Hi wolflets. Sorry for the delay, but this year has been next-level awful for me so I haven't really been doing much of anything. Anyway. You don't care about that, you're all just here for the story. Speaking of which, the next chapter will be the last! It's only been, what, two years in the making? I hope you'll all find the ending satisfying, because I am quite proud of it. I will have more things to say in my final AN, but for now, here's the next chapter.

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As soon as Allison has passed on her warning, she disappears, swirled away by the silver light. Lydia's not worried for her, because she knows she's okay. But she's worried for herself, because she knows that whatever is growling is coming after her. This may be the afterlife – or wherever she is – but instinctively she's aware that she isn't safe from harm. She's not immune to danger, and so she runs.

The world is a mess of pastel colors and indistinct voices, and she can't make out anything beyond the blurred shapes of the trees and the night sky stretching above her. The stars all seem to blend together until the sky becomes silver too, until she can't see anything beyond a blinding silver light, and the growling gets louder until it overcomes the rushing in her ears. And then, suddenly, it stops. But she keeps running.

When it feels like the immediate threat has passed, she slows down, eventually stopping underneath a tall tree. She can barely catch her breath – which is unusual because until this point she had sort of assumed she was incorporeal – and the cold wind is getting stronger, making her shiver. But beyond all that, there's something she can't quite make out. Something – someone – calling her name –

She can hear him.

Stiles.

"I don't know if you can hear me -"

I can hear you.

"But if you're listening, just give me a sign, something, anything -"

I'm here, Stiles, I'm right here.

"God, Lydia, you can't do this, not again -"

I'm sorry, I'm trying.

"Please, Lyds, just come back. Come back to me."

The silver light swirls in front of her, blinding her, but she can still hear him. Lydia closes her eyes and focuses on his voice, letting it guide her back, following that red string until she knows she's right there with him. She opens her eyes.

Stiles' eyes widen and his face breaks into a surprised smile. Lydia blinks a few times, taking in the scenery around her – she's really in a forest, but the silver light has gone and it's all soft moonlight and gentle starlight. And standing in front of her is the boy who brought her back.

She tumbles into his arms and he catches her; she can hear his surprised intake of breath, but the arms wrapping around her are steady, sturdy, her anchor pulling her back, holding her here.

"It's okay," he's murmuring in her ear, "I've got you."

They stay like this for a long time, long enough for the others to catch up. She doesn't know where everyone is or what had happened, but she's relieved when she sees the rest of the pack showing up. First it's Ethan and Isaac, slipping in from the shadows, and then it's Scott and Kira coming in from the other side. When the rest of the pack reaches them, Stiles and Lydia pull away from each other, but she notices that he's still holding her hand. She doesn't let go.

"Are you okay?" Scott asks, looking at Lydia in concern.

She feels Stiles squeeze her hand, and she manages a weary smile. "Yeah," she says, "I'm okay."

Seeming satisfied by the response, Scott turns to Stiles. "Malia?"

"Gone," Stiles says simply, and Lydia tries to quell the rush of pleasure she feels at that. She hadn't realized how much she wanted Stiles, not until Malia catapulted into their lives, and now it seems like they might be going back to normal.

Scott nods, like he'd been expecting this, and then looks at Lydia again. "You're sure you're okay?" he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"I'm fine, Scott," she says patiently, and for once she's not lying. Everything's going to be okay; she knows that now.

"Okay." Scott turns to the rest of the pack. "We should call it a night, guys. Thanks for all your help."

"No problem," Ethan says, giving Lydia a warm smile.

"I'm glad you're okay," Isaac adds to her, and she smiles at both of them.

They start walking off, and Kira and Scott follow. Lydia and Stiles don't move, and after a few steps Scott turns back to them. "Aren't you coming?"

"I think I…" Lydia pauses, looking at Stiles, wondering how to put it.

"We'll catch up," Stiles says, and Scott gives them a knowing look before jogging after Kira.

Once the rest of the pack is gone, Lydia sighs. This is the end of all the chaos they've been struggling through since Allison's death – and even before then – but it doesn't feel like the end. It feels like a beginning, like the start of something new, and she wants to see where it will go.

"Thank you," she says, turning to Stiles.

He gives her a quizzical look.

"For bringing me back," she clarifies. "I was… I don't even know where I was. But I heard your voice, and it brought me back."

A slow smile spreads across Stiles' face, and he looks down at their intertwined hands. "I guess I'm your emotional tether too," he muses.

Lydia laughs, dizzy with relief. "Looks like we're stuck with each other then."

"Looks like," Stiles replies with a chuckle.

They start walking after the others, but slowly, not wanting to catch up to them just yet. There are still a few things Lydia needs to talk to him about, but she doesn't even know where to start. To her relief, Stiles is the one who initiates the conversation.

"I'm sorry about everything," he says, and she's so startled she actually stops walking. He turns back to her, the apology written all over his face. "I've been so – oblivious, these past few weeks. I was so caught up with Malia that I didn't even realize you were…"

"Slowly losing my mind?" Lydia supplies with good humor; somehow everything seems less serious now. "It's okay, Stiles. You had your own things going on. I shouldn't have been such a bitch about it all."

"You weren't," Stiles assures her quickly. "You were being haunted by a supposedly dead werewolf-hunter-turned-werejaguar. You should have been able to talk to us about it."

"What are friends for?" Lydia laughs. "Otherwise I'd have no one to talk to about my werejaguar problems."

"One in three teenage girls have to deal with werejaguars during their high school years," Stiles says, mock-serious. "It's a very serious problem."

"Are you saying I'm one in three?" Lydia says, pretending to be indignant.

"More like one in a million," Stiles replies, now actually serious. But there's nothing melodramatic about it, and it makes Lydia's heart flutter. She wonders just when she fell for Stiles Stilinski, but she supposed it doesn't matter; what matters is this moment, the one when they both know they're going to be together.

"So Malia's gone, huh?" she asks after a while.

Stiles, holding a branch out of the way for her, shrugs. "Yeah. She took off a while ago."

"And she's not coming back?"

"Nope." Stiles lets the branch spring back into place and then follows Lydia through the trees.

"I'm sorry," she says as he catches up to her, and she really is. She'd seen how happy Stiles and Malia were, at least at the start of their relationship, and she's sorry he had to lose that. But it seems like things had disintegrated between them, and she can't quite force herself to feel too sad about it all.

"It's okay," Stiles says, and it sounds like he means it. "Turns out we weren't really compatible after all."

They fall back into a comfortable silence, and Lydia finds herself wondering how they got to this point. She can still remember when Stiles was nothing to her, just some dorky kid who had a crush on her. But even back then, he was working hard to protect her – from Derek and his pack, from Peter, from this entire supernatural mess. She'll never be able to thank him for that, or make it up to him, but she needs to do something.

"Stiles," she says, coming to a stop.

A couple paces ahead, he stops too, turning to look at her. "What is it?"

Lydia's always had a wild streak, but it's not normally so prominent. But desire is bubbling in her, and who is she to turn away from that? So she crosses the space between them and catches Stiles in a kiss; the second time she's kissed him, but this time it's for real. It's not to stop him from panicking – it's to let him know that she's his. That she'll always be his.

"Wh-what was that for?" he asks as she pulls away, feeling a blush creep across her cheeks.

She shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. "I just wanted to say thank you."

"That was one hell of a thank you," Stiles says, amused. "Remind me to save you more often."

"What makes you think I'll need saving again?" Lydia says, starting to move down the path again. This feels comfortable, familiar – her and Stiles joking, bickering, being close again. She's missed this more than she can say – in any language.

"You're part of a teenage werewolf's pack," Stiles reminds her. "We're all going to need saving again."

Lydia laughs, remembering yet again how crazy their lives are. But she has at least one thing that makes sense, and she's not going to let him go. While they make their way out of the woods – they get lost a few times because the path branches off at points and neither of them are blessed with werewolf super-senses – Stiles fills her in on everything she missed while she was in her fugue state, and she tells him a bit about what's been going on for the past few weeks with her, ever since she started sleepwalking.

And they end up back at the topic of Kate, something Lydia had been desperately hoping to avoid, and Stiles is silent for a moment before he asks the one thing she had been praying he wouldn't.

"You weren't really going to hand Malia over to Kate, were you?" he asks, and his tone makes it clear that he knows the truth, but he's giving her a chance to say it.

"Of course not," she says quickly, and she sees his features soften, like he'd known this but just needed to hear her say it. She could leave it here, but she knows she owes Stiles something, after everything he's done for her. So she takes a deep breath and says, "It wasn't Malia I was going to hand over."

In the time it takes Stiles to sort through this, Lydia wishes she could take it back. She feels so vulnerable, like her heart is on display in one of the jars that she'd found in Kate's house, but she knows it's too late. Stiles stops again, grabbing her hand to pull her to a halt too.

"Lydia, were you going to hand yourself over to bring Allison back?" he asks, and it's so, so stupid but she almost bursts into tears.

"Yes," she says, too quickly to allow time for second thoughts, and then she turns away and rubs her eyes with her sleeves. Everything she's felt these past few weeks is rising to the surface, threatening to swallow her whole, and she doesn't know what to do.

But suddenly Stiles is by her side, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. And Lydia's crying into his shoulder, and beyond the rush of emotions is the simple truth that she would never let herself be this vulnerable with anyone else.

"I just -" she chokes out between sobs "- I didn't feel like part of the pack, and I – I thought nobody would miss me -"

"Hey." Stiles grabs her shoulders and forces her to look up at him. She sniffs, wiping more tears away on her sleeve. "Lydia, listen to me. Don't ever think like that, okay? We love you. We all love you, and we may not always show it the right way but we would be devastated if you died. Okay?"

She nods, still sniffling, and she marvels again at the way Stiles can make her feel. Sometimes she swears she hates him – because god, he's got annoying down to an art – but she knows she needs him in her life. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, and he catches her in a hug again.

"Don't be sorry," he says against her shoulder, "just don't be stupid either. I can't lose you too, Lyds. I can't."

She steadies her breathing, the last of the tears trickling down her cheeks. "You won't," she promises softly.

Suddenly Stiles pulls away, looking puzzled. "Is that an arrow in your pocket," he asks slowly, "or are you just happy to see me?"

It takes Lydia a second to understand, but then she laughs, the sound slightly muffled by the tears. Pulling out the arrow, she turns it over in her hands. And then something occurs to her. "Come on," she says, grabbing Stiles' hand and pulling him forward, "there's somewhere we need to go."

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I would love to get to 200 reviews by the end of this story, so if you have thoughts or feelings or anything of the sort (whether positive or constructively critical) please let me know in the reviews. See you all one final time next chapter, for the conclusion of fugue. (P.S. Any guesses on where Lydia and Stiles are going?)