Fifteen times. Lydia no longer cared about looking desperate. She was already grasping for any hand, any sturdy structure that would allow her to hold onto. Again and again she called Stiles, walking around her bedroom with wet eyes and a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and again and again her call was ignored.

It wasn't unlike Stiles to be wrapped up in some project and miss her calls, especially now that he had Malia and senior year and uncovering Theo's secret hanging heavy in his mind. Lydia remembered the days when she would call him and he would pick up on the first ring, but those days seemed a distant memory now. Now, when she needed to deliver important information, or she needed a soothing voice, she called Scott. She wasn't sure when she started relying on Scott more than Stiles, but she didn't like it one bit. It had always been her and Stiles. Her and Stiles scouring the internet for information, wrapping red strings around a cork board of frightening faces and places. Her and Stiles studying for final exams and scavenging the kitchen for late-night snacks. Stiles' hand, burning on her back as they walked through unfamiliar territories and pushed through crowds.

She had always been able to fall back into the familiarity of their routine, always been able to speak her mind to him and be rewarded with attentive listening, and low-spoken reassurance. But now, she felt a chasm between them, so big and so wide it seemed impossible to cross. So many times she called to him over and over, hands cupped around her mouth to project her cries, but he just stood there and looked back across the abyss, unable to hear her pleas.

In a very un-Lydia-like manner, she began to bite her perfectly manicured nails as her stomach gave a particularly violent roll, oily and foreboding. Something was definitely off, and in true frustrating fashion, she couldn't tell just what it was, or who it would happen to.

Her pacing increased, the plush carpet hushing her bare footsteps. She concentrated until her head began to throb. Was it happening to Scott...it didn't feel like it. Would it happen to Kira or Malia….? No, it was Liam then. No...that wasn't it either.

Lydia let out a whimper as she felt her throat constrict. She was on the verge of panicking, on the edge of tipping over and losing it. Without giving it much thought, she grabbed her keys and sprinted to her car, still barefoot and shaking as the engine roared to life and peeled out of the driveway with a squeal.

She didn't know where she was going or why, but one moment she left her street and the next she found herself pulling into the driveway of the Stilinski household. Lydia threw herself out of her car, racing to his front door before pounding her fist and ringing the doorbell incessantly.

Stiles hurled the door open, an incredulous look on his face. "Jesus-God, what-!"

Lydia practically threw herself on him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"Whoa, Lydia, are you alright? What's going on?!" he said, alarmed as he took her in. She was standing on his doorstep with watery eyes, bare legs and feet, and shaking like a leaf so violently that her hands were hitting her stomach.

"Stiles," she rasped, "something bad, something terrible is going to happen. You need to listen to me! You can't drive your jeep anymore...something, maybe to you, I-I don't know...I…" Lydia stuttered and trailed off as her eyes darted around his doorway to see Malia descend the staircase in nothing but one of his hoodies. The hem riding dangerously high on her toned, tanned legs. Lydia turned to stare at Stiles, and finally she saw it. His flushed cheeks, hair wild and eyes glassy.

Malia called out to her, "Lydia, are you alright? Stiles, what's wrong with her?"

He turned to give her a shrug before turning back to Lydia, eyes racing across her own.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," she murmured, "but Stiles, I really need to speak with you. I have a horrible feeling…"

"Sure, sure," Stiles complied, opening the door to usher her in. "Malia, give us a minute, I'll be back up in a sec."

Lydia tried to ignore that as he sat her down on his living room couch before leaving and coming back with a cold cup of water.

"Breathe, Lydia you're shaking so hard." he said, gently rubbing a soothing circle on her shoulder blade. It felt so good to be touched by him like that, chaste and comforting. She fought another wave of tears as she realized how much she just missed his presence. How his absence had been like a shadow across her entire world.

Lydia wiped underneath her eyes, mascara trailing in a dark swipe across her fingertips.

"I was just alone my house, when I got this feeling."

"What feeling?"

"Oh you know," she laughed bitterly, "just the usual, impending doom to my loved ones and all that jazz."

Stiles nodded, and she could tell he was trying to listen and understand, but it seemed as if he wasn't all there.

"I really am sorry to uh, intrude on your personal time, but I have this feeling about a car crash. A really, really bad one."

"How bad?" Stiles whispered, bringing his hand to his mouth to rub his lips anxiously.

"Bad." Lydia shuddered, not wanting to utter what she truly felt...death.

She hated feeling what she felt. Sometimes she would awake in the middle of the night screaming, feeling cold, clammy hands close around her. Sometimes she would dream of Allison asking why she hadn't saved her. Sometimes she would be sitting at the dinner table eating breakfast cereal, and the next she would be vomiting into the kitchen sink as she felt someone shriek in pain. Lydia felt it all, and ten-fold. She wanted to believe there was peace in the after-life. That there was no more pain, no more fear. She wouldn't have to be constantly afraid for the safety of her friends, for herself. But when she laid in bed at night, she knew the truth. Death was vast and endless and it hung, black and waiting, like a storm cloud hovering over her bed. And there was nothing comforting or beautiful about it.

"Well, can you tell me more?" Stiles asked, hands moving quickly through the air between them.

Lydia blinked in confusion at his sudden change in demeanor.

"I just feel...a car accident. I think it's about you, but I'm not sure. It might be your jeep, and you, but everything is skewed. Like, like I'm looking at it all upside-down."

He was silent for a moment as he digested her words.

"So...I can't drive my jeep anymore? Forever?"

"I-I don't know? No, stop driving your jeep."

Stiles threw his hands up with a huff.

"Lydia, you can't say this kind of stuff without offering more information and an actual solution."

"What do you think I'm doing right now?" she glared, anger and desperation beginning to roll off her like waves. "I'm telling you Stiles, I don't think you should drive your jeep anymore. You should take this seriously!"

"Lydia," he started, grabbing her hands and squeezing them, "I'm trying to take you seriously, but it's not like I'm going to be okay with never driving again. And you can't tell me when this will happen, or where, and you're not even sure it's even going to happen to me! Your information is useless right now."

It was like he slapped her in the face, and she reeled back from his touch, disgusted and ashamed. He knew how insecure she was about her lack of banshee-know-how. He knew how often she blamed herself when the pack needed information and she was unable to provide it. It was an open wound, and he had knowingly poked at it.

"Stiles, I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to understand and help. You've always taken me seriously before!" she cried, brow furrowed in frustration.

"I mean, I take you seriously! I do, but you can't tell me anything that actually helps, and I'm kind of in the middle of something right now…" he trailed off, eyes darting to the top of the staircase.

Lydia's head began to throb painfully.

"Stilinski, you're being an ass right now!" she spat, surprised at the venom behind her words.

"And you're being a brat! Like, I'm sorry I can't give you all my undivided attention right now. Maybe you should come back when you actually can tell me something useful." he growled, running a hand through his thick brown hair in irritation.

Lydia stared disbelieving at him with big green orbs. Never had he spoken to her that way. Never.

It was like she felt the floor drop out from beneath her.

As if in a dream, she slowly rose before crossing the living room to the front door. She heard him call out to her half-heartedly, before she slammed the door behind her and burst into tears.

Scott answered his cell, mid-bite with mouth full of potato chips.

"What's up, mom?" he gulped, reaching for his glass of water.

"Scott, you need to get down here right away. Lydia just came in." Melissa ordered urgently, voice tight across the other line.

"What?!" Scott jumped up, already toeing on his sneakers and reaching for his car keys.

"Yeah, car accident. A deer jumped out in the road and her car flipped three times. She has a bad concussion, a broken arm and two broken ribs but she's going to be okay."

Scott let out a shaky exhale. "Does Stiles know yet?"

"I called, he's on his way."

He nodded, rubbing his temples. He needed to get to Beacon Medical, and fast.

Stiles was pacing the lobby when Scott arrived, and he was startled to see his friend with red-rimmed eyes.

"Stiles, it's going to be okay. They said she's fine." Scott spoke, throwing a comforting arm around his shoulders. But Stiles wasn't having it. He was shaking his head vehemently, fist clutched to his mouth, trembling.

"No, no, Scott. You don't understand. This is all my fault." Stiles moaned, the feeling of guilt riding heavy on his shoulders, an inescapable weight.

Scott looked around before leading Stiles to a couple chairs in a nearby waiting room. He waited as Stiles took steadying breaths, knowing he would speak when he was ready.

"Lydia called me like, a dozen times today. And I was ignoring them because I was in the middle of something with Malia…" he trailed off, blush flushing his cheeks before Scott nodded for him to continue.

"And then she showed up at my door, and she looked absolutely...distraught. So I sit her down on my couch, and she goes on and on about a bad car accident that's going to happen. She thinks it's me and my jeep, but she didn't know for sure. She said I should probably stop driving my jeep, you know, just to be safe," he let out a choking noise, "b-but I wasn't really listening. I was thinking about Malia upstairs, and I was mad that she interrupted, and I was frustrated that she couldn't tell me for sure the details of the accident, or if it was even me. And of course I'm not going to stop driving my jeep...I totally lashed out at her. I've never spoken to her the way I did. And I could just tell it...crushed her. She was really scared, and I just was a total dick to her." Stiles finished, before hanging his head in his hands.

Scott let out a low breath, clapping his hand on Stiles' back. It wasn't the first time he listened to Stiles' ramblings on Lydia and her feelings, what she was thinking, how he reacted, how he felt in return. It wouldn't be the last time either.

"Do you want my advice?" Scott offered, and Stiles turned his head.

"You need to apologize, of course. But you need to be there for her too. You and I both know the real reason why you're pushing her away. Maybe it's time you be honest with her."

Stiles looked up at his friend, heart pounding. To be honest with Lydia was something he hadn't done in a very long time, but when Scott said it, he knew it to be the right thing to do.

She was sitting up in the bed, with glassy eyes. Someone had braided her hair in a loose side braid, and it hung over her right shoulder. He suspected Melissa. The braid exposed an almost black crusting of dried blood on her temple. Her arm was already in a cast, and a sling wrapped around her shoulder.

"Stiles," she croaked weakly from the bed, watching him with unfocused eyes as he entered the room and approached her bed.

He stood there, uncomfortably, until she scooted over and patted the open space between them. Gingerly, he laid down beside her.

"Lydia…" he started, tears beginning to prick his eyes.

"Don't. Stiles, don't blame yourself. This wasn't about you." she said, and he could tell she was struggling to formulate thoughts into words in her drug-induced haze.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, her healthy hand wrapped in both of his.

"Are you in any pain?" he whispered.

"It's hard to breathe and my head's fuzzy. But I don't feel anything." she murmured, eyes fluttering.

"I'm sorry I was such an asshole to you this morning. I didn't listen to you, I didn't take you seriously. I'm so mad at myself for that. You've saved us countless times and I had the arrogance, the audacity to doubt you. I've never done...I swear, I'll never do that again, Lydia. Never." Stiles pleaded, bringing her hand to his mouth with a kiss.

"It's still going to happen," Lydia turned to him with luminous wide eyes, "the accident. This wasn't it. You have to be careful, Stiles. Promise me."

"I promise. Of course. I promise."

Content with his promise, Lydia nodded before slowly lowering her head to his shoulder and closing her eyes.

"Kira, Malia and Liam are on their way. I want to talk to you about something important before they come." Stiles gulped, suddenly becoming nervous. He wondered if she could tell that his hands had begun to get clammy.

"Lydia...I haven't been there for you for a very long time, and I'm sorry. When Malia and I got together, it wasn't like we chose each other. It was like, she was there, and I was there, and it just kind of happened. But I was still in love with you, of course. And I knew it was wrong to feel that way while Malia needed me, and we were in this strange relationship. So I just thought...maybe if I gave you some space, I wouldn't keep harboring these feelings. Maybe I would move on."

Lydia slowly raised her head to look at him, and he stared back before finding the strength to continue.

"I can't do it anymore, Lydia. I can't move on. I didn't choose Malia, but it felt good, so I let it happen. But that's the difference. I chose you, Lydia. Since I was eight years old. I chose you, I'll always choose you." he finished, breath shaky and eyes wet.

He had returned to her, he always returned. She knew he would never really be able to move on, just as she would never be able to move forward without him. They were two bodies sharing one soul, one tether. Bound to each other, forever and always.

"Kiss me, Stiles Stilinski." she whispered onto his lips before closing the space between them in a soft embrace.