Okay, a little while ago in 'scarlet' I asked for prompts, and some of you responded. This is the first one, although I intend to write and publish the others as well. The prompt, from the always lovely gossgal33, was 'a fic where Lydia is killed and Stiles "goes out of his freaky mind"?' and that's what this is (well, sort of). There'll be three parts to this, and all are written by now, so amount of interest will determine how quickly I update. Not really any warnings for this chapter, other than, y'know, major character death in the first paragraph. But nothing too graphic this time around. The story takes place around Halloween, hence the timing of this.
Also. I suck at following timelines, so I have not a clue when anything happens in the show ever. So if the timing in this seems off/non-canon, just roll with it.
So, enjoy, review, and happy Halloween/Samhain/NaNoWriMo Eve/whatever you celebrate.
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By some bizarre twist of fate, Lydia dies exactly one year after Allison, right down to the day. Although the pack won't know that until the next day, because unlike Allison, Lydia does not die in the arms of her first love, surrounded by her friends. She dies alone in her room on a Monday night, slogging her way through the first gigantic volume of a supernatural encyclopaedia.
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This encyclopaedia is the first thing Stiles sees when he comes to pick her up for school on Tuesday morning.
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The second thing he sees is her body.
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In a panic, Stiles doesn't think to call the police, not even his dad. Instead, he calls Scott.
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When the alpha arrives, Stiles has come to his senses enough to try to keep him out of Lydia's room. Scott, being captain of the lacrosse team and a true alpha to boot, barely has to nudge Stiles to get him out of the way.
The door creaks open.
The world shudders to a stop.
Scott falls to the ground, breaking the silence with an inhuman moan that crescendos into a howl. Stiles sinks to his knees beside his friend.
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The howl dies away, and one by one the pack shows up.
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Stiles doesn't say a word as he watches each of his friends fall apart.
Kira is inconsolable, covering her face with her hands and making a strangled whimpering noise behind them.
Isaac, returned from France for an impromptu visit, slams his fist into the wall, his claws scraping the plaster and his eyes glowing yellow.
Malia, usually in control of her impulses after a year of intense training, takes one look at the body before turning on her heel and sprinting away, and a second after the door slams a mournful wail rises up.
Derek is the last to show up, Liam having changed schools a few months back, and he just shakes his head wordlessly, looking faintly sick.
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It takes five minutes for someone to think of calling 911, another fifteen for anyone to show up, and by the time school starts, Lydia's house is surrounded by flashing lights and filled with a heartbroken pack.
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For the next week, Stiles plays a game of Fate, a bargaining game with the universe.
On the way to school he thinks, If that red truck takes the next turn, Lydia's alive, and watches as it speeds past the turn and carries on.
He tries again in math class. If I get the next problem wrong, I'll wake up tomorrow and this will all have been a horrible dream. He follows each step as the teacher works through it on the board, and Stiles slams his book closed in frustration when he gets it right.
That afternoon he tells himself, If I see a bird on the drive home, it means she's not really gone, but the skies are clear and his heart is empty and it starts snowing, a full three months too early.
He gets an idea, but it's about three years too late.
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On Monday, a week after she died, Lydia is laid to rest.
None of the pack speaks at her funeral – they didn't at Allison's either – but they're all there. Scott and Stiles in the front row, next to Mrs Martin. Kira, Malia, and Isaac are a row behind. Liam, back for the occasion, is sitting up the back with Derek. Mr Argent is standing by the door, a grim look on his face.
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The tiny little church is full, overflowing, brimming with people who loved her.
And among the masses are a handful of people who actually knew her.
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There's a wake after the service, but none of the pack attends. Instead they go back to Oak Creek, where they haven't been in a year. They stay in the courtyard, shivering in the early snow, standing in the early dark. They share stories about Lydia, about her strength and intelligence and perseverance. A bottle of whiskey gets passed around, more for tradition than any expectation of effect since only two of their number are even susceptible to it.
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Stiles gets blindingly drunk and Scott has to support him to the car.
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Kira drives them home, her eyes bright with concern and foxfire shimmering around her, a clear sign of her anxiety. Scott's eyes flash red every now and then, as if he can't control himself. Stiles doesn't see any of this; he's passed out on the back seat, curling into himself, breathing deeply and shivering occasionally.
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He dreams of her that night, for the first time since it happened.
She smiles at him and brushes his cheek with her hand and tells him that everything is going to be okay.
He calls her a liar and wakes up in a cold sweat.
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The idea is simple, the execution a little more complicated.
It was the supernatural that did this – without magic and curses and goddamn werewolves, Lydia would still be alive. So would Allison. And Scott and Stiles would just be two geeky, awkward teenagers.
And maybe everything would be okay.
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If the supernatural did this, Stiles reasons, then the only thing he can do is avoid it completely.
No kitsunes.
No druids.
No banshees.
No werecoyotes.
No phoenixes.
No werewolves.
Nothing.
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His friends don't take kindly to this idea.
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Stiles doesn't care.
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A month after Lydia's death – natural causes, apparently, surprising but unavoidable, due to some condition Stiles can't even spell – and Stiles is entirely alone.
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The pack had tried to reach him, of course.
For a week straight, Kira had made him cupcakes every day. He threw them all in the trash.
Malia came to visit a few times, no hard feelings despite their breakup eight months ago. She brought him pizza and tried to get him to talk and he wouldn't even look her in the eye.
Derek took over then, dropping by Stiles' house during school hours and asking him how he was. Stiles' anger had no effect on the werewolf, but his silence finally got the best of him and the welfare checks stopped.
Isaac and Liam visited him together, both having decided to stay in Beacon Hills for the time being, and they both looked incredibly uncomfortable. But they stayed until he promised he was okay.
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That night he dreamed of Lydia again, and this time she was the one who called him a liar.
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Scott is the only one who hasn't given up, and Stiles loves and hates him for it in equal measures.
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As Halloween approaches, Stiles loses his mind. At least, that's what he thinks at first. He starts to see Lydia – in the halls at school, by the side of the road on his way home, in his bedroom at night. She doesn't say anything, just watches him silently, and he ignores what he assumes is a hallucination.
But then he has a thought.
This is Beacon Hills.
Anything is possible.
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That night she comes to him like a shadow, the slightest hint of a smile softening her features and her eyes sparkling with starlight.
"Are you a ghost?" he whispers and her smile grows.
She raises a hand and beckons to him, and, as he always has and always will, he follows.
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Lydia's room, unsurprisingly, is filled with books.
What is surprising is that there's a loose page lying on her bed, looking like it's been torn out of an old book. Stiles approaches slowly, glancing around. Lydia's ghost – if that's what had led him here – is gone.
The page feels fragile in Stiles' hand, like the slightest movement will cause it to collapse into dust. As he scans the title, Stiles feels his heart speed up.
He carefully folds the page, tucks it into his pocket, and exhales slowly. His gaze drifts to a picture on the nightstand: Lydia is smiling at the camera, a rose pinned in her hair and an actual honest-to-god rainbow in the background.
"It's okay," he tells the picture, "it's all going to be okay."
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And it is.
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Because he's going to bring her back.
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TBC.