Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf.

An: I am so tired, friendships! I want to get a game plan down cause from this point forward, its my plot. Not Teen Wolf's. Also, I got some pms about Lydia being mean to Allison and asking what she told Jackson, saying I needed more/less. The Jackson thing is a secret, but the Allison thing? Its a plot point. And Allison needs a good shake. Geez Louise they handle her with kid gloves! Even before the mom thing she was just so woe is me. Boo hoo. Anyway, enjoy.

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"What do we do now?"

Stiles sighed heavily, leaning his head back against the bed. He stared up at the speckled ceiling. Shrugging his heavy shoulders. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even know what was really going on anymore. His Dad had stayed behind to investigate a murder sight. And not the multiple ones inside. One outside, in the creek under the old bridge.

A body was found in the river. And they couldn't find Matt.

He didn't feel bad for the boy even though he knew he should. He didn't have it in him anymore. He didn't care. Didn't care that Matt was dead. Didn't care that he'd almost died. Didn't care because he just couldn't. He'd go crazy. He couldn't think about it and when Lydia looked at him with her heavy glazed eyes he knew she couldn't either. She was gone, she had to be because there was already so much the both of them had to deal with already and they couldn't. They were young, it was early, and they were drunk.

They'd gotten to her house far over an hour or two ago, the early morning sun lity yard was littered with plastic cups and the bushes down trodden showing the quick escapes of the drinker party goers. The last person to leave had been nice enough to shut the door behind them. Maybe the police had. There was a notice on the door, Stiles pulled it down. They wanted to see her at the police station as soon as possible. Lydia hadn't even given it all a passing glance, walking straight into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of wine. She didn't bother with glasses, just a cork screw and a backwards glance she threw him over her shoulder. A brow raised in question. He could turn back now, go home, or he could stay and drink with her. Forget the night they'd had. There was vulnerability in her eyes, a slight fear of being alone even though her expression was confident. Stiles knew what it was because he felt the same way. Alone and terrified. At that moment he wouldn't have denied her anything. He'd followed her up the stairs in a silence they shared. There was nothing to say. What could be said after that?

She'd changed while he fought the cork, swearing it was glued in there. Lydia, in her newly donned silk night gown looking very much like herself, had rolled her eyes viciously stabbing the cork and giving a practiced twist before upturning the bottle and taking a too long swig that caused bubbled to rise from the opening.

Stiles had frowned, wondering if she was drinking her feelings. But when she'd turned the bottle to him he hadn't turned her down, taking a mouthful that wasn't Brobdingnagian. She'd said something about it being a good year as he choked on it. Wine was strong. Stronger than he'd thought it would be. He thought it was what women drank. Light and fancy. That was two bottles ago and now the third hung loosely from his hand, only a few more drinks until it met its end. His vision was blurry and his mind dull, gone. His body felt deliciously numb and heavy. All thoughts of the night had escaped him until she finally spoke, breaking the silence they'd been sharing.

Lydia laid long ways across her bed on her stomach her face turned on the mattress beside his, close enough so when she breathed out he felt her exhales against the side of his head, warm and scented of heavy wine. Her small hand reached out for the bottle, tugging it away and taking a drink. His hand fell heavy to the ground, loose. Numb. Wine was good. Not Jack good, but good. Maybe that was why it was the favorite of middle aged women who hated their lives.

"You think this will ever be over?" She asked quietly, her wine scented breath hot against his neck. He turned to look at her but she wasn't looking at him anymore, her heavy eyes had slid closed and her pink lips were barely parted. She looked beautiful and with the faint color in her cheeks and he let his head fall back, studying her. Her arm was thrown over the back of her head in a feat of flexibility, her fingers curled lightly. There were chips in her dark nail polish, little marks of imperfection that showed just how far she'd fallen. Before all this Lydia wouldn't so much as check the mail without a manicure. He knew that color though, she'd spilt it on his bed. A hard Burgundy stain against his sheets. No matter how hard he picked at it the mark stayed there. Lydia had laughed as he grumbled about it, as he picked at it with the determination only a big dose of Adderal could provide. She was speaking again, raspy. Quiet. Defeated. "You think we could ever forget this?"

Stiles slunk down low at her voice, the tone, the question. It made him ill. The wine bottle clanked down empty from her hand. This wasn't his fault...but it was at the same time. He was confused. Scared. Suddenly she was tugging on his shoulders, his shirt, pulling him into the bed. He let her, sliding next to her on the comforter. She was on him in an instant, her face tucked in at his throat. She smelled like cheap soap and expensive wine, her tiny hands grabbing the fabric of his shirt. Stiles sighed, closing his eyes and letting himself run a hand through her messy hair. It had dried with a crimp in it from the ponytai she'd had it in, a hard crease in her curls. She moved closer, pressing all she could. Desperate for stability. He was a security blanket. A non sexual security blanket. But of course he was. The only time they'd kissed was when she initiated it. She didn't know, couldn't know, because he didn't tell her. Couldn't work up the nerve.

He'd thought they were going to die tonight, last night. But they hadn't. He'd been so worked up. She'd never know. He had been so ready to tell her in the office when she'd been covered in dried blood and fear, wide eyed as she looked at him like he was salvation. So scared. They both had been but she'd took charge. She was Lydia Martin. Nothing stopped her, nothing ever would. He knew that now. The wine gave him courage and he looked down, pushing the hair from her lax face, letting the strands fall loose. Her eyes were closed, tired, her parted lips were stained with the wine that was giving him strength, courage, maybe false hope. Because maybe she would say yes...maybe even feel the same way. "Lydia?" He asked, feeling her mumble against his throat rather than hearing it. It vibrated against his flesh and he bit his lip, almost loosing his nerve. There'd be no turning back after this. No denying it. "Go to dinner with me?" He asked so quietly he was sure she wouldn't hear. He wouldn't repeat it though, not with his voice broken and raspy from the liquor. A mix of weak and strong. And that's what he felt like when he felt her stiffen on his side, weak.

Her eyelashes fluttered against his throat and she struggled to sit upright, letting his shirt go and looking down at him. Stiles felt his stomach fall through his spine, taking it with it on the downfall to his toes. There was no expression on her face, she just blinked at him like it was mechanical. A robot. Her wide eyes showed nothing. Her posture showed nothing. She raised a hand, brushing the hair from her face as he leaned up on his elbows. He'd ruined it all. He knew he had. But he had to wait it out...Maybe. "Are you asking me on a date?" She asked in a voice just as blank as her face. Nothingness. A black hole that was sucking everything he had into and destroying all he had. Too soon, his mind said, too soon.

Stiles just nodded however, no answer. He couldn't answer.

Lydia felt her breathing pick up, a sharp intake. Tonight. He was asking her this after all that had happened? Do you think this will ever end? This was it. This was moving on. This was ending it. Normalization. A human boy going on a date with a human girl. A night of dinner where she could focus. Where there were no monsters. She nodded, leaning back on her pillows. "Yeah." She agreed, smiling at the thought. Stiles was safety. Stiles was normality. Stiles...he was something that she didn't understand. She pulled the blankets up her body, "But you're gonna have to get out of my bed now."

Stiles frowned, then smiled. Lydia smiled back, her blanket covered foot giving him a shove. He was looking at her again with that strange look in his eyes. She winked as he swayed on his feet. "Have fun on the couch." Stiles felt his smile widen, it was worth it. He had a date. With Lydia Martin.

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An: And This ends part 1! I hope you stick around for part two. In the mean time, check out Howl or Eleven