Author's Note: I got this idea from all the 3B promos. I'd like to extend the story and include other side effects of Stiles, Scott, and Allison's sacrifice.

His hands ran over her hips, through her hair. Fingers traced her lips. Their noses touched. At first he kissed her lightly. Then it deepened. His tongue brushed against hers and she pressed herself as close to him as she could. She dragged her hand from the back of his neck to the hem of his shirt. She was just about to pull it up when she woke up.

Lydia sat up in bed. Her heart was pounding. Her legs were tangled up in her sheets and she was covered in a light sheen of sweat. She was actually breathing heavily.

All that for a dream about Stiles.

Even though no one was there to see her in the state she was in, even though no one could possibly know she felt embarrassed. Like in some way he had gotten the better of her. Lydia preferred to remain unruffled in everyone's eyes.

"This is not a big deal," she told herself out loud, throwing her heavier blankets to the side and fluffing her pillows.

"It was just a dream," she lay her head on her pillow and closed her eyes. "Dreams are just your brain processing random bits and pieces of your day into an odd compilation of images and sounds. Nothing to worry about."

A dusty floor.

Fingers raking across the surface.

Digging in.

Desperately trying to hold on.


A voice.


"HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME." A voice yelled. Lydia saw someone being dragged by their ankles by some unseen figure. He was shouted himself hoarse. He was so scared. He kicked and screamed but he couldn't loosen the figure's grip. He flipped onto his back and Lydia saw his face.

"Stiles," she whispered.

Lydia's eyes snapped open. That wasn't a dream it was a vision. Stiles was in trouble.

Hands shaking, Lydia snatched her phone off her bedside table and called him. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

"...hello," his voice was thick with sleep.

"Stiles?" Relief flooded her.

"Lydia?" he sounded concerned. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Home," she told him. "Are you-"

"Why are you calling this late?" she could tell he was scared. "Has something happened?"

"Stiles nothing is wrong with me!" she raised her voice trying to snap him out of it. "I'm calling because I'm worried about you."

There's a silence on the other end of the line. Stiles was never silent.


"I'm here," he said quietly.

"Are you home?" she asked.


"Has something happened? Is everything okay?" she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

"Nothing's happened," he told her.

"Then why do you sound like something happened?" she needed to know. What she'd seen had felt so real. And she knew he wasn't okay. He sounded just as shaken up as she was.

"It's stupid," he exhaled. She could practically see him looking down at his feet sheepishly and dragging a hand through his hair.

Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Tell me."

"I had a dream," he mumbled.

"What kind of dream?" she asked.

"Uh... a... umm, a normal dream, at first. Just your average run of the mill dream. And then it kinda got... bad."

"You were being dragged," Lydia could barely get the words out. "I couldn't see who was doing it. You were screaming. You were so scared."


"I'm coming over."

Twenty minutes later she was calling him from his doorstep. She didn't want to wake Sheriff Stilinski, even though the look on his face if saw a girl coming to see Stiles late at night would probably be priceless.

Stiles answered the door, phone pressed to his ear.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked, attempting a sarcastic tone but just sounding scared.

Lydia looked at him. There were dark circles under his eyes. He was still in his pajamas, low slung sweats and a soft grey shirt. He looked even more pale than usual which made his freckles stand out. He was sticking out his jaw, trying to look as unaffected, his mouth set in a hard line.

Lydia shivered even though she wore a sweater. Nothing about this seemed right.

"Can I come in?"

Stiles led Lydia through his dark house and into his room. It was just like she remembered it, slightly messy and covered in posters.

She sat down on his bed, tugging the sleeves of her sweater over her hands, nervously. She knew she had to say something. She had to explain why she was here and how she knew what he knew. But she didn't know how to start.

"I was sleeping- dreaming actually and I woke up and..." she trailed off, Stiles knelt at her feet, face full of concern.

"It's okay," his hand hovered near hers for a moment before he placed it on the bed beside her instead. "Did you go somewhere again? Did you hurt yourself?"

"No," she said. "I tried to go back to bed and I saw you. You were being dragged and you were so scared and I couldn't talk to you I couldn't help you."


"Is that what you saw?"

Stiles didn't say anything for a minute. He got off his knees and sat on the floor, looking at his hands for a minute.

"I saw you. You were reaching out to me. You weren't saying anything- It was like you couldn't say anything. And something grabbed me and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't get free. It just pulled me."


"I don't know," he said. "Into the dark."

"And then you got my phone call?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Thanks for that by the way. I wasn't that excited to see where that thing was taking me."

"Anytime," Lydia gave him a tight smile.

"Lydia how could we have the same dream?" he asked, looking up at her.

"I don't know," she answered. "Maybe it's part of my banshee powers."

Stiles put his head in his hands. Lydia slid off the bed and sat in front of him, their knees touching. She placed a hand on her shoulder.


"You see death Lydia," his voice was full of fear. "Your power is finding bodies. What if you're just getting better at it? What if you're just seeing it before it happens."


"What if that's how I die?" his breath was starting to come in gasps. "What if some thing drags me away and you just watch."

Lydia tried to grab his hand but he wrenched free of her grasp. He pulled his knees to his chest. The words flew out of his mouth.

"When do you think it'll happen? Just how ahead of the curve do you think you are? Do you think I'll die tomorrow? Or maybe next week."

"Stiles, it was just a dream."

"A dream you saw. Do you think it was a coincidence? No. This is magic. This is real. It's going to happen. I'm going to die. And there's nothing we can do."

It was worse than the locker room. Stiles was frantic. His eyes darted around the room searching for a way to escape. Lydia felt powerless.

"Stiles, you're having a panic attack."

"I know. I know what a panic attack feels like, Lydia." His hands were balled up into fists. He dug his nails into his hands.

Lydia took his face into her hands but Stiles wrenched it out.

"Lydia, I'm freaking dying. You can't kiss this and make it better." His breathing was more labored now. Lydia was afraid he was going to pass out.

She slammed her hand into his chest and pushed him against the foot of his bed. She did her best to keep her voice steady.

"Stiles Stilinski, I am your anchor."

He shut up, eyes intently focused on her face. She pressed on, hoping she could distract him long enough for his breathing to regulate.

"It makes perfect sense that we had the same dream. But it doesn't mean it's anything more than that. I called you because I was worried that it was happening but it wasn't real."

"And if it is?" he asked. He was putting on a brave face again. Just like he had at the door. Like he didn't want her to know how terrifying this was for him.

"I won't let it happen. I kept you alive and in this world before and I won't let anything take you out of it."

Stiles grabbed her and pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her head against his chest. They stayed that way for a while. Her listening to the sound of his heartbeat as it returned to normal and him stroking her hair.