For a fleeting moment, Lydia considers calling Scott. But this thought dissipates as quickly as it came. Instead, she turns on her heel and heads for the front door again and stuffs the arrow in her bag, tears filling her eyes. This isn't fair. Lydia doesn't know what to believe. Is this someone trying to mess with her head? Did Allison do this? Did the doctors do this? Why, why why? The last question is the one that permeates in her mind, drowning all the others.
Lydia climbs into her car and heads towards the cemetery, unsure of what she's looking for or what she'll find. She just drives until she sees the ominous gates and makes her way towards the patch of ground her best friend lies beneath. It begins to rain again and the electricity in the air makes her arm hairs stand on end. Lydia crouches next to the great stone with Allison's name on it, rubbing her hands over it, feeling for cracks. Everything is smooth. The stone, the grass, the planted flowers around the grave unruffled. That's when Lydia realizes it. How could Stiles have missed this? Flowers don't remain unruffled. They wilt, they crinkle, they die. The flowers next to Allison's grave are fresh. Lydia looks over her shoulder into the night before running all the way back to her car. Music dances from the speakers, keeping her company in the darkness.
Just as she looks up from the dash, she sees a tall, slender figure standing in the rain. It is a woman, her dark hair plastered across her face, her skin porcelain, and her dark clothes wrapped stickily around her body. Lydia's heart races in fear and anticipation. Before she can think, she speeds away, slamming her foot onto the gas, desperate to escape, but from what she's not sure.
Stiles paces his room, his breaths coming in great gasps, his heart beating erratically. It feels like his mind is spinning into overdrive. Every feeling he's suppressed in the last 3 years comes bubbling up to the surface. He is losing his mind.
No matter how many times he scrubs at his hands he can't seem to scrub away the blood. Stiles has never killed anyone before. He is not a killer. He tries to remind himself of this as he paces the floor in front of his clear board. His hands are throbbing from pounding on the glass, hating everything scattered across its clarity. Stiles tries to breathe and finds that he can't. It feels like a rope has been wrapped around his chest; he feels wrung out. No one can know that he killed Donovan. No one can know. No one can know what he's done, who he is now. The phone rings and it's Scott, telling Stiles things he already knows; someone is stealing the bodies of the dead, something horrible is happening. He holds himself together until he hangs up the phone.
Stiles slides to the floor, tears running down his cheeks. He has to get rid of these clothes, he has to get rid of anything that reminds him what he's done. He rips his shirt off over his head, wincing as his muscles stretch and pull, sore with surviving. Air whooshes in and out of his lungs, wheezing through his airways. He cleans his shoulder as best he can and covers it with a large bandage. Then he throws the clothes in the wash and climbs into the shower, letting the scalding water burn away the past. Barely able to hold himself up, he leans his head against the wall of the shower, hands splayed across it, scrabbling at something solid and real.
The bathroom door opens and he knows how this must look, but he still can't lift himself away from the wall. "Stiles?" Malia says, rushing forward. The shower doors open and water sprays onto the floor and seeps into Malia's clothing and hair. "Stiles…" She whispers into his back as she wraps her arms around his middle and leans her cheek onto his back. Stiles knows she can smell the sorrow and horror and hurt in his bones. He just hopes she doesn't know why.
In a few hours time, Malia goes to school while the others attempt to wrestle information from Dr. Valyk, desperate to understand what the dread doctors are and what they want. Chaos ensues. The defenses are broken. Kira and Scott barely make it out alive, and Stiles and Lydia only narrowly escape the tall metal creatures that flicker like the memory of a nightmare.
Afterwards, Stiles takes Lydia home. His shoulder is aching and smarting from the teeth marks in his skin. Lydia shivers, staring straight ahead. Without thinking, Stiles reaches towards her and takes her small, chilled hand in his. Lydia finally looks at him, her eyes unsure, worried. He's sure they reflect his own. They break apart too quickly as Stiles places his hands back on the wheel. His jeep still has the faint smell of cleaning supplies from scourging it of any evidence of his run-in with Donovan. Stiles wants desperately to tell Lydia what happened, but he can't. He can't tell anyone, ever. They can never know what he's done. They arrive at Lydia's house and the driveway is empty. Lydia climbs out of the Jeep, taking a deep breath.
"Lydia? Do you want me to come inside with you?" Stiles asks, seeing the tension in Lydia's stance.
She merely glances at him and nods. He reaches into his pocket and dials Malia's number to let her know where he is, but she doesn't answer. She texts him a few minutes later with "practicing driving with someone." Stiles wonders who the someone is, but instead of asking responds with an "okay. see you soon." He follows Lydia's petite figure to her doorstep where she fumbles with her keys, her hands shaking. Stiles' brows furrow in concern, but he doesn't say anything.
"You don't have to stay or anything- I'm just feeling a little wary of everything right now. My mom isn't home. She's been staying late at the school to get some work done. Since she took off to stay with me at the hospital a few times."
"I don't mind hanging out for a few minutes if it makes you feel safer." Stiles respondswith a shrug and a wince. Pain radiates throughout his arm, making his eyes water. He feels feverish.
"Stiles, what's going on with your shoulder? And don't lie to me this time." Lydia asked, crossing her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowed and her voice sharp.
"Nothing!" Stiles responded quickly. He looked at the ground, his chest tightening in panic.
Lydia rolls her eyes. "I asked you not to lie. Let me see it."
"No, Lydia. No. It's nothing. There's nothing to see. I told you. It's just my elbow." Stiles stammers out, turning away from her. Lydia's hand touches his back gently and he jumps.
"Malia said you weren't feeling well last night and didn't sleep much. She told me you were having nightmares." Lydia's voice says gently.
Stiles closes his eyes, silently cursing the budding friendship between these two girls. Malia could sense far too much and Lydia was far too perceptive. The two of them working together was a recipe for disaster when it came to keeping secrets. Lydia turns Stiles around to look at her and the anguish on his face chips away at her heart. "Please tell me what's going on. I hate seeing you like this. I don't know what happened, but you haven't been yourself all day and your shoulder is injured and I don't know how or why. The dread doctors are here in Beacon Hills. Innocent people are dying. I can't defend myself or you or anyone else. No one is listening to me about Allison-"
"Lydia. LYDIA." Stiles says, placing his large hands over hers. "Breathe." Lydia's panic seems to have smudged away some of Stiles' own panic. They stand there looking each other in the eyes until finally, Stiles speaks. "I'll tell you what happened. You can't tell Scott though. Or Malia. Or anyone. Okay?"
"Okay." Lydia responds roughly. "I promise. I won't tell anyone."
"I…" Stiles starts. He begins to pace, Lydia's eyes following him. "I got into a fight." Stiles pauses there. His words are choking him. If he doesn't get them out of his throat he'll asphyxiate. "With Donovan."
"The kid who threatened your dad? How…?" Confusion rushes through Lydia, then sudden understanding. "They didn't...he wasn't…" She couldn't seem to finish her thoughts, her mouth forming an O of horror.
Stiles' hands are shaking and he begins to run his fingers through his hair and then down over his face. "I was leaving the library. I'd been reading about Wendigos. Trying to figure out what we could be dealing with, with all these weird hybrids, and the jeep wouldn't start. I went to open the hood and something grabbed my shoulder…" Stiles continues the story, telling Lydia everything until he gets to the very end.
"Stiles...what happened? Where is he?" Lydia asks, even though she already knows the answer.
"He fell." Stiles says quietly, tears running down his face. He looks away from her, wiping his nose. "It was an accident. He attacked me and I acted on instinct. When I pulled the pin in the scaffolding it fell apart and he fell onto one of the poles. There was blood…" Stiles' breathing gets faster and he scrunches his eyes shut. "I called the police and I pulled into a spot out of the way to wait. But they didn't find anything. I went back in and his body was gone."
"Scott was right. Someone's taking them…" Lydia whispers. Her eyes drift to the floor. Then they snap back up to Stiles who is watching her expectantly. His lips are quivering and he looks completely shattered as he gnaws at his thumb. Lydia moves to sit next to him on the couch where he's finally sat down. She wraps her arms around him gently and rests her head on his uninjured shoulder. She can hear the whoosh of air rushing through his lungs and the erratic beat of his heart.
"I killed him, Lydia. I murdered him." Stiles chokes out.
"Stiles...No. Don't say that. You didn't murder anyone. Donovan was attacking you. He was fully intending to kill you, Stiles. You were defending yourself. You would never hurt anyone on purpose. I know you. That's not who you are." Lydia says quietly.
"Donovan's dead because of me. I hated him and now he's dead." Stiles' voice sounds hollow and broken.
"He tried to kill you and you didn't let him. Would you rather he were alive and you were dead? Do you think that would make this world a better place? What were you supposed to do? Let him kill you?" Lydia shakes her head.
"Scott said we're supposed to be saving these people. He said they're the victims. I didn't save him. I didn't even try to." Stiles is unraveling and it's killing Lydia.
"This was different. Scott will understand. Donovan was deemed psychotic long before anyone attached any wendigo DNA to his body…" Lydia says, raising her head to look at Stiles. His profile is thrown into shadow, the light behind his head.
"No. You can't tell Scott. Not yet okay? Please, not yet." Stiles begs. He has never kept anything from Scott. They are a team. They're a pack. They're falling apart at the seams.
Lydia nods reluctantly. "Let me see your shoulder at least." Stiles nods in response. He tries to pull the neck of his t-shirt away from the skin for her to see, but it's not enough. "Take it off."
Stiles stands and slips his sweatshirt off slowly, trying not to jar his shoulder. He looks at her, his cheeks pink. Lydia gives him a scathing look, her own cheeks reddening slightly. Stiles pulls his t-shirt over his head, grunting in pain. Lydia tries not to stare, her breath caught in her chest. She leads him to the kitchen and he sits in one of the chairs at the breakfast table. Once the antiseptic and bandages are gathered on the table, Lydia looks at his wound. Her hands are cold against his skin, and he jumps at her touch.
"Sorry…" She murmurs, grimacing at Stiles' mangled skin. He winces again at the antiseptic, as Lydia cleans the bite thoroughly before spreading an ointment across the damaged skin and covering it in gauze. "We'll need to watch for infection. You should really go to a hospital."
"We both know they won't know what to do with it. Besides, then I'd have to explain it to Melissa." Stiles gently placed his hand over Lydia's, still resting on his shoulder. Her stomach flipped. He turned in his seat to look up at her, her height leaving them mere inches apart. Stiles swallowed hard, looking up at her, his eyes falling to her lips for a moment before meeting her eyes. "Thank you, Lydia."
Lydia smiles slightly even though her eyes are sad, worry gnawing at her stomach. Stiles squeezes her hand, desperate not to drift into the darkness again.