A/N: Final Chapter, enjoy ;)
Lydia is tying off the end of her fishtail side braid in front of her vanity mirror when her mother knocks on her open door. "Sweetheart, there's a Stiles here to see you."
"What?" Lydia responds absentmindedly, smoothing her hands over the skirt of her ivory and jade green jersey swing dress, her fingers tracing over its delicate foliage pattern.
Her mother raises her eyebrow. "He says he wants to know if you'd like a ride to school."
Lydia blinks, her brain finally putting it in order - Stiles, here, waiting for her. "Can you tell him I'll be down in a minute?"
Her mother gives her an amused smile. "Is there anything you want to tell me, honey?"
"No," Lydia says lightly.
"Alright." Her mother pushes away from the door frame and give her a knowing look. "I'm just saying, Jackson never picked you up for school."
"Go be a good host," Lydia scolds, and spends an extra two minutes perfecting her lip color before putting on her favorite grey wedge boots and going downstairs.
Stiles is waiting for her in the foyer, wearing a grey hoodie zipped just low enough to reveal the edge of the Captain America logo on his tee shirt, the keys to the Jeep dangling from one hand.
"Well," she says. "This is a surprise."
"A good one?" he asks. His hair is more disheveled than usual and his face looks a little crumpled, like he hasn't slept. Maybe she and Isaac aren't the only ones who had a bad night.
Lydia rolls her eyes and links her arm through his. "Come on, if we leave now we'll have time to stop for coffee."
Stiles groans appreciatively. "I like where your priorities are."
They stop at the coffeeshop on Main; Stiles illegally parallel parks and puts the hazards on. "It's fine." He waves a hand at the street sign, which clearly says No Parking 7:30-9:30 AM. "I know the Sheriff."
"Fabulous," she says dryly, and follows him inside.
Stiles orders a large black coffee and when the barista asks if he wants anything else Stiles turns to her, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Lydia?"
She contemplates ordering something simple like him before remembering that she is who she is and she's not going to do it anymore, pretend to be something she's not.
"Sugar free vanilla coconut latte," she orders regally, head held high like she's daring him to make fun of her, and watches Stiles pay for both their drinks before she can stop him.
He doctors his coffee while Lydia waits for her latte and when they go back outside his car is right where they left it, sans parking ticket.
They get back in the car but Stiles doesn't turn the ignition over, instead dropping his coffee into a cup holder and turning to face her. "Hey, um. Just so you know, I know what you did for Isaac," he says. "Last night, I mean."
"Oh," she whispers, because of course he knows, he's Scott's best friend. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah," he nods. "Yeah, he's going to be fine."
Lydia shivers, remembering the way Isaac had cried in the car, how garish his bruised eye was against his pale face. She feels sick now, thinking about it. "He is?"
He leans in towards her and puts his hand on her wrist. "You did good, Lydia."
She shakes her head. "I didn't even know what to do," she admits shamefully. "He was so scared Stiles, he was so scared and "-
"Hey, hey." Stiles squeezes her wrist, just enough to ground her back into the moment. "Isaac's okay. It's okay now."
She swallows past something thick, feeling the way she had when she drove away from the hospital last night, a sick swirl of anger and fear trying to crawl out of her body. "What's going to happen to him?"
"My dad hooked Scott's mom up with a lawyer. They already went to the courthouse and filed a petition for emergency guardianship this morning while they build a case against Isaac's dad."
"He's going to live with Scott?"
Stiles nods. "At least temporarily. Scott's mom is cool like that. She was on shift last night, she saw what - what he did to Isaac."
"That's good," she says softly. "Isaac will like that."
"Hey," he says, and runs his thumb along the inside of her wrist. "Are you okay? Scott said it was pretty bad."
She swallows back a wave of residual panic. She'd never seen a boy cry like that before; never seen someone hurt like that. Lydia squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath in through her nose. "It was pretty bad," she confirms, her voice cracking on the last word like liquor being poured over ice, and crumples into him.
It's so easy this time, to give it up, let herself dive headfirst into the comfort he's always offering. Lydia presses her face into his shirt like she could hide from anything here, shut everything else out but Stiles, curling up tightly against him when his arms come around her, one of his hands coming up to stroke the top of her braid.
"Hey," Stiles murmurs. "You okay?"
"He didn't want to go to the hospital," she whispers. "He kept asking me to pull over."
"He was scared," Stiles murmurs. "He wasn't thinking straight."
"Stiles?"
He leans down to rest his cheek on the top of her head. "Yeah?"
"I kept thinking..." Lydia stops because she can't get the words out without crying.
"Hey." He uses his leverage on her braid to tip her head back so that he can look down at her. "You thought what?"
She blinks up at him through her lashes and a tear rolls out of the corner of her eye. "I kept thinking...what if it had been me?"
Her voice breaks and she tries to cover her mouth but Stiles reaches down and curls his hands around her wrists and pins them between their bodies. "Lydia," he says worriedly.
She ducks her head, flushing hot with shame. Remembering every time he tried to help her, him and Scott and Allison, and how Lydia refused to let them in. She didn't know what it felt like then, to be on the other side, the helpless terror of watching someone offer their body up for destruction in the name of love.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"It's okay," Stiles says quietly, and puts his arms back around her. "I'm here, Lydia. I'm here."
/
Isaac is obviously not at school but neither is Scott, and there's a hum of tension in the air all morning, like some kind of balance has been disrupted by their absence. Lydia keeps catching Jackson's eyes by mistake in class, awkwardly looking away then looking back again.
Lunch is uncomfortable, she and Allison and Stiles sit together but without the common denominator of Scott it's a little stilted. They end up studying for English Lit together, Stiles and Lydia quizzing each other on Macbeth quotes at a rapid fire pace while Allison keeps score in her notebook.
She goes home with Allison after school. Lydia isn't quite sure what Scott told Allison. She knows about Isaac, tells Lydia all about how Scott's mom insisted that Isaac stay with them, but she doesn't seem to know how Lydia is involved.
It makes her wonder again, about Scott, if he's the perfect boyfriend Allison makes him out to be or if he has secrets even Allison doesn't know about.
If Jackson is really interested in Scott because he has some kind of secret (a secret even Allison might not know about?) what could it be?
I thought you definitely figured it out first.
What kind of blackmail does Jackson have on Scott?
What kind of terrible secret could Scott be hiding? Scott, who loves his mom and cries over animals, Scott, who's never said a cruel word to anyone ever, Scott who came to school early to offer to help her, Scott who held Isaac in the back of her car and didn't tell him to toughen up or be a man when he started to cry.
What could possibly be so bad about Scott McCall?
She and Allison study for their upcoming French test at the kitchen table while Mr. Argent cooks a lasagna, occasionally correcting one of them in French, periodically coming over to the table to ruffle Allison's hair and pass them vegetables on a cutting board to chop for the salad.
Lydia knows better than to bring up Scott and his apparent secret during dinner. Allison's parents, for reasons Lydia never really understood, completely freaked out when Allison and Scott started dating last year. Lydia always chalked it up to being overprotective of their only daughter, because what parent would look at Scott's crooked smile and big puppy dog eyes and think, oh yes, better lock up my daughter, that boy looks dangerous?
When Allison drives Lydia home she parks in the driveway, turning sideways in her seat and resting her temple against the headrest. "I know you broke up, but...Jackson hasn't said anything to you, has he?"
Lydia frowns. "Said anything about what?"
Allison shrugs lightly. "I don't know, anything weird."
Lydia raises an eyebrow at her. "You're going to have to be more specific."
Allison sighs. "Anything about Scott, specifically."
"This again?" Lydia makes a face. "We broke up Allison, so no, I don't know what kind of freaky obsession Jackson has with Scott today, it's probably the same as every other day, and since none of you will tell me what the hell is going on I don't see how I can possibly help you with this."
"You could've just said no," Allison mumbles.
"It would be a lot easier if you would just tell me what's going on."
"I know," Allison says wearily. "It's complicated."
"So explain it to me."
Allison looks down at her hands. "Scott's...Scott's special."
"Special how?"
"Just special," Allison says in a small voice.
Lydia stares at her. "Okay...?"
Allison blinks, her eyes suddenly glassy. "It's a secret."
Lydia picks at the strap of her bag. "Let me guess, you can't tell me."
"It's not because of you, it's not personal," Allison says quietly. "Okay? It's just...I need you to trust me."
"Trust you." Lydia repeats flatly.
Allison wipes her nose with the back of her hand.
"Please Lydia. I know this doesn't make any sense"-
"No, it doesn't," Lydia cuts in. "Is Scott in trouble?"
"If Jackson doesn't leave him alone, yeah, he could be."
Lydia spins the pieces around in her head, Jackson, Scott, Derek Hale, but she can't get them to fit together. "You aren't telling me the truth."
"I'm telling you what I can," Allison says tightly.
"You aren't telling me anything!"
"Because I can't!" Allison snaps. "God, just - look, don't you know what it's like to want to protect the person you love? To do anything to keep them safe, even lie to your best friend if you have to."
Lydia has the strange sensation of falling, even though she's sitting down, can hear the wind rushing by her. She's lied before but not to protect Jackson. It was about protecting herself, her own secrets, using words to build walls of deception to keep people out.
"No," she says icily. "I guess I don't know."
Allison groans. "Lydia, come on" -
"I'll see you at school tomorrow," Lydia says quickly, and jumps out of Allison's car before she can say anything else, before she can tell Allison that even if she pretends to have a heart of stone it's just an act, that it hurts her feelings to have her best friend openly keep secrets from her.
That it hurts to be shut out their little group, leaving Lydia left in the dark, to know even less than Jackson.
She doesn't know how to tell Allison that she doesn't want to be in the dark anymore.
/
Scott is back at school the next day. Allison clings to him all morning; it's like when they were first dating and couldn't keep their hands off each other. It's different though today, Allison keeps shooting Lydia pathetic little looks from under Scott's arm, like she wants Lydia to know exactly what is on the line here.
Lydia ignores them, ignores the way Jackson stares at them and her in turn. Only Stiles is acting normally, cheerfully chattering away with Scott during Chemistry, jumping up when class ends to walk out with Lydia, providing a buffer between her and Jackson.
Lydia considers Stiles as they trail behind Scott and Allison on the way to English lit, remembering what Allison said in the car last night. How she would do anything to keep Scott safe, even lie to your best friend if you have to.
Lydia knows Allison has been lying to her for awhile, she's never made much of an effort pretend otherwise.
Is Scott lying to Stiles?
No, she thinks immediately. She may be Allison's best friend and Allison may be lying to her but Scott and Stiles are different. They've been best friends since she can remember noticing them in elementary school, the kind of friends people tend to refer to by one name, ScottandStiles, because they're always together.
Or they were, before Allison. Before Scott made first line and became a lacrosse star overnight, before Jackson ever cared about him.
Lydia glances sideways at Stiles, who's plodding along next to her, eyes half on his open copy of Macbeth, walking a little sideways and weaving back when he gets too close to the lockers. Stiles, with his messy hair and superhero tee shirts, Stiles who talks as fast as she thinks and may be the smartest kid in their grade (after her of course).
Stiles knows. He has to. He's too close to Scott, too much at the center of everything to not know, whatever Scott's secret is, whatever Jackson has discovered.
And then Stiles turns to her and smiles, the light hitting his face, making his eyes melt like a puddle of molten gold, and Lydia feels her newly awakened heart crack like she would break for him, tear herself open and let him take anything he wanted, just to look at her again like that.
Even if he is a liar.
/
They're sitting in the cafeteria at a table, Lydia, Allison, Scott and Stiles, when Scott suddenly goes rigid in his seat, his head whipping around so fast it makes Lydia dizzy.
"Scott?" Allison asks tentatively.
Scott holds a hand up. "Quiet," he orders sharply.
Lydia stares at him in shock, she's never heard him talk to Allison like that, like he's one step away from telling her to shut up, but Allison just closes her mouth and ducks her head, like she's deferring to him. Lydia looks to Stiles for reassurance but he's looking over Scott's head across the cafeteria.
Jackson is leaning against the wall opposite them biting into an apple, staring right at their table. She watches him swallow, throat working. Wipes his mouth. Scott is staring hard down at his shoes but his hands are flexing over the surface of his tray. Lydia can't tell what it is but she knows something is happening, the tension is so thick in the air she swears she can hear it.
When Lydia looks back at Jackson he's grinning smugly, right at her.
A little shiver runs through her and Scott turns too, looking at Lydia with something like horror on his face. Lydia whips back around to Jackson, who cocks an eyebrow and tosses his apple in the trash.
"Scott?" Allison asks again, her voice trembling.
Scott's breathing hard, looking between Lydia and Allison and then back to Jackson's retreating head. "I - he -"
"Totally forgot we have an emergency lunch practice for lacrosse!" Stiles exclaims.
Scott and Lydia both turn to stare at Stiles and Allison wrinkles her nose. "What?"
Stiles jumps up from his chair. "Scott, buddy, c'mon, not here," and Scott twitches like a bolt of electricity is running through him; he gets up and both boys hightail it out of the cafeteria leaving their half eaten lunches still on their trays.
Lydia crosses her arms over her chest and turns to Allison. "Care to explain that?"
Allison is still looking at the doorway to the cafeteria like Scott might come back. "I can't."
Lydia snorts. "Of course you can't."
Allison reaches over to clutch her hand and they both wince when Lydia flinches. "Don't be mad."
"Okay," Lydia says slowly.
Allison picks absentmindedly at her bottom lip. "He's never going to stop, is he?"
"Who?"
"Jackson," Allison mumbles.
"Allison," Lydia asks cautiously. "Did it ever occur to you that if you told me what this big bad secret is, I could actually help?"
Allison goes white and pulls her hand away. "That's what I'm afraid of."
/
At the end of the day Allison, Scott and Stiles are all congregated at Lydia's locker, waiting for her.
"What," Lydia says briskly, stepping around Allison to open her locker, because she knows an intervention when she sees one.
Scott looks nervous, Allison painfully, falsely cheerful, and Stiles is acting furtively, rubbing the back of his neck and looking up and down the corridor, like he's keeping an eye out. Oh yes, these three are definitely up to something.
"Study session at Scott's?" Allison asks, completely out of nowhere.
Lydia arranges her books, applies a fresh coat of lipstick, and shuts her locker. "Right now?"
"Mm-hm," Allison says tightly, and links her arm around Lydia's.
"But we don't even have a test this week," Lydia starts to protest, but Stiles comes around to her other side and lightly rests his hand on her shoulder, caging her in.
"Come on, it'll be fun." Allison literally starts dragging her down the hallway, Scott and Stiles directly behind them.
"Allison, what the hell?" she hisses. "I'm in heels, would you mind not running?"
"You're wearing wedges," Allison corrects.
Lydia is so shocked she stops still and Stiles slams into her from behind, catching her by the hips while mumbling shit, shit, sorry. "Allison, since when do you care about the distinction between wedges and heels?"
"We don't have time for this," Stiles says, and slides his hands up to the curve of her waist to urge her forward.
"You wanted to help," Allison mutters. "Come on, now's your chance."
/
"Well?" Lydia says, where she's perched on an armchair in Scott's living room. "Is one of you going to tell me why we're really here?"
Allison, Scott and Stiles are sitting across from her on the couch, in that order, all wearing matching expressions of apprehension. Stiles' mouth opens and then immediately slams shut with a little abortive sound. He turns to Scott, who rubs his lips anxiously and turns towards Allison, who glares at him and hisses, "Seriously?"
"She's your best friend," Scott says.
"Oh my god," Stiles groans. "Scott."
"What?" Scott throws his hands up. "It's true!"
"Not helping!" Stiles argues.
"Don't put this on me, I didn't bring her into this," Allison says hotly.
"It's not my fault Jackson's obsessed with me," Scott whines.
"Jesus Christ." Stiles runs a hand through his hair. "Can one of you focus, please?"
"Look, as much as I'm enjoying watching you all spin your wheels, you can relax." Lydia leans back languidly in her chair. She's not sure she's right, about any of it, but she's gotten this far. She wants to see how far she can play it out. "I've figured out your dirty little secret."
Scott's mouth drops open in shock, Allison gasps, but Stiles just tilts his head inquisitively and leans forward to spread his hands over his thighs. "Really?"
Lydia rolls her eyes. "Fairly certain, yes."
He raises a challenging eyebrow, looking amused for some reason. "Alright then. Hit me."
"Well I have multiple theories, of course," she says causally, pretending to examine her nails.
Allison gives her a look of total disbelief. "Since when?"
"I don't tell you everything," Lydia says coolly.
Allison snorts. "Obviously."
"Okay then." For some reason Stiles grins, like he can't wait to watch Lydia attempt to blindly guess Scott's secret. "Occam's razor?"
Occam's razor: the principle of logic stating that one should not make more assumptions than the minimum needed.
In other words, when confronted with multiple hypothesis the simplest explanation is usually best.
She shrugs, goes with her intuition and chooses the most obvious explanation. "Scott's on steroids."
"Steroids?" Scott yelps, looking totally freaked out. "Steroids?!"
"Yes!" Stiles shouts, for some reason looking absolutely delighted. "Oh my god, yes!"
"Stiles!" Allison and Scott yell at the same time.
"What?" Stiles is bouncing next to Scott, fingers tapping against his knee, laughing. "It's perfect. Come on, you have to admit, it's such a great" -
"Steroids?" Scott exclaims, slapping Stiles lightly upside the head. Lydia flinches, thinking of Isaac, the echo of cervical vertebrae snapping back, but Stiles just huffs and punches Scott in the shoulder.
"Stiles," Allison says nervously. "We can't just" -
"What if my mom hears?" Scott asks, his voice admittedly adorably frantic. "Wasn't last year bad enough?"
"So?" Lydia asks, feeling intensely suspicious. "It's true?"
Allison and Stiles both turn to look at Scott with wide eyes. Stiles makes a very complicated face that involves several eyebrow expressions and Scott groans, clearly defeated. He curls up into himself, looking pissed off and resigned. "Yeah, its true."
"Chill, McCall," Lydia says flippantly, her stomach twisting. There's something wrong with this; it's too easy. She wasn't even being serious really; she didn't actually think Scott was that dumb. "I won't tell anyone you're juicing up."
"Oh," Scott says, his eyes widening. "Juice."
Lydia wrinkles her nose. "You do know they cause testicular shrinkage, right?"
"Oh my god," Allison mutters. "Oh my god, I can't believe this is my life."
"So now that we've gotten that out of the way, what can I do for you?" Lydia asks graciously. "You said something about needing my help?"
Scott starts to open his mouth but Stiles wave a hand at him. "Bah ah ah, I got this buddy," and Scott nods, looking relieved and humiliated all at once."
"So," Stiles says cheerfully. "Short version. Scotty here, sweet innocent Scott who we all love very much, has himself hooked on the 'roids."
"I hate you," Scott mutters, slouching against the couch cushions.
"Shh, let me do the talking." Stiles pats Scott's chest. "Now, Jackson wants in on his hookup, because, you know, it's Jackson. But the thing is Scott's guy, is, well, let's say extremely selective about his clients. Rumor is Jackson isn't too thrilled about it."
"Believe me, I'm aware," Lydia snaps.
Stiles pauses, looking suddenly concerned. "You are? Did he say something to you?"
Lydia stiffens up, remembering Jackson's hand on her arm and how small she felt compared to him, how his desire eclipsed everything.
"Lydia," Stiles says softly, coaxing. "Tell me what he said."
"He said..." Lydia folds her bare legs under her, unable to look at Stiles. "He wanted to know what he gave me. If he gave it to me."
When she looks up again all three of her friends are staring at her. Allison has a hand over her mouth, Scott's jaw is clenched, and Stiles is tapping his fingers against his leg.
"Is that how he said it?" Stiles asks seriously. "He used those words?"
She nods, feeling suddenly afraid. She's done something by repeating Jackson's words; all three of them look absurdly worried in a way that has nothing to do with Scott.
"Okay," Stiles says slowly. "That's - a development. Did he say anything else?"
Lydia swallows, feeling lightheaded, like it's happening all over again. "He insinuated that you three bribed me into breaking up with him."
Allison makes a noise in the back of her throat. "What?"
"Bribed you with what?" Scott asks, frowning.
"I don't know," she murmurs. She wonders if it would be rude to lie down on Scott's floor and close her eyes until things stop spinning. "He just kept asking if Derek gave it to me. Like that was the reason I was spending time with you, because of him."
"Are you sure that's what he said?" Stiles asks sharply. "He told you about Derek?"
"Not really. I told him I didn't know anything." Lydia presses her palm against her forehead, her voice trembling. "I don't know anything."
"Hey, Lydia." Stiles' voice changes to something soft and tender. "It's okay. Everything's going to be fine."
"Is he a drug dealer?" Lydia asks Allison, ignoring Stiles. "Is that what you meant before? When you told me to be careful?"
Allison flinches. "I think we should get back on topic, okay? Did Jackson say anything to you, anything else?"
"I already told you yesterday Allison, I don't know anything." Her voice rises up at the end, like she might break into a scream.
"Lydia," Stiles asks, holding his hands out toward her like he's anticipating something, like he can tell she wants to get off this chair, lie down on the floor and go to sleep. "Did he threaten you?"
Lydia looks away from him, watching Scott curl his fingers into fists. "Threaten me?"
"It's okay," Stiles says. "You're safe here, you can tell us."
"Why would he do that?" she asks defensively. "He was just - it's Jackson, you know what he's like. He wouldn't hurt me."
Stiles makes a frustrated noise, like he's disappointed, fingers stretching out towards her. "Lydia."
She curls back away from him, seething. "I want to go home," she tells Allison. "I don't want to do this anymore."
"Just hold on." Allison presses her fingertips into her temples. "Look, lets just say, hypothetically, that Jackson is still trying to get Scott to get him..." Allison trails off, making a face. "You know."
Lydia flicks her braid over her shoulder. "Well thanks to all of you I'm not his girlfriend anymore, so I don't see what that has to do with me."
"You know him better than us," Scott says. "He wants an answer from me, tonight."
"I thought that was Derek's call," Lydia says stiffly.
"If Derek says no again, Jackson won't take it out on him, he'll take it out on us," Scott explains. "He'll take it out on you."
"Let him," Lydia says harshly, unfolding her legs to stand up and face Allison. "Can we go now?"
Allison looks hesitantly at Scott, who shrugs wearily. "Okay," Allison says. "We just need you to tell Scott what to tell Jackson. If you think it's worth...risking whatever Jackson might do."
Lydia blinks. "What he might do?"
Allison nods hesitantly. "I think it's fair to be concerned about retaliation."
Retaliation. Lydia think about Jackson's hands, on her neck, on her wrist, on her arm, Jackson pushing her up against furniture, Jackson sneering at her like she's a dumb little girl. "He wouldn't hurt me," she says softly, but it comes out sounding more like a question than an answer.
Stiles huffs. "Has it occurred to you that none of us might be willing to risk that?"
"Well it's not your decision, is it?" Lydia holds her head high, hands folded behind her back so her friends can't see how they're shaking. "Don't give him anything," she orders Scott. "I don't care what he says. Not one thing."
/
Lydia's in the hallway the next morning, walking from homeroom to first period, when a hand grabs her forearm and pulls her so hard she trips, stumbling sideways into a little alcove and smacking her hip against the wall. When she looks up she's totally boxed in, blue eyes burrowing into her.
Jackson.
"Oh Lydia," he says in a low voice. "You just couldn't stay out of it, could you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." She tilts her head down, forcing herself to stay small, faking submission.
"I know you talked to Scott," Jackson growls. "I know what you told him."
"I didn't," she lies. "I didn't tell him anything" -
"Bullshit!" Jackson yells. His hand flies out but before she can even duck there's another hand closing around Jackson's wrist and pulling his arm behind his back.
"Now, now." Isaac says cheerfully. "Is that any way to treat a lady?"
Lydia stares at him in shock. She didn't even know Isaac was back at school. His skin is smooth and glowing, his eye is healed to the point where she can't even see a shadow of a bruise, and he's got Jackson pinned with one arm twisted behind his back.
"You?" Jackson sputters, wrenching his arm out of Isaac's grip and stumbling back, rubbing the place where Isaac held his forearm. "Seriously, you?"
Isaac grins but there's a bite to it that makes him look a little dangerous. "That's right."
Jackson's mouth opens and closes like a fish and then to Lydia's total surprise he turns on his heel and walks away, fuming. Lydia watches him leave, hip throbbing. She looks back at Isaac, who's just standing there, like he's waiting for her, giving her a careful evaluating look.
Lydia steps away from the wall, curling her fingers around the strap of her book bag. "You didn't have to do that."
"I owed you one." Like it's nothing. Isaac gives her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Come on, I'll walk you to class."
/
Lydia goes to Beacon Hill's lacrosse game the following night with Allison. It's the first game she's gone to since she and Jackson broke up and it feels wrong. She feels like a fraud, being here without a real reason, here just to keep Allison company as she cheers Scott on.
But then Stiles turns around on the bench and spots her and his face lights up; he throws both his arms up to wave at her.
Allison grins and nudges Lydia with her elbow. "Someone's looking happy to see you."
"It's just Stiles," Lydia says lightly. "We're friends."
"Mm okay, sure," Allison says cheekily.
"Allison."
"What?" Allison smirks. "I'm just saying."
"I haven't even been single for a week. I'm not going to jump into a new relationship after four days, that's not what I'm looking for."
Allison tilts her head inquisitively. "So what are you looking for?"
"I don't know," Lydia ponders. "A distraction might be nice."
The game remains tied 0-0 all the way until the last three minutes of the final period. Scott has the ball cradled in his stick and he's charging down the field, everyone in the stands up on their feet watching with bated breath, when a player slams into Scott's side and tackles him. Everyone sighs in disappointment and then gasps in surprise collectively, because the player who checked him isn't on the other team - the player is Jackson.
"Oh my god," Allison whispers. "What is he doing?"
Lydia shakes her head, watching with wide eyes as Scott peels himself off the grass, screaming and gesturing at Jackson. Jackson yells something back and then they're diving at each other at the same time, slamming back down on the ground, fists flying.
The referee is loudly blowing his whistle, Finstock is screaming at Jackson, half the people in the stands are gaping. Isaac, Stiles, and a player from the other team who Lydia vaguely recognized from lacrosse parties, Brett she thinks, dive into the fight to separate Scott and Jackson, who both immediately get benched and skulk off the field, glaring openly at each.
"I don't understand," Allison says, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Why would he do that? They're on the same team!"
"I don't know," Lydia murmurs. This is what Stiles must have meant though, when he said retaliation.
The clock starts again, everyone is clearly thrown off by the impromptu brawl, and somehow, with thirty seconds left on the clock, Stiles gets the ball.
"Oh my god," Allison says excitedly, grabbing Lydia's hand and bouncing up and down.
Stiles stands on the field, under the lights, ball cradled in his stick, four feet away from the goal, frozen, like he can't believe this is actually happening, while players from the opposite team run down the field towards him.
"What are you doing?" Lydia murmurs, and cups her hands over her mouth to amplify her voice. "Shoot it!"
Stiles' head snaps up and Lydia can see it, his body jolting back into the moment, and he slings his stick back to shoot the ball right into the net. The stands erupt in cheers and even Lydia can't resist clapping loudly, jumping up and down with Allison, because Stiles is her friend and he just won Beacon Hill their game and she's proud of him, okay? He's her friend, he scored the winning goal; she's allowed to be proud.
Lydia stands with Allison next to her car in the parking lot after the field has been cleared, waiting for Scott and Stiles to come out of the locker room. She sees the boys amble towards them from across the lot, freshly showered, gym bags slung over their shoulders. Allison runs up to Scott, throwing her arms around him and whispering something that Lydia can't hear into his ear.
"So," Lydia says to Stiles, stepping a little closer to him and away from where Scott and Allison are locked together. "Great game."
Stiles flushes, his cheeks pink. "I scored a goal."
Lydia smiles. "You did."
Stiles' face lights up. "You saw me score a goal."
She nods, lips twitching in amusement. He's cute like this, all excited, radiating with pride. "I did."
A slamming car door startled her and when she looks over Stiles she sees Jackson watching her, leaning up against the Porsche.
"Hey," she says softly. "I'll be right back, okay?"
Stiles twists back over his shoulder and his expression darkens when he sees Jackson. "Lydia" -
"I'll be fine," she reassures him. "I'll be back in a minute."
She crosses around Stiles and walks down a row of cars, the click of her boots on the blacktop painfully loud in her ears. Jackson's just waiting there, his arms crossed, watching her get closer.
"Jackson." She stops a foot away from him, hands curling up at her sides.
"What do you want?" He sounds tired.
"Jackson, this has to stop. You have to stop."
Jackson rolls his shoulder. "Just stay out of it, Lydia."
"Jackson," she says sharply. "I'm serious. Someone's going to get hurt. You could get hurt."
"And why do you care?" he asks, his voice rusty.
She blinks at him. "Because I love you."
Jackson flinches, so small she almost misses it. "Walk away, Lydia."
She holds her ground, chin held high. "No."
"Jesus Christ Lydia, for once in your life would you just listen to me?"
"Please," she whispers. "I know you. I know that you can change. You don't have to do this. You don't have to be this person."
Jackson pushes off his car and Lydia stumbles back a few steps instinctively. Jackson raises an eyebrow at her and she flushes but holds her gaze. He steps up to her slowly, like a dare, like they're playing chicken. She forces herself to hold her ground, to not move, to turn her back on him and run to Stiles.
You don't need him to save you, she tells herself, too afraid to breathe. You don't need anyone to save you. Don't move, you've made your choice, now watch as his hands take you apart.
Jackson lays his hand flat on her forearm but he's gentle this time; such a shocking contrast from yesterday morning at school, when Isaac rescued her. "Lydia," he says, his voice even and firm. "Walk. Away."
Her eyes burn and his face blurs over. "Why are you doing this?"
"You're not my girlfriend anymore." It stings but he's right, she's not. "I don't have to tell you anything."
"Jackson." His name comes out like a sob. "Please."
His hand grips tighter and he uses the force to turn her around so she's facing away from him. Across the parking lot Stiles Scott and Allison are waiting for her, watching, looking very tense.
Jackson lets go of her arm but he's so close, right behind her, it's easy for him to bend down and whisper into her ear. "I'm done, Lydia. Now be a good girl and walk back to your friends, or you won't like what happens next."
So she takes one step, then another, and she keeps walking like a princess put under a spell, until she's close enough for Stiles to reach out and pull her into his arms.
"Hey," he whispers. "Hey, you're okay, it's okay."
"I'm fine," she mutters, pushing at his chest, because this is embarrassing, to be coddled like this in front of everyone else. "Stiles, I'm fine."
Stiles reaches down and brushes something off her cheek, looking concerned. "Lydia, you're crying."
She blinks at him, confused, and looks down at the finger he's holding out, the one he used to touch her cheek. There's a tear, her tear, glistening on the pad of his finger under the streetlights, shining like some rare precious jewel.
/
Lydia goes to the Jungle on Saturday night with Danny because she needs a distraction, and nothing screams distraction like dancing with a hoard of gay guys for a few hours. She wears a tiny strapless black bodycon minidress, black stilettos, and her hair is blown out in a glossy sheet.
She and Danny get in with the fakes he made them over the summer, and when they get inside they each grab a handful of shots off the tray of the first cocktail waitress they see, a baby-faced brunette who can't be much older than fifteen.
She and Danny are serious together when it comes to clubbing, they each down three shots consecutively and submerge themselves into the crowd on the dance floor, the warmth of the alcohol indistinguishable from the warmth of the group of people, boys in tight shirts and even tighter jeans, girls wearing brightly colored dresses interspersed among them.
She loses Danny and ends up dancing with a guy approximately her age, a boy with Jackson's cut jawline and sharp cheekbones, but he's a little darker, brown eyes instead of blue. He's dressed casually, a burgundy cotton vee neck and dark jeans, and he feels so good, his hands big and warm on her hips, cocky little smile on his face, and then she feels him hard against her hip and she thinks, oh, alright then.
It's perfect, really. No history, no expectations. No names, even. It's easy, to tilt her head up to him and purse her lips, trail her finger down his chest, watching his pupils dilate.
He bends down over her and drags his lips across her jaw. "How would you feel about taking this someplace a little more private?"
It's just so easy. To be given a choice like that. Such a simple thing, like a note a child passes to their crush in class.
Do you love me? Yes? No?
Who do you love? Who do you love, Lydia?
She lets him lead her out of the club by her hand, quickly texting Danny with the other, who she know won't mind, there's a good chance he's already found someone to spend his night with. She and Danny have an understanding that way.
The boy leads her down the street to a parked motorcycle. He lifts the seat up and pulls out a helmet, carries it under his arm to her.
"So what?" she says sardonically, holding still so that he can buckle the helmet under her chin. "You're a bad boy?"
"Oh, I don't know." His voice is soft and dangerous, his lips curving up into a smirk. "I could be good; for you."
She gets on the bike behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. She leans into the curves with him like he instructs her to, her heart pounding against his back as he drives, exposed thighs freezing in the cool air.
He takes her to a rundown looking apartment building and Lydia slides off the bike, a wave of uneasiness hitting her.
"We just bought a house," he says quickly, like he can tell she's suddenly wary. "But we don't have any furniture yet. No beds. We're just staying here for a few nights."
Lydia blinks at him, feeling a little nebulous, like all the edges around her are blurring, taking the helmet off and pushing it into his hands. "What?"
"We just moved to Beacon Hills." He steps forward and runs his fingers up and down her arm. "I'm new in town."
There's something hypnotizing about him, the way he seems to anticipate what she's about to say before she says it.
"Come on," he says softly, and threads his fingers through hers. "I don't bite." Then he winks, giving her a wolfish grin. "Much."
He takes her up a dimly lit staircase to the third floor and unlocks the door to an apartment at the end of the hall. She follows him inside, taking careful steps in the dark, the only light in the apartment coming from the moonlight filtering in through the window.
Lydia sways in a little hallway between the kitchen and what she presumes are the bedrooms. She only had three shots at the club but she's lightheaded, like she might fall down.
"Can I - is there somewhere I can freshen up?" she asks, giving him a sweet smile and rounding her shoulders so the neckline of her dress dips down a bit more.
"Yeah," he says, eyes on her cleavage, just like she wanted. "Bathroom's right here." Leaning past her to tap a door she hadn't noticed, because she's in a hallway with a stranger in the dark.
Why are you here? What are you doing?
Lydia smiles demurely and escapes into the bathroom. She locks the door and sits down on the closed toilet lid, bends over and inhales slowly through her nose. She realizes that she's shaking, like she's cold, but it's coming from something deeper, some internal equilibrium has been disrupted.
She only allows herself a few minutes before forcing herself to pull it together. She runs cold water under her wrists, finger-combs her hair and steps back out into the hallway.
He's standing there waiting for her, but -
His shirt is a different color than before, green now, and he's looking at her in a completely foreign way, like he didn't know she was in there, but then his face smoothes out into a carefully blank expression.
Lydia stumbles back a step, her lungs devoid of oxygen because something is wrong, this isn't him, this isn't the right boy.
"Impressive," his doppelgänger says. "No one tells us apart that easily. You must be a smart one."
Lydia goes numb. "What?"
He flashes her a wicked smile. "We're twins."
Brothers. They're brothers.
"Aiden went to the convenience store," the boy says. "He'll be back in a minute."
Lydia nods, frozen.
He waggled his eyebrows salaciously. "Have a goodnight." And then he walks away, disappears behind a door.
She stands there, something that feels wrong and dirty coursing through her. The hallway is dark but there's light creeping in under the front door.
What is she doing here? What is she doing in the hallway?
It's a split-second decision - she pushes through the kitchen and then she's out the door, running through another hallway and back down the three flights of stairs. Lydia bursts out of the building and turns hard and walks as quickly as she can without actually breaking into a run, adrenaline pumping in her veins, and doesn't stop until she's three blocks away.
She huddles by a street lamp and bends down, unzips her little bag and pulls out her phone to call a ride, and stares down at the screen in betrayal.
Dead.
The fear come on for real this time. She's alone, in a middle of the night with a dead phone, on the side of the road in a cocktail dress. Like a prostitute.
She stares up at the sky, the moon hanging low and fat on the horizon, almost full. It's almost like sleeping, standing there, frozen and numb with terror, staring up at the glowing satellite like it could send out a homing beacon for her.
She's just starting to approach a genuine panic attack when headlights suddenly fall brightly across her face and Lydia shields her eyes with one hand, watching a sleek black car pull up to the curb in front of her.
The window rolls down and pale eyes shine out in the darkness. "Hey," Derek Hale says. "Need a ride?"
Lydia stands there on the sidewalk, remembering Allison's earlier warning about Derek. Weighs getting in the car with an alleged drug dealer with staying out here, past midnight, alone, on the wrong side of town.
"You're Stiles' friend, right?" He unbuckles his seatbelt so he can lean towards the window and gives her a disarming smile.
Lydia nods uneasily. Allison didn't say that Derek was dangerous, and he knows Scott and Stiles. He can't be that bad, right?
The passenger door swing open from the inside. "Come on," he says, a little brisker this time. "Get in the car."
It's so easy there isn't even a choice to make.
She slides into the passenger seat and slams the door shut, the skirt of her dress riding up to the tops of her thighs. "Thank you," she says primly.
He snorts and accelerates, speeding through the next intersection and cutting the wheel sharply to turn around in the direction of her neighborhood.
"You shouldn't be out this late by yourself," he mutters.
Lydia scowls at that. "It's Beacon Hills, it's not like anything happens here."
For some reason that amuses him, his lips tick up in a ghost of a smirk but he doesn't say anything. Lydia studies him as he drives, takes in his bone structure, the muscles that must be hiding under his leather jacket. He really is gorgeous and she feels a bit of a rush, a second wave of adrenaline.
She's in a car with a stranger, all alone. He could do anything to her, anything. But it's not like before with the boy in the club because Stiles knows Derek, her friends all seem to know Derek, and he's not even looking at her, hasn't said anything remotely creepy.
Lydia's a little disappointed about it actually. She still has that need, that impulse to throw herself on a fire, burn the fear out of her, overwhelmed by the knowledge that she and Jackson are really over, that Scott and therefore Allison might really be in trouble. And Stiles, trying to help everyone, help her.
"So," she says, because the silence is leading her thoughts to bad places she'd rather avoid. "You know Scott right?"
"Mhmm," he says noncommittally. "You're Lydia right?"
She nods hesitantly. "He told you about me?"
Derek shakes his head. "Stiles."
"Oh." That makes more sense, she supposes. She remembers that day driving with Stiles after school the day she met Derek, her feet propped up on the dashboard, feeling a little wild and reckless.
Like she wanted to push things, just to see how far she can take it. Lydia straightens up in her seat, letting the hem of her dress ride up another inch. "So," she says, flipping her hair off her shoulder. "Do you think I'm pretty?"
His eyes don't leave the road. "You know you're pretty," he says patiently. "Why are you asking me?"
She slides her left hand over the console and drops it on his thigh. "I want to know what you think."
His right hand reaches down and removers her hand from his leg and drops it into her lap. "Don't bother. I don't fuck little girls."
Lydia pouts, wounded. "I'm seventeen."
"A child," he says firmly, and Lydia gets the distinct impression that he's actually serious, and testing him would get her nowhere.
She sighs, like she's bored, and stares out the window, forehead pressed against the cool glass. It's only when he blows past the main road that leads to her street that she realizes he hasn't asked her where to take her, but he certainly seems to be going somewhere.
Her stomach contracts. "Where are we going?"
"Scott's house."
She rotates sideways in her seat to stares at him. "Why?"
Derek turns his head to smile at her, slow and cunning, and Lydia shivers with fear. "You'll see," is all he says about it.
When they get to Scott's house Derek parks and practically leaps out of the car, runs around the front of the car and opens the passenger door. "Come on," he says.
Lydia's hands unbuckle her seatbelt on autopilot, she steps out of the car on shaking legs and swallows a cry when Derek closes his hand over her left shoulder.
"What are we doing?" she whispers, because something is wrong, that missing piece she hasn't been able to figure out taunting her.
"We're waiting for Scott," Derek says calmly.
"He doesn't even know we're here."
Derek gives her a smug smile. "Trust me, he knows."
"Screw this," she mutters, and tries to get away, but his grip on her shoulder tightens like iron and she looks up at him, and his eyes -
His eyes.
Glowing, in the moonlight, but not from it. Glowing from something inside him, something unreal, not real, this can't be real -
"Calm down," Derek says evenly.
The front door to the McCall house bursts open and Scott is illuminated in the doorway, hair sticking up, and he looks furious. "What the hell, Derek?" Scott shouts, and stomps down the front steps, stopping halfway down the sidewalk, glaring.
Derek jostles Lydia's shoulder and she swallows a whimper. "Hey Scott, I found something that belongs to you."
And suddenly, with crystal clarity, Lydia understands two things:
Derek, whatever he is, isn't human.
And Lydia is his hostage.
"What's going on?" Scott asks. "What are you doing with her? This is not what we agreed to!"
"Scott," Lydia whispers, because it's too late, she should have thrown herself at his feet and begged for him to save her when she had the chance.
"It's okay Lydia," Scott reassures her. "Derek come on, you're scaring her."
"Found her by the side of the road," Derek continues. "Dressed like this, all the way across town."
"Derek"-
"You told me you had things under control, Scott!"
Scott throws his hands up in the air. "I've got a lot of shit on my plate, man!"
"Don't make excuses," Derek snaps. "She's one of yours, isn't she?"
Scott stiffens. "It's not like that."
Derek raises an eyebrow. "Really."
Scott manages to look both sleepy and pissed off, something of a feat. Lydia's gone numb, she can't feel anything except a low pulsing fear and the survival instinct to run to Scott.
Scott folds his arms across his chest. "She's Allison's best friend; Lydia's off the table. Unless you want the Argents' on your ass."
Derek growls and Lydia whines in fear, struggling vainly to get away. "So for all intents and purposes..."
"She's with me," Scott says firmly, and holds out his hands to her. "C'mere Lydia."
The hand in her shoulder disappears but Lydia can't move.
Monster, monster, he's a monster.
"Lydia," Scott says a little more firmly. "Come to me, it's okay."
Something snaps inside her and she runs, bolting across the grass to throw herself against Scott, clutching onto his arm and using it to shield herself from Derek.
"Scott," she gasps. "Scott, Scott."
"It's okay," Scott murmurs, and gives Derek a dirty look. "Christ, you scared the hell out of her," he complains. "Why do you always have to be such a dick?"
Derek shrugs. "Full moon tomorrow."
Scott slaps his palm against his forehead. "Dude, I know."
Derek scowls. "I told you and Stilinski not to call me that."
Scott reaches down and unfurls Lydia's fingers from his shirtsleeve. "I'll see tomorrow with Isaac?"
Lydia stares up at Scott, because there is a monster standing outside of his house and Scott - Scott knows.
It's the only explanation.
"You're welcome," Derek tosses out, and unbelievably, walks away, unlocks his car and gets back inside.
Lydia leans against Scott, breathing shallowly, watching as Derek turns his headlights on and drives away. "Scott," she says desperately. "I don't – I don't understand what's happening."
Scott wraps one arm around her shoulder and gives her a look so tender it makes her want to slap him. "I know, Lydia." He sighs and walks them back to the front stairs and sinks down on the bottom step, holding on to her so they can sit side by side. "Look, I know you're really confused right now but it's going to be okay."
"How can I trust you?" she asks him brokenly. "You lied, you all lied" –
"Do you trust Allison?" Scott interrupts. "Like, really trust her?"
Lydia hesitates only for a moment before nodding her head yes.
Scott reaches down and pats her bare knee gently, "Then you can trust me." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. "My mom has the car tonight, I'm going to call Stiles to drive you home."
Lydia tips her head back and closes her eyes. "Okay."
/
Stiles shows up fifteen minutes later in his Jeep, wearing jeans and his red hoody, fuming. "Are you kidding me?" he yells, but Lydia can't tell if it's directed at her or Scott.
"Stiles," Scott says beseechingly. It's after midnight, can we please do this tomorrow."
Stiles' eyes go wide and he flails his arms. "Seriously? Again, are you kidding me?"
"Shit," Scott says. "Look, she's fine, dude, we're all a little worked up here."
"I just, I mean this is like, new proportions of" –
"Stiles!" Scott stretches and stands up, rubbing his eyes. "Just take a deep breath man."
Stiles is clearly agitated, bouncing on his toes. "Okay. Yeah, okay fine. Lydia, let's go."
Lydia stands up but she doesn't walk towards him. "No."
"No?" Stiles splutters. "No?"
"That's right," she says sweetly. "Not until you tell me exactly what's going on."
"What's going on with what?" Stiles asks cautiously.
"She saw Derek's eyes," Scott says wearily.
Stiles shakes his head rapidly, like he's trying to physically clear his head. "Okay. That's just freaking fantastic. Come on Lydia, time to go."
"No, I told you" –
"Lydia, get your cute little ass in the car right now!"
She crosses her arms across her chest. "Hmm, how about no?"
Stiles steps forward and she realizes that he's shaking, badly, and his eyes won't focus on anything. "Please," he says hoarsely.
"You have to promise to tell me tomorrow," she says to him and Scott. "The truth." The real truth."
Stiles looks hesitantly at Scott. "Full moon tomorrow," he comments.
Scott glowers. "Yeah, Derek made sure to mention it."
Stiles bobs his head. "So are we good? Can we go now, please?"
"Fine," Lydia huffs, but only because she's exhausted. She was practically abducted tonight after all. She flounces to his car and hauls herself into the Jeep, watches Scott and Stiles hug very briefly and then Stiles turns back and jogs to the car.
He doesn't say anything the entire way back to her house so she doesn't either. Because what is there to say?
You didn't see anything. It was a trick, parlor magic, it wasn't real. Nothing glowed like they were lit from within, like some dark avenging angel.
Except some deeper part of her knows that its true, she knows what she saw, even if no one believes her.
Stiles parks the car, and then he's unbuckling his seatbelt so he can face her without being constrained. "You know, I'm so mad at you right now."
Lydia's mouth drops open. "Me? What did I do?"
"You got picked up in the worst part of town in the middle of the night! By Derek Hale! God Lydia, it's like you don't even care."
She recoils back in her seat. "Care about what?"
Stiles is gaping at her. "About yourself."
Lydia flinches. "What are you talking about?"
"You just throw yourself into these dangerous situations and you don't even care if you get hurt! Have you even thought about what it would do to me, to Allison, if something happened to you?" He's so upset, his eyes blown wide, hands flinging around as he yells.
It would be so easy, to yell back, to tell him how he doesn't know, he could never understand, to deflect with more questions about Scott and Derek and how its possible for a man to glow in the dark.
This time she chooses differently.
She undoes her seatbelt and slides sideways in her seat to lay her hands flat over his. "I'm sorry I scared you," she whispers.
Right away she knows she's made the right choice. Stiles exhales, with his whole body, and nods, and its so easy, to pull his arm over her shoulders so she can turn around in the small space to lean her back against his chest. "Stiles?"
From behind her there's a choking sound but then Stiles shifts and wraps both arms around her, anchoring her to his body. "Yeah, Lydia."
"Can we just sit here for a minute? I don't want to go inside yet."
There's a phantom press of lips to the top of her head. "Yeah, we can stay here for as long as you want."
She sighs and tips her head back against his shoulder. She can see the moon shining in the sky, a shimming halo around it, bright and mysterious.
"Stiles?" she murmurs. She's so tired, adrenaline bleeding out of her system, but she finally feels safe, here, in this moment, and she can't give it up, not yet. She doesn't have all the answers yet but it's okay, she will, and right now she doesn't want to be anywhere else
It's dark outside but she sees light, all around her.
"Yeah?" he answers softly.
"Isn't the moon pretty?" she asks dreamily, like she's halfway asleep. But she can do that here, because Stiles will wake her up, Stiles won't let her fall asleep in the snow.
"Yeah," Stiles whispers. "Yeah, Lydia. It's beautiful."