I wrote a thing. Set immediately after 3x6

She can't breathe, she's drowning, she can't breathe, she can't breathe.

All she wants to do is cry but now is not the time to make a scene. So she bites the inside of her cheek and squeezes the sobs back down, and they rest heavily at the bottom of her throat, still pulsating, ready to burst back up at any second. Allison is asleep against the bus window and doesn't notice anything, not even the way Scott keeps glancing over at her. Stiles has his head thrown back over the seat, his mouth draped open, his breathing obnoxiously loud. As the bus turns a corner his head slides off the seat and onto Scott's shoulder. Scott gives him an annoyed look, but allows a small smile onto his lips as Stiles lets out a gentle snore. He moves his eyes back to Allison before they make contact with Lydia's, and he quickly looks in the opposite direction out the bus window, his best friend still drooling on his shoulder.

She sighs and slides further down her chair until her knees connect with the seat in front of her. She's a little bit jealous of him. Of them. There's nowhere Scott could go where Stiles wouldn't follow, and the knowledge that there isn't a person alive who would do that for her strains at her chest. She thought Jackson might, at some point. But she knew she was always more in love and he was more in lust. Which was fine, for a while. It's easy to pretend that you don't care for someone who is so obtusely withholding. They were a couple who made sense, each as self-absorbed and snarky as the other. But suddenly she couldn't pretend anymore, she loved him, loved him more than she'd ever loved anything.

And he left her. He was gone. The hole he left was gaping and she didn't know how to fill it. So she did what she did best. She flirted and batted her eyelids until boys she didn't have to pretend to care about were putty in her hands and soon writhing between her legs. And as soon as she was done with them she cast them out of sight and out of mind, until the memory of what it felt like to care was distant and dull. But something was different now and she wasn't sure if it happened gradually or all of a sudden.

Stiles snuffled again and she looked over as Scott frowned at the puddle of saliva forming on his shirt.

"Dude," he groans, shrugging him off, and Stiles awakes with a grunt.

"Sorry," he yawns, wiping the drool from his chin with the back of his hand. She watches his mind shake off the weight of sleep and his eyes immediately flicker around the bus for a werewolf inventory. Ethan: next to Danny. Check. Isaac: Next to Boyd. Check and check. Scott: Next to him. Check. He visibly relaxes and moves his gaze towards her and Allison. "You okay?"

"Define okay," she says in a weak voice.

"We just need to sleep it off," he reaches for a bottle of water in his backpack and pulls out some aspirin with it. "Yesterday was a long day and an even longer night."

She just nods and refuses his offer of painkillers, not wanting to say how terrified she is of going to sleep because she's not sure where she'll wake up. Or what she'll find.

He swallows the pills and gives her a tired smile. "We'll figure this out. I promise."

She forces herself to smile back and she realises she's never had a friend who was a boy before. None of them have ever approached her for entirely unselfish reasons, or talked to her because they were genuinely interested in what she had to say.

Except for Stiles.

Where did he get off? She was suddenly annoyed at how he'd given up any pretence of seduction and started acting like a normal human being instead of a lovesick puppy. Then she hated herself for wishing he would go back to the way he was before, even when she'd given every indication he didn't have a chance in the world. Now he's finding patterns no one else could see and fighting to save the lives of people he doesn't even know. She was only ever a distraction to him, and he was so much better off without her. Yet she craved his attention and the guilt that accompanied this craving made her stomach turn. She had no right to want him now. After everything she had done, and the way she had always treated him, how dare she go after the boy with the biggest heart when everybody knows the biggest hearts are the easiest to break.

Eventually the bus arrives back at the school. Aiden is there waiting for Ethan, and she waves at him but he just nods in her direction. Ethan climbs on the back of his motorcycle and they peel out of the parking lot with a loud roar. Boyd glares after their taillight and strides off into the night in the opposite direction. Mrs. McCall kisses Scott on the cheek as he and Isaac climb into her idling car. Allison whispers a meek goodbye before leaving with her furious-looking father.

It isn't until everyone is gone that she realises her car is out of gas at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere. Loneliness engulfs her instantly and she wraps her arms around herself, until she's startled by the sounds of jangling keys.

"Maybe next time you'll think again before encouraging your peers to projectile vomit in enclosed spaces," the voice of Coach Finstock echoes from the direction of the gym.

"Sure thing, coach!" Stiles yells over his shoulder, unlocking the door to his Jeep, that stupid fucking Jeep that's been through hell and back without a single scratch.

"Stiles?" she calls out, and he spins around in surprise.

"Lydia? What's wrong?" he sounds panicked and she can't help but feel a little bit pleased that he's still capable of worrying about her.

"Nothing, it's just… could get a ride?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course," he says without hesitation, and she climbs into the passenger seat as he starts the engine.

They sit in silence for a few moments and she feel him fighting to hold his tongue until he can't any longer. "So… I got detention for making Jared sick."

She just gives a noncommittal hum.

"Also what the fresh hell is going on with you?" The million dollar question.

"Can we not talk about it?"

"Could someone be controlling you again? Do you think it's Peter or someone else? Or something else? What if it's the Darach? Why is this happening?" He blurts out question after question until she snaps.

"I don't know!" she screams. "I don't know anything and I just don't want to talk about it! Especially not with you!"

"Me?" He's confused. "Why me? Are you mad at me? I'm sorry I thought you might be involved, but let's face it, you might still be, we don't know what going on in your head…"

"No, it's not that," she interrupts him. "It's you. You're such a hypocrite."

"What? How am I a hyprocrite?"

"You once told me that death wouldn't happen to me, it would happen to the people who love me. If I threw myself into danger and ended up getting killed then I would devastate everybody left behind. You said I shouldn't risk my life with things I know nothing about. And then YOU, you go and step into a puddle of freaking gasoline with an open flame like it's nothing! You didn't know what was going on in Scott's head! He could have killed you both, even if he didn't try and blow you to pieces he still could have ripped you apart! How could you do that?"

"What was I supposed to do, Lydia? Stand there and watch him die? No way in hell. He's my best friend. I've put my life on the line for less."

She remembers voices, like in a dream, or more like a nightmare, on a cold night in the middle of a brightly lit lacrosse field. Please don't kill her. Just kill me.

"And what about the people left behind? What about your dad? He's already lost your mother, what would happen to him if he lost you too?"

"You don't know anything about that," his voice is low and she knows she's crossed a line. "You don't know about my family. Stop pretending like you care."

"Of course I care," she tries to keep her voice from shaking. "I care about what happens to you, Stiles. I don't want you to die."

He doesn't respond and they sit in silence until he pulls up in front of her house.

"Thanks," she says, gathering up her bag and opening the door.

"I don't want to die either," he says, and she pauses. "But I knew I wouldn't be able to help anyone if I couldn't help Scott. I'd never be able to forgive myself."

She reaches over and puts a hand on his arm. "Do you wanna come in?"

"Me?" he looks puzzled again and it's so infuriating and endearing at the same time.

"I don't see anyone else around," she says.

"Lydia, I can't. I have to go home. My dad…" he doesn't need to finish the sentence.

"Please," she whispers. "I don't know what's happening to me, or why. Please, please don't leave me alone. I'm scared of what I might do."

"Lydia," her name is soft on his breath and she's never quite heard someone say it that way before. "I'm more scared of what it might do to you."

"I just don't want to wake up screaming and have no idea why. I'm so sick of being terrified all the time."

"Come and stay with me, then," he says with such earnestness that her throat tightens and she blinks back tears. "I can see my dad and he'll know I'm safe and you won't have to be alone. I'll look after you."

"I don't need babysitting," she frowns, knowing full well that the security of someone watching over her is exactly what she needs. "But okay. I just need to grab something first."

"It's just for a couple of nights, Dad," Stiles explains to his father as the Sheriff watches the little dog chew incessantly on a squeaky toy bone.

"Prada, no," she scolds, wrenching the toy out of his mouth. "I'm sorry to intrude, Sheriff Stilinski, it's just my house hasn't been the best home since my dad left and it's really distracting while I'm trying to prepare for the PSATs. I just needed to get out of there, you know?"

Pity filled the Sheriff's face and he nodded. "Of course, honey. Stay as long as you need. Just don't give your dog that bone back or I might have to get out my taser."

She smiled and thanked him, picking up Prada and slinging her bag over her shoulder. As she headed up the stairs she could hear hushed tones coming from the kitchen.

"Just, you know, be safe," the Sheriff says.

"Ugh, Dad, no, it's not like that. I told you before, she's not interested. She's just having a rough time and needs a change of scenery. I'm just looking out for a friend."

She thinks that looking out for his friends is all Stiles seems to do these days. When was the last time he looked out for himself? Why does he continue to put other people's interests before his own again and again? She wonders what it must be like to be so selfless. Or maybe everyone is like this and there's something very wrong with her own priorities.

She's sitting on his bed when he finally comes into his room, shutting the door behind him.

"So," he says.

"So," she repeats.

"Soooooooo," he says again, drawing out the vowel. "Yeah, um, you can stay in here if you want, and I'll take the couch downstairs. Do you wanna watch TV or a movie or anything? Or just hit the hay?"

She just reaches into her bag and pulls out a bottle of vodka. "I don't know about you, but I could really use a drink."

She takes a swig of the half-empty bottle and passes it back to him. "Never have I ever fantasised about a teacher."

He groans and brings the bottle to his lips.

"Oh my god, who?" she squeals.

"Ms. Morell. Have you seen her? Oh man, she's gorgeous. How could I help myself?"

"Stiles, she's old," she says, giggling before hiccupping.

"So? She can still get it. She'd have experience too, I'm sure she'd be able to show me a few things," he says, handing the bottle over to her.

"Experience doesn't equate to skill, you know."

"And you'd know all about that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, sorry, it was a joke. Forget I said anything."

"Oh my god. You think I'm a slut, don't you?"

"No, Lydia, of course not! It's none of my business. What do I know anyway? It's not as if I have the experience to speak with any authority."

She opens her mouth for another angry retort before she realises what he just said. "Wait, you're a virgin?"

"Gimme that," he snatches the vodka out of her hand and takes another sip.

"Stiles," she presses on. "Come on. You haven't done it? Why not? You must have had opportunities!"

His eyes darken and she's sorry she brought it up.

"Yeah, I mean, there was one girl. But she was mysteriously abducted and murdered before anything happened. One of the occupational hazards of being a teenager in Beacon Hills."

"One of the sacrifices?" she covers her mouth with her hand. "That's horrible. Stiles, I'm so sorry."

"You know what I don't get?" he says, clenching his fists. "Both of us were there. Both virgins. Why weren't both of us taken? Why wasn't it me?"

She slaps his cheek.

"Aaaaagh!" he cries. "What the hell?"

"Stop it," her entire body shakes as she moves closer to him. "Just stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop being so dismissive of your life! It's not normal! You don't value yourself enough! But I'm glad, glad it was her and not you. And I'm not sorry for that, either."

He doesn't say anything, so she continues. "If it was you, we'd probably all be dead by now. Or worse. I'd be out here, drowning on my own, wondering who the hell was going to help me next time I stumbled across a corpse. Allison would be tearing herself to shreds trying to find out what happened to you. Scott, Isaac, Boyd… even Ethan. They would have died last night if it wasn't for you."

"If it wasn't for us," he says. "There's no way I could have done it without you."

He finally looks up and seems startled by how close she has come, from sitting at the foot his bed to almost beside him at the headboard.

"Please don't die, Stiles. Promise me."

"I can't. You know that. Like I said, this town isn't exactly the safest place for adolescents."

"Why don't we just run away?" she asks, already knowing what the answer will be.

"I'd never leave," he says. "I couldn't. Scott needs me. My dad needs me. Beacon Hills is home. I can't let someone destroy it without at least trying to stop the apocalypse."

"And what if it doesn't stop?"

She's so close that she can feel his warm breath that carries her name so wonderfully on her cheek.

"Then I guess we'll die."

She kisses him. He tastes sharply of vodka. He's not pushing her away, but he's not responding with the enthusiasm that she's used to. She shifts her legs so she's straddling his lap, both hands on the side of his face, she's kissing him so desperately that she can't breathe, she can't breathe.

His fingers wrap around her wrists and tighten momentarily, but then he's pulling her hands away and breaking their lips apart.

"Why are you doing this?" He's staring at her incredulously and she can't look him directly in the eyes.

"If the apocalypse is tomorrow, I don't want you to die a virgin," she smiles lightly, but it just makes the air feel heavy.

"You're drunk," he says, shifting his weight so she topples off of him.

"So are you!" she protests, the sting of rejection causing resentment to rise within her. "Haven't you had a crush on me since the third grade or whatever? This is your goddamn dream come true!"

"Shhh!" he pushes his hand over her mouth. "Don't wake my dad."

She shoves him off and continues in a venomous whisper. "What's your problem? Why don't you want me?"

"You think I don't want you?" his laugh is cold. "Lydia, I have spent the last six months trying really, really hard not to want you because I was convinced that you could never want me back."

"Well, things change. People change. So take off your pants before I change my mind."

"I can't. I can't… I don't trust you, Lydia."

Her forehead crumples and her mouth forms an 'o' shape but he answers her question before she can ask it.

"You know why. There are so many reasons why. First, I'm not completely sure you're over Jackson. Don't, don't interrupt me. You act like you don't care about him anymore but you obviously still do. Not to mention these weird fugue states of yours. I can't be sure that I can be truly alone with you. How do I even know that it's really you in there, acting like this? Maybe you're being compelled to do this by some external force, messing with me to get ahead? I can't trust you, because I don't know who you are anymore."

She leans back and shakes a tear from her eyelashes. He reaches up and brushes it away with his index finger.

"I'm really sorry. I wish it were different. God, you have no idea how much I wish I could," he says. "You're so beautiful and it's not fair this is happening to you."

"It's not really fair for any of us, is it?" she asks as leans her cheek into the palm of his hand.

"Understatement of the century."

She laughs and take his hand in both of hers and brings to to her lips, kissing his knuckles, still scraped from where he was tackled into the tarmac of a motel parking lot. He brings his other hand around her back and hugs her to his chest as they both lay down on the bed.

"You're a really good person, you know that?" she murmurs into his collarbone.

"I'm onto you, Lydia Martin. You're a good person to, you just don't know it yet," his voice ruffles her hair. "I believe in you."

"Please don't ever stop," she chokes up again and digs her nails into his hoodie. "Let's just always keep believing. I'll look out for you and you look out for me, and if we make it through this alive then I think we should consider applying to some out-of-state colleges."

He laughs and kisses the top of her head. "Sounds good to me."

Her guard is down, her wounds are open, she can't breathe, she's drowning, she can't breathe and she doesn't know if she can resurface. But Stiles was down here too, and he was breathing for her. He had a tight grip on her heart and he wasn't letting go without a fight.