Author's Note: So, first, can I just thank Hans Zimmer for creating the song "Time" for the Inception score? Because it was on repeat throughout the entire writing of this chapter. It makes everything 100x more beautiful and epic. And second, thank you all so much for your kind reviews. I really do appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to write such kind things. You keep me going! Anyways, here's another chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy it!
They had successfully wheeled Jane Doe out into the parking lot and into the back seat of the Jeep. They'd covered her with a blanket and Stiles drove very carefully so as to not draw attention from any sort of authority and get pulled over. Lydia had felt exposed and anxious the entire time, her palms irritatingly sweaty.
The plan was working well. Way too well. They had timed it perfectly, as the sun was going down just as they were driving to their destination and it would be nice and dark once they arrived. They had seriously managed to sneak a dead body from a hospital morgue without being caught by anyone but the one woman who could help them. The potion Lydia drank earlier that day was wearing off, and she didn't know how she knew that, but she did. Just in time to drink another dose and temporarily kill Stiles.
They were on a small dirt road with trees on either side, and the sun was shining through the tops of the trees as it slowly sunk towards the horizon. Lydia always loved this time of day, when the sun made everything glow yellow and you could see the small specks of dust floating in the rays. But as they drove, she felt betrayed by it. How could the world look so nice when they were doing something so horrible?
She must have sighed, or gave some sort of sign of her discomfort, because soon Stiles was slowing down the car and pulling over to the side of the road. Lydia turned to him with a puzzled expression.
"What? Why are you stopping?" she asked.
Stiles sighed. "Lydia, I can practically smell your anxiety."
Lydia rolled her eyes and looked away from him. "Yes, well, Stiles, we are about to perform a ritual sacrifice."
"We've done worse!" he said, shrugging overdramatically.
"When?" Lydia challenged, crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips in his direction.
Stiles was quick to respond. He rolled his eyes and stared out the windshield, the orange rays of the sun lighting up his face. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe that time you raised Derek's homicidal uncle from the dead, in which the collateral damage was extremely traumatizing for everybody involved, thank you very much. Or, maybe that time where me and Scott kidnapped Jackson and chained him up in a stolen police van-"
"When did that happen?" Lydia asked, frowning.
"Remember that restraining order he filed against us?"
"Ah," Lydia said thoughtfully, nodding her head.
"Yeah. So that happened. Minor offense though, obviously," Stiles said sarcastically.
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Okay, I don't see how that's worse than sacrificing this poor dead woman. You were only trying to save people by locking Jackson up."
"You don't think we're saving people right now?" Stiles asked. He was looking at her with that penetrating look that made her feel like he was inside her head. She looked away.
"Lydia, we're saving loads of people right now - and ourselves - by trying to appease this thing once and for all," Stiles continued.
For once, she didn't know what to say. She was so conflicted because she knew he was right but she had such a bad feeling in her stomach that she was ready to grab the steering wheel and turn them around.
"Hey," Stiles said quietly, touching her arm lightly to get her to look at him.
She could have groaned upon seeing the way the light made his eyes glow gold and how his hair was somehow still flawless after all the shit they went through that day. He was leaning close enough that Lydia could count the little moles scattered across his cheek and down his neck. She ground her teeth together to remind herself not to let her eyes flit up and down from his eyes to his lips and just concentrate on what he was saying. What was he saying?
"Hm?" Lydia said, raising her eyebrows. "What? Sorry."
Stiles gave her a half-smile and furrowed his brow a little, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her. "I just said that everything will be fine. It will work out."
How was there so much reassurance in his voice? How could he possibly think this would turn out okay? Couldn't he feel the crushing sense of foreboding about the entire plan? Couldn't he feel it getting colder as they approached their destination?
But again, his voice was so calming as always and she nodded jerkily, but answered with less confidence in her voice than she would have liked."Okay."
He took his hand away from her arm and started the car again, and they drove in silence until the sky was a navy blue and the stars were just starting to peek in the gaps between the clouds.
They reached the graveyard with a crunch of gravel under the Jeep's tires and when Stiles cut the engine, the silence was almost overwhelming.
"Why did we choose to come here again?" Stiles asked. He knew the answer to that question, but Lydia knew he was only trying to break the tension in the air.
"No one's been buried here for years. We won't be disturbed."
Stiles sighed. "Right. You should probably take another dose of that stuff now," he said, nodding to her purse.
She gave another shaky nod and took out the bottle, downing the liquid in one swallow. She grimaced, but shook it off, trying to rid her mouth of the acrid taste. She stared out at the windshield for a while, trying to calm her heart. They were staring at an incredibly clichéd creepy gate, through which were dozens of shadowy outlines of gravestones. They were just past the borderline between Beacon Hills and another small town.
"Are you ready?" Lydia asked quietly, not looking away from the gate.
"Yeah, I think so. You?" Stiles asked.
"Um hm," she said, but it sounded more like a whimper than a response.
"Okay," Stiles said under his breath, reaching for the door handle and hopping out of the car in one swift movement. Lydia closed her eyes and sent some kind of silent prayer to anyone who was listening, willing everything to be okay. Stiles opened her door for her and she stepped out on legs filled with lead.
The gate screeched and moaned as Stiles pulled it open, and he scrunched up his face at the earsplitting noise. There was no one for miles, but it was so quiet on this tiny gravel road that it seemed like it could be heard from the other side of the world. Lydia rolled her eyes out of habit, like the creaking of the gate was all Stiles' fault and he should have taken better care of it.
The process of moving the body from the car through the gate wasn't all too hard with their combining muscle power, but it was disturbing having to grab this old woman's cold dead calves. Although, Stiles was the one who had to stare into her face as he grabbed her by the armpits, so she couldn't really complain could she?
Stiles mumbled various curse words as they moved through gravestones and tried not to notice how incredibly creepy the crumbling headstones were in the ghostly light of the moon.
"Here. Here's good," Stiles said finally as they reached a small clearing between two headstones. Lydia had the strange sensation that they were walking on the beach looking for a nice place to set down their towels, and suddenly she longed to be her seven year old self again who went to the ocean every weekend with her parents.
Jesus, when did she become so nostalgic? And was it really the time to be thinking about these things? She could have slapped herself in the face.
They set down the body.
"Lydia," Stiles said flatly, and she snapped her gaze towards him. "You gonna set out the candles?"
"Oh," Lydia exclaimed. "Yeah."
She could feel the potion creating that barrier in her head like it had at the morgue, blocking out the Darach's view of her.
There will be just enough leeway in the connection for the Darach to feel what you are feeling.
Yeah, well, her sporadic pulse and sweating palms were probably legitimate enough to convince the Darach that she was about to murder someone.
Lydia set up the candles in a circle like the one on the lacrosse field, and then stared down at the old woman on the grass. Her heart jumped at the sight, like it was screaming protest, and she felt light-headed.
"Lydia, I swear to God I would do this if I could, but you have to do it. The Darach has to feel you do it-"
"I know, I know," Lydia snapped. She swallowed the lump in her throat and her urge to scream and cry and run away. The weight of the kitchen knife in her bag became excruciating. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand and stepped back, looking up at Stiles from across the candlelit circle. She could feel a sob coming on.
Stiles looked helpless. His hands were balled into fists like he was restraining himself from coming over and comforting her, but she really wished he would. But he couldn't, because they had to do this. They had to do it soon before the last of the potion wore off and their chances were lost.
"Lydia..." he said, his voice strained and quiet. Desperate.
Lydia closed her eyes and took her hand away from her mouth, taking a deep, shaky breath. "I'm fine. Get ready."
Stiles looked hesitant still, but he nodded, and he took his bottle from his pocket.
"You have to go far away. Far away. I'll get to you in time, but you have to be away from the Darach," Lydia said forcefully, her mouth dry.
He nodded again and he looked like he was about to say something else, but he closed his mouth with one last look at the woman on the ground, and then he ran.
Lydia got to work right away, kneeling by the body and grabbing the kitchen knife from her bag. Her breath was hitching in her throat as she raised it high above the woman's diaphragm. She had to make it look like she had killed the woman, and that's what she would do.
Her hands shook like a pair of leaves and she just wanted to scream because she didn't have time to tremble and cry and cower. This woman was dead. She was doing no harm. This was the right thing to do to save everyone.
To save Stiles.
"You feel that, you son of a bitch?" she said quietly. She'd never scared herself before, but the anger flooding her veins shook her voice and made her knuckles white as she gripped the knife between her hands. She took a deep breath, and ground her teeth together.
"I hope you enjoy your sacrifice."
And on that very last venomous word, she plunged the knife into the woman. She felt metal break through skin and plow through blood and organs with a sickening sound and she didn't want to think about how good it felt to push all of her anger towards everyone and everything into one single stab wound to a woman she never knew. She wanted to do it again. She wanted to scream so loud and collapse onto the ground for the rest of her life staring at what she's done and what it represented and think about the absolute shithole her life has turned into. She felt so sick, but so powerful and the mix sent disgust rushing through her core, and she relaxed the death grip on the knife she'd never touch again.
Stiles. She had to get to Stiles.
She didn't look back at the woman and she didn't allow herself to collapse against a headstone and heave until she puked up whatever this feeling was. She had to get to Stiles.
She took off her shoes mid-run, tossing them behind her until she was barefoot and the tears in her eyes blurred her vision as she ran. She saw him sitting against a headstone and she skid to a stop, kneeling in front of him.
"Okay," she said, her voice thick. "Stiles?"
"Do it...quick," he said, and it sounded like it took a lot of effort to say the words. He grabbed her arm when she didn't respond and jammed it on to his chest and she tried to catch her breath, moving closer to him until she was practically on top of him, taking deep breaths to concentrate on the heartbeat beneath her palm. It was quickened and thready, like it was hanging on for dear life but it didn't know how.
She stared into his eyes and began to recite what she had memorized. "Attende verba mea, et visita me, Dómine Darach. Veni, ut sempiternis tenebris, perpetua glacier. Tibi fides adhibenda. Attende verba mea, et visita me, Dómine Darach."
Stiles closed his eyes, leaning his head against the headstone. His heart was slowing. He breathed out sporadically in shallow breaths and she put her free hand on his face to calm him down. She was straddling his legs, making sure she could be as close as possible to him.
His hand flew up towards his face suddenly, gripping her wrist. He was making pained noises and trying to breathe as the heart beneath her palm faded and jumped at random points.
"Stiles, it's okay. You'll be fine, remember?" Lydia said desperately, because for some reason she didn't believe it. Deaton said he'd be fine. She should believe that too.
But she didn't. Why didn't she?
The urge to sob was almost too much and she leaned the side of her face into his collarbone, keeping her hand firmly on his chest. Stiles' breath was hitching and she squeezed her eyes shut and wished that everything would just be okay now.
She could feel the Darach. She could feel it coming and it wouldn't be able to possess Stiles this time because Stiles wasn't in good enough shape to be possessed, now was he? The barrier in her head was still intact, she could feel it. Though it was starting to wear off.
Perfect timing once again.
Stiles shuddered beneath her and she gripped on to him tighter. His heart was slow now. Very slow.
"Lydia..." he gasped, and she looked up as he tried to hold on to her wrist. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like to die. To feel your heart slowing in your chest, unaware of what was to come when it finally stopped. Stiles' eyes were filled with pure and unadulterated fear and a single tear fell down his cheek. She didn't know how she could make herself closer to him because she just...she didn't know what to do and Stiles was taking panicked breaths until they were hardly there at all, his lungs failing him like his heart. His barely-existent heartbeat was taking over her senses, and she knew the Darach could feel it. A heart fading beneath her palm.
And then it was nothing.
It wasn't there anymore, and the light faded from Stiles' eyes and he was so very dead that she really couldn't believe he was going to come back.
"Stiles?" she asked, because suddenly she didn't want to do this anymore. She wanted him to come back now.
"Stiles?" she sobbed, panicked. Her tears were flowing freely now. Her barrier was breaking. She had to get back to the candlelit circle before the Darach knew she what she was up to, but she didn't want to leave him. She didn't like this.
She was still clutching his chest but there was nothing there and the feeling seemed to carve out her body until she was hollow. She'd never felt this before. It was overwhelming her and she really didn't think she could make it back to that circle.
It was here. The Darach was here somewhere and it was almost through her barrier. It could see her through distorted glass.
She took a shuddering breath and sobbed once more before pressing a kiss to Stiles' forehead and leaving his limp body behind as her bare feet pounded against the grass and she ran back to the circle, wanting nothing more than to collapse in on herself and cry and cry until Stiles came back and looked at her with that same love and concern and adoration in his eyes that she never properly noticed.
She came to a stop in the middle of the candlelit circle and fell to her knees beside the woman with the knife in her chest and the long-dead face.
She could feel the Darach in her peripheral vision, forming into its same black, hooded shape as the barrier in her mind tumbled down and the potion wore off.
"Come on," she whispered. She was so past being scared. She hated leaving Stiles alone out there - because he wasn't dead forever, he couldn't be dead forever - and she wanted the Darach to leave them both alone and leave the world alone forever.
"Lydia..." it said, like its breath was in her ear.
"I'm here," she said. "I have your sacrifice."
She looked around wildly, trying to spot the molten face in the darkness. But it was behind her. She could feel it there now, breathing against her neck. She crawled away from it to the other side of the body and stood up until she was looking right at it.
It was just standing there, staring down at the body with gleaming white eyes.
"Take it," Lydia said, but her voice was too quiet. She tried again, louder this time. "Take it!"
It looked up at her and tilted its grossly head at her. She still couldn't completely see its face because of the hood it wore, and she was thankful for that.
"Lydia, get down!" someone yelled. It was a familiar voice, but her blood ran cold upon hearing it. She swirled around and saw Allison, crouching behind a headstone and firing an arrow just as Lydia ducked down to the ground. The arrow flew above her head and hit the Darach in the stomach. It made a horrible screeching noise.
"Allison, don't! Stop!" Lydia screamed, pulling herself up into a kneeling position.
But the girl wasn't listening to her as she fired more arrows into the thing.
Two fully formed werewolves came out of the darkness of the graveyard, and Lydia widened her eyes. Scott and Isaac lunged at the Darach, and it screeched even louder as they sunk their teeth into various parts of it and clawed at everything they could reach. It had come in its own body, making itself vulnerable to physical damage and pain, and Lydia could feel how angry it was at its mistake.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion and a voice in her head was screaming no no no...
"STOP! YOU'LL RUIN EVERYTHING!" Lydia screamed, getting to her feet as Allison got out from behind the headstone and began firing more and more arrows with a determined look on her face.
Amidst the chaos and the screeching, a cool voice spoke in her mind. It was angry, but it wasn't yelling. Oh, it was so angry.
"He will pay," it said simply.
Lydia felt her eyes widen and her heart dropped so violently, she thought she would be ill right then and there. "No," she whispered.
No, this wasn't her fault. She hadn't planned this, it had to understand that. She willed it to understand that she didn't know they were planning an ambush. No, she never even told them where she was going. It had to understand. This wasn't her idea.
But it spoke once more. Just once more, in that same cold whisper. "He will pay."
And she forgot her friends and the Darach and the body, running back through the darkness and the gravestones to reach Stiles.
