Thanks for reading, beauties! Love you guys! So sorry about the delay!
I do not own Teen Wolf.
Lydia soon learned she also felt an ominous feeling around the group of friends, but then again, Stiles was present there too. Still, Lydia had been in the popular girl game long enough that she knew how to plaster on a believable fake smile and seem like she was having a good time. Truth be told, she was having a good time. Her friends were here, her mom was out of town, she had the house to herself—things were good.
So why the hell did she still feel like this?
"I'm going to just make the popcorn and then we can get started." Lydia told them after handing out glasses.
The other three waited for her to disappear across the house before they leaned in to talk.
Stiles, as usual, was exasperated.
"Seriously, Scott, you need to get control of your damn were-eyes or Lydia is going to think you're more interested in the floor than anything else—"
"I told you before; I can't control it! We're lucky I'm not shifting completely without control."
"I don't get why we haven't told her. I hate lying to her, acting like we know nothing about what happened the night she was attacked. What ever happened to telling her once she woke up in the hospital? I thought you wanted to then?" Allison inputted.
"Well that was until she went missing for two days! And when she didn't end up turning into anything supernatural, I thought it was better we didn't burden her… but now, I don't know, maybe it is better we tell her."
Scott looked at him objectively, understanding there was more to it. "Did something happen?"
Stiles leaned in closer, wanting to be as quiet as possible. "We were talking before you guys came. She's been really distracted lately. And you know, that whole thing with her showing up at Heather's the other night was a little too eerie to just be a coincidence. It made me think… how do we know she didn't turn into anything supernatural just because she didn't turn into a werewolf?"
"What do you think she is?"
"I don't know, a psychic or something? If the Nemeton gaining power really does draw supernatural creatures to it–how do we know that doesn't include Lydia?"
Before they could respond, a scream sounded from the kitchen.
The three were moving without a second thought, Stiles nearly skidding into Lydia, who came barrelling around the corner.
"Lydia? Are you okay?" Stiles asked seriously, hands holding onto her shoulders so he could examine her fully.
"I think there's someone in here." she whispered in a shaky voice.
"What? What did they look like?" Scott was already pushing Allison behind him, looking around wildly for the perpetrator, senses clearly going into overdrive to sense the person.
Thankfully, his eyes had finally gone back to their chocolate brown. Ironic, considering his pulse had probably quickened with the danger in the air, so maybe it would only be a matter of time before things went south.
"A woman… um, long blonde hair, dark clothing… She looked… crazy. Totally crazy. Her clothes were mangled and it looked like her throat was… was…"
"Slashed? Bloody?" Allison supplied, eyes wide in terror.
Lydia nodded quickly, tears springing in her eyes. "What, is there some sort of haunted urban myth in Beacon Hills that you guys failed to tell me about!?" she asked hysterically.
Allison looked at Scott and then at Stiles. "Kate."
"That's not possible." Stiles said seriously. "How could Lydia…"
"It's the only thing that makes sense, Stiles!"
"But it doesn't make sense!"
"Does someone want to tell me what the HELL is going on!?" Lydia screeched, moving away from Stiles in her anger to glare at the three of them.
Her face changed almost immediately, blood draining as her eyes widened, and she backed up quickly.
The three whipped around, half-expecting to see zombie Kate Argent behind them. But it was just their shadows on the wall.
"I'm going crazy. I'm crazy. I'm actually crazy." Lydia muttered to herself, gripping her hair in her hands.
Stiles slowly stepped towards her, hands up in surrender.
"What are you seeing, Lydia?" he asked seriously.
"The shadow on the wall… it looks like… it looks like a… some sort of beast."
"Like a werewolf?" Scott asked, causing Stiles to shoot daggers at him.
Lydia sniffled, but looked at him in surprise. "I… I guess so, yeah." she whispered.
She let out a long breath, wiping her face.
"I'm so sorry you guys. I've been so… messed up since the animal attack. Nightmares. And lately I've been seeing things, hearing things… almost sensing things… Now my nightmares are infecting my everyday life."
Allison stepped towards her, reaching out a hand. "Lydia, it's not just you."
"Allison…"
"No, we can't keep her out of this anymore! She's clearly involved now." she said, but her face betrayed her emotions. She didn't want to reveal the craziness of their lives any more than the other two. But her mouth was a straight line, her head held high, marking the firmness of her decision. "It can't be a coincidence that I started seeing Kate again the night Lydia went missing—the night she saw something that scared her enough to have her running around in the woods for two days!"
"Does someone want to tell me who the hell Kate is!?"
Allison turned to Lydia apologetically, squeezing her hands in hers now that she was close enough. "She was my aunt. She was murdered my first year here. Her throat was slashed right in front of me."
Lydia's eyes widened but otherwise she was motionless, a frozen figure.
"She also was a sociopathic murderer." Stiles added.
"Can we get to that later? Let's not overwhelm her." Scott reminded him.
"I'm right here! Can we stop talking about me like I'm not in the room?"
"Sorry, Lydia." Scott said. "This is just… a really big conversation. Bigger than you know. We've been wanting to tell you, but Stiles, well, all of us, were afraid of dragging you into it. But with you living here, and all that's happened… it's about time you know."
"Know what?"
Stiles swallowed, glancing at the other two, before turning his sad eyes to his friend. "Know the truth about why I left Beacon Hills."
It took hours to hash out all the details of the last few years of their lives.
They covered all of the important stuff—Scott getting bitten, Derek mentoring him, Stiles taking over since he didn't trust Derek, Allison learning her family hunted werewolves, the whole star-crossed lovers thing. Then came the obstacles they overcame—Kate's death and play in the Hale family fire, Derek's psychotic uncle, Alpha Derek and his betas, Kanima, Deucalion and his pack of alphas, and of course the whole drama with the Darach. How the three in front of her had surrogate-sacrificed themselves to find their parents and found the Nemeton. How they knew, by doing so, that they would be giving power back to the Nemeton, something that could only mean consequences of the supernatural variety, since they had turned Beacon Hills back into a beacon again. And it had resulted in some odd yet terrifying consequences in the three of them.
It only seemed to be made worse by them being in town, being close to it, so when Stiles went away to visit a college for a few days and found all of them suddenly felt like the dark hole in them wasn't ruling their lives, it was clear it was better if he left town. Their symptoms seemed to dissipate on their own, as well as the influx of supernatural enemies, which is why when he came home at Thanksgiving and found they were mistaken he had been so upset. They thought it was a way to keep the Nemeton effects at bay, but it was clearly too powerful.
Scott took the reins on most of it, and Allison filled in her part in it all, but Stiles mostly remained silent, studying Lydia's face.
This wasn't something they had ever had to do before—explain the existence of the supernatural world to someone in full, someone who had never seen any kind of indication that it existed, that the traumas she had experienced as of late couldn't be passed off as something else. The three of them had just sort of fallen into it and learned as they went, and gradually found more people in the know. Stiles had tried explaining it to his dad before, but he didn't believe him, and in the end, he had to see to believe. Scott's mom, too, was mostly dragged in unwillingly, especially after she saw Scott transformed and had an evil mutant lizard nearly strangle her in their home.
Lydia had tucked her face away the more they went on, but her expression was impossible to read, even for Stiles. It was mostly just blank. He wasn't entirely sure she was listening anymore.
"How about we take a break?" he suggested, cutting off Scott's next interjection, and the alpha nodded.
"I need some air." Lydia muttered, getting to her feet and leaving the room without another glance to anyone.
Once the front door closed, Stiles leaned back into the couch, letting out a long breath.
"Well, this is going fantastic."
"It's a lot to take in, Stiles." Scott said solemnly.
"Maybe we should leave it at that for tonight. Give her some time to absorb." Allison suggested, hugging her knees, looking just as worn out as the rest of them.
"We haven't really gotten to the explaining she needs yet though. About what really happened to her, about what seems to be happening here now, with all of us, what it could mean. She needs to know." Stiles was adamant about this. He hadn't want to tell her, to involve her, but Allison had been right earlier—she already was involved. And now that she was being filled in, he wanted to make sure they covered the most important bases. He wanted this to be the end of him lying to Lydia. Especially because he was worried that their Bardo issues might put her in danger at some point.
Scott was the first to argue. "Let's give her some breathing room first. If she wants answers, she can come to us. I don't think pushing her to go beyond her limits is the best idea."
"I don't think there's really an ideal that can be reached in this situation."
Stiles wanted to tell them about his conversation with Lydia earlier, how scared she sounded, but that felt like a much greater breach of trust than he had been doing. He didn't know exactly what was going on with her, but if that fear or dread had anything to do with her interactions with the supernatural world, he wanted to put those fears to rest. Make her feel like, now that she knew, they would protect her. He would protect her.
"Is what I said earlier possible? That Lydia is some sort of psychic?" Stiles suddenly said, remembering what lead to this big confession. "None of us can see anything the others can. Isn't that kind of the point? That it's all in our heads?"
Scott scratched the back of his neck before leaning his elbows on his knees, spreading his hands out widely. "I don't know." he exhaled. "I feel like anything is possible. And maybe the set of circumstances that lead to Lydia moving here really was the Nemeton drawing her here. We don't know enough to be sure."
"We should talk to my dad. And Deaton. About what Lydia might be or what her abilities might mean." Allison said seriously.
"Who knew all this trouble could come from some stupid tree." Stiles muttered irritably.
The comment sparked a memory into his brain as if he had received a shock.
"It's just a stupid tree."
His memory played back the few times he had seen Lydia doodling—one of the things that inspired him to get her that painting charm for her bracelet—and he remembered the straight lines she was always sketching, the angles, how it always seemed to be the same thing.
He stood up. "Oh my god."
Scott and Allison, both oblivious, stared. "What is it?"
But Stiles was already moving, looking for Lydia.
He saw her sitting on her steps, staring straight ahead.
"Lydia… Lydia, where is your notebook? The one you're always drawing in?"
Lydia stood up, her face full of confusion. "Why?"
"I need it. I just need to see something."
"Upstairs, on my night table? Or maybe my bed?"
Stiles moved to race upstairs immediately. Lydia wasn't sure what to think but based on the determined look on his face, she knew her curiosity couldn't stay idle. She followed him, being joined by Allison and Scott shortly after.
"Want to fill us in?" Allison demanded.
Stiles snatched up the notebook from her bed, flipping through the pages. "Look. Look at this."
He flipped page after page, all with different sized scribbles of the same tree. Bare branches, splayed out tips, a thick trunk.
"They're all the same." Allison whispered.
Stiles nodded. "Not just that." He turned the notebook 180 degrees, putting the branches below and the trunk having the straight cut off at the top.
"Oh my god." Scott said.
"Seriously guys, do you want to tell me what the hell is going on now?" Lydia said impatiently, although she was jittery from the revelation that she had been drawing the exact same tree for months.
"It's the Nemeton, Lydia. You've been drawing the root cellar that our parents were tied up in." Scott answered.
"Wait, look at the dates. These were before…" Allison said slowly, flipping through the pages then looking to Scott and Stiles. "These were before Lydia was attacked."
"What does my animal attack have to do with—" But the words failed her as the vision of the yellow eyes and hairy body flashed back in her mind.
She rotated to look at Scott.
"A werewolf? I was attacked by a werewolf? You guys all have glowing eyes and fangs and…" She closed her eyes against the flashes of memory that flooded her mind. It was too much.
"Betas have yellow eyes. I'm an alpha, so mine are actually red." Scott explained. They had explained the hierarchy to her earlier, the different powers that came from alphas and being in a pack vs. being on your own, but they hadn't covered every detail.
"So… what does this mean? Am I turning into a werewolf?"
"Um, well, no. We don't think so."
"You don't… you don't think so? What does that even mean?"
"You didn't show any signs of the usual powers—extensive hearing or speed or strength, uncontrollable transformation like claws or fangs or glowing eyes, you haven't had any lash outs, and you didn't heal quickly from the attack. You healed like a human. We would know by now if you were a werewolf."
"So why… so why am I seeing things? Hearing things? Maybe my powers are just different?"
Lydia took a breath. How was she saying this so calmly?
Ever since they started explaining, it had been too crazy to believe, like something out of a movie or a storybook. But then things started making sense. Those conversations she overheard. The fragmented pieces of the story started to link together and, although insane to believe, a part of her knew it to be true. And there was a certain peace that came with finally having a sensible answer.
"I don't think so, Lydia. For all intents and purposes, you don't have any real qualities of a werewolf. We've been thinking that maybe… maybe you already were something. And the bite couldn't affect you. As far as we know, there's never been anyone immune to the bite."
"How can I be something supernatural and not know? That doesn't make any sense…"
She covered her face with her hands, feeling her breaths coming out in short bursts. She was getting too worked up, too stressed out, and it wasn't the way she wanted to handle this. But this was getting insane.
Stiles' hand grasped around her wrist, pulling it away from her face and stroked her skin with his thumb. "Hey. We're going to figure this out. Whatever it takes."
She nodded but didn't verbally reply.
"Maybe we should call it a night." Scott suggested, sensing the exhaustion of the group.
Stiles let go of Lydia reluctantly.
"Call me if you need anything, okay?"
Lydia nodded again, not looking at him.
Scott and Stiles headed out of the room first. Allison was about to follow, when Lydia's hand shot out to grab her arm.
"Can you stay?" she asked quietly, more vulnerable than ever.
Allison smiled and rubbed the hand over her arm. "Of course."
Lydia didn't miss the pain that flashed across Stiles face, but he moved and headed downstairs.
She wasn't doing it to hurt him, even though she knew he would feel like she was intentionally shunning him. She wasn't sure how she was feeling about everything and she needed a more neutral confidante. She just wanted straight answers to the questions burning inside her brain, to rationalize the craziness she was swallowed up in, and this was the best way she knew to go about it right now.
"He'll get over it." Allison inputted, clearly recognizing the look on her face.
Lydia sighed. "I'm not blaming him for not telling me sooner or anything. I just need some space to figure this all out. And things with him, emotionally, are too complicated on a good day."
Allison nodded understandably. "Let's get ready for bed first, take a breather from everything, and then you can ask me whatever you want."
Lydia liked the sound of that. She headed to her dresser to dig out some pajamas for the both of them, ignoring the twinge in her heart as she heard Stiles' jeep drive down the road.
It was cold. That's all Stiles could register at first.
It wasn't a cold like on a bitter morning when visiting relatives a few states over. Or when you had your hands digging around in the deep freeze for so long that they started changing colour. It was visceral, coating his tissues and organs. It made him feel as if his lungs were icing over.
The next thing his brain registered was that it was dark. Not dark like in a movie theatre or when you shuffled through your room at night to go to the bathroom—pitch dark. The kind that you felt more than saw. It was complete absence of any remnant of light, an abyss, and the fear began coiling itself around his spinal cord.
Without his sight, his other senses were hyperaware, and he suddenly knew he wasn't alone. Wherever he was, whatever was happening—someone or something was there with him.
"Stiles…" a taunting, what couldn't truly be considered a voice, more like nails on a chalkboard, came from the void. "I'm getting closer, Stiles."
"Stay…. Stay away from me." he tried to say as strongly as he could, but his bravery was swept under the rug and it came out as more of a whimper.
"But you and I are going to have so much fun together." the scraping voice dripped with playful malice, clearly enjoying his fear, as if it, whatever it was, was feeding on its succulent taste.
"No, no, no. Leave me alone. Please." Stiles begged, trying to move, but it was like the floor was molasses and he was stuck. His legs were so heavy he couldn't budge them. He felt tears forming in the corner of his eyes.
"Let me in, Stiles. Why won't you let me in?"
He closed his eyes tightly, struggling against the quicksand floor, begging his mind to wake up from the nightmare he was in. It had to be a nightmare. It didn't make any sense.
Finally, he seemed to jerk free, and when he opened his eyes, he was looking through a vented window, light peeking through the slates.
The walls were close around him, the cool of the metal near his skin, and he could see glimpses of the Beacon Hill high school's boys' locker room. He was in a locker. How the hell had he ended up in a locker at his old high school?
Pushing on the door, nothing happened. His breath quickening instantly, he pushed again and again, harder and harder, internally begging for the damn thing to budge.
It did eventually, much to his surprise, causing him to nearly topple to the floor.
Stiles took in the empty room around him, the moonlit benches and tile floor. Had he been sleep walking again? His brief glimpse at himself in the mirror on his way out of the door concluded that he was still in his sweatpants and t-shirt from the night before, so it made sense.
But how had Scott not noticed him leave? He had stayed over after they left Lydia's, knowing Stiles needed the company to keep himself distracted from worrying nonstop about what Lydia was thinking after the big reveal. Were they out looking for him? He should call them… except his phone was on his bedside table at home.
It had been a while since he had been at the high school at night. Plenty of supernatural memories littered the halls in his mind, and he kept his cautious stance as he walked down them. They hadn't had security watching the place at night for some time, too many casualties, but he didn't fancy running into anyone or anything else.
An open classroom door caught his eye, his memory flickering to a certain teacher who turned out to be a dark druid, and he found himself drawn to it. They always locked the doors at night. Why was this one open?
Stepping inside, he felt his breath halt in his lungs, the cold from his previous dream returning instantly. He could taste the fear in his mouth, a rusty metallic taste like blood, sitting on the back of his tongue.
The windows were smashed, blinds hanging lopsided, much like the night Jennifer had kidnapped his dad, the first of the Guardian sacrifices. Scott's mom and Allison's dad followed a few days later. But it wasn't the trashed classroom that alarmed him the most.
It was the abnormally large smoothly cut tree trunk sitting in the center of it, roots anchored like it had been growing there for centuries. The Nemeton.
His mind reminded him that this kind of dream was familiar, that he'd been having a lot of these since returning home. Now that he was back close to the Nemeton.
He was dreaming, he had to be dreaming. Wake up, Stiles.
Hands shaking, Stiles reached out slowly to touch the trunk, wanting to know if he'd feel the wood under his fingers or just air that would clear away the cloud in his mind.
Before his fingertips grazed the aged tree, a root internally jumped from the center, wrapping tightly around his wrist and pulling him forward.
Stiles woke with a start, panting hard, struggling to get upright to breathe.
Lydia sat up, reaching over to rub his arm.
"You okay? Stiles?" she asked worriedly, touching his arm, clearly seeing his distress.
Stiles swallowed, nodding numbly, catching his breath as his memory flashed back.
"Yeah, I was just dreaming. It was really weird; it was like a dream within a dream."
"A nightmare?"
He nodded, rubbing the hand she had placed on his knee. She stroked along his shoulder soothingly. He felt himself begin to breathe—her presence was always so soothing. Especially after—
Stiles found himself stiffening, her touch suddenly not so comforting. His eyes flickered to their intertwined hands, to the hand on her shoulder, to the reassuring smile she shyly displayed.
Lydia hadn't slept over last night—Scott had. And by the looks of things, his best friend was nowhere to be seen, and last he knew, Lydia was getting the supernatural 411 from Allison at her own house.
Could she have come over while he was sleeping? Scott gracefully ducking out so they could talk in the morning?
His mind was telling him no. That was not a hypothetical option.
"Wait a sec. Lydia. What are you doing here?" he had to ask. He had to know. Was this all in his head too?
As if on cue, his closet door creaked open slowly, like something out of a horror movie. Both of their eyes snapped in that direction, and Stiles could only see blackness beyond the ajar door.
"Hang on." he whispered, remembering in his dream, how dark it was, how someone had been wanting to be let in.
"Stiles, where are you going?" Lydia whispered fearfully, gripping his arm.
"I should have closed the door." he found himself saying, as if the words were not his own, as if reminding him of the message his subconscious left him before, that the door in his mind was still ajar, still needing to be closed.
"Just come back to sleep." she told him, pushing on his shoulder a little more forcefully than expected.
He pulled away from her, getting to his feet. "No, no, I should close it."
"Don't worry about it." she said, rather sharply.
His voice was softer than fleece now. "But what if someone comes in?"
"Like who?"
He ignored her, crossing the room slowly.
"Just go back to sleep, Stiles." she repeated.
"No, what if they get in?"
"What if who gets in?" she asked, sounding scared now.
He was so close. It still only showed blackness.
"Stiles, just leave it. Please." Lydia sounded desperate now.
He was at the door. He pulled it open slightly, his eyes catching something beyond the dark. Maybe the answer of who was trying to come in. Who he needed to keep out.
"Stiles? Stiles, come back to bed. Stiles? Please. Don't, Stiles. Don't! Don't go in there, Stiles, Please don't. Please, Stiles, don't!" Lydia screaming pleads became more and more distant as he walked through the tunnel into the light, heart beating loudly in his ears.
There was a strong gust flowing through the lit field, the Nemeton on display again. Lights brightened up the area, as if they were in the center of the Beacon Hills High lacrosse field.
The wind grew stronger as he stood in front of it, and he covered his ears as it grew louder and whipped leaves against him.
"This is just a dream. It's just a dream, get it out of your head, Stiles." he practically chanted to himself, closing his eyes and opening them, waiting for his bedroom to come into view. He was still outside. "You're dreaming, all right? So wake up, Stiles. Wake up, Stiles. WAKE UP!"
He screamed at the top of his lungs, feeling the slices of the leaves and bits of debris across his skin, but then he was breathing normal, lying horizontally, and he sat up at the soft sound of birds chirping outside of his window.
It was morning…? He was actually awake?
The room had been brightened by the sunlight and he was wearing the same clothes as before. He was finally awake.
Stiles exhaled slowly, unable to believe the traumatic night of dreams he had just endured.
He looked to his side to find the bed empty, no Lydia and no Scott.
Oh god.
But Scott walked into his room a minute later, capped toothbrush in hand. "Hey, you're awake. Everything okay? You look spooked."
Stiles almost wanted to laugh. That was one word for it.
Scott sat down next to him, worried now. "Bad dream?"
"Yeah. They're getting worse. Darker, somehow. More messed up. And the Nemeton's an even stronger focus now."
"You think it means something?" he asked, intrigued.
"I think that thing Deaton talked about? Us needing to close the door in our minds? I think we're running out of time."
"Why do you say that?"
"Just something that's been happening in my dreams. Someone, or something, is trying to get into my mind. Maybe one of those wrathful deities or something. And it's getting harder to figure out if I'm awake or not."
Scott scooted closer, clearly concerned. "What do you mean?"
"You know how you can tell you're dreaming? You can't read in dreams. More and more, I've been having trouble reading. Trying to work on homework, and it's like halfway down the page it changes to a completely different language, or hieroglyphics or something."
"So what do we do?"
"I don't know. We've got to figure out a way to close the door in our minds. And soon." Stiles scratched the back of his neck, then let out a sigh. "But do you want to know what scares me the most?"
Scott observed him inquisitively.
"I'm not even sure if this is real."
Stiles felt himself get ripped out of that world, slamming right back into assumed reality, but a scream equivalent to finding bloody murder exploded from his throat. He thrashed away from the grip around his limbs, blankets, whatever the hell was holding him in place, and felt like his lungs were going to burn up in flames.
The Sheriff burst through his bedroom door, but Scott had already locked his body around Stiles, pulling him back into him as he sobbed uncontrollably, his mind feeling like it had been through the wringer. How could he know if this was real? In each dream, he felt everything as if he was awake, only really noticing how off things were until he woke up. The current events, being comforted by his family, may feel normal now, but maybe when he wakes up again in ten minutes, he'll realize the things that weren't right. It was just too much. All of it was too much.
Scott shushed him soothingly, releasing his tight grip as Stiles calmed down. Stiles moved to bury himself in his dad's shoulder, needing the physical comfort from his only parent more than he cared to admit out loud.
He could sense the worry between Scott and his dad, the no doubt exchange of concerned glances, but Stiles couldn't stop shaking all over.
He had no idea that a few blocks away, in the Martin residence, Lydia too was screaming at the top of her lungs.
