Archive of Our Own

Lydia lurches forward in bed and is only cognizant during the last few seconds of her screaming.

Her throat is raw as she catches her breath, holding on to remnants of her vision as much as she can. They need to go.

The pillows muffle Stiles' anguished cry. She doesn't think he realizes he does this almost every time this happens. She struggles to find her patience by rubbing the back of his neck, urging him to get up.

He pushes himself up quickly, like ripping a band-aid off. His eyes are mostly shut, but he's listening when she tells him where they're going.

The passenger seat of Stiles' Jeep is so familiar that she considers it the only living remnant of home.

She watches the moonlight reflected off his skin, too pale these days and his eyes are sunken in. He hasn't gotten much sleep, but neither has she.

"The bay?" he asks a second time.

"Yeah," she says, patient in repeating her answer, impatient to get there.

He glances over on occasion, but this time she's in control of herself – she's just anxious, feeling a heavy weight in her stomach. This isn't good.

Something strange happened here reverberates through her mind as she stands on the shore. Clouds shadow the moon and her slip-ons are getting soaked. Goosebumps travel up her legs and skitter across her stomach and chest and arms.

"There's nothing here," Stiles says slowly, quietly.

Her tongue is stuck to the roof of her mouth. No.

There's something. Something happened here.

They stay for over two hours, searching, listening, waiting – a whisper, blood, a body, an echo. But nothing.

They get back in Stiles' Jeep and he pulls out his high school lacrosse sweatshirt for her to put on. She's shaking.

They don't realize the generator is on until they get back.

"It's been on for four hours," Stiles says tiredly. "We'll figure it out tomorrow."

She showers with the curtain drawn tightly shut to warm up whilst Stiles is brushing his teeth again.

"May'e i' didn' ha'en yet," Stiles garbles around his toothbrush.

"It did," she insists. "I know the difference."

He spits. "Okay," he says clearly.

She shuts off the water and grabs her towel off the rack. She makes sure the towel is secure around herself before pulling back the curtain.

He looks at her and after a moment suggests, "Maybe it happened decades before."

She wordlessly dashes out of the bathroom, water dripping a little behind her as she makes her way through the narrow hallway to the modest kitchen and dining room. There's a large map of California on the wall behind the dining table, marked with pins of varying colors.

Black pins were past events, things that couldn't be changed. They utilized public records and Stiles' father's access to police databases. Her towel loosens and she holds it up with one hand to her chest as she scans the map with her other hand. The towel slips down her back.

Her finger hovers over the bay and there's nothing there.

She doesn't realize Stiles is near until his arm comes around her back, his hand resting on her shoulder, moving up and down her arm slowly. He wordlessly grabs a red pin from the nearby bowl and sticks it in.

Red is for future mystery.

After they sleep for a few more hours, Stiles texts Scott. Lydia has a full day of clients – mostly townsfolk coming for regular psychic readings and the occasional tourist looking for a laugh – so they can only see him after six. Apparently there was a countywide power surge last night – most of the surrounding area is without power.

In the meantime, Stiles goes through the motions as her assistant and draws the curtains on every hallway in their home, blocking every zone except the path from the front door, to the right, and into the small, but cozy studio in which Lydia does her work.

Stiles pulls out his fold-up desk from the closet and plops it in the middle of the foyer. He has to grab his laptop from their room, but Lydia's schedule is synced to his phone and they know her first appointment isn't for another twenty minutes, plus this particular client is always fifteen minutes late, so they've adjusted the day accordingly.

Lydia is adjusting the blinds so the sun can shine through. She's already pulled out the tarot cards and crystal ball. The former can be a helpful trigger. The latter is just for show.

Lydia smiles at him gratefully when he enters with coffee and takes a careful sip of her drink, humming in approval at the taste of added cinnamon. He smiles at her briefly, fondly, before drinking from his own mug.

"How much time did you allot for lunch?"

"An hour."

"Want to try the new salad place that opened up in that shopping center next to the fitness studio? It's supposed to be good."

"As long as I can get a lot of bacon in it, then I'm down. Also I need like, a loaf of bread to fill the rest of my stomach."

She rolls her eyes. "Sure, Stiles."

They drink their coffee in silence until the doorbell rings at nine o'clock.

They stare at each other in surprise.

"Lori is the first client of the day, she's always late," Lydia hisses, grabbing his coffee.

"No – I can drink that," he complains.

"Get the door!"

Stiles groans and she rolls her eyes again watching him stomp to the door. She throws back the rest of her drink and puts his mug on the mantel. As soon as the door opens, Stiles yells, "It's Melissa, so give me back my coffee!"

Lydia blinks in surprise and ignores his demand, instead coming over to the foyer to greet her. Whatever smile is on her face fades when she sees Melissa's pinched expression.

"There's a body," Melissa says.

Stiles looks like he's going to be sick, but Lydia can't stop staring at the man's body, flies still crawling out of every orifice.

"We found him in the basement of the high school," Melissa says, curling a piece of hair behind her ear. She's tired from working overnight. "Well, Scott did. He says you saw something."

Lydia nods. "Something happened by the bay."

"We found remnants of mud under his shoes. They're identifying where, but my guess is he was moved from the bay to the school."

Stiles' face is scrunched into a grimace. Lydia purses her mouth.

"Who is he?" Lydia asks.

"William Barrow."

"Wait – the Shrapnel Bomber?" Stiles clarifies. "I thought he was in Eichen House?"

"He was – they're reviewing security footage to see how the hell he got out, especially since he was scheduled to come into surgery today, but with the power surge – I have no idea if they were affected or not."

"What's with the flies?" Stiles asks.

"I told your dad, but flies from the stomach isn't likely. Maggots, yes, but not the stomach. No idea," Melissa insists.

"Where's Scott?" Stiles asks.

"Back at the animal clinic."

"Cancel the rest of my morning appointments," Lydia murmurs to Stiles.

Deaton greets them in the back entrance and says, "Scott is sleeping. Take a seat and I'll get him."

Stiles takes a step to follow Deaton as Lydia sits down, but stays where he is, incapable of going further. He stands restlessly, his hands jittering by his sides. Eventually, Lydia stands up and stops close to his side. His hands stop moving.

Scott comes in a minute later, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He smiles at them tiredly, sadly. "I scoured the bay for hours, eventually caught a trail," Scott immediately says, forgoing a greeting. "Followed it to the school. I thought I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye, but there was nothing there."

"Nothing?" Stiles prompts.

"Honestly, couldn't get the best scent after a while. I only found him because of the mud tracks."

Stiles sighs, bringing his hands to his face. "It hasn't even been two months," he mutters.

"Stiles," Scott says with a heartbroken expression.

"We knew the consequences of awakening the Nemeton," Deaton says with a grim expression.

"Not all of them, obviously," Stiles snaps.

Scott looks down and Lydia tries to swallow past the lump in her throat.

"I'm cancelling all of your appointments – we're going to the school," Stiles says abruptly, taking out his phone and heading outside.

The front door jingles. "Excuse me, I have a client," Deaton says, leaving them alone.

Lydia forces herself to look at Scott, who looks devastated. "We'll figure it out," Lydia promises. "How are you doing?"

Scott shrugs his shoulders, takes a deep breath. "Getting along day by day. Working here helps," he answers truthfully. "Keeping the door shut is…really hard. How are you guys doing?"

She sighs. "Okay. Finished my third year online. I'm applying to a PhD program at Stamford."

"That's great – you think you can handle that and your clients?"

She gives him a flat look. "Child's play."

He smiles a little. "Right. So…Stiles?" The smile quickly leaves his face.

"He still has nightmares, but not as much. Are you guys still not really speaking?"

"We're texting, but it's hard. We're all grieving. I keep trying to tell him that it wasn't his fault – it wasn't anyone's, but he won't hear it."

She shuts her eyes and wishes she slept for a few more hours.

"I trust you to take care of him," Scott says, his sweet brown eyes so earnest it makes her heart ache. "We'll eventually come back together."

Her eyes sting when she says, "You're overdue for a reading. Want to come over for dinner? Stiles is making eggs."

Scott hesitates for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, okay. His eggs are great."

Lydia smiles.

Stiles is shaky as he drives them to the school, but Lydia doesn't comment on it. She figures he might've had a bad moment, unable to recognize reality from dream. She moves her hand and dances her fingertips against the back of his hand on the gearshift. At red lights, he holds her hand.

They're familiar with sneaking into active crime scenes. She can hear the lapping of the water against the shore and if she shuts her eyes and breathes, she can smell the water at low tide. The body wasn't brought here – Barrow managed to travel over ten miles with an open wound in his stomach. How?

She thinks of living flies in his stomach and shudders.

"I've invited Scott over for dinner," she tells Stiles. "I'm going to do a tarot reading too."

He swallows and clenches his jaw. "Okay. Eggs still good?"

She blinks in surprise. "He's looking forward to it."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I have to buy more, then. He eats enough for two."

He drops her off at their home. She puts away Stiles' desk and takes his laptop into the kitchen. The clock reads half past one, but she's not hungry. She checks herself in the mirror across the room and forces herself to eat a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter.

Lydia doesn't know why Stiles punishes himself by distancing from Scott when he's living with her in a ranch home purchased with money tainted by death.

She sighs, taking the half finished banana and chucking it into the trash with unnecessary force.

She spends the rest of the afternoon completing assignments for school while Stiles sleeps in their bedroom. Just when she considers waking him up, he enters the kitchen, looking like he didn’t rest at all.

"No luck?" she asks.

"Think I dozed. I don't know," he admits, plopping himself on the couch, tilting his head back and sighing.

She rests her head against his shoulder. She shuts her eyes when she feels his mouth press gently onto her head.

"Maybe you should talk to Melissa. Maybe it's not strictly supernatural," she suggests.

He exhales sharply. "Doubt it."

"Want me to cook?"

"No, I got it. Earn that degree," he says, patting her knee before hoisting himself up with a groan.

She watches him stretch, the muscles of his back shifting under his shirt and she tries not to think about the Suit of Cups that are noticeably showing up in her tarot card self-readings.

She lights candles in her study and takes deep breaths. She can smell Stiles making his specialty. She leaves to let the incense and calmness settle and helps Stiles in the kitchen.

"Just put the bagels in the toaster," Stiles says, pointing to the toaster with his large plastic spoon. He's almost done, just mixing the eggbeaters in with the onions, mushrooms, and potatoes. He says he's gotten used to working with eggbeaters while living with his dad.

Scott rings the doorbell even though he has his own key. The air between Scott and Stiles is timid, but Scott pulls out lox from the plastic bag he brings in and it's almost okay, at least until they sit at the kitchen table and the fourth seat is so painfully empty.

They wash their hands after dinner and she has Scott take off his shoes outside the study. Stiles stands by the doorway, waiting for Lydia to read the atmosphere. She used to need to scream to filter the noise, but now she can simply bow her head and –

"You can come in, Stiles," Lydia says, feeling herself begin to dissociate.

Stiles sides in a chair by the corner while Lydia takes her usual seat – an ornate chair that she picked out with Allison months ago along with a mahogany table and a comfortable oak chair for Scott.

When she pulls out her deck, Scott's gaze immediately falls to it. "That's new."

"I needed a clean slate," Lydia says.

He nods in understanding. The last time she completed a tarot reading with her old deck, it wasn't something that could be changed.

She hands the deck to Scott without instruction and he shuffles. Once he's done, he cuts the deck, his brow furrowed as he wordlessly asks his question: What messages do you have for me today?

It's nice that Scott is familiar with everything, so she doesn't have to tell him where each of the ten cards go on the Celtic Cross spread.

She's not surprised when she sees Judgment as the first card – they're all adjusting and need to find a new balance emotionally. Nor is she surprised when she flips the challenge card and sees Death. An end of an era, the end of a life. She gazes at Scott and Stiles, the distance between them beyond physical, and agrees.

There is the Hanged Man to represent the past. While it's a more literal interpretation of the card – sacrificing for a cause, for wisdom, the Nemeton – it's appropriate.

What is unexpected is the Two of Swords, the potential that peace isn't going to last and that a problem hasn't been solved. The Three of Wands – hinting that a dream can be made real. A reversed Four of Wands – a warning of a finished project that isn't actually finished. A reversed Wheel of Fortune – bad luck, negative external forces. The Emperor – giving him permission to be in command. His outcome is Justice. Do what's necessary, no matter how hard.

It was the same outcome as before.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and she wants to read Stiles, but the deck and the room are too much, they need to be wiped clean for any sort of accuracy. She swallows and forces herself to breathe. Scott reaches across the table and takes Lydia's hands.

"We'll figure it out," Scott promises, his eyes flashing and she can feel her racing heart start to slow.

Tears leak from her eyes as she nods.

Stiles moves from the corner of the room towards them, his stance surprisingly calm. "I'll get the board out," Stiles says. "And I'll definitely have to buy more red yarn…" He claps Scott on the shoulder. "Come over Friday, we usually order in."

She smiles after him fondly, but stops once she catches Scott's knowing gaze.

Scott collects the cards and puts them together and shuffles them again. When he hands it back to her, the first card she pulls from the top is upright Strength. She smiles at him with fresh tears in her eyes, which she hides by hugging him.

"We'll be okay," he promises.

She swallows and doesn't say anything.

Lydia has associations with tarot cards.

Scott has always been Strength, bringing together the wildness of his magic with the kindness of his soul and being the best person he can be. He's the King of Cups, the heart and leader of their broken pack.

Allison was Temperance, reconciling her upbringing of killing the abnormal while falling in love with a witch doctor. She faced dichotomies and overcame them and was even stronger for it. She was the Queen of Wands, inspiring and getting things done.

Stiles is her Knight of Swords, the problem-solver, the rapid thinker, sharp mind and sharp tongue. She always draws this card whenever she thinks of him, still unsure as to why she hasn't found an association to a Major Arcana card for him.

And she feels a connection to the Queen of Swords, using her knowledge and abilities to help people. Lately she's been feeling the draw to the Moon, but she's frightened of it, still unable to come to terms with what she can do and what she can't do.

It's inevitable with their sleeping arrangements that there are going to be instances where she will wake up being held by him, but what's slowly becoming inevitable on top of it is the swell of emotions she feels in her chest.

This isn't supposed to happen. Stiles is a friend, a sympathetic soul, a mind that matches hers.

She reaches under her pillow for her deck and shuffles as quietly as she can. The first card is the Seven of Cups. She almost snorts. It's been a steady increase in this suit.

She can't focus on what she wants – she's still grieving and now there's something happening again. There is no time to be selfish and no time to work through whatever emotional crisis she's being forced to have; it's not appropriate and there are more important things.

She slips the deck under her pillow and falls back to sleep, lured by the steady beat of Stiles' heart.

Her dream is a vision, but not one of death, so she only wakes up suddenly, her face resting against Stiles' chest. She tries to be careful getting up, but his eyes blink open as soon as she moves.

"What did you see?" he asks, his eyes bright.

Her heart thumps in her chest. "Foxes."

It's not hard to pin down new people in town, especially in the last few years as the increase in supernatural has triggered a mass exodus.

Scott arrives at their house carrying homemade empanadas.

"To welcome them to Beacon Hills," Scott says, at Lydia quizzical stare.

"Yes, let's make more weird magical people here comfortable," Stiles responds sarcastically, jangling his car keys in his hands.

"I got a bottle of wine and some wine charms I thought were darling from the both of us," Lydia says, brushing past him to get to his car.

"You can take one," Scott tells Stiles.

"Oh, come on, you can't expect me to be satisfied with one of Mama McCall's famous empanadas."

"I have extras at home."

Stiles pauses before getting into the Jeep.

"My mom wants to see you," Scott adds softly.

Lydia watches them and holds her breath.

Stiles swallows. "Uh, okay, yeah."

Lydia exhales and tries to hide her smile.

The Yukimuras are a kind, polite family, but they are not without their reasons for coming to this broken town.

"We haven't seen kitsune here," Stiles says pointedly. He hasn’t even touched the tea offered.

"That's what you think," Mrs. Yukimura says with a quirk of her eyebrow. Lydia can make out a shadow of her true self, an aura, but she does a near perfect job of masking it. Her daughter Kira, on the other hand, is almost overshadowed by her true self. Scott notices Kira; Stiles doesn't see anything.

"Certainly not in the last few years," Lydia clarifies, pointedly eyeing Mrs. Yukimura and Kira.

"Well, we can assure you that we were simply drawn here. It's rather comforting to be around the abnormal, wouldn't you agree?" Mrs. Yukimura says lightly, staring at Lydia.

"Well, we still have a lot of unpacking to do, so, please excuse us. Kira, would you mind showing our gracious greeters to the door?" Mr. Yukimura says kindly. He's human.

Without much choice, they thank the Yukimuras for the tea and are escorted out by their only daughter.

"You guys seem nice. I mean, I just found out about all…this…" Kira says, gesturing around her.

"This town is dangerous. It attracts dark things," Scott warns.

"I know. I think my parents – really my mom, is here for a reason. And not just because it's like a home for the supernatural, or whatever this is all called," Kira admits quietly.

"We run a shop on Mulberry Street," Lydia says, nodding at Stiles. "You should come by next week. I have an opening at three on Wednesday."

Kira smiles sheepishly. "I don't know if I can afford it – I'm just starting community college –"

"Free consultation," Lydia interrupts her with a smile.

Kira's smile transforms into a grateful one. "I'll see you next week, then."

It seems like Stiles sleeps, but the bags under his eyes get worse. As does his mood and irritability, snapping at her more than once. If she had done a reading on him, she's sure the Nine of Swords would've popped up somewhere, noting his insomnia and the way he seems unable to believe the waking world is real.

She tries to keep track of his symptoms and steadfastly ignores what she finds, prevent conclusions from taking shape.

She thinks of Stiles and instead of drawing the Knight of Swords, she draws the Seven of Swords. A warning of theft. She tries not to assume the worst, a repeat of the past.

As soon as Kira walks inside, the nearest light bulbs in the vicinity of the foyer shatter.

Stiles groans. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm so sorry," Kira apologies with a look of pure regret. "It's been happening a lot, especially coming here."

"So you're a thunder kitsune," Lydia states rather than asks, confirming hours of research.

"Yeah," Kira sighs. "I can help you clean up?"

"That won't be necessary. Stiles can do it," Lydia says, shooting Stiles a charming smile.

Stiles scowls, unmoved. Lydia ignores him and leads Kira into her studio. She pauses when they're inside.

"You said that's been happening a lot. To what extent? How severe?" Lydia inquires.

"Well…" Kira starts, wincing. "I kind of…caused the power surge last week."

The hair on Lydia's arms stand up. Suddenly she can feel something akin to static along her skin.

"You."

Kira nods and bites her bottom lip. "Yeah," she admits with a grimace. "That was my first time ever doing anything like that and it was a total accident."

"Tell me everything."

"So, she was driving by Eichen House at midnight, saw another car coming toward her, she reacted like Pikachu, and caused the power surge," Stiles sums up, tossing half his pizza slice onto his plate. Lydia hasn't touched any of the food they ordered.

"Does she remember anything about the car? Maybe that wasn't a coincidence," Scott suggests.

"That was a 'me' question, bravo," Stiles says with a wink.

"She said it was a Mazda. She wasn't sure if the car was gray or blue," Lydia says quietly.

Stiles' face shutters into an emotionless expression.

"Like Allison's car?" Scott asks, the pain flashing briefly across his face.

Lydia shrugs, but says, "Yeah."

"So, what happened?" Stiles asks quickly, brow furrowed. "Did Kira hit the car or not?"

"She says she didn't, but she passed out right afterwards. Her mom found her and took her home and got the car towed in the morning. She burned the battery and engine."

"What about the other driver? You don't just survive that kind of electric shock right at ground zero," Stiles insists.

"She said nobody was in the other car. When she went back to check later that day, the car was moved. No sign of it."

"Definitely not a coincidence," Scott sighs.

"There's not enough information to try to piece everything," Lydia says. "What was the point of triggering Kira to release her power?"

"Well, with the power surge we had, it definitely would've made it a lot easier to get Barrow out of Eichen House. Lax security and all. And he wasn't in his usual high security wing. He was in the infirmary," Stiles thinks out loud.

"But what's the point?" Lydia insists.

They don't have an answer.

On the night of the new moon, Lydia wakes up to gasping from Stiles' side of the bed.

"Stiles?" she asks sleepily, reaching over to flip the switch of her bedside lamp. Once it's on, her blood runs cold when she sees him reach under his back and pull out a Chinese ring dagger. "Stiles," she mouths in shock.

"I-I don't…I don't know…" Stiles stutters, dropping the knife. The clatter it makes shatters her eardrums.

Stiles is shaking and staring out into nothing. Lydia gets out of bed and nearly falls to her knees, her legs trembling so much. She walks around to the other side of the bed and picks up the dagger, her finger immediately feeling inside the ring, the marring of A.A. causing her to shudder and drop the dagger to the floor.

"We need cameras," Lydia says to Stiles' dad after he hands her a mug of tea. She takes a sip. "I don't know how he got that dagger, but clearly someone put it there, or he brought it home and is sleepwalking," she continues.

Stiles' dad sighs, rubbing his face with a hand. "Alright. I can do that after my shift at five. Where is he now?"

"With Scott, trying to find Chris to see if one of Allison's daggers are missing. It may not be hers."

"You believe it is," he concludes.

She curls her hand resting on her thigh into a fist. She nods.

"Where do you want it to record? Your office?"

"The basement would be better, if you don't mind."

"Sure. You should also be able to access a live feed on your phone."

Lydia sighs. "Thank you."

They drink in silence for a minute.

"How's the business?"

Lydia nods. "It's good. We're busy. Thank you for the referrals, by the way."

He smiles briefly. "And Stiles?"

"Besides the nightmares and insomnia and post-traumatic stress? Fine." Lydia places her mug on his desk. "He won't talk about it."

"I just don't understand why he thinks he had something to do with Allison's death," his dad says, exasperated.

Lydia shrugs her shoulders. "The only thing he ever said was something happened when they were submerged. When they were at the Nemeton. He won't talk to Scott and he won't talk to me." She swallows, looks down at her hands. "We haven't really been talking at all, to be honest," she reveals.

She hears his chair scrape against the floor as he stands up, making his way over to her. He places a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It takes time to grieve. You'll be okay."

She bites her bottom lip and nods.

"He, uh…he's not…" he starts, before stopping himself from speaking.

She squeezes her fingers together. "No. He made me dump everything down the sink the first day he came home."

He nods in relief and her throat closes. Before she can say anything else, she gets a call from Scott.

"Sorry, I have to take this," she says.

"I'm here if you need anything that I can do," he promises.

She gives him a parting smile before taking the call and leaving his office. "Anything?" she asks in lieu of a greeting.

"Chris said he doesn't have the daggers. He said he gave them to Isaac," Scott says, clearing his throat.

She winces in sympathy. While Scott and Allison were broken up for a few months before her death, it was obvious that Isaac was starting to care about Allison in a more than friendly way.

"Okay, then let's talk to Isaac. He's hiding somewhere," Lydia reasons.

"We're on our way to get you. I think he's a couple of hours away, but I'll be able to narrow him down once we're out of Beacon Hills," Scott says.

She heads outside with a gnawing feeling in her gut.

It's odd being regulated to the backseat, but she supposes it makes it easier for Stiles to ask about his dad without looking at her.

As soon as they pass the town's limits, the air shifts and it becomes that much more obvious how abnormal they really are.

Stiles rubs the back of his neck.

Scott's shoulders hunch and he mutters under his breath – a tracking spell, but not one she's familiar with.

"You really think he's hiding himself?" Stiles asks. "Why? I know he wanted to be left alone, but…"

"Stop the car!" Scott suddenly demands.

Stiles furrows his brow in confusion, but pulls over to the side of the road. "What? Did you lose him?"

"No, he's –"

There's a sharp knock on Scott's window. They whip their heads to find Isaac, wiggling his fingers in greeting.

Stiles rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath as Scott quickly lowers his window down. "Isaac! What are you doing here?"

"Coming to find you, obviously," Isaac answers flatly. Lydia sneaks a glance at Stiles, who already looks fed up with Isaac even though they haven't been speaking to him for more than twenty seconds. "Something happened last night," Isaac continues, his tone serious.

"Something happened last night with us too," Scott says, eyes wide with concern. "What happened?"

Isaac swallows and shakes his head, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. "I was attacked last night. I don't know what they were. I couldn't see much but they were black shadows. With glowing eyes."

Lydia's eyes widen, quickly taking in his face, which is paler than usual, but he otherwise seems unharmed.

"I wasn't hurt. Just hypothermic. I had to break my fingers to trigger my magic to start working," Isaac says to Lydia.

"…What the fuck?" Stiles says, flabbergasted.

"They did leave a mark, though. Behind my ear." Isaac leans his head closer to Scott, allowing him to pull his ear back and see the mark carved into his skin.

"What is that?" Scott asks. "Lydia, look at this."

Lydia leans forward in between Scott and Stiles, using the back of Scott's seat to balance herself as she stares at what looks like a backwards number five. "I have no idea."

She looks to Stiles, who narrows his eyes at the mark, but shrugs. "No clue," he says, his hands on the wheel tightening.

When she sits back down, her hand rubs against Stiles' tense arm. He briefly glances back at her and gives him a small, but grim smile.

"You know, you can come live with me at my mom's house if you want."

"You're not living with Stiles and Lydia anymore?" Isaac asks, eyeing Lydia in the back.

Scott looks down and Lydia saves everyone from the growing awkward silence with, "Chris said that he gave you Allison's Chinese ring daggers after she died."

Isaac grimaces and shifts on his feet. "No, I don't have them anymore."

"Why not? What did you do with them?" Stiles asks.

Isaac swallows. "I buried them with her. They were her favorite. I only kept one." He unbuttons his coat and reaches inside, pulling out the dagger.

Lydia can't breathe.

"…what's wrong?" Isaac asks slowly.

The car is silent.

"Stiles woke up this morning with one of them," Lydia says quietly.

Suddenly, all three boys are angry; Isaac is not nearly as powerful as Scott is, but Isaac is giving Scott a run for his money with the rage radiating off of him.

"Someone is screwing with us," Scott growls.

Isaac nearly rips the car door open and scares Lydia half to death, immediately sliding over. "Let's go," Isaac orders, eyes glowing gold.

Stiles' tires screech on the pavement as he turns around and makes his way back to Beacon Hills.

Lydia hasn't been to Allison's grave since the funeral and didn't think she'd be back so soon.

The ground is still relatively fresh, but doesn't appear to be disturbed in any way. Still, there's something unsettling about being here. She closes her eyes and tries to ground herself, reaching out to find something, anything for a clue, but there's nothing.

"I can't sense anything," Scott sighs.

"Me neither," Isaac adds, frowning.

"Maybe someone's being an asshole and pulling a trick," Stiles says slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"The twins," Isaac figures immediately. Stiles nods.

"I don't know, guys, they were jerks, but…" Scott says uncertainly.

"They ripped Boyd's magic away," Stiles states flatly.

They all turn to look at her. She curls her hands into fists by her sides.

"I'll call Aiden," she says, gritting her teeth.

The phone only rings one time before Aiden picks up with a quick, "Did it happen to you too?"

Lydia furrows her brow, looking over at Stiles, who is wringing his hands and jiggling his legs up and down. "Did what happen…?" she asks, putting the phone on speaker. She hushes Stiles with a finger.

"The fucking…black, shadowy ninjas! We were attacked last night," Aiden stutters, unnerved. "We don't know how they got in – we have security measures in place."

Stiles' eyes widen in surprise.

Lydia swallows. "So was Isaac," she admits. "Do you guys have marks behind your ears?"

"I don't – Ethan, get over here, turn around – no…yeah, shit, it looks like a backwards five…what the fuck, do I? …What the fuck does this mean, Lydia?"

"We don't know yet. It might have to do with the power surge from a few weeks ago."

"I knew something was off that night," she can hear Ethan say faintly in the background.

"What about you? Did they get to you?" Aiden asks.

"No. Not me or Scott."

"Well defense the fuck up tonight. They might come for you. We're just a few hours north of you, we can –"

"That won't be necessary," Lydia interrupts firmly. "We can handle it. Besides, there's the notable fact that three of you have faced them and you're all alive."

"Yeah, until they find something they don't like."

"We'll keep in touch."

"Lydia –"

"Goodbye, Aiden," she says, hanging up before he can say another word.

She catches Stiles amused smile for a moment before he says, "I'll make your favorite tonight."

She raises an eyebrow. "Sushi?"

His shoulders drop. "Tortellini," he counters.

She smiles. "That'll do."

"I have to get the good sauce though – I think we ran out," he says, pulling out his keys from his pocket.

"Get extra – we're inviting Isaac over," she tells him.

She tries not to laugh as he groans nonstop from the couch all the way to the front door.

Scott and Isaac return to the house from meeting with Deaton with a case of beer.

She lets Isaac haul the beer in, but grabs Scott's arm before he can pass through the foyer. She raises an eyebrow.

"I asked him, he said he was okay," Scott says quietly. "I'll take the extras with me."

"It's either that or dumping it in the sink and I don't want my house smelling like a frat house."

Scott smiles and takes her hand from his arm.

"You know you can always move back in. This is still your home," she tells him.

Scott's smile broadens as he leads her into the kitchen, looking around. "I love this house," he says, "But I haven't thought of it as mine in a while. Which is okay," he adds when her expression falls. "I just think it suits you and Stiles."

Right on cue, Stiles comes through the front door and says, "Honey, I'm home."

She tries not to blush, but judging by Scott's look, she fails.

They don't eat dinner for a few hours after sunset, until Scott and Isaac have finished their barriers. Scott beams in triumph, confident that it will hold and strengthen as the moon goes through its cycle. Isaac starts to twist off beer caps.

"Let's figure out how to kill these assholes," he says, before chugging.

Lydia looks to Stiles, who is drumming his fingers against the bottle. He catches her gaze and he gives her a crooked smile, holding his beer out.

She ignores her face getting warm and clinks her bottle with his.

That night, after she goes through a long skincare routine involving a clarifying face mask, she enters their shared room and finds Stiles staring at one of her tarot cards.

Once he notices her, he flips it around and reveals the Magician.

The corner of her mouth twitches.

Lydia hasn't spoken to Allison's dad since the funeral, but the next morning, she calls him to let him know about the shadows.

Judging by the subsequent silence, she's convinced he knows something.

"We need to consolidate today," Lydia states after a moment, her grip on her phone tightening.

"I have business. It can't wait. We'll meet tomorrow at four."

The bathroom door slams and she winces. Stiles' mood has been getting worse.

She quickly ends her call with Chris and leaves the kitchen, heading towards their bedroom. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, counting his fingers.

He suddenly looks up and instead of the expected hostility, she finds desperation. She crosses the room and sits down next to him, their bodies pressing from her shoulder to her hip. His hands start to tremble.

She reaches across his lap with her left hand and steadies his hands. He inhales shakily and rests his cheek against the crown of her head. She squeezes his hands and forces herself to breathe.

She drives him to the hospital and when she parks in front of the entrance, she says, "Just focus on getting better. I'll visit you tomorrow."

Stiles swallows and nods, looking down at his hands. He's counting again.

She feels like she failed him. They were supposed to recover together, but she doesn't know when she lost track of him.

"Lydia."

She stares at him. His mouth is set in grim determination.

"If anything, you've been keeping me from falling over the edge," he says. "I'm sorry that you have to put up with me."

Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth, wanting to reassure him, wanting to smack him, forgive him, kiss him – instead she leans forward across the gearshift and kisses his jaw. Before she can pull back, he places a hand on the back of her neck, turning his head to kiss her forehead.

By the time he leaves her and enters the hospital, she tries to wipe her tears before they can roll down her cheeks as she drives home.

"He's sedated. Hopefully he can get some much needed rest," Melissa calls Lydia two hours later, presumably during her break. "I'm thinking sleep deprivation."

Lydia bites her bottom lip. "Yeah, okay."

There's a painful silence and Lydia doesn't want to go there, doesn't want to entertain the sickening thought of Stiles deteriorating like his mother did.

"I'm planning on visiting tomorrow."

Melissa sighs. "Sounds good. Do you want Scott to stay over in the meantime?"

"That's okay. I'm going to be seeing him now, actually."

"Remind him to pick me up some dinner."

"I will. Thanks, Melissa. I really appreciate it."

"Of course, hun. Take care of yourself."

"You too." Lydia hangs up and inhales shakily, suddenly and sharply missing her mom.

But she left, along with so many others who couldn't stand Beacon Hills. Sometimes she wonders why she even bothers.

(She barely sleeps – she doesn't know when she became that person incapable of sleeping in an empty bed.)

Lydia, Scott, and Isaac head toward the Argents' home in the afternoon.

She wants to scream when she sits in the living room.

When Chris sits down and joins them, he shows them a broken mask that causes Isaac's eyes to flash in obvious recognition.

"I've seen them before. Nothing can stop them in their search," Chris says as he concludes his story.

"What were – are – they looking for?" Scott asks.

Chris' brow furrows. "They called it nogitsune."

It hits her. "Japanese – it's kanji, the mark behind Isaac's and the twins' ears," Lydia blurts.

"The Yukimuras," Scott adds, already getting to his feet.

Lydia quickly pulls up Kira's contact information and calls her, standing up and holding out a hand as a wordless gesture to wait.

"Hi, Lydia! How are you?"

"How familiar are you with Japanese?" Lydia asks urgently.

"Uh…I'm…okay? I can carry a conversation in it, but honestly, I need a lot more practice," Kira responds, confused. "Why, do you need something translated?"

"A kanji, yes."

"Well, there is a chance I may recognize it, but my mom is your best bet."

"Is it possible we can meet right now? It's important."

"I'm on my way home now from class – you can meet me?"

"See you soon." Lydia hangs up.

"I'll drive," Chris offers.

Chris pulls into the Yukimura driveway at the same time Kira does.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, her eyes wide with concern.

"Do you know what this means?" Isaac demands, turning his head and pointing at the mark in his skin.

Kira blinks in surprise before stepping forward, her eyes narrowing as she stares at the mark. "You're in luck. I actually do know what it means. It can mean snake or self, depending on the context."

Lydia whips out her phone and checks online, confirming Kira's translation. Self.

"Self," Scott repeats.

"Kira, what are you –" Mrs. Yukimura stops short, noticing that Kira isn't alone.

"I think it's time for some honesty," Chris says lightly.

Mrs. Yukimura's grim expression sends a chill down Lydia's spine.

Mrs. Yukimura serves them tea, unwilling to speak until everyone has a cup in hand. When she hands Lydia a cup, their fingers brush and she hears Japanese over a speaker, tastes blood in her mouth. Death.

Mrs. Yukimura's eyes are cold as she recounts her experience with a nogitsune, how she called for it out of revenge and hatred and grief during a time when chaos was all she knew and all she wanted was for the chaos that was consuming her to consume everything that ever hurt her.

Kira holds her mother's hand and doesn't say a word, but Lydia can tell she's in shock.

"Once we trapped it, we buried it under the Nemeton. It seems it was awoken and the nogitsune was therefore set free." For a moment, her eyes glow. "Now I believe it's your turn."

"Wait, but if this nogitsune is free, then it needs a host, right? Like when you first called it – it had to take a body."

"I will find the host in time. That is what the oni have been doing," Mrs. Yukimura states, nodding at Isaac.

Lydia looks out the window and notes with a dawning realization that the sun is setting. They only have minutes, at the most.

"It's easier not to fight back," Mrs. Yukimura says, narrowing her eyes. "Where is your other friend? The human?"

"In the hospital – he hasn't been getting enough sleep. We all haven't, really," Scott admits.

"Was he a sacrifice for the Nemeton?"

"Yeah, him, me, and, uh – Allison. She's…she didn't…"

"I'm sorry for your loss."

The sun sets and the oni appear.

"Don't fight," she reminds them again, pointedly looking at Isaac, who seems like he'd rather do just that.

Before she can blink, an oni is standing in front of her. Even if she wanted to move, to fight, she's incapable.

The oni grabs her face and immediately feels cold as it searches through her. Her body is paralyzed and it lasts for hours until it drops her and she curls into herself, shivering violently.

Distantly she can make out the crack of bones and Scott screaming. Footsteps increase in volume until they come to a stop. Isaac forces a hand past the cross of her arms to rest against her heart, urging heat into her body.

Eventually, she sighs and her limbs relax.

"I got it, Isaac, that was really good," Scott says, pulling Isaac's off her. "Are you alright?" Scott asks, a hand on the pulse point of her neck and heat zips through her bloodstream.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she says, shakily sitting up. Isaac is sitting on the floor, legs spread out as he pants. "Thanks, Isaac."

Isaac nods.

Lydia cranes her head to look at the Yukimuras, who are standing a safe distance away, but seem relaxed.

"We're not the hosts."

"There is still one more of your party to check."

Scott has always been protective of Stiles, especially once delving into this paranormal world – he would sacrifice himself at the blink of an eye.

So would Lydia – she's put herself in danger more than enough times. But there came a point that she realized she would kill for those she loves.

"We're leaving," she snaps, struggling to get to her feet until Scott helps her up.

"I'll come with you," Kira says suddenly.

"Kira!"

"I'm helping them. I helped started it – I'm going to help finish it," Kira argues.

Chris leads them out and Scott calls his mom. Chris immediately starts driving, heading towards the hospital when Lydia suddenly says, "No, go back to my house."

"But we need to get –"

"He's not there – the hospital is – we need to go there right now," Scott stutters in a panic.

The further they go, the more Lydia wants to scream. "Let me out," Lydia demands, scrambling for the door, even though Chris is speeding down winding roads.

"Lydia!"

"Get me out," she demands.

"Okay, head to her house – cut down South Street here," Scott directs Chris. "What are you feeling, Lydia?"

Violated.

"Scott, I can't –" Kira starts, struggling to keep Lydia's hands in her lap, but Lydia needs out, she needs to see, she needs –

She scrambles at the door handle before Chris can slow to a stop. He slams on the breaks and Lydia runs out, dashing across the front lawn and opening the door, knowing it was unlocked, and heading straight for their bedroom.

It's pristine, save for the red yarn from the board connecting photographs and notes are now tied together around a scissor that has been stabbed through the mattress on Stiles' side.

"What the hell?"

Lydia ignores everyone and slowly moves to her side of the bed, reaching under her pillow for her tarot deck. It feels wrong – something evil has handled it.

The first card is the Magician, right side up, but it doesn't feel like it is.

"You installed cameras, right?" Scott asks. "Where is all the equipment?"

"The basement," Lydia says faintly. She flips the card so it's upside down. Con-man. Trickster.

Isaac and Chris immediately head downstairs, but Scott and Kira stay with Lydia, Kira eyeing the red yarn with wariness.

“Unsolved,” Scott murmurs. “Red means unsolved,” he explains to Kira. He places a comforting hand on Lydia's back before joining Chris and Isaac in the basement.

Kira looks at the board, noting the articles and photographs and the combination of Stiles’ narrow block print and Lydia’s looping mix of cursive and print. "He's warning us about what he is - he's the source of everything that's been happening," Kira says.

Lydia swallows, placing the card back into the deck and shuffling it vigorously. "It's not him. It has him," Lydia insists, standing up. "Let's see what it did." She pockets the deck into her dress.

The stairway to the basement is located by the kitchen, across from the backdoor. Stiles would always run up and down the stairs like there was a monster nipping at his feet.

Her grip on the rail tightens.

"Lydia, come here," Scott says once she's at the bottom of the stairs, sounding scared.

Lydia stands next to Scott, who immediately takes her hand. Chris has paused the tape and Stiles – not Stiles – is staring at the board. Once Chris plays the tape, Lydia is unnerved by how still this thing is. It maneuvers Stiles’ lanky body with such control that Stiles isn’t remotely capable of; even the face is still, like an undisturbed body of water. But the eyes scare her the most – emotionless, dead, uncaring, calculating.

It's a shock when it does start moving and unpins all the string from the board, moving with quick efficiency.

"Kira – would your mom know of a way to get rid of it without…without killing Stiles?"

Kira winces. "My mom is insistent it's the only way."

Lydia shudders when it stabs the mattress. Instead of getting off right away, its face turns to Lydia's side of the bed. Her skin crawls as its hand slithers under her pillow to find her tarot deck. Once it's in it's grasp, he's off the bed, shuffling the cards as he positions himself right in front of the camera closest to the door. Its eyes are dead as he removes the first card from the deck, revealing it to be the upside down Magician. But then, she watches in horror as its face shifts, his expression softer and eyes almost lighter as the card flips between nimble fingers so its right side up. If she didn't know better, she'd swear it's Stiles staring back.

The act drops and the corner of his mouth smirks as he puts the card back on top of the deck and the deck under her pillow.

"There has to be a way to save him," Scott says, squeezing Lydia's hand. "We're not killing him."

"We'll need to find him before my mom and the oni do," Kira adds. "How are we going to find him?"

Scott looks at Lydia from the corner of her eye. "We're going to need Deaton's help."

"You guys go. I'll stay here."

"You're not going to be left alone," Isaac says. "What if he – it comes back?"

"Well, that's why Kira is going to stay with me," Lydia says, reaching over to Kira to tap her metal belt. "She can fight."

Scot raises his eyebrows and smiles a little. "Awesome."

Kira flushes.

"We'll keep you posted," Scott promises. "Call us if something happens."

Lydia nods and takes Kira's arm, leaving the basement.

"I'm sorry," Kira says once they're back in the bedroom. "I can't imagine how this must feel."

"He's not my boyfriend, as…unbelievable that sounds while standing in the room we share, but." Lydia swallows. "We're not going to lose him." She gets on the mattress and grips the scissor, intending on pulling it out when she hears faint whispers in the back of her head. Slowly she lets go, staring at it.

The whispers suddenly become louder and then fade away.

She whips her head to find Kira standing by the strings. "What did you do?" Lydia asks.

"Nothing – I just," Kira trails off and plucks one of the strings as her answer.

Lydia quickly gets off the bed and stands where Kira is. Lydia takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes, letting her hand move and pluck a random string. Stiles.

She opens her eyes and watches the vibrating string, following it to the board. Eichen House.

As she takes a picture of the board for future reference, her phone rings and it's the Sheriff's office.

"I can't declare him missing for another day, please tell me you have something."

"Eichen House. I'll meet you there," Lydia hangs up. "Come on."

Several things happen at once.

The hospital is in utter chaos - the electrical system has malfunctioned and there is an uncontrolled live wire outside the entrance. Three people have been electrocuted and ten are in critical condition. Kira leaves with Lydia’s car, eyes flashing as she says she’ll take care of it.

After two hours of searching, It's obvious that Stiles isn't anywhere in Eichen House, even though she insists that he has to be in the basement, she can feel it. But Scott and Isaac call to let them know they found him in the woods, apparently having sleep walked and claiming no memory of how he ended up there.

He dreamed he was there.

"I'm healing him at the clinic. Deaton got something to keep the nogitsune out – come meet us there," Scott says.

Lydia nearly collapses in relief.

"They found him. Follow me," she tells Stiles' dad.

When she first sees Stiles wrapped in a stupidly large blanket and a mug of tea that's half the size of his head, she feels like crying.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," his dad hisses, pulling Stiles in for a tight hug.

His dad's radio starts beeping and codes are mentioned, one of which she knows is murder.

"Go, it's okay, I'm fine," Stiles says, his voice thick.

He cups Stiles' cheek with a hand and says, "Come home. Keep your phone on."

"I'll think about it."

He kisses Stiles' forehead. "I love you."

"Love you too."

Her heart hurts at the way his voice cracks.

His dad passes Lydia, placing a hand on her shoulder before leaving the vet.

Lydia walks over to him and wordlessly pulls him in for a hug, his cheek resting against her abdomen and her hands combing through his hair. His arms around her are sudden, but welcome.

After a minute, Stiles murmurs, "I think I was home."

"It took you there."

"I'm sorry."

She holds him tighter. "We're going to get rid of it."

“The nogitsune is temporarily subdued at the moment,” Deaton says, holding up an empty syringe. “It’s called Letharia Vulpina – it’s almost like a poison to it. But it won’t hold for long.”

“We’ll figure out how to get rid of it without killing you,” Scott promises, staring at Stiles with determination that Lydia can’t help but still trust.

"I think you guys need sleep," Kira says, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks at them. "You guys look dead on your feet. I feel dead on my feet. Maybe we should start planning tomorrow."

Lydia feels lightheaded at the thought of sleeping and Stiles' arms are the only thing keeping her standing.

"I'll drop you off at your house," Chris offers. "If you want, you can drive to my place and sleep there."

"Or mine," Scott offers.

"I would offer, but that would be redundant," Isaac says with a shrug.

“I would offer, but that would...just not work,” Kira says with an embarrassed expression.

"We'll go back to my house," Stiles says, looking up at Lydia for confirmation.

Lydia nods. "Okay."

Stiles' incessant movements in the passenger seat of her car are a welcome distraction as she drives them to his house. To give him something to do with his hands, she reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out her tarot cards, handing them to him.

He wordlessly shuffles, creating bridges and breaking the deck in little piles and flipping them until they park in front of his house.

His hands shake and he doesn't pull the first card like she expects him to.

"Let's get inside. It's cold," she says, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

He scrambles to follow after her inside, shivering. She still has a copy of the Stilinski house key, so she's quick to unlock the door and let him in. “Take a shower – do you want to eat something?”

“No, I'm fine, thanks,” Stiles says as he rushes up the stairs and slams his bathroom door shut.

She ignores his answer and searches through the kitchen, deciding to make scrambled eggs and toast.

By the time she's finished cooking, Stiles is still in the shower, so she searches through cabinets to find a serving tray, luckily finding a simple wooden one hidden in the pantry.

“You better appreciate this, Stilinski,” she exhales under her breath as she carries the tray of food up the stairs.

His room has remained untouched since Stiles moved out after graduation, but it's still clean. It’s almost like returning to her childhood home – the warm familiarity of his gray walls and the smell that immediately puts her at ease. She’s read consistently that smells can trigger strong memories, but its validity still catches her by surprise.

Even though she brought an overnight bag, she still goes for Stiles’ bottom drawer for an old pair of shorts and a Beacon Hills lacrosse shirt. By the time she pulls down his shirt down her torso, Stiles comes into the room with a towel around his waist and neck, his wet hair stuck to his forehead until he runs a hand through it.

She wordlessly grabs him shorts and a shirt and tosses it to him, hitting the side of his face as she makes her way into the bathroom to remove her makeup. She needs him to get dressed and she needs to not be in the same room at this time.

She quickly goes through her nighttime routine, not waiting her typical fifteen minutes in between her vitamin C serum and her moisturizer, to find him sitting in bed, the food mostly untouched. He’s holding her tarot cards in his hands.

She sighs, shutting the door behind her and moving the tray to the floor so she can sit next to him. The silence is tense as he continues to stare. She leans into him a little, resting her head on his shoulder.

His pulling the top card is a surprise, causing her to lift her head, but she’s at ease when he sighs in relief.

She takes the card from his fingers and nearly sighs herself. "My Knight of Swords," she murmurs.

Stiles looks at her, eyes bright. She should be more embarrassed by the possessive nature of her statement, but Stiles is alive and okay and next to her – not to mention she is completely exhausted – so there's nothing to feel, nothing to worry about. She shuts her eyes and sways a little.

His free hand comes around her and touches the side of her head, placing her head where it was on his shoulder.

“I don’t know what I did, where I was,” Stiles admits, his fingers slowly running up and down her her hair.

She swallows over the lump in her throat. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“I don’t want anyone else to die.”

Lydia inhales sharply and takes the cards out his hands and haphazardly drops them somewhere behind her. “Stiles.”

He turns to look at her and she doesn’t realize her moving her head means their noses will brush. “Is it selfish to say I don’t want to die either?”

She presses her forehead tightly to his. “Don’t you dare,” she whispers. “I can’t do this twice. Don’t say that.”

His hand running through her hair comes to her face, his thumb running along her jaw. She takes a shaky breath, steadying herself by placing her hand on top of his. It feels like lightning through her veins.

Wait.

“Stiles,” she starts, dropping her hand and bringing her hands to the hem of his shirt. “I need to see something.” She finally notices the marks on the side of his neck.

He opens his mouth and probably if this were happening in a different context, he would crack a joke, but since he has rings under his eyes and he hasn’t eaten a full meal in weeks, he helps her lift his shirt over his head.

She makes him turn his back to her without formulating the words and it’s not so much as a shock as it is a grim realization, a puzzle piece falling into place, when she sees the Lichtenberg figure on his shoulder and curling around his neck.

“What is it?” he asks.

“It’s a Lichtenberg figure – they happen to lightning strike victims,” she answers, gently running her fingers over the branches.

He shivers. “The storm. That night,” he says. “From Kira.”

“Yeah,” she says in a faint voice. She can’t stop touching – it means he’s here, he’s in control. “When this fades…” she starts, trailing off.

He turns back around to face her, his hands gripping his shirt.

She wants him close, but she’s afraid of what will happen. What seems like a lifetime ago, she kissed him to stop a panic attack. She may or may not have considered kissing him for non-practical reasons.

She tucks her top lip into her mouth and Stiles’s gaze drops. After they breathe for a few moments, she leans forward and kisses his temple. “We should try sleeping.”

He nods.

She falls asleep listening to his heart, even though she planned on making sure he fell asleep first.

She wakes up in Stiles’ tight hold – one arm across her stomach and one dangerously close to her chest – and for the first time in weeks, months, she’s happy. She’s still sleepy enough that serious thoughts and worries feel far away, disconnected, and she revels in it, shutting her eyes and moving her arms so they can rest on top of his.

She falls back asleep at one point wakes up to find Stiles shuffling her tarot cards, resting up against his headboard.

“You slept, right?” she says, her voice croaky with disuse.

He pauses his movements. “Yeah,” he says with a rough voice. “It’s the last I’m gonna get for a while, though.”

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in, but she still pushes herself up to sit up against the headboard to be at eye-level. “What do you mean?”

He starts shuffling again. “Got a text from Deaton. Apparently our old guidance counselor said sleeping gives the nogitsune access. The poison will wear off quicker if I sleep.”

Lydia’s eyes drift to his neck and notes that the marks have faded, receded. “Let me see something,” she says, gently tipping him forward with her hand and lifting the back of his shirt up.

She inhales sharply. The Lichtenberg figure is still there, but it’s smaller and not nearly as dark. “Okay, no sleeping for you. Coffee? I need coffee.”

He hands her the cards and says, “Sure.”

She takes them and flips the first card, her heart stopping at the Tower.

“That’s...not a good one, is it,” he guesses.

“It means a sudden change. It could be bad – I’ve only had readings of it being bad. But it has the potential to be...liberating.”

She doesn’t know – she can’t pinpoint her emotions and she can’t delve into them. There’s a truth to be revealed and she hopes it’s for the better, a way to help Stiles because she can’t take any other alternative.

They’re in the middle of getting dressed when Scott frantically calls them about a bomb at the high school.

“Do you remember when we played that prank on Coach senior year with the nails in the present on his desk?” Scott says on speaker phone as they rush to Beacon Hills High.

“Uh, yeah, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Because it’s the same wrapping paper – the little dogs that you thought looked like wolves and the color green that looked like baby food?”

Stiles’ face drops. “Is my dad with you?”

“Yeah, hold on -”

“Stiles?” his dad says. “We have a deputy with experience going in to dismantle it. There’s a kid in there holding it. He says he was riding his bike that night you were found in the woods and was knocked out and brought onto the bus. He couldn’t ID them, but he says the person was tall, close to six feet.”

His hands on the wheel are so tight that his forearms are almost vibrating.

“We’ll be there in two minutes,” Lydia says.

She has to remind Stiles to breathe the rest of the drive so he won’t suffer through a panic attack.

“It’s not a bomb, sir, but there is something in the box. It’s just printer cartridges and stuff. Batteries for the next blackout.”

They all stare at each other.

“There is a bomb, but it’s not here,” Lydia says in horror.

When they stand in the wreckage of the police station, Stiles vomits.

Scott does his best to heal those who are still alive, take away the pain of those suffering, but it takes a toll on him.

Stiles’ dad is speaking with paramedics on scene when he gets a call about Coach Finstock being struck in the chest by an arrow on the cross country trails in the woods.

Lydia’s feet are glued to the floor and she feels disconnected from everything. Scott is stumbling to his feet and saying something, but it’s like she’s underwater and can only make out sounds, not words.

“Lydia?”

She blinks and stares at Stiles, who is bouncing on his feet, ready to move.

“You guys go,” she tells him, eyes drifting.

“Someone should stay with you,” Stiles says.

“Mmm,” she hums, ignoring him and trying to listen.

“Stiles, we need to move,” Scott insists.

“Fuck,” Stiles hisses, cupping her face with his hands and fervently kissing her forehead. “Please stay safe for the love of God,” he mutters before running off with Scott and Isaac to the woods.

Eventually, Kira comes to her side and after nervously shifting her weight back and forth, she asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m going home,” Lydia says, mind focusing enough to to grab her keys.

“Why don’t I drive,” Kira offers, quickly taking the keys.

By the time Kira parks the car, Lydia knows something is going to happen. So it’s not so much of a surprise when she hears something cutting through the wind and hitting her car, the sudden tilt to the right causing Kira to scream in a panic. Lydia shuts her eyes to focus better, but there’s no other noise beyond the wind. Eventually, with steady limbs, Lydia climbs out of the car, confirming the flat tire.

What stops her in her tracks is the arrow sticking out of the tire. She doesn't need to check the arrowhead to know whose it is.

With numb fingers, she calls Scott.

"We need to do a séance."

“It wore off,” Scott pants, his voice pained. “Stiles is – the nogitsune –”

Lydia’s eyes drift to Kira, who is pulling the arrow out of the car and inspecting the arrowhead.

“We need to do a séance,” she repeats, her voice trembling.

“Why, Lydia? Why?”

Lydia swallows, taking the arrow from Kira’s hands. She exhales hot air onto the driver’s side window and sees help me written in too familiar print. There’s no question about it. “We need to make sure Allison is dead.”

"Are we really going to try to contact Allison?" Scott asks. "And are you sure this is safe? You've never done something like this before – directly looking for someone."

It takes a lot for Lydia to respond, "No, we're going to contact someone we know to be dead without argument." She finishes lighting her last candle and breathes.

"Who?"

Lydia blows out the match. "My grandma."

She doesn't have many things from her grandma – just an old copy of The Little Mermaid and a pair of earrings she never wears except for special occasions. Hopefully the sentimentality would help her since Scott is right – she's never directly searched for a dead person like this. Usually she finds them standing behind clients during a session, or can hear whispers.

This is dangerous.

"Who's going to keep you tethered?" Scott asks quietly.

She wordlessly reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out Stiles' keys to his Jeep.

The doorbell rings and Kira rushes to answer it, bringing Chris into her office before he walks back out to get bread and soup to attract the spirit. The studio now smells of lavender, her grandma's favorite flower.

Lydia goes into the closet and takes out the Ouija board, a gag gift from Stiles years ago that she promised she would never use, but these are desperate times.

They sit around a circular wooden table and hold hands, Scott and Lydia holding hands with Stiles' keys between their palms. Chris appears calm and composed, but she can feel the cold sweat from holding his hand. Kira is visibly nervous, but she nods at Lydia, who shuts her eyes and trusts Scott, Chris, and Kira to do the same. She says a quick prayer to cleanse the studio and waits a few minutes, hoping they're concentrating properly before asking for her grandma.

They wait.

Scott squeezes her hand and Stiles' car key digs into the palm of her hand, grounding her as she lets herself go, opening herself to a sign –

She shudders at the phantom feel of fingers curling hair behind her ear.

"Grandma?" she whispers.

Warmness settles in her chest and she smiles a little, tears immediately fill her eyes. "Are you okay?" she asks before she can censor herself, her voice breaking and suddenly feeling like she's eight again.

She waits until her hands loosen their grips on Chris and Scott. She has enough hold on her body to take Stiles' keys as her hands move to the Ouija board.

Slowly, the planchette under her fingers move towards "yes."

Lydia squeezes her eyes shut, but tears escape the corner of her eyes. After a minute, the planchette drags from "yes" to the bottom of the board. She opens her eyes in time to see it stop at the number one, then four, then three.

Scott looks at her quizzically.

"I love you," Chris murmurs in explanation.

"I love you too," Lydia whispers. "I was hoping you could tell me if my best friend Allison is…if she's dead?"

The atmospheric pressure drops and for a moment, Lydia's sure her grandma had left, the question too sudden and direct, but the planchette moves counterclockwise, circling around the board with increasing speed. Fear trickles down her spine and she digs the keys into her palm, nearly breaking the skin, and she lets go of the planchette, bringing a hand to her mouth in horror.

The planchette continues to move and Scott, Chris, and Kira lean back as far as they can in their seats.

Grandma, stop, you're unsure, it's okay, she thinks to herself over and over, but she's losing control and continues to hold onto the keys so tightly that the sharp sting of the teeth breaking skin is a welcome pain.

The planchette suddenly lands on "goodbye," and Lydia takes a deep breath, the air in the room too heavy for her to breathe.

Scott quickly comes to her side, a warm hand resting on her back, helping her steady her breathing. Eventually, he gently takes her hand, pressing into the cut and healing her. There’s a cold sweat on his brow – he needs to rest to recover from today.

Chris wordlessly stands up, the chair dragging against the floor and the noise is excruciating in the tense silence.

"Where –" Scott starts.

"I have shovels in my truck," Chris interrupts sharply, leaving them behind.

Scott pales and tightens his grip on her hand.

She squeezes back. "Let's go."

Lydia becomes progressively more nauseous the further Chris, Scott, and Isaac dig. Kira has been rubbing Lydia’s arms for the past half hour.

It takes them an hour to finally reach the casket and barely a second to open it.

Everyone is silent when they see it’s empty.

The Tower always delivers.

Stiles is paralyzed from venom at the clinic. Everyone is currently pacing in the surgery room.

“Stiles is the nogitsune, but what the fuck is going on with Allison?” Isaac demands.

“Why are we just assuming there is only one nogitsune?” Lydia says, eyes frantically roaming around the photograph she took of the board. “Let’s assume the car was actually hers that night of the storm,” Lydia says, eyes fixed on the note in the corner regarding Kira’s testimony of that night. “What if the night you guys sacrificed yourselves, Allison was taken by a nogitsune already lurking. We know the origin for the nogitsune Kira’s mom trapped, but this is Beacon Hills. Maybe there was another one already here.”

“I don’t know, that doesn’t sound likely. It’s difficult to summon one and it’s rare for it to happen, right? I know strange things happen here, but what are the odds, even considering Beacon Hills?” Melissa says, crossing her arms.

“We’ve run out of time - we need to do something about the nogitsune in Stiles,” Deaton says. “We need to force our way into Stiles’ psyche and give him back control.”

“How are we going to do that?” Kira questions.

“First, we need to rejuvenate Scott. And Lydia, I think you’re going to need to scream to clear the air.”

Everyone save for Kira winces.

“Scream?” Kira repeats.

Isaac pats Kira’s head. “We’ll find you some ear plugs.”

She’s sitting next to the nogitsune with Scott standing behind them, hands hovering on the back of their necks.

“Alright, go,” Deaton says.

Lydia blinks when Scott touches her with a searing hand and finds herself standing in the hallway that leads to her AP Language and Comp class at Beacon Hills High School. She’s wearing the dress she wore to Homecoming dance that year, the night that started everything.

It takes her a minute to pinpoint the song that’s distortedly echoing against the lockers; her heart aches at the memory.

Focus.

Sometimes her life before her abilities feels so far away, like it was a movie she watched as a child and the details are lost on her. She knew she loved Jackson, but it wasn't the kind of love she expected when she was six years old and watching The Little Mermaid on repeat. She still doesn't think that kind of love exists, but sometimes when she watches Stiles make dinner or when he rants about how Die Hard inspired a generation of morons to become cops, she thinks it might be within reach, or at least a variation of it that's worth it.

It takes effort to ignore the whispers, the temptations, how pain flares in her side and she ignores the blood dripping down her front and the side of her leg. She runs through the falling balloons and finally reaches the doors leading outside –

It's a white room. They said when they drowned, they woke up in a white room with fluorescent lights and the stump of the Nemeton in sight. It's there, but she sees Stiles sitting on it across from a bandaged man wearing an old army leather jacket. They're playing Go.

The distance never closes and no matter how loudly she yells his name, it's not enough. She can hear Scott in the back of her head, asking for permission. As soon as she permits it, she feels power through her veins, nothing even close to what she can grasp. It's almost addicting in its own way. She shuts her eyes and feels Scott as an echo in her body.

It's okay, Lydia, I got this, Scott says confidently. You just need to clear the air.

So she screams, slamming her hands on the floor and watching energy zip to the Nemeton like lightning, illuminates, shocks, charges.

Stiles’ gaze finds hers and she grins in triumph.

As soon as she's conscious in the real world, she's taken.

She wakes up and nearly has a heart attack seeing Stiles – the nogitsune crouched in front of her, just staring.

It shakes his head. “I’ve gotten so used to watching you sleep,” it says calmly, tilting its head. “He fought a lot in here when that happened.” It taps the side of its head. “He was terrified what I would do to you.” It reaches a hand out and she jolts her head back as far as she can.

“What do you want with me?” Lydia asks, hating how weak her voice is.

“Oh, Lydia, you were so close to figuring it out,” it says, putting his pointer finger and thumb so close that there’s only a sliver of space between them. “I suppose if there was more time, you would’ve come to the realization eventually. I would’ve liked that – all that chaos and suffering that could’ve been had.” He shudders. “But you know how parents get.”

“Parents?” Lydia questions.

But then it clicks.

Something else enters the hallway and Lydia whimpers, pursing her mouth so she doesn’t scream in horror.

“Nogitsune reproduction is more akin to asexual reproduction. Decades in a jar with nothing to do? Bound to happen.”

Tears spring in Lydia’s eyes at the familiar sound of Allison’s voice.

Suddenly, the nogitsune with Stiles’ features wraps a hand around her neck, tight but not quite cutting off air. Its eyes roll in the back of his head in obvious pleasure, veins visible with black.

“I have to admit, Lydia, I didn’t account for your grandma to be psychic. She almost gave everything away,” the nogitsune with Allison’s features says, walking closer. Lydia hates how this thing is manipulating Allison’s body. She isn’t supposed to saunter or look at Lydia with such cool callousness. “But she’s without practice, as are you – why you have no desire to embrace your abilities is astounding.”

Lydia squeezes her eyes shut, channeling herself to hear beyond the nogitsune. She just has to focus –

LYDIA!

She opens her eyes and tears fall down her face. The hand on her neck tightens.

“Oh yes, Lydia, Allison is still here. She’s been a constant snack these past few months. All that pain and tragedy.”

Lydia’s hands curl into fists.

“We don’t need her conscious right now, lest she try to contact her friends and stop them from arriving,” it says, nodding at the one who looks like Stiles. “Not that they can do much, not with the oni on our side now.”

Suddenly the nogitsune with Stiles’ face is right beside hers, his mouth so close to her ear she can feel its hot breath when he says, “Can you feel it, Lydia? He’s dying. And I’m only getting stronger.”

There’s a sharp pain in her temple before she blacks out.

Remote seeing isn’t something she’s comfortable doing – it requires stretching the mind past the confines of the body and she needs a tether to make sure she’s not lost forever. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures.

She keeps her eyes shut and rolls her eyes into the back of her head, separating from herself. Her natural tether is Stiles, so it’s easy to be led to him, back at Allison’s home.

He looks like the life is being sucked out of him – the nogitsune must be drawing from him. There has to be a way to sever the connection, to entrap them both, to save Allison, if it’s possible.

Deaton and Chris are talking about a Shugendō Scroll that Chris found the other day, translating it with the help of Kira’s mother to see how to exorcise the nogitsune.

Stiles is handling her tarot cards, not quite focusing. She urges for him to draw the first card.

Stiles draws the Devil. He’s surprised at the draw, but his hand on the deck tightens until his knuckles are white. It’s for her, not him. It’s the most powerful and dangerous card in the deck. It means loss of control, revelling in extremity and excess. It’s now or never.

She has to let herself go. The only way she’s going to survive, if any of them are going to survive this, is if she dives head first, draw her wild card within herself and plays it. She is the Moon and she is powerful and she will embrace what she has to save those she loves.

She wishes there was a way to say something to Stiles directly, to let him know, but the only thing she can do is telepath a message to Scott and trust that they’ll figure it out.

These nogitsune may have planned five steps ahead, treating this war like a game of Go, but they couldn’t possibly plan for a divine move.

And so she does what she’s been so afraid to do ever since she was sixteen years old and her powers were first awoken on that empty lacrosse field:

She lets her unconscious, wild, unpredictable side free.

It comes in flashes.

Divine move?

She screams, she knows that much, feels it in the atmosphere and the way everything shatters and focuses. The nogitsune that has a grip on Stiles is weak – it's young – so she can destroy it easily enough. And without a connection to a host, it disintegrates, lost.

Divine move? You think you have any moves at all?

She’s with the original nogitsune, but also standing by Isaac, carrying Allison’s bow and arrow, eyes glowing as he focuses his magic to direct the arrow, killing oni with specially curated silver arrowheads. Allison made those days before the sacrifice, Lydia remembers.

You can kill the oni. But me? Me?

Scott is running. Stiles isn’t here.

I’m a thousand years old, YOU CAN’T KILL ME!

Its face is inches away from hers and it’s so easy to separate Allison from this sick carbon copy. Lydia slowly smiles, holding her hands up, collecting, holding the nogitsune in place. “But we can change you,” Lydia says, tilting her head. Scott is coming.

“Change the host,” Scott growls, his hand so bright Lydia can’t look directly at it until he buries it in the nogitsune’s back.

The scream is horrible, enough to snap Lydia into the present. Like a marionette with its strings cut, she collapses to the ground. She passes out before her head hits the ground.

“Lydia! Lydia!”

Her eyes flutter open to almost everyone standing over her – Scott, Isaac, Kira, Chris...Allison.

Tears well too quickly in Lydia’s eyes for her to stop them from leaking the corners of her eyes and into her ears as she smiles at Allison.

Allison grins, holding on tightly to one of her hands. She’s been crying too.

“We’re okay,” Lydia says. “We’re all okay?”

Scott nods quickly. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Where’s Stiles?” She shuts her eyes, but Scott forces her to look at him.

“Don’t – he’s okay. After you screamed, when you severed the connection, he just fainted. My mom is with him.”

Lydia sighs in relief.

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Scott says, helping Lydia up to her feet. Allison takes one of Lydia’s arms and wraps it around her neck while Allison’s free arm is around her waist.

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” Lydia says in Allison’s ear.

Allison hold around her tightens. “You’ll have to catch me up.”

“Trust me, there isn’t much.”

“Stiles and Lydia are living alone and sharing a room,” Scott says.

Allison looks to Lydia with raised eyebrows. “Huh.”

“What?” Lydia asks innocently.

“Don’t you what me,” Allison says with a gleeful expression.

“There’s nothing going on,” Lydia insists.

Scott obnoxiously clears his throat before saying, “You know, earlier, you projected a lot more than just your location.”

Lydia ignores them both and finds Chris looking at Kira’s arm while Isaac does her best to heal her. They all look up when they hear them approaching.

Chris’ smile almost moves Lydia to tears and Isaac’s eyes pain her. She’s sure Isaac, Scott, and Allison will have to work out their feelings at some point, but right now, they can breathe.

Lydia has grieved, she watched Scott sob until he had nothing left to give.

It’s a surprise that as soon as Stiles sees Allison, his face crumples before he hides his face in his hands.

Allison slaps a hand to her mouth and rushes to him, hugging him tightly. Lydia looks up to the ceiling to keep her tears at bay when she can make out his muffled sobs.

Scott takes her hand and they’re both silent.

The Argents have a very nice, large condo, but it’s still not big enough to house six young adults. They’re cramped in Allison’s room, with Allison, Lydia, and Kira sharing her bed while Scott, Stiles, and Isaac try to be comfortable on the floor with couch pillows and throw blankets.

Allison is afraid to fall asleep, Lydia can feel it in the way her body tenses after she yawns and how she tries to fill silences with conversation. Stiles shoots Allison sympathetic looks and fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

Kira and Isaac are the first to fall asleep, quickly followed by Scott. Lydia holds both her hands out to Allison and Stiles. Allison squeezes her hand gratefully while Stiles inches closer to the bed, resting his head against the edge and taking Lydia’s hand.

Lydia falls asleep at one point and hopes they both got a little rest. But she supposes they have time to work up to it.

In the early hours of the morning, when Lydia wakes to get water, she gently removes her tarot cards from Stiles’ clenched hand. She only shuffles once before drawing the first card.

She smiles at seeing the World. Everything is complete.

“I just find it a little weird that we’re having a party celebrating my resurrection,” Allison says with a shrug.

“What do you think Easter is about, Allison? If we can celebrate a dead guy coming back to life who may or may not have existed, we can celebrate your return,” Stiles says as he stocks the fridge with beer.

But I mean, it wasn’t really a resurrection. I was technically alive the entire time,” she counters.

“It’s a good boost of morale? Besides, it’ll be nice to see Erica and Boyd,” Scott adds.

“Please do not tell me you invited the twins,” Isaac almost begs.

“Twins?” Kira asks.

“They look like giant thumbs,” Isaac explains.

Stiles snorts.

Kira’s concerned expression almost makes Lydia laugh.

“As much as I don’t like violence, I think Aiden deserves his ass to be kicked for what he did to Boyd,” Scott admits.

“Next group project,” Stiles declares.

“What are you gonna do, bring a bat and hope for the best?” Isaac drawls.

“For your information, that bat is a lifesaver –”

“Well, I’m glad some things have stayed the same, even though they’re annoying,” Allison sighs.

Lydia loops her arm with Allison’s. “C’mon, I could use some help in my room.”

“Don’t you mean your shared room,” Allison teases, leaving the kitchen with Lydia.

They’re silent when they see the scissor and red yarn still resting on the bed.

“You strip the bed, I’ll take care of the board,” Lydia says, quickly removing the scissor and beginning to untangle the yarn.

They work in silence for a minute.

“I’m sorry –” Allison starts.

“It wasn’t you,” Lydia interrupts her, looking up from her hands to stare into Allison’s eyes, willing for her to understand. “I never confused you with that thing.”

Allison clenches her jaw and nods, folding the ruined sheets into her arms.

Lydia looks at the mattress and sighs at the hole. Even if it’s something that can be hidden with a new mattress pad and sheets, she doesn’t think Stiles would want to sleep on this mattress. She recalls what the nogitsune said about watching her sleep and concludes that she and Stiles will have to go mattress shopping tomorrow.

“I’m sure Scott will sleep in here tonight,” Allison says.

Lydia purses her mouth. “I’ll get some fresh sheets.”

Allison steps in front of Lydia. “Are we not going to talk about the fact that you’ve been sharing a bed with Stiles for what, three months?”

“We figured we had better night’s sleep when we shared the bed. It’s not much deeper than that.”

“Uh huh.”

Lydia opens her mouth to argue further, but her shoulders drop and she sighs.

“Okay, fine,” Allison says, taking pity on Lydia. “But speaking as someone who has been an outside party these past few months as an unfortunate spectator in her own body, I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and I’ve also seen the way you look at him. I know you’re scared of changing whatever you have – you don’t need a tarot reading to tell you that. Or maybe there’s something else, but. For what it’s worth as your best friend, I don’t think you have to play it so close to the vest with him.” She gives Lydia a kind, supportive smile and Lydia’s heart clenches painfully in her chest.

Lydia can only nod and Allison adds, “Let me throw these out. And I need to call my dad.”

A soon as Allison leaves Lydia alone in her room, Lydia takes a shaky breath.

Lydia doesn’t know. She is all about tackling the unknown and discovering new things, but when it’s within the confines of the familiar, like developing a new mathematical formula or discovering a new law of physics. Emotions are messy and unclear and without rules. Stiles Stilinski is only predictable to a certain extent. She knows that she’s better at trusting her friends, opening her heart, but this isn’t something she prepared to face.

There’s a point during the night when everyone has collectively killed a case of beer, their parents having long left the house, Erica and Boyd leave with the promise of of diner food in the morning, and Isaac and Kira are arguing with Scott over playing the Pandora station for ‘90’s pop versus ‘90’s alternative when Lydia looks over at Stiles leaning against the wall. He returns her gaze and smiles widely.

She walks over to him and falls back against the wall beside him. “Are you okay?” she asks.

He nods. “If we don’t finish everything tonight –”

“I know. I will.”

“Look, Backstreet Boys are great, but you’re honestly telling me that ‘I Want it That Way’ defines the ‘90s more than ‘Smells like Teen Spirit’? I don’t know if you can stay in my house anymore,” Scott says in disbelief.

“‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ is overrated,” Kira insists.

“Yes,” Isaac agrees, holding up a hand for a high-five, which Kira returns.

“‘...Baby One More Time’ defines the ‘90s more,” Lydia mutters under her breath.

“You’re all wrong. The ultimate song is ‘Wonderwall’ – none of those other songs have been memorialized through an online meme,” Stiles argues, his voice carrying across the room.

Allison has sneakily taken control of the music and blasts “California Love.”

Stiles says loudly, “Should’ve put on ‘Basket Case.’”

“Next in the queue,” Allison quips.

“We’re going to sleep in Scott’s old room until we can find a mattress,” Lydia tells Stiles.

“Wanna do that tomorrow? We should call your clients, too.”

“Sure.”

Stiles suddenly yawns, his jaw cracking. “Might go to sleep.”

She swallows. “Okay.”

He hands her what’s left of his beer and calls out, “G’night everyone. You’re all wonderful. Well, most of you, anyway. Lahey, you suck.”

“Night, Stiles!” they all chant like children, save for Isaac, who throws up a middle finger silently.

Lydia tries to smile, but feels abandoned and lost. She can’t think about following him, but the thought of staying with everyone else seems unbearable. She dumps their beers into the sink and takes care to run hot water down the drain.

Her phone buzzes with a text when she tosses the empty bottles in the garbage.

From Stiles Stilinski:
Can you come in here?

Lydia looks over at Allison, who smiles at her brightly before focusing her attention on the debate still happening.

Lydia exhales with a smile and leaves everyone in the living room.

Stiles is standing in the middle of the room, already having changed into sleep pants and a t-shirt swinging his arms from his front to his back.

“Are you okay?” Lydia asks.

He stops swinging his arms and one hand immediately goes to the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh, just – this is really sad, frankly, but, would you mind just…” he does some sort of hand gesture towards the bed.

She runs her teeth over her bottom lip.

“I mean, just until I fall asleep. Then you can go, if you want. I should probably work on sleeping alone, but do I get cut some slack since I was possessed by an evil spirit?”

She shakes her head and stares at the ceiling. “We both should probably work on it. I didn’t sleep that well when I was alone.” She slips off her heels, sighing at the painful ache of flattening her feet.

He gets under the covers and she shuts off the lights. She can hear him breathe unsteadily.

She reaches her usual side of the bed and she smiles that he’s pulled back the blankets for her. She slides in and travels a little more space than intended, her face a little too close to his. They usually don’t start off the night this close.

He smiles and the knot that’s been in her chest for weeks eases. He reaches out and gently touches the side of her temple where the nogitsune hit her.

“I heard you,” he says softly. “I felt you, I think. That’s never happened. You drew the Devil, didn’t you?”

She takes his hand and moves it away from the bruise, holding it between them. “It’s because you were close to death,” she answers. She watches him think.

“I guess that was an upside, right? I mean, things definitely got wild after that.”

“Do you remember what it means?”

He furrows his brow in thought. Her head inches forward, closer.

“It means...isn’t it about being excessive and breaking free of restrictions?” he guesses. “Honestly, when I saw the card, I thought we were fucked.”

She smiles a little. “It’s looks scarier than it is.”

He sighs. “I know. No card is inherently bad,” he recites. The smile on her face fades as he stares at her intently, sometimes focusing too much on her bruised temple. She lets go of his hand to tap his own temple, prompting him to look at her face. “I wish I was there for you. I know doing that...losing control like that was probably really terrifying.”

She shuts her eyes. It was terrifying. And glorious. It was a lot of things, of dreams and nightmares and startling clarity, but she’d do it again and again and again so she can be here in the dark quiet.

Her fingers trail down his cheek, to his jaw. His eyes inadvertently flicker to her mouth, but immediately focus back on her eyes, self-conscious in the way his eyes pinch.

She doesn’t have the mental capacity to ignore what’s been happening here, that there isn’t steady, persistent pull that she can only describe as needless ache. She experiences Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation in regards to him and it nearly drives her crazy at its irrationality and impossibility.

She feels like they’ve been suffering on the precipice of something – a risk, a change – that has become too evident and too painful and they have to fall one way or the other. But she knows – and he knows, too – that there are some things that you can’t come back from and this is one of them.

It’s a battle of mind versus heart, of fear versus urgency, or want. Her mind always wins, always protects with sharp swords, but tonight, now, it’s resting. At ease, at peace.

“Lydia?” he asks, sounding a little unsure.

She takes a calm, deep breath before closing the little space between them and pressing her lips to his.

He holds his breath, which makes her smile.

After a beat, he smiles against her mouth for a moment before kissing her back, coaxing her deeper, a barely-there moan escaping, shivering when she sucks his bottom lip between her own.

He chases her when she withdraws, his forehead rests against hers and his hand comes to rest on the dip of her waist. His eyes are bright.

His other hand comes to tug a little on the front of her dress, bringing her closer. Their kisses are leisurely, indulgent, and she’s dizzy pressed up against him.

He pulls back to breathe. She can feel him hard against her, but his eyes are hooded and he’s close to falling asleep. He’ll need time to recover from the severe sleep deprivation.

“Can’t wait to do that in our own bed,” he says with a tired grin.

“Tomorrow morning,” she reminds him, her voice low.

He hums, his hand on her waist trailing to her back. “Did you see this coming?” he asks curiously.

She’s dreamed it, but she’s not sure if they were premonitions or simply fantasies of the subconscious. Her readings have contained more Suit of Cups, which deal with matters of the heart, of emotions. But self-awareness and being attuned to a level of the universe that not many can perceive can’t always account for power of will, for changing minds and hearts.

It’s a lot to explain right now, especially when his heartbeat is slowing and his eyes are hazy, but she will. She rests her head against his collarbone and simply answers, “No, but I’m glad I wasn’t spoiled for it.”

She can feel his laughter vibrating against her. He kisses the top of her head and she will really regret not removing her makeup tonight, but there is no way she’s going back out there; she’s too exposed and it’s not meant for public consumption, even if they are her dearest friends, the only people she’s ever considered friends.

She can feel Scott reaching out to her, light as a feather – a goodnight. She smiles a little and can make out bags of empty bottles clinking, lights shutting off, everyone leaving.

Stiles has fallen asleep. Her hand on his chest curls a little, gripping his shirt, and she smiles. Eventually, soon, she shuts her eyes and falls into dreams.