Little House
“She doesn’t look, she doesn’t see… Opens up for nobody
Figures out, she figures out
Narrow line, she can’t decide, everything’s short of suicide
Never hurts, nearly works.
Something is scratching its way out…
Something you want to forget about.”
- The Fray
Lydia is hysterical as she dials the numbers to Stiles’ cell, her clammy hands slipping over the keys of her phone as desperately tries to get in touch with him. If she’d given herself a moment to consider it, she would’ve called Scott, but she was working purely on instinct right now. Lydia can’t even begin to form a coherent thought; she can’t process what just happened. All she can do is call Stiles. The ringing doesn’t last long, but for Lydia every second sends a more painful tendril spiking in her heart. The need to vomit was growing as her stomach swirled uncomfortably.
“Hey,” Stiles answers quietly, his voice barely even there.
She wants to say something but she can’t get the words out, can’t stop sobbing. This time, she isn’t even embarrassed. An arm grasps her chest as it becomes difficult to breathe when she begins hyperventilating. “The box –” she cries out, “the box Allison gave me.”
“What?” Instead of trying to soothe her, he immediately goes for answers. “Lydia, what box?” he asks sternly. He knows he sounds harsh, but it’s impossible for him to be comforting right now. Not with the news his father just gave him.
Lydia chokes as she sucks in a great deal of oxygen, finally able to stop the steady stream of tears long enough to get a chance to breathe. She was almost beginning to turn blue. “Chris Argent gave me a box of stuff Allison put together for me!” She stumbles over her explanation a few times in her haste to get it out. “I haven’t opened it until now and…” she swallows hard as her eyes trail back over to her comforter, where the box still sits open. “The only thing inside was the dress I wore to Allison’s wake. Her dress.” she shudders and a tear trickles across her lips. “It’s completely soaked in blood.”
“Blood?” Stiles pales. “Whose blood?”
“I don’t know, Stiles!” She’s now wishing she’d called Scott. “God, can’t you just be a little sympathetic?” she digs her nails into the skin of her arm as she rants. “You’re so selfish lately, Stiles! You don’t even try to be there for me, you’re not understanding how upset I am right now!” she’s as overwrought as before, unconcerned with how offended he’d be or how overemotional she may seem. There was absolutely no reason forthat dress to be in that box, especially covered in blood that could belong to anyone.
Immediately, Calvin came to Lydia’s mind. He did tell her he was going to show her not to mess with him for allowing Stiles to touch her hand. She originally thought he was going to immediately retaliate, to hurt Stiles. This was something else entirely, and she was now worried about her other friends. If Calvin had gone after them and left their blood on the dress… No, it didn’t make sense. She was with Calvin a half hour ago, he didn’t have the time to do any of this.
“Lydia,” Stiles says low, but forceful.
“No! Don’t even talk to me right now, I don’t want to hear your stupid voice.” Yet she doesn’t hang up.
“Lydia,” he says more firmly.
She decides to listen to what he has to say, crossing her arms as she remains quiet. She’ll tear him a new one when he’s finished with whatever lame apology he’s about to deliver. Then she’ll call Scott just to be sure that he’s okay.
Stiles waits a moment to confirm her cooperation before gulping down his emotion and telling her news that would surely devastate her. “Allison’s body is missing.”
Her silence is deafening.
x-x-x
Stiles was mentally preparing himself to call Lydia when she coincidentally rang him. The phone slipped out of his sweaty hands and he had to fumble with it for a moment before catching it short a few inches from hitting the ground. He wasn’t going to have any more time to figure out how he was going to tell her; any time to calm himself.
When he answered, he was overwhelmed by the frenzied weeping on the other end. He came to the immediate conclusion that Scott had already called and told her, but when she started rambling about a box that Allison left for her, he sucked in a sharp breath. There was no way that these two occurrences weren’t related, and the possibility that someone had snuck into Lydia’s room and left her bloody dress there sent him reeling. There were already so many things to be concerned about. Primarily, where Allison was and who took her; followed by who snuck into Lydia’s room, how any why; and whose blood was on that dress.
Stiles hardly hears Lydia’s vehement insults, because his head is clouded in its array of wild thoughts and fears. He didn’t want to know why Allison was taken; he just wanted them to find her. Blinking away fresh hot tears, Stiles focuses on the girl he’s talking to, saying her name until she stops babbling. And then he told her.
As her cries subside into nothingness, he briefly wonders if she hung up, so he checks the screen. The signal is still strong, so he gives her any time she needs to process this information, contemplating heading over to her house. She couldn’t be in a right state.
“What?” Emotion cracks her question, and she sounds so weak and small that it physically hurts Stiles’ chest.
His body convulses, distressed as he cradles the phone to his cheek, as if she can feel the motion of attempted comfort through the phone. He licks his peeling lips as he whispers, “I’m so sorry.” He can hear her breathing. “The ground where her coffin is was completely burrowed in, like someone just took a shovel and started…” he stops short, realizing how hard this must be for her to hear a second too late.
“It’s gone?” she gasps, unable to grasp the meaning of this. “Allison is gone?”
“Yes,” Stiles allows his eyes to shudder closed. “My dad just told me, they think it happened sometime earlier tonight.”
Lydia can’t let herself feel the weight of this right now, so she focuses on the prime suspect and what his alibi may be. “What time exactly?” She needs to know whether she can pin this on Calvin. If it was him, she’s done. She’ll kill the bastard who took Allison, whoever that may be.
Stiles’ eyebrows knit together in confusion. She’s not asking the important questions. “Lydia, did you even hear what I said?”
“What time, Stiles?” she snaps impatiently, running a hand through her thick head of hair and feeling the sweat at her hairline that she hadn’t known was there.
“They don’t know yet, my dad’s at the station right now working on the details.”
“Where’s Scott?” Her heart is wildly beating.
Stiles sighs, “He’s really messed up,” he sits down on the end of his bed. Everything seems so much more real than usual. There’s nothing mystical or supernatural about this. Allison’s gone and it’s so very… real. A disturbing prickle rolls up his arms as he imagines her limp body in a list of possible places it could be. The thing that was really terrifying was the why. What could someone need a dead Argent’s body for? “He’s home.” He doesn’t want to think about the turmoil Scott might be going through.
“It happened while we were at the fair,” Lydia acknowledges under her breath.
“Yeah.”
Lydia’s eyes widen and her head jolts upwards. “Maybe I can find her.”
“What?”
“I’m a dead body GPS, Stiles.” She gestures wildly with her hands despite him being unable to see her, “Ugh, if only I knew how to control it…” she chews on the edge of her nail. “Maybe if I drive around I’ll sense something.” She’s completely neutral on the fact that she may very well be walking into something very dangerous if she’s successful in finding Allison’s body. They still didn’t have an inkling of why she was taken.
Stiles marvels at what a bad idea it is. “And what if we do find her? What if it leads us right to her and whatever sicko dug her up?” he winces at his blatant choice of words.
“We don’t have to walk right in there, we just need a location.”
“I don’t think…”
Lydia interrupts him angrily, “I’m going with or without you, Stiles! So be at my house in ten minutes or pretend we didn’t have this conversation.”
Stiles wants to call Scott and tell on her, but he’s well aware of the fact that he can’t. Scott can’t emotionally handle being brought into this right now, and he probably wouldn’t be in any shape to fight a baddie if it came to it. They were better off on their own, and Lydia was better off with Stiles than by herself. “I’ll be there, but we’re bringing that.... box to the precinct first.”
She can agree to that. “Okay.”
Deciding not to look at the dress, Lydia moves away from her bedroom so she doesn’t have to be anywhere near it until Stiles is there to help her. As the phone call ends, she allows herself to fall back against the wall out in the hall, sinking down it until she lands on the carpet on her bottom. It’s only then that her remorse consumes her.
x-x-x
Stiles hadn’t expected the floral dress to be sodden with blood. It was so excessive that it had leaked through the box and over the surface of Lydia’s comforter. She was quick to throw out the entire thing before they left, ignoring his suggestion to just throw it in the wash. She didn’t want it anymore anyway.
After closing the box and throwing it in a plastic bag that was spotted with blood before the end of the car ride, they bring it inside to his father. They received many curious and wary glances as they made their way through the station. The expression the sheriff had when he noticed their presence and what Stiles held in his hand was enough to make Lydia avert her eyes.
He was quick to pass it off to someone else when Lydia explained that she found it in her room, and it was whisked away to be what Stiles assumed was “studied” and probably tested, too. His father’s reaction was only further confirming his strong belief that it had every bit to do with the missing body. Especially since the dress was hers. The fact that Lydia wore it to her wake was only icing on the very ominous cake.
“What’s gonna happen now?” Stiles had asked.
“I’m sorry, Stiles, but I really don’t have time to talk right now,” the sheriff told his son, regret shining in his eyes. “This is just… a very important case. You should go home and get some sleep.” his eyes turn to the banshee. “Lydia, you’re more than welcome to stay at our house if your mom isn’t around, or even if you just want to.”
Lydia would smile at his sweetness if her heart weren’t so heavy. “Thank you.”
“And you said you have no idea who could’ve been involved in this, right?” he asks gently, just to be certain. He bows his head at her expectantly. The guilty look Lydia attempted to hide when he’d originally asked her upon her entrance had been enough to spark a warning inside of him. He was professionally trained to spot a liar, and he was almost positive that Lydia knew more than she was letting on. Of course, she wasn’t involved, but she was scared to say something.
Stiles is first to speak up, much to the sheriff’s dismay. “Pfft, come on, dad. If we knew something we’d have gone after them ourselves at this point.”
“Hey,” the sheriff points a stern finger at the younger Stilinski. “Don’t talk like that. Not every circumstance is supernatural, and if you find out anything about this case, you come to me. You understand me?”
Stiles nods slowly.
“Good.” he glances toward a group of officers talking hushed about the new piece of evidence. “I have to go now. Take Lydia back home, and let her have the bed.”
Stiles would crack a joke if things were different.
x-x-x
“Please let me in,” Kira gently knocked the backside of her knuckles along the wooden bathroom door where Scott had locked himself in. They were in his room when they received Stiles’ call and when it ended he claimed to need to go to the bathroom. She knew it was an excuse to walk away, but gave him a couple of minutes. When he didn’t return, she went after him, but now he wasn’t answering her and it was a little unnerving. “Scott?” There was a shuffling noise on the other side of the door.
“You should go home.”
Kira’s eyes watered as she heard him speak, his voice was broken and it was clear he was crying. It was a pretty rare sight, and it damaged her.
“I’m not leaving you,” Kira sniffled, running her nails over the door. “Please just come out and we can talk.”
“I can’t… I can’t do that.” he whimpered. “I can’t do any of this.”
Kira’s chin wrinkles as she begins to cry for Scott and his heartache. It wasn’t at all common for him to express the bereavement he felt for Allison’s death because he never wanted to talk about it and Kira hadn’t pushed him. He’d been so convincing in keeping up cheerful pretenses that she would’ve been convinced he’d moved on if she didn’t know how close he and Allison were. It wasn’t that she was able to see much of it, but she’d spoken about it with Lydia many times. They were once in love, and the fatal wound Allison received was identical to the one Scott wore every day.
“What do you need me to do?” She pleaded openly. “I’ll do anything.” The quiet seconds wore on as his cries faded into silence. “Scott?”
The door rushes open so suddenly that she has to jump back to avoid it connecting with her face. Her boyfriend is determined in his stride, his red eyes the only indication that he’d ever been crying in the first place.
“What are you doing?” Worry engulfs her as she follows him into his bedroom, where he is now angrily pulling on his sneakers.
“I’m going to track her scent.”
“Will it still…work?”
“There’s no reason it shouldn’t.”
“Then you’re gonna have to stop by the Argent house to grab something you can get her scent off of,” Kira tells him in a way that suggests she’s trying to keep him from doing it. He’s in no shape to be out there facing… anything. It could literally be anything, and he wasn’t prepared for it.
“Uhh,” Scott finishes loosely tying his shoes. “I kind of memorized it by now,” he replies curtly, moving toward his closet and pulling out a little purple sweater that was sitting in its own drawer. “But just in case.”
Kira watches him inhale with shock written across her face, her body still because she can’t say anything about it. But she can’t help it. “You have her sweater?” She asks sedately, although unable to hide a spark of surprise underlying her question.
Scott turns guilty eyes on the girl. “Kira, I’d love to sit and explain this to you but I really have to go.” he presses a chaste kiss to her temple but she bows her head sadly.
“I don’t want you to go,” she confesses quietly. “What if you get in a fight?”
The werewolf’s heart swells, weakened by her tender voice. If he doesn’t go, the images of some bastard keeping Allison’s body somewhere that wasn’t her rightful grave would haunt his brain. If he does go, he’ll later feel horrible about it for Kira’s sake, but she’ll move on from it. This had to be done, because even in her death, Scott needed to protect Allison. “I’ll be back baby, I promise.”
The term of endearment was the last straw before Kira was really crying. He’d never called her that before. “Okay,” she manages weakly, feeling him offer her hand a final squeeze before he and Allison’s sweater were out the door. As the front door sounds an echoing slam, Kira can’t help but wonder what other things Scott may have kept from her.
x-x-x
Lydia had her head out the window, her eyes searching and her body stiff. She could feel a migraine coming on, courtesy of pushing herself too hard. This wasn’t something she’d practiced before, and she wasn’t even sure if this was something a banshee was capable of doing. Still, Lydia felt instinct tugging her toward that decision, because something primal told her that she was capable of it if she just figured out how to trigger that part of her ability.
Every few seconds, Stiles would glance toward the girl, waiting for her to tell him to stop, to turn left or right or just give up. But she was having a hard time, and he could see it plain as day. He didn’t need to see her face to know that.
“Drive slower,” she snapped suddenly, self-loathing at being unable to help her best friend for a final time. This could be her way of making up for being such a terrible friend, for letting her die and for not saying goodbye at the wake. Lydia’s eyes darkened in shame at the realization that she’d never be able to make up for what she did.
“Anything?” Stiles stresses impatiently, watchful of the asphalt illuminated only by the headlights of his jeep. They were approaching a more unfamiliar part of Beacon Hills, a low-budget area that he never had any reason to visit in the past. He doubted they’d find Allison anywhere around here.
“We’re in the East side of Beacon Hills,” Lydia muses. “No, this isn’t right. Turn around.”
Stiles sighs, “Turning around,” he obeys, rotating the wheel as he flipped the shift into reverse.
Lydia’s fingers grasp the side of the vehicle below the open window to stop herself from falling against the seat as Stiles performs a U-turn. In complete concentration, her eyes scan the woods along the side of the winding road. Something about that collection of trees had her skin prickling, something unknown but somehow familiar. This was the right woods, but not the right entrance. They had to go back.
“The preserve,” she shouts frenetically, recognition hitting her as her mouth opened. Anxious air leaves her lips, “The Nemeton.”
The driver does a double-take in her direction. “Ah,” he sputters, “I don’t like this anymore.”
“Stiles, drive!” She doesn’t have time for him to second guess his decision to come with her. Lydia will gladly leave him on the side of the road if he didn’t want to go, but she was damn well going to take his car.
“No, Lydia!” He slams his foot on the brake, causing them both to jerk forward against their seatbelts. “I’m calling Scott.”
“You are most certainly not!” When Stiles pulls out his cell phone, Lydia launches forward and smacks the thing from his hands, causing it to fly upwards.
“What the hell –” he shouts as they both grab for the phone, causing a tug-o-war match between the pair.
Clever as she was, Lydia pinches the skin on Stiles’ arm, a satisfying yelp echoing off the sides of the car.
“Ow, ow!” Stiles relents when Lydia motions to bite him, releasing the device and reeling back into his seat with his other hand gripping his injured wrist. “You pinched me!” he shrieks. After taking an anxious breath, he points a strong finger at her. “And you were gonna bite me!”
Lydia admires the way his arm angrily flexes, thick blue veins outlined under the small dark hairs aligning his forearm. A sly smile perks her face as her eyes move up his loose red t-shirt to find his miffed gaze and the irked twist of his lips, “You should’ve known better.”
Stiles could testify in a courtroom that he could swear he saw Lydia checking him out, but he brushed that disruptive thought aside because it was impossible. “Okay,” he re-adjusts his shirt and presses his foot softly on the pedal without any further acquiescence, wanting to wipe, no kiss the smug look off of Lydia’s face. That would shut her up. He didn’t feel the smirk until Lydia asked,
“What the hell are you smiling about?”
“Nothing.”
x-x-x
Scott knew exactly where he was being led when he was a few blocks away from the preserve. It didn’t stop him, but his worry was definitely getting the best of him. Not for himself, but for Kira and Scott and Stiles, for how they would react if something really did happen to him tonight. He knew that even if he had to choose, he’d continue chasing Allison until it killed him. She deserved every bit of that honorable burial she got, every goodbye her friends and small bit of family had uttered. She was unceremoniously dug up like an unfinished project, something to be stolen. He was going to kill whoever was responsible for that.
Her smell was so strong now, although it was not the sweeter scent of apples he’d grown used to when they spent time together. All of his friends had a smell. Stiles was freshly cut wood and sometimes grass, and it was reassuring. Lydia was honey suckle, strawberries and the pages of musty books, refreshing and sweet. Kira was a rainy day and a sprinkle of cinnamon, like a mug of cocoa in a storm. Allison’s had been poisoned by her death, citrus apples replaced by a tainted twinge of something foul and rotting. It twisted Scott’s stomach.
He almost vomited when his eyes located the Nemeton, Allison’s prone body stiffly lain across the top. The sight of her, skin drying and nails nearly completely fallen off, head balding and the hair that was left was dried and ready to break. It was when he finally looked at her sunken in cheeks that he really did throw up, expelling his stomach’s contents on a pile of leaves.
“Allison,” he cried, clenching his midsection sickly as he shivered. The ground beneath him grumbled slightly as the Nemeton began to shake and twist, or at least appear to, as a blue energy grew up from the surrounding ground and folded over Allison’s figure.
“No!” Scott shouted, watching stupefied as the energy moved to swallow her whole. Then it squashed into a circular orb, floating upwards from her mouth like a breath of air. It flashed and spun, and then it was speedily flying through the woods, swaying treetops and leaving a whistling of wind behind.
The young werewolf was unable to process what he just saw, but he did know that he could smell Stiles and Lydia headed this way from a distance. He had no idea what that little ball of energy was doing, but it couldn’t be good, and he didn’t want his friends anywhere near it. Taking one longing glance at Allison’s body, Scott makes a silent promise to return as he tears in the direction of their scents.
x-x-x
It wasn’t until they were nearly to the preserve that a feeling of dread began to build inside of Lydia with each roll of the tires. It was growing worse, a knocking noise blaring in her head, three knocks like the indication of death in old legends. It made her uneasy and carsick, and with a fierce change in attitude, she didn’t want to go anymore. It was the fear that something could happen to Stiles that finally did the trick, a brief reminder of that strange encounter they had behind her house. The one that could very well have been a warning of death if nothing else. She was ready to say as much until Stiles’ voice broke the atmosphere of the car,
“Scott!”
Lydia turned her head in the direction Stiles was looking and there was Scott rushing toward the car at a run. She stares in a thoughtful daze until the shutting of Stiles’ car door breaks her out of her trance.
“What’s going on!?” She hears Stiles call to Scott as he approaches.
“No, get back in the car!” Scott roars, shoving Stiles toward the vehicle.
With question in his eyes, Stiles does as he’s told and finds himself back in front of the wheel, fully expecting Scott to get in the backseat. Except he doesn’t. “Scott, come on!” The door is cracked opened so he can talk to him.
“I found Allison on the Nemeton,” Scott relays, panting for air. There’s a wild panic in his eyes as he tries to explain as quickly as possible. “There was some kind of energy wrapping around her.”
“Is she okay?” Lydia squeaks out before she can stop herself. It’s just after she asks that she realizes how it sounds. Of course she wasn’t okay. She’s dead.
Scott offers Lydia a sympathetic look in understanding. “After it was done swallowing her, it just turned into this ball and flew through the woods. I smelled you guys coming, and I was worried. I don’t know what happened to it.”
“Swallowing her, what does that mean?” Lydia knew there were other concerns, like whatever energy he was talking about and where it may be headed, but she could only think about Allison.
“She’s okay, Lydia,” Scott answers lowly, restating her earlier question as an answer. She knows what it means. She’s okay, but she’s not…okay.
“Okay.” A shaky whisper and it’s enough.
“Can we focus on this magical energy for a second here?” Stiles breaks in, slicing a hand in the air.
“We should get out of here first,” Scott finally gets in the back.
Stiles is driving off as Lydia chimes in, panicked “What about Allison!?”
“I’ll tell the sheriff she’s there in a little bit, when we know it’s safe,” Scott tells her gently, wholly understanding her behavior. If he didn’t have to be the responsible pack leader, his wavelength of thought would be phasing in a similar frequency.
They blindly drive around Beacon Hills for the next hour, searching for something out of place, something that was probably horrible. They discussed theories on why Allison’s body was needed to perform whatever ritual was used to create that energy, what that energy could be and who was doing it and why.
There were just far too many questions, and it was unsettling for the pack’s leader, who was meant to hold the answers. One thing Scott knew for certain, he was calling Deaton the moment he got home. Maybe he’d even show up at the vet.
Unfortunately, their aimless drive went nowhere and Stiles was dropping everyone off home without any further discussion. Stiles had called his father during the thoughtful silence that came after they agreed upon ending their hopeless quest, both Lydia and Scott frightened and angry with themselves for not coming up with anything. He pulled to the side of the road and dialed the familiar number. After assuring the older Stilinski that he was unharmed and on his way home, Stiles hung up his phone and forced his concentration back on the road.
“They’re on their way to the preserve,” he informs his friends. “He told me he wouldn’t go alone.”
“That’s good,” Scott mutters emptily, watching the houses fade by through the window. Every time he closes his eyes, the sight of Allison’s decaying body is there. He knows full well that it’s going to be in his nightmares tonight, and tomorrow, and for a long time; possibly the rest of his life.
Stiles is adamant on getting one of them to talk, to end the sadness enveloping the entire car and following them along every turn of the road. “Scott, aren’t you going to call Kira?” It’s nearly 4am and the longest night of their lives, but the Kitsune was probably still wide awake and worried.
“Aren’t you going to call Malia?” He shoots back, desperate to take the attention away from him. He didn’t want to call Kira now; she didn’t need to know about any of this. Scott had worked so hard to keep his mourning of Allison away from Kira, away from everyone. Now that Stiles and Lydia could see him in all his raw lowliness, he couldn’t let Kira see that too.
“She doesn’t know about any of this,” Stiles says plainly. “Kira’s probably worried, you know.”
Scott narrows his eyes at his friend, who can’t seem to mind his own business. “Maybe I’ll call her when I get home.”
Stiles licks his lips as he tries again. “For her sake, I’m just saying -”
“Stiles, back off!” Scott growls, flopping resigned against his seat just after his outburst.
Lydia can feel the tension turn awkward as the car is once again as silent as Allison’s empty coffin. She feels for Scott, although she doesn’t directly say so. She hopes he can feel it in the way her fingers reach forward to brush along his shoulder, a reassuring gesture. After a small delay, his left hand goes up to rest over hers and it’s enough.
When the car stops in front of Scott’s house, he’s quick with goodbyes and rushes out. The remaining pair stares at his back until he’s safely inside.
Lydia watches Stiles eyes sadly turn down to his lap, likely thinking over the small argument he had with Scott. She wanted to cry at the sight, knowing just how close the boys were. From friends to brothers, they were inseparable. Immediately, she felt the urge to cheer him up, but she wasn’t sure how.
Placing either hand on both front seats, she gains Stiles’ attention as she climbs across the stick shift to plop herself in the passenger seat, flashing Stiles a bright smile.
“Hi,” she said, tilting her head at him and blinking animatedly. Instead of reacting, he stares at her for a long moment. At each passing millisecond, Lydia grows more self-conscious, feeling moronic for attempting that. Of course it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t in the mood to laugh and she wasn’t funny anyway.
“Hi,” Stiles starts questionably, his eyes bemused and his expression bewildered. “What are you doing?” he asks, a playful edge to his tone matching a pair of lips curved upwards in a way that was uniquely Stiles.
“I’m sorry, is someone sitting here?” she checks the seat with her hands, as if to make sure she isn’t on top of someone invisible.
Stiles watches her, studying. One hand is still propped up on the wheel, although his attention remains on her. “Why are you acting so strange?” The car hums, still set on ‘park’.
The banshee squirms uncomfortably, feeling her plan to make him laugh quickly failing. Now he was only questioning her odd behavior and she was going to look stupid if she tried to explain. She was just the crazy girl crushing on a guy who was, for the most part, with someone else. Taking his mind off his fight with Scott, off the dreary lengthiness of this night, it wasn’t going to work. At the end of the day, when they both lay their heads down on their pillows, they’ll be thinking about Allison and the Nemeton and whatever other obstacle was thrown at them.
“I… Nevermind,” Lydia’s shrinks into the seat, a few pieces of hair releasing from its position behind her ear and swinging in front of her face, successfully hiding her embarrassment.
Stiles blows a large breath of air between pursed lips. “Oh, man,” he mutters to himself with a wistful shake of his head. “You just keep doing that.”
“What?” Lydia’s eyebrows knit together as she becomes closed off, unwilling to open up.
“Lydia…” he clucks his tongue like he almost doesn’t want to get into it, but eventually he just can’t help himself. “You do this thing, where you’re funny and sweet and then within a second,” he snaps his fingers, “you recede into yourself like you wanna evaporate. And it seems like you’re only getting worse. I can’t even remember the last time I saw you laugh and really mean it.”
Lydia’s heart stutters. He never even suggested that he noticed any of that. He acted so ignorant all the time, like he didn’t see her. But he knew things. “I laugh,” she tries, although weakly.
“Yeah, you pretend to laugh,” Stiles drawls with a roll of his eyes, turning his head toward her. With the heaviness of this day, he doesn’t mind telling her the truth, the things they usually all keep to themselves. They’d become so good at it that it was hard to talk about what they felt, about their pain and their happiness and their secrets. He and Scott were still brothers, but they’d definitely drifted since Allison’s demise. His relationship with Lydia was in even worse shape. “I just want us to be close again,” his voice quivers, thick with emotion. “I miss the sassy little detective I knew.”
Lydia desperately wants to resist the temptation of his call. On any day before she met Calvin, she’d be hopeless to his confession. She’d reach over and hug him and tell him how glad she was to hear that, that she thought he’d forgotten about her. She truly had, but now he was asking for something she could no longer offer. Not when Calvin was whispering threats in her ear. If anything happened to Stiles and it was her fault, just as Allison was, she couldn’t come back from that.
She dares take a glance his way and is immediately captured by his watering eyes, a silent plea. He needed her friendship back as much as she did. Tears drop freely from Lydia’s eyes when she asks herself why he couldn’t realize that sooner. She lowers her head as she weeps.
“Hey, don’t cry,” Stiles implores dolorously, his pouty lower lip wobbling dangerously. “If you start with the waterworks then I’m definitely gonna turn into a blubbering mess,” he’s joking, but he’s slowly crumbling as the words come out. Lydia smiles through her tears. “It’s gonna be ugly,” he adds, a choked laugh from the girl causing a seizing in his chest.
Lydia wipes her tears away with the sleeves of her jacket, knowing her mascara was probably unforgivingly streaked across her forehead.
“We should get back to my house; maybe we can get some sleep before school in…” he reaches between her legs for the phone she earlier chucked in the corner of the floor in front of her, oblivious to the fact that she’s blushing. “Three hours.”
“Your house?”
“Well, yeah,” Stiles presses on the pedal. “Like you’re going back to an empty house after you found that bloody dress.”
Lydia sniffles at the lasting tears on her face, remembering the fuzziness of earlier in the night with a sudden clarity. It had all happened so fast, and she was so unbelievably exhausted. “Oh yeah.” Maybe she would skip school. Calvin couldn’t bother her then.
“Speaking of the dress,” Stiles begins. “Where was the last place you saw it? I mean – before finding it in the box,” he clarifies sheepishly.
“I don’t know…? My laundry, the closet?” She leans her head back against the headrest as her weariness consumes her. “I’m really not sure,” her voice is full of razorblades as she begins to consciously dream, images of something colorful dancing under her eyelids.
“Well maybe -” Stiles stops short when he takes a look at her. “And - you’re asleep.”
She unconsciously groans in confirmation.
“Good talk.”
x-x-x
When Scott can finally hide in his own house, he believes he’ll be able to let his guard down long enough to shower and force himself to sleep.
He thought he’d pushed all of this down, but his grief was returning like a fit of regurgitation, making him once again come to terms with Allison and everything that happened last year. It had been easier lately, not thinking about it, just being with Kira and surrounding himself with small things that brought him happiness. The supernatural would always find them, and right now it was personal.
So when Scott entered his room to discover Kira sitting on his bed, he was only further emotionally drained until there was nothing left but exhaustion and pain.
“Scott,” Kira gasps at the sight of him, rushing toward him. She’s ready to hug him, but her arms stop mid-way through their journey. Something about the dimness of his face was a warning, and she didn’t want to piss him off any more than he seemed to be. “What happened?” she queries shyly, watchful of his eyes in case they tell her something important.
“Please go home,” he croaks, all but collapsing forward onto his bed as his night catches up with him.
“Scott!” Kira kneels by his side, alarmed. “Should I call your mom?”
“No!” he demands, though his face is smothered by the pillow he’s pressed against. “Don’t call anyone, just go.”
“Did you find what you were looking for?” She doesn’t want to say her name and make it worse.
Scott flips over in the bed, the entire thing bouncing at his prompt turn. “Yes. I can’t talk about this now.” he huffs with heavy eyes as he realizes, “I forgot, I have to call Deaton.”
“That can wait until tomorrow, you’re too tired.” she runs her hands over his arms comfortingly. “Let me get this jacket off you, come on.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Scott decides that sleeping without such bulky clothing would probably be a better idea. He sits forward, feeling her warm hands slide briefly over the skin of his stomach as she pulls off his jacket, the cotton of his shirt briefly sticking to the material.
She blushes automatically, mumbling an apology as she places the jacket neatly folded on his end table. “Shoes?” she offers helpfully.
“Yeah,” he lets her take the reins, flopping back onto his pillow.
As Kira pulls off his sneakers, her nose wrinkles involuntarily, “Your feet stink.”
He lifts his head just enough to give her a mock-judgmental look.
“I-I just mean that they’re sweaty,” her shoulders lift upwards and the embarrassed Kitsune says no more as she climbs in beside him. She won’t even bother to wake him up in time for school, because honestly, screw it. The only real thing she had to worry about was what she was going to tell her parents about her abrupt text claiming to be spending a school night at Malia’s.
x-x-x
“Tell me we’re skipping school today,” Stiles begs as he changes his bed sheets, tossing the pillows off the bed to tug the fabric over the corners.
Lydia stands in the middle of his room watching his movements, her body weighed down by the exhaustion she knew they both felt. “Trig test,” she reminds him with thinly set lips, wanting nothing more than to curl in a ball and sleep for days at a time.
“Trig,” Stiles reiterates hatefully, picking up his pillows to set them sloppily back on the bed. “I think our parents will let it slide if we miss school this one time, we were searching for a body all night!” He speaks bluntly, but neither of them feels the remark is insensitive. It was true.
“Yeah, well I can’t tell my mom that,” Lydia snorted. “and if I did, she’d probably have a cardiovascular event.”
“Have you considered… telling her? About everything?”
“No way,” the look Lydia gives him tells him how crazy she thinks the suggestion is. “My mom would pack me up and move us out of Beacon Hills quicker than you can say…” she can’t think of a funny retort. “ – something that is easy to say.”
“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?”
Lydia smirks at the cuter version of Marry Poppins standing in a t-shirt before her. “I’m pretty sure she’d already have us across the country before you finished saying that.”
“Okay, so ixnay on the olfsway.” He can definitely see her point.
“Appreciate it,” Lydia says with a nod, feeling the awkward tension rise another degree. “So...is sleeping in store or are we going to keep rambling at each other?”
“Oh! Right.” Stiles scratches his head as he takes in her clothing. “Do you want a shirt or something?”
Lydia looks down at her uncomfortable choice of attire. She’d only planned on going to the fair, so she was still in a fashionable little outfit that clung too tightly in areas that would certainly be left with pink imprints.
“That would be nice.” As he moves toward his dresser and starts poking through messily folded piles she asks, “Where am I sleeping?”
“That would be the bed.” Stiles runs his fingers over his favorite t-shirt, and he slowly glances back at her. “Feel lucky. Only very choice people get to sleep on the king’s throne.” He returns to his drawer, admiring the soft blue shirt with his touch. Without further thought, he pulls the thing from its resting place and hands it to her.
“Choice people,” Lydia’s eyes roll toward the ceiling as she considers this, lips inverted thoughtfully. “I guess that would be Malia and Scott.”
Avoiding the topic of his very close lady friend, Stiles twitches his lips. “Actually, Scott takes the floor.”
Lydia narrows her eyes suspiciously, “Liar. You two are cut from the same piece of cloth, there’s no way you wouldn’t share a bed.”
It was true, Stiles was lying, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say without leaving a blaringly obvious pause in conversation, and pausing before being declared a liar would only make it more evident. He shrugs, attempting to appear sly and unshaken. “You’ll never really know, I guess.”
Lydia stares at him with judgment before, “Pfft,” tightening her hands over the shirt in her hands she gestures toward the door with it, “I’m going to the bathroom to change.”
“You do that,” Stiles says over his shoulder, having now returned to his drawers to find his own pajamas. Lately, he liked to sleep without a shirt on, but he wasn’t about to expose his amazing body in front of Lydia. She couldn’t handle it, Stiles thought to himself confidently, ignoring the twinge of self-consciousness that told him that wasn’t at all true.
Lydia avoided her reflection until it was absolutely necessary. Pulling off her skirt was unsurprisingly difficult, and she could feel the marks left behind from the waistband before she even saw the little indentations there. The prices it paid to be a fashionable woman. More distracting than what her clothing left behind were the slowly healing scratches on her thigh. With a frown, she runs the tips of her fingers over the spot, still a little sensitive to the touch. She dreaded seeing Calvin later, and she wasn’t going to be in the right mood to deal with his antics. A thought occurred to her as she considered how angry Calvin would be if he knew where she was right now. Thankfully, he thought she went home after the fair and that was that.
She pulls the soft blue t-shirt over her head when she’s down to her bra and panties, unexpectedly soft against her stomach, back and upper thighs. The fabric almost seemed to caress the sad scratches on her leg, like Stiles was comforting her even without his presence. Tonight had been such a reassurance that he was still there, that he still saw her. It was pretty clear to her now, that a lot of his distance was caused by the desire to avoid talking or even thinking about Allison.
Taking a step toward the mirror, Lydia flinches at how worn she looks. It makes her appear older, and it isn’t attractive in the least. The bags under her eyes run deep, giving off the impression that they have been there longer than the lengthy stress of this past day. She wraps a hand in her hair and pulls it to one side, a collection of thick red hair frizzing to the left of her face.
Lydia hated her reflection; she hated her smeared makeup and the stained tears on her cheeks that seemed to always be there. Stiles had probably already compared her night-look to the one Malia wore when she cuddled with him at night. A tall beautiful light-haired and tanned brunette with a figure Lydia would die for. What was she? Petite, freckled, pale and short.
When Lydia finally made her way back into Stiles room, saw him in a pair of plaid deep green sweatpants and a grey-tank top that accented his body in a very positive way. Working out was definitely one of Stiles’ better decisions. Going to the gym with Scott was a pretty regular thing for him, now.
Although he knew Lydia in nothing but his favorite t-shirt would be a sight to behold, Stiles was unprepared for how actually seeing it would affect him. It was something he’d wanted for years, it had even made a few appearances in his dreams sophomore year. It was usually a tighter fit, but on her frame it was loose and longer, edging to her upper thighs and scraping along the milky skin there, something that really caused a stir in Stiles’ loins.
He clears his throat as her eyebrows furrowed at his stunned silence. “Looks good on you,” he manages to speak evenly.
“Nice pants,” Lydia smirks at him, her eyes running over the material and stopping on his… Her head jolts up to force eye contact. “They’re green.”
Stiles chews his lip as he watches her warily. “They are,” he confirms.
“So if I’m taking the bed… where are you going to sleep?” Lydia threads her fingers through her hair nervously, unsure of what else to do with them. Her toes press against the carpeting.
“Ah,” he runs a hand over the back of his neck as he admires their surroundings. “I can set something up on the floor.” for his own pride he adds, “Y’know, like Scott.” Because sharing a bed with your also male best friend may be interpreted badly, and knowing Lydia, she’d think he and Scott were big babies for it.
“Of course,” Lydia concurs, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “But seriously, you don’t have to sleep on the floor.” she remains a calm exterior as she shrugs her shoulders. “We can share.”
Stiles isn’t sure if he heard her correctly. “Can we… we can what?” he stretches out his ear lobe. “I don’t think I caught that.”
Lydia saunters toward the bed, running two flat palms across the surface. “There’s a lot of bed here. More than enough to go around.” She doesn’t mean to sound like she’s trying to seduce him, but it was kind of an automatic reaction to the circumstances. She was scantily clad, he was in an adorable pair of Stiles-friendly pajamas, and they were alone and tired in his room late at night. There was never a better opportunity, and if things didn’t go the way she wanted them to she could blame it on her exhaustion in the morning. It wasn’t like she was going to kiss him or anything. She just wanted to remind him that she was there and maybe hint at just how there she really was. Calvin isn’t here, and he can’t stop her.
“Okay, sure, but….” a tongue flicks out to moisten his dry lips. It’s an excuse to figure out what to say. If she were pranking him she would’ve already laughed and snidely commented, “In your dreams, Stilinski.”
“If you want, you can get in first and close your eyes so that when I get in it’s like I’m not even there.”
Who is Stiles to argue with the logic of a future Fields Medal winner? “Okay,” he agrees before it’s too late. Not that he wanted to back out. Even as he climbs in the bed, he can’t stop the feelings of guilt from running over his shoulders. Malia wouldn’t like this, but it wasn’t like they were a couple. And this was only sleeping. Just sleeping.
He hears her flick off the light, and he doesn’t even need to close his eyes because it’s pitch black. The shuffling sound of his comforter is beside his left ear, and then a sudden weight is added to the bed as pressure is added to his side. A waft of strawberry shampoo hits his senses as she lays her head on the pillow there.
Stiles swallows hard as his heart beats erratically, caused only by Lydia’s close proximity. Only a few days ago they weren’t able to speak to each other in full sentences, and now they were sleeping in his bed.
“How’s Malia?” Lydia’s voice comes from nowhere, breaking into the tired silence of the room. It moves in rhythm with his heart.
Stiles is taken off guard by the sudden question, his mouth parted without anything coming out for a long four seconds. “I – she’s good. She’s really good.” He wonders if that was the right thing to say.
“That’s good,” comes Lydia’s sleep laced response, her head turned away from his.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, further mulling over his choice of wording and if it was what she wanted to hear. He was asking himself why she even wanted to know that, especially now. His considerations are interrupted by his yawn as a haze of darkness takes over his entire being until he’s quickly pulled into a deep sleep.
That night, he dreams of eating strawberries at Allison’s grave.
ALL RIGHTS GO TO summerwick (from tumblr) AND JEFF DAVIS WHO I HATE SO MUCH