Chapter 6

Lydia and Melissa get to the loft about half an hour late, distracted by their heartfelt confessions and genuinely good conversation, and so when they arrive everyone else is already there. Both women are smiling, feeling – even if just a little - more carefree than they have in a while, their minds certainly less heavy, but they walk into Derek's loft to find a desolating scene. Everyone is as far away from the couch as possible, where the Sheriff is sitting with Stuart at his right and his son at his left, and all three of them are crying as hard as any of the others have ever seen them.

Their breaths catch in their throats and the air gets stuck in their lungs, Lydia and Melissa rapidly sharing a concerned glance between them, then looking at the others for some sort of explanation. Everyone is quiet, sadness all over their features as some of them murmur quietly to someone else, others keeping to themselves as the scene unfolds. Allison glances at Lydia, slightly nodding in what Lydia is sure is Stiles' direction, but as the redhead turns to look at Melissa for some guidance on what to do, she catches sight of who she hadn't yet and blue eyes flash right at her, and even from across the room Lydia can see how cold, angry, raging they are as they stare back at the petite strawberry blonde, and Lydia can't help but to flinch. Malia.

Derek automatically moves to stand in front of the werecoyote, flashing his own blue eyes at his cousin for the girl to stay in her place. At that, Malia growls lowly and looks around to find everyone with their eyes on her except for Melissa, who is murmuring to Lydia words that make Malia relieve the past few months, the familiar sickening feeling setting itself in the pit of her stomach. She takes a deep breath to calm her agitation, and without a word she leaves the loft, without looking back – not even at Stiles - and storming past Lydia, who is holding her breath not knowing what to expect.

Stiles watches the girl leave, soon propping his head on his hands and sighing, his elbows resting on his knees. The Sheriff places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly, and Stiles meets his dad's gaze with an accepting, faint smile. The man nods towards the door this time, smiling at the newcomers between tears and little sobs, Stiles following suit. His gaze searches hers with a mix of pleading and regret, relief and lost hope all at the same time and Lydia can't figure out if it's because of her, Malia or even the both of them. Or maybe it's just the situation at hand but despite the reasons why Stiles looks so broke - or despite the vow she had made to herself to stay away from him, to stop prying into his life and just let him live on without her even if it killed her inside -, Lydia finds herself inexplicably walking towards him and the two other men, Melissa trailing close behind her.

The others can't really do much but to watch them, and it's so painful to see that Scott figures that they might need a minute or two by themselves to ease into it. "We'll be in the kitchen if you need us," he murmurs to his mom before leaving the living room with everyone except the five in question.

When they're by themselves and before Lydia can ask what's happening, Melissa lets out a breathy "Oh" when her eyes find what Stiles is holding in his hand, the older woman stilling completely and looking saddened at the Sheriff, who just shakes his head and bites his quivering lower lip in an attempt to not let another sob escape.

For a moment, Melissa forgets why she came to the loft and that, right now, there are two boys who remarkably resemble one another. Because what matters at the moment is what the Stilinski men have to be feeling right now. She moves promptly, kneeling before the Sheriff and finding his hands to hold in hers as he bends forward to cry on her shoulder silently.

Stuart just stares at them, mute and without much of a reaction out of fear of doing something he shouldn't, quieting his cries after a little while. Not Stiles, though. Stiles tightens his grip on an old photograph he has in one of his hands - a photograph that Lydia has yet to see what's in it - and shares a glance with Melissa, who moves one of her hands away from the Sheriff's to cup Stiles' cheek with a small smile and a gaze that tells him that they'll be okay, everything will be okay. She wipes away one stray tear as he lets out a sob.

Stiles nods in understanding to ease her concerns but still feeling conflicted. It's both easy and hard for him to see her as a motherly figure, especially right now. His eyes look for Lydia's next, finding that she's closer than he thought, standing just beside him.

Against her best resolution, Lydia sits on the vacant spot near him, one of her hands instinctively finding his free one to help him, ease his pain, anchor him because that's all she's ever wanted – to have Stiles be safe, alive, okay -, but Stiles refrains from her touch so quickly that she almost gets back up in embarrassment.

His cheeks turn red instantly much like hers, and Stiles looks at Lydia confused, incredulous and beat. "You don't have to do that," he murmurs, guilt overcoming him. Like they haven't messed up things between them enough already.

Curiously, Lydia thinks the same thing but reads it differently, because they have messed up things between them so much in the last few months that she doesn't really care anymore. She had tried to get him out of her mind while she was away, she had promised herself that she'd let him be but she finds that she can't. It was never a realistic idea to begin with. She needs him, and he needs her.

She reaches for him again and this time Stiles lets her though still hesitant, looking down at his lap to find her hand holding his in a tight grip like they haven't done it in a million years, and so he lets out a relieved breath. He thought he'd never get to do that again.

"Who's that?" Lydia asks almost timidly, not trusting her own voice at the moment.

Stiles passes her the picture, a small smile playing on his lips as he's taken back to the past but not quite so. The others' attention turn to him. "It's…" They talk about it so rarely that Stiles wavers, waiting for a nod from his dad to continue. "It's my mom."

Lydia holds her breath. This is a subject they have never talked about and she knows for a fact that neither Stiles nor his dad mention it frequently. She looks at the portrait of a beautiful woman, a brunette with long straight hair that wears a smile as big as those she's used to see on Stiles. It's obvious that even though Stiles resembles his dad so much, he's got a lot of his mother's features, like the honey eyes and the high cheekbones, the hair color, his adorable nose. His lips though, his jaw, are definitely more like his dad's. The picture looks recent, like too recent for it to be real, and Claudia does look a little older than Lydia had thought she would have looked like before she died.

Stiles continues, answering her unasked question. "Well, I guess it's not exactly my mom. It's Stuart's," he says, waving his free hand in the boy's direction. "But it's her. It's definitely her."

Lydia doesn't really think about it, she just entwines her fingers with Stiles' like it's something they do every day, reassuring him that she's not going anywhere when Stiles looks at her like at any moment she'll vanish. God, she has missed his touch. "She's beautiful," she whispers. It sounds so sincere that it almost makes Stiles rub his thumb on the back of her hand in thanks.

At the mention of the foreign name – or still a bit foreign at least to her -, Melissa finally notices Stuart properly, taking her time to study both him and Stiles like the others had done that morning. Astounded, the only thing she's able to let out is a shaky "H- how?"

"We don't know," the Sheriff answers, wiping away his tears with his sleeve. "I just found out myself."

Melissa directs a charming smile to the boy and holds out her hand for him. "Hello, then. I'm Melissa. I'm Scott's mom."

Stuart shakes it, offering a smile of his own in return. "Stuart. But I guess you already know that."

Lydia nods in his direction. "Yes. I've filled her in on what we know so far, which I guess isn't that much but she's all caught up."

Melissa's instincts surface easily. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you feel like there's something different? Like anything out of the ordinary?" she asks Stuart. "Oh, sorry. I'm a nurse," she explains at the surprised face he's making.

"Aside from being in a completely different reality with people I don't know and others that I do know, but who are not who I think they are, without any clue of how I got here or why?" he asks sarcastically, his tone much like Stiles' usual. "I think I'm fine. The veterinarian, Dr. hmm…" he furrows his brows, trying to remember.

"Dr. Deaton," Stiles helps.

"Thanks. Dr. Deaton already asked me a few things. I don't think anything's different, not really, at least that I'm aware of."

"Then why were you crying, sweetheart?" she asks tenderly.

"I uh-" He looks embarrassed at the Sheriff, then at Stiles. Both of them nod in understanding; it's a weird situation for all of them but there's not much more to do about that for the time being. "I sort of just met my dad," he mutters, glancing at the Sheriff apologetically and receiving a small pat on the back in return. "Or Stiles' dad, I guess, but… My dad too. I think," he continues, confused himself.

"Oh, of course." Melissa remembers Lydia telling her about it, how Stuart's father had died when he was little.

"And what about the photograph?" Lydia asks, curiosity getting the best of her. She returns it to Stiles as she waits for an answer, his fingers grazing hers for just a moment longer than necessary.

"I always carry it with me hidden on my phone, you know, just underneath the cover. So when uh…" Stuart hesitates, suddenly not sure of how to address the man who's not his dad, but technically is. In another world. "When Stiles' dad arrived and we actually met and got to talk, or cry our eyes out really because we've been crying nonstop for like half an hour now, I remembered that I always have it with me so I checked my phone for it and thankfully it was there. I really didn't want to lose it." Stiles hands it back to his rightful owner, a smile taking over Stuart's lips at the memory of the day pictured in his hands. "We took it eight months ago. Because she had to raise me by herself ever since my dad died, she never got to finish her studies so she's been working on getting a degree. That day she had finally aced a test she was not so sure she was gonna pass, so I took her out to dinner to celebrate. She looked so happy…" Stuart grins proudly, trying his best to hold back fresh tears.

"She's really beautiful," Lydia remarks again honestly. "You two look a lot like her."

Stiles smiles at a memory of his own. "She used to say that all of my good traits came from her and the bad ones from you, remember?" he asks his dad.

"Well, she wasn't wrong." The Sheriff chuckles genuinely, and it's the first nice feeling he's had since he came into the loft not even an hour ago. At first he was obviously dumbstruck, couldn't believe what he was seeing because he could swear he was just looking at his son in double, which is already a challenge in itself because he can barely handle one Stiles, let alone two. When he finally realized, with the help of the others and their insights on the matter, that one boy was actually his son and the other wasn't, John had had to sit down to regain his breath and put his thoughts in order. Stuart had been very, very quiet until Stiles stepped in to explain to his dad that Stuart hadn't technically really met him – or well, his dad -, and so their introduction was well beyond more awkward than the Sheriff could have ever fathomed it would be. Not that he'd actually ever imagine getting to know a son who's not his but apparently is.

The man gets that there are a lot of things supernatural-related that he's yet to be told and this might just be another one, but he still sat in silence for a few minutes just eyeing both boys, much to everyone's exasperation. Even though his facial expressions actually delivered, it wasn't until he got to talk to Stuart that it downed on him that the boy was a human being too (well, supernatural, but still), someone who has experienced memories, emotions, just like the rest of them; someone who's currently terrified for not really knowing what's happening so the Sheriff gave in, sitting beside the boy and introducing himself. Tears followed, and when they started discussing how different their lives actually are and have been up until this point, Stiles joined in on the conversation. When the subject turned to Claudia, all three of them were teary; Stiles and the Sheriff because they'll never see her again, Stuart because he fears he might lose his chance as well.

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When everyone gets back to the living room, Deaton gathers as much information from Stuart as he can, taking mental notes of every details he deems important and asking Stiles a few questions as well. The man leaves soon after to do some research on the matter, and Stuart reluctantly agrees on leaving with the Sheriff, Parrish and Melissa so that the officers can leave the two at the hospital for some exams. If anyone asks, they'll just say he's Stiles. Stuart blatantly disagrees on having to take off his glasses because he can't see a palm in front of him without them, but he has no other choice but to do so, at least when he'll be surrounded by people who actually know Stiles and that are not members of the pack and who aren't in on the situation.

Lydia tells Stuart that she'll see him later or maybe tomorrow, because weird enough, the same way that she feels like there's always something pulling her towards Stiles, now there's another something pulling her towards Stuart as well, even though it doesn't feel quite the same to her. But there's something to it, there's something to that strange feeling that has Lydia wondering what their connection might be.

Her moment with Stiles is quickly disrupted when the others come back into the room and they both feel shy all of a sudden, bothered even, like they were caught doing something that is strictly forbidden. She doesn't look at him again until she leaves the loft a few hours later and neither does him, fully aware of everyone's eyes on them and of how the atmosphere seemed to change around them so quickly. They feel like strangers and it's like their moment just before never even happened.

Stiles stays with Derek, waiting for Stuart to be brought back so that he can leave without the risk of there being two Stiles walking around Beacon Hills. It's not like their hometown hasn't seen strangest things by now but it's for the best to play it safe. By the time he's supposed to head home, around dinner time already, Stiles can't. He just can't. How's he supposed to go home like nothing happened, like Lydia hadn't just gotten back from France, hadn't just been in the same room he was, even held his hand?

He shots a quick text to his dad letting him know that he'll be going home late tonight, and he's sure that the man understands because he just replies back with 'Be safe. And remember. Listen'. Stiles knows exactly what the Sheriff means, they've discussed it pretty much every day since it happened, since Lydia left. No matter how mad Stiles might be at Lydia, no matter how insane what she did was, she has the right to explain herself and actually be heard this time, not yelled at. And Stiles owes it to her to just listen.

He drives until he reaches the preserve, parking at the edge of the woods where it's closer to the place where he saw Lydia fall to the ground all those weeks ago, the place where Stiles would swear he died too, along with her. He visits that clearing often, mostly out of uncertainty; if she'd ever come back to Beacon Hills, to the pack, to him. And sometimes, while he's there and all by himself, he hears faint murmurs dancing in the wind and his mind wanders, thinking of how maybe they're like the voices she hears in her head all the time even if he's sure that he's delirious when the sounds move around him, lovesick and hurt and dead inside because she's not there, missing her to death.

Not this time, though. This time he doesn't walk through the woods to find that spot to feel closer to her; she's already home. Instead, he opts for sitting on the hood of the Jeep by the main road for a few hours, laying back against his windshield as he tries to block any thoughts of the last few weeks and failing miserably, just staring at the sky above him like it might provide some clues on what to do next.

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Lydia has been restless with thoughts of Stiles ever since she left the loft, of how his touch lingers on her skin still. She hasn't been able to fall asleep even though the last time she slept was in France, just a little over 24 hours ago. She's been lying on her bed for a while now, eyes closed as she remembers all that happened today, all that's happened since she did what she had to do in order to save him. Truth be told, she hadn't thought of the consequences of her actions at the time, not really, but then again she hadn't considered surviving it either. And now she's left with unanswered questions after questions on what to do, what to think, what to say.

She has classical music playing in the background to help her focus, a mere hum that roars loud in her sensitive ears and she's so concentrated in it that that's why. That's why she doesn't notice the Jeep that just parked in her driveway, why she doesn't notice him frantically calling out her name in the dead of night. She doesn't even hear the doorbell ring but she knows that he's there. She feels it, a disconcerting electric current settling itself under skin all of a sudden, making Lydia sit on her bed rapidly and blinking her eyes open immediately. It leaves her agitated, flushed, utterly breathless. She doesn't need to check any windows to confirm her suspicions because she knows she's right, of course she's right and he's there. Stiles is knocking on her front door at nearly one in the morning.

Thankfully her mom will only be returning home in two days but Lydia knows - much like Stiles with the Sheriff - that she'd understand, given everything that happened in the months prior to this exact moment. Lydia also knows that she shouldn't head downstairs to meet him because neither of them is emotionally prepared for the conversation she knows they're bound to have eventually.

It's pointless to think about it now though, because before she can stop herself, Lydia rushes to the front door to just stand there, stopping herself at the last second. She looks stupidly at the wooden board, searching with the voices within for any help but the truth is she doesn't hear them quite the same anymore, not since she offered herself to the other side for him. She's also sleep deprived and jet lag has been kicking in for a few hours but none of it matters now. What matters is that he's on the other side of that door, her name rolling out of his tongue in repeated pleas, mere murmurs that she welcomes like if he was whispering it right next to her, and even though she's dead tired she moves.

Taking a deep breath, she opens the door.

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A/N: Feel free to leave me a review to let me know what you're thinking of the story so far.

Until next time xx
Susana