#lyas stuff

Then the dreams returned. She would be lying on the ground, wet oil against her designer clothes and the heat from the fire burning into her back. She knew the place, remembered throwing herself at Scott and Stiles and pulling them away from the explosion just in time, only feeling that stuttering bile-inducing knowledge that they should have died.

Lydia changed that outcome as many others. And now she was alone on the burning ground and something was watching her from inside the flames. It wasn’t the Darach, her mind supplied helpfully. The shape tilted its head at her, and she knew that she should be able to see its face, see more than just a grey shape looking at her.

It took a step forward, and the flames followed with its every step, starting up another spark wherever its feet touched. She found she couldn’t move. She couldn't scream. Lydia only felt the wet asphalt against her cheek when the creature finally kneeled next to her and…

…put a single finger against her mouth.

~*~

(And there was grass against her cheek and dress, and she couldn’t breathe. Bleeding out.)

~*~

She awoke with arms holding her in the school’s parking lot, worried voices all around her. Allison was brushing her hair while Scott and Stiles argued in the background. When Lydia finally managed to bring her full consciousness back to reality she also spotted Isaac crouching and talking quietly to Deaton beside a white bundle.

There was no blood colouring the white sheet but somehow she knew that the body inside would be charred, eyes burned out of his skull and watching her. Scott was beside her a moment later, asking softly if she wanted him to call the twins, (even with Stiles scoffing in the background wondering what help they would be). He spoke as if he was treading on thin ice.

In the reflection of Stiles’s Jeep, she could see herself with smudged makeup, and something resembling ash drawing a grey line over her lips. A bright light came from somewhere behind her.

The man was a convicted criminal, Stiles eventually found out. Lydia could feel a headache coming on the moment he put the papers down on the Stilinski dinner-table. The Sheriff put a cup of cocoa in her hand, as she read through the files while Stiles was texting Scott. They hadn’t found anything more at the scene, would probably not even have found it if it wasn’t for Lydia sleepwalking. And now Stiles stood up, saying he was going to call Scott and looked at her as if wondering if she would be okay alone. Like she was insane.

She had hoped that she had become better at finding the dead before they died. It was still terrifying but it made her feel a tiny bit of control knowing that she could change something that destiny had decided. But the bodies piling up only said that she had yet much to know, because Deaton shook his head while he examined the body and warned them that this was something they hadn’t seen before.

This was a creature and a being that was only still trying out its power and Lydia didn’t know what she could do if she couldn’t stop the murders before they happened.

Because the werewolves were out searching every evening, but the only thing they had confessed to smelling was sweet fire, a confusing smell that all of them could place but not explain. And Allison and her father were looking though their bestiary and had so far only guessed that it was a Witch, even when they were supposed to be extinct since a long time ago, and even if a coven had survived they should logically hate flames with a passion.

They wouldn’t go out now only for fun.

Not to get revenge at some criminal who had been let off easy.

It was only when she felt damp grass beneath her bare feet that she realized, with horror, that she had let herself drift off. She was at the side of the lacrosse-fields, bright light illuminating the empty field and she spun around looking into the dark forest after something she couldn’t see, didn’t know was there. (She still searched for red eyes).

It was in that moment she noticed that the enormous lights were all turned off and the light came from a spot in the middle of the field. The same place where Peter Hale and pushed her down and buried his teeth in her side, buried a part of himself inside of her.

Carefully she let her feet take her there, somehow comforted by the nature against her bare soles. It didn’t last long as she saw that she wasn’t alone in the field. The shape from last time was standing on the other side, but the white glare made her once again unable to see its face or even any distinguishing characteristics. There was a circle of dust around the flower and the shape stepped inside.

She saw the flower just before it opened up and something inside her, a knowledge that wasn’t quite human forced her to close her eyes before the bright light emitted when it bloomed blinded her forever.

The same part of her hissed at the sight of the bright flower, and she felt the sour feeling in the back of her throat as it told her that those flowers were not supposed to be used by the hands of evil. The light was supposed to banish demons; it was not supposed to be manipulated this way.

Lydia tensed, and relied only on her ears as she heard the surprisingly human-sounding steps coming towards her. And she realized that this might not be a dream at all.

She ground her teeth together as she felt the shape, the witch, whatever it was, put the flower behind her ear, squeezed her eyes shut against the bright light and while the creature didn’t laugh, she was sure it was smiling. She took a breath through her nose, realizing that she suddenly knew what the werewolves had tried to explain about a smell so sweet and still stinging in her nose like fire.

Just before she had gathered enough power to scream the shape spoke softly, almost sounding sorry.

“Lydia.” And the voice made her stomach clench, just before a finger laid itself on her lips and her knees hit the ground before the rest of her body was pouring down in the same position that she had found herself in a lot lately.

Aiden was the one who found her that time.

The body they had found not too far away belonged to an old woman living alone, her eyes also burned out. It took a while before Stiles and his father found the old accusation that had been laid against her, where she had been a mother until her daughter had died from suspected abuse. She was never convicted.

And Lydia kept having that thought, looking into her reflection in her bathroom, that it might not be too bad. She only wished to the cracked smile in the mirror that the witch would take Peter too. Kill him for the things he did to her that he was never punished for. Send him back to hell so that she could burn the last pieces of him away from her mind and spread his ashes so he could never come alive again.

So he could never smile at her again. That smile that told her that he didn’t regret what happened. The same smile that made her call Allison over for a sleepover and asked her to bring a crossbow. Just to feel a little bit safe again.

Maybe there really was something wrong with her.

~*~

She had started drawing again.

She kept trying to draw the flower, but it never wanted to work on paper and always just barely escaped her mind. Only when she burned the sketches in the flame of a candle did it seem to move in the way she wanted to. Her room only smelled of burnt ash and not as sweet as the flower had, and the Argents found nothing of it in the bestiary that Lydia herself had translated.

She ended up spending a lot of time at the Stilinskis’ house. They kept an eye on her, she knew. After the last time they had left her alone and she had wandered away they made sure to lock the door once everyone was inside and then the three of them would spend the night researching, finding books and information about anything like the things that Lydia had seen.

At some point they ended up in Stiles bedroom, her on the bed with a book in her hand and him surfing the internet or chatting with some Hunter that Allison gave a tip about. At some point Stiles started to play games on Facebook and Lydia wandered his room pulling out books finding everything between the history of airplanes and a polish book about mythology. When she took that one, she realized Stiles was looking at her from the corner of his eyes. Then he mumbled softly, as if he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to say it.

“That belonged to my mother. I can’t read a word.”

It was all it took for her to place it back on the shelf and they both decided to call it a night. (And if Lydia let the book fall down into her bag while Stiles went to the bathroom, she hoped he wouldn’t notice).

She didn’t show it to anyone, not even Allison or Danny or the Twins when they came over to her place for the night. She hid it behind a magazine, a surprisingly easy yet affective tactic, while they all watched TV. The words meant nothing to her, but then she stopped at a page, watching the careful drawing of a flower burning darkness away and she knew she had found jackpot.

Aiden looked at her, worried and questioning and she suddenly found herself annoyed that he probably listened to her heartbeat. He must have heard it pick up. But she shook her head at him, and while he slid closer and grabbed her hand lightly, he didn’t ask or say anything.

Lydia excused herself to the bathroom and splashed her face with water, making her make-up run down in rivers and smudge against her hands.

She remembered holding Stiles down under the water.

She remembered that icy coldness against her arms and Deaton’s words and warnings.

She remembered Stiles waking up and everything was so rushed that she didn’t see.

She remembered Stiles eyeing her as she put the book back on the shelf and she still hadn’t seen.

Just like she hadn’t seen the bright light reflected from his window.

When she looked up into the crack of her reflection, her choice was made.

~*~

Lydia might beat herself up for this later, but she still remembered how to mix wolfs-bane into drinks with careful precision, and for the humans she only took the medicine her mother her given her after many sleepless nights. It didn’t take long for all of her watchers to sleep soundly on the floor of her living room.

It was a high climb up the hills surrounding Beacon Hill, but when she finally got to the cliff overlooking the town it felt worth it. Lydia had her make-up mirror in her hand and she turned away from the city, held the mirror up and let it reflect Beacon Hills with all its light.

Brightest of them all were a light coming from a block in the eastern part of the town. And Lydia took off her heels and clutched the mirror closed in her palm. She ran through the forest, let it give her strength and guide her and let the voices keep her awake as she ran out on empty streets, feeling death pull her in.

Letting death pull her in and she knew she was already too late.

The body was of a former senior from their school. Lydia had never liked him. Jackson introduced him once at a party and the guy had later cornered Lydia and asked her if she wanted to come to his house with his friends. Just hanging out. Yeah right. Lydia knew that she had felt sorry for whoever he actually managed to fool, and yet had had no problem smiling and pretending that she would love too come, but unfortunately couldn’t go. Jealous boyfriend and all that. Watching him stare at her from the ground with no eyes left except charred remains gave her the last clue that it had been a wise choice.

Stiles was watching her from the pavement.

“How did you find the body before me?” She asked, and watched a grin spread over his face. He looked exactly the same as he had since well, forever. Only a leaf stuck in her hair reminded her of the power of a reflections and she opened her mirror looking at him through the glass. She was met by the blinding light of the flower in his hand and his smile only grew wider, not a hint of shame in his eyes.

“Oh god, it’s been you the whole time hasn’t it.”

There was something terribly wrong with Stiles Stilinski.

~*~

Gif set: (x)