To those who follow me as an author and my other stories, I know what you're thinkin: What the hell is she doing publishing another stydia one-shot when she has four stories to publish? But I promise you this is the last, at least for a while. And, there's a little surprise for you all cooking so be patient! As always, ily.
Perfect Timing.
Nothing is right. They were supposed to find an answer. They were supposed to know why Grandma faked her own death. Turned out she didn't, so Lydia guesses they did find something. But here they are, tied to a dirty column in an even dirtier and dustier basement with a psyco focused on answers and death. It scares her that Stiles spent a major part of last year with this angel of death, it terrifies her that said angel of death murdered Grandma, who hadn't been crazy at all, who had been just like her. At least now, Stiles and Lydia are facing death together. She can't think of much else when Brunski returns with a video recorder and presses play.
"Listen carefully," Brunski tells her threateningly. Lydia can feel Stiles trying to break free but her ears and eyes are stuck on the recorder. "Tell me what she means."
Lydia doesn't quite understand what Brunski means, until her grandmother's voice comes out of the recorder as a scratchy tired whisper. Her voice is almost unrecognizable but Lydia would know that voice anywhere. Her breathing quickens when she realizes what this is; her final moments. Stiles figures it out as well and goes ballistic, but Lydia can't bring herself to tell him everything's fine, she can just stare.
"Hey, stop it!" Stiles snaps angrily at Brunski, who retaliates by grabbing Lydia's face and forcing her to focus on the tape even more. "Lydia," Stiles starts, trying his best to turn to her. "Lydia, don't listen, okay? Focus on my voice."
Focus on my voice. So Lydia does just that. He's her hero, definitely. Lydia's lost count of the times he's been there to save her. She just wants to repay him. She just wants for him to be out of this mess. For all of them to be out of this mess. She had thought once that all this started when sophomore year began, but listening to her grandmother gasping for air, trying to protect her family, to stop her murder after she herself had predicted it, she realizes they were all in this mess long before they were born. Probably started when their ascendants decided to move to Beacon Hills. Lydia resents them for it. Her track of thought stops when Grandma's voice utters a word all too familiar to her now.
"Please don't hurt Ariel."
Her grandmother's last words were a plea not to hurt her, a plea to get Lydia safe. She takes a sharp intake of breath at the same time a comforting hand reaches for hers. She would've lost it then if it weren't for Stiles' hand squeezing hers. She squeezes back, not being able to hold back the tears anymore. Lydia shuts her eyes close.
"Tell me what she meant by that," Brunski growls. "Who the hell is Ariel?"
Stiles squeezes her hand again and she takes strength from that one squeeze and snaps her eyes open, turning her head to stare at Brunski with as much loathing as possible. He repeats his question, manhandles her, but she doesn't cave. He shoves the recorder harshly and gets up. That's when she gets it; the pressing against her upper chest, right above her breasts, the knot in her throat, like something is trying to crawl its way out of her chest cavity, and the sting in her eyes that tells her if she doesn't cry she may die. She's going to scream, a foreshadowing scream that only means death. She can't scream, not with Stiles in this situation. Lydia doesn't want Stiles to die, Lydia doesn't want to die.
"Stiles." She lets out, trying to swallow the scream in. She's not predicting their own deaths.
"Yeah, Lyds?"
"Stiles, I"—her voice breaks and she has to press her lips together not to cry. "I don't want to die."
It comes out of her mouth before she gets an opportunity to say what she actually needs to say. So selfish, she admonishes herself, always so selfish. But he doesn't seem to be bothered by her selfish comment.
"It's okay," Stiles says quickly, squeezing her hand so tight she may think it'll bruise. But she doesn't care. "It's all going to be all right."
She knows it won't. And he knows it too. And that's why she loves him. Lydia has to tell him, before it's too late. Before Brunski kills them.
"Stiles," she starts, taking in a deep breath. "There's something I need to say…"
Before she can finish, Brunski is back with a syringe in his hand filled with a whitey gooey substance. Lydia racks her brain for drugs that look that way and are intravenous, but the list is too long and she's too scared to figure out what that substance is. Nothing good, surely.
"We have hundreds of teenage junkies trying to break in and steal our drugs," Brunski starts in a smug tone, nearing them. "Most of them don't succeed, but you two look pretty smart to me."
He starts to walk towards Stiles then, and Lydia throws any decorum she used to have out of the window. She trashes against her restraints, crying, screaming, anything to get Brunski away from Stiles. Her distressed cries turn to utter fear when, instead of plunging the needle into Stiles' soft mole-covered skin, Brunski turns to her. He grabs her chin and secures her so she won't move.
"No!" Stiles yells at him with such hatred, Lydia is slightly surprised.
Maybe someone will find them before Brunski tries to kill Stiles, maybe the death she felt coming was her own, not his. It's her one wish, truly. But then Deputy Parrish appears, gun at the ready, and her hope rises.
"Drop it!" He snaps, taking the safety off. "Remove your thumb from the needle and take a step back."
"You know, Deputy, you're a young man." Brunski sneers. "I bet you've never even fired a—"
Before he can finish, Parrish shoots him and Brunski drops to the floor. Lydia and Stiles gasp. Parrish releases Lydia first and then Stiles. They think Brunski is dead but turns out he isn't. He does manage to let them know the benefactor is truly someone they all know. Someone they thought dead but isn't.
After they drop Meredith off with the Sheriff, Stiles drives Lydia home. She's relieved out of her mind and the entire car ride she just wants to grab Stiles' hand. The fear is still there, of course, but it's become an old companion, almost a friend. And while she is scared and traumatized beyond repair, she's happy. Because Stiles Stilinski is alive and well, because her writing in the paper and the feeling to scream weren't right. He turns off the jeep and turns to her with a little frown.
"What were you going to say, Lydia?" he asks.
"What?" she says, trying to keep calm.
"Lyds, you can tell me." Stiles insisted. She forces a deep breath in. "You know that, right?"
"It was nothing." She rushes, shaking her head a little. She's all too aware of the alarm in her voice, the way it comes out slightly hoarser than ever. "Nothing." She mumbles, looking him in the eyes. What was she thinking? Stiles is with Malia now and he's happy. How could she have wanted to change that by telling him? "I have to go." She rushes, opening the door and getting out in haste. She doesn't want him to see her cry over him. Not before, not now, not ever.
She hasn't made it half the way to her home's door when she hears the jeep's door open. Lydia starts to walk faster, nervous out of her mind.
"Lydia, wait!" Stiles calls after her.
"Really, Stiles, I need to go inside." She keeps walking, trying to come up with an excuse. "My mom needs me to—"
Stiles' hand on her upper arm makes her pause. Her brain barely registers what's happening before Stiles turns her around and kisses her like it's their last day on earth. I may as well have been. It takes her a few seconds before she starts to kiss him back. His hand finds her cheek and his tongue does this thing against her lips that has her wondering how it's possible for him to only have had one girlfriend. He feels much more experienced against her. So much so, she doesn't quite know what to do. Her heart is hammering against her ribcage like a wild animal trying to escape, her stomach got lost somewhere around her feet, there's a heat like a knot in her lower stomach that makes her want to push him inside and climb him like a tree, and Lydia doesn't know what to do with her hands. Lydia Martin is giddy about this boy's lips against hers and she wants to make the most of this opportunity but she doesn't know what to do with her hands. She may as well start crying right now because if she doesn't know what to do with something as silly as her hands, how will she help save them all?
"I'm sorry." Stiles blurts out, breaking the kiss. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, I…"
Lydia panics, momentarily thinking he's regretted kissing her. But she realizes it's the other way around and he confused her tensing for rejection.
"I have feelings for you." She rushes before she can regret it. "I feel awful for ignoring you all these years when clearly you're the most amazing person I've met. You're so smart and quick to figure things out; I actually have to keep up to you. Usually it's other people struggling to keep up with me but you—you just get it." she fumbles with her words, frowning down at the ground. "You never made me feel like a freak and you think I'm pretty when I cry!" she sniffles, letting out a teary laugh. "I wrote your name. If it weren't for Parrish, you would've died. And I'm just thankful to Brunski for wanting to kill me first because I seriously don't know what I would do without you."
Her voice is a whisper by the time she looks up at Stiles. He's shocked, to say the least. Lydia shrugs, giving him a tight-lipped smile.
"Beautiful." He corrects.
"What?" she blinks, confused.
"You're beautiful when you cry, not just pretty."
Lydia lets out a laugh and Stiles chuckles along with her before closing the space between them. She looks up at him, being reminded once more of how tall he is. His hands brush the strands of her hair away from her face and stay behind her cheeks before he kisses her. A lot more gently than before. This time, however, Lydia does know what to do with her hands. She circles his torso with them until they're basically hugging, needing him close.
"Don't ever say you wish you had died ever again." He mumbles against her lips. His left hand slips from her cheek to her neck, making her shiver and her hands clench to his waist. "I love you, Lyds. And if Brunski had injured you in any way, I would've killed him myself."
Lydia's affection for this one boy in this one moment threatens to drown her, so she just smiles a little before pressing her face to his neck. Stiles rests his chin in the top of her head with his arms securely around her. They rock slightly side to side, knowing they will be able to survive all this disaster that is their lives if they're together.
A/N: This prompt was given to me by the Stydia-Fanfiction tumblr! I think it came out a lot fluffier than intended but I'm happy with the outcome. Let me know what you cuties think! I have a thing with Stiles calling Lydia 'Lyds', if you haven't figured it out yet.