Chapter Text
He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t sleep.
It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose . He just can’t. He has no appetite, and too many thoughts pass through his mind to even think about rest.
Is this my fault?
What changed?
Where is she?
How is she?
Is she safe?
Is she ok?
Lydia…
He feels an emptiness inside that soon takes over; to the point where nothing hurts him, except for her. It destroys him. His tether is gone. Missing. The very thing that kept him together, kept him going, gave him hope, and love, and life isn’t here; he’s a wreck. How can he possibly continue on?
God, I miss her.
He tries to call her. She never answers. He calls her mother to see if she’s alright, “Yes Stiles, she’s fine.”
“Where is she?” silence on the other line, “Ms. Martin- he holds back a breath and scrapes at the stubble on his neck, “I just want to know if she’s safe.”
Her breath is heavy, “Like I said she’s fine , Stiles. She gave me strict instructions to not tell you where she went. I suggest-”
“Yes, I understand, but can you at least give me a P.O. Box number, or, or, just anything , please? I need to talk to her, I-”
“Well clearly she does not want to talk to you . Goodbye, Stiles.”
The line goes dead; and so does all his hope.
He drowns himself in his work until he can barely hold his head up. He’s the first one at the agency, and he’s the last one to leave.
His coworkers notice the change too. He’s paler than usual. His eyes are framed with dark circles, and the bags under them are more prominent than ever. He looks almost sickly; they’re concerned. Tim comes up and bangs his shoulder, “Stilinski- dude, you need a burger.”
Andrew, the one who couldn’t contain his laughter in the conference room the other day at Stiles' tardiness puts on his jacket and joins in, “yeah man, come on we’re getting beers after work. Come with us.”
Stiles shakes his head, “ah, I can't. Really, I appreciate it guys, but I gotta focus on this case.”
They know it’s more than that; anyone can tell that it’s more than that. Yet still, they walk away with knowledge that there is nothing they can do for him.
Stiles stays until security kicks him out. He studies patterns, reviews interviews, overlooks evidence, tries to find more, but it’s like this monster is always two steps ahead. It’s a good distraction, and he’s helping people, at least that’s his excuse for not taking care of himself. It’s all good and dandy, until he travels home, or to his house , it doesn’t feel like home anymore.
In the beginning, he would lay in bed and try not to think about her, attempting to accept his new reality. He never succeeded. Stiles would lay there alone, trying to find her, trying to reach her, but she was never there. He would cry and weep until he fell asleep; though the anguish feeling of shattering heartbreak never left him. Now he goes through his normal nightly routine: loosening his tie, untucking his collar, and re-introduces himself to his reliable bottle of bourbon. He stands until he can’t anymore, but the bottle never leaves his hands. Somedays he’ll find himself sprawled out on the couch, other times spread out on the floor, or against the wall. It doesn’t matter where he is, because to him, it’s all the same. He stares into nothingness, and drinks until it eases his pain. It usually doesn’t. Sometimes, he’ll stumble to his bed. If he’s ever sober enough to do so, he never tries to sleep; for every time he closes his eyes, he sees Lydia. She’s all he dreams about, and it’s nothing but pure misery. But on the lucky nights, he’ll drink himself to numbness, and then finally, he’ll be able to drift into a torturous slumber. Life stays that way for a while.
Life treats Lydia nice in San Francisco. She stays at her family’s condo with a view of the bay, the weather is beautiful, her new colleagues respect her greatly, and she’s doing great things. Lydia has everything she could ever need; except for one thing. And that one thing is her everything. The loss of that one thing, of Stiles , ruins her. She is in pure agony .
She wakes up from other nightmares, not ones of Stiles thankfully, but nightmares nonetheless. She’s shaking, and cold, and is aching for the warm body next to her to hold her, comfort her, love her. But he’s not there. He never will be. She cries herself to sleep every night, but not from the nightmares, from the utter ache in her chest that doesn’t seem to ever go away. She believes in never will.
She puts on her biggest and brightest smile when she walks out her doors every morning, and focuses on her new career. Lydia learns the ropes quickly, like she always does, and succeeds undoubtedly. At least she can have satisfaction while at work, but the minute it’s over, her walls come crumbling down. It’s a continuous cycle. The same act, over and over, reminding her of worse days. She recalls days of suffering, before a certain brown eyed boy came into her life. And now that he isn’t present again, life seems to go back to the way it was.
She gets his calls. She doesn’t answer. For she fears that if she does, she’ll go back, and she can’t . As much as she wants to, she won’t be selfish enough to take away his life. Although, it is ever so tempting.
One day a notification appears on her phone. It’s a voicemail; from Stiles. She takes a deep breath, and just stares at it for an eternity. So many thoughts go through her head. She doesn’t know what to do: Do I listen to it?
No, just delete it. Forget it. Try to forget. It’s easier that way.
But what if it’s important?
Life-threatening?
At first she ignores it, or tries to. It’s on her mind all day. She’s incredibly distracted; her colleagues notice. She blames it on lack of sleep. Which isn’t not true. Finally, when the day is over, and she finds herself alone in bed once again, she listens; and the crack in his voice absolutely wrecks her:
“Lyd-Lydia?”
He slurs, and she sobs, because she knows…
“Oh, um I-”
“God dammit,” he’s crying, but he’s trying to hide it.
“You’re not answering my calls, and you won’t tell me where you are, and your mom hates me, and I- I just want to know if you’re safe, Lyd. She- your mom said you were, but I need to hear it from you. So please, just call me, please. Or write, or something . I can’t do radio silence, not again.”
The mention of the wild hunt makes her freeze. She doesn't want to remember that night now. Unlike then, she’s trying to forget .
“ Um ,” he gulps and then whispers so softly that she feels like he’s here with her, “ Lydia, I miss you. Fuck. Fuck, I miss you so much,” he clears his throat when he says, “I- I know I probably won’t hear from you, and I get it. It’s easier that way, huh? Well, maybe it is for you. Um- anyway, I won't call you again, I’ll respect your wishes, but just know that I care for you, and just remember- Remember I love you,” be releases a breath, “always have, always will,” there’s a long pause and a mumble before his final words, “Goodbye, Lydi-.” The line goes dead, and so does she.
A wretched sob escapes her, and she cries herself to sleep that night, and for all the ones that follow.
In the end, you can’t avoid fate.
Can’t you?
Lydia recalls a time where she broke the boundaries of space and time to bring back the one she loves. That broke fate didn't it?
However, fate holds a different weight than death .
Emotional tethers keep each other grounded and sane. But that doesn’t mean you can’t survive without them. Sure, they’ll be forever incomplete, lost, and perhaps empty inside. Yet they live, but barely get by.
Yet death is death. There’s no coming back from it.
At least, that's what Lyida thinks before she gets a call from an old friend. She’s shocked, and in disbelief when she hears of the possibility that a lost friend has come back. She wants to believe it though. Damn it, she wants to believe with all her heart. Not just for the hope that a life can return, but for the possibility that one can be saved. One she can bring back to her life, and avoid anything that tries to take him from her.
So she goes to Scott, helps him bring back his loved one, in hopes to learn another way of saving her own.
They found their way back to each other once. And they sure as hell, will do it again.