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Lydia didn’t want to wake up today.
The fact that she was thinking this, made it quite ironic, as she already was, well, awake. She knew she couldn’t force herself back to sleep. Her biological clock said it was time to open her eyes, stretch her limbs and start the day.
It wasn’t raining, in fact, it was a beautiful morning. The golden hour, people sometimes said, when everything had a golden hue and everything generally looked prettier. Better.
Only today wasn’t pretty. Or great.
Today, Allison died one year ago. 11:53 PM, to be exact. Lydia knew, because her banshee powers weren’t wrong, for once.
She hadn’t talked about it before with Scott and Stiles, simply because it was too hard. She didn’t know if they were allowed to mourn in each other’s presence, if they were going to her grave together, or separately. She didn’t know how to bring the topic up, and she excelled at oral presentations.
At last, she sat up and stared at her closet, urging her clothes to make an outfit on their own, as she couldn’t care less. Sadly, the inanimate clothes didn’t hear her, so she stepped out of bed.
Was she going to wear black? It wasn’t exactly Allison’s funeral, but it felt wrong being happy today. She lingered at her black jeans, before opting for a green dress Allison would’ve liked. It has loose, quarter length sleeves and white flowers on it. She curled her hair, pinning the front pieces back with a twist and applied her make-up. Lydia smiled. She looked nice. Allison would’ve complimented her lip colour and asked what it was. Lydia would say “Eve” and then continue saying that Allison was there when they bought it. They’d chuckle, and go on with their lives.
Lydia’s shoulders dropped. Except Allison wasn’t here anymore.
Sometimes it angered her, the death of her best friend. Why Allison? There were 7.5 billion people on this planet. So why Allison? Albeit her immoral decisions in sophomore year, she was good. She fought for what was right. She didn’t give a damn about what people thought of her. She was regal in the eyes of Lydia. Untouchable. Until a sword sliced through her abdomen, cutting the heart of Lydia as well.
The girl shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She needed to be collected today. Focus on her classes, talk to her friends – not weep in a corner. She was better than that.
She rose her chin, staring defiantly in the mirror.
‘I can do this,’ she told herself, trying to put confidence in every syllable. It worked, kind of.
She grabbed her bag and shut her bedroom door behind her.
She sat in her car, staring at the students strolling by with a calculated gaze. She observed their laughing faces or the worried looks as they were hunched over textbooks, cramming in information last minute. Lydia wanted to yell at them that that was ineffective, but she stayed put.
Lydia felt like she was in her own mourning bubble, watching the outside world move on in high definition with vibrant colours, whilst she was pixelated. Outdated. She hadn’t moved on.
Eventually (even if she was sad, she wasn’t skipping more school than she already did), she stepped out of her car, walking with an even pace to the front doors.
There she was greeted by Stiles, who seemed to be waiting on her alone. She still had to get used to Malia not being by his side anymore. Lydia felt bad for thinking this, but it was great to have something back. Hanging out with Stiles was a gift she had missed.
He gave her his classic downwards smile.
‘Hey, Lydia. What’s up?’
She stared at him for a moment, analysing him. He didn’t seem sad. But then again, Stiles’ walls were protected by an army, so he could feel anything. He wasn’t an open book anymore like he was in sophomore year. He had learned his lesson not to trust anymore. It saddened her, because more often than not Stiles needed to force a smile.
She rolled her lips inwards, ‘Do you know what day it is, Stiles?’
He stilled, nodding slowly. In her peripheral vision she noticed his hands trembling slightly. She resisted the urge of grabbing them.
‘Then I’m just gonna a- ask the question again – um…’, he chuckled nervously, ‘how are you?’
Lydia didn’t answer, instead started moving forward, expecting Stiles to catch up with her. He did, naturally.
‘I’m fine,’ she quipped, stopping at her locker and grabbing her biology handbook. Post-it’s littered the margins.
‘Lydia-‘
She turned her head to him, eyes defiant. ‘I said, I was fine. This is not the time to mourn.’
‘And after school?’, he asked, sounding a bit lost. His expression fell, losing all its fake happiness from a minute before. He subconsciously dragged a hand through his hair, sighing. Lydia was momentarily distracted by the movement, before her eyes flitted back to his face. Not much better, but still.
‘Do you really think it’s a good idea to –‘, she lowered her voice, ‘to think about Allison?’
He frowned, ‘She deserves it.’
The bell rang.
‘I need to get to bio, and you need to go to econ. Talk to Scott about this,’ she commanded, eyes pleading to stop talking about it.
He huffed, lips settling into a thin line and nodding. Lydia turned around and walked the opposite direction of Stiles, but when she turned the corner and quickly glanced over her shoulder, she saw him standing there, eyes casted downwards, a grim expression on his face and hands fidgeting. She didn’t dare to call out his name. The last thing she wanted to do was give in to her feelings and run up to him to hug his pain away.
The three of them sat in the library in silence, making homework.
Malia didn’t understand their desire to be in the library, she’d rather be at home, away from school. Lydia understood her, but the library felt like a safe haven. Neutral ground. (She liked to stubbornly forget Stiles killed someone here out of defense, Scott almost got murdered here and a beast jumped through the window only a few feet away from them.)
As Lydia was jotting down alternate equations, she saw Stiles looking up from his worksheet and contemplating saying something to them. Scott noticed as well, glancing up.
‘Are we –‘, he licked his lips, ‘Can – no – will we be visiting her grave today?’
Scott stilled, eyes flitting to the bookcase where their signatures were solidified for eternity. AA.
Lydia awaited in impatience what Scott would say.
‘I don’t… I don’t know,’ Scott said earnestly, glancing back down to his pristine notes. Lydia was jealous of his handwriting. Stiles’, in comparison, was chicken scratch.
‘Why not?’, Stiles asked, hands balling up. Tension filled the table, leaving no space for learning.
‘Because,’ he searched for reasons, ‘I don’t want to see her. I just – I’ve had my closure.’
Stiles’ nostrils flared. Signs of anger, Lydia noticed.
‘Stiles,’ Lydia tried to calm him, ‘she was my best friend. I just – it’s too painful to go.’
‘Yeah,’ Scott said, ‘she was my first… everything. I don’t think we need to go to her grave,’ Scott gave him an easy lopsided grin.
‘Well I’, Stiles’ voice rose, but he quickly tempered it when he saw pupils watching them, ‘well I killed her,’ his voice wavered, eyes casting down. She saw them glistening.
‘And I can’t move on, I haven’t had my closure yet. I want to go to her grave, but I don’t want to go alone. I just can’t – I can’t do it – alright?!’ His breath was heavy, gaze hard and icy. Scott and her nodded solemnly.
Lydia felt guilty for not realizing it earlier. Stiles still blamed himself for the death of Allison. It wasn’t him, she knew, it was the face of him and the soul of someone else. But it didn’t matter to him.
Scott didn’t know what to say, and Lydia followed. It stayed silent at their table. Not much learning happened afterwards.
As Lydia drove home, she thought back of their conversation in the library. She should’ve said something. Anything. She felt like hitting herself for not arguing with Stiles. He was clearly fighting back his tears, eyes blinking hard.
Her hands clenched around the steering wheel, her heart making up their mind.
She turned around, taking a different route.
Lydia stopped in front of the Stilinski household. In was dark inside, only Stiles’ infamous jeep in the driveway. There was a single, small light source coming from inside. From Stiles’ room.
She swallowed. She hadn’t really thought it through at what she would do. Say. For once, she was doing something quite impulsive. Perhaps it was best she didn’t have a plan. She didn’t know.
Lydia stepped out of her car, opening his front door with the spare key she had on her keychain. She stopped for a moment in the hallway. It was deadly silent. She didn’t hear him stumbling in his room to see who has at the door. She bit her lip.
It quickly became clear why she had no response of Stiles when the door opened. He wasn’t here.
She frowned, standing in the middle of his messy room. There was no indication of where he went. No note for Scott or her.
Her eyes lingered on his clear board. Except for a few miscellaneous articles about petty crimes in the town, everything was wiped away. The holder held a few pens, an eraser and red tape. The green, yellow and blue tape was never used, still in its packets. His corkboards were also now empty of supernatural. It held normal things. A calendar, notes, pictures. She moved closer to it, smiling as she saw a picture of him and Lydia. She remembered Scott taking it. They were on the grass comparing notes and Scott sat opposite of them. Lydia had said something to annoy him (she couldn’t remember what it was. Many things peeved Stiles) and it ignited a fire in him to start bickering with her about it. Naturally, it ended with Stiles stealing her pen and other supplies and her nearly crawling on top of him to grab it, screaming at him to give it back. It was quite childish, but they had fun in the banter. It was their way of communicating. Without their knowing, Scott had snapped a picture.
Lydia pursed her lips. She couldn’t believe Stiles thought it was a nice one to print out.
Her eyes fell on a picture frame perched on the cabinet under the corkboard. It was a small one, nothing extraordinary. Except for one thing: it held her tree drawing. Well, one of the hundred tree drawings.
She remembered anxiously storming into Stiles’ room with Aiden in tow, confused by all the red string leading to his bed, pierced together with sharp, metal scissors. She’d been analysing the situation, and eventually he’d spoken up about it, making her turn her head and notice the drawing.
“Put that back.”
“It’s yours, right?”
“It’s one of them… I guess.”
“He likes you a lot, doesn’t he?”
“Maybe… he likes the drawing a lot.”
“For Lydia.”
She cocked her head, frowning. There was a note attached to it. Carefully, she picked the frame up, turning it around. It was still there. Lydia peeled the tape away and held it in her hands, staring at it.
She knew Stiles had a crush on her in Sophomore year, obviously, he had told her right in her face, but she didn’t know where he was at in Junior year. She knew the crush by now had diminished (she tensed up at the thought), yet still…
Lydia was interested to know what was in the note. She opened it.
Lydia
Whenever you doubt your strength, your power, yourself. Just look at this drawing. You saved everyone because of this tree.
I will always believe in you.
Stiles
She rolled her lips inwards, fighting back a smile. God damn it.
She put the tape back on the refolded note and attached it to the frame, putting it back where she found it. She’ll ask about it later, pretending her nose is bleeding. She’s done it all throughout Freshmen and Sophomore year, she thought bitterly, it shouldn’t be a problem.
Eventually, she settled on the edge of his desk, crossing her arms. Where was he?
From her point of view, she could see out of his window. It was still sunny outside, making the green leaves of the trees seem lush. In the distance, the Beacon Hills Cemetery was visible. She stilled.
In a flash, she stood up and ran out of his room.
Lydia stood still in front of the iron gates of the cemetery. Her, a banshee, always felt her powers intensified when she was amongst the dead. As if her connection with it only grew. It felt like a taunting laugh luring her in, dragging her to the dark side. But she needed to be there for Stiles. She had to.
She swiped the invisible dust of her jacket and entered the field. She already saw Stiles sitting in the distance, as he was the only person here today. Argent must’ve gone when they were in school.
With tentative steps, she made her way through the graveyard, stopping momentarily at the tombstone of her grandmother and tapping the top with light fingers.
She stepped further, her snow white skin contrasting against the broody atmosphere. She stopped a few feet away from the boy.
‘Stiles.’
He looked up, skin pale and eyes red. He radiated exhaustion and sadness. Lydia pressed her lips together, cursing herself for not seeing it sooner.
He didn’t say anything, just nodded at the space next to him on the bench. She smiled, taking the seat.
For a while they didn’t say anything, merely staring at the stone in front of them. It was made of white marble, coming to Lydia’s hips. In the center, Allison’s name was etched. Underneath, her code that saved everyone.
Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes.
She sniffed. That code saved Lydia. Allison saved her.
She choked on her breath, and realised tears were already falling.
Suddenly, Stiles circled his arms around her.
‘I miss her so much,’ she cried out, her mouth parted.
He nodded, holding her tighter. Because of that, Lydia remembered why she was here. She returned the embrace holding him, if not, tighter.
‘I miss her too,’ he replied, his entire body trembling of sorrow and grief. ‘It’s all my fault,’ he mumbled, anger entering his tone.
‘Hey! Stiles,’ she backed out of their embrace, pleading him to look at her and listen to her, ‘it’s not your fault,’ her hands found a way to his cheeks, cupping them. His features softened, the always there frown in his forehead disappearing.
‘It was never your fault. It wasn’t your fault the Nogitsune possessed you. You saved Malia by letting him in. You did the right thing, Stiles.’
‘I was weak.’
She paused for a moment, thinking back of his note for her. If he believed in her unconditionally, he should know she did too.
‘You weren’t weak, Stiles,’ she exhaled shakily, ‘you’re so brave. You’re the only human we have left. You survived and –,’ she swallowed, ‘and conquered.’
He shook his head, his amber eyes staring into her green ones, ‘Why don’t you hate me?’
She halted, eyes frowning and lips parted, ‘I could never hate you, Stiles.’
‘She’s gone, because of what I did. I remember doing it,’ he said frustrated. At him or at her, she didn’t know.
‘Stiles, stop doing this to yourself,’ she begged, her hands gripped around the collar of his fleeced jacket. ‘Allison wouldn’t have wanted this.’
‘How would you know?’ he snapped, malice in his tone. She swallowed, holding on to her patience. This wasn’t Stiles talking. This was the grief.
‘She was my best friend. I knew everything of her.’
‘It’s not fair!’, he screamed, letting the universe know of his pain. ‘I should’ve died. I was already dying, anyway!’
‘But Stiles,’ she gripped tighter, ‘if she didn’t shot her silver arrow, everyone would’ve died. I would’ve died, Scott, Kira, you. She wouldn’t have wanted that. Her code was to protect the people, and she did. Her death is not your fault.’
He breathed in shakily, letting silent tears fall. Her hands released his jacket, noting that the outburst has subsided.
‘How do you cope with this?’, he asked after a while, getting a hold of her hand. She squeezed it.
‘I don’t know, Stiles, I don’t know.’
He chuckled, ‘Lydia Martin doesn’t know something, that’s new.’
She huffed, slapping his arm teasingly. ‘Very funny.’
Stiles exhaled loudly, and the air around them lifted. She looked up at him silently asking if he’s okay. Well, what you can define as okay.
‘I’m calling Scott,’ he said, ‘he can’t grieve alone. Kira isn’t here and Malia doesn’t know about Allison. He only has us.’
She nodded, and whilst Stiles called Scott, she went to her knees and edged closer to Allison’s grave. She didn’t care the grass made her bare knees dirty.
‘Hi Allison. I don’t if you can hear me. My knowledge on the supernatural isn’t as big as I would like, but I’ll imagine you can,’ she smiled, ‘I just… I want you to know that I love you, and I care about you. We all do. Kira and Isaac left us, but I know they loved and respected you as well. Ah…’, she shook her head, tracing figures into the dirt. ‘I miss you. But I will be okay. We all will. I promise.’
Stiles placed a hand on her shoulder and she looked up from her kneeled position.
‘He’s coming, so…’, he didn’t end his sentence, just shrugged and kept his eyes on the ground. She stood up, smiled at him and took him into a hug, her arms snaking into his jacket and circling around his flannel, not his jacket. It took him by surprise, but instantly relaxed and hugged her back. Lydia enjoyed the warmth he gave her, challenging the cold and evil to get to them.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered in her neck, muffled by her hair.
She felt her heart hammer faster than normal because of his proximity, and she knew that what she would say next could change everything.
‘I will always be there for you, Stiles. I won’t leave you.’
He halted, searching her bright eyes for any signs of insincerities. But she meant every word. She loved him, and even if she couldn’t tell him that with those exact words, she hoped it was communicated through what she said. She loved him, every bit of him. His smile, his eyes, his touch, his humour, his intelligence. His smile became lopsided, lips edging to her cheek and kissing it lightly, before dropping back to her neck and hugging her.
A minute later, they felt another pair of arms around them. Lydia immediately sensed it was Scott, and when she looked up, she was met by his warm smile. Albeit his brown eyes held sadness, she knew his heart was lifted by them. She smiled back.
Lydia realised, right at that moment, that they could only pull through together. And they will.
I want you to know
It doesn't matter
Where we take this road
But someone's gotta go
And I want you to know
You couldn't have loved me better
But I want you to move on
So I'm already gone