Hi loves! First of all, thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing my other TW fics, you're amaze!

So, fair warning: this one is going to HURT. Not sure why I love writing such angsty fic or continually beating up my fave characters (sorry Scott!)...I'm actually a happy person in real life. Really! PM if you need warnings for potential triggers.

This fic was basically born out of my growing fear that Jeff Davis is going to take a page from Game of Thrones and kill off the main characters in the finale...namely Scott.

Really hope I'm wrong.

This was mostly written off the first 6B trailer and the first few eps, will have both canon and AU elements because of that.

Also, I tried a new writing style for this fic, every other line break will flash back and forth between present day and the events of the final battle two months before, hope it makes sense!

Anyways, thanks for reading! Bring some tissues for this one.

Fictional

Present day

"Agent Stilinski, do you mind telling me what the HELL happened back there?"

Stiles sighed heavily, looking up from the floor to finally make eye contact with his superior officer. "I know, I know, I went off protocol. I'm sorry, sir."

"No, no, you didn't just go off protocol," his superior, Agent Mahoney, stood up, coming around to lean on his desk and look down at Stiles with a frown, "you completely disobeyed direct orders from a supervising agent, left your fellow field intern agents behind, interrogated a subject when it was a goddamn recon mission, not to mention you aren't supposed to have any direct contact with our marks as an intern, and to make matters worse, you assaulted said subject when he tried to flee!"

Stiles was silent for a long moment, lips pressed in a thin line, but he refused to break eye contact with Mahoney, giving him what he hoped was a determined look. "And I'm well aware of all of that, sir. But shouldn't it also be noted that I was able to extract the needed information from the subject and no one else got hurt?"

"Stilinski, that's besides the point," Mahoney huffed, shaking his head. "And the fact that you don't see a problem with your actions, and how it may have endangered your team or yourself, and that you are clearly showing no remorse for how you handled things...you leave me no choice."

"Wait! Sir, please," Stiles jumped up from his chair then, desperate to explain his actions away, but Mahoney's firm hand on his shoulder pushed him right back down in the chair. Stiles fell back with a loud huff, still rambling out an apology. "I know I made a mistake, okay a lot of mistakes, but I can promise you right now that it won't happen again!"

"Easy, agent," Mahoney sighed heavily, and the intimidating look on the older man's face became a softer one. "I'm not kicking you out of the program. Yet."

Stiles breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he had stepped way out of bounds on this mission, that he had completely broken all of the rules he had sworn to as a FBI intern in training, but yet he was still finding it hard to feel sorry for it.

The mission had been a success, so why should it matter how it was completed?

"Seriously, thank you. I know I messed up, but I will stick to the mission protocol from now on. I swear."

"Stilinski, I want to believe that, I do," Mahoney sighed, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face. "Look, you're a good kid, and I think you have a hell of a lot of potential."

"Thank you..." Stiles began, but Mahoney held up a hand to cut him off.

"I'm not finished yet. That being said, there are still a lot of things you need to change if you're serious about staying on with the Bureau, if you want to continue and become a full fledged agent someday." He paused, looking at Stiles with that sympathetic look that he was beyond tired of seeing.

Couldn't everyone stop treating him like a fragile piece of glass already?

"You know, Agent McCall and I go way back, which you're already well aware of. So when he called me up and said he knew a kid out of Beacon Hills, his old stomping grounds, that he thought would be a perfect fit for this program, for the FBI, I knew he meant it. Raf never did give compliments lightly."

He gave Stiles a sad smile now, hesitantly patting his shoulder again, this time in a semblance of comfort. "And I was really sorry to hear about his son."

Stiles' jaw automatically clenched at those words, his whole body instantly becoming tense. He just stared straight ahead, not daring to say anything, and gave his superior a stiff nod in reply.

"And I know you and Scott were close. I'm sorry you had to lose him like that."

Stiles' eyes darted upwards to meet Mahoney's for an instant, hard and hollow, betraying tears that he still refused to let fall at the mention of Scott's name. He forced himself to take a steadying breath, clearing his throat roughly. "Uh, thank you, sir."

"I sympathize with your loss, I really do," Mahoney said sincerely, before straightening back up and removing his hand from Stiles' shoulder. "But at the same time, you are currently a danger to yourself and your field team. You were reckless on this mission and we can't have agents going rogue every time they think they know better than their superiors. Especially when the letters on your uniform aren't even official yet."

Stiles' breath hitched, because he already had a feeling he knew what was coming.

"Which is why I am putting you on mandatory leave for two weeks."

"But sir!" Stiles protested, jumping up from his seat again. "That's not necessary! I know I went off protocol, but in the end no one got hurt, and I got the information we needed! I'd still call that a win, wouldn't you?"

"And the fact that you still can't see what's wrong with how you handled things on the mission is exactly why I am putting you on leave," Mahoney shook his head with a frown. "You need to get your head on straight, Stilinski. This isn't a suggestion, it's an order."

"I'm fine, seriously!" Stiles shot back, his heart racing now, the idea of not being busy, of not being completely immersed in missions, about being trapped alone in his room with his thoughts being completely unbearable. "It won't be an issue again! Please please don't do this."

Because if he had all that time to think, to rehash his living nightmare for the past two months, to think about Scott...

Then Stiles knew he was going to completely break.

"Listen, Stiles," Mahoney rarely used his first name, and Stiles didn't even know he had known he went by Stiles, "this is non negotiable. You're lucky I have the authority to keep you in this program after pulling a stunt like that. But I know you need some time, son, so I'm going to give it to you."

He paused, frowning heavily. "But when you come back in two weeks, you need to be ready to put your all into this. If two weeks go by and you decide you're not up to it, to be a part of this organization, then I'll let you go, no questions asked. But either way, you need to deal with what happened, and take some time to process it. You won't be any good here until you do."

"No sir, I'll be ready," Stiles clenched his jaw again, his fists balled up at his sides as he fought to contain his composure. He was somewhere in between crying and punching something, and he wasn't sure at that point which one was worse.

"Good," Mahoney nodded stiffly at him. "Then get your things together and go. We'll see you in two weeks, not a moment before."

"Yes sir," Stiles said hoarsely, before grabbing his bag and badge from the floor and storming out of the office.

Two months ago

"Hey, this is Scott. Sorry I missed your call, leave me a message and I promise I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Damn it Scott, answer you phone!" Stiles grumbled into the voicemail before angrily hitting his phone screen to end the call.

"Stiles, we're almost there," Derek told him with a hint of exasperation from then driver's seat of his camaro as he accelerated even faster down the highway. "Less than 20 miles out."

Stiles shot him an annoyed glance from the passenger's seat. They had been in the car way too long together already, but they were determined to get back to Beacon Hills and help Scott stop Gerard, now that they had finally heard what was happening there.

Stiles was just afraid they'd be too late.

"How about less talking and more driving," he shot back, hoping he hid the worry in his tone with irritation, while simultaneously knowing none of that mattered because Derek was a werewolf. He could smell emotion.

It didn't matter really, because they were both worried, even if neither of them were willing to voice it aloud.

But nothing else really mattered right now except getting back to Beacon Hills to protect the people they loved.

Present day

"Hey, this is Scott. Sorry I missed your call, leave me a message and I promise I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

After leaving the FBI headquarters, Stiles stood in the middle of his tiny FBI issued dorm at George Washington, knuckles white from how hard he was clenching his cell phone. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he hit the end button, and then automatically redialed the same number, one that he knew better than his own.

"Hey, this is Scott. Sorry I missed your call, leave me a message and I promise I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Stiles swallowed thickly, pulling the phone away from his ear and hitting end again, before compulsively hitting call again, furiously blinking back tears as the familiar voice came over the line once again.

"Hey, this is Scott. Sorry I missed your call, leave me a message and I promise I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

This time, instead of hanging up at the beep, he took a shaky breath before slowly speaking into the phone.

"Uh, hi, Scotty," he began hesitantly, internally hating himself for doing this but being unable to stop, "I know this is weird, and I know you aren't there, not really, but I just, I don't know, feel like I have to talk to you somehow. I, uh, need to talk to you." He inhaled sharply as he furiously blinked back tears, determined to keep them at bay.

"God, Scott, wherever you are now...I hope you can hear this."

Stiles paused, swallowing thickly in an effort to compose himself, as one lone tear finally escaped and rolled down his cheek. He didn't even bother to brush it away as he rambled on.

"I just, man, I just miss you," Stiles breathed into the phone, clutching it to his face. "We all do, and I would literally give anything dude, just to talk to you, one more time. Just to know you're okay...just to tell you that I'm sorry, Scott. Damn it, I'm so sorry. We failed you."

He paused, choking back more tears. "I failed you. And everything here is falling apart, and I don't know how to do this without you man, okay? I just need you to come back, Scott. Please, if there is any way...if you can hear me, if you can just give me a sign, somehow, because I don't know what to do here. I don't know how to do all this without you..."

The voicemail suddenly beeped in his ear, effectively letting him know his message had been cut off. Stiles sighed heavily, pulling the phone away from his ear and hitting the end button again.

In the last two months, Stiles had only left two other voicemails, but he must have called Scott's phone over a hundred times, just so he could hear his voice. He was afraid that someday he'd forget what his voice sounded like, and he couldn't bear the thought of that.

He was selfishly thankful that Melissa had decided to keep Scott's phone activated for the time being, even if it was for the heart wrenching fact that it was probably too painful for her to deal with it yet.

Turning off his phone would just be another step towards admitting that this nightmare they were all living in was real, that they were all really living it, and that Scott was really gone.

Two months ago

"I can't believe you actually came back," Scott gave a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head at him, still unable to believe that both he and Derek had come back at the eleventh hour when he had needed them the most.

"Well, you had better believe it, because there's no way I wouldn't be here for this," Stiles gripped his shoulder firmly, giving him a wry look. "Although I should actually be asking you why you thought you had to keep me out of this."

Scott shrugged, looking slightly chagrined. "I'm sorry, man. We just knew how excited you were, finally being in Quantico, and starting with the FBI. I didn't want to ruin that for you, and neither did Lydia, none of us did, by dragging you back into all this, you know? You were finally happy, and safe. You were finally out of Beacon Hills."

"Dude, no," Stiles quirked a smile at him, pausing at the skeptical look Scott gave him in return. "Okay, well, yeah I was excited to be out of this hellhole of a town and away from all the nightmares that are actually real life here. But I didn't want to be away from you, or Lydia, or my dad, or anyone else I care about here. You guys should have called me sooner. FBI or not, you guys are always what matter the most to me, got it?"

Scott nodded in agreement, giving him a tired smile. "Yeah, I know Stiles. I'm sorry, it's just after the whole Ghost Riders thing...I thought I was protecting you from all of this."

"Scotty," Stiles laughed, shaking his head at him, "when are you going to realize that although you might be the one busy saving everyone else all the time, I'm the one busy saving you?"

Scott grinned at him, one eyebrow cocked in amusement. "Yeah, yeah, I guess. Thanks for having my back though. Seriously."

Stiles gave him a knowing smirk. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again...you've still got me."

Stiles was still holding his phone in the middle of the room, debating on torturing himself by calling Scott's voicemail again, when his phone suddenly rang in his hand.

Lydia.

The woman of his dreams, that he had finally gotten to fall in love with him...only for them to both move 3,000 miles from home and 1,000 miles apart from each other to start their futures.

And now, after everything they had been through, everything they had lost...Stiles wondered why Lydia was even wasting her time on him at this point. He was a lost cause.

He braced himself, clearing his throat to sound more steady, before he finally answered the phone.

"Hey Lyds," he forced mock cheerfulness into his tone, although it wasn't because of her. No, she was the light of his life, the only reason really to keep moving forwards at the moment, to remind him of the good he still had to hold onto.

It was just hard to fake being happy when it still felt like his heart had been physically wrenched out of his chest and run over with a lawn mower, over and over again.

"Hey, I didn't think you'd be free right now," Lydia said in surprise when he answered. "Aren't you still wrapping up your mission? I was just going to leave you a message to call me later."

"Uh, yeah, about that," Stiles gave her a humorless laugh over the phone. "The mission wrapped up early."

"Stiles," Lydia warned in a no nonsense tone, and sometimes Stiles hated how perceptive she was, how she had always been able to cut through his bullshit, especially now that they were officially together.

"Lydia, everything's fine," he attempted to reassure her, but internally cringed the second those words were out of his mouth.

"Oh no," she breathed, and he could practically picture her pacing around her MIT dorm room furiously in her high heels as she talked to him, "don't you dare, Stiles. I've heard that phrase way too many times from you to know that it's not true. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," he quickly backtracked, but he knew it was no use. She knew him better than that. "There's nothing to worry about."

"Stiles," she replied, more softly this time, "you've been saying that to me for the last two months. Please, tell me what happened. Don't shut me out."

Stiles closed his eyes at her words, sucking in a painful breath. He knew, he knew he had been keeping her at a distance, which wasn't hard necessarily with how far apart their colleges were, but he had been downplaying how bad things had been for him, had refused to talk about that night or anything involving it since the funeral, and Lydia had been beyond patient with him, handling his wide range of nonsensical emotions without blinking an eye as she waited for him to figure everything out. If he ever did.

He didn't deserve her.

"Lydia, I'm sorry," he breathed hoarsely into the phone, forcing his voice to stay as steady as possible. "I'm not trying to push you away."

"Yeah, I know," she replied quietly, and he wished more than anything else she was there with him in that moment, that they could wrap their arms around each other and that then, everything might be okay.

"Stiles, I'm worried about you," she continued, and he could hear the concern in her voice clearly over the line. "So talk to me."

So he did. He filled her in on the mission and his solo agenda, and directly disobeying orders, and how he was in deep trouble with his superiors at the FBI, and he knew he wasn't going to get any second chances after this one.

"And I've been put on leave," he sighed heavily as he finally finished telling her the story, "for two weeks."

"Two weeks?" he could hear the incredulity in her tone.

"Yeah," he replied, feeling ashamed that he had to admit this to her now, that he had failed once again. "I messed up, Lydia. I really messed up."

"Stiles, no, that's not it," she was quick to reassure him. "You just need more time. It hasn't been that long. It's only been two months since Scott..."

"No. We're not talking about this," Stiles quickly cut her off, his voice instantly becoming hard.

"You never do," she replied, but there was no heat to her voice, only exasperation and worry. "But you haven't talked about it since we left Beacon Hills, you haven't talked about him since..."

"Lydia," he warned, his emotions raising precariously high to the surface, "stop."

"Stiles, I know you need time," Lydia continued over the line, "but you still need to deal with what happened, because you haven't yet, and you can't keep doing this. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Lydia, I'm fine," Stiles replied through gritted teeth, his knuckles turning white from his death grip on the phone.

"That's just it," she sighed heavily into the receiver, "you're not. And that's okay if you're not okay yet. None of us are, really, but we need to take care of each other. Most of all you."

"Well it doesn't really matter, does it, because Scott's dead if you hadn't forgotten, and there's nothing that anyone can do about that, so just back off!" he snarled over the phone before he could stop the words from spilling angrily out of his mouth. He immediately regretted them.

"God, Lydia...look, I'm sorry," he breathed heavily, running a hand haggardly over his face and trying not to drop the phone. "I'm so sorry. I'm just, I'm such a mess right now. And you don't deserve this. You don't deserve me to treat you like this."

"Stiles," her voice was quiet, remorseful, "Grief is unpredictable, and this is hard for you, for all of us. I understand. Sometimes, you just need to lash out. But I'm not mad, I'm just worried."

Lydia paused for a moment, before adding, "And I'm not going anywhere."

Stiles was almost ready to cry again. "I really don't deserve you."

A soft laugh came over the line in reply, trying to break the heaviness between them. "Wouldn't want you to forget it."

Stiles huffed a short laugh in return. "I could never forget that, don't worry." He paused then, suddenly realizing that he had no idea why Lydia had called him in the middle of the day between her classes.

"Wait a second, what did you call me about?" he asked curiously then, taking a breath to compose himself. "This isn't our normal time for Facetime."

"Oh, yeah, almost forgot," Lydia replied, her tone suddenly changing. "I got an interesting phone call today."

"Oh yeah?" Stiles asked her, curiosity peaking, glad for a distraction from their previous topic. "From who?"

Lydia paused for a long moment before she replied.

"Malia."

"Wait, what?" Stiles stared hard at Scott for a long moment, leaning back against the jeep. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Scott looked slightly uncomfortable as he glanced over at him, rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you mad?"

"Am I mad?" Stiles echoed, just staring dumbfounded at his best friend. "Did you think I would be?"

Scott nodded. "Well yeah, Stiles. I mean Malia's your ex-girlfriend, and I know the whole thing is weird..."

"Scott, okay, hang on a minute," Stiles held up a hand to stop him. "Yes, it's weird. Definitely weird. But I wouldn't say that I'm mad."

"You're not?" Scott raised his eyebrows in surprise, the edges of a smile creeping up his face.

"No," Stiles gave him a small smile of reassurance, stepping closer to him. "Look, you're my best friend. And I'll always care about Malia, but we've been broken up for a while now, alright? Besides, I'm with Lydia now, and I think Malia and I have finally gotten to a good place with that too, ya know?"

"Yeah," Scott nodded in agreement. "I mean, this whole thing is weird if you think about it," he gestured at them in reference to Lydia and Malia being friends as well.

"Yeah, but come on, we've dealt with much much weirder," Stiles gave a short laugh. "And honestly, I'm more surprised than anything. But I'm not mad."

"It sort of snuck up on us," Scott grinned, shaking his head. "I mean, we've always been friends, back when you two were together even, but I don't know, something started to change during the whole Ghost Riders thing when we were trying to get you back..."

"Scott, look, it's okay," Stiles reached over and squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. "It makes sense, actually, looking at you two. I'm surprised I didn't see it before. And to tell you the truth, if you guys make each other happy, than I am happy for both of you. Seriously."

Scott couldn't hide the relieved look on his face at his words. "Thanks, man. That means a lot."

"Of course," Stiles smiled knowingly at him. "I mean, look at us. We're both with amazing women who we've somehow convinced to date us, we finally graduated that prison otherwise known as Beacon Hills High, and we're about to finally start our lives. What more could we ask for?"

Scott snorted at him before his smile quickly fell. "Well, none of that is going to matter if we don't win this war with Gerard or stop the monster driving their fear."

"I know," Stiles was serious now, face hardening in response. "Which is exactly why I came back. We have to end this thing. And there's no way that you were going to do that without me, by the way."

Scott nodded firmly in agreement. "No way. We're doing this together."

Stiles awoke the next morning to a loud pounding on the door to his FBI issued dorm room. He squinted one eye open to look at the clock on his cell phone.

7:23 a.m.

"Go away," he yelled out, before flipping over and burying his face in his pillow further. If he didn't have to get up for his internship at the FBI, then he wasn't getting up for anything.

Not to mention the killer hangover he had from the night before, thanks to the half empty bottle of whiskey stashed under his bed. Stiles had learned many creative things thus far in the FBI program, and one of them was how to easily obtain booze as a minor.

And he had gotten really good at it as of late.

He knew he should be worried that too many nights lately had seen him drinking his feelings, but he was too emotionally exhausted to care.

Being numb might be better than feeling anything else.

The knocking continued incessantly on his door, making the pounding in his head increase exponentially.

"Oh, for the love of..." he started to yell back, until he heard her.

"Stiles, it's me," a familiar voice came through the door, and Stiles was sure then that he must be dreaming.

There was no way that she was actually here...

"Stiles!" The voice came again, and then he knew it was real.

Lydia.

He scrambled out of bed, flinging his covers away as he became helplessly tangled in them, his already poor motor coordination worse than usual. Finally free, his bare feet quickly padded across the cold floor until he reached the door, frantically flinging it open.

Lydia was there. She was really there.

"Oh my God," Stiles breathed, his heart doing literal backflips at the sight of his beautiful girlfriend standing there in his doorway, looking impeccable as always with a large suitcase behind her. "You're here. You're actually here!"

"Hi to you too," she smiled coyly at him, but he could see the lines of worry behind her smile.

"Come here," he muttered, reaching out and pulling her tightly up against him, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the familiar smell of her shampoo. She wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tight. He leaned down, placing a long kiss on her lips and relishing the feel of her soft lips against his own.

After a moment, Stiles pulled back, cupping her chin gently as he looked at her. "I can't even tell you how amazing it is to have you here right now." He paused, studying her face carefully then. "But what are you doing here right now?"

She shrugged innocently, looking up at him. "I missed you."

He narrowed his eyes at her. He knew there was more to it than that. "Lydia."

"Okay, fine," she sighed, giving him a knowing look, hand on her hip. "I came because you needed me."

Stiles felt a pang of guilt in his chest at that. Lydia had packed up and left school, missing her classes and time to work on her upcoming thesis, all because he was too weak to deal with his emotions and got kicked out of the FBI for two weeks.

"Lydia," he frowned at that. "And don't think it's because I don't want you here, because trust me when I say I do, I've like dreamed about you coming here to visit me...but what about MIT? All your classes? You can't put your life on hold just because mine is falling apart."

"Stiles, it's fine," she shook her head quickly. "I'm already way ahead on all of my coursework, and I won't have another meeting on my thesis topic until next month, and my professors have all been very accommodating about my family emergency, so it's fine. I can take a little time off."

"Family emergency?" he echoed, looking at her in confusion.

"Well, you...and Scott," she frowned when she saw the way he flinched at Scott's name, her tone instantly growing wistful, "are my family, and I already lost one of you. I won't lose you too."

Stiles eyes suddenly became wet, and he looked away, determined not to cry in front of her, determined not to fall apart every time someone brought up Scott. "You won't lose me, Lydia. I promise you that, I'm never going to leave you."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," she replied softly, gently tilting his head back up to look at her. "You're not taking care of yourself, and I can't let you keep doing this." She paused, stepping back to pull her suitcase into the room. "Which is why I'm here."

"Why's that?" Stiles sniffed, giving her a sad smile.

"We're getting away for a while," Lydia told him matter-of-factly, leaving no room to argue. "So go pack your bags."

"Scott can't take on Gerard, not with this creature on his side. He can't win this," Derek said as they pulled up outside the McCall house. Stiles frowned when he saw the bullet holes in the siding and the boarded up windows, realizing how close he had come to losing some of the most important people in his life and not even knowing what was going on.

He was determined not to make that mistake again.

"What other choice does he have?" Stiles glanced back over at him as he turned off the jeep, that he had happily been reunited with when he had returned to Beacon Hills. "Gerard and his army won't stop until all of you guys are obliterated, by the way, so if Scott isn't willing to fight them, then who will?"

Derek sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest in the passenger seat. "Scott has always been about saving people, about protecting everyone he loves and those who are innocent. But this is different. This is bigger than anything we've ever faced."

He paused, turning back to Stiles. "Scott is the right person to try to be the hero, but sometimes the hero doesn't get a happy ending." He gestured at the bullet holes obviously glaring at them in the side of the house. "Look at what almost happened already."

Stiles scoffed, shaking his head at him, but he couldn't help the feeling of dread that crept into his heart at Derek's words. He quickly shook it off before he replied.

"But Scott has us, and together, we're gonna kick that old bastard's ass, one way or another."

With that, he swung open the driver's door, jumping out before looking back with feigned annoyance at Derek still sitting in the jeep. "You coming?"

Derek barely suppressed the amused look on his face before he swung open the passenger door and jumped out on the other side.

"Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Stiles asked curiously from the passenger side of Lydia's car as she merged onto the highway.

"Somewhere we can get away," she replied, glancing at him with a quirk of her lips before focusing back on the road. "It's a long drive so you'll have plenty of time to worry about where we're going later."

"Lydia," Stiles sighed in exasperation, "you know that I can't stand not knowing. Are you really going to torture me all the way to wherever it is that we're headed?"

"Precisely," she grinned, still looking at the road, but Stiles could tell how pleased she was with herself. He frowned, feeling determined, although he knew that when it came to Lydia Martin, she would always win when it came to him.

"Lydia, tell me."

"No."

He sighed. "Please tell me where we're going."

"Not yet."

"Okay, pretty please?"

"Still no."

"Lydia, come on! Tell me where we're going."

"Not going to happen."

Stiles huffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration and sending the short ends every which way. "God, if I didn't love you, I'd hate you right now."

Lydia spared him another glance before turning back to the road, a playful smile gracing her lips. "I know."

Stiles leaned back into his seat with a heavy sigh, but he couldn't help the small smile crossing his face. They may always argue like an old married couple, but Stiles wouldn't change a thing about it.

It was just one of the many things that he loved about her.

He sat up suddenly and turned back towards her, remembering something she had mentioned earlier. "Okay, if you won't tell me where we are going, then will you at least tell me why Malia called you?"

"Oh," Lydia's eyes grew wide, as if she couldn't believe she had almost forgotten, "I meant to tell you when I got to your dorm."

"It's okay, you were too busy ordering me what to pack," Stiles gave her a wry look as she chuckled at him.

"If I don't dress you, who will?"

Stiles frowned again, but ignored her comment. "So, what did Malia want? How is she? Where is she?"

Last they had known, Malia had taken off after Scott's funeral, heartbroken and lost and needing to get away, to run away from all the pain...and they hadn't been able to get ahold of her since.

"She's...okay, I guess," Lydia began hesitantly, giving Stiles a worried glance before she looked back at the highway. "Or at least she's back from wherever it was she went."

"Wait, she didn't tell you where she's been all this time?" Stiles asked incredulously. "Don't you think she owes you that, after how worried we've all been about her?"

"Yeah, probably, but I didn't push it," Lydia shrugged, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "I'm just glad she finally called. I didn't want to push her too hard."

She paused, letting out a heavy sigh, voicing what they were both thinking. "I can't lose any more friends."

Stiles swallowed thickly, pushing down a sudden wave of emotions and clearing his throat roughly before he continued. "So, what did she want?"

Lydia looked at him seriously before looking back out the windshield, lips pressed into a frown.

"She wants to see us."

"Huh," Stiles said aloud to himself, leaning back against the side of the doorway as he watched Malia carefully stitch up a gaping wound in Scott's side so that he would heal faster.

Their most recent run-in with Gerard's army hadn't been as successful as they had hoped, and Stiles was now working with Scott's dad to recruit more FBI agents in the supernatural know to help take them on.

They needed all the help they could get.

Scott winced as Malia finished pulling the thread through his tattered flesh, gritting his teeth from where he sat on one of the metal tables at the clinic in determination to stifle a groan. She said something quietly to him that Stiles couldn't hear, before gently wrapping her hands around his wrist and taking some of his pain.

Scott sighed in relief at her touch, leaning closer against her, and their faces were so close that their noses were almost touching. Malia pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Scott's mouth, causing him to light up in a soft smile despite the obvious pain he was in.

"Huh what?" Lydia said suddenly, coming up to Stiles' side and nudging him. He automatically lifted his arm and put it around her shoulders, pulling her tightly up against his side.

"I'm an idiot," he murmured softly, still watching the intimate interaction between Scott and Malia. They were so wrapped up in each other at the moment that they didn't even know Stiles and Lydia were watching them.

"You mean more than usual?" Lydia teased, smirking up at him.

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her in mock irritation, but a warm smile played on his lips. "Yes, more than usual." He looked back up at Scott and Malia. "I don't know how I didn't see it before."

"Well, you were gone for most of it," she shrugged, as if that were the obvious answer. "And I don't think they knew what was happening between them for a long time, even if it was becoming obvious to everyone else."

Stiles chuckled in agreement to that. "That's probably true. Sometimes Scott needs to be smacked with the obvious before he realizes that somebody likes him."

She laughed, her voice becoming fond with memories. "Also true. I'm pretty sure that's what Allison did. And Kira."

"And now Malia," he snorted with a shake of his head.

"They're good for each other," Lydia mused, leaning heavily into him. "I'm glad they finally figured it out."

"Me too," Stiles agreed, looking back down at her, "and I'm really happy that we finally figured it out."

She looked up at him, a small smile on her face. "That might have been my fault."

He leaned down to give her a long kiss. He pulled away, still smiling. "Doesn't matter, because you figured it out now, and let me tell you, you were worth the wait."

She pushed against his chest playfully, pulling slightly out of his embrace. "Wow, long distance has turned you into a sap."

"Only for you," Stiles grinned, pulling her back to him. He turned back to watch Scott and Malia holding each other now, lost in their own world, feeling something settle in his chest that two of the people who were most important to him had found each other. "They seem happy."

"They are," Lydia agreed, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "Hopefully as happy as we are."

Stiles looked back at her fondly, his eyes shining. "That'd be hard to do."

"Well, we're headed north," Stiles mused as Lydia merged onto yet another highway.

"Is that you putting your FBI skills to work?" she smirked as she turned off her blinker.

He bit out a laugh. "Yeah, that and my FBI training tells me that you need to stop for gas soon."

Lydia quickly glanced at her tank to see a quarter still left, knowing that meant about 100 more miles with her car. She gave him a cynical look. "And by gas, do you mean food?"

"Food? Yeah well now that you mentioned it, I am hungry," Stiles replied cheekily.

"Fine, fine, we'll stop," she replied with mock exasperation. "We still have a long ways to go anyways."

"Still not going to tell me where, are you?" he gave her a knowing look at she got off on the next exit.

"Just be patient," she chastised him gently with a smile.

"Lydia," Stiles looked at her incredulously, "I've been nothing but patient with you. Come on, I've waited since the third grade for you to notice me! I think that deserves a medal for patience."

She laughed at that, shaking her head. "True."

"Yeah, and you're still not telling me, are you?" Stiles sighed with a shake of his head, but he couldn't help grinning at her as she pulled into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant.

"Nope," she replied matter-of-factly, but Stiles could hear the amusement in her voice.

As Lydia reached for her purse, he suddenly leaned across the center console and grabbed it out of her hands, digging through it swiftly and pulling out her phone.

"Ha!" he crowed triumphantly as Lydia tried to no avail to snatch her phone back. "I bet you have the directions in your navigation app."

"Stiles, give it back," she warned, looking at him with mild irritation.

"No way Lyds, this might be my only chance," he laughed in victory, swiping the screen to open the phone.

His laughter quickly stopped when the screen opened.

He wasn't prepared to see a photo of himself, Lydia, Scott, and Allison as the phone screen background. His smile suddenly faded and his face turned white as he looked at the photo, memories flashing unbidden across his mind as he looked at their four smiling faces.

It was an old one, probably from the beginning of junior year. Stiles couldn't place it exactly, but he knew it was after Scott and Allison had broken up and sometime before she had started getting closer with Isaac. Judging from how happy and carefree they looked, it must have been right before the Nemeton happened, permanently changing their lives forever.

"...what's this?" he finally looked up at her, all traces of humor and teasing now gone between them.

"It's my favorite picture of us," Lydia answered quietly, her eyes filling with tears that she was blinking furiously against. "It's my favorite one of all of us."

The unspoken it's the last one of all of us rang in the air between them.

The fact that both of their best friends were now dead was almost too painful to bear. Stiles felt his chest growing tight, and he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before his emotions took over.

"It's a nice picture," he said hoarsely, before simply handing her back the phone, completely uninterested in looking at the navigation now, unable to keep looking at the smiling faces of two people they'd never see again.

They both sat for a long moment in the car in silence, the air hanging thick and heavy between them. The road trip thus far had been a distraction for both of them, but now one simple photo had been a reminder, a hard slap in the face of everything they'd lost.

"I'm not hungry," Stiles finally broke the silence, giving her an apologetic look.

"Me either," Lydia sighed heavily, starting the car once again.

"Scott, you sure about this?" Stiles frowned, adjusting his FBI vest so that it fit him more tightly.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Scott attempted a reassuring smile. "This plan is going to work."

"I hope you're right," Stiles muttered, giving him a skeptical look. "I just have a feeling, you know, about this whole situation, and it's definitely not a good one."

"Well, let's leave all the ominous feelings up to Lydia, okay?" Scott sighed, but Stiles could tell he was more worried than he was letting on.

"That's just it, she's being overloaded by them," Stiles furrowed his brows. "With this whole fear monster thing and all the impending death that's, let's be honest, is probably going to happen tonight, she can't sort out all of the voices."

"Stiles," Scott reached over and patted his shoulder, "everything is going to be okay, and we have to do this tonight. We can't run from this."

"Yeah, Scott, I know," Stiles nodded in agreement. "This whole nightmare has to end. Really, I'm just hoping all the impending death feelings means Gerard and all his goons."

"Maybe," Scott pressed his lips into a thin line at that, a serious look on his face. Stiles knew that as much as Scott had avoided having to kill anyone for so long, he also knew that tonight was the night that he was willing to do it if it saved everyone he cared about, but that he was grappling with that moral dilemma.

"Hey, man," Stiles pulled him out of his lost thoughts, "whatever happens tonight, just remember that you're the good guy, we're the good guys. And just because you're fighting for what's right doesn't mean that some blood won't get spilled."

If there was anything Stiles had learned thus far from his FBI training, in conjunction with growing up with werewolves in Beacon Hills, it was that sometimes a little blood had to be spilled for the greater good.

And Scott knew that, but he also knew the grey area where the lines blurred between good and bad when people started dying. "I know, Stiles. And I didn't say I would get out of this whole thing without having to spill some blood...I just don't want the blood to be any of yours."

Stiles gave him a knowing look, because he knew that Scott always struggled with asking his pack to walk into battle time and time again, when he knew not all of them might walk back out.

They had already learned that the hard way with Allison, and it still hurt to think about her loss. Stiles knew Scott still struggled with it everyday, whether or not he let on. Stiles just knew his best friend well enough to know, without words having to be said.

"It won't be. We're ready for this," Stiles gave him a wry grin as he gestured proudly at his FBI vest. "Come on, this is the most prepared we've ever been to take on the next supernatural disaster in this town, probably ever, you know that. Besides, we have Derek, and Ethan, and hell even Jackson here now. We got the band back together, Scotty. We're going to win this."

Scott broke into a small smile at his reassuring words. "We're definitely not going down without a fight."

"Exactly, that's the spirit," Stiles patted his back, before glancing at his watch. "Okay, I have to go meet up with my dad and your dad and the rest of the unit and get into position, and you have to go get the pack into place." He paused, raising an eyebrow at Scott in question. "You ready?"

Scott nodded firmly. "Yeah, let's end this." He paused, looking at Stiles for a long moment, his eyes full of unspoken emotion, but Stiles could read what was there. He reached over and gripped Stiles' shoulder firmly in his hand, as if he was afraid to let him go. "Wait, Stiles, just...just be careful, alright?"

"Yeah, I will," Stiles quickly reassured him as he gripped his shoulder in return, giving him a serious look. "And you too. Just because you're a werewolf doesn't mean you're invincible. Don't go out there and have a hero complex and get yourself hurt, okay?"

Scott huffed at that, just shaking his head. "I'll try."

Stiles gave him a long look, before finally nodding in agreement and releasing his grip on his best friend. "Okay, man, then I'll see you out there." He paused, studying him carefully for a moment before he spoke again. "I'll see you after this is all over."

Scott gave him a grim smile in return. "Deal."

"Are you going to tell me now where we're going?" Stiles asked with a frown as they crossed over a long suspension bridge, one that rivaled the Golden Gate but one that he was certain he'd never seen before.

"Lake Superior," Lydia finally answered nonchalantly, no longer having the energy to keep up the charade. Both of her hands were gripped tightly on the steering wheel as they crossed over the water. From here, where Lake Michigan and Lake Huron joined, it almost looked like they could be crossing the ocean.

"Huh," he mused as he took in the gorgeous sights, before turning to look back at her. "Why all the way up here?"

She shrugged, still staring straight ahead through the windshield as she continued driving over the bridge. "It was somewhere we could be alone, away from everything." She paused to glance over at him before back at the road again. "At least for a little while."

"Lydia," he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Why are we really going to the most northern point of Michigan in the literal middle of nowhere? Doesn't really seem like your style."

"Fine," she sighed, but her lips quirked at him. "One of my professors has a remote lake house up here, and he said we could use it for as long as we need. And it's fully furnished and modernized...but with no neighbors."

"So we can still be alone," Stiles mused with a nod of his head. "This place had better be nice then."

"Dad, trust me, I've got this," Stiles tried to reassure him as the remaining loyal deputies and the FBI unit got into position.

The Sheriff sighed, laying a hand on his shoulder, his eyes boring into his. "Stiles, that's not the problem. That's not my problem with any of this, or with your plan."

"Yeah, well, mind telling what the problem is before we walk head on into some nut jobs with guns being driven insane by a creature that literally feeds on their fear?" Stiles eyed him carefully.

His dad narrowed his eyes at him, but it wasn't so much in annoyance as it was in concern. "My problem is that no matter how much you guys have taken on, or what you can do, or who you've defeated before...you're all still just a bunch of kids fighting in a war, that you never should've had to be a part of in the first place, and I'm afraid that not all of you will make it out of this thing alive."

"We'll be fine, we can handle this," Stiles tried to reassure him briskly, because he didn't want to focus too long on his dad's words.

He didn't want to focus too long on how he might be right.

The cottage was beautiful.

It was small, but it was impeccably decorated and well cared for. It sat right on top one of the high lake shore cliffs, with a breathtaking view of Lake Superior for miles around.

And they were completely alone.

"Yeah, okay, this is pretty nice," Stiles breathed, standing at the edge of one of the rock cliffs and taking in the views of the lake. It was so large, it was like being at the ocean, except the air was fresh and crisp and salt free. It was better than the ocean, if he was being honest.

"Told you," Lydia smirked, standing beside him. They stood side by side, enjoying the silence of the woods around the cottage and the sound of the waves of the big lake lapping up against the rocks far below them.

Stiles felt her fingers gently brush against his, lacing together and squeezing his hand tightly. He smiled, squeezing back, as he glanced over at her. His heart almost stopped at how beautiful she looked, the setting sun lighting her red hair in a halo of fire, the wind gently whipping at her face as she looked deep in thought out over the water.

And for the first time since Scott had died, Stiles wondered if everything might actually be okay again.

"Derek, come on!" Stiles was basically screaming at him now over the gunfire and the smoke and the battle all around them, even though he knew the werewolf could hear him.

"Stiles, go!" Derek growled back through gritted teeth, clutching his wounded side as he staggered to his knees. "You need to find Scott! Now!"

Stiles frowned, looking frantically around at the chaos in complete indecision. He knew Scott was in trouble, that he was still in the thick of everything with Gerard, and that he had been going against the older hunter alone when Derek had last seen him.

But Derek was badly hurt, and the FBI was having a hard time holding off the hunters with the ancient monster lurking around and amplifying their fear, and in short their entire plan had fallen apart pretty quickly.

But Stiles knew Scott would never want him to leave another pack member behind, no matter what was happening to him.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, before leaning down and hauling Derek upright, ignoring his groans of pain as he slung his arm over his shoulder.

"Stiles, what are you doing?" Derek panted at him as he leaned against him, struggling to stay upright.

"Saving your sorry ass, again," Stiles shot back in reply as he started dragging Derek away from the heat of the battle and towards safety.

He paused, locking eyes with Derek. "And then I'm coming back for Scott."

"What do you want for dinner?" Lydia asked on their fourth night there as they sat in the airy open kitchen of the cottage, looking out an incredible bay window towards the cliff and the lake as darkness fell. In the distance over the water, they could see some storm clouds rolling in, thunder echoing distantly in the background.

"Uh, that's okay, I'm not all that hungry," Stiles replied, feigning a smile as he took another long draw from the whiskey in his glass, earning a more than disapproving look from her.

And all he had really done was drink for four days, and avoid any serious conversations with Lydia. He knew it wasn't for lack of trying on her part, but she was being patient with him, biding her time and letting him come to her, waiting for him to be ready.

He had been successful thus far in distracting her from her mission to get him to open up, and to stop drinking so much, by catching up physically with her in ways that neither of them were unhappy about, and constantly redirecting all their conversations to MIT or the FBI or their typical playful banter.

But Lydia was too smart for all of his games, and he should have known that. She had been letting him avoid the topic of Scott and what had happened in Beacon Hills for the last four days.

He could tell tonight that she was reaching her limit, her worry and frustration continually building, despite her ever logical mind telling her this was how he was dealing with his grief and not to push him too hard.

But they had been apart since the funeral, and seeing him in person now for more than a few hours, she could see for herself how bad things really were for him.

Stiles couldn't blame her for being worried. He was falling apart.

Lydia frowned as he set down his glass with a loud clang on the kitchen bar, the last remaining liquid sloshing at the sides. Her voice was heavy and strained when she spoke. "Stiles."

"Lydia, don't worry, I don't drink this much every night," he lamely tried to reassure her, a forced smile on his lips.

It wasn't every night, really. Only when he was alone at night and couldn't drown out the memories of his best friend, his brother, dying in his arms, and being powerless to do anything to save him.

Scott's face suddenly flashed across his mind, and Stiles tipped the glass back again, downing the rest of the contents in one big gulp, barely even feeling the burn down his throat.

He was certain in that moment he was an eerie shadow of his dad after his mother had died, and how that should probably worry him, but he couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment.

Lydia watched him silently, a hard look on her face, but it was betrayed by the worry and fear in her eyes.

For him.

"Okay, fine," Stiles sighed under her unrelenting gaze, guilt for making her worry about him like this creeping up under his grief. He stared at his empty glass, unable to look at her anymore, letting the effects of the whiskey settle into his bones and relishing in the numb feeling settling over him.

Numb was better than anything else he had been feeling lately.

"I just," he looked back up at her, eyes wet with tears he still refused to let fall, "I haven't been that hungry, since...ya know."

She nodded slowly as she studied him carefully. "I know. I can tell."

He laughed bitterly. "That's probably because I haven't been sleeping either. I know I look terrible."

Lydia didn't reply, just biting her lower lip as she looked back at him, and he saw the hurt flit across her face at the casual way he said it.

Stiles was suddenly unreasonably angry, and he didn't know if it was at the universe, or Gerard, or Scott for dying, or Lydia for caring.

Or none of the above really. He was mad at himself.

"I'm going to get some fresh air," he grumbled, standing up suddenly and swaying to the side against the kitchen counter, realizing he was much drunker than he thought he was. He grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey off the counter as he staggered to regain his balance.

He was completely unprepared for Lydia's outburst.

"Damn it Stiles!" she suddenly yelled from where she was standing in the middle of the kitchen, her whole body vibrating with anger.

Stiles paused to look at her in shock, nearly stumbling again as he came to a sudden stop at her words.

"How can you be like this?" she marched around the kitchen island to stand in front of him, and he flinched at how visibly upset she was now, "How can you be so selfish?"

He blinked slowly, getting his bearings for a moment through the shock and the alcohol before he replied. "Are you actually serious right now?"

"I am, Stiles, I'm so serious, I could scream!" she shot back, causing Stiles to take a step back, because he knew the potential force that a Lydia scream could have.

Then suddenly, before he could think of anything else to say, Lydia burst into tears.

"Oh God, Lydia, I'm sorry," he took a step towards her, all his earlier anger forgotten, but she just shook her head at him, holding up a hand for him to stay away.

"No. Just, Stiles, I can't," her voice was tremulous through the tears in a way that did not fit the brave and fierce Lydia Martin, "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep watching you destroy yourself, or drink yourself to death."

"Lydia, I'm not..." Stiles started to protest, but she cut him off before he could find the words for a lame excuse.

"Just save it, Stiles," her eyes were flashing with anger and concern behind her tears. "Don't keep lying to me, and saying that you're fine. I know what really happened on your mission, and I know about Monroe, and I know how careless you are being with your own life."

Stiles' jaw dropped open, because he had no idea how Lydia had found out about that, or what he was planning to do.

He'd been tracking Monroe, abusing his access to confidential files at the FBI to find her whereabouts, and planning a solo mission to take her out on his own, because she still had to pay for what they'd done to Scott, to all of them...

It was a suicide mission, and he knew it, the whole pack would know that if they'd known his plans, which is why he hadn't told anyone, had been hiding his grief behind his single-minded focus to make Monroe pay for her role in Gerard's army and Scott's death.

But the Bureau wasn't moving fast enough, because they didn't know the real reasons for Monroe's involvement since most of the agents didn't know the truth about the supernatural yet, and the ones that did wouldn't let Stiles get involved, knowing his personal past with it and what had happened in Beacon Hills.

So he'd told no one, had hidden his secret agenda from everyone, until he had finally lost his cool on the last mission because he was absolutely sure that the subject was connected to Monroe...but Lydia hadn't known that part.

But then again it was Lydia, and he should've known she'd find out.

"It has to stop," she continued then, once the look on his face confirmed what she already knew, "this obsession with Monroe, and the hunters, before you get yourself killed too..."

She trailed off, her voice cracking, and Stiles felt his heart break at how much pain he was causing her, when they'd already been through so much.

"Lydia, look, I'll stop, I'm just, I'm just so lost right now," Stiles replied hoarsely, tears forming in his own eyes, absolutely hating himself for hurting the woman he loved like this. "I just...I just don't know what else to do."

She just shook her head again, looking at him through tear filled eyes. "It's like you forgot."

He furrowed his brows at her in confusion. "Forgot what?"

Lydia's voice was quiet now, full of pain and remorse. "Scott was my friend too. I know it's different for you, how close you two were, and I get that, I really do...but I loved him too. We all did."

Stiles swallowed thickly, knowing she was right. "Lydia, I know..."

"Or what about Allison?" she cut him off, taking a shaky breath to calm herself. "You're not the only one who lost a best friend."

Stiles' felt his heart drop at the hurt in her voice, and the pain in her eyes, and at what a complete jerk he had been, completely lost in his own feelings.

Of course he hadn't forgotten about Allison, or that Lydia had already gone through almost the exact same thing that he was now.

"Lydia..." he tried again, but she silenced him once again with a look.

"After Allison died, I wanted to lose myself in my grief, but I kept fighting, I kept on going, because that's what she would have wanted. She wouldn't have wanted me to give up." Lydia paused, eyes shining with tears as she looked at him.

"I just wish you'd do the same," she finished quietly, her voice hoarse and full of defeat, before she delivered the final blow.

"Scott wouldn't have wanted you to give up either."

Without another word to him, she turned on her heel and walked slowly out of the kitchen, going to the bedroom and quietly clicking the door shut.

Stiles knew then that he had hurt her beyond repair, and that he had been so selfish, so caught up in his own grief, that he hadn't even thought to think about the fact that she lost Scott too, or that she had also lost Allison only a few years before.

He'd been so consumed with trying to forget his feelings, not taking care of himself, being reckless with his own life, making poor decisions out of grief and anger, when he knew that everyone they loved and who loved him wouldn't be able to survive another loss.

And Lydia was right, she always was. This isn't what Scott would have wanted, in fact his final words to him had been not to give up...and that's exactly what he'd done.

He'd given up hope.

Feeling completely hopeless and more lost than ever, Stiles staggered to the door and walked outside, gasping for air and desperately hoping he wasn't about to have a panic attack.

He was truly hitting rock bottom.

He stepped outside as lighting crashed overhead, the thunder booming right behind it, as the imminent weather rolled in.

Stiles didn't stop, needing to desperately escape from everything crashing down around him. He walked forwards, disappearing into the storm.

To be continued...