Look at the sun and once I hear them clearly, say:
You watch Lydia like a hawk all the next day at school, but you don't see any obvious signs of possession, not that you'd know what an obvious sign of possession looks like in the first place. It doesn't look like she has any friends left and sits by herself in the cafeteria like you. Strangely enough though, she raises her hand in class a lot more and you can tell your teachers are surprised by the speed and comprehensiveness of her answers to their questions. You never got the impression that Lydia Martin was much more than a shallow airhead, but clearly you were wrong, because as far as you can tell she pretty much knows everything.
It's only when you follow her home after school that things get weird. For one, Lydia doesn't go home. Instead she takes the bus to Home Depot and buys a bunch of tools, including a circular saw and a crowbar. Then she wanders deep into the woods to this huge burnt down house (the Hale House?) and when you sneak around to peek through a broken window you see her sawing open the floor, muttering to herself with a focused expression that you've never seen on her before. You can't hear what she's saying and you don't want to risk getting any closer, but this is proof enough. If the creepy expression and talking to herself wasn't enough, not to mention the digging up the floorboards of a house whose werewolf occupants were murdered by your aunt (who later died here herself), she's not even wearing safety goggles. She is definitely possessed. You take out your phone for proof and then you escape back to your car before she notices, because you have a feeling confronting her now, unarmed, would not end well for you.
"I think I have to tell her what's going on," you tell Isaac later that night, curled up in his sleeping bag in the abandoned warehouse. "Maybe it'll snap her out of it."
"That does not sound like a good idea," Isaac says, looking at you worriedly. You're so close together that you can see every discoloration in his blue eyes, each one of his long dark blonde eyelashes. He has an arm around your waist and he's so warm against you. You can't imagine why you resisted this.
"Don't worry, I'll do it in public," you tell him, kissing the corner of his mouth with swollen lips. You'd made out for a long time before this, but still every inch of you tingles for want of him. You're pretty sure he's hard and you too ache between your legs for some relief, in a way you haven't for a long time. It's probably a good thing it's so cold in here otherwise you'd probably want to shed some layers and well...that wouldn't end well.
"I'd better go," you say reluctantly, sitting up, because the longer you stay here the more likely it is that your parents will notice you snuck out after dinner.
"Nope," Isaac says quickly and drags you back down again.
You groan against his mouth, but kiss him back with enthusiasm. You're probably pretty bad at it, but Isaac doesn't seem to know what he's doing either, so it's all okay. He rolls you over so he's on top after a minute and you let out a truly embarrassing moan when his hard-on grinds against your inner thigh. You wrap your legs around his hips without thinking and gasp at how good him rubbing against you feels. Your abdomen feels hot and shaky and you ache, God, you just want him to touch you-
"Isaac," you groan, gripping his waist weakly. "C'mon, I've got to go."
"No," he growls, moving away from your mouth to nuzzle at your ear. "Stay."
His hands slide up the back of your shirt and you shudder, wanting nothing more than for him to pull off your shirt and touch your boobs. Isaac smirks against your neck and that brings you back to reality, pushing his chest away from you to hold him off.
"Isaac," you say warningly, and Isaac groans in disappointment and rolls off of you, burying his face in your neck.
You sit up with difficulty, enjoying the cool air as the sleeping bag falls off your upper body and try to get your hair into some semblance of order.
Isaac is looking up at you innocently when you glare down at him in annoyance and you roll your eyes at him as you pull your legs out of the sleeping bag and put on your boots.
"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" you tell him, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder.
"Okay," Isaac says, shifting over onto his back and tucking his arms under his head, looking incredibly smug and well, that can't be allowed to stand. You drop to your knees again and lean over him, your hand snaking down his chest underneath the sleeping bag to grab his erection over his jeans. Isaac freezes and his eyes go wide with shock, all traces of smugness gone.
"Think of me when you take care of this," you tell him, ghosting your lips over his, and then you release him just as quickly and walk away, leaving him gaping after you.
You get home without incident, manage to sneak upstairs without your parents noticing, and masturbate for the first time in a year to the thought of Isaac naked and on top of you, his low voice growling your name in your ear while he fucks you.
"I need to talk to you," you tell Lydia, sitting next to her on the bench next to the bike rack as she waits for her ride at the end of the school day the next day.
"About what?" she asks, turning around to look at you disdainfully.
"About this," you say and pull up the video you took of her yesterday afternoon through the Hale House window.
Lydia's face gets whiter and whiter as the 30 second clip progresses and by the time it's over she looks like she might fall over.
"What is this?" she says, leaping to her feet, voice shaking in anger, but also fear, looking up at you with suspicion all over her face. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"This is what you did yesterday afternoon. I take it you don't remember?"
"No, what are you talking about?" Lydia says, stumbling backwards a little on her ridiculous magenta heels.
You should probably feel bad for her, but to be honest you're already annoyed how she's taking this. It's pretty hypocritical of you, considering how you reacted and you only witnessed a supernatural creature, not gotten attacked by one...and possibly possessed by the very same one? Peter Hale is supposed to be dead, but it is possible that he could be possessing Lydia from beyond the grave? Wait, does that mean there's an afterlife too?
"Look, I'm really sorry, but I don't have time to sugarcoat this," you tell her baldly. "I think you're being possessed."
"Possessed?" Lydia repeats dumbly and takes a large step back away from you. "Okay, you know what, you need to stay away from me right now. I knew you were a freak, but I didn't know you-"
"By a dead werewolf," you continue, not at all optimistic about your chances of convincing her, but knowing that you have to try or risk leaving the spirit of Peter Hale (oh my, God) to its own evil devices. "The one who bit you at the Winter Formal. Peter Hale? Remember him?"
Lydia freezes in her tracks and looks even more terrified than she did when you showed her your video of her digging up the floorboards of a burnt down mansion and talking to herself like a crazy person that she has absolutely no memory of.
"What-What are you talking about?" she says shakily, reaching out to grab onto the back of the bench to steady herself. A couple of senior girls walking by give her a strange look, but most of the people around them seem too preoccupied with talking with their friends or leaving campus to notice the panicked look on Lydia's face.
"Werewolves exist," you say flatly. "One of them bit you last month. And now I suspect you're being possessed by him- oh, he's dead, by the way- to do God knows what. So if you know anything, you need to tell me right now, before it's too late."
Lydia just stands there, utterly terrified, but she doesn't try to escape. Instead her eyes flit away and she clutches the back of the bench harder.
"I don't...I don't know what you're talking about," she says quietly, voice nearly a whisper.
"You're lying," you say, anger beginning to stir in your belly, because she is, and badly. You stand up and stalk towards her, so that you're only a few inches apart, glad that you wore your heels today so that you tower over her.
Lydia's eyes widen in fear and she stumbles backwards a little. "No, I'm not, I sw-"
"Tell me the truth," you command and then realize being so harsh is probably not helping. "I can help you," you continue, a bit more gently.
"I can't, no, he'll, he'll-" Lydia gasps, tears filling her green eyes and spilling down her cheeks.
"He'll do what?" you press, but Lydia is shaking too hard to answer. "Lydia, Lydia, it's alright," you try gently, reaching out to take her upper arms and guide her back down onto the bench. "Lydia, he's dead, he can't hurt you."
"He said I can't tell anyone," Lydia sobs and then takes a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "He said he'd kill...he'd kill-"
"Lydia, he can't kill anyone," you say quietly, wishing you had a tissue in your bag you could give her. "He's just trying to manipulate you. Do you know what he wants?"
Lydia shakes her head, wiping her eyes delicately, though it still smears her mascara. "I don't know...he...he wants me to get a bunch of people to my birthday party on Friday, but I know no one's going to come this year..."
"Your birthday party?" you say, frowning in confusion, because why would Peter Hale care about some rich girl's sweet sixteen? "Why?"
"He said...something about the Worm Moon? I don't..." She turns to look at you with wide eyes. "The March full moon."
Shit. What could he be planning? What would a ghost want anyway? Revenge?
"Why was I pulling up the floorboards in that house?" Lydia asks you fearfully, clutching her blue skirt with shaking hands. "I don't...I don't remember that at all."
"I don't know," you reply. "But it looks like whatever he wants has to be on the March full moon. All we have to do is make sure whatever he's planning fails."
"How?" Lydia asks you beseechingly and you feel a twinge of pity for her, because her life is about to change in ways she can't imagine.
"I don't know," you say, standing up. "But I'll find out. Come with me."
Lydia stands too, but then she stops and shakes herself a little, trying to school her face back to her normal expression. "Wait, I can't, my mom is supposed to pick me up any minute."
"Tell her you have a last minute study group," you tell her shortly, because, really, this takes precedence. "Now come with me."
Lydia does.
"How do you know about all this?" Lydia asks you halfway to the library.
"My parents are werewolf hunters."
"Oh," Lydia says, swallowing, but she also looks a little relieved.
"That's not a good thing," you tell her, taking your eyes off the road for a second to impress upon her how serious you are. "They're murderers."
Lydia looks confused.
"Werewolves are just like people," you explain, turning back to the road. "Some are good, some are bad. My parents don't make the distinction."
"Oh," Lydia says, sounding more subdued. "Are...are there a lot of werewolves?"
"I don't think so. There are five in Beacon Hills that I know of, but as far as I can tell this town is unusual."
"And your parents are trying to..."
"Kill them? Yes."
Lydia doesn't speak for the rest of the car ride and seems to be concentrating on taking deep, steady breaths. You suppose you can't really blame her.
"You think the library will have books on werewolves?" Lydia asks skeptically when you park in the library parking lot.
"No, we're just meeting someone here," you say and wonder how exactly you're going to introduce Lydia to Isaac. You don't think Isaac would know anything about werewolf possession, but you don't know what else to do and three heads are better than two. You've searched for information about werewolves in your parents' things before, but never found anything but weapons. Maybe Gerard has something, but considering he might kill you if he catches you going through his stuff again, you're obviously reluctant to try that again.
"What is she doing here?" Isaac says suspiciously when you find him in your usual corner of the non-fiction section.
"We have a problem," you say, dropping your backpack on the floor beside him. "Peter Hale is trying to go something evil from beyond the grave. Move over."
"What?" Isaac says in confusion, but does as you ask and you flop down beside him on the beanbag and gesture for Lydia to take the one that's usually yours.
Lydia doesn't move, though, just stares at Isaac suspiciously.
"You," she says slowly, recognition dawning on her face, "are a werewolf, aren't you?"
"What? No," Isaac says, clearly lying, a fact that is not helped by the betrayed look he turns to give you.
"Yes, you are," Lydia says accusingly. "And that means Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd are too!"
Boyd's first name is Vernon? you think idiotically. No wonder he goes by his last name.
"What did you tell her?" Isaac hisses.
"Nothing!" you shoot back, annoyed, but really you're not that surprised that she managed to come to that conclusion.
"You said there were five in Beacon Hills, so who else?" Lydia says contemplatively. "Oh, of course, Derek Hale. That one is pretty obvious. I don't know who the fifth one could be...unless..." She frowns. "It's not Scott McCall, is it?"
"No!" you say quickly, too quickly, at the same time Isaac says: "Yes."
How on earth could she have guessed that one? you think, even as you give Isaac an annoyed look. Clearly, Lydia's intelligence is not to be underestimated.
"Don't tell anyone," you tell her seriously, feeling a little queasy at how much she was able to guess Scott's identity.
"'Don't tell anyone?' Who would I tell?" Lydia says disdainfully, looking like herself for the first time since you showed her that video. She sits down on the other beanbag before you or Isaac can respond and takes a shaky breath, folding her hands politely in her lap. "Now. What are we going to do?"
It's not a very productive brainstorming session, other than Isaac bringing up the truly horrifying possibility that Peter Hale is trying to bring himself back to life. You're not sure that's possible, but you don't want to rule it out completely. Other than that, the three of you really have no idea what to do. None of you know anything about possession and you don't know anyone you can trust to ask for more information. Lydia brings up the possibility of talking to Derek Hale, but you quickly nix that idea and try not to notice how Isaac's shoulders stiffen and jaw clenches at Derek's name. Isaac is strangely hostile towards Lydia, who is more than happy to return the favor, and you spend half the time trying to keep the peace between them, a position you have never found yourself in before and which you have little patience with.
"Look, I'm sorry, we're just going to have to lock you up all Friday night," you tell Lydia as you walk her out of the library to where her mom is waiting to pick her up. "Can you tell your mother I'm coming to sleep over?"
"We can go to my grandmother's lake house," Lydia says calmly, her face an impassive mask. You're actually kind of impressed how by the lack of freaking out. You're not sure you'd be so calm in her situation.
"Okay," you say, for lack of anything better. You find yourself wanting to comfort her, but she seems to want to pretend that everything is fine, so you keep your mouth shut. "I'll see you tomorrow.
Lydia nods shortly and walks to her mother's car without another word.
"Was that really necessary?" you ask Isaac in annoyance when you rejoin him in the library.
"What?" Isaac says looking up from his Chemistry homework with a frown.
"Why were you such a jerk to her?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest because you really are unhappy with him. "I know she's kind of stuck-up, but she is being possessed, most likely by the man who murdered my aunt. Cut her some slack."
Isaac's face twists in dislike. "She's a bitch," he says with a scowl, slumping back onto the beanbag in irritation.
"I'm a bitch," you say, because you are, and to be honest you like that about yourself. It's better than being a doormat.
"Well, yeah," Isaac says with a lazy smirk, instead of protesting that you are nothing of the sort, "but, you know, in a hot way."
You try very hard not to smile at that, but fail, and Isaac continues to smirk in victory.
"Shut up," you tell him and flop down into his lap, looping an arm around his neck. "Be nice."
"Or what?" Isaac says, enjoying being difficult like the asshole he is, but he wraps both arms around your waist and pulls you closer so that the line of your body is snug against his chest.
You shift to straddle him, bracketing his head with your arms. Isaac's eyes go wide, because despite the carefree asshole act he likes to put on, so far Isaac is always very surprised when you make a move like this.
"Or," you say lowly, sliding your hands down his chest in a way that has Isaac's pretty mouth falling halfway open in shock, "this."
And then you strike, tickling his sides just below his ribcage where you know he's sensitive.
Isaac squawks indignantly and tries to shove you off him, but you hold on with your legs until Isaac pitches you over onto the other beanbag and from there you obviously end up making out like the worst obnoxious teenagers that you used to scoff at in disgust. Things are getting to the point where you just really want his hands under your clothes, now, when some old man between the stacks clears his throat and gives you an appalled look when you pull away. You scowl, but slide off Isaac's lap reluctantly and then snort with laughter when you see the veritable pout on Isaac's face.
You know you shouldn't be so optimistic. But it's hard not to when things finally seem to be looking up, and anyway, you hardly know Lydia Martin. And you know very little about Peter Hale. You know he killed Kate, but considering that she murdered most of his family, you find it hard to blame him all that much. So it's understandable that the slim possibility of his resurrection doesn't cause you much concern. You'll just lock Lydia up so she can't do anything on the full moon and hopefully that will be the end of that. If it's not, well...maybe then you'll have to talk to Derek. But you're not thinking about that possibility until it becomes absolutely necessary.
You have, as usual, no idea what you're getting into.
"Stop looking at me like that, I'm fine!" Lydia says angrily, but the way her hands shake and the glassiness of her eyes clearly states that the opposite is true.
"I didn't say anything," you say, holding up your hands defensively.
"You didn't have to," Lydia continues shakily, equally in anger and in fear, yanking the chains that secure her to the wall furiously. It's five minutes to moon rise on Friday night and you're in her grandmother's lakehouse basement seated across from her on the floor as Lydia tries to remain calm. You'd dropped Isaac off at the bus terminal right after school and then gone straight here to prepare, and well, you might not know much about Peter Hale, but he was a murderer, and you don't want to be caught unawares if he decides to attack. "Where did you even get these? Couldn't you go to a sex shop and get ones with padding like everyone else!"
"No," you say, grimacing at the thought. Buying these at Home Depo was awkward enough. You glance down at your phone anxiously. Three minutes. And you're still waiting on a text message from Isaac when he reaches his destination a couple towns over. What if something happened? "Would it kill you to be a bit nicer? You do realize I'm going more than a little out of my way to help you."
Lydia glares at you. "I've apparently been possessed by a murderous werewolf, so excuse me for being a little on edge!"
Okay, that's actually a fairly good point.
Apparently out of things to say, Lydia brings up her knees and hides her face in them, shoulders shaking violently as she takes deep calming breaths, fingers clutching at the manacles around her wrists. You wonder if you should point out you can see her underwear-her skirt is really short, okay?- but figure right now is probably not the right time. You try and think of some way to comfort her, but to be honest, you've said everything helpful you can think of already. All you can do now is wait.
Your phone buzzes and you can feel the tension leaving your body as you see it's from Isaac. He made it. Now all you have to do is hope there won't be any people in the woods tonight.
"Who was that from?" Lydia demands, raising her head and glaring at you with reddened eyes.
"Isaac." You draw your arms around yourself, wishing you'd brought your other jacket. This basement isn't finished and even if it was you're pretty sure the heating isn't on. Your fuzzy black sweater isn't going to cut it. Well, at least you didn't forget the Red Bull, because you feel you're going to need it.
"Is he your boyfriend or something?"
You put your phone down and give her a strange look. That's what she wants to talk about?
"No. I don't know. Sort of."
You've never been on a date, or even talked about...what, "going steady?" You can't tell anyone about it anyway, so there's not really a point of labeling it.
"Well, I guess there's no accounting for taste," Lydia says, trying for nasty, but the tremor in her voice ruins it, as does the fact that she's obviously trying to distract herself from panicking.
"Is there any heating in here?" you asks, shuddering a bit and getting to your feet. You should probably turn it on now before it's too late.
"The dial is upstairs next to the credenza in the dining ro-" Lydia starts and then the timer on your phone goes off. Moonrise.
Lydia's eyes go blank.
You freeze in your tracks and watch, heart pounding in your chest, as Lydia's expression slowly changes from terrified but trying to hide it to mildly confused.
"Huh," she says, looking down at her hands in confusion. "I don't feel any different. Do you think it's just delayed?"
"Nice try," you hiss. "But that's the worst impression of Lydia I've seen in my life."
Lydia's expression changes from confusion to irritation.
"Well, it was worth a try, wasn't it?" Peter Hale says, leaning back against the wall and kicking out Lydia's legs in relaxation. "So you're Kate's niece. Allison Argent," he says, enunciating your name like he's trying out the sound of it in Lydia's mouth. "It's great to finally meet you."
You sit down again in front of him and do your best to look disdainful and not incredibly creeped out. "We've already met. In the girl's bathroom? You're really bad at pretending to be Lydia, aren't you? You do realize that was what put me on to you?"
Peter looks mutinous for a second and then he smirks. "You're a lot like Kate, aren't you? Not as damaged maybe, but my are we getting there."
You feel slightly sick at the comparison and hesitate longer than you should before answering. "Kate was a mass-murderer."
"Well, give it time," Peter says delightedly. "You're young, you know."
"And getting older by the second," you say, rolling your eyes, even though it's taking everything you have not to shake. You didn't realize it would be like this. Stupidly. He's a serial killer, what did you expect? "Now here's what's going to happen. I have you chained up so you're not going anywhere, so just, you know, be gone. Walk towards the bright light."
"I don't think so," Peter says lightly, not looking at all chagrined at his predicament. "You're going to let me out."
"No way in hell."
"Would you prefer I stay in her body forever?" Peter asks, sounding disgustingly reasonable, a small patronizing smile on Lydia's lips. "Because that's the alternative. If you let me out, I'll leave her alone."
"And resurrect yourself?" you say slowly, feeling cold with horror, because that's the last thing you need with everything going on. You can't believe Isaac was right. He wants to bring himself back from the dead. "I think I prefer you locked up in her body forever."
Peter stiffens and leans forward so quickly that you nearly jump, forgetting that he's chained up. "You will let me out," he hisses, Lydia's face twisted in a fury that's...well, actually sort of familiar. "Or I will shatter this poor girl into tiny pieces and leave her nothing but another raving lunatic at Eichen House."
"And yet, I somehow find that preferable to you going on another murdering spree," you say disdainfully, wishing you were a better actor. Like Isaac. He's good at pretending he doesn't give a shit about things. "You realize I don't actually care about her, don't you? We're not friends, in fact, she's kind of annoying, so good luck with dealing with that for eternity."
Peter looks shocked and you take the opportunity to take your can of Red Bull out of your bag (next to your gun) and open it, taking a casual sip before looking back at him matter-of-factly.
"So you could do that, or you could disappear after the Worm Moon is over. Guess which one I suspect is more likely?"
Peter lunges for you and you scramble backwards, spilling your drink all over yourself in the process. The chains hold him, but you're still terrified as you watch Lydia's hands claw at you, her face twisted with killing rage.
"You let me out right now or I'll slit your throat just like Kate's!" he shouts, struggling futily against the chains. "If you think for one second I won't get out and rend you limb from limb you-"
"Shut up!" you snarl and pull the gun out of your bag, aiming it directly at Lydia's forehead.
Peter freezes and Lydia's green eyes go wide with shock and, you're pleased to note, fear.
"I could do it, you know," you say, crouching down in front of him, Red Bull dripping off your sweater and onto Lydia's basement floor. "Unregistered gun, no motive, a great deal of experience in getting rid of bodies...It would certainly solve a lot of problems, wouldn't it?"
"You're lying," Peter says, but he doesn't sound so sure, looks terrified even, and so he doesn't notice the gag in your other hand until it's too late.
Peter still manages to make an annoying amount of noise with the gag on and rattles around a lot (Lydia's definitely going to have some awkward bruises in the morning) but at least he can't talk anymore. You kind of get the impression that letting him talk is a bad idea.
You sit and watch him for a while, weirdly okay with watching him struggle and curse behind the gag. It should probably make you more uncomfortable, watching his existential terror, but mostly all you feel is satisfaction. He murdered Kate, and yeah, she deserved it, but she was still your aunt. Your friend, sort of.
After a while your sweater begins to feel sticky and even more uncomfortable, so you go upstairs and wash off in the bathroom in front of the mirror and yeah, in just the right light, you do kind of look like Kate.
You try not to think of Peter's words, about slitting her throat. You realize your parents never told you exactly how she died, just that she was murdered. And it was a closed-casket funeral.
Peter bangs against the wall downstairs and you shudder, trying to take deep breaths, as if that will banish the cold ache throughout your entire body. You know you should go back down there, just in case he does find some way to escape, but you don't want to. You don't want to go down there, see the fear and hate in the eyes of a teenage girl he's been tormenting for weeks as he goes to what you hope is his doom and feel nothing but vindication. A good person would be horrified and it makes you sick that you're not, of how little you care.
At twenty-three, Kate burned down the Hale House, killing eight out of nine people inside, including several children. You are seventeen and in the last month and a half you've threatened to murder three people, stolen your deceased mass-murdering aunt's weapons collection, wished your grandfather dead, and chained a classmate in her basement.
Give it time, Peter's words ring in your head. You're young, you know.
You barely make it to the toilet bowl before you empty your stomach into it, your vomit stained red like blood.
Embarrassingly enough, you actually fall asleep on the floor of Lydia's basement. After a while Peter stopped struggling and just glared at you, like that was going to make you let him go, and your Red Bull is either all over the floor or down the drain. You wake up to the sound of whining and sit up with a jolt to see Lydia's eyes glaring at you, making an angry cat noise from behind the gag.
You scoot forward and take off the gag warily, watching for signs of Peter.
"You gagged me?" she says hoarsely, trying to wipe her mouth and failing because of the manacles. "Are you kidding me? And you fell asleep! I thought you were supposed to be watching me!"
Well, it's definitely Lydia, you think wryly, grimacing at the saliva-soaked gag in disgust. Only she could sound this indignant after being possessed by a dead werewolf for the night.
"So?" you ask, rotating your stiff shoulders carefully and rubbing your cheek where it was pressed against the basement floor. "Is he gone?"
"How am I supposed to know?" Lydia snaps, looking predictably pissed. God, she's so high-maintenance, even before she got bitten. No wonder Jackson dumped her.
You don't say that aloud of course, because the horrible things you think about people belong in your head where they can't get you in trouble, and instead watch Lydia try to fix her hair, slow realization dawning on her face.
"I think-" she says, looking at you with wide eyes. "I think he's...I can't feel him!" She lets out a pathetic sob. "I think he's gone!"
You slump onto your knees in relief while Lydia continues to sob and kind of want to curl right back up into a ball on the floor and go back to sleep. But you don't and unlock the manacles on Lydia's wrists and sort of end of awkwardly sitting next to her while she cries into your shoulder. You kind of feel bad for thinking she was a drama queen earlier. This must be pretty traumatic.
"Do you want to come in?" Lydia asks you half an hour later as you sit in front of her house in your car. She's barely spoken to you since she stopped crying and you're honestly surprised she didn't bolt out of your car the first chance she got.
God, no. "I have to pick up Isaac at the bus station."
Your parents were thrilled when you told them you were sleeping over at Lydia Martin's house, even though you told them it was only for a school project. Too thrilled in fact, so you had to make it quite clear that you found Lydia vain and obnoxious, after which your mother told you that you should be nice to her, because, after all, she was still recovering from a mountain lion attack. You guess your parents sympathies extend only to non-werewolf victims of werewolf attacks. You'd texted them this morning to tell them that you still weren't done, planning on getting a motel room and spending the rest of the day relaxing with Isaac.
Lydia doesn't respond immediately, then: "Isaac could come too," she says, sounding more hesitant than you've ever heard her sound before.
You turn to give her a strange look, because what, but she's not looking at you. She's not even looking at her house, just staring out the windshield of your car at the road ahead of you blankly.
You don't want to. You want to go pick up Isaac and spend the rest of the day making out with him in a motel. You don't want to deal with a traumatized Lydia Martin, who doesn't even like you either, is just latching on to you because she doesn't have anyone else.
"Okay," you say slowly. "Do you want me to let you out now and I'll go get Isaac and come back or do you want to come to the bus station with me?"
Lydia doesn't reply or make any attempt to take off her seatbelt.
Right, you think dubiously, and start your engine again.
Be there in five, you text Isaac. We're going to Lydia's. BE NICE.
There's barely anyone at the bus terminal when you pull up, just a couple hungover businessmen and a couple college students home for the weekend. Isaac darts out of the station the second you pull up and quickly gets in the backseat, looking irritated. He's pale and exhausted-looking, you note, looking at him through the rearview mirror while he pulls on his seatbelt, but at least he's alive.
"So..." he says after a couple seconds of silence, as you pull back onto the road. "Have you been exorcised?"
"Good morning to you too," Lydia says frostily, not bothering to look back at Isaac while she speaks. "Do you realize you have dirt all over your hands?"
He does, smeared across his palms and under his fingernails, and Isaac scowls in response, but thankfully doesn't retort and start a fight, because you're really too tired to deal with that right now.
You park in Lydia's long driveway and even though Isaac is clearly not happy with the idea, he follows you inside Lydia's mansion without complaint.
The inside of Lydia's house is no less fancy and Isaac stares up at the chandelier in the landing and around at the immaculately decorated living and dining rooms. His wonder makes you uncomfortable, makes you wonder what he'd think of your house, which is smaller than Lydia's, but is still practically a castle compared to what he's used to.
"You need to take a shower," Lydia says, looking Isaac up and down in disgust. "And take off your shoes before you track mud all over the carpet."
Isaac smirks nastily at her, but does as he's told and Lydia walks up the stairs without another word, leaving you two staring up at her in confusion.
"Allison, what are we doing here?" Isaac asks uncomfortably when Lydia turns the corner, glancing around the expensive interior of Lydia's house again. "I thought you wanted to get a motel room."
You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to admit that you're here because you feel sorry for her, because you really doubt Isaac would consider that a good reason. "She probably has food," you tell him.
Isaac looks at you dubiously, but follows you upstairs after Lydia.
"Towel's on the counter," Lydia says in a practical tone, waiting outside of the bathroom in a long hallway that leads to many different rooms. She gives Isaac a cursory look. "Do you want me to throw your clothes in the laundry?"
"No," Isaac says defensively, clearly not wanting to give Lydia his clothes, even though his jeans have two large spots of mud on them at the knees and there are leaves sticking to his black hoodie.
"Have it your way," Lydia says dismissively. "Remember to hang up the towel after you're done."
Isaac glares at her and gives you an annoyed look before going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him.
"Are you hungry?" Lydia asks you perfunctorily, not a hint of distress in her expression.
"Yeah, breakfast would be good," you say, a little taken aback by her matter-of-fact attitude. She really is a great actor.
"Well, the cook is off on the weekends, but the kitchen is fully stocked," Lydia says, heading back towards the stairs again.
The cook? you think incredulously, but follow her back downstairs for lack of anything better to do.
You all end up in Lydia's room eating goat cheese, pepper, and sausage omelets with orange juice, you and Lydia on the bed and Isaac on the vanity chair next to you as you watch The Notebook on her Mac, which you're embarrassed to admit you actually liked when you saw it for the first time at a sleepover in middle school. This time it's pretty stupid, but fortunately Lydia falls asleep before the half-hour mark, so you can slip out of bed and turn it off.
You're kind of considering leaving right now-anything to get away from the utter awkwardness of the whole situation when you notice Isaac slumped back in the vanity chair, eyelids drooping.
"Isaac," you says quietly, walking over to him and shaking him lightly. "C'mon, get into bed."
Isaac grumbles, but lets you pull him up and walk him over to Lydia's bed, pulling back the covers and sliding underneath them as close to Lydia as you dare. Isaac buries his face in your neck, slinging an arm over your waist, his still-damp hair tickling your chin. Wet it looks brown instead of its usual dishwater color, and you stroke it softly, because Isaac really likes that, even though he pretends not to.
"Wha 'bout Lydia?" he mumbles into your neck.
"Asleep," you tell him gently. "You should be too."
"Wha 'bout her parents?"
"Don't worry about that, just go to sleep," you say, even though that is a good point, one you hadn't even thought to consider. "I'll be here."
Isaac doesn't respond and breathes deeply against your neck. You watch him for a while and then look up at Lydia's ceiling. You're not really tired, but at the same time you're exhausted. Despite your victory last night, you know nothing has really changed. You may have prevented things from getting worse, but they certainly haven't gotten any better. Isaac is still homeless and hunted by your family, and every full moon leaves him vulnerable to attack. Your grandfather plans to become a werewolf himself to cure his cancer, and while that seems understandable, the fact that it's your grandfather does not bode well. He's already a monster, and you don't want to know what he would do with supernatural abilities. Your relationship with your parents remains, as ever, full of lies.
Lydia grunts softly in her sleep behind you and you shift on to your back so you can look over at her. You don't really understand Lydia. You're kind of getting the impression that her entire personality is fake, though you have no idea why anyone would want to pretend to be a shallow airhead all the time. But, whatever, it's not really your business. With any luck, Lydia will have no further contact with the supernatural and the last month and a half will eventually fade away into a bad memory. You doubt she'll want anything to do with you after this, and you don't blame her, because who would want to get involved in this if they had a choice? Well, except your family, but they're murdering psychopaths, so logic is never going to apply to them.
You're not sure how long you stay like this, slipping in and out of sleep for lack of anything better to do, Isaac snoring into your neck and the temperature rising slightly as the day progresses.
You're in the middle of an extremely frustrating dream about paddling through a flooded mall in a canoe, but never actually getting anywhere, when a voice shakes you out of your dream.
"Uh, hello?"
You blink and raise your head muzzily, to see a middle-aged woman with brown hair standing at the door, looking at you in bewilderment. Shit!
"Uh," you say, dislodging Isaac as you sit up quickly and try to look presentable. "Hi."
"Hi," the woman who is no doubt Lydia's mother says dubiously. She doesn't look upset at finding two strangers, one of them a boy, in bed with her daughter, not like your parents would be, just slightly confused.
"Umm, sorry we had uh...a chemistry project that we came over to do, but then I guess we fell asleep," you lie, pretty terribly if you're being honest.
"Okay..." Lydia's mother says, the slightly confused look still not fading.
You have no idea what to say next, but thankfully Lydia rolls over and groans. "What time is it?"
"Almost three," her mother says and Lydia sits up and yawns, not at all bothered by the fact that her mother just walked in on this very strange situation.
"Hi, mom," she says casually, straightening her skirt. "How was your meeting?"
"Fine," Lydia's mother says, arching an eyebrow, and yeah, they're definitely related alright. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"
"This is Allison," Lydia says, waving a dismissive hand at you. She pauses and looks down at Isaac, who is still sleeping, snoring into the sheets, with clear disdain. "And that's Isaac."
"Pleased to meet you," Lydia's mother says politely. "Will you be staying for dinner?"
"Uh, no, I actually had better be getting home," you say, wanting nothing more than to get away from this room and back to things that make sense. Not to mention you probably have several texts waiting on your phone from your parents wanting to know when you'll be home.
"Well, it was good meeting you," Lydia's mother says, barely looking at you. "Lydia, can I speak to you downstairs for a moment?"
Lydia sighs dramatically and then nods. Her mother retreats and you cringe. God, you want to be out of here.
"We'd better go," you say, pushing the covers off you and Isaac. "I don't want to get you in trouble with your mom."
"Oh, please, like she cares," Lydia says, getting out of bed and brushing down her clothing. "She probably just wants to gossip about who was wearing what at her Women's Club lunch meeting."
"Lydia, your wrists!" you hiss as she makes to leave the room, because they are indeed surrounded by a ring of nasty bruises.
Lydia rolls her eyes and grabs a cardigan out of her closet before leaving the room without a word. You immediately set about waking Isaac up gently, because he has a tendency to freak out when startled for reasons you'd rather not think about and sneak out the front door.
Well, at least that's over with, you think in relief as you drive home from dropping off Isaac at the library. That was just horrifically awkward, but you very much doubt you'll ever speak to Lydia Martin again, so at least there won't be a repeat performance.
Except you do end up speaking to Lydia Martin again. The very next day, in fact.
"Why aren't you sitting with Isaac?" Lydia says, setting her cafeteria tray down at the empty seat across from you during your lunch period.
You look up from your overcooked pasta in surprise at her expectant expression, perfect make-up and designer dress. She looks exactly the same as she usually does and that surprises you for some reason. Like, why would she be talking to you if something wasn't different?
"I can't," you say slowly. "My grandfather's the principal. He's the one who put up all those cameras in the hallway."
"They know about him?"
"Yes," you say, still slightly bemused. Why is she here, talking to you like you're friends or something? Shouldn't she go back to being prom queen or some other high school cliché?
Lydia frowns. "I thought your family killed werewolves."
"They do. They're just more focused on Derek Hale right now. But if they find out we're friends..."
"Well, that's just lovely," Lydia says, looking disgusted, though at her food or at your parents' psychopathy you're not sure.
"Everything...okay?" you ask, hesitantly, wondering if this is some conversational prelude to a disclosure of supernatural side effects.
"Oh, yes, no more evil werewolves controlling me," Lydia says offhandedly, spearing a meatball with her fork daintily, like being possessed by Peter Hale wasn't the most traumatizing thing she's ever been through.
"Well, that's good," you say awkwardly.
"Yes, it is," Lydia says decisively. "You know, I think he was making me break-out. I've had terrible skin these past few weeks."
You look automatically to Isaac across the cafeteria, who is staring at the two of you, looking just about as confused as you feel.
Help, you think.
Except no help comes. Lydia follows you around the rest of the day, which is fairly easy for her considering you're in most of the same classes, talking incessantly about your schoolwork, your classmates, your plans for the weekend, and God, is it annoying. She does not seem to get the hint that you have no interest in making friendly small talk with her or whatever she's trying to do, and you're even more relieved than usual when the final bell rings.
"Are you hanging out with Isaac after school today?" Lydia asks, following you out of History and to your locker on the first floor.
"No, he has work," you say before you think better of it.
"Good, let's go shopping," Lydia says, sounding pleased. "I haven't had anyone to go with for ages and you clearly need a new wardrobe."
You're wearing an old pair of flare jeans that haven't been in style for at least two years, a black t-shirt, and a cardigan that's a size too big, but you still scowl at her criticism.
"I don't have any money," you lie coldly. You have better things to do than go to the mall with Lydia Martin, like you're a normal teenager. And besides, your money is not for buying useless things like pretty clothes. Your money is for Isaac.
"My treat," Lydia presses, looking at you pointedly. "You saved me from an insane werewolf ghost; the least I can do is buy you a decent outfit."
Who the hell do you think you are? you think, looking at her in disgust. Lydia knows your situation and still she thinks that you want to play dress-up when your family is trying to kill innocent werewolves, your dying grandfather plots to make himself even more powerful, and your...whatever Isaac is sleeps in a warehouse and showers in the boy's locker room. Does she think she can distract you from your completely screwed up life or is she stupid enough to think consumerism will solve all your problems?
"What else were you going to do?" Lydia asks you patronizingly when you don't respond right away. "Lock yourself in your room and listen to depressing music for the rest of the night?"
...yes, actually.
So you go to the mall with Lydia.
"You're really quite pretty, you know," Lydia says matter-of-factly, pulling another size six from the rack and tossing it over her shoulder in a manner that suggests she does this quite often. "Some mascara, some concealer, definitely something for your lips, they're all chapped, and your eyebrows...you'll clean up nicely. We should definitely gets something colorful, but not too colorful. We wouldn't want to wash you out."
Oh, of course, not, that would be terrible, you think sarcastically, idly thumbing at a dark purple v-neck dress that you'd probably be okay with. It's a size too small though. God, with the way this is going you wouldn't be surprised if Lydia burst into "Popular" at any moment.
"Allison, that's much too dark, this one is better," Lydia says, holding up a forest green dress with small leaf patterns on the fabric. It's...not bad actually.
"It's okay," you say grudgingly, taking it from her and trying not to feel stupid.
It's just...you sort of gave up on stuff like this a year and a half and ago. And starting to care about your looks again...it just seems like so much work. Like, why even bother? It's not that you don't want to look pretty, to have nice clothes. You did Before and you still do. It just...seems stupid now. Like your priorities are messed up.
"Don't you want to look nice for Isaac?" Lydia asks, and you're honestly surprised that she manages to get the sentence out without grimacing at the thought of him.
"No," you say, giving her a strange look, because one, you really doubt Isaac would notice if you bought a new outfit, and two, does she really believe in that rom-com pretty actress pretends to be ugly, gets a makeover, and causes love-interest's jaw to drop when he sees her at the prom crap?
Lydia frown in confusion, clearly not expecting that answer. "What?"
"He's a boy," you explain, though as you say it you realize that Lydia probably has a lot more experience with boys than you do. "They don't notice anything."
Lydia looks puzzled for a second and then she laughs. "Story of my life," she says, looking just a little too casual for it to be believable. "C'mon, let's go to the dressing rooms, you have to try this on."
The green dress doesn't end up fitting right, but you end up getting a dark magenta one with a window in the back that you're definitely going to have to wear leggings with. Afterward you go over to Lydia's house and she has way too much fun giving you a makeover, chatting happily about your skin tone and what colors would look the best on you. You sit very still and try not to feel...anything really. There's a part of you that likes this, likes being pampered, being taken care of, even in this small way, but you don't like it. You don't want to be like this. You want to be strong.
Your parents are very surprised to see you wearing make-up at dinner, which you haven't worn for a year and a half, and it makes you very uncomfortable, want to duck your head down and not look at them for the rest of the night. You go upstairs and scrub it off after dessert, and spend the rest of the night doing homework on your bed, trying not to look at yourself in your bedroom mirror.
And that's kind of how the rest of the week goes. Lydia just inserts herself into your life like it's a completely normal thing to do, not at all deterred by the fact that you don't really like her. Not that you've told her this. You don't mind, you guess, being around her at school. It was kind of boring now that you can't sit with Isaac anymore. And Lydia knows. You don't have to lie around her, which is always a relief. And anyway, it's only temporary. You have no illusions that once Lydia gets back in her old friends' good graces, she won't run back to them immediately and start ignoring you again. You just wish Isaac and Lydia got along better. You'd like to blame Lydia for the entire thing, but it's really hard to deny that Isaac is inexplicably hostile and seems to go out of his way to insult her.
"Is this all you do?" Lydia says later in the week, sitting in your usual corner of the library doing homework. Well, Isaac is doing homework. You're on your laptop trying to look up the make and model of Kate's guns so you can better understand how to use them.
"What do you mean?" you ask, taking your eyes off your screen to look up at her in the other beanbag.
"You don't go anywhere? Do anything?" Lydia says dubiously, somehow managing to have perfect posture while sitting in a beanbag chair.
"We're trying to avoid being seen together," you explain, vaguely annoyed that she doesn't remember how precarious your situation really is.
"You are more than welcome to leave and hang out with your other friends," Isaac says nastily from next to you, lying on his stomach on the floor highlighting a chapter in his Econ book. "Oh, wait, you don't have any."
"You're one to talk," Lydia shoots back without hesitation. "You spent, what, two weeks, lurking around with Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes before they got sick of you?"
"That's enough!" you say sharply as Isaac opens his mouth to retort. "I told you to stop antagonizing each other."
Isaac's shoulders slump and he looks back down at his book without comment, but Lydia surprises you by also backing down, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance.
In fact, they don't snipe at each other for the rest of the afternoon. It's kind of a miracle.
"Do you miss them?" you ask Isaac later that night, curled against him in his sleeping bag in the warehouse, skin still tingling from the warmth of his hands underneath your shirt earlier.
You try to sound as neutral about it as possible, because if he does, he does, but you don't like the thought of him missing them. Partly because you haven't seen anything in them that's worth missing, but also because something itches inside you at the thought of him wanting the attention of other people. Yeah, apparently you're going to be that kind of girlfriend.
"Who?" Isaac mumbles against your hair, which he seems to like smelling. Which is kind of weird, because you'd think the scent of your shampoo would be too strong for his werewolf nose, but whatever. "Oh, you mean Erica and Boyd? Not really."
You tilt your head to look up at him when he doesn't elaborate, raising your eyebrows. You're not sure he can see it in the bad light though.
"We, you know, weren't actually friends," Isaac says sleepily, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. "Derek just picked us. I had a science project with Erica in middle school one time, but I think I only talked to Boyd once before. They were okay, but it wasn't...it wasn't real, you know."
Good, you think automatically, which is kind of creepy, and snuggle in closer to Isaac's chest. It's not that the fact that he has no one else makes you happy, you tell yourself. It's just that everyone else who has been in his life has done a terrible job taking care of him, and you can't trust them. It's just better if you do it yourself.
You kiss him again and think, very clearly, I am going to take care of you, as if you think it hard enough everything will be okay.
A/N: This chapter was amusing to write, mostly because of Allison's teenage angst, but also because s2!Lydia. Who is terrible, but yay, friends! Please review!