#martinski

i know I did one before but it's been a little while and wanted to do another one lol

Just try to find some way to remember me, okay?  Remember how you were the first girl I ever danced with?  Or how I had a crush on you freshman year.  Sophomore year? Junior year?  Remember how you saved my life? Just remember…  

She remembers all the times he was there for her, how many times she lost him during high school, and she’s literally just finally entered MIT and they’ve dealt with Monroe and everything was starting to look good.

He was in FBI and she was looking forward to a proposal and spending the rest of her life with him.

And now she was forced to spend the rest of her life alone. Even Scott wasn’t there for her, for some reason.

Then she sees Stiles’ ghost and he looks at her so softly and he hugs her and she breaks down crying. “I miss you, Stiles. It’s not fair, you weren’t supposed to leave me, I can’t do this without you.”

And his hug gets tighter and he says: “Mom, please remember. Remember.”

And suddenly she remembers. She’s 96 years old. Stiles did propose to her, and she said yes and they had 3 kids and 7 grandkids. She started developing dementia a few months ago. They’d always thought it would be Stiles, but he always kept saying that he could never get lost, she was his tether. 

They had spent a whole life together and it was the greatest, most wonderful adventure. His beautiful, strong heart was what failed him in the end. “I’ll wait for you,” he’d said on his deathbed. “With Scott and Allison. But take your time, Lyds. Our kids will need you.” “I remember,” she tells her son. “Oh God, I remember.”

They’d been married or 75 years, together for 78 and spent 88 years simply knowing each other and growing together.

“You know what, Noah?” she tells her son. “The time spent with him wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.”

If she could go back in time, back to when they were third grade, she would gladly relive everything, if it meant to be with him. She would never waste time being scared of her feelings for him.

Lydia lives for her children and for herself for 10 more years. She never again sees Stiles’ ghost because, as he promised, he’d be waiting on the other side.

She got to meet three of her great-grandchildren in the meantime.

She was strong, most of the time. She was Lydia Martin and she was rarely weak.

One night she felt him sit down on his side of the bed. She opened her eyes and turned to look at him. The light of the full moon shining through the window illuminated the haunting dark beauty of his face. He looked young and vulnerable, like when he first told her he loved her.

“Why are you crying?” she asked him.

He gingerly wiped away the tears from his eyes and sniffed. “I just wish you had more time.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and sat up. “Stiles, I’m 106 years old. I think it’s my time.”

He drew her to his arms. 

Lydia broke into tears. “Oh God, I missed you so much.” She inhaled his scent, revelled in the boyish softness of his skin, the thick dark hair that he liked to style like one of those Hollywood stars from the Golden era. 

“I missed you too, Lyds,” his voice was rough from emotion. It made her remember how much she always craved him.

“We have great-grandchildren now.”

“I know, they’re the prettiest babies ever,” he said as he kissed the top of her head. “Are you ready for the new adventure?”

She sniffed into the crook of his shoulder. “Only if it’s with you. God, I can’t bear to be without you again.”

“You don’t have to,” he promised.

He helped her stand up and suddenly, by the lack of pain in her joints, she realised she was young again.

“I think you’ve always looked beautiful,” he told her as if reading her thoughts.

She lit up at his words. “Really?” She smiled, remembering all the times he’s told her this: their prom night, when she was crying, when she was pregnant, when she saw her first wrinkle or her first grey hair, or when she got her menopause, or when she realised she was an old woman, and then when she realised she was an elderly woman, and then when he was dying.

He offered her his hand and she took it immediately. She’d forgotten how much she loved holding hands with him, how much she’d missed that.

Then the light appeared. There were people waiting at the other end. “Mom? Allison? Scott?”

Stiles only squeezed her hand in reassurance. Her heart (or what felt like her heart) skipped a beat as she realised she wouldn’t have to let go.

She’d always thought that she, the banshee, would die young, screaming. But instead, she died at 106, with a happy laugh.