A/N: That's it! That's the last chapter of this story.

Enjoy. :)

Chapter 10: Paramount

Stiles can't remember a morning where he woke up feeling as confused as he feels right now. It's half past ten in the morning when he takes a look at his alarm next to his bed after putting the pieces together that Lydia got cold feet or something like that.

He actually considers last night being a dream but at the same time, he refuses to believe it was just that.

When his mind has cleared up enough to actually get out of bed, he finds his way downstairs and searches for his father. Sheriff Stilinski sits on the couch, watching some sport on TV again and looks up at his son when he enters the room.

"Hey, dad," Stiles greets him, puts his hand through his hair and tries to ignore the awkward feeling crawling up inside him. "Did you … did you see Lydia leave this morning?"

His father raises an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you know about that yourself?"

Stiles grimaces. "Yeah, probably," he mumbles, walks towards him and plops down next to him.

"Something wrong?" The murmured question sounds next to him.

"I'm … not sure," Stiles answers honestly. "Did … did you see her?"

An affirmative hum. "Yeah, she left when I got up earlier. Two hours ago, I think."

Stiles takes a deep breath. "I don't understand this girl," he grumbles, then continues to watch TV with his dad in silence. Because he doesn't know what to do.

By the end of the weekend, Stiles is a ball of anxiety. Lydia hasn't called, hasn't texted, hasn't given any sign of being alive at all. Again, he asks himself if he only dreamed what happened between them and again, he refuses to believe so. He knows he's being childish and he should just call her or something but part of him feels betrayed and he wants her to take the first step for once.

There is one nagging problem, though: That he really, really wants to know if she's okay. It seems excessive to him to be worried that much but he can't help it. They went through too much at a young age that there wasn't some part of him now that was always worried too fast. And he would never forgive himself for being annoyed when there was actually something wrong with her.

When he calls Scott during the evening, he feels his guilty conscience reprimanding him for a second. It's forgotten, though, when his best friend picks up two rings later.

"Hey, dude," Scott says. "You alright?"

Sometimes, Stiles asks himself, if werewolves can feel bad vibrations through phone connections. "Hey, Scott. Yeah, I'm fine," he answers.

"Cool. Do you want to hang out or –"

"Do you know if Lydia's alright?"

The words are out in the open before he can stop himself from saying them. He can feel the tension down to the last bone in his body, his hands are sweaty and his breathing is more shallow than usual.

"What?" An understandable reaction.

"I – she was with me on Friday evening. We talked. She told me what's wrong with her and then we –"

Stiles stops himself mid-sentence. He didn't think about actually telling Scott what happened between them. He thought about it, yes, but speaking the words out loud is a whole different story all of a sudden.

"And …?" Scott presses and Stiles hears the smile in his voice.

"We kissed."

Silence. Then –

"Dude, that's awesome." Scott laughs and if Stiles wouldn't feel as jumpy he would appreciate the honest enthusiasm of his best friend.

"Yeah, I know. I thought so, too. But when I woke up she wasn't next to me anym–"

"Wait, you slept together?" Scott interrupts him.

Stiles shakes his head. "No, dude, she just slept in my bed next to me. Nothing more than kissing involved. Can we move on to the important part now?"

"That's not the important part?" Scott's voice sounds incredulous now. "Ever since we were kids you tell me how much you like her and now that it finally happened it's not important?"

"Scott, listen to me," Stiles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "She wasn't sleeping next to me anymore when I woke up the next day. And she hasn't texted or called and I'm seriously worried. Can you do me a favor and go by her house?"

That seems to stop Scott's teasing immediately. "Do you think –"

"No, maybe she just realized that it's me she's been with that night and regrets it or something." His heart aches when he says those words aloud. "It would just stop me from pacing around in my room all night if I would know."

Another heartbeat. Then, "Yeah, sure. I'll text you as soon as I get there."

When Stiles hears Scott's understanding voice, he feels himself calm down a little.

"Thanks, Scott."

It takes his best friend only a few minutes to report back.

She's home, nothing's wrong.

Nothing's wrong.

No, she's not in mortal danger, thankfully.

But why did she leave?

And as if Scott knows what he was just thinking, his phone chimes another time.

Just text her.

If it only were that easy.

The following week goes by fairly well. His therapy sessions seem to please Mrs. Morales – so much that she tells him she thinks he won't have to come in two times a week anymore but only once. Stiles is pleased as well because even though his business with Lydia is going down the drain even before it had a chance to actually start, he, too, feels like their sessions are actually helping him.

His dreams have become shorter, more blurred and he hasn't woken up shaking and panting every night but maybe every second one. They are small steps but they are still steps and he appreciates them as such. Being able to sleep better also shows in his physical well-being. He feels a light spell of dizziness from time to time and has to be cautious with physical activity but it's getting better by the day.

When he goes to bed on Friday night, he gets the last piece of the puzzle. He finds out how his friends and family got the Nogitsune out of his body.

It's also the last time he will ever wake up from his dreams about that night.

When all three Oni were destroyed, silence set in.

Time stood still for a moment, then two, then three. Nobody moved, nobody tried anything. They all just stared. At each other, at Stiles, at the spots where the Oni had been seconds ago.

While everyone tried to realize how the tables had turned so suddenly, Stiles followed where the Nogitsune was looking. It, too, stared at his friends and family, one by one. It took in Scott's baffled face, Allison's pride, Derek's mistrust.

It was this exact moment Stiles could feel his own heart beating in his chest faster. Usually, the Nogitsune didn't get nervous. It had almost been scary how steady his heart had been. Stiles was used to being in a state of panic half his life and weren't it for a dark spirit occupying his body right now he would have bet that it was actually healthy to have that slow of a pulse.

When that beat accelerated only slightly now, Stiles knew something was wrong.

For the Nogitsune at least.

And when Stiles thought it through one more time, he saw it as well.

All of its soldiers were gone. It had put itself in a circle of mountain ash, making it impossible for it to cross that line. Only somebody who wasn't affected by the powder could break it. And that somebody could only be Sheriff Stilinski, Allison and Chris Argent or –

– Lydia.

The moment Stiles thought of her, the Nogitsune caught a movement at the corner of its eye.

Lydia was running towards it, towards Stiles and as if she had been debating the same things as he had, she lunged forward, slid through the barrier and rushed past him.

While she was passing him, she yelled "Now!" and a second later, chaos erupted.

Everyone who had been standing and staring, trying to process what had happened, was moving again. Scott was running towards Stiles with bared teeth, Derek, Isaac and the twins behind him. Allison was aiming another arrow at him and Chris Argent and Sheriff Stilinski held up their guns, the latter with a small tremble. Kira's sword flashed in the darkness once more and then everything became a rapid sequence of attacks.

Stiles could feel the Nogitsune fight, could use his own limbs to attack, to block, to defend. It was a strange experience since he had always seen himself as helpless against the supernatural. No other being than the one inside him was proving him otherwise now.

But he didn't feel the pain, couldn't. He saw fangs and claws and got the glimpse of scratches on his arms. But no sensation followed.

Then he noticed Scott preparing for another attack. Stiles watched him ripping his mouth wide open, his fangs flashing and then –

Teeth ripped through flesh.

Stiles felt the Nogitsune screaming, winding, snapping. Scott was staring at him now, was watching him.

And suddenly –

– darkness.

The following days feel like syrup. Even though his dreams are getting more blurry every time, his mind is racing. On top of that, Stiles doesn't have a lot to do since his father is at work for the majority of the day and his friends are busy with school. He plays some games, watches TV or does the dishes but in the end, nothing can stop the endless stream of thoughts circling around Lydia and her behavior.

He has thought about it numerous times by now, has made lists in his head of arguments as to why she would leave after confessing all of the things she confessed and making out with him. It didn't feel like she was only doing it for pleasure or to give something back to him or anything else remotely similar. It just felt … right. For both of them.

At least he thought it did.

Stiles can't stop himself from asking Scott about Lydia. It's making him go crazy and he can't have that again. He wants peace. For his friends and for himself. Time to heal properly.

When it's another Friday, he calls Scott again. His best friend tells him the same things he always tells him. That she's fine, that she isn't talking much but it's better now. No, she hasn't talked about him. Yes, she's eating again, at least a little. No, she hasn't fallen asleep during class. When Stiles asks his best friend for the umpteenth time why she isn't talking to him, Scott finally interrupts him.

"Dude, don't get me wrong, but it's not my place."

"What?" Stiles is taken aback by the sudden change in Scott's voice.

"You know," he continues, "I've given you all these updates on Lydia but it doesn't help you that much. I don't want to get involved any more than that because it's something between you guys."

"Yeah, it would be way easier if she would just talk to me," Stiles answers, feeling anger rise up inside him.

"Have you even tried talking to her? Did you text her?"

Stiles stays silent. Then, reluctantly, "No."

Scott sighs. "Just talk to her. I know for a fact she's not going anywhere this weekend. She told us so. Just pay her a visit."

Stiles grimaces, bites the inside of his cheek. "I guess you're right."

It's about thirty minutes later when Stiles starts his jeep for the first time after waking up in the hospital. He thought about texting Lydia before driving to her house but decided against it. If she didn't want to talk to him, he would just take matters into his own hands now.

Living in a town like Beacon Hills usually is a huge advantage. Getting from one place to another is a matter of mere minutes. Now it feels like a good thing and a bad at the same time.

Good, because his anxiety won't drive him mad for longer.

Bad, because he has to face Lydia sooner rather than later.

Stiles decides to park his jeep a few houses away instead of pulling up on the driveway directly. The night air is crisp and it helps his head clear a little when he walks towards the huge house Lydia Martin calls her home.

For a second, he doubts his decision and feels his heart beat even faster. The last time he decided to give it a go it ended in a catastrophe.

"Just talk to her."

Scott's words echo through his mind and he knows it's the right thing to do.

And yet, it feels almost impossible to put one foot in front of the other.

When his finger rings the bell, he checks his jacket once more, clears his throat and waits for something to happen.

A woman opens the door, one with dark hair and a curious smile on her features.

"Stiles?" Lydia's mother asks, sounding mildly surprised.

"Hey, Mrs. Martin," he replies, averting her gaze. "Is … is Lydia home?"

She eyes him for a moment but he can't decipher the emotion showing on her features when he actually takes a look. "Yes, she is."

"I need to speak to her," he produces and tries to suppress the waver in his voice. "May I come in, please?"

Stiles doesn't know what it is exactly but when he finishes his question, her face softens and she opens the door a little more.

"Of course, she's upstairs. I believe you remember the way?"

For a heartbeat, Stiles is lost as to why she would say something like this but then he remembers that time when Lydia was knocked out with sedatives and only nods once. "Yes, I think so. Thank you."

She smiles at him in a motherly fashion and he can't help but feel a short pang in his stomach.

Sometimes he really misses his mom.

With a last look at her, he finds his way upstairs and to Lydia's room. When he stands in front of her door, he feels his fears more clearly than ever.

He doesn't want to do this.

He doesn't want to be rejected again.

He doesn't want to admit to himself that he has interpreted everything all wrong.

And yet, talking to her is the only way to find out if any of his fears are real.

When his knuckles connect with the wood of the door three times and his vocal cords produce a weak "Lydia?" he has never felt as nervous as he does in this moment.

Lydia doesn't answer.

"Your mom let me in." Stiles continues, his hand on the door handle. He doesn't want to enter her room without her permission.

He doesn't hear anything for several seconds. Only then – shuffling, a few footsteps, then his hand moves and he quickly releases his grip.

The door only opens a crack. Part of her face appears. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you." Suddenly, his voice is firm. Stiles doesn't know how it's possible, but it maybe is the reason why Lydia frowns and opens the door a little wider instead of slamming it shut again. "Can I come in?"

It's the second time he asks this question. It's the first time, he actually doesn't feel fear.

It's a mystery to himself but now that he's standing in front of her, looking at her, makes him stronger. Even when it's about their relationship.

"What do you–"

"I need to talk to you," Stiles interrupts her. "Please."

Another few moments of silence. Then –

"Okay."

Lydia opens the door for him wide enough that he can enter. He quickly notices her being in pyjamas already and feels guilty for intruding like that for a moment.

But it needs to be discussed.

Otherwise he will go mad.

"Can I sit down?" He asks, pointing at her bed.

"Sure," she answers, closing the door. She stays there, arms crossed in front of her chest, doesn't walk towards him.

Stiles tries to decipher her facial expression but is greeted with the emotionless mask she has mastered by now.

"Why did you leave?"

The words are spoken without his permission. At least it feels that way and he fights down the urge to think back to the Nogitsune.

"I didn't leave."

Stiles frowns. "Yes, you did. When I woke up, you were gone."

Still, the emotionless mask. "I woke up early."

He shakes his head. His elbows are on his legs, his hands folded together. "Why don't you talk to me?" He retorts, trying a different approach now. "Is this all a joke to you?"

"No!" Lydia exclaims and Stiles is taken aback for a second by the force behind it.

He can see her look at the floor now and even though his heart is almost breaking again seeing her like this, it at least is a reaction. Nothing is frightening him more than when she shrinks back in the liveless shell she has portrayed several times now.

"Then what is all of this?"

His voice is soft now and he briefly wonders if he could ever be anything else in her presence. If it's healthy being in love with her like this.

"Will you sit next to me?" He asks, patting on her bed with one hand.

She looks up to him, nods once and walks toward him. When she sits down, she leaves space between them. It's at least better than watching her stand in her own room, looking lost but he also feels every cell of his body wanting to hug her, wanting to make her feel safe and calm.

"If it's not a joke to you," he continues. "Then why are you doing the things you do?"

He looks to his left, where she sits now. Tries to read her body language. Her back is hunched forward and it looks nothing like Lydia would do. And yet, everything about her screams defeat, helplessness –

– fear.

"What are you afraid of?"

"It's–" She begins but can't seem to find the right words.

So instead of her confessing something, he confesses.

"I've been worried sick. You just left after – after we made out and fell asleep together and I bet you didn't have bad dreams either. I've been so worried I convinced Scott to go by your house to check if you're okay last week. I can't seem to understand what it is that's bugging you and it's driving me mad. So mad that I came here to ask you what I did wrong or what happened or–"

"It's not your fault," Lydia interrupts, still not moving. "Nothing is. It's mine."

Stiles can feel the air between them practically crackling.

"Yes, I'm scared," she says. He has never heard her voice sounding as small as it does when she speaks now. "I've never been so scared."

"But why?" Stiles blurts out. "We're fine. All of us are fine. For once in months nobody's trying to kill us and we can all just live our lives. What–"

She interrupts him again. "I'm scared of losing that again. I'm scared of losing my friends."

She lifts her gaze, locks her eyes with his, as if she is about to say something else but instead, she just stares. Stiles would have bet all the money in the world that he wouldn't be able to look away in this moment. He has never seen her eyes being as open as they are now.

He moves towards her and it's not a conscious decision. "Why would you be scared of losing someone again?"

Stiles doesn't think it's a fitting reaction but she laughs at that. It sounds humourless and sad.

"Because I've lost so much already and I don't think I would be able to go through that again." She still looks at him when she continues, as if she wants to make sure he gets all of what's about to follow. "I've lost Jackson because he became a Kanima and had to move across the world to heal from that experience. I've almost lost my own life because someone tried to strangle me. There are numerous times where I almost lost my friends and I can still remember all of it so clearly."

"So what?" Stiles replies. "You want to live the rest of your life secluded and alone? You know we all make a good team and that we will fight whatever comes our way."

She pauses for a moment, looks like she collects her thoughts for the next part, like it's important to her how she phrases her words now. "I watched you being possessed by some demon and was powerless to do something about it. But what was worse than feeling powerless was the realization I had while you were gone."

"What realization did you have?" Stiles asks and now it's his voice that sounds small.

Lydia bites her lip, puts a strand of her hair behind her ear and faces him again. "You mean more to me than I thought."

It's as if he can't decide what to feel first. His heart is racing but at the same time, a calm wave washes over his mind that silences the turmoil inside it and leaves a steady stream instead. "I don't – then why didn't you talk to me?"

Lydia lets out a quiet laugh. "Because I'm stupid."

"No, you're not." His response comes automatically.

"Yes, I am. Running away from your own problems doesn't solve them. It just makes them more complicated."

"I'm a problem?"

"No," Lydia replies and finally, a smile appears on her face. "You're the solution."

"Okay, now you've lost me, I'm sorr–"

"I ran away because I was scared of what would happen next. I ran away because I didn't want to lose someone again. I ran away because I couldn't face my feelings for you yet."

Stiles stares at her. "And now you do?"

She nods. "It scares me."

"You're not alone with that."

Stiles doesn't know who moves first but when their lips crash onto each other, a thunderstorm erupts and he can swear the air around them explodes. One of his hands finds its way in her hair while Lydia gets up without their mouths breaking contact for a second and swings herself on his lap. His other hand is on her back a moment later and pulls her closer to him. Their breaths mingle and he can feel his heart beat hard against his ribcage, his brain has stopped working and only emotions and instincts are left.

He's on fire again and being burned alive has never felt better.

Their movements feel rehearsed, as if they practiced their whole lives alone and were only now giving their best performance. Stiles doesn't know for how long they are kissing each other but when they finally take a second to catch their breaths, it's like a slap in the face when he sees Lydia directly in front of him.

Her eyes are roaring and he has never seen her more alive.

And it's because of him.

His hands are on her thighs now when they kiss again and he lets them wander. Part of him feels insecure all of a sudden since his own experiences aren't that vast – and yet, at the same time, he has never felt so sure about something than he does now.

They continue kissing each other, exploring, feeling, enjoying when Lydia suddenly stops.

Her curls are messy now and she has to catch her frantic breath for a moment. "Wait," she finally produces between inhale and exhale.

"Yeah?" Stiles answers, looking up to her. For a moment, he thinks she's an angel.

She looks back at him. "Do you want to stay the night?" She asks, calming down a little more.

Stiles just stares. "What –"

"I don't want to … rush it," she confesses and bites her lower lip as if she's ashamed. The sight of this makes him clench his teeth together involuntarily.

"You don't?" He forces out, trying to distract himself from his own mental images.

She shakes her head. "I want to – I want to do it right this time."

It's as if her words strike a chord deep inside him and he finally calms down as well.

"I'll stay," he says and he swears her eyes light up.

When Stiles lies on his back in Lydia Martin's bed a few minutes later, fully clothed, with his arms around her and his head in his hair, he has never felt more complete.

"I'm sorry I was an idiot," Lydia says, drawing circles on his chest with her index finger.

"As long as you promise to improve, I'm fine with you being an idiot," he answers, smiling widely.

She shoves him with the hand of the finger that was being gentle a moment before. "I really am sorry," she repeats and he hears the remorse in her voice.

Stiles puts a hand under her chin with his free hand, looks down to her and kisses her long and gently, like he has never done anything else in his life. "I know," he whispers and his lips brush hers. He can smell Lydia's shampoo again, feels her warmth on his body and her slow breathing on his skin.

He has never felt more content.

"I need to rewrite my five-year-plan now," Stiles mumbles, his eyes closed already.

"Your what?" Lydia asks.

"Oh, something I told Scott about," he replies and another lazy smile appears on his face. "It's not up-to-date anymore."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's fine. Let's just go to sleep, alright?"

Lydia mumbles something Stiles can't understand and he can't help but chuckle quietly.

"Sleep well," he says before he drifts off, happy for what is about to come now.

Because he knows it won't be something life-threatening for once.

And if it is, they'll fight it together.

A/N: So, what do you say? This small story has always been about Stiles getting back on his feet and Lydia finally realizing what he is to her.

I hope it warmed your heart a little. 3