour later, Stiles' Jeep pulled into the driveway of a cute-looking two story house, complete with green grass and a white picket fence. She raised her eyebrows at the sight. A little too cliché for her own tastes, but… "Who's house is this?"

"Scott and Allison's," Stiles replied nonchalantly, getting out of the vehicle and walking over to her side to open the door. "Lydia?" he said uncertainly when she didn't move.

In fact, she felt sort of frozen in place. Every thought in her head seemed to have evaporated at the mention of that name.

"Lyds?" he said again, reaching out to touch her arm.

"Allison is here?" she finally got out.

His brow furrowed. "Yeah, of course she is, she lives here… with Scott, they're married and everything, it sort of makes sense…" His voice was laden with teasing sarcasm, "why?"

She opened her mouth to explain but instead what came out was, "I..." she swallowed thickly, "I don't remember them being married."

His eyebrows raised and he grinned lopsidedly at her. "First me and you, now Scott and Allison. So you dream about people getting together that aren't actually together. Didn't know you were such a romantic at heart, Lyds."

She attempted a smile as he took her hand and helped her out of the Jeep. She felt sort of numb as she trailed behind him to the front steps, only dimly aware as he rang the doorbell and turned to her, saying, "I didn't tell them all of it, but I told them to expect you not to remember a lot of stuff from the past couple of years."

She just nodded. She heard muffled sounds behind the door, various voices she recognized shouting at each other- "Can you get it?" "Isaac get it!" "Isaac's been in the bathroom for the past half hour!" "What the hell Isaac!" "It's not my fault you have so many magazines in here!" "Shut up guys, she's got it!"- Stiles snorted behind her; and footsteps approached the door. It swung open. And there she was.

A beautiful woman with wavy dark hair reaching just past her shoulders, and a dimpled smile that no one could resist. She was older than Lydia had ever seen her, taller and cheekbones more prominent, but there was no doubt.

This can't be a dream, Lydia realized. Because if it was, Allison would have appeared to her exactly as Lydia remembered. She never would have been able to imagine Allison as a grown woman.

This was a discovery that meant many things, but only one thing that mattered right now:

Allison was alive, here, real.

Lydia couldn't control herself- she let out a half-sob, clapping one hand over her mouth, and rushed into her best friend's startled arms.

"Allison," was all she could manage, voice breaking somewhere in between.

Allison stood stock-still for a moment before letting out a little laugh. "Hello to you too, Lydia?"

Lydia didn't mind the teasing tone. She didn't mind anything Allison said right now, as long as Allison continued to be alive and well in front of her.

She stood there as long as it felt acceptable to do so, arms wrapped tight around Allison, and then took a deep breath and stepped away.

Allison's eyebrows looked about ready to shoot off into outer space. "Stiles told us you were having memory problems, but… honestly, are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost."

Lydia felt tears at the corners of her eyes but willed them away. "Something like that," she said finally, grimacing at the irony. "Look, I have to talk to you all."

"Yeah, of course, everyone's waiting in the living room," Allison said dismissively, waving in the general direction with one hand. A hand, Lydia noticed, adorned with a wedding ring.

"Except Isaac," said a voice behind her in the hallway, and none other than Scott McCall stepped beside her and kissed her on the cheek. Lydia's eyes strayed down to Scott's hand, and sure enough, a wedding band was on his ring finger.

Allison scrunched her nose up in that adorable way of hers and grinned at her- husband? Maybe Lydia was right and this was just a fantasy in her own head. "We can start without Isaac," she said in a playful, dismissive tone.

"Hell yeah," Scott muttered self-righteously, leaning in for a short kiss.

"She dated Isaac for like two months, six years ago, it's time to let go of the grudge," Stiles said loudly to his best friend, and then leaned closer to Lydia to stage-whisper. "They've been married two years and they're still into regular PDA. Sickening, isn't it?"

Scott pulled away to raise an eyebrow at his best friend. "You and Lydia are way worse." (Stiles scoffed.) Scott grinned at Lydia. "Hey Lyds."

"Hey," she managed to squeak.

As the happy couple led her and Stiles to the living room, she whispered to him: "Two years?"

"They married right out of college," he explained, doing that thing where he put his hand on her back to guide her, an action that always made the room feel a few degrees warmer. "They were on-again, off-again through high school, do you remember that?"

She swallowed. "Sort of." Allison dying put a damper on things, she found herself morbidly thinking, but before her brain could go further they entered the room. Familiar faces filled Lydia's vision.

Kira, Malia, Liam, Cora Hale, Isaac (walking in behind them), and Deaton lounged on black couches.

There were raucous calls of greeting and Lydia murmured a hello, casting a beseeching look at Stiles.

He got the hint. "We've got some stuff to tell you guys."

The group didn't take it too well.

"She thinks we're a dream?" Cora scoffed.

No, not really, Lydia wanted to say, but didn't because then she would have to explain things about Allison Argent that no one wanted to hear. So for the time being she kept her mouth shut.

"I don't know about you guys, but I feel pretty real to me," Isaac commented, examining his own hands.

"How do we know there's not something wrong with her?" Liam asked cautiously.

"There's not," Stiles snapped, stiffening.

"I don't know, Stiles. She doesn't remember random things, and she is acting strange," Malia shrugged.

"How do we know we don't have another Nogitsune on our hands?" Cora stood up, jabbing her finger into Stiles' chest. "What if she's literally waiting around to kill us and you're letting your feelings get in the way?"

Stiles eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at Cora's cutting tone.

And then his eyes glowed. Red.

Lydia was sure her jaw literally dropped.

He glared, hard, at Cora, and when he spoke his voice was something more of a growl than human. "You're out of line," he ground out.

"Cora, just sit down and we can talk about this," Scott called out from the corner of the room, but Cora had already stepped back a step. Stiles glanced back behind him to shoot what he must have thought would be a reassuring glance at Lydia, but his glowing red eyes had her rooted in place.

She must have made some sort of sound, because suddenly everyone was looking at her.

"Lydia?" Stiles asked with concern, voice now back to his normal, raspy tone. His eyes faded back to their warm honey brown.

And yet, she still couldn't respond.

Stiles was a werewolf. An alpha werewolf.

And that definitely wasn't something that had a place in any fantasy of Lydia Martin's.

Lydia was dimly aware of the chorus of voices saying her name but a high-pitched sound seemed to be ringing through her ears even louder.

"Lydia?"

"Lyds, snap out of it!"

"Oh, she's in a fugue state now?"

One voice cut through the rest. "Lydia, listen to my voice. You're okay," said the gentle voice of Allison Argent.

She blinked several times and refocused on where she was- slumped on the couch, everyone peering at her from where they were standing. Except Stiles, who sat beside her and was stroking her hair away from her face.

"You okay?" he asked worriedly. "You zoned out there for a sec-"

"You're a werewolf?" she blurted.

There was a small silence. Then, confused: "Um, yeah? It's kind of been a significant part of my identity for the last several years?" He raised his eyebrows. "Ring a bell?"

Lydia was getting a bad feeling about this. She looked at Scott, who was hovering nearby with his mother-hen look. "Are you?"

"What?" Scott asked, exchanging a glance with Allison.

"Are you a werewolf?" Lydia repeated in a slightly hysterical voice.

"No," Scott said with absolute certainty, looking puzzled.

"Lyds, you okay? Your heart's beating about a million miles a minute right now," Stiles said with concern, touching her elbow.

She jerked her arm away from him and he recoiled instantly. "Stop listening to my heartbeat!" she nearly shrieked. It was a little too much to process. Allison alive. Scott a human. Stiles a werewolf.

Stiles- he looked like Stiles, acted like Stiles, was Stiles without a doubt- but he wasn't her Stiles.

Where the hell was she?

Her vision was starting to grow hazy from panic.

"Oh, no," she heard Scott say. "I think she's having a panic attack!"

"Breathe, Lydia, breathe," a female voice soothed. Kira?

"What's happening?" Isaac yelled.

Deaton's voice cut through the rest, his tone reassuring. "This is too much to process for her right now, everyone quiet down."

"Too much to process?" Malia said incredulously. "She already knows this stuff! She's been around us since the very start!"

"I'm not so sure this is the girl who was," Deaton said vaguely.

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Too. Much. Noise.

At least, until she felt herself being lifted up off from the couch, bridal-style, and the noise of the living room faded from distance. "Lydia," Stiles said. "Lydia. Breathe." His raspy voice was calm and soothing. "Come on. Hold your breath, remember? You're okay. We'll figure this out. You're okay. Breathe, can you do that for me?"

Her chest heaved and she struggled to do what he was begging her to do.

"That's right," he cooed. "Focus on my voice. You got it."

And gradually, gradually, her breathing slowed and she opened her eyes. She was lying on a bed in a cozy room, and sitting next to her on the pillows was Stiles, gazing at her with concern.

He didn't say anything, just took her hand gently in his, intertwined their fingers, and waited.

She stared at their joined hands for a long while- trying not to examine how safe and warm that hand felt joined with hers- and was still staring at it when she quietly spoke, voice feeling hoarse: "You're all real."

His eyebrows furrowed. "When did you come to that conclusion?"

Lydia shook her head dismissively, not bothered to explain. "It just became obvious," she replied quietly. "The only question is, if this is real, then…"

"Why can't you remember it," Stiles finished, but she shook her head vehemently.

"No, that's not it. I remember our lives, Stiles. Just a different version of it."

Knowing Stiles would never think she was crazy removed her filter, and that was proven when he nodded sagely like that made sense and waited for her to elaborate.

Just then the door opened and Stiles finally tore his gaze away from her to look. Scott, Allison and Deaton stood in the doorway.

"You okay now?" Allison asked, leaning against the frame. Lydia nodded mutely.

"Lydia says we're real now," Stiles joked to the three of them, but then instantly grew serious. "But she remembers a totally different version of our lives."

Lydia decided to continue. "In my version of events Stiles is the human and Scott's the alpha."

There were raised eyebrows all around. She supposed that must sound as absurd to them as Stiles being a werewolf sounded to her.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Allison elbowed Scott. "You, a werewolf," she teased.

"It'd be hot and you know it," he grinned at her, nudging his nose against her cheek. God, they were so adorable Lydia wanted to throw up. And cry.

To his credit, Stiles had barely batted an eyelid at the news. "And Allison?" Stiles asked, one eyebrow raising. She closed her eyes, he knew her so well; he had known that something was off.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, considering several very plausible lies in her head.

But in the end, the truth felt unavoidable.

Allison, Scott, Stiles… together with Lydia, they'd been through hell together. And they deserved at least the truth.

She could barely look at Scott and Allison in the doorway, and Stiles next to her. Instead she chose to focus on Deaton, the constant blank-faced Deaton, when she said her next words.

"Allison's dead."

A/N: Writing Scallison reminds me of how freaking cute those two are.. Gaah now I'm having scallison feels. Anyway, you might be confused, but things will be explained in the next chapter and setting up for the rest of the story. Things are not all as they seem ;) If you liked this chapter or have pointers, I would love if you left a comment. In any case, thanks for continuing reading!