It was ten o'clock on Friday night. He should be out with his friends, bowling or mini-golfing. Research even. But instead Stiles sat in his room in disbelief. Everything was coming down into ruins, pieces of his seemingly perfect life, his perfectly planned out senior year crumbling and tumbling down into an endless abyss.

Scott? Gone.

Jeep? Just barely hanging on.

Malia? Gone.

And his mental state? Well it was pretty safe to say that had been shot down the moment the school year had began.

Everything was falling apart around him, he could see it in his mind's eye.

There was only one person he wanted to talk to, who could help him.

So he picked up his phone and dialed her number.

No answer.

"God Lydia please pick up" he breathed into the receiver and he dialed again.

No answer. He called again.

No answer. This time he left a desperate message.

"Lydia please I need you. Can you…could you come over? Or I could come over, I just really need someone right now Lyds…" his broken voice was recorded and the message lay waiting in her voice mail…

Stiles spent most of that night perched on the edge of his bed, waiting for his phone to ring. Lydia had always been there for him, and him for her, this couldn't be any different.

Around three in the morning he gave up, running his hands through his hair, tears of anger and frustration leaking out of his eyes. He stood up, slapping his phone off the nightstand and onto the floor. His movements were jerky and quick, he couldn't contain the energy that was building inside him. Suddenly he screamed and his fist met the wall, a small hole appearing in the otherwise blemish free surface. He took in a shuddering breath, his bottom lip pulled up into his teeth as his eyes watered from the pain. He cursed under his breath as his sank back down into the bed…

He didn't remember falling asleep but he was suddenly waking up to a bright light flooding through his window. It was Saturday, no school. Great.

He reached for his phone on the ground and felt pain run through his hand, yelping as he quickly moved it back, cradling it to his chest.

He looked down and saw that his fingers were mostly purple…crap. He had probably broken something.

In light of this, he grabbed the keys to the dying Jeep and stumbled his way down the stairs of his house and out the door.

He threw open the door to the car, which thankfully started up without trouble, and began the trek to the hospital.

When he arrived, he entered carefully, not knowing if it was okay for him to go to Melissa as he normally did…with Scott not talking to him and all that.

So when he spotted her and she smiled at him, he felt so much relief he thought he could fall over. She approached him and smiled again.

"Stiles, whats up?" she asked.

"Uh, nothing much, I just… I hurt my hand a little" he told her, holding up the injured appendage. Her eyes widened and she nodded.

"Okay follow me" she told him, leading him to get an x-ray.

The whole process took about forty minutes, in which he found he had indeed broken a finger, but only one, the rest were just badly bruised. So she put a splint on his right index finger, beaming at him when she was done. He gave a half-hearted smile back and her eyes filled with concern.

"Stiles are you alright?" she asked. In the silence that had followed the x-ray he had plunged back into his mind, letting the grief and frustration wash over in him waves. It was all he could manage to shake his head, biting his lip to keep in a whimper. She squeezed his shoulder.

"I'll be right back" she whispered.

About fifteen minutes later the door opened again, but instead of Melissa McCall, Lydia Martin entered. He froze as their eyes met.

"Hi" she said, her eyebrows slanted up, her eyes wandering over him, their inquisitive green clouded with concern.

He didn't answer her. He just stayed silent, still frozen as he had been when she entered. She made her way to the bed that he was seated on and sat next to him.

"Stiles?" she asked, moving to cover his uninjured hand with her own. When her skin touched his, he yanked his hand back as though he had been burned and shot up off of the bed. Lydia gasped in surprise, looking at him as though he had gone crazy.

He couldn't look at her. She hadn't been there last night. He needed her more than anything and she had ignored him.

"Stiles what's wrong?" she tried again, brushing a section of strawberry blonde waves behind her ear, this time staying in her seat, not advancing toward him.

"Where were you?" he hissed, back still facing her.

"What?"

"Last night, I needed you Lydia, WHERE WERE YOU?!" he yelled, spinning around to face her. Her eyes had gone wide, her mouth hanging open. She looked…afraid. He knew he wasn't actually mad at her, and he felt bad for taking his frustrations out on her, but he couldn't take it.

"I… I was with Parrish, we were researching hell hounds…did you, did you call me?" she asked, hands flying to her phone to check. When she finally saw all the missed calls he could see the comprehension dawn on her face.

"Yeah I did" he whispered. She stood up, her legs shaking and cautiously moved toward him.

"Stiles I'm so sorry" she breathed, stopping a few inches in front of him. He stared at his feet, determined to not cry in front of her. Sure she had seen him have a panic attack, but she had never seen real tears run down his face, she had never seen grief pour out of him through salt water, and he wasn't sure he wanted her to.

"What happened?" she asked, peering up at him, trying to get him to make eye contact with her.

He thought about ignoring the question, but figured she wouldn't drop it.

"Everything is just..Lydia everything is shit"

"What do you mean?"

"Scott and I, we aren't friends, my jeep is falling apart, everything I had in my vision…its all gone" he whispered.

"What about Malia?" she asked tentatively. He finally looked up at her, brown eyes meeting green.

"We broke up" he said. Was it him or did Lydia smile?

"Oh my god Stiles…I don't know…I'm so sorry" she said, her small hands grasping his. And suddenly he found that he didn't care if she saw him cry, he didn't care if she saw him vulnerable. So he let it all loose, collapsing into her, hugging her close to his body. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she let him cry onto her shoulder.

Eventually the two sank down to the floor, and Stiles began gasping. Lydia pulled away from him, her hands flying to his face as she wiped away the tears that rained down his cheeks.

"Stiles shhhh, calm down, you're okay" she tried. He knew she knew what was happening, they'd been through it before.

"Stiles slow your breathing" she commanded, just as she had a year ago. And just the same as a year ago, he couldn't. He couldn't even speak, he just shook his head at her, beginning to hyperventilate.

Now, Lydia knew many methods to stop a panic attack, she had read up on them after the last time…and yet…

Just like a year ago, Stiles was caught by surprise as plump pink lips collided with his own, and his breath was torn away from him. Everything stopped. They were the only two people in the world, sitting on the grungy tile floor of an old hospital room, his back pressed against the wall. He fell into it more easily than before, eyes only staying open for half a second before he let himself kiss her back.

Unlike a year ago, they didn't pull away once his breathing regulated, they stayed. Their lips moving together, hands everywhere.

When they finally separated, Stiles had the same look on his face he had had a year ago, but Lydia did not. Instead of surprise, she had the exact same expression as Stiles. A small smile that held a million promises.

She had found him when he most needed her, and he thanked god everyday that she had.