Hey guys. I hope you're still with me. This is the halfway point, so there's still a bit more to go. Also in response to the Guest review: the style is deliberate, so although I appreciate your feedback, I won't be implementing your suggestions in this particular story. I hope that makes sense? Anyway. Here's the next chapter. Enjoy, everyone.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X
"This is insane," Stiles announces for the third time. The Jeep rolls to a stop at the red light and he turns back to face his friends. Kira and Lydia are in the back seat, Malia in the passenger side up the front. The kitsune and banshee seem shaken up – understandably – but the werecoyote is strangely detached, like she's aware she's not really a part of this.
"It's not that insane," Kira says, but there's no real conviction in her voice. "We've done things like this before."
Stiles sees her point, but still. "It's illegal," he amends, and at this Malia actually laughs.
"So's half the things you guys do," she points out, and there's something about that phrase that bothers him. He just can't figure out what it is.
"Like that time you pulled the fire alarm at school," Kira says. "Or the time you helped me and Scott break into the Sheriff's station. Or -"
"Yes, thank you," Stiles interrupts firmly, but he's not really angry at her. He's just frustrated that, yet again, the most brilliant plan they can come up with between them is not only illegal and morally questionable, but also, for lack of a better word, creepy.
Kira falls silent, and as the light flicks to green and Stiles navigates the Jeep forward, he sees her reach for Lydia's hand. He looks at both of them in the rear view mirror, feeling his heart constrict. They'd found Lydia in the woods about a half hour ago; her scream had been so loud that most of the pack had heard it. Stiles had been with Malia, and after only a little bit of prompting – and a comforting kiss – she'd managed to work out where the sound was coming from.
Lydia had been a mess when they arrived; there was no other word to describe it. She'd been in the woods up near the Hale house, slumped against a tree and looking like she was trying not to cry. Her pajamas were streaked with dirt and a couple of leaves were actually stuck in her hair. But what really got Stiles was the look in her eyes. Like she was dead.
"I know Scott thinks this is a good idea, and I don't mean to question our fearless leader," Stiles says carefully, "but are we sure this is the way to go?"
"What else are we supposed to do?" Malia asks, and it's a perfectly reasonable question – one that Stiles can't answer. There isn't an easy way out of this, no quick fix; they have to do it the hard way. Of course.
"I'm not exactly in favor of the idea," Kira admits, "but we need to do something."
She has a point, and Stiles drops the issue. It doesn't make him feel any better about it all, but it's nice to know he's not the only one who recognizes how crazy this plan is; even for them, and they've had some pretty crazy plans in the past. They're still a few minutes away when Stiles' phone beeps.
"Can you get that?" he asks Malia, gesturing to his pocket.
Malia pulls the phone out and stares at it for a moment.
"The big button," he instructs, and she presses it. "Now -"
"I know how to read a text message, Stiles," she says, and he's taken aback by the stiffness in her voice. "It's from Scott," she tells him. "He said they're going to get started without us."
"Thank god," Stiles murmurs, tempted to slow down so that the rest of the pack will be almost finished by the time they get there. But something – loyalty, guilt, morbid curiosity – stops him. "Hey Lydia," he says, and she meets his eyes in the rear view mirror. "I know you're super competitive and all, and you love being the best at everything, but you didn't actually have to do this in your sleep."
It's a joke, a peace offering since they haven't been talking much lately, but she doesn't take it like that. Her face goes pale and she shifts her gaze away, staring out the window. "This may have escaped your notice, Stiles, but I'm not actually in control of my powers."
There's something in her voice, like she's putting up walls around herself, blocking him off from her, and it's a strangely familiar sensation. He's used to Lydia Martin ignoring her - hadn't she done it for years? – but not like this. Not like this. Not when they've been through so much together, when they've spent so much time together, when they've become actual, honest-to-goodness friends. He'd always said he wasn't on her radar before, and he didn't really blame her for ignoring him. But now it's different. Now it's personal – and it hurts. More than he would like to admit.
"Sorry," he says, trying to catch her eye, but she's refusing to look at him. The rest of the drive passes in silence, and it's far from comfortable. Malia keeps shooting him glances like she's expecting him to start having a panic attack or something, and Lydia doesn't look at any of them. Kira seems uncomfortable too, and Stiles knows it's because she hates conflict and all the tension in the car must be killing her. And if he could just figure out why everything's so tense, Stiles might be able to fix it.
Isaac greets them when they pull up to the cemetery. He's holding a shovel, which he promptly hands to Stiles.
"How are you?" he asks Lydia, helping her from the Jeep.
She looks startled at being addressed, but simply shakes her head and sets off across the grounds. Kira shares a meaningful look with Isaac and then jogs off after the banshee.
"She's in a bad mood," Malia comments, inclining her head toward Lydia.
"Maybe because she was just attacked by someone who's supposed to be dead," Isaac says curtly, looking at Malia with apparent disdain. They may have fought side by side, but Stiles knows that the two of them don't really get along.
"Or she thinks she was attacked by her," Malia says, falling into step between the two of them as they make their way across the cemetery.
"What do you mean?" Isaac asks, giving her a sideways look.
"I mean, why are we so sure she's telling the truth?" she clarifies.
Stiles slows down slightly, trying to follow her train of thought. "You think Lydia's lying?"
"No." Malia comes to a stop, waiting for him to catch up to her. "But she might be… mistaken."
"You think she imagined it," Stiles says, and it's not a question. Out of everyone in the pack, Lydia had been the least willing to accept Malia. He'd never asked why, never asked whether it was jealousy or fear or just a general dislike for her, but he hadn't quite realized how reciprocal the feelings are. It's hard to tell with Malia, since for her being blunt doesn't always mean she dislikes someone, but he can tell now that she genuinely doesn't like Lydia. This makes him sad, for more reasons than he can name – and more reasons than they have time to examine, since they've reached the rest of the pack.
Scott and Ethan are in one of the graves, hefting up piles of dirt. Kira and Lydia are standing a little way away, talking softly. Lydia looks like she's close to tears again, and Kira's got her hand around the other girl's shoulders. For a moment Stiles considers going over to join them; he can remember a time when he would have been the one comforting Lydia. But then he remembers Malia, so he stays with her and Isaac.
It takes a long time to dig to the coffin, and gradually the pack drifts closer to each other, until they're all standing in a ragged group. The boys all take turns digging, while the girls keep watch. It's unlikely they'll run into anyone else out here at this time, but there's still a chance, however small. And even though they've done a lot of insane and illegal things before, this one is definitely the worst. And Stiles has no idea how they're going to explain it if they get caught.
"Lydia," he says after a while, and she looks at him before quickly looking away again, "can we talk?"
He's not sure what possessed him to say that, and as Malia glares at him he suddenly wishes he hadn't. But Lydia nods, just once, and he figures that's the most enthusiastic agreement he'll get from her. The two of them walk away from the rest of the group, staying within their line of sight but out of earshot – assuming the others don't use their super-hearing. Which they shouldn't; there are rules in the pack, ways to ensure everyone feels comfortable. And one of those is 'no using werewolf hearing without permission'.
When they come to a stop, Stiles automatically reaches for Lydia, intending on some kind of gesture of comfort. But she pulls away from him, and his heart sinks. She's still not looking at him, and he'd chalk that up to residual fear and unease given the circumstances – except that she's not acting this way with the others. If he's not much mistaken, Kira had actually gotten her to smile earlier. So it's just him.
"Are you… are you okay?" he asks hesitantly.
At this she does look up, but doesn't quite meet his eyes. It's like she's looking through him, like she's slipping away, and it scares Stiles. He's seen her like this before, but never quite this bad. After all she's been through she deserves a break, but all she gets are more dead bodies and more supernatural mysteries. At times he can hardly remember what she was like before Peter bit her; he thinks she must have been happy, and sometimes he wonders if he and Scott were the ones who took that away from her. They'd never meant to get her involved in their world, and yet here they are.
"I'm fine," she says, but he doubts even she believes it.
He raises his eyebrows, silently reminding her that he can tell when she's lying. She sighs.
"I'm as okay as I can be," she corrects, and Stiles thinks that's an accurate description. None of them are ever really fully okay, not anymore.
"I was thinking -" he starts, but a shout from back behind him cuts him off. He turns to see Scott gesturing for them to come over. Stiles turns back to Lydia, but she's already walking back. Without a word he follows, and when they reach the grave, Scott tells them what they already knew – they've reached the coffin.
The only way to know for sure if Lydia really did see Kate is to check if the hunter's still in her grave. If she is, then what Lydia's been seeing isn't really her – a ghost or a memory, maybe. Something that can't control – or, theoretically, hurt – her. But if Kate somehow managed to fake her own death, then she could be running around Beacon Hills right now. The thought makes Stiles sick.
"Okay," Scott says, and if Stiles didn't know him better he probably would have missed the quaver in the alpha's voice. "This is it. Are you all ready?"
There are various murmurs of agreement, but, naturally, nobody is incredibly thrilled with the idea. Scott nods, steels himself, and then climbs down into the grave. The rest of the pack waits up above, watching with bated breath as he snaps the locks on the coffin and then lifts up the lid. It moves slowly, creaking the whole time, but as soon as it's open the others all stumble back, and Scott scrambles up out of the grave.
"Oh my god," Stiles breathes.
Isaac groans. "That is disgusting."
They may not know what Lydia had seen out in the woods, or why she's been dreaming about a long-dead hunter, but they do know one thing.
Kate Argent is, without a doubt, dead.
X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X.X
Don't forget to review, and I'll see you all next time.