I woke up to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. I swung my legs over the edge of the couch and stood up, only to fall back down because my head was swimming and I felt incredibly dizzy. I couldn't blink the cloudy sensation out of my eyes, so I squeezed them shut and pushed my palms into them, hoping to rub out some of the blur.
"Hey kiddo, how are you feeling?" I heard my dad call from the kitchen.
"Fine, just a little light headed I think. Where's Lydia?"
"Left about an hour ago. I came in from the station to find you two asleep on the sofa. You've been looking pretty wiped out lately so I figured I'd leave you guys be for a bit longer."
I looked down at my phone to check the time. 10:37pm. Shit, I'd been out for three and a half hours? It seemed like 20 minutes. I must have been more exhausted than I thought.
"Do you, uh, need any help with those?" I asked, gesturing to the dirty dishes in the soapy sink.
"No, no I got this. Why don't you hit the showers and then get to bed? I think you could really use some more rest."
"'Kay. Thanks, dad." I said as I shuffled lazily towards the stairs. "Dad?"
"Yeah kiddo?"
"Love you."
He smiled. "Love you too. Get some rest, I'll see you in the morning."
I turned to go upstairs, and suddenly the 18 steps seemed to go on for miles. My legs started shaking and I had to grip the railing as if I was holding on for dear life. I started to feel dizzy again, but this time the dizziness brought nausea with it. I bolted to the bathroom and crouched over the toilet. My stomach lurched and my eyes burned with tears. I coughed like crazy, my face already shiny with cold sweat. Suddenly I felt a hand on my back, and I turned to see my dad crouching beside me. He held a damp towel to the back of my neck, then to my forehead.
"It's alright Stiles, just let it out. The worst is over, you're going to be fine." He said soothingly, rubbing circles on my back as he spoke. After the worst had passed, he picked me up under my armpits and replaced my clothes, which were now wet with sweat and spotted with vomit, with a big hoodie and track pants. He led me to my bed and laid me down. I felt terrible, weak from throwing up, shaky and cold, but also burning hot at the same time, I couldn't even bring my self to wipe the tears that had fallen and dried on my face.
"Sorry." I said with a weak smile.
"Shh, it's okay Stiles. You don't need to be sorry. It happens, it'll pass." Dad said as he wiped away the hair that was plastered to my forehead with sweat.
"No, I mean, sorry for everything that has happened the past few weeks. I haven't been myself lately, and haven't been around when you needed me to—"My breath got caught in my throat, triggering a coughing fit.
"Stiles, it's alright. You didn't do anything wrong. Right now I need you to try and get some rest. Hopefully this will pass by tomorrow, but if not I'll call Melissa and make an appointment for you. Close your eyes and get some sleep. I'll be right outside if you need me, okay?" I nodded.
I was standing in the middle of the forest. It was dark and I was barefoot, the mud and leaves mushed between my toes. I looked to my right; there was a huge tree stump. I was all alone. Or so I thought.
"We're coming Sitles. We're coming soon, and we're coming for you. There's nowhere you can run, there's nowhere you can hide. It's too late for you Stiles." The voice laughed, then whispered,
"We're already here."
Then I saw it. The source of the voice was a man, hunched over and wearing a huge coat. His face was wrapped in bandages, only revealing his mouth. His lips were black and his teeth were like spears, silver and deadly.
"Wh—Who are you?" I asked shakily.
"Not who are you, Stiles, but who are we." He came towards me.
"What do you want from me?" I backed away from…whatever this thing was. It started laughing again.
"Oh, no Stiles. I already have what I want from you. I have power, control. I have your mind. I can make you think, do, and say whatever we want you to. Don't believe me? Look down."
I did. I looked down. The ground began to move and suddenly roots shot out and wrapped themselves around my feet and ankles. I was stuck. I crouched down and tried to rip away the roots. That's when I noticed my hands. They were covered in blood. The red, hot, sticky liquid ran down my hands and wrists. Slowly, I stood back up. My hands were shaking violently.
"Whose blood is this?" I spat out.
"Why don't you tell me, Stiles?" It laughed and pointed to the Nemeton.
Lydia was lying across it. Covered in blood. Her blood.
"No. No, no, no, no. LYDIA!" I screamed in her direction. She didn't move. "LYDIA!"
"There's nothing you can do, Stiles. She's gone. Forever." It laughed.
"No. This isn't real. It's just a dream. It's just a dream. Wake up. Wake up."
"You did this, Stiles. Not us. You. It's all your fault. Everything is always your fault."
I collapsed onto the ground, my head swimming and my vision blurry. It crouched down in front of me.
"I told you, Stiles. We're here. You belong to us now. You. Are. Ours."
I jolted upright in my bed. I kicked and swung, trying to hit it the man wrapped in bandages. An endless waterfall flowed from my eyes and I couldn't stop the tears from coming, so I let them happen. I was heaving, gasping for breath and clutching my chest, which hurt terribly from working so hard to get air in and out. As far as I could tell, I wasn't injured. My hands weren't covered in blood, there were no roots wrapped around my ankles. Then I remembered.
Lydia.
Was she okay? Had I really hurt her? Oh god what if I had really done something to harm her. I picked up my phone and went to dial her number when I saw the time. 4:18am. I doubt she would be up, but at this point I figured it'd be worth waking her.
The phone rang. Twice. Three times. Then finally,
"Hello?" her voice was cracked and hushed. I'd obviously woken her up.
"Lydia, oh thank god. Are you—are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"Stiles what are you—no, I'm fine. What do you mean hurt? Is everything okay?"
Words cannot describe how relieved I felt right now. But then something snapped, and I started to sob uncontrollably, right into the phone where Lydia was listening on the other line. I was shaking, crying hysterically, and I had no idea why.
"Stiles? Stiles, what's wrong, talk to me. Hey, hey it's okay. Everything is all right. Just breathe. Stiles breathe. Why are you crying?"
I took a shaky breath before answering her. "I don't… I don't know." My voice broke. I tilted my head back, furrowed my eyebrows, and closed my eyes, as if trying to will the tears away. It wasn't working.
"I'm coming over." She stated rather than asked. "I'll be over in 10."
I nodded, but then realized she couldn't see me. "Okay."
"Okay." She repeated back to me. Then she hung up and I was alone again.
I was grateful I hadn't woken my dad up, he had worked late the past couple of nights and needed the rest. I went down stairs to wait for Lydia so she didn't have to knock or ring the doorbell when she got here. 7 minutes and 52 seconds later Lydia pulled into the driveway. I opened the front door before she could even shut her car door. She ran over to where I was standing and flung her arms around me. I wrapped my arms around her, trying to bring her as close to me as possible. I buried my head in her hair and breathed a sigh of relief.
Finally she pulled away and I almost whimpered in reluctance. "Why don't we go inside, where it's warmer and the whole world can't see me in my pajamas."
I moved so she could get inside and shut the door. Silence filled the room as she shrugged out of her jacket and kicked off her shoes. We moved to the couch and sat down next to each other, our knees touching and our hands just inches apart.
"You didn't have to come you know. I just—"
"Yes, Stiles, I did. I was not about to just leave you all alone after what just happened." She paused. "What did just happen?"
My mind flashed back to the dream—to the nightmare. I could still visualize it perfectly. The Nemeton, the man with the bandages, her. It all seemed so real. She must have seen the pained expression that plastered my face, because before I could even consider where to begin and how to tell her, she put both of her hands on my face, stroking my cheeks with her thumbs.
"It's okay, Stiles. We don't have to talk about the dream if you don't want to."
"How did you—"
"I've had my fair share of nightmares myself believe it or not. They can be… pretty intense. I know how you must be feeling, and it's alright if you don't want to talk about it. I understand. I know what you're afraid of. Because I'm afraid of it too."
I melted into her, my arms once again finding their home around her waist. Her hands found their way home too, her fingers intertwining with the hair near the bottom of my neck while the other hand traced circles on my back. We sat back on the couch, my head on her shoulder and her hand in mine. She had flipped the TV on, but neither of us was really watching.
"I've had it before. This same nightmare, I've had it before. Except instead of you, it was… it was my mom." I felt her pull me in closer.
"Why don't you tell me about her?" Lydia whispered gently.
"She was… amazing. She really cared, you know? About everyone. My dad, and me, we had it good. We were lucky we got some time with her, even if it was too short. She was kind of lost though. Like sometimes she would forget stuff. But I didn't mind." I yawned as Lydia continued to trace shapes on the back of my neck with her fingertips.
"She would have liked you." I said softly. My eyes fluttered shut, and sleep overcame me.
