So... this is it. Only the epilogue left after this one! I promised you a much earlier update than the last time, and here I am keeping my promise. Sarah says she loved this one. If you don't like it, go yell at her, she beta'ed it. (If you yell at Sarah, I'll punch you in the throat). No, but I really hope you guys like it, and I don't know, I'm sorry if it's a big disappointment? I'll stop now.

The epilogue won't be up for at least two weeks because I'm traveling to London next week, so I won't have any time to write. But it's all planned, so as soon as I'm back, I'll work on it. I think it will be worth the wait :)


She doesn't stop running until she can't breathe anymore. Until her heart's beating so fast in her chest she worries it won't ever slow back to a human rhythm. Until she realizes that no matter how far she runs away from him, Stiles won't ever leave her thoughts.

Her phone keeps buzzing in her pocket, but she ignores it. She almost falls over, her knees weak and buckling under the pressure, but she powers through, taking in huge gulps of air until her blurry vision has cleared again and the buzzing in her ears has muted down.

She looks up to find herself on Stiles' street, and it's funny because she was planning on going home when she ran away from the hospital. She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry when she realizes that this is her home.

She stands outside the house on the street for about fifteen minutes before she moves, just staring at the home where her whole life changed. The house where she learned she has a family outside of her own, a real one with people who love her and care for her, not just because they have to or because she scares them. People who love her because she's stubborn and strong and vulnerable and sometimes downright mean. People who accept her for who she is and won't ever try to change her, but who have already transformed her into the best version of herself without even meaning to.

She can't think back to a time when they weren't in her life. She's not even sure such a time ever existed, because it feels like Allison's laugh and Scott's compassion and Cora's courage and Stiles' love have always been a part of her.

She feels the cold night air on her face and she tugs Stiles' hoodie closer to her body. She starts moving towards the house, barefoot and shivering, and it takes her a while to finally get the key into its hole.

She takes a deep breath before entering. The house is quiet and almost sad, and it smells like Stiles and the Sheriff, and her eyes water on their own accord, but she doesn't let herself cry. She's stronger than that and Stiles is not dead.

She wanders through the house for a little bit because she can't go into his room. Not yet.

The kitchen looks clean, save for a few items on the island. There's a plate with a piece of bread on it and what she guesses is mayo. There's a pack of turkey and a bowl of rinsed lettuce next to the plate, and she thinks the Sheriff was making himself a sandwich when he got the terrible call. She tries to remember if she saw him eat at the hospital, but she knows he didn't, and Stiles would want his father fed.

She pulls out her phone without really thinking about it. She has twelve missed calls, five texts, and three voice mails. She checks the texts to make sure there's nothing in there about Stiles' health, and when she doesn't find anything other than her pack's worried messages, she types up a new text.

I'm okay. Don't come find me. Make sure the Sheriff eats something.

She hits the send button and hopes Scott does what she asked.

She moves around the kitchen to distract herself, closing the jar of mayonnaise before moving everything back to the fridge. She covers the plate with some foil paper before hiding it in the fridge too.

She walks out of the kitchen and her legs carry her to the Sheriff's study, and she realizes she's only ever been here once. She didn't really take the time to look around back then, so she moves slowly around the small room, packed with police files and thick folders, a few choice books stacked on one of the shelves. There's a big map of Beacon Hills taped to one of the walls, littered with red and blue and green dots that make little sense to Lydia. She sits at the Sheriff's desk and she knows she probably shouldn't be here, but there's an inexplicable feeling of peace that she feels when she's in this room, so she doesn't move to go.

There's a small shelf with a few picture frames right next to the desk, and she takes her time to look at the photos. The first one's of the Sheriff and a woman she guesses is Stiles' mother. Stiles is sitting between them, a huge smile on his face, a gap right where one of his front teeth is supposed to be, the moles she's come to love so much visible on his face. He can't be more than six in the picture, and Lydia smiles at the thought of a carefree Stiles who doesn't walk around carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Claudia is beautiful, she realizes, with dark brown hair, brown eyes that look so much like Stiles', and a loving smile on her face. She doesn't understand how she misses this woman she's never met, but she wishes more than anything that she was here.

"I know you must miss him," she whispers, never taking her eyes off the picture. "But please, don't take him away. Not now."

She wipes away the stray tear before turning to look at the other pictures. There's one of Stiles and Scott in the Jeep, waving at the camera with big smiles on their faces. The one right next to it is of the two teens with the Sheriff and Melissa, and Lydia wonders when it is exactly that the Sheriff realized that Scott and Melissa were their family. Scott has shaggy hair and Stiles his buzz cut in both pictures, so they're at least a couple of years old, and judging from the relaxed postures and big smiles, she guesses they're pre-werewolf bite. Scott's lines have hardened since then, and Stiles looks wearier every day.

She doesn't expect the last picture to be there, mostly because she doesn't realize the pack is so important to the Sheriff. It's stupid when she thinks about it, because he cares so much about them, but she didn't think it would be enough to earn them a spot here. It is though, because the last one is the same picture Stiles has on his wall in his room, the one of them sitting around his living room, looking happier than any pack has any right to.

She remembers that night so clearly. It was about a week after they'd come back from that god-awful motel. They'd finally made sure Derek was alive and well, and despite Darachs and Alpha packs and werewolf problems, they'd decided to have a movie night to distract themselves and pretend they were still a bunch of normal teenagers. Derek didn't usually indulge them when they planned these things, but they'd left him no room for argument on that particular night, seeing as he was "the guest of honor", in Allison's own words. Lydia hadn't really thought about it when she'd plopped down on the floor next to Stiles. Or when she'd scooted closer to him in the middle of the second movie. Or when she'd finally rested her head on his shoulder and given in to slumber towards the end of the third one. She'd saved him from certain death only a week before, so her plans included never letting him out of her sight again. And when she'd woken up in the middle of the night on the living room floor, her head on Stiles' chest, his arm securely around her, the other one holding her hand right by his heart, she didn't pull away, instead whispering a soft kiss to his palm before snuggling even closer to him and falling right back asleep. She'd gone back to hooking up with Aiden and pretending none of it happened the next day because it was so much easier to fool herself into thinking she did not care about Stiles the way that she did, and to blame her actions the previous night on her sleep-addled state.

She feels herself shiver at the memory, already missing Stiles so much more than she thought possible. She wipes the tears away and takes one last look at the picture before getting up and leaving the study.

She doesn't really seem to think about it when she makes her way up the stairs and into his room. It's still the same way they left it this morning, a mess of blankets and pillows and clothes and research papers and it feels so much like home it hurts. She doesn't think about it either when she takes off her dirty clothes before pulling on a pair of black leggings and one of Stiles' shirts.

She feels the events of the day finally weigh in on her, an overwhelming fatigue taking over her body. She finally makes her way over to Stiles' side of the bed - yes, they have sides now - and snuggles into the sheets, hugging Stiles' pillow and smothering herself with his blanket, and it almost feels like he's here if it weren't for the gaping hole in her heart.

She falls asleep praying to any god that would listen for Stiles to be okay.


He's in the park. He doesn't remember how or why he came here, but he is, and he's walking towards the swing sets like a man with a purpose, so he doesn't question his being here any further, allowing his legs to carry him over to the other side of the park.

He notices two figures sitting on the swings, their backs turned to him, much too old to be kids. He recognizes them immediately, two of the people he loves the most in this world. The girl with the long strawberry blonde hair and the most beautiful green eyes he's ever seen and the girl with the wild brown curls and warm smile.

There's an air of sadness to them despite the fact that they're deep in conversation, Lydia in a soft blue dress that looks so familiar Stiles knows he's seen her wear it before, her brown boots discarded on the grass next to her, Allison's crossbow forgotten on the floor a few inches to her right.

Grass. He can feel it too. He looks down at his own feet and he realizes he's barefoot too. He's in a pair of dark jeans and a grey shirt, his red hoodie keeping him warm.

He doesn't understand why he has no shoes on, but he doesn't stop long enough to really think about it, instead walking closer to the two girls.

He catches the end of Lydia's sentence, and it confuses him even more.

"... Scott can't seem to control himself ever since Stiles went missing, and I don't know how to help him."

She looks so sad and distressed and tired and he wants nothing but to go over to her and put his arms around her. But then her words register, and he feels a new form of dread take over his body.

"Missing?" He mutters in a low whisper, looking over at the two girls and moving even closer to them, so close now that he can run his fingers through Lydia's hair if he reaches out.

"Guys," he murmurs, "I'm right here."

Neither of them reacts to his words, almost as if they don't hear him, Allison reaching out to hold Lydia's hand.

"I don't know how to help him either, Lydia," she says, her eyes cast on the park in front of them. "But mostly I don't know how to help you," she continues, turning to look at Lydia again. "I miss Stiles too, but I'm watching you fade right in front of my eyes."

Stiles feels himself start to panic, the weight of the conversation dragging him down.

"Lyds," he says a little louder, moving to stand right in their line of sight, but neither girl reacts to his presence. "I'm right here," he continues a little louder, his breathing getting heavier by the second.

"He's still out there, Allison. I can feel it, like he's so close but I just have to look closer. I need to find him, Allison," Lydia says sadly. "Not just for Scott. Or you, or Cora, or the Sheriff. For me too. For me the most."

"I'm right here!" He yells a little louder still, reaching out to touch Lydia's shoulder.

He was a little worried when he saw them sitting on the swings like two lost kids. He got even more nervous when he heard them talk about him like he wasn't there. He felt himself start to drown when they wouldn't talk back to him.

But it isn't until now, when his hand passes right through Lydia's shoulder, blending with it but never touching it, his fingers visible all the way on the other side, like he's touching nothing at all, like she doesn't really exist or he doesn't really exist, that he finally feels his world shatter around him, the fear that slowly started spreading when he found himself at the park finally consuming him entirely.


She wakes up to the sound of footsteps walking up the stairs.

Ever since she's discovered her abilities and has decided to try and master them, she's been learning how to put her hypersensitive hearing to good use. And the first step is learning how to tell footsteps apart, starting with her pack's.

The heavy footfalls tell her that the person coming up the stairs is wearing combat boots, which usually means it's either Cora, Scott, or Isaac. Cora's footfalls are usually lithe and secure, while Isaac's are almost always irregular. Years of abuse from his asshole of a father have etched themselves in his posture and mannerisms, so much so that it feels like he's ready to run from something at any given moment.

The steps climbing the stairs are neither, but rather slow and careful and a little forceful.

Scott.

Lydia pulls herself out of the bed before he reaches the room, sprinting to the bathroom and locking the door behind her just as the door to the bedroom opens.

It's not that she doesn't want to see Scott. She just needs a few minutes to herself before she can face him.

She takes her time washing the sleep off her face and brushing her teeth before she looks at her reflection in the mirror. She looks as tired as she feels, the bruises under her eyes purple and defined, so visible under the fluorescent light. She can't be bothered with concealer right now.

She takes a deep breath before she makes her way over to the door. She opens it slowly, quietly making her way out of the bathroom.

Scott's sitting on the edge of Stiles' bed, idly playing with Lydia's stuffed wolf - Yes, she brought it with her when she knew she'd be staying here for a while.

He has that look on his face, the one that says he blames himself for everything that's happened, and Lydia hates herself for selfishly running away from the hospital, not stopping for a second to think about how he must be feeling.

She makes her way over to him, carefully sitting next to him. He reaches out to take her hand in his and she has to stop and marvel at how such a tiny gesture can comfort her in the way it does. She wonders whether she feels that way because she's sitting with her alpha or because she's sitting with her friend. She thinks it's a little bit of both.

"Deaton says he won't become a werewolf," Scott speaks after a while. "He says the mountain ash that went through Deucalion's system when you stabbed him had already weakened him so much that his werewolf venom wouldn't serve its purpose."

"When you get bitten by a werewolf, you either get turned or you die." Her voice sounds foreign even to her own ears. Stiles can't die.

"Not Stiles," Scott says. "He's different. You'll see."

There's so much conviction in his voice, that she can't help but believe him.

"It's not your fault," she murmurs after a few minutes.

"It's not yours either," he reassures her immediately.

"It feels like it is," she admits, her eyes cast to the ground.

One of Stiles' discarded t-shirts is on the floor right by her feet, and if she shuts her eyes tight enough, she can pretend Stiles just took it off before going to shower. If she thinks about it hard enough, she can hear the Sheriff's footsteps coming up the stairs to tell his son to pick up his clothes off the floor because this is not a barn, damn it!

"You saved us, Lydia," Scott says, squeezing her hand and turning to look at her. "You saved me. Deucalion was winning. You're the one who saved me."

"But he still went after me. Stiles got hurt because he was protecting me."

"Just like you got hurt because you were protecting me," Scott counters, a fierceness to him. "It's what we do, Lyds. We're a pack."

"I just don't know if I can deal with all of this again, Scott," Lydia admits, her voice shaking as she tries to keep the tears at bay. "What if he doesn't wake up?" She can actually feel herself slowly going insane at the thought of losing Stiles.

"He's already showing signs of improvement. He's been reacting to sounds around him, which means he can hear us."

"And what if he can't remember us?" She asks, her voice breaking a little. "What if he wakes up, and it's back to square one again?"

"Well then we go back to square one, Lydia!" Scott says, his voice a little louder and Lydia flinches. "We go back to the start, just like we did the last time, and we walk him through it." She can feel the anger Scott's feeling, and not just because of the tone of his voice. "What if he does wake up, though, and he remembers? What if he wakes up, and you're not there, Lydia? The person he cares about the most, the person he loves is not there?"

It's like a slap in the face, the reality of the situation. Stiles is in serious danger, and instead of being there for him, she's running away again.

"I know this pack thing is new to you, Lydia. It's new to all of us. I don't know much about it either. But I know that that gaping hole you feel in your heart right now, it grows smaller when you're around him. It won't completely heal ever, because our lives won't ever not be in danger. But we're a part of each other. Especially you and Stiles. And he's always been a part of me, but so are you, Lyds. And the pain I already feel because of what's happened to Stiles, it's twenty time worse because of the guilt you're carrying around. Because of the love you're trying so hard to bury. It's the same thing you felt when Isaac almost died at Peter's hand and Cora felt her heart break in half at was happening." He stops talking for a moment, the events of the day seemingly taking their toll on him. He sighs audibly and Lydia squeezes his hand. "We're all linked, Lydia," he continues after a moment. "And that connection is both our burden and our saving grace. That's why packs stick together. Not just because they're physically stronger like Derek said. But because it makes them emotionally whole. Just come back to us, Lyds. Stiles needs you. We need you."

She doesn't say anything for a few minutes, taking it all in, her sniffles the only proof that she's still alive. Scott's right. Of course he's right, he's almost always right. She really does feel better when she's around her pack, both physically and mentally. And she only feels complete when she's around Stiles. She knows without the shadow of a doubt that it's the same thing for him when she's around. So how is he supposed to get better and heal if a part of him's missing?

She already misses him so much, more than she ever thought possible, and she needs to be strong for him.

She finally turns to look at Scott, her alpha and best friend and Stiles' brother in every way that matters, and she can't help herself from letting go of his hand and wrapping her arms around him. He returns the hug with just as much care, and she feels him press a kiss to her temple through the gauze. Things are going to be okay.

She lets go of Scott before wiping the tears off her face and moving to pull on a pair of shoes. She can't be bothered to change or deal with heels right now, so she pulls on her old pair of converse and piles up her hair in a messy bun. She grabs Stiles' hoodie and offers her hand to Scott when she's ready. He gets up and takes it before they make their way out the house together.

Lydia feels herself almost choke up again when she sees Stiles' jeep parked outside the house, but she doesn't say anything as she and Scott climb into it, instead clinging to the familiarity of it for comfort.

The ride to the hospital is quiet, each of them lost in their own world. It isn't until they're driving by the park that Lydia feels the air suddenly leave her lungs, something beckoning her towards the playground.

"Stop the car," she whispers, and Scott turns to look at her, confusion clear on his face. "Stop the car, Scott," she repeats when he doesn't, her voice a little louder, her tone a little bit more commanding.

It works, and she's out of the car before Scott can even turn off the engine. She sprints towards the swing set, an invisible red string pulling her towards them. She can hear Scott yell for her in the distance, but her heart feels like it might jump out of her chest if she doesn't get there. Like she's running out of time.

The swings are bare when she gets there, and the sandbox and the slides and the monkey bars too. But that gaping hole in heart, the one that Scott was talking about earlier, it feels a little less painful, like someone's covered it with a thin blanket until they figure out how to close it altogether.

"Lydia?" She hears Scott ask behind her, but she doesn't turn to him, instead moving to pick up a small rock off the ground.

It's like someone or something's controlling her body, and she doesn't really know what she's doing, just that she needs to do it like her life depends on it. Like someone else's life depends on it.

The small rock is sharp enough, and when Lydia moves to the monkey bars and starts carving up the letters on one of the bars, Scott moves closer to see what she's doing. It isn't until she hears Scott gasp behind her that she finally truly makes sense of the three words she wrote.


"Please, Lydia, I'm right here."

It's been this way for five, six, twenty hours. He's sitting on the floor in front of the two girls, the grass tickling the soles of his bare feet, his knees tucked close to his body. Allison and Lydia haven't moved off the swing set, not for food or water or sleep. They haven't talked either in a long time, not since Lydia told Allison that she doesn't think they'll ever find him. Stiles has been trying to get their attention ever since, but nothing works.

It's funny because Stiles hasn't felt the need to move either. It's unhealthy, he knows, but his whole concern is Lydia, and wherever she goes, he goes.

He wonders where Scott is. Why he hasn't come to find them when it's been almost a day. In fact, nobody's been at the park aside from them since he got here.

He's tugging at the grass, quietly taking in his surroundings when he notices something glistening on the monkey bars where the sun hits the iron. Someone's carved something there, and Stiles feels an inexplicable urge to move towards the scribbles. His feet take him there before he can even think about it, something pulling him towards the bars.

He thinks he imagines the words when he reads them, thinks it can't be possible, because why would his name be on the monkey bars.

Wake up, Stiles.

But then he looks around and it all makes senses. He moves slowly towards Lydia and Allison, like he might scare them if he makes too much noise. He kneels in front of them, close enough to see every freckle on Lydia's nose. Close enough to count the fingers on her right hand.

One...two...three...four...five...

Six.

Wake up, Stiles.

So he does.


It's been almost twelve hours since she's come back to the hospital. She's been curled up on the couch by Stiles' bed ever since. Melissa practically dragged her into the emergency wing to change up her gauze and later had to manhandle her to get some food in her, but even then, Lydia refused to leave Stiles' side. Scott ended up getting her a tray of hospital food. She nibbled on some pudding and soda, but that was all she could keep down in her worried state.

For the better part of the twelve hours, Sheriff Stilinski occupied the seat on the other side of Stiles' bed, but Melissa finally convinced him about an hour ago to go lie down with Scott in the room right next to Stiles', promising to wake them up the minute there's any development. She didn't even try to get Lydia to go with them, fully aware the girl would not budge if her life depended on it.

Cora's with Isaac a few rooms down from theirs, dropping by every hour or so to check on Stiles. Lydia's been lazily sprawled on the sofa by the bed, talking to Stiles for the better part of the past hour, telling him about their day before he got bitten, about what everyone's been up to, about her plans for when he wakes up. She's telling him about her plan to get them all to go on a road trip to her uncle's beach house when one of the machines Stiles is hooked to starts beeping alarmingly fast.

Lydia straightens up immediately, eyes frantic, ready to yell for help, but before she can do anything, Stiles' eyes suddenly open, and he's in a sitting position before she can even register what's going on. He hair is sticking up in all directions and he looks so pale, his moles that much darker under the fluorescent light. His eyes move frantically around the room, taking in his surroundings, before they finally catch hers.

Where there's usually warmth and love, there's now fear and confusion, much like the last time they were in this position, and Lydia feels a crushing sadness threaten to consume her, bracing herself for that small, confused, heartbreaking question. The one that will confirm her worst fears. Who are you?

Unlike the last time though, Lydia keeps quiet, holding her breath as she waits for her world to shatter around her.

The confusion turns into something akin to relief all of a sudden, Stiles' eyes softening as he takes her in, and Lydia feels her heart threaten to beat out of her chest.

"Lydia," he murmurs and she looks up, barely able to understand what's happening."You're alive," he mutters frantically and Lydia has to strain her ears to hear what he's saying. "You're okay," he repeats, his eyes suddenly coming alive before he nearly jumps off the bed to get to her.

She's off the couch and in his arms before she can even think about her actions, or about the fact that he just got out of a coma and he shouldn't be standing, or the fact that her head hurts so much.

The only thing she can think about is Stiles and his arms around her and his hands in her hair and his lips on her shoulder and she feels the tears finally make their way down her face because he's alive and he's okay and he remembers her.

"Your head," he mumbles pulling back and delicately placing his hands on the gauze crowning her head.

"I'm okay," she reassures him through the tears, a smile creeping onto her face as she looks at this boy she loves so much, who just came out of a coma and who's first thought is - as it's always been - her well-being. "I love you," she murmurs, but before she can do anything else, Melissa bursts into the room, followed closely by the Sheriff and Scott.

Lydia stands to the side watching as the Sheriff finally breaks down when he takes his son in his arms, both of them hanging on to each other like the other might disappear if they let go.

Cora's in the room by the time Scott's hugging Stiles, and Melissa gives them a few more minutes before she cuts in to scoop Stiles in her arms, kissing his forehead over and over again, yelling at him for putting them though this, talking about how she'll be damned if she ever lets him out of her sight again. It takes her less than a second after that to revert back into nurse mode and order Stiles back into bed.

The doctor comes by a few minutes later and kicks them all out so he can run a quick check up to make sure everything's going smoothly, and Stiles presses a kiss to Lydia's hand before he finally lets go of her.

Allison, Chris, and Derek are already outside and Lydia wonders how fast they drove here.

Melissa follows them out a few minutes later and Lydia's in her arms before she can stop herself.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she whispers repeatedly in the older woman's ear, a sense of relief and so much love for her taking over her. The way Melissa holds on to her, pressing kisses to her forehead every so often chokes her up because her own mother's never shown her this much affection and she misses her but it doesn't matter because Melissa's here now. Melissa will help her pull through. Always.

She only lets go of her when she notices Isaac coming up to them in a hospital gown, dragging his IV stand with him - alpha wounds take longer to heal, she remembers. She moves over to him and embraces him, feeling guilty for not visiting him more often.

"All that matters is that he's okay," he whispers before she has a chance to say anything and Lydia marvels at the bond they share once again.

She doesn't say anything, just holds him a little tighter before she lets go.

The doctor comes out a little while later, urging them not to go in all at once. No one listens to him, naturally, and Lydia grins wide as Scott reaches out for her hand with a smile on his face before they make their way back into the room with the rest of their pack.


He remembers bits and pieces of it all. A perfect picnic turned not so perfect. Peter appearing out of nowhere. Peter hurting Isaac. Cora breaking down. Deucalion killing Peter. Deucalion attacking Scott. Lydia stabbing Deucalion. Lydia violently thrown against a tree. Lydia on the ground, unmoving. Lydia bleeding. A blinding pain in his side. Lydia's panicked eyes. Lydia, Lydia, Lydia. Lydia.

Deucalion's dead. At least that's what Scott tells him. Derek and Chris took care of him after Lydia landed the deadly blow. Or stab, in this particular case.

Derek, Allison, and Chris, have gone home to get some rest, and Melissa finally got his dad and Scott to go too. Just to shower and squeeze in a few hours of sleep, cause they all need it. Lydia wouldn't budge, and the selfish side of him didn't want her to go. But Melissa made her swear to go home for a bit as soon as Scott and his dad come back, something that made him both sad and relieved. Cora wouldn't leave the hospital either, having taken residence by Isaac's bedside. He'll be released soon, so they'll both get to have some rest by tonight.

"You can't do anything like this again," Lydia whispers suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. She's curled up on the arm chair next to his bed, her eyes tired and bruised, his hand tucked in both of hers. "You can't put your life at risk again," she continues.

"You can't ask me that," he whispers back, his voice thick with sleep, the events of the day taking their toll on him.

"You almost died, Stiles," Lydia counters, her voice a little louder, and he feels the anger in her tone. "You almost died to save me," she repeats, her voice laden with guilt.

"I wasn't gonna let him hurt you," he answers simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and it sort of is. There is no world in which he would let Lydia get hurt. Not as long as he's around.

"You got hurt!" She's shaking with fear and anger and worry and he hates that it's because of him. "Besides, you know he can't hurt me, Stiles. Werewolves can't kill or turn banshees."

"Didn't you get hurt too? Or are gauze headbands in style, now? Besides, we don't know you can't die for sure, Lyds," he tries to reason with her. "You read that somewhere, but we don't know for sure."

"But we do know that werewolf bites will either turn or kill a human."

"I'm not dead, am I?" He asks. "Or a werewolf. So I guess we can't believe everything we know."

"It could've been worse, Stiles," Lydia says, a sadness taking over her, worry evident in her voice, and Stiles squeezes her hand tighter.

"Come here," he whispers when her eyes meet his, tugging on her hand, and she starts shaking her head.

"You're hurt," she argues, but he can feel her already eager to join him on the bed.

"Not on this side," he states, gesturing to his good side.

"But-"

"Please, Lyds."

She smiles sadly before getting up and going around the bed to the other side.

He adjusts himself on the bed, making some room for her.

She climbs in slowly, delicately, like she might wake a sleeping beast if she isn't especially quiet, and he can't help but smile when she snuggles into him, resting her head on his chest, his arm securely around her. He presses a kiss to her forehead and holds her tighter.

"I dreamt of you, you know," he tells her in a low voice like it's their secret. "When I was asleep. I saw you and Allison. You were talking about me like I wasn't there. Like I was gone," he continues, a sadness washing over him all of a sudden.

"But you're not gone," Lydia says, moving her hand to stroke his cheek like she's making sure he's still there.

"I'm not, but you thought I was," he continues, trying to remember the dream. "And I kept trying to get your attention, but you wouldn't see me no matter how much I tried."

"Where were we?" She asks, her fingers drawing random patterns on his chest, and it feels so impossibly good to have her in his arms like that.

"In the park. You were sitting on the swings."

She pulls back to look at him all of a sudden, her eyes wide as saucers, and Stiles feels his heart hammer in his chest.

"What? What's wrong?" He asks hurriedly.

"In the park, we were in the park?" She asks instead of answering his question.

"Yes," he answers, exasperated. "What?" He asks again.

"How did you wake up?"

This whole answering with questions thing is starting to get on his nerves.

"Lydia, will you just tell me wha-"

"How did you wake up, Stiles?" She asks again and he's really starting to get aggravated.

"Someone wrote 'wake up, Stiles' and I knew it was a dream," he answers. "Why?"

"I wrote it," she says and he feels himself stop breathing.

"What?"

"On our way to the hospital, we drove by the park and I felt something pull me there," she explains, trying to calm herself. "I told Scott to stop the car, and before I knew it, I was carving the words on the monkey bar."

"I didn't tell you it was on the monkey bar," Stiles says, trying to register this new information, just realizing the true impact of the bond he and Lydia share.

She doesn't say anything, instead looking at him with a mixture of pride and weariness. He moves his hand to her cheek and she leans into his touch without thinking about it.

"You brought me back."

The realization washes over them both like a tidal wave, and he doesn't miss the careful smile that takes over Lydia's features. It's like she wants to be happy that she did that, but the at the same time the true weight of such an act is so overwhelming, she doesn't know how to feel.

"I guess Deaton wasn't kidding about that anchor thing," she finally whispers and Stiles smiles at her.

"I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable," he mutters sensing her unease.

"No, no, no," she interrupts hurriedly, shaking her head. "It doesn't make me uncomfortable. It just makes me worry that I might fail to bring you back one day."

She lowers her head, and Stiles tucks his finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him.

"You can't think like that, Lyds. You've brought me back every single time. And you're smart. You're so smart it's scary sometimes, and brave and strong, and half the time you're the only one who knows what's going on."

"I have all these voices whispering in my head, and I don't know what they want," she argues, shaking her head and trying to lower her gaze again but Stiles doesn't let her. "I can't ev-"

"You saved us, Lydia. You saved Scott. Deucalion was killing him, and you were the only one brave - and stupid - enough to do something about it, and you saved him. And you brought me back. So stop doubting yourself. We'll figure out the rest of it in time."

"We?"

"I love you too much to let you do it alone," he whispers, and he feels himself heat up.

"You love me?" She asks, her cheeks on fire and a smile taking over her face.

"I thought I told you that already."

He moves his hand from her cheek to her hair back and forth, fiddling with the strands and stroking the delicate skin. She moves her own fingers to his face, her thumb at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, but it was in the middle of a life-and-death situation and I thought it was a heat of the moment thing," she says, and Stiles marvels at all those insecurities Lydia hides behind her tough girl facade.

"We're not in a life-and-death situation right now, are we?"

She shakes her head, her eyes finally settling on his.

"I love you," he whispers again and she smiles wider before capturing his lips with hers.

The kiss is slow and sure, and the way her lips fit with his does weird things to his body, but he can't think about those right now. Instead, he focuses on the curve of her nose against his cheek, and the feel of her fingers fiddling with the small hairs in the back of his neck, and the way she kisses him like he's hers forever. And when he thinks about it, even though he doesn't really remember, he's always been hers forever.

"You're plenty sentimental when you want to be," she teases as she pulls away.

"Shut up," he counters, feeling himself heat up even more.

"No, it's nice," she says, moving her head back to his chest and holding on to him a little tighter. "I love it."

He hides his smile in her hair, holding on to her with no intention of ever letting go.


It's almost five hours later when Scott and the Sheriff come back to find them both asleep on Stiles' bed.

Melissa wakes them up gently, like only a mother could. She needs to get some real rest and Stiles can't be asleep for long periods of time, not yet. Not having just come out of a coma.

She gets up reluctantly, promising to be back soon, and Stiles kisses her hand one last time before she leaves. The butterflies are rioting in her stomach at the man she loves so much, and she doesn't remember ever feeling so good.

Sheriff Stilinski gives her a quick hug on her way out, whispering a thank you in her ear, and she holds on a little tighter to the man who's become her second father. She shares one last look with Scott before making her way out of the room.

Melissa pulls her into a side room as soon as she's out, to clean up her wound and change her gauze one last time.

"You need some rest too," Lydia tells Melissa when she's finished working on her head.

"I'm fine," Melissa says, smiling before getting up.

"No you're not," Lydia argues. "You haven't slept in over a day, and you need as much rest as any of us."

"Don't worry about me, Lydia."

"Melissa you're our pack mom," Lydia says.

"Pack mom?" Melissa asks, an amused smile on her face.

"Pack mom," Lydia insists, nodding her head. "Which is no less important than an actual mom. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's more important. It feels this way to me anyway," Lydia continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "You take care of us and you make sure we're okay and you're always there when we need you. And you make awesome food."

Melissa smiles but doesn't say anything, kissing Lydia's hair instead.

"My shift's up in an hour, so I'll go home then."

Lydia sighs, but she takes what she can get.

"Promise?" She asks.

"Promise," Melissa reassures. "This pack mom has got to sleep if she wants to take care of her cubs."

Lydia smiles widely before making her way out of her room.

Cora and Isaac are waiting for her outside the room, their hands clasped together, Isaac looking healthier than ever, and Lydia smiles at them before giving Isaac a kiss across the cheek.

"I'm glad you're okay," she whispers and he smiles at her.

"Allison's outside waiting for us," Cora says, putting her arm around Lydia's shoulder as soon as she's close enough, and Lydia smiles wider. She leans her head on the young werewolf's shoulder as they make their way out, the smile permanently etched on her face.