Author's Note: This will probably be AU by the time this season ends, but this is just one way that I can picture it turning out. I'm new to this fandom, so forgive me if anyone seems terribly out of character. Spoilers for season three. Please enjoy!

"I will fight your fight

I will hold you tight

And I won't let go."

Rascal Flatts, "I Won't Let Go"

"What are you going to do, Lydia?"

Alison had asked her that, eyes wide and misted over with unshed tears. In that dim hospital room with the monitors that slowly beeped and the chairs designed for long vigils, her best friend had met her gaze, clearly about to splinter into a million pieces. It was one thing to be hurt yourself in a fight.

It was another to watch someone you cared about go down. For Alison, seeing Isaac being injured so critically had almost done in her already fragile mental state. And for the strawberry blonde girl that considered herself a member of the pack, there was only one thing that could've made this already awful situation even worse.

Stiles—her sarcastic, caring, adoring Stiles had wrapped one hand around the werewolf's neck and nearly snapped it in half before Scott had gotten the situation in hand. Stiles had fled; the twins in hot pursuit. Isaac had been rushed to the hospital and as Lydia let her eyes glance around the room, she could see most of the pack was here as well. Scott—so old, so burdened; when had he been forced to grow up so quickly?—in the corner, eyes trained on the floor. Kira, by his side, rubbing comforting circles on his back. Derek leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, gaze dark and deadly and Mrs. McCall, fluttering in and out whenever she could, desperately wanting to do something.

"Lydia?" Alison's grip had been tight around her hand, almost painful and Lydia knew why. She was afraid to lose someone else she cared about. In their already messed up world with creatures that went bump in the night, they had come to rely upon each other.

They were a family—a messed up, crazy, happy family.

"It's okay," Her voice had come out a whisper, but it did the trick. The soothing tone gave Alison enough comfort to get her to release her friend's hand. Lydia kneeled down to meet the hunter's frightened eyes. "Alison, I promise that it will be okay." She had grinned and she watched with relief as some of the tension left her friend's frame.

"Lydia?" Alison started, clarity suddenly alighting her eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to bring him back."

She didn't have very many memories of third grade.

She hadn't had many friends back then. She'd been the smart one—able to do 5th grade math and read at a 6th grade level—but her mother had her held back in the hopes of preventing her daughter from being a social outcast. Anyways, what Lydia remembered vividly was the day someone stole her Hello Kitty stuffed animal. In hindsight, it probably had been a blessing in disguise as she had grown too attached to it, but at the time, it was the end of the world for the young girl. The teacher checked the lost and found, but to no avail. Placing a hand on the little girl's shoulder, she tried to console her.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. These things happen."

The next day at school, Stiles appeared at her desk and silently handed her new a stuffed animal, the exact same kind as her old one.

"I-I h-heard yours was lost." He mumbled by way of explanation.

"Thank you."

That was the first time Stiles had ever grinned at her.

"You should leave," Stiles—not her Stiles though, she could see that—told her as she closed the metal door behind her. It closed with a clang and as she walked into the abandoned warehouse, she forced herself to remain objective. "Unless you have a death wish—?"

"Stiles." She called out, unafraid. The creature inhabiting him rolled it's eyes and for a second, Lydia allowed her mind to flash back to all the times he had done that before. When had she allowed herself to care so much for him? What happened to Lydia Martin—the cold, beautiful girl that every girl wanted to be and every boy wanted to date? When had she allowed her walls to fall?

When had she fallen in love with Stiles?

"Not that again," It sighed and she could still see the bloodstains from the previous fight on his gray shirt. "I told you; Stiles is no more." He grinned maliciously. "Now, it's just me."

"I know you're there, Stiles." She kept her voice even; her heels clicking on the floor as she made her way towards him. The place was empty—just empty boxes would bare witness to what she was prepared to do tonight. "I'm going to pull you back."

"Oh, really?" He sauntered towards her until there was only a fraction of space between the two. It chilled her to see his face, so twisted beyond the Stiles she knew. "Tell me something, Lydia." He leaned in, so that their noses almost brushed. "What are you going to do?" She gathered up her courage and smiled up at the monster inhabiting Stile's body. The dagger she had hidden within her sleeve slipped out ever so much.

"Get rid of you."

She used to have nightmares where she would spend the whole night running. She wasn't sure if she was being chased or if she was trying to catch someone—it never mattered—but she would always wake up and for a split second think she still had to keep spiriting.

"So," Stiles asked her one day—back when she was still unaware of their secret; of who she was—after he had overheard her explain it to Alison. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know." Lydia mumbled, wishing he would go away so that she wouldn't have to discuss this with him. Back then, she was still putting up a façade. She didn't like to reveal her faults to anyone, even to close friends.

"No, that's not the right answer." Stiles informed her, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Excuse me?" Her eyebrow rose; she could feel anger starting to burn slowly within her. Hell hath no fury like Lydia Martin.

"See, the Lydia I know," He paused with his sandwich, putting it down on his tray. His eyes locked onto hers and for the first time, she felt compelled to hold it. The lunchroom seemed to quiet down, as if everyone was waiting to hear what he would say. It was very much like one of those romantic comedies that she binged watch whenever she felt upset. "She would fight." He beamed at her. "She wouldn't let something like a bad dream stop her."

"Is that so?" She challenged. "You're sure?"

"Of course." He answered without hesitation. Strangely enough, she felt vaguely reassured by his comments.

That was the last time she had that particular nightmare.

"You'll die."

She was dripping blood and had numerous bruises from where Stiles—no, the monster's hands had gotten her. She had managed to keep Stiles relatively in one piece, only using the dagger for defense. Still, she could see the writing on the wall.

She was losing. Badly.

"Stiles." Her voice cracked, tears misting over her vision.

"He can't hear you." The creature taunted. "The Stiles you knew is gone!"

Maybe it was foolish, coming here alone. It probably wasn't the logical move, but when had she ever been logical when it came to Stiles? If she made it through this, she would agree to go out with him. She would finally give him the attention that he deserved ever since that day in the third grade. In a burst of energy, his hand wrapped around her neck, claws digging into her skin. She coughed, breath leaving her.

"Ut pagina mundi," She whispered, the ritual coming to her mind now. The one that required her blood as well as his, both of which now covered the floor. The creature's head turned to the side, confused. His grip tightened and tears sprung to her eyes. Still, she kept going. "qui exterminant revocare vos."

"A banishment spell?" He seemed genuinely impressed. "You won't—"

"Ut pagina mundi—" His hand on her neck began to shake and he hissed in frustration. On the warehouse floor, the blood began to boil, bubbles beginning to form in it. It was grotesquely beautiful, but more importantly, it meant it was working.

"Stop!" He released her and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath and rubbing her neck. She couldn't stop yet though, not when she was so close!

"Qui exterminant revocare vos." Stiles' body began to tremble, almost as if a current was running through him. Her body screamed for her to stay down, but she shakily pushed herself up. Blood dripped from her open wounds. Pitch black eyes locked onto her and before she could react, her dagger was plunged into her chest.

"You want me dead!" It roared as it pressed the weapon in deeper. "Then, we'll die together!"

If you die, I will literally lose my freakin' mind!

She was going to disappoint him. She never wanted to do that again.

Death doesn't happen to you, Lydia. It happens to everyone around you!

With a shaky hand, she gripped the handle of the dagger and smirked tiredly at the creature.

"Go to Hell."

She watched as it died, as it screamed and was ripped out of Stiles' body by some powerful force. Gracelessly, Stiles' body—finally, he was back—fell onto the floor, unconscious.

He was back.

That was her last thought before the darkness took her.

Author's Note: For anyone curious, the Latin translated to roughly, "As your link to this world, I banish those that would use you." Next chapter up soon! Please review if you have a second. Thanks!