fic request: anonymous asked Lydia visiting Peter a lot since he is the only one around who knows something about Banshees and Stiles get worried, so one day he confronts her and angst between them happen

Follow me on tumblr - my username is emily-betts

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the plot and any original characters that may be added in. All rights over characters of the TV show Teen Wolf belong to MTV.

Ever since the deadpool was terminated and they took care of everything with Kate, Lydia had been feeling… off. She thought that things would finally get better. They're all about to start their senior year of high school, she had been learning more about her grandmother and about her powers. Allison's death, while still unbearable, had become less painful, and they currently had no enemies trying to kill them. But things still didn't feel right. She began to wonder more about her abilities as a banshee. Being unable to stop Allison and Aiden's deaths weighed in the back of her mind, and she didn't want anything like that to ever happen again. Controlling her powers - being able to actually save someone - was something that she needed to be able to do. Which is why she turned to the one person she hated more than anyone on this planet: Peter Hale.

It started last month. Once a week, in between helping Deputy Parrish try to figure out what he is in the bestiary, Lydia went to Eichen House to visit Peter. He hadn't been her first choice - she'd gone to Deaton for help, but it turned out his knowledge about banshees was limited - but he was the only other person that knew anything about the supernatural or banshees. Lydia kept her visits a secret from her friends, feeling a little guilty for not telling them. But what other choice did she have? They wouldn't understand that she needed to do this; they would just worry and insist that she stopped. None of her friends, especially Stiles, talked to her about anything anymore, all of them having more important things to worry about like their new relationships.

It hurt, the feeling that she was alone. Lydia felt like all her friends had abandoned her and the one person she was supposed to be able to always count on had been the worst. During the whole deadpool-assassin debacle, Stiles had been around more, working with and comforting her. And she had to admit, she loved it. When Stiles was possessed by the nogitsune, it finally made her realize that her feelings for him, the feelings that had been brewing since their kiss, were real. Before she had the chance to tell him how she felt, Malia had been thrown into the picture, stealing all his attention and time. She didn't have anything against Malia, not really. She's a nice enough girl, aside from her rudeness and inability to filter herself, but she couldn't help but feel a little jealous at the new object of Stiles' affections.

So being able to spend time with him again, even if it was just because he needed her to crack the codes to the list, was something that she had cherished and missed once it was gone. After Allison, everyone had moved on with their lives and decided to face any new challenges as they come. Lydia just couldn't; she needed to be able to stop the challenges from ever arising. She couldn't lose anyone else that she cared about. She wouldn't.

Her meetings with Peter had yet to be effective. Peter always toyed with her, trying to get inside her head while only offering little bits of information here and there. But those little bits were worth all his torment, with some things cutting deeper than others as he seemed to somehow know literally everything about her. She had just finished her allotted time with him, grabbing her tote bag and heading down the hallway to the main entrance. Her heels clacked against the pavement as she made her way to her car, only being stopped by the sound of a voice calling out.

"Lydia? Is that you?" the voice asked.

Upon recognizing the voice, Lydia scrunched her nose before turning on her heel, a fake smile plastered on her face. "Sheriff, hi. What are you doing here?"

Sheriff Stilinski took a step towards her after directing the Deputy to head inside without him. "Working on a case," he narrowed his eyes at her, "What are you doing here?"

Not knowing what to say, she stammered, "Uh, no reason. Just… you know…"

The older man sighed, "Lydia, the truth please. I've had enough lying in my day with you kids."

"Fine," she relented, "I've… I've been visiting Peter." At the Sheriff's raised eyebrows, she explained further, "I know what you're gonna say: it's dangerous and he can't be trusted. You won't be telling me anything that I don't already know. But Sheriff, he's the only person that knows anything about banshees. He's the only person that can teach me more about my abilities. I'm tired of just sitting around being useless, finding the bodies after they're already dead. I need to know how to be better, to save people. Please don't try and stop me from doing this."

"Lydia, you're a very strong, intelligent young woman. I don't think I'd be able to stop you even if I tried. So, I won't try and stop you," he explained, earning a small smile form the girl. "That being said, please be careful. If anything happened to you... I don't think any of us could take another loss."

Nodding her head, she assured, "I'll be careful, I promise. Thank you, Sheriff Stilinski." She offered a smile before continuing to her car and heading home.

After having a long day interrogating Peter and being caught by Sheriff Stilinski, Lydia felt drained and just wanted a night in to relax. She changed into small shorts and one of Stiles' zip up lacrosse hoodies that he had left in her room during one of their many late-night research sessions. After washing her face and pulling her hair up into a messy bun, she made her way to the kitchen to get a glass of water when she heard a knock at the door. Confused, she glanced at the grandfather clock in the foyer and wondered who would be at her house at 10:30 at night. Making her way to the door, she was surprised to be met with Stiles, a stern expression on his face.

"Stiles? Uh, it's late. What are you doing here?" Lydia's shock quickly turned to irritation when he pushed his way past her, making his way into her house. "Sure, come on in," she added dryly, closing the door and turning to face him with her arms crossed over her chest in an attempt to hide what she was wearing.

Stiles turned to her, fire in his eyes, "You've been visiting Peter? Are you out of your mind? Lydia! This is Peter fricking Hale! The guy is a psycho and he's dangerous, and I cannot for the life of me think of a reason that would make you talking to him okay!"

Anger coursed through her veins. How dare he? Who the hell does he think he is? "I don't appreciate you storming in here and yelling at me. And last time I checked, I don't need your permission to do what I want," she retorted, trying to remain calm.

"Like hell you don't! Lydia, we're called a pack for a reason; we don't lie to each other!"

"I didn't lie! I just… withheld certain information, because I knew this is how you'd react. Stiles, this is something that I need to do, okay? He can help me with my abilities; he knows things that we don't. I just... After everything that has happened in the past year, I need to be able to feel like I have control over something. And my powers? I don't know how to use them, and people die because of it. They're something that I can learn to control so that I can actually help people instead of being the girl who is always too late." The double meaning of her last words is lost on him, unknowing of her feelings.

Stiles took a deep breath, trying but failing to cool down. "Lydia, I understand that you feel like you could do more for people with whatever abilities you may have. But you don't need Peter for that! You have Deaton and Derek and Scott. And you have me."

Lydia was unable to stop the pained laugh that escaped past her lips, tears springing to her eyes as she whirled on him. "I have you? Seriously? You really want to say that to me right now?"

"What?" confusion settled on his face, "Lydia, of course you have me!"

"Really? Because lately it doesn't feel like it. God, Stiles, how are you so oblivious? Do you even know what's been going on with me lately? How I've been feeling?" At his silence, she continued, "No! You don't! Well do you want to know how I've been feeling? I have been horrible! My best friend is dead because of me, because I couldn't stop it; because I wasn't strong enough. And at a time when I was struggling, when I needed my friends, where were you? Off gallivanting with Malia! Who, by the way, is completely wrong for you!"

"Lydia, what is this really about? I know that you aren't exactly best friends with Malia and you may not like the fact that I'm no longer pining over you 24/7, but that doesn't mean that we're not friends. I've been here the whole time."

She let out another humorless laugh, unable to fight the tears that trailed down her cheeks. "This isn't about Malia, Stiles. This is about you. The only time you've been there for me this past year was when you needed something from me, like when I had to crack the deadpool. We don't hang out anymore, we don't talk. Scott has been distracted with Kira, and Liam, and figuring out how to be an alpha. Everyone else is dead or gone! But you? You might as well be gone because you sure as hell aren't here. So don't you dare come in here pretending like you give a damn about what I do." She wiped her tear-stained cheeks with the backs of her hands and turned away from him. Moving to open the door, she looked back at him confidently, "Get out."

Stiles stared at her, eyes full of regret, "Lydia..."

"I said go," she interrupted.

After a few seconds, Stiles took a step forward, silently heading out the door. Once he was on the porch, he turned to her, "I'm sorry."

Lydia watched him walk away before closing the door. Once it was locked, a solid barrier separating her from the one person she thought she could always count on, she turned. Her back against the door, Lydia slowly slid down until she sat on the floor, head resting on the hard, wooden surface as she cried.