Two weeks before their departure, they were laying in bed after a long day at work. Lydia had a newspaper in hand and Stiles was attempting to read a book.

His fingers were absent-mindedly drawing shapes and words onto Lydia's thigh. She would shiver every now and then when his light touches would give her goosebumps, but she kept her concentration.

Stiles on the other hand was having a hard time focusing. In these quiet moments when they weren't ravishing each other, a hint of doubt would creep in. Maybe doubt wasn't the right word. It was like… there was something he was forgetting, something that he wanted to say or think, and it was right on the edge of his memory, he just couldn't quite place it.

Stiles sat the book down and leaned over to rest his chin on Lydia's shoulder.

"Can I help you?" she asked. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"What are you reading?"

"The newspaper," she replied coyly. He gave her thigh a slight pinch and Lydia let out a laugh. "It's this article about a guy who was in a coma for like 10 years, and he just woke up. Can you imagine that? Like one day you fall asleep, and when you wake up you've lost a decade of your life. You have to have new technology explained to you and learn about how crazy the world got while you were-" Lydia stopped talking as she glanced over at Stiles who seemed to be wearing a look of realization.

Realization because he finally remembered what had been eating at him. His mind had been occupied by so many emotions, his worries had temporarily vanished but they came rushing back in an instant. Lydia at the hospital, a werewolf and a mysterious man.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer right away and tried to remember what Lydia had said about the man.

"What did that guy you met at the hospital tell you?"

His nervous tone made her tense as well. "Alan? Why?" she asked, frowning.

"Don't you find it strangely convenient that you ran into someone who seemed to know exactly what happened to you?"

Lydia felt a shiver down her spine and a feeling of guilt overwhelmed her.

"So, you think I was wrong to trust him?" she asked in a low voice.

Stiles tilted his entire body to face her and cupped her jaw to make her look at him.

"No, no," he tried to convey as much softness with his stare and voice as possible. "I trust you and you should trust your feelings. I'd just like to know who he was, you know." Lydia seemed to relax a little so he let go of her face and leaned against the pillow, still looking at her. "According to what you said, I guess he was a druid. They are usually trustworthy but I'd like to make sure."

Lydia scoffed, making Stiles raise an eyebrow, "A what now?"

He smiled, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. "Lydia, I'm so hurt right now." He paused to dramatically put a hand on his heart and shake his head. "Don't you listen to anything I tell you?"

"I'm usually distracted – " she trailed off, kissing him faintly and making him snort. "Why don't you jog my memory?"

"Well, druids usually guide a werewolf's pack, they know a bunch of stuff about the supernatural and if they are Alan Deaton, they are way too cryptic giving you the information." He laughed softly through his breath, losing himself in a memory before resuming. "Once, he left me , a spastic and hyperactive 16 years old teenager alone with a handful of mountain ash that had to build a barrier to protect everyone inside it and to help me figure out how it worked, he only told me that I had to believe strong enough that it was possible to make it happen."

"And did it work?"

"Surprisingly, yeah."

"Well, maybe you have magic powers…"

He heard her teasing tone and turned his head slowly to kiss her smirk away, smiling as well. Lydia had trouble containing her grin, trying to picture the scene, but Stiles eventually managed to coax her mouth open and she stopped her teasing.

He put his arm around her shoulder and Lydia nuzzled up in the crook of his shoulder when he felt her body twitch with a silent laugh.

"I don't think I've ever heard the name Alan so many times. Except in Jumanji maybe." They both laughed through their noses. "Must be a good druid's name. I think it meant something like rock or noble in Celtic."

Stiles laughed affectionately, "How would you possibly know that?"

"I don't know," she said shrugging and looking at him, smirking. "But it's part of my charm, right?"

"Hell, yeah." He kissed her temple and laid his head against it. "I suggest we find a third druid to test that hypothesis. Unless he was an African American about fifty and bald…"

Stiles had said it casually as a joke but Lydia froze, suddenly realizing something and slowly lifted her head.

"He was an African American about fifty and bald."

"What?" He turned his head so fast to look at her, Lydia was afraid he might have hurt himself.

After a long moment of silence that Stiles spent opening and closing his mouth and not knowing what to do with his hands, he eventually spoke with a hesitant voice.

"Do you think it might have been him?"

He saw her purse her lips and shrug, almost apologetically. "I have no idea, I'm sorry… He only told me his first name. Although, I did have the feeling that he knew who I was. Or at least, that I reminded him of someone. And he did tell me he used to live in California."

"So, he lives here now? I mean… the man you met lives here?"

Lydia shrugged, "I don't know. He was American, I'm sure of that. Maybe he does live here or he was just visiting. Or maybe he's helping young werewolf packs around the world…"

Seeing him smile at that last hypothesis but still frozen and drinking her words, she left them hanging, not knowing if telling him things that weren't facts was actually a good idea. She still didn't know if this man being Deaton was good news or not.

If she would have asked Stiles that question, he wouldn't have been able to answer. At first, his blood had frozen in his veins at the thought that Lydia might have met someone from his past. Not anybody. Someone who knew his darkest and ugliest secrets, who had seen him at his murderous worst. It made him uncomfortable. As if two universes he knew would eventually collide had known about each other's existence a little too early.

What was he supposed to feel?

Deep down, something was fidgeting. Waiting to explode in an unrestrained joy because the one who had tried his hardest to help him after his father's death might be here and he could have the chance to see him again after all those years.

But it wasn't that simple and it was enough to dampen his enthusiasm.

Lydia resumed talking, slowly and carefully, after watching him sigh and lean against the headboard. She didn't know the entire story but it was an easy guess to say that this man hadn't just been a cryptic druid.

"You know, if the same thing that happened to me happened to the young girl I saw him with, there's a strong possibility that they're still at the hospital… In case you'd like to check…"

Nibbling at her lower lip and nervously tapping her folded legs, she watched him closely, looking for any reaction. He inhaled loudly and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant and his stare was lost in the distance in front of him.

"No." He shook his head, turning to look at her. "The last time I saw him was in front of a judge… He was trying to get my custody to help me getting emancipated but with my father being… gone, there was nobody to cover up for me anymore, I was involved in too many cases… I don't know, I guess I was just an angry teenage boy, you know? We could have figured something out but I kind of lashed out on him in court. They sent me to a foster home and refused to give me any capacity to be emancipated before the legal age."

A sad smile stretched on his lips when he felt Lydia's hand rubbing his arm affectionately.

"He tried to visit me but I always pretended to be sick or asleep when he was there." He shook his head again, closing his eyes and burying his head in his hands, leaning his elbows on his thighs.

Lydia remained silent, trying to figure out the best way to reply. She eventually took his hands in hers, forcing him to look at her.

"Look, I'm not saying you have to make a decision now, but think about it… If it really is him, I know he'll be happy to see you. But it's your decision and whatever you decide, I'll be there with you." He nodded and his stare focused on the sheet's folds between them. Lydia took his chin between her fingers, pulling him in her arms, rubbing his back with one hand and stroking his nape with the other. "After all, it wasn't such a bad idea to see me again, right?"

She felt him silently laugh and kiss the skin on her neck.

xxxxxx

Stiles hoped that the prospect of their departure would make him forget about it but it did the opposite.

Days went by.

The nearer D-Day drew, the tighter his chest became. He was suffocating under the same sense of impending doom he had felt in London when he had known Lydia was somewhere near him.

He needed to know.

Seeing him so nervous was making Lydia edgy. She knew it was his decision but she was dying to convince him to simply have a look at the hospital.

In a way, Lydia did give him the push he needed.

Four days after their discussion, he came back at the end of the day and found her biting her nails while reading a book. He realized he had never seen her bite her nails. When he understood that he was making her do that with his constant anxiety, he took the decision to go to the hospital at the first opportunity.

It came along on the next day.

The farmer needed someone to fetch parts he had ordered from a supplier in Krakow during lunch break. Stiles volunteered, thinking he would be able to make a detour via the hospital. The man lent him his car, an old blue Jeep that reminded him with a tightness in his chest of the one that had belonged to his mother and that he had given to Scott the day before his departure.

He settled behind the wheel and watched the farmer walk away before letting his memories flood his mind.

The interior wasn't the same, nor was the scent. There wasn't any ripped open packet of chips behind the passenger seat or wolfsbane in the glove compartment. There wasn't any change of clothes in the trunk, even less old blood-stained t-shirts rolled up into a ball next to a first-aid kit on the back seat.

And obviously, there wasn't any duct tape. The farmer surely knew how to properly fix his car.

A nostalgic smile stretched on Stiles's lips when he grazed the wheel and the dashboard that seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the images dragging out of his memory in a succession of tears, laughter and colours.

He started the car and couldn't help but smirk when he didn't need to try again. When he lifted his head, he was almost expecting to see Scott burst in on him, opening the door and asking him to drive away fast.

But Scott wasn't there.

Lydia was.

He saw her running in the distance, two sandwiches in her hand, her purse bouncing against her hip and her skirt flying around her legs.

Stiles let this vision engulf him. Lydia, running toward him , all eyes on her and her eyes only staring at him, smiling.

When she was close enough to the Jeep, he leaned to open the door from the inside. She had to lay the sandwiches and her purse on the seat to lean on it and almost jump inside.

Once finally seated, she leaned on the headrest and closed her eyes, exhaling loudly. Her cheeks were still red and a soft laugh escaped Stiles's lips which earned him an evil eye from Lydia.

"You didn't have to run you know, I was gonna pick you up."

"In that piece of junk? No, thank you…"

"How dare you?"

He pretended to look offended and stared at her with wide eyes but her smirk made him laugh. During the first minutes of the drive, he entertained the idea to tell her about his Jeep and his duct tape but he decided against it. He didn't know how he would react, he wasn't sure he would be able to talk about it as lightly as he should.

If Lydia noticed something, she was thoughtful enough not to mention it.

Instead, she turned the radio on, filling the car with Polish pop music and fifteen year-old hits.

After a while, she finally gave in to Stiles's constant pleas and fed him bits of sandwiches that she put directly in his mouth, trying and failing to look pissed each time he would lick her fingers or nibble at them.

Thirty-four minutes later, they were at their destination. They quickly picked up what the farmer needed, putting it in the trunk and stayed a few minutes on a bench in a park to eat their lunch. Stiles had needed an excuse to postpone the moment he would rush to the hospital, to stay silent, trying to loosen the bundle of nerves in his stomach.

Guilt. It had always been guilt. Gnawing him, eating him up from the inside and he was sick of it. He couldn't set his mind on something else than the last words he had said to Deaton. He had flown into a blind rage, repeating over and over again This is all your fault , insulting him and almost spitting in his face. Deaton had closed his eyes and when he had opened them, they weren't filled with anger or contempt. He was staring at him warmly, drying up the flood of insults pouring out of Stiles's mouth. He had laid his fatherly hand on his forearm, staring at him straight in the eyes and telling him a genuine I'm sorry with this heartfelt tone that had never left him.

Stiles had spent the rest of the day crying and had never seen him again.

Lydia's small hand on his shoulder broke him out of his traumatic memories. Her thumb reached out to wipe a few tears from his cheek.

"C'mon, let's go, you can't go on like this."

Her voice was barely a whisper against his temple but it was powerful enough to chase away his teenager's snappy tone. She leaned to kiss his cheek and remained with her head against his shoulder until she felt him lean into her side.

They slowly went back to the Jeep and didn't exchange a single word during the entire drive to the hospital. Lydia kept her hand on his thigh, massaging it from the tip of her thumb every time she felt him tense.

Once parked in front of the hospital, they stayed inside a little while to think about a plan. Lydia wasn't sure she would be able to remember where the room was or its number. Even if she did remember, they couldn't burst into a room without knowing who they would find in it. The Alan she had met could be another Alan and worst, the girl could have left.

After a few minutes, it was decided that Lydia would impersonate a specialist who would have been called by the young girl's family doctor and would pretend she hadn't heard from anyone in a while. She would have then decided to come and see for herself.

The front desk receptionist was a young woman who seemed a little stressed out. Perfect . It would make it easier given they didn't even know the girl's name.

Lydia walked in with Stiles beside her. She stuck out her jaw and put on her most haughty and stern mask. She stopped in front of the front desk woman and without asking her if she spoke English, she started to bombard her with questions. The woman was looking more anxious by the second.

Stiles was keeping his distance but when he realized that it was working and that the receptionist started to check on her computer, he came closer with his heart pounding in his ears.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Martin but she woke up almost a month ago. We kept her under observation for a little while but she went home a few days after."

"Who visited her when she was here?" Stiles had stepped forward next to Lydia and his voice startled the woman who lifted her head to look at him, even more panicked.

"I'm sorry, I… I can't give you this information."

Lydia saw the way she nervously twisted her hands and knew it wouldn't be difficult to make her give in. She replied in a scathing tone Stiles hoped he would never have to face.

"Just answer my assistant's questions." She sighed, looking exasperated and turned to face Stiles. "I told you, the reception in this structure is getting worse every year. I can't believe I am treated like that . You know – " She shifted her stare toward the receptionist, "I won't fail to talk about it to the director when I see him next week… Miss Laska." She had said it with a devilish grin while glancing at her name tag.

The woman's face turned even paler and without wasting another second, she checked her files.

Lydia felt Stiles coming closer to her. She threw him a thin smile and took his hand in hers, trying to soothe him while the receptionist wasn't looking at them. When she raised her head from her computer, Lydia let go of his hand and her face shifted to an impatient look.

"She didn't have a lot of visits…" She had to clear her throat to stop her voice from faltering. "Only her parents who took her home, Eliot Tobolski and Alan Deaton."

She lifted her head without knowing that this last name she had said without pausing and in the same monotone had the power to trigger a storm. Stiles rubbed his hands on his face and stepped back, starting to walk aimlessly around the lobby. Lydia thanked the receptionist and apologized before meeting Stiles, grabbing his arm to lead them out.

He got inside the Jeep, sat behind the wheel and leaned his forehead against it. Lydia heaved herself up inside. She hesitated a few seconds but eventually laid her hand on his back, grazing it while saying his name in the softest voice possible.

Without lifting his head, he shifted his body to lay his head against her breasts, putting his arms around her waist. Lydia let him lean completely on her and wrapped him in her arms, burying her nose in his hair.

He silently cried a few minutes, trying to focus on Lydia's strokes and the regular beating of her heart. When his tears began to dry, he slowly shifted to seat up. Lydia tried to catch his attention by cupping his wrist in her hand.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"What's the point?" he asked, shrugging and drying the last tears on his cheeks with his sleeve. "There's nothing to say. It was Deaton and I missed him. I don't even know if I'll get the chance to see him again… We don't even know where he lives. Maybe it's for the best, he must already have enough problems."

"Stiles, stop it please… First, you would have missed him anyway, they must have left a few days after I saw them… And as for him having enough problems, I'm sure the day you'll come back, you'll realize – "

"No!" He interrupted her abruptly and immediately regretted it. He shook his head, closed his eyes and resumed in a soft voice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk to you like that, none of this is your fault. It's just that… I know what you're gonna say. That when I'll go back, they'll forgive me. But I can't go back, I don't want to. I don't want them to have to forgive me. I want them to forget me, to have a life. Scott, his mom, Deaton… They have better things to do than forgive me."

Lydia inhaled and closed her eyes.

"You're wrong." She was talking so slowly and softly, Stiles felt like she was building a frail bubble around them that could burst with the slightest movement. She opened her eyes and continued. "You're wrong and I'm gonna prove it to you. I don't know how yet but I will. I don't care if it takes me weeks or months or years but I'll prove you wrong." Stiles opened his mouth to reply something but she shut him up with a smile and a kiss. "And don't try to change my mind because I won't, okay?… Do you trust me?"

The look on her face was so earnest and loving it almost made Stiles cry again. He kissed her a little deeper before answering "Yes, I do. Of course, I do."

It had been months since the last time he had dared to go outside . He felt weak for no reason, shuddered at the sight of any shadow. Images and names were coming back to him but he couldn't tell what they were. Memories? Dreams? How could he find out? For the first time in years, he was realizing just how alone he was. He had nobody to ask. Even if he had someone, how would he have asked. He wasn't sure if he could still talk.

One thing was sure. He was human, he knew it by now because he had seen a stray dog and could tell the difference. But he wasn't always human. Sometimes, he was something else. He worshipped those moments: he felt better in those moments, more powerful. Sadly, they were rare now and seemed to coincide with the nights when the Moon was at its brightest. He couldn't remember a time when he had been a slave to the Moon or to anything for that mattered and it was filling him with a towering rage.

The attack came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. He felt his heart pound so hard it was almost like it wanted to free itself from his chest. Something lacerated his face, making his lips bleed and something else grazed his chest and his back, skinning him. Invisible claws were tracing lines on his legs, from his calves to his thighs, cutting through the flesh and muscles. It almost happened all at once, making him feel everything to the deepest of his core and soul. The pain was so sharp and engulfed him entirely, making it impossible to scream or defend himself. He tried to run away, to forget about the ache. He was running without knowing where to go, looking for this maze's exit while trying to get rid of this thing he couldn't even see. He was running with the strength desperation would give you, reaching impasses, running down stairs, jumping over walls.

There was a light in the distance which he tried to follow but every time he came closer, it would move away. He eventually realized that instead of running toward the exit, he was going deeper in the maze of those narrow streets.

Out of breath, he had to stop and found himself face to face with a creature he had never seen. He would have been incapable to describe it. It seemed to come from the depths of the Earth, the depths of Hell or Heaven. He looked at it, starry-eyed but with an undeniable terror.

He fell on his knees before it, diverting his eyes from its deep stare and looked down, catching sight of rats and cockroaches running away.

In the distance, a wolf howled.

He lifted his head once again to look at it. There was a certain beauty in its brown eyes, a mesmerizing beauty in its dark hair floating behind it.

It came closer to him and he was paralysed. It touched him and suddenly, he wasn't in pain anymore. He wasn't feeling anything . There was an emptiness inside of him, nothing made sense anymore. All he could feel was a force pushing him toward the edge of a precipice and leaving him with nothing positive to hold on.

He was empty. There was nothing else but the impenetrable ebony darkness standing in front of him.

The creature bent over him, burying its hands in his entrails, emptying him from everything he still owned and throwing it in the gutter. Rats came back.

It bent a bow back, aiming straight at his heart. He opened his eyes wide, more frightened than ever and still completely frozen. It lasted less than a second. The arrow hit his heart and everything came back to his memory. His name, his identity and flashes of voices and colours.

He saw the girl who had allowed him to live again. The girl with fire in her hair and stormy ocean in her eyes. She had helped him breathe again and seemed far, far away from him now, on the other side of a screen of smoke that seemed to thicken by the second. He tried to call her, to reach her, catch her attention but she seemed to react less and less to his pleas. Wild panic was settling inside of him, as if his life was depending on this last microsecond. She had to turn her head, see him… But the screen of smoke closed itself and he caught sight one last time of her bright hair before understanding that it was over.

His stare shifted to the creature still standing in front of him and who had drawn another arrow. He saw a faint smirk on it lips, showing dimples around its smile. A silver medallion with a howling wolf around its neck caught his attention and made him open his eyes even wider when he recognized it. When he recognized her . The last sound that came out of his mouth was a barely human laugh and was interrupted by an arrow lodged in his throat.

The arrow flew so fast it drew a single silver line that lit up the darkness.