Lydia sat huddled in the backseat of the car with Stiles pressed tightly against her. Her mother, Natalie was tense as she drove, her fingers clutched the steering wheel with such force her knuckles had gone past white to almost oddly transparent. So much so, Stiles could see the faint purple of her veins slithering under her skin up her forearms and into her hands like poisonous serpents slicing through water. It sent a shiver through his spine, but no more than Lydia did when she writhed beside him. His muscles were tense, he wanted to be completely lucid, in the moment, present but he wasn't as strong as he had imagined himself to be. He was shaking more than Lydia was and it pained him that she seemed to be the one comforting him rather than the other way around.

She looked sick, deathly ill with the same sallow, pale skin as Natalie but Lydia's wasn't from fear, it wasn't from a moment of pain but from a prolonged agonizing time of torture he could only imagine. Her lipped were chapped, her hair was plastered to her face with sweat but her eyes, they were looking up at Stiles seeking comfort in the only place she knew she could always find it.

"Almost home Lydia," Natalie said in a staggered whisper as they turned down the road before the Martin house. Lydia nodded into Stiles shoulder, breathing in the laundry detergent still wafting from his sweater. Her grip tightened on his hand and he soothed her apprehension by stroking small calming circles onto her skin with his thumb. She hadn't said a word since they had left the animal clinic, only a tired hug to Scott in which she had mouthed "thank you" into his chest many times but no words found their way out of her mouth but he knew what she was trying to say and all he could do was smile. That moment with Lydia in his arms Stiles noticed it was the first time that night Scott could truly breathe. She was safe. His family was intact, Scott remained… as whole as he could be with who he had already lost.

The car pulled into the driveway and the stillness put Lydia back on edge. Natalie quickly got out of the car and threw open the door on Stiles' side of the car. Her eyes were glassy and Stiles couldn't even find one sliver of emotion that he could identify by the way she stood almost empty in front of him.

"I need you to…" she paused and took a breath. Her eyes flew around Stiles to Lydia who wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were closed and her head was propped on the head rest. She wasn't asleep but she was too weak to really support herself. "Can you stay, just to get her settled."

All he could do was nod. He helped Natalie get Lydia out of the car and into the house, while Natalie only managed to drop the keys twice in the unlocking process. Halfway up the stairs the doorbell rang and echoed down the hall.

"That will be Melissa with Lydia's medication. Are you two okay for a bit until I get back?" Lydia nodded stiffly, her hand was clenched as she leant against the wall in frustration as she watched her mother hurry down the stairs. Lydia made her own way into her room, she refused Stiles' help and used the wall to steady herself. It was only a few feet down the hall so Stiles didn't bother to argue.

Immediately, Stiles went into Lydia's bathroom to wet a washcloth for her forehead. When he returned he found Lydia hunched over on the floor against the wall. At that moment she looked like a child, frail, lost and scared, seeking comfort in someone else but being too stubborn to actually receive it. Her hair was stringy from sweat and being unwashed and hung in limp stands over her face and down her shoulders as if she was a distant relative of Medusa, a tangled mess of serpent like tendrils. Her skin reminded Stiles of the times in the midafternoon when you can just faintly make out a fraction of the moon intent to stay out with the sun against a light blue sky, she had the same ghostly paleness as one would see from that persistent moon, a slight figure haunting in its presence.

"Lydia, what-" but she held up her hand to silence him. Her face was so eerily veiled by the visible tangles of her unkempt hair, it was as if she was trying to hide from him. Her mind was buzzing, it was never idle that Stiles knew but that time was different. It was hurting her, her own thoughts had been turned up full volume and nothing went unheard. Silently, Lydia held up her shaking hands in front of her eyes and began to bend her fingers one by one as if counting them. She did it multiple times, her lips moving with each number.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, but his voice came out hoarser than he'd intended. She dropped her hands and looked up to meet his eyes.

"I'm counting my fingers," she told him with the faint glimmer of a smile. "This wasn't a dream. I just had to be sure."

"You thought this was a dream?"

"You know as well as I do that what is in our minds can blend in so stupidly into reality and vice versa that after a while it can be hard to tell which is which. I was so lost within my own head that I thought any experience outside that room was something I had created." Lydia paused and looked back down at her hands. Stiles knew, his mind wandered back to the time of the nogitsune. I had tried to block that part from his memory. His own mind had folded over into itself and allowed in an entity completely separate from him. His morals were gone and it was someone else's anger leading him blindly. He felt like Herakles consumed by Hera's madness. He wasn't conscious, it wasn't him, they tell him that he can't claim responsibility, that it was something else. And yet it still felt as if his soul was the one that needs redemption, because it was his hands.

"Do you understand what you just did for me?" Lydia asked meekly, breaking Stiles from his thoughts. "I told you to go and you didn't, you never have."

"You thought I would just leave you there because you told me to?" Stiles asked, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "That wasn't something that ever crossed my mind, not once. Not ever."

Lydia wrapped her arms around her body. "I spoke to Meredith," she mumbled, breathing in deeply at the end of her words.

"How?"

"In my mind. She spoke to me in my mind," Lydia tangled up her hands in her hair and looked at Stiles as if it was the simple logical answer anyone should have gotten. "She can do that, but it was as if I couldn't talk back, not really. So, I had to sit there and listen to her voice echoing inside my head helplessly stuck inside the room as if she was right on the other side of the wall that I was physically tethered to by two cuffs." Her voice broke right at the end and Stiles saw tears leaking softly down her sharp cheeks.

"Cuffs?" Stiles' teeth automatically clenched at the word.

"Only at the beginning." He was silent for a minute, he wanted to reach out and comfort her. It was evident in the way his body hesitated with every move, the way his arms twitched and his eyes fell soft, but he knew she wouldn't accept the comfort in that moment, she was too fixated on the subject matter and flustered. "But I knew Meredith would come, that wasn't a surprise. It was when I heard Allison's voice that I thought I was dying. At times I was tethered to the wall in cuffs that were supposed to make it impossible to hurt myself or anyone else and yet it was painful every day. I felt alone and then she started to speak to me, she was telling me that I was going to be okay. She was comforting me. I thought at first it was a trick, that it was some bizarre form of torture but the more she spoke the more I couldn't possibly think that if they were using her voice to taunt me they would make her say what she did." Lydia was lost in thought, her eyes were blank blocking out any of the sights around her for a few seconds before she stood up and walked right to the door, closing it quietly and shakily returning to her spot on the ground beside Stiles. "I didn't fight, not until Meredith showed me Malia. She was about to die, I could see it clearly and that's when I realized how utterly useless I had become."

"Lydia, what they did to you, everything that happened was for power," Stiles reached out and entangled his hand with hers. "You saved Malia without even being near her, you are so much more than you give yourself credit for. You Lydia Martin are the only thing that can both tear me apart and build me back up. Remember how I once told you that if you died, I would go out of-"

"Your friggin' mind," Lydia finished with glassy eyes that reflected such brokenness it was as Stiles could see glass fractures cracking underneath the lids. Her gaze stopped and she reached up and turned Stiles' face to the side. Her fingers were cold against his skin and he unconsciously laid his own on top of hers, but she seemed to lose all muscle control when she saw what she was looking for. Painted as a trail from Stiles' ear to his chin was dried blood, menacing in its stark redness. "You know what you said to me after? That death doesn't happen to you, it happens to everyone around you, to all the people left standing at your funeral."

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything you say to me, well maybe not everything. But in that moment, when you said that to me I figured it out. You are my anchor. But what I did to you, Stiles I could have killed you."

"Lydia, I'm fine," Stiles assured her softly, turning his head back to meet her eyes. Eyes he could look at forever and never grow tired of.

"But I'm not." There was such finality to her words, such assuredness that all words were lost to Stiles. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her so close to him that her rapid heartbeat pounded against his chest. Lydia sank into him and slowly she allowed herself to feel as if she was somehow safe. She clung to him as if begging him to not let go and he didn't. Stiles held her tighter when she began to cry, something he knew Lydia thought of as being vulnerable but her tears were a symbol of her strength. They were an outpour of all her pain, built up from endless times of confusion, self-hatred, anger, mourning, and the unrelinquishable weight of stress that pounded against all of them. But mostly she cried for death, the thing that surrounds her but refuses to take her. Instead she must carry the power of knowledge. Stiles wondered if knowledge was ever comfort, it could be but it can also be a burden. Perhaps the placidness that comes with knowledge is caused by the weight of the burden people carry. Or the carnage is too internal for anyone to noticed the destruction that it can cause. "There were times in there when I almost believed I was breathing because he allowed me to, he could make people guilty for every sin, even his own. I don't know what reality really is anymore, not just because of that man but because I can't differentiate what happened and what I have been told has happened. It scares me sometimes because people make it seem as if I need to be reliant on them to ground me to truth instead of fiction. I'm sorry," Lydia whispered and Stiles could somehow hear the frown in her words. The way she spoke was terrifying, it was a combination of fear, anger, sadness and too many other things for me to explain. She couldn't pick an emotion and that's what scared him, she was always so certain but in that moment she had no idea what to do. They were both past the time in their life when they could show their feelings the true way, to express how they were truly feeling. Because no longer could they show rage by having a fit. There is a balance, a level on concealment that comes only with practice and Stiles knew Lydia had practice. "I'm sorry we are always running from something, I'm sorry-"

"Stop," Stiles said as firmly as he could muster. "Right now, we're okay. And right now is all that matters." Stiles didn't know how to help her, there was no easing her mind. There was a hole in the side of her head for God's sake. There had always been a protectiveness that surged in him every time he saw her blue eyes droop to a sullen sense of despair and it killed him that he couldn't just take it away.

"Do you think it is true what they say about stress causing cancer?" She asked him, her breath warm on his neck. "Because if that is true than we are surrounded by carcinogens."

"I think we should be more concerned about werewolves than carcinogens," Stiles said gently.

"Why do we do that though? It's like choosing to smoke a cigarette knowing there is a possibility of lung cancer. It's an addiction but it started as a choice."

"People aren't decisions though."

"But they're addictive."

Stiles who knew exactly what she was getting at nudged her head up so their foreheads rested gently against each other, her skin still cold against his. "They are also exceptional." He bent down and caught her lips with his. Lydia was startled by the kiss at first but eventually her hands made their way to the back of his neck. She felt Stiles' hands tighten around her back and as he pulled her even closer, Lydia inhaled sharply. It was passion in the way she had never experienced before. It was real, more real than anything else. His kiss grounded her. It stopped her from hiding in her own mind. It connected Lydia to herself as much as it connected her to him. Her skin tingled as his hand came up to her cheek. She'd kissed people before of course, she'd even kissed Stiles once before but she had never wanted anything from anyone, she never thought she had the capacity for anything more than a physical relationship. But when his lips moved against hers in unison, as her hands began to play with the hair at the nape of his neck she felt like nothing else mattered but him. Lydia tensed, as her head began to pound and as if a slideshow was playing behind her eyelids flashes of memory slammed against her and she accidently pushed Stiles away.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly, worried he had done something wrong. Her strained face shoved a pack of cement into his lungs and left it to harden.

"N-nothing it's not you, it's…" she gripped her ears as if it could stop her mind from whirling. Droplets of sweat inched their way down her neck and dotted the edge of her hairline daring to roll down her face like tears as she turned to look at him. Stiles felt pale, whether or not he looked it, his face felt hollow and colourless as if it was a reflection of Lydia's pain.

"Lydia?" Stiles jumped when her bedroom door flew open and Natalie came barging in with a bag of multi-coloured pill bottles and a glass of water. Immediately she crouched down in front of her daughter and took her by the shoulder to drag her almost into her lap. Natalie one of the bottles and reluctantly shook two bright blue pills into her hand, Lydia took them and swallowed them without the water.

"Deaton said to expect this," Natalie said, answering Stiles' unasked question. "I don't know what are in those but Melissa trusts him despite the fact that his only degree is to heal animals."

"Deaton is the only one of us who knows how to cure the supernatural," Stiles assured her. But at his words Natalie tensed. She wordlessly pulled out another bottle, and eagerly handed Lydia the medication who that time took the large white pill with the water and leaned against her mother shoulder as if completely exhausted. Stiles examined the bottle, actual painkillers from an actual doctor, hence Natalie's lack of apprehension. Natalie helped Lydia stand and brought her over to her bed where she pushed back the sheets and smiled one of the fakest smiles Stiles had ever seen. The bed around Lydia seemed to fall away and it felt as if she was floating on air with her skin being vacuum sealed to keep her afloat. She saw Natalie watching her, but not in the way a mother watches over a child. It was as if she didn't recognize her, as if Lydia wasn't hers.

"They're supposed to make her groggy, so she should be asleep soon. Stay as long as you like, I'll uh… I'll be downstairs. I will make her some tea." Natalie left before Stiles could respond and left the door wide open in her wake.

"She doesn't like that word," Lydia mumbled. "Supernatural. It's like a cursing at a pastor."

"She just needs time to figure it all out, Melissa and my dad were the same way."

"Melissa and your dad don't look at the rest of the pack as if they are monsters. Notice how she has barely said two words to me, it's all been to you. She's afraid of me, imagine if I was a werewolf. God, she's have probably sent me to Eichen House without even a thought if that were the case."

"Lydia…"

"No, it's fine I was just stating the obvious. She's loves me, I know she does. She is just scared, I was too. I still am."

"So am I."

"Good, just remember Stiles Stilinski you are not supernatural. You don't heal quickly or have immunity to possible deadly situations."

Stiles' eyes grew wide in amusement. "I would like to point out that I had spinach yesterday. High in vitamin k, Scott doesn't even eat spinach so we might be on an even playing field here."

"Well in the small chance you aren't-"

"Very small," Stiles added and with those words came the crooked grin which lifted both his eyes up to smile more than his mouth. His black hair was characteristically messy and his dark eyes stared at her so vividly her reflection glared back.

Lydia sighed and rolled her eyes. "In the very small chance that you aren't please stop running head first into life and death situations with nothing but a baseball bat, or I might just go out of my-"

"Friggin mind?" Stiles smirked. Lydia believed the boy in front of her had the mind of an ancient Greek, the kind that was boundless and innovative but tied down by fear. He was someone who listened and she needed his unique approaches to her problems and just general obscurity. She needed his sarcasm and humour that he didn't try to have and his disheveled look and goofy grin. She needed him.

Lydia's eyelids began to feel heavy, the pills were working fast and Stiles noticed. He helped her get settled but she was asleep before he had finished pulling the blanket over her. He didn't want to leave but Scott was waiting for a text to come pick him up and it was already well past 1AM. Stiles looked down at Lydia, she was asleep but she didn't look peaceful not in the way she should. The curves of her face were fully accentuated, she had lost weight and her eyes were pulled down by dark purple bags that made her skin look so pale the usually unnoticed freckles across her nose stood out as prominently glowing embers. Still she never ceased to be beautiful in Stiles' eyes, to him she was a rarity he knew only came once in a lifetime and he was going to do everything in his power to not lose her. He wasn't supernatural, Lydia was right not technically anyways. But whether or not he had immunity to injury or heightened senses Stiles was part of the pack, the most important part. He was the glue that kept everything together but even he at that moment could feel himself slipping, the adhesive was becoming worn and he was going to have to work twice as hard to keep everything intact.

Stiles kissed Lydia gently on the forehead and quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He quickly set Scott a text, who responded almost immediately that he was on the way. When Stiles reached the bottom of the stairs he froze at the sight of Natalie on the living room couch. A wine glass stood tall on the coffee table in front of her with the bottle not far away. The deep red of the wine slightly stained the middle of her lips as she took another sip, not holding it by the stem but cupped in her hand as if she was scooping water out of the sink and drained the glass.

She poured herself another generous glass but left it alone when she noticed Stiles. Her green eyes were magnified by tears that they almost glowed. "Is she asleep?" she asked so quietly he almost couldn't hear her, but he nodded stiffly. "I don't know how to deal with this Stiles," Natalie whispered. "All of this supernatural shit. I don't know how to help her, I don't know what she is or what happened. How can I be there for her as a mother when I haven't got a clue who my daughter is?"

Stiles' eyes turned dark, they were clouded with exhaustion but suddenly angry. "You know exactly who she is. She's Lydia. Confident, so insanely intelligent it can be scary, she's kind and gentle and just because you now know that she has this one peculiarity doesn't mean she is now this completely new entity."

"A banshee," Natalie said almost as if she was in a trance. "A messenger of death…" Natalie took another sip of her wine and then another, and another until the glass was dry and her lips were fully stained. The clink of her glass returning to the counter top sent a shiver through Stiles' body, it was enough to make the hair on his arms stand on end. Fear had a tendency to bring out a person's true colours but in this case Stiles knew Natalie wasn't afraid of her daughter, she was afraid of the unknown.

"She isn't a puppet on a string to be controlled or some sort of broken heirloom," Stiles snapped.

"I didn't say-"

"It's dehumanizing the way you are talking about her. She isn't proud of any of this, she didn't want any of this just as Scott didn't or Liam or Hayden. But Lydia has always been a banshee, just like Malia she was born into the supernatural without even knowing how to control any of it or what she actually was. I can't even imagine what it is like to find out that you have had something inside you your entire life but never known the full extent of it. Scott had Derek to show him who he was, Liam had Scott and Hayden had Liam. Lydia has nobody. She has to figure this all out on her own. Meredith, the only other banshee she knows exists is dead. Don't make this even harder on her. Please."

Natalie dropped her head into her hands and Stiles could tell she was crying but he remained planted where was, stern and fuming with anger. "I don't know how to get rid of this guilt. It's eating me alive, what do I owe her? Acceptance? I don't think I have that in me yet."

"I don't believe in that kind of debt, especially towards someone you love," Stiles snapped. "Redemption is bought, its earned."

"Guilt gets the better part of people eventually, my family is proof of that," Natalie stated, her voice dripping with frustration.

"I think it is better to feel guilty about what you haven't done as opposed to what you have," Stiles said blatantly. "You can change what you haven't done but it doesn't work the other way around. You know what you have done, accept it and fix what you haven't."

"You're seventeen," Natalie cried. "What could you possibly have to feel truly guilty for?"

Stiles tensed, it was taking everything in him to not scream at her. "Too many thing for me to count," he said finally. And with that his phone buzzed in his hand. Scott was there, just in time.