Lydia had gotten many things from her mother: her smile, her poise, her love for expensive clothing. Even more than those things, Lydia had gotten her ability to spring into action from her mother; a trait Natalie practiced frequently.
"Honey," Natalie said quickly. She started to pull Lydia towards the Stilinski's front door. "I think we should let the Sheriff have some time alone with his son." Natalie exchanged a quick look with Melissa who nodded in agreement and pushed Scott gently forward.
"Let's go, boys." She nodded towards the door when her son looked back at her horrified that she wanted them to leave. Scott didn't want to leave it like that. He didn't want to leave Stiles like that. He knew his best friend, and right now, his best friend was losing his mind quietly on the couch next to his equally terrified father.
Both Scott and Isaac stood solidly in place and peered at Stiles like they wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words. Scott had a hard time putting what he wanted to say into actual sentences most of the time. He was much more a man of action than conversation. He showed his care through hugs and warm smiles not poetic speeches or comments that stood out as particularly insightful.
Isaac loved words, but his often burned and stung without really meaning to. He couldn't remember when he started using them as weapons instead of sheer communication. It might have started when kids at school would comment on the black eyes and dark bruises on his arms. Sometimes they'd call him bull frog because he'd lost his voice from screaming to be let out of the freezer his father used as "disciplinary measures".
Eventually he started lashing back at the kids who called him names, or even showed concern for him. It was simply none of their business, he thought. They were being nosey. They were being cruel. They were going to get him into more trouble. Maybe one day they'd tell the teacher, and she'd call the cops. Maybe if that happened, his father wouldn't free him in the morning. Maybe his father would keep him in his small, dark, cold prison forever. Maybe he'd die alone and terrified. So he concocted hateful words to make the kids leave him alone. He used words that bit hard at whatever anyone came at him with.
When his dad died in the car accident, and the whole terrible truth came out of his sad and lonely existence, Stiles and Scott had been there for him. He stayed at Stiles' house for awhile, but it was decided Isaac needed a little more attention than the Sheriff was able to give a boy who so desperately needed an adult to show him love. So Melissa, an adult who had endless love and care to give, took him in and that's were he'd been for a few years now. Now, he often opted to remain quiet in an attempt to avoid hurting anyone with the words he was so in a habit of wielding like daggers.
Neither boy could come up with anything to say to Stiles now.
Lydia heard her mother and Melissa's words but was having a hard time caring. All she could clearly hear and understand was the number five being said over and over in her head like a funeral dirge. Five, Five, Five, Five.
"Five," she breathed, barely audible even in the silent room. Scott heard it, though, and whipped his head around to look at her like he'd forgotten she was there. She didn't return his look. She, instead, was unabashedly staring at Stiles who was looking down at his wrist like he was contemplating cutting it off to escape his fate. His father's eyes were brimming with tears and his hand rubbed his son's back in a very vain attempt to comfort him. His other hand was in a dangerous fist.
"Honey, now," Natalie instructed quietly as she poked her daughter hard in the back. The pain brought Lydia back to the present like a shock. She lurched forwards and went through the door that Scott held open for the group.
"Lydia," Isaac called after her, but she ignored him. She walked towards her mother's car quickly. "Lydia!" Isaac called again.
Natalie unlocked the car with her key fob so that as soon as Lydia got to the SUV's door, she could climb inside and ignore whatever Isaac had to say. She just couldn't listen to him now. She couldn't listen to anyone.
"Isaac," Natalie said sharply. She regretted her tone to the boy who had received enough sharpness in life immediately. "Isaac," she said softer. "Give her some time."
Lydia starred straight ahead until her mother pulled out of the driveway. Then her face turned towards the passenger seat window where she could hide the tears she was exerting a terrible amount of energy into hiding from her mother.
"Honey, it's-"
"Don't," Lydia said too harshly. Her mother got the picture and didn't say a word the short drive home. They passed the school, and the lacrosse field where she'd spent far too much time on for someone who didn't play the sport. They drove past the library, and ice skating rink where she'd learned about the colors of the Mets and that sometimes a good combination was something you'd never expect. They drove past the woods Stiles and Lydia had escaped to last night. How many more late night drives could they have? How many years would she have to go without them? How many years would she have to go without him?
When Natalie parked her car in front of their house, Lydia was out of the car in a flash, and in her own even faster. Not fast enough for Natalie not to catch up with her.
"Where are you going?" Natalie asked quickly. She caught the drivers side door from closing with her left hand and used her body to keep it open.
"I just need to take a drive," Lydia explained. She didn't try to shut the door. This wasn't a tantrum. She wasn't storming off. She needed to escape, if only for just half an hour. She needed silence and solitude. She needed to feel what she needed to feel without her mother standing over her like she was standing too close to a glass figurine on her grandmothers mantle. On the flip side, she couldn't go to Scotts. She couldn't bare the sympathetic looks or the attempts of comfort. She needed the dark, and the cold, and the quiet.
"Then I'll drive. Where do you want to go?" It was practically a plea from the older woman. "Anywhere you want," Natalie confirmed. "We can go get ice cream, or go to a movie."
Lydia shook her head and put on her seat belt. "I need to be alone," she insisted. "Mom." She reached over and grabbed the handle to the car but didn't pull. She needed her mother to understand. She needed her to decide to let her go. "Please," she begged.
Natalie fancied herself an excellent parent. Sure, at one point she worked too much to really be there for Lydia's childhood. Also, during a large portion of Lydia's childhood, Natalie and her ex-husband spent far more time arguing than caring for their daughter. But, Natalie was trying now. Natalie was at this moment, second guessing her attempts to be a good parent, because a good parent would have never stepped away from the door and let her daughter drive off in the state Lydia was in. A good parent would have made her go inside and let her cry on the couch wrapped up in a blanket. A good parent would make her tea and tell her everything would be ok. But Natalie stood in the driveway and watched her daughters taillights get further and further away until they disappeared.
Lydia didn't know where she was driving. It was dangerous, she knew, but she barely registered the stop signs and pedestrian crossing paint on the black road. She just drove and drove until she was stopped in the parking lot of a hiking trail miles away from her house. She turned her car off and watched the darkness overtake her environment as the headlights on her car turned off. One single light attached to a bathroom building was the only light besides the full moon.
She took the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car without the fear she knew she should feel.
Lydia enjoyed yelling at stupid people in horror movies. In fact, that was the only reason she ever watched them. But here she was, in the real world, pulling her phone out and turning on the flashlight so that she could walk towards the trail. She was just like every idiot in every horror movie ever made.
She stuck her keys in her pocket and walked faster; like she was running from something. The trail was smooth, and the sign at the beginning said it wasn't too difficult. Thankfully she'd opted to wear flats instead of the heels she usually donned.
She walked along the trail for about a half an hour when she realized how alone she really was. There was no one around for miles probably. She looked around and saw nothing but trees and shadows.
This was how she was going to feel for the rest of her life. Everyone was going to leave her: her mom, her dad, Scott, Stiles. "Oh my God," she said when she thought Stiles name. His face flashed in her memory. The reality of what had happened a little over an hour before came crashing down around her.
Stiles only had five more years to live. Five more years.
It had to be a mistake. There was no way that that boy would have to endure this on top of everything else. Nothing and no one could be that cruel. But, she'd never heard of a death date being wrong. As far as she knew, no one escaped their fate. Not even pretty dark hair boys with honey colored eyes who were a little too sad than they deserved to be. A sob wrenched out of her throat almost violently.
"Stiles," she whimpered through the tears. She felt like she was holding something back. The tears and sobs felt hollow somehow. So she screamed.
It came out of nowhere. Her mouth just opened and she screamed so loud she was surprised the town couldn't hear it. It felt like along with the steam her breath created, she was also letting go of anger, and sadness and guilt. It was liberating and terrifying in equal measure. But it felt right to scream and cry. Stiles deserved for someone to be crushed about his death. He deserved for someone to be devastated. He would hate it, but he deserved every once of pain she was feeling for him.
When she was finished screaming, she walked a little further down the trail until she found a bench on the side of the trail. It was hard, and during the day, when the grim reality of what was probably on that bench was shown apparent in the daylight, she would have never laid down on it and curled up to keep warm. But she did tonight because she was exhausted and her best friend was going to die. Who cared about what the bench had seen? Who cared about how cold it was? Who cared how dark it was? Who cared about anything at this point?
—
"Lydia!" A voice woke Lydia up with a start.
"Jesus, you're freezing," the tall dark figure said as he put a palm to her cheek. Lydia sat up and tried to scurry away from the figure. "No, hey, hey, hey," the figure said soothingly. "It's me. It's Isaac." All of a sudden his phone light shown on his face to reveal his delicate features.
"Isaac?" Lydia asked groggily. Her voice was almost completely gone from the screaming of earlier. It was lower and scratchy and her throat burned with the energy necessary to make the words audible. Isaac looked at her with concern. "What are you doing here?" She pulled out her phone from her pocket and saw 24 missed called from her mother, and 43 from Stiles.
Stiles: Where are you?
Stiles: Lydia, your mom called wanting to know where you are.
Stiles: Seriously, Lyds. Answer your phone.
Stiles: Fine, we're coming to find you.
The text messages went on from there each one more panicked than the last.
The time on her phone read 4:34am. "Why aren't you wearing a jacket?" he asked incredulously. "It's freezing out here." He pulled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders before hitting a number on his phone and putting it up to his ear.
"Hey, Stiles. I found her." He paused for a moment after Stiles apparently answered his phone after one ring. "No, yeah dude. She's freezing but she's fine. Listen, we're about a mile south of where I found her car. I'm going to take her back there and drive her home." He paused again before nodding like Stiles could see him and held the phone out for her to take.
"He'd like to talk to you," Isaac said. She eyed his phone like it was a snake. How was she supposed to explain this? How was she supposed to talk to him. "Come on," Isaac prodded gently. He closed the gap between them and put the phone in her hands. She could hear Stiles calling her name through the phone even though it was nowhere close to her ear. "Go on then," Isaac prodded again.
She gingerly put the phone up to her ear and spoke softly. "Hello?"
Lydia rarely saw Stiles angry. He usually didn't let that side show too often, least of all to her. The angriest she'd ever seen him was once when her ex boyfriend Jackson threw her against a locker bay. She wasn't the one who told Stiles, but she knew someone had when he stormed up to her two classes later and demanded to know what happened. By the end of the day he'd gotten a black eye and one day of suspension, but he claimed it was worth it. His voice on the other end of the phone sounded exactly like it had that day.
"Are you ok?" Stiles demanded quickly.
"Yes," she answered. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie.
"You don't sound ok," he said tightly.
"I'm fine, Stiles," she reiterated. He was silent on the phone and Lydia could almost see his face. He was surely holding his face with his hand or furiously running his hand through his hair. He'd have his eyes squeezed shut and lips pressed together to keep himself from saying something he'd regret later.
"You are going to let Isaac take you home," he said with a forced calm a few moments later.
"Ok," Lydia answered him.
On any other day, Lydia would have told him she didn't need someone to drive her home in her car, but this wasn't a normal day. This was far from being normal.
The phone beeped, signaling that Stiles had hung up without saying goodbye. It hurt her more than in probably should have. Isaac noticed the fresh tears well in her eyes, sighed, and took the phone gently from her.
"He's not angry," Isaac said smoothly. He took her hand and helped her stand up on two shaking legs, a product of being scrunched up and cold all night. "You're mom called him at one AM wanting to know when you were coming home. We were all under the impression that you were with her, being that she made you leave so quickly." He led her down trail with a hand on her back.
"I didn't go back to Stiles'," Lydia said. "Why would I have driven all of the way back there when we'd just left?" She rolled her eyes, sniffled, and continued walking. She picked up the pace a little because she was realizing just how cold she actually was.
"Well, Stiles called Scott who woke me and we went out searching for you. Your mom got your GPS location from your phone but it wasn't very specific. So we spilt up. I found your car and figured you came this way."
Lydia walked without answering him for awhile. "I didn't want to be found," she said quietly.
Isaac looked over at her and squinted to see her face with the light of the phone flashlight. "And why is that?" he asked.
Lydia shrugged. "Because I needed to let some stuff out." Her voice was evidence of just what she had to let out: all of that anger and hate towards a fate that shouldn't have been set into stone, or flesh rather, at all. "Everyone knew I wasn't going to die out here," she said remembering the date on her wrist. "You shouldn't have gone through all the trouble of finding me."
Isaac stopped in his tracks and halted her with a hand to her arm. "Your death date doesn't make you invincible, Lydia. Something bad could happen to you just the same. You could have gotten hurt. You could have gotten sick. There are a million things that aren't death, Lydia. Some of them are far worse."
"Like outliving someone you can't live without?" Her words froze him in place because there were no words to make that better. He couldn't give her much advice on the matter because in her position he didn't know what he would do.
"He doesn't want this." Isaac shook his head. "He doesn't want you doing stupid stuff like hiking in the woods in the dark. He still has five years. He can do a lot in five years."
Lydia laughed sarcastically. "You know that's exactly what he said about Erica. He said that twenty years was plenty enough time to have a life. Now he's only got five to do all of the stuff he wanted to do and that's just not fair at all." She was crying again by now. God, she was tired of crying. She wanted desperately to be strong for Stiles. That's what he would need. He could cry and scream and run to the woods all he wanted because it was his life that was being cut tragically short.
But she was selfish at her core. All she could think about was standing at his funeral, and living her life being surrounded by things he would love. She thought about how many times she'd want to call him and tell him about her day. She thought about how many people would remind her of him. She thought about how much life he would miss.
"You know, death doesn't happen to you, Isaac," she said gravely. "It happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives without you in it."
—
The next day Lydia's mother didn't make her go to school. She'd been out of her mind worried about Lydia from the minute Stiles said she wasn't at his house until the minute Isaac practically carried her into the house and up to her bedroom. She was relieved when she tucked Lydia into bed and put an extra blanket on her. Melissa said it wasn't cold enough for her to get hypothermia, but she should probably stay home and rest.
So, Natalie stayed home and made soup and tea and dodged her daughter's dangerous looks all day.
Lydia chose to stay in bed all day. She slept for hours, woke up to check her phone that didn't have any messages from Stiles, and then went back to sleep. Wash, rinse, and repeat for the rest of the day until 10 PM when she just couldn't force herself into oblivion anymore.
Isaac texted awhile after to check on her. I'm fine, Isaac. Thank you for finding me. She typed the words out fast and sent them before she had the chance to ask him if he'd talked to Stiles that day.
Lydia watched the numbers on her alarm clock change in between the very interesting view she had of her plain ceiling. She tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about him. He hadn't so much as Tweeted all day. No texts, no calls, no stupid memes: nothing.
You awake? The buzzing of her phone practically scared her out of bed.
Yes. She scrambled up and threw jeans on like she had the two nights before. Her heart was beating too hard in her chest. Headlights splashed light into her room and she heard his rickety engine shut off.
I'm coming up.
Lydia stopped her hurried movements of changing into her jeans and put her sweatpants back on. He was coming up. He rarely came up late at night. That was reserved for times that he really needed someone to listen to him. That was for when he was really messed up.
She cracked her window and sat on the edge of her bed to wait impatiently for him to appear at her window. It took him less time than she expected.
Neither said anything as he crawled into her room and shut the window to keep the cold outside. He adjusted his flannel and ran a hand through his ever messy hair. He looked exhausted, more exhausted perhaps than Lydia had ever seen him.
The two best friends found no words at first. Stiles stood across from Lydia and stared at her. She had rarely seen him speechless. He was the kid no one could get to shut up. He always had a story, a weird fact, a witty comeback to spout. He had nothing right now but the overwhelming need to breathe the same air as her.
After a few minutes Lydia gathered up the courage to speak first. "Do you wanna, um, sit down or something?"
Stiles shook his head. "No, I need to stand," he said without further explanation.
"Ok," Lydia said quietly. She clutched her hands together and watched him start to silently pace her room nervously.
Suddenly he stopped. "I've been with Scott all day." He said simply. He rubbed his face and decided to sit on her desk chair.
"Ok," Lydia said. She tried to keep her voice from sounding too wounded that he'd spent the whole day with Scott and hadn't even texted her that he was ok.
"He's been helping me, um, come to terms with a few things. He's been helping me figure some stuff out. I needed to make a couple decisions." He stood up again and resumed pacing the room again. "Isaac was there too, but he wasn't very helpful. He was just frustrating." He continued pacing.
"Ok," Lydia said for the third time. She was started to feel like a parrot.
Stiles stopped again and faced her. "I need us to play the What-If game," he said like it wasn't really a question.
"Ok." Lydia cringed at the only word her brain was apparently capable of responding with.
Stiles took a moment to form the words. "Do you remember two nights ago when I told you that I wanted to see you after my birthday party?" His eyes were soft, but also red and puffy. So many emotions churned in them like a witches caldron.
"Yes, I do," Lydia answered with a nod. It was practically all she could think about since her mother swept her away from the party after he was scarred.
"You told me that your answers wouldn't change no matter what my death date was. Do you remember that?" He looked strangely at her, and said the words like he wanted her to say no. He was trying to give her an out.
"Yes, I remember," she said strongly. He wilted a little and her choice to not sway.
"Ok," he said quietly. "What if I told you that I can't ask them anymore?" He looked like he was in turmoil.
"I don't know," Lydia said as she shook her head.
"It's not that I don't want to, because I do," Stiles added quickly. "It would just make me the worst, most selfish person in the world." He started pacing again, quicker this time.
Lydia pursed her lips and watched him pace. This was bad. She'd never seen him like this. He didn't seem mad, or sad, or anything like that. He seemed panicked, and at war with a part of himself that was clearly fighting him just as hard as he was fighting it.
"What if," Stiles stopped, approached her and knelt down in front of her so that they were facing each other on the same level. "What if I told you that I am the most selfish person in the world?"
"Then I would tell you to ask it," she said quietly. She reached out a palmed his face. He closed his eyes for a moment and his lower lip quivered like he was about to cry.
"I argued with Scott. I told him that I couldn't- I can't ruin this. I can't doom you. I can't put you through what I want to put you through because I am a terrible person." He grabbed both sides of her face gently and took a deep breath. "I was going out of my mind last night after you left," he explained. "I wanted to talk to you. I needed to tell you so many things because the timer on my life has started and its going to fast." He swallowed hard. "You left, and I was left alone with my dad. He's devastated, Lyds. More than he was when Mom died."
"I'm sorry," Lydia whispered.
"It's all I could think about. Dying and not being around to talk to Scott, or see you, or call Isaac and idiot. I was going to miss all thought. I was having a proper pity party. Then your mom called, and I realized that there are much worse things that could happen than dying. I could lose you, and that would be worse than anything I could think of." His eyes darted around her face frantically like was reliving the search party last night. "But, is that how you were feeling when I read out my death date? Did you feel the same way I was feeling while I was out in the cold woods looking for you?"
"Yes," she said certainly. Stiles obviously didn't want to hear that because he sighed and lowered his head. "I was out in the woods screaming, Stiles." She said forcefully. "I was screaming because I am going to lose you. I'm going to lose everyone."
Stiles stared at her in wonder.
"I can make it so much worse," he said softly. "I can't do that to you." He rested his fore head on her's. "I don't want to do that to you."
"What-if I told you that I wanted you to?" Lydia asked him. He straightened himself and looked her straight in the eyes. "What-if I told you that nothing can make it worse because I'm already committed. I'm already as scared as I can be. I'm already as sad and mad, and pissed off as I can be. What-if I told you that I already know what you are going to ask me." She said with a little smile.
"Lydia, I'm trying to-" Stiles started before Lydia cut him off.
"What if I told you I love you," she said simply. Stiles stopped talking and starred at her in disbelief. "What if I told you that I've loved you for a very long time and I didn't know if you still felt the same way. What if I told you that I don't care that I'm only going to have five years with you because if that's all we have, we better make them the best five years anyone has every have?"
Tears welled in Stiles and Lydia's eyes before they almost simultaneously fell.
"How could you ever think that I didn't love you?" he asked.
Lydia shrugged. "Malia." Stiles shook his head.
"What if I told you that there has never been a minute since the day I asked you to marry me in the third grade that I haven't been irrevocably in love with you?" he asked.
"Then I would tell you that you better kiss me, Stiles Stilinski, and prove it." Lydia breathed.
He wasted no time at all in crashing his lips with hers. Five years be damned.
