Angel of Small Death

I watch the work of my kin bold and boyful
Toying somewhere between love and abuse
Calling to join them the wretched and joyful
Shaking the wings of their terrible youths

"You always have a choice, Stiles." Claudia explained lightly meeting her son in the eyes once more. Stiles searched them for any sign of faultiness, duress, because there was still that part of his brain that refused to register this as real. His mother—his dead mother couldn't really be standing before him, could she?

But he found nothing—nothing but love, nothing but utter longing and loneliness.

"Do I?" He found himself saying, his voice shaky and unsteady.

His mother nodded. "Of course, you just have to be sure." Stiles swallowed once he heard that last sentence slip off her lips. He had to be sure. How could he be sure again?

"You have to be absolutely sure."

…

"There's something I haven't told you." Lydia swallowed as she revealed this. Scott, from his seat on the other side of Stiles' bed looked up at her in confusion.

"What'ya mean?" He asked without any hesitation. Lydia inhaled lightly and tried to calm her breathing. Scott could hear her heart race for a mere moment only then realizing how nervous she was. "Lydia, what is it?" This time the concerning tone in his voice seemed to calm her as her heat rate decreased and she met his eyes.

"I-I could see him—Stiles. Well, I-I did, I… I can't anymore." She struggled out the words coming rom her mouth never seemed so disconnected, so distant. Scott frowned, trying to piece together what she had just said. "You saw Stiles? As…a-as in… I-I don't understand Lydia." He confessed in utter dubiety.

The strawberry blond nodded. "Yeah, I-I don't know what he was o-or how that was possible but I know what I saw—a-and I didn't just see him, I had conversations with him, I could feel him… almost as if he was real." She tried further explaining.

Scott nodded, eyes wide, mind racing to make sense of all this.

"But now I can't," She continued explaining. "he's gone Scott." Her voice came out so innocent, so strained that it nearly broke upon speaking those words. The alpha's frown deepened, realizing what she was saying. He looked to her for further guidance, but this time, she was as lost as he was. Usually she'd be the one to supply everyone with the right answer, she was the logical one—the thinker of the group. But now, as he gazed into her stormy jade eyes he only saw the tragedy that lay behind them.

And with a nod, he came up with the only solution that made sense. "I think we better call Deaton."

…

"I hope you realize this isn't exactly my type of specialty." Deaton stated with dread as he eyed the anxious teens before then. Scott and Lydia managed to drag him back to the hospital in hopes he'd clear a path to their answer if anything. "Yeah, no. We understand, it's just—we're a little lost here… We just need," Scotts words were unusually strained and unsteady, for he was having a difficult time expressing his direct needs. This was getting too overwhelming for him.

"We need to help him Deaton—he's not getting any better and I can't just sit here anymore." Scott continued a bit frustrated with the lack of words that was coming to him. Deaton nodded as Lydia carefully watched them interact. "So his condition hasn't improved since his arrival, correct?" The Druid asked though he knew the answer already.

"No."

Deaton nodded once again running the many situations through his head, trying to think of something explainable. It took him a few moments of dreading silence but once he figured it out there was no turning back. "Lydia, you said you were able to see him?" He eyed for a moment as she nodded. "Yes."

"And when was the last time you saw him?"

Lydia swallowed, her mind racing aimlessly for the answer. "Right before Allison and I came back to the hospital… after he stopped breathing." It took the strawberry blond a moment to piece together the simple facts in front of her and when she did, She understood it better. Realization took upon her as her words sunk in. "Right after he stopped breathing." She muttered under her breath.

Scott and Deaton exchanged a swift glance between them before turning their attention back to the Banshee.

"So what it sounds like," Deaton began once more being rather careful with his choice of diction as to not upset the two. "is that his physical state is taking toll on his spiritual side… in essence the more his condition worsens the deeper the coma the farther away he drifts from reality—but you can help him. You can guide him back." Deaton explained softly as he met Scott in the eye, then Lydia. "You both can."

"How?" His voice came out scratchy and forced as she examined the druid carefully. "You have to go inside the only thing he can control right now," Deaton began. Scott frowned not catching on as he waited for the rest of the sentence. Lydia swallowed uneasily for she knew where this was going.

"His mind."

…

Soon, after getting the go from the older Stilinski about their plan, the three hovered around Stiles' his hospital bed, Scott by his head as Lydia sat down in a chair at his vigil keeping a gaze on the boy as if it were for dear life.

Scott eyed Deaton hesitantly before gently sliding his fingers underneath Stiles' neck, feeling the soft of the pillows fabric below them. He angled his index finger against his best friends hot skin and waited as he adjusted the same grip on the back of Lydia's neck as well.

"You ready?" Deaton asked, but the sentence came out more of a statement than question.

After taking a needed controlling breath, Scott was the first to nod. Lydia just offered a short, minuscule small letting them knew she was set, even though she didn't feel it. She just hoped this would work, because they were running out of options quickly, too quickly and Stiles wasn't getting any better.

The strawberry blond closed her eyes and let herself relax into the padding of the chair underneath her, in order to do this, she needed a clear head. And as she felt the prick of Scotts claw dig into her fragile skin, she exhaled.

This is going to work. It has to.

…

She's not just a girl

she's more like the air and sea

I want you so desperately

and nothing's gonna keep us apart

She's back in the school. In the distance she hears the mumble of familiar songs lyrics she just can't remember the name to. The hallway is decorated with nylon banners and darkened, with the exception of the few lights escaping from the front of the gym door, bouncing off the walls and plastic of the endless balloons lining the lockers. One look at the strapless nude dress and choker she's wearing instantly helps her realize where she is. The winter formal.

Why am I back here? She frowns as she wonders around the eerily lighted hallway. Have they always looked like that? She's confused as to why she's there, the memories of that night were far from good, with the exception of the beginning.

"Hello?" Lydia cries out. Being in that school, which she hoped even now was filled with high schoolers, she couldn't help but feel so utterly alone. It was almost nerve racking.

"Jackson?" Her voice called out remembering parts of that night she spent nearly an hour looking for the boy. She didn't know why she said it—it seemed appropriate. Maybe that is what she was supposed to do—no, this is stupid. Jackson's in London.

The strawberry blond continued walking along the hallway, balloons falling from an endless supply from above, nearly blocking her view, but no matter how far she thought she had gotten, the glow from the gym doors never seemed to get any closer.

"Stiles?" She swallowed the fear was beginning to present itself in her once she rallied what was happening. It was a puzzle—a trick. "Stiles, I know you're in here somewhere." She exhaled, clearly in distress. The persistent notion that she was alone was quickly getting to her; it was too quiet—too still. Yet she continued walking, now pacing down the endless hall in frustration not knowing what else to do. She knew there was a far more logical explanation to get out of this but her brain simply wouldn't stop to think. It was working over blank after blank, coming up with nothing.

And the one thing she couldn't handle was drawing up a blank. Think Lydia. THINK.

It wasn't until she stopped and took a moment to breathe that the idea came to her. It was so simple and understated that a child could've thought of it. Turn around, go back. And she did, slowly but all at once, she swiveled her heels, closing her eyes; hoping, wishing it would somehow work.

She didn't even have time to process the location change for she was as confused as ever now. Piercing lights shinned down upon her, nearly blinding her as she struggled to see around. She felt the back of her heels sink into the softness of the just watered grass, making it hard to walk. The Lacrosse field. This place was familiar—too familiar. It almost felt as if she were in some kind of lost dream.

But she knew it wasn't. She knew she'd been there before. She just couldn't remember exactly when. She looked down at herself and found she was in the same clothes as the formal. This must have been when Jackson found me. She instantly thought remembering her conversation with him back at the hospital nearly a year ago.

"Jackson?" She tried again, the silence was slowly burning into her ears. But she wasn't having any luck. She pivoted her heels around once more gazing around the flied on complete confusion. Why was Stiles' mind engulfed in this night? How did he know about this?

"Lydia!" A voice called out. But it was distant and disappointingly unrecognizable. She immediately turned to where it came from only finding the space cloaked in thick cold fog. She struggled with her vision to seem beyond it but it nearly impossible.

"Run!" There it was again, only this time it sounded closer—no it was closer.

Stiles?

Why is he here?

She didn't feel anything as she was pushed to the ground by an unseeing force. But all she knew was that all of a sudden the dark sky, lined by the lacrosse filed lights were in her view. She tried to move, but found she couldn't, she heard the shuffling of feet, scattered and sloppy above her head. There was a dark figure looming there, one she couldn't see. Only hear.

Next thing she knew she was back in the hospital. But she wasn't in Stiles' room, no. She was standing in a bright empty room, looking through a glass window into the crowded hallway. She frowned, not understanding what was happening. Why was that night so significant?

In the distance she saw Stiles; awake, alive, and breathing, Stiles and his father arguing, talking, and every once in a while they'd look her way, but they'd never pay her any attention. There was blood on his hands, stained in his shirt, and to her it felt as if somehow the answer lay in the hung expression on his face.

"Stiles?" Lydia cried hoping he could somehow heard her. But he didn't budge. The glass was too thick.

She cured at herself for not thinking and scanned the white room for a door. She had to get out, she had to get to Stiles. But there wasn't a door, in fact, when turning to look for one she realized that she wasn't even alone. There was a figure laying on bed that seemed to come out of nowhere. Face pale, strawberry blond hair parted over her shoulders, quiet, unconscious.

It took her a moment, but she slowly began to realize that it was her. She stopped in her tracks, her heart skipped as she tired to make sense of this.

This must be after the attack.

Lydia slowly turned back to the window, eyes cast on the boy and his father. Stiles… She began to ponder. Stiles, not Jackson… She watched as he approached the window from the other side, observing her state.

"Lydia?" His voice rang, but it didn't come from his mouth. It came from… nowhere, really. She turned quickly trying to pinpoint a direction on the voice. And as she did, She was met with a long wide busy hallway of the hospital, Stiles standing right before her.

"Lydia?" His voice merely mumbled. The way his eyes were fixed on hers, made her feel as if her was staring straight into her soul. She breathed heavily as her heart raced against her chest. "Stiles." She exhaled with an gaze of empowerment. "You're here."

"Of course I'm here—"

"Where's Scott?" Lydia asked in confusion, last time she remember he was supposed to be here as well.

"Scott?" Stiles frowned. "I-I don't know Lydia, Scott's here?" He questioned. The strawberry blond nodded slowly. "Yeah, h-he came here with me." From behind Stiles' frame she could see another figure lingering in back around a corner, obviously not wanting to be seen.

"Who's that?"

"Hum?" Stiles turned, looking into the direction Lydia was then stared back at her. "O-Oh my mom, she doesn't—"

"Your m-mother?" She nearly choked out. "Bu-but your mom is…" She trailed off realizing this was not good, if he was already seeing… "Stiles." She whispered faintly, her voice breaking with every syllable. She could feel him slipping through her fingers, but how could that be possible, he was standing right there.

He looked down at her, more confused than ever.

"You-you can see your mom." She mumbled in monotone as she looked back to where she saw her. She could see a figure of a person, but no details, no face, no nothing. Just a black outline of a shadow.

"What you can't?" His voice was shaky with almost panic as their eyes meet once again. Lydia shook her head, tears threatening to escape as she met his gaze in utter realization. "S-something's wrong Stiles." Her voice quivered uncontrollably but she couldn't get this feeling out of her gut.

Something wasn't right.

"We need to find Scott, h-he'll know what to do." She quickly said without thinking. Stiles nodded, lifting his spirits in the heat of the moment for the search. He grabbed her hand as they began pacing around the endless maze of hallways and rooms.

"Scott?" Lydia cried as the feeling grew stronger and stronger nearly unbalancing her overwhelming emotions as they broke out into a run. "He has to be here somewhere." Lydia let out in frustration. She didn't understand why she couldn't find the alpha.

"Okay, uh, let's go this way." Stiles suggested as he began dragging her by the arm down another corner. But it all looked the same to Lydia, inexhaustible hallways, faceless people; a never ending nightmare.

It wasn't until they passed a sign that spelled out ICU that Lydia nearly stopped in her tracks. Stiles' room was here. "Hey, hey Lydia, why'd you stop?" Stiles asked in confusion. "We nee—" He suddenly gasped, he couldn't draw in air for a second. Lydia immediately frowned as she turned to face him.

"Stiles?" She nearly cried in horror. This could not be happening again.

"S-sorry, I'm fine. Really. I'm okay, that… that came out of nowhere." He mumbled the last part to himself, but she heard him. But he quickly straighten himself out and continued. "Come on," He tugged her hand. "We need to find Scott, remember?"

Of course she remembers, but the feeling is getting so strong it's nearly distracting her from their mission."Yeah."

They make they're way down the ICU hall in a hurry, but the feeling is now working up up her throat, warming her vocals, preparing for the inevitable. No. No not now. Tears begin to fall down her face as she's being pulled, but even now, the grip Stiles has on her hand is loosening, and his pull his getting weaker.

"Stiles, stop!" She nearly gasps, not being able to control herself any longer.

The boy comes to a halt as he hears those words. "Lydia, what is it?" He's out of breath and his hand lingers around his chest area as if something hurts, but Lydia barely notices for she watching a scene unfold before her.

Stiles' room.

Through the glass door of the small ICU room she can see herself, sitting in the same chair she was before entering his mind, eyes closed, hands griping the sides of the chair for dear life, mouth parted. She's the only one in the room that seems to be still, calm.

Everything else is chaotic.

Scott's on the floor, unconscious, blood dripping from his nose. His mom and Deaton are hovering above him screaming his name. Melissa is sobbing, as she tries to help him in any way she can. Lydia can almost hear her mumble in confusion and panic.

But another more dominate, louder noise distracts her from them. Its not a voice, or a cry. Its a piercing, constant sound that cuts throughout the white noise in which she can both hear and feel in the back of her mind.

"Do you see this?" Lydia faintly asks, her eyes not once leaving the room before her. She watches as doctors and medical ordeals rush in, almost shoving the older Stilinski out of the room, but he refuses. Her heart begins to race in horror once again.

No.

She doesn't need to the see sign on the heart monitor to realize whats going on. The noise is getting louder—so loud it's the only thing she can hear.

Beeeeeeeeeeeep

They shock his body with a defibrillator, but nothing happens.

Stiles swallows uneasily as he tries to get a tighter grip on Lydia hand for support. But he's having a hard time, he's growing weaker by the minute.

"Yeah," Stiles struggled out as he watches the doctor aimless attempt to revive him through the glass. "I'm dying." But the Banshee can't hear him any longer. She's trapped in that state of shock between reality and fantasy.

Stiles's eyes wonder around the room, landing on his father in the corner. Tears streaming down his face, staining his cheeks with salt as he gazes down at his son in horror. And when Stiles can't look any longer his eyes linger on the strawberry blond sitting quietly amounts the chaos.

His state of shock turns slowly into a frown as he beings to shake Lydia's arm beside him. "Ly-Lydia." Her nose, she's bleeding. He quickly turns to her, but she's so fixated on the scene before her she doesn't hear him.

"Lydia you're bleeding!" He shouts in panic. He jumps in front of her trying to distract her as he places his hands on her shoulder to shake her, but he's growing weaker. And he has to get her out of there. "Lydia, you got to wake! Lydia!" This works. Her view from the room is cut and she focuses on him.

"You need to go." He says, his voice breaks as he watches her fall apart before him. She gazes up at him, the tears in her eyes, offering that innocent glint, her eyelashes soaked in salty water. And yet, to him, she's as beautiful as ever.

She shakes her head as she nearly chokes out the sentence. "You're dying." She can't break contact, not that she wants to. "I can feel it… I'm gonna scream." She trails off.

Stiles swallows, and nods. "I know." He offers in a husky tone. "I know, but you have to listen to me, okay?" Lydia frowns up at him, but let him continue. "This is dangerous, y-you have go back. Do—do you under—understand?" He struggles out as he drops a hand from her shoulder and presses it against his chest.

She shakes her head, grabbing ahold of his arm. "No, I'm not leaving you!" She cries.

"Yes you are Lydia, you being here isn't safe—look at Scott! You need to go, you need to—" "I came here to bring you back, no. I-I—" Lydia fought against him. "Stiles Stilinski I am not leaving without you—"

"You have to!" He nearly shouted, his eyes were tearing up as he looks away from her. He doesn't know how much longer he can take.

"You said it yourself Lydia, I'm dying." He swallowed uneasily as he met her gaze. Lydia's nostrils fired as she shook her head. "Please." He begged soft tears running down his face. He was desperate to get her out.

"LYDIA WAKE UP!" She hears a third voice cry out. From behind Stiles' shoulder she could see Deaton begin to notice she was bleeding as well, and is attention quickly shot from Scott to her. He began shaking her body aimlessly. "Lydia! Lydia you have to wake up, now!"

The Banshee brought her gaze back to Stiles. "Open your eyes." He softly spoke.

She swallowed in contemplation. "Come back with me." She mumbled incoherently, but he understood.

He didn't say anything. She knew he wanted to more than anything, but it wasn't up to him anymore. "Open your eyes." He repeated bringing her closer to him. She wraps her arms around him; she fear it'll be the last time she does.

"Come back with me." Lydia faintly pleads.

"I can't explain it… but this is what we need to do." Stiles says softly against her temple. Lydia nods. "It'll be okay." He continued as he slides one of his hands to cuff the roundness of her face, bringing it up to look at him.

"I'll be okay." He repeats, though he barely believes the words himself. Lydia nods against he tears knowing she has to leave him, but not wanting to. She knows as soon as she wakes up she going to holler that scream. And it's going to hurt like hell.

Lydia leans into his palm and feels the warmth of his skin against hers. "I don't want to go." She cries out gazing into his honey brown desperate eyes. Stiles offers a slight smile as she shuts her eyes trying to get release all the tears. "Open your eyes Lydia." Stiles mumbles softly.

She shook her head, as she was engulfed in a wave full of emotions. She knew the next time she'd open her eyes she'd be sitting in that chair and Stiles would be gone. The realization that she might never see him alive again was quickly getting to her.

"I love you… now open your eyes."

Lydia nodded, and then she did.

…

And lease this confusion, I'll wander the concrete

Wonder if better now having survived
Jarring of judgement and reasons defeat
The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth I'm alive

Hello, yeah. I have to apologize for taking so long with this chapter. I've feeling a little defeated with writing for a bit, but I'm back. I make no promises (as to not disappoint you all) but I really hope I can update sooner. Maybe like one-two weeks? Hehe. This chapter was inspirited by the TW episode De-Void (especially the whole Scott and Lydia in Stiles' head, I take no credit for that idea) Anyway thanks for sticking to this story. :) Love you all.

Song: Angel of Small Death and Codeine Scene - Hozier (don't own Teen Wolf or Song)

Lyrics: Lyrics used in this chapter are from the song Not Just a Girl - She Wants Revenge (Also don't own)

-C