Disclaimer: Don't own Teen Wolf. 'Nuff said.
Author's Note: This took way longer than I expected, even though I had half of it written already. Apologies! These first two chapters are basically just set up, and I have a general idea of where I'm going with this so after this chapter, everything else should be a breeze. For me. Not the characters.
X
ties that bind
Dissonance (Part 2)
X
During their spare, Lydia cornered him in the library.
Well, technically not cornered. Not in the way Malia and Derek seemed to favor (and Peter and Cora, for that matter. Maybe it was a Hale thing) by backing him into and or slamming him into walls and attempting to glare the truth out of him.
More like… nonchalantly pulled up a chair across from him.
And waited.
Brows arched, chin resting against her knuckles, green eyes sharp and calculating.
On one hand, Stiles was relieved it was just Lydia and not the entire pack – because that would have felt more like an intervention. On the other hand, it was Lydia, and when Lydia wanted something, Lydia got it. Shoes, boys, answers… and perhaps it was because he'd spent over half his life pathetically pining from afar and putting her on an unrealistic pedestal (which, in hindsight, was unfair to her and kind of creepy and, really, he was lucky she didn't have a restraining order against him) but he could already feel himself cracking under the weight of her stare alone.
"Okay!" He cried, finally caving.
Lydia perked up, eyes glinting triumphantly.
He took a deep breath. "Last night I… had a weird dream. That's all."
Case closed.
It might have worked with anyone else. At least, anyone who wasn't a werewolf. Or his dad. But any hope of Lydia letting it go went out the window when she spoke.
"Weird like how?"
Because of course she wouldn't just take his word at face value. Lydia may have lacked the ability to hear his heartbeat or smell when his "scent" was off but blind or stupid she was not.
"Like… possibly supernatural?" He paused, thinking back to the Nemeton in all its full glory, and then promptly corrected himself. "Scratch that. Definitely supernatural."
Lydia's brow furrowed. "Are you sure?"
He grimaced. "At last ninety-nine point nine percent sure. And, well, the last time I had a Nemeton-related dream, I wound up with an evil fox spirit in my head so I might be a little paranoid right now." Lydia visibly winced, but said nothing. He sighed, staring over her shoulder. "At first I thought maybe it was just… stress or something. We're graduating soon, exams are coming up, we just finished dealing with all that Dread Doctor stuff… but earlier I think I blacked out and hallucinated a panic attack that never actually happened."
He met Lydia's concerned gaze.
"But it felt real. Everything – the sweaty palms, the hyperventilating, my heart beating so fast I was convinced it was going to literally burst out of my chest. All of it. But it wasn't, and now I'm not even sure if this –" he gestured between them, "is real or if it's just another hallucination."
He swallowed, glancing down at his hands. They were shaking.
"What if it's happening again?" He asked, his voice barely above a panicked whisper. "What if it's back? What if it was just lying low for a while, biding its time and waiting for us to let our guard down? What if –"
"Stiles."
Suddenly, Lydia was beside him, grasping his hands firmly. Almost instantly, he felt a calm settle over him, the tension in his muscles fading until he was completely relaxed. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, using the technique his therapist had taught him after his mother had died and only opening them again when Lydia gave his hands a reassuring squeeze.
"Listen to me, and listen well. The Nogitsune is gone. We beat it. You beat it." She stressed. Releasing one of his hands, she reached over, the tips of her fingers brushing against the spot behind his ear where the Oni had marked him. A delightful shiver climbed up his spine but if Lydia noticed she didn't comment on it, instead adding softly, "This is proof that you're you."
"Thanks," he murmured, lifting his gaze to meet hers.
Lydia smiled warmly, her fingers lingering where they were, still pressed against the kanji.
It was then that Stiles became aware of their closeness, of how warm and soft her hand was on his skin. He could smell her perfume, light traces of lavender that tickled his nostrils and fogged his senses in all the right ways. As time seemed to slow, he lost himself in her eyes, unable to look away until she did. To his surprise, she didn't jerk back. Instead, her gaze dropped to his mouth. Instinctively, he licked his lips and for a moment, he thought she was going to kiss him, like she had the last time he'd had a panic attack.
But then Lydia shook her head, snapping out of her daze and breaking whatever spell they'd fallen under, and pulled away. Or would have had Stiles' own hand not shot up of its own accord to stop her, covering hers and keeping it where it was.
Lydia blinked, clearly taken aback. Stiles couldn't blame her – so was he.
"Stiles…" she started once she found her voice, and Stiles braced himself for the inevitable rejection.
He knew this song and dance.
Releasing her hand, he let her step back and mustered a goofy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Sorry," he laughed, hoping to alleviate the tension. "Completely spaced out there."
Lydia frowned, looking like she wanted to say something – possibly call his bluff – but faltered.
"I should go." She said quietly. "I have to meet with the Yearbook Committee before lunch."
"Right. Well, don't let me keep you." If he smiled any harder, his face was going to crack.
"I'll call you later if I find anything in the Beastiary related to your… symptoms. Okay?" She went on, straightening herself up and shouldering her bag.
"Sure. Keep me posted."
She threw him one last nervous smile before making her way out of the library, heels clicking behind her.
Stiles watched her go silently, letting go of the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The ache in his chest was a familiar one, not unlike the one he'd felt watching her and Jackson embrace. It was something he was used to. The sad truth was, Lydia would never love him – not in the way he loved her. And he was fine with that. He was content just being in her life at all, being her friend, being someone she could lean on and rely on without having an ulterior motive.
But that didn't make it hurt any less.
oOo
Dinner was… abnormally quiet as far as Stilinski dinners generally went.
Not that Stiles was complaining. He wasn't in the mood for talking. Unfortunately, that made his dad suspicious, because talking was something he was known to do. A lot. Nine times out of ten, the trouble he got into was a direct result of talking – and usually of the "mouthing off to people he probably shouldn't be mouthing off to" variety. Teachers, werewolves, geriatric nutjobs… the list was endless. So the lack of talking was, suffice to say, somewhat out of character, and he could feel his dad casting him curious glances from across the dining room table every so often.
"So, have you thought about what schools you'll be applying to?"
Ah, the casual approach. Well played.
"Yeah, you know, I've been thinking and – what if I just stayed here? Didn't we already decide I was going into law enforcement? You can pull some strings, right? I mean, who needs college when your dad's the Sheriff, am I right? Besides, if I leave, who's going to make sure you stick to your diet? I guess I could try to bribe Parrish but –"
"Stiles. You're rambling."
Busted.
"Are you going to tell me what's really on your mind or is this just going to be one of those things you ignore until it backfires spectacularly?"
"That's generally my preferred method, yes."
"Uh-huh. And how's that working out for you?"
"Well, until about two years ago I'd say it was foolproof."
As it turned out, lying about werewolves and other such supernatural-related shenanigans was a lot harder than movies and teen literature would have one believe.
His father simply raised a brow.
Stiles rolled his eyes. "If it makes you feel any better, I already talked to someone."
"Who, Marin?"
Stiles made a face. "Who?"
John Stilinski shot his son an incredulous look.
"Your school counselor, Stiles, the one you've had for four years? Ring any bells up in that thick skull of yours?"
Oh, her.
"Ohhh-kay. Not even gonna ask why you're on a first-name basis with her but – no. Not her." Definitely not her. Ms. Morrell was just as enigmatic as Deaton – if not more so, with her questionable loyalties – and Stiles didn't particularly enjoy having her pick away at his brain. Especially after learning about her involvement in the supernatural aspect of their lives.
"Melissa, then?" John looked slightly more relieved.
Stiles shook his head. "Lydia."
"Lydia." John repeated, as if making sure he'd heard right.
"Yes, Lydia. About yay-high? Green eyes, strawberry blonde hair? I'm sure you've met her once or twice." Stiles replied cheekily, shoveling a spoonful of peas into his mouth. When he glanced back over at his dad, he frowned. "What? I know she's not a licensed therapist but at least I talked to someone, right? Silver linings, Dad."
John simply sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Stiles bit the inside of his cheek, dropping his gaze guiltily. A part of him knew he should just be honest with his dad about the sleepwalking and hallucinations but even without the constant threat of supernatural danger hanging over them, the man had enough on his plate. He was still paying off hospital bills from his own stay a while back. And if, by chance, his weird dream the night before and whatever the hell he'd experienced in class had nothing to do with the supernatural, well…
He glared down at his dinner, stabbing at his baby carrots in frustration like they had personally offended him.
Still… honesty was the best policy. He'd learned that the hard way, thanks to Theo.
"Let's just say… I might've taken a stroll through the Preserve last night." He confessed finally.
John frowned. "You're sleepwalking again? Are you having blackouts? How are your headaches?"
"Dad, relax. I'm sure it's nothing. Just… stress." He didn't know who he was trying to convince more – his dad or himself. "Lydia's already looking into any supernatural connection." At his father's perplexed look, he waved a dismissive hand. "Nemeton stuff, don't worry about it."
"Don't worry about it?" John sputtered. "Stiles –!"
Stiles ignored him. "We're all going to feel pretty silly when it turns out to be nothing. Seriously, it's probably just stress manifesting itself into the form of the thing that's literally the root cause of everything bad that happens in this town." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Get it? Root cause?"
His father fixed him with a blank stare, obviously not as amused. "Not funny, Stiles."
"You just don't appreciate good puns."
"I do. That just wasn't good." The Sheriff countered. He eyed Stiles skeptically for a moment before adding, "You know, denial's not just a river in Egypt."
Stiles smirked. "No, but it keeps me optimistic."
"I think you mean delusional."
oOo
Later that evening, after finishing his homework and scouring the internet for possible answers (and coming up short because Google and Wikipedia only knew so much) he got a call from Lydia. He was a little surprised when he saw her number; he knew she'd told him she would call, but after what had happened in the library, followed by an awkward departure, at most all he was expecting was a text. A wave of relief washed over him as he answered.
"Hey, what's up?" He greeted, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"Have you told your dad?"
Stiles grimaced.
"I'm starting to wonder if you really are psychic."
"Don't change the subject. This could be serious."
"Fine. Yes, I told him."
"Good."
"Have you found anything in the Beastiary?" He asked.
"Not yet. There's still a good chunk that needs translating." She replied.
"Didn't you already do that?"
He could practically hear her rolling her eyes as she huffed on the other end of the line. "You try translating Archaic Latin after being locked up for a month. It's incredibly time consuming."
"It can't be that hard. For you, I mean."
"Is that flattery, I detect?" She teased.
A small smile tugged at his lips. "You already know what I think of your smarts."
"A girl likes to be reminded every now and then."
"Lydia, listen… about earlier today…" he started uncertainly.
"What about it?"
He licked his lips nervously. "I just wanted to apologize if… I made things weird between us."
"You didn't make things weird between us." He could tell from her tone that she wasn't being entirely truthful.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"So we're cool?"
"Totally. If anything, I…" she trailed off. She didn't say anything for a while, but Stiles could still hear her breathing so she clearly hadn't hung up. That was reassuring. After a minute or so, she let out a sigh and muttered something he didn't quite catch.
"Lydia? You alright?" He asked, growing concerned.
"Yes. No. I don't know. Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind. My thoughts are all over the place right now."
"Welcome to my brain 24/7." Stiles joked.
He heard her laugh on the other end and smiled, feeling stupidly giddy.
"Stiles, I think –"
Before Lydia could finish whatever she was going to say, the line went dead. Stiles frowned, pulling the phone away from his ear to stare at it. Had he accidentally hung up on her? Above him, the light flickered, and from his peripheral he could see the street lamp outside their house experiencing the same problem. Brows knitting together, he walked over to his window and watched it flicker a few more times before completely going out. Like a domino effect, the remaining street lamps followed suit until the entire neighbourhood was cast in darkness.
"What the hell…" he muttered, fumbling with his phone.
He was about to dial Scott's number to let him know that something bizarre was happening when he was suddenly struck with a wave of fatigue.
Lids heavier than ever, Stiles barely managed to stumble over to his bed before sleep took him.
.
.
.
"Mieczysław."
.
.
.
When Stiles came to, he found himself standing on the edge of the Preserve. Above him, the moon looked twice as large as it usually was and was his only source of light. He wasn't sure how he got there. His mind was foggy and he felt a little disoriented, but like in his dream, he found himself entering the forest and making his way down the winding, foot-trodden path that he'd taken countless times before, keeping his eyes and ears peeled. He knew it was stupid to wander alone. He'd seen enough horror movies to know it never ended well – but it was as if something was pulling him, deeper and deeper into the woods until he didn't even know where he was anymore.
Everything looked the same. Every tree, every bush, every log and rock and stream.
Still, he kept walking, until finally he reached a familiar clearing.
Unlike in his dream, the Nemeton was still a stump. That would have brought Stiles some relief, if not for the woman sitting there, bathed in moonlight.
He froze, breath catching in his throat.
The woman turned, smiling when she saw him.
"Mieczysław," she said by way of greeting, extending a pale hand and beckoning him over.
"Mom?"
The last time he'd seen his mother, she was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to life support machines and unable to recognize him, her mind and body laid to waste by the disease. The woman sitting before him looked healthy and vibrant, like how she'd looked before she got sick, her amber eyes glittering. Against his better judgment, Stiles took a cautious step toward her, then another, and another, until he was enveloped in her arms.
"I've missed you, Mieczysław. So, so much. You've missed me too, haven't you?"
His throat tightened, tears burning his eyes as he clung to her.
"How is this possible?" He had to be dreaming. None of this make any sense. Claudia Stilinski was dead. He'd seen it happen, watched the life fade from her eyes as she took her final breath and left the world. "This can't be real. You're not real."
He shook his head and stepped back, but her embrace tightened.
"Where are you going, Mieczysław?" Her voice sounded strange, distorted almost. "Stay here."
"I can't." He choked out. "Dad –"
"Forget him." His mother hissed in his ear.
"What?"
Reaching up, Claudia cupped his face and forced him to look her directly in the eye. He stopped struggling, unable to look away.
"There's nothing for you here, Mieczysław. It's best if you just forget. Forget them all."
That was the last thing Stiles Stilinski heard before the world went black.
X
So apparently next season is going to involve Nazi Werewolves. Ehh. Screw that, I'm sticking with my own prediction.
Side note, I'm not sure if Lydia is actually on the Yearbook Committee. I feel like she's probably one of those girls who has a lot of extra-curriculars… when not dealing with the craziness that is Beacon Hills, that is.
Once again, I apologize for taking so long. Please REVIEW and let me know what you think! Feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome.