Stiles laid on his bed, drained, useless and alone. He heard his phone go off again a moment before, Scott asking where he was, if he was okay, what he was doing. After the fifth one, Stiles just stopped looking. He was weak, weaker than he had felt in weeks. He was so, so useless. He nuzzled his head into the pillow below him. Maybe if he suffocated then things wouldn't feel so bad. A loud knock landed on his bedroom door. He sighed to himself. He was fine. He wasn't going to give a description of the "lacrosse players" who beat him up. His dad needed to let that one go. Or Stiles could have thought of a better lie, he thought bitterly while creating larger frown lines on his face.

"Dad, I said I'm fine."

But he wasn't. His father knew it too. The knocking started again, and Stiles felt even more frustrated. He didn't want to have to sit and lie to his father. He didn't want to pretend that it wasn't out of control and out of his hands and too big for him or even the almighty werewolves to handle. He didn't want to yell or break down or anything like that. He just wanted to sit and feel bad for himself, something he had not been doing enough of, obviously. He bit back a comment while getting off his warm bed. His bruised cheek felt that rush of clean, cool air pass over it, and Stiles immediately missed the warmth of his pillow. He muttered something under his breath as he walked to the door and pulled it open with more force than he really should have been using. But any sarcastic, misplaced remark he was about to spit at his dad came crashing down with the feverish beating of his heart and his attractive deer in the headlights look.



Lydia Martin was standing at his door. Not his front door, but his bedroom door. The earth was about to fall beneath him, Stiles just knew it. She looked so broken, alone and had been crying. His look must have triggered something in her because she clarified for him.

"Your father let me in."

"Of course he did."

Because misery loved company. Stiles thought mockingly. He stared at her, one hand gripping the door for dear life, praying that he wasn't going to wake up from some crazy dream. Did the girl of his dreams need to be here, right at this very moment, with his face looking like a truck hit it, and his usual disposition flattened with the weight of the world?

"What happened to your-?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, It's nothing. Don't worry about it, I'm fine."

Though he wasn't, and he didn't suspect that she cared much. Lydia Martin doesn't just casually stop by his house in the middle of the night to ask what happened to his face. Lydia Martin barley every looked at his face. Stiles wanted to smile at the irony, but he thought against it. Even as he finished his sentence he had already lost her attention. How was that even possible? But she looked so fragile that he couldn't turn her away. What was one more minute pretending in the grad scheme of things anyway, right?

"Do you wanna come in?"

She didn't answer, only managed half a smile that was completely forced, though he didn't blame her, her ex boyfriend just died, and walked passed him into the room. As she passed Stiles could notice that she was practically folding into herself. This wasn't the Lydia he knew, this was just a shell of the girl he loved, and her soul, her heart was somewhere else entirely. Why else would she bee at his door?

"How you doin'?"

Stiles asked, she hadn't turned around as he shut his door quietly. It was a stupid question but Stiles was in a stupid mood. The girl with her back turned to him was clearly detached and a complete mess. Her eyes were puffy, her whole body shook. Stiles stepped closer as he heard her intake of breath.

"They won't let me see him."

Oh, of course, Jackson. Stiles thought defeatedly. There was no chance in hell that the girl he loved would be there for him. It surprisingly didn't sting as badly as it should have, considering. Maybe it was Stiles just refusing to believe in the reality of it. Jackson was dead, for now. His dad had filled him in on that part after he changed out of his lacrosse gear. Sheriff Stilinski feared the same fate was his sons. Stiles didn't want his dad to ever go through that again. Part of Stiles didn't think Jackson was going to stay that way, though. He beat the odds more times than Stiles wanted to admit. He saw Lydia's body shake a bit harder, she was crying now.

"I'm supposed to give him something, he kept asking for it back."

What was he asking for? What the hell was she talking about? Stiles saw Lydia slowly reach into her pocket and pull out something small, he couldn't tell what it was from his position but he really didn't need to know either. It didn't make sense, what did Jackson need now, being dead and all? Before he could ask her any of his nagging questions she started to cry harder, clutching the small item in her hands and sobbed, right there in the middle of his bedroom. Stiles sighed and lightly grabbed hold of her arm, whispering and humming to her as gently as he could be right now. His shushing and soft stokes calmed her down a bit, and he tugged on her sleeve, wordlessly telling her to sit. On his bed. He tried not to think of the fact that Lydia Martin was sitting on his unmade bed, drowning herself in a pool of her own tears. He quickly left the room.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't have any tissues, so uh.."

Stiles felt stupid, who didn't have tissues? But as he offered her the fresh role of toilet paper he saw her crack what he would consider a smile. He took it as a small advance as she took the roll from him.

"It's fine."

She sniffled while pulling off a generous amount of bath tissue.

"God, I am such a mess."

She mumbled into the toilet paper. Stiles didn't know what to say. In his experience, saying nothing was the best option. It didn't help the situation that he was feeling the exact same way. Stiles just stare ahead, thinking of all the things that he really didn't want to be thinking of, especially right now, with Lydia in his room, sitting on his bed, acting like a human being towards him. His cell phone went off again. Lydia aggressively snapped for the phone, which was in her lap.

"You have seventeen miss messages from Scott."

She ticked, sounding almost annoyed by it. Stiles wanted to know why his cell phone was in her lap more than what Scott had to say to him. It was probably another 'why aren't you answering me?' text. It probably wasn't important. And even if it was, he was busy, he was trying to forget about it. Lydia was just staying longer than he had expected. He had expected her to run the moment he opened the door, and then again when he handed her a roll of toilet paper in substitution of tissues. But she was still right there beside him, handing him his phone like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I know."

"Are you ignoring him?"

Stiles could actually hear curiosity in her voice.

"No, no not really."

But she got up, already bored with the conversation before it started. It wasn't like Stiles wanted to talk about his feelings, especially not with Lydia, but it would be nice if the girl would let someone finish a damn thought before jumping into something different. She sauntered her way towards Stiles' desk and Stiles sat and tried to breathe normally, tried to act like his normal self, how he would normally interact with Lydia Martin. Though he didn't have much to compare this to, Stiles was pretty certain that this was the most normal he had ever been with Lydia and the girl hadn't even noticed. He wasn't his usual self, he wasn't jumping off the walls or talking a mile a minute. Neither of them were in their usual character at the moment. It made Stiles really sad. They weren't even acting like themselves and still things didn't fit the right way. It was like pulling teeth to get Lydia to talk, all she did was cry and it took everything in Stiles not to just fall back on his bed and call it a night. He was so drained.

"Why do you have woman's jewelry?"

"Oh, nothing, that's just some stuff I bought, for your birthday."

"For me?"

She looked genuinely shocked about that. Lydia knew how Stiles felt about her, but she just never thought he would go to such extremes. There had to be at least ten pieces of jewelry on his desk.

"Yeah, I just- I kinda didn't know what to get you, so I just brought you a bunch of stuff. Like a lot of stuff. You know, I was gonna return anything that I didn't give you."

He didn't know why he was being so open about it. He knew she would definitely run out the door this time, and maybe that was what he wanted, for her to leave. He wasn't in the right mindset to entertain the love of his life and Stiles probably would have said anything she asked at this moment. He just no longer had the fight in him. She laughed though, to his up most surprise, even gave a small smile before ducking her head. It made him feel good, really good, to be able to be the reason for that smile.

Her phone going off changed the subject. Stiles knew it was her phone because he threw his back into the sea of his sheets, where it belonged until he knew what to do about everything and more so his feelings in regards to everything. He no longer wanted to play second best, he was sick of being the one to slow everything down and ruin plans and no be able to save his father from some stupid camera creep, or save Erica from good 'ole grandpa Argent. He didn't want to talk to Scott until everything was figured out up in his head. Stiles just didn't know when that was going to be exactly.

"You're gonna wanna read this."

Cryptic, Lydia? Stiles thought while glancing at her before down at her cell phone. Something inside him snapped, not fully, but breaking. He could almost feel the threads of his sanity splinter inside him. His grip tightened on the phone, and an overwhelming feeling of oblivion washed over him. She knew exactly what Jackson was. Whoever the hell texted her, whatever the message 'It's time to save him.' was supposed to mean it had Stiles Stilinski thinking the worse. He threw her phone down on the bed, his pulse racing while trying to control his voice.

"How much do you know about this stuff?"

"Pieces, half of it is like a dream."

"Yeah, well guess what, the other half is like a freaking nightmare."

"I don't care, I can help him."

That is when it hit Stiles, she was playing coy and not giving too much away. She was determined and so unbelievably out of her mind that she couldn't see that it was all too dangerous, too risky, too much for Stiles to handle right now. She had this look in her eyes, like the one he recognized within himself, one that he wore well, wore often. She was setting herself up to risk everything for a kid who hardly deserved it. He wasn't going to think about how she was so suddenly clued into the inner supernatural workings of Beacon Hills, part of him didn't really want to know. He didn't want to ask who the mysterious texter was, Stiles was afraid of the answer. She had been acting so weird, and now she was here, in front of him, saying she was going to go risk her life on a plan that might not even work. A plan Stiles had yet to be filled in on. Who cares if Jackson is a dead kanima or a dead human? Either way he was going to have to die. Derek wasn't going to let him continue living, Gerard was going to cause problems, Stiles knew that, but nothing Gerard did would change the fact that Jackson was a monster now, and Lydia was never getting him back.

"See, that's the problem. You don't care about getting hurt."

Stiles could feel himself tense, he could see the set in her eyes, the way she stood a little taller, even as uncharacteristic as she appeared to be, Lydia Martin was still Lydia Martin.

"But you know how I'll feel? I'll be devastated, and if you die.."

"I will literally go out of my freaking mind."

Stiles was really getting sick of this truth thing. He wanted to keep some secrets to himself. Lydia was a smart girl, she should have been able to read between the lines already, it was how Stiles assumed she found out about the werewolves. Allison practically gave her everything she needed to figure out what Jackson was, it wasn't all that hard now that he thought about it. She gave him a blank look.

"You see death doesn't happen to you Lydia, it happens to everyone around you. Okay? To all the people left standing at your funeral trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives now, without you in it."

He couldn't stop if he tried. He needed to show her, needed to prove to Lydia that anything she would do would just be in vain. She had no control over the situation, just like him. They were human, they were nothing in this fight. Jackson couldn't be saved. Neither could Erica or Boyd or even Allison who had lost her mind somewhere down the line. They were all trapped in this screwed up situation, powerless and hellbent on doing something to make it right. In trying to talk some sense into Lydia, Stiles found himself projecting all this feelings, all the emotions he bottled up tight, all his insecurities, the images of a younger Stiles at his mothers funeral, wondering how he was going to move passed that, he threw it all at Lydia, he didn't know what he would do if he lost her too, and he told her as much. She faltered a bit, he saw some tears swell in her green eyes again.

"-and look at my face, huh? Come on, you think this was actually meant to hurt me?"

He demanded, stepping closer, all his movements sharper than he could have dreamed. Lydia stepped back, naturally the reaction one would take to be bombarded by someone. Stiles blinked. Crap. He stepped back, shocked, clearly, it was all over his face. He never meant to say all of that, he didn't want it to go that far, he only wanted Lydia not to do something stupid, but the almost fear in her eyes, the fear he put there was almost sending her away all by itself.

"Oh.. I'm so sorry, I-"

"It's okay."

"I'll find him myself."

He finally sent her running, and all it took was Stiles to be Stiles.