people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones
Title: a walk in the nightmare of lydia martin
Fandom: teen wolf (mtv)
Characters: lydia martin, jackson whittemore, scott mccall, stiles stilinsky, alison argent, derek hale and peter hale
Pairing: lydia/jackson
Warnings: pg
Summary: peter hale kidnaps lydia martin and she realises who her friends aren't.
'I hate you.'
'No, you don't.'
But I wish I did.
.
People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, her mother had told her. She'd rolled her eyes and gone back to scrutinising the young estate agents shoes. Last season. Barely passable. She should've got them in nude. This made her look like an expensive mess.
Again, disapproval's brown irises came to rest on her and she smiled simperingly, turned to the young blonde and asked her if she'd bought her bag at a consignment store.
.
He's glaring at Scott, glancing at Allison occasionally and trying to make it look like he's paying attention to her question about the use of magnesium.
'Are we trying to neutralise the base?'
'Huh?' He turns, his eyes widen slightly and she can read the thought as it crosses his mind: 'what am i still doing with her?'
So she laughs, filling the tension with a girlish falsetto.
'Are we going to make-out at my place?'
He frowns and she watches him respirate and try to find a way out of the situation. He doesn't want to do this. He's got stuff to do. Lacrosse. Homework. Petting his non-existent dog. Making his bed. Organising his biros. Not being with her.
'Actually, scratch that. I'm busy tonight. Sorry baby. Next time.'
Jackson frowns at her and turns back to his work. He didn't even care in the first place.
It's like sweetening her own sense of rejection if she's trying to console his disinterest.
.
So she sits alone that night, coursework completed and trying to figure out why it's not working anymore.
She stares and stares and stares at the wall until she's so sick of being sorry and feeling sorry that she grabs her keys and leaves.
But in true Stilinsky fashion, Stiles ambushes her in front of her car and assaults her with his lack of social stricture.
'What?' She bristles under his stuttering. 'Spit it out, moron.'
'I..., what are you wearing? You smell like, like... a cupcake.'
She rolls her eyes, pushes him away. 'Jerk.' She's almost closing the door on his fingers before he stops her and he's all cagey and 'i need your help' and before she can say 'maybe next century' he's pushing her into his car and he's handing her this book and he's all 'translate please' without actually telling her what's happening and she's so angry at him because her shoe got caught in the door and this stupid truck is like a billion years and it's marc jacobs! But he's half yelling half whispering and she's so confused she's frightened. He pulls up and it's Allison and her bratty boyfriend and she's just about had enough.
'Do you mind telling me what I'm doing here? I have better things to do than get kidnapped by losers.'
'Look we need your help.'
Except, despite Scott's sentiment, they don't because their explanation of why she's in the middle of the forest shoeless is absolutely crap. She frowns, pouts, begs them to tell her what's going on because this is all just so weird but they all refuse, glancing awkwardly at each other before Allison unhelpfully supplies that they 'can't' because it would be 'bad' and she could get 'hurt'. She rolls her eyes, has a little huff and tries to be reasonable. They're her friends, she's supposed to try and help.
An hour into their creepy rendezvous, they all get a text and then they're leaving her in the middle of nowhere because they've just 'got to go'. She can't help feeling hurt that they're just abandoning her.
Obviously they don't really want her around.
.
The next day Stiles has a burst capillary under his eye and the bruise blooming on his jaw. She's tempted to ask, tempted to touch it, recommend some vitamin e cream and paracetamol with chamomile tea to bring down the swelling and ease the pain.
But he gives her a smile when he see's her. It starts from his eyes - surprise leaking into them - and then erupts from his mouth in a booming 'lydia!' like he's surprised she's there and frankly he should be because he left her there by herself to die with woodland creatures and these fucking bears that have never been in southern california in the history of the world but they're here now and they're freaking her out and everything is so strange and she's having hallucinations and people seeing her that should not be seeing her and it's all a mess and she hates jackson but then she doesn't and she doesn't really know what she thinks of everything and it's all so bloody confusing she doesn't know where or what or where or didn't she already say that?
Instead of slapping him as he deserves, instead of doing anything, she just stares at him blankly, indifferent, she can't summon up hatred - she doesn't even think there is any - and sighs.
Then she sighs.
"I thought you cared."
It turns out his name is Peter Hale. Turns out he's using her mind to secure a grip on reality and come back from the dead.
He whispers sweat nothings in her ear and turns a coil of her hair around his finger. He's young, old, he's always stuck in the middle and she doesn't really know where she is.
'It'll be over, soon, it'll be over soon. You've been so good haven't you, Lydia? You've been ever so sweet.'
And she doesn't know whether to shudder or smile when he kisses her.
Jackson grabs her as she's walking down the hall, twirls her around and slams her into her locker.
'Stop fucking around, Lydia. What do you know?'
Her eyes widen, blinks at his hold on her and squirms.
'I dont'... Jackson, I... I don't....' and she tries to look anywhere but his face.
His eyes yellow, his claws begin to dig into her as the bell chimes over them and the anger is radiating off him in waves and she's at once frightened and mystified by the loathing and contempt and he's scaring her but she can't move and she's freaking the fuck out and she can't think what to do. What is he even talking about?
'This is why we don't tell you anything. Because you don't tell us anything.' And he disappears into the crowds.
She's stumbling to Chemistry before it hits her that Jackson is 'in' on this 'thing' too.
And she remembers, again, that she's just the ditsy plaything. A toy.
A doll.
'That's a good girl, good girl.'
And she smiles, her smile brightening as he moves her hair out of her eyes.
'They weren't very nice to you today, were they, dear?'
She shakes her head, the muscles in her neck cramping, refusing, tautening as his smile pulls her to obey.
'Well, we're just going to have to kill them.'
And she can feel her mouth opening to scream, to beg for mercy, to plead for their lives before she hears herself acquiesce.
It's a stand off. She thinks. Battle strategy wasn't really her thing.
Stiles stares at her and she doesn't know why he looks so hurt. She's the one on the opposing side. They're all against her. Even that blonde bitch Erica. Staring her down. Dumbfounded.
'Let her go.' And it's Scott and Allison's tearing up and Jackson can't seem to get it and Derek Hale(?). Everyone is staring at her, glaring at her and she just doesn't get it.
'Shall we pull out our claws?' Peter drawls, goading Derek but the man just sighs.
'This isn't ever going to be over, is it?'
She's still confused, still lost, clutching desperately to Peter even as he's ripping Scott to shreds. It just doesn't..
She sees his teeth, watches him howl and her eyes widen. And then the scene explodes and it's not just one wolf but five of them and she's swaying and Stiles is pulling her back, whispering that he's so sorry and that Allison didn't mean to hit her with her cross bow but that 'accidents happen'.
'Shut the fuck up, Stilinsky. Let's get her to hospital.'
Of course, she thinks, Jackson can always be counted to be slightly less moronic than the others.
She wakes up and it's cold and there's Jackson sleeping under the scratchy sheets, breathing against her neck. She squirms, moves to kick him off but he squeezes her tightly.
'You didn't stop crying, thrashing. The bandage wouldn't hold.'
She sneaks a hand down to her thigh, and her muscles seize up as she traces the 10 cm gash in her leg.
'You ruined the stitches like three times. Allison went a bit mental that she did that but she says sorry, I guess. She just wanted you to stop being so.. I don't know.. you went all creepy.'
'So she sent an arrow at me? What in god's name, Jackson.'
'It doesn't make sense.'
'It doesn't make sense,' She affirmed fidgeting. 'Scott is a...' Her tongue stuck on the syllables and Jackson smirked.
'A werewolf.'
'No.'
'Well yeah.'
'Oh god.'
'Pretty much. But it's basically like the entire neighbourhood is filled with your cool horror movie monsters .'
She laughs weakly. 'And you're going to tell me you're a bat or something.'
He smiles.
'Close.'
He doesn't stay, just tells her to stay put, doesn't explain anything, doesn't try and it make it something she's wishing it was. He simply does that Jackson thing that she hates to love and leaves her alone but he's replaced by Allison who five minutes in is so annoying with her apologies that Lydia tells her to go and find Scott and make out or something but to take her sympathetic overbearing tone somewhere else.
Lydia's half out of bed trying to get her out when Stiles quietly slips in the room almost frightening her to death but not quite because she just witnessed a pack of werewolves and there's not much that can freak her out more than that and yeah, I guess, having someone shoot an arrow at her.
'Hey.'
'Hi.'
'Nice room.'
'It's my second home.'
He winces and has the courtesy to look a little put out.
'Sorry.'
'Well it's not like you shot me in the leg.'
'Wel, yeah, but you know, on Allison's behalf.'
'She's said it like fifty times. What do you want Stiles?'
'I wanted to see if you were okay,' He mumbles apologetically and it irks her that she feels guilty for being mean to him.
'I've got ten stitches and I won't stop bleeding. But otherwise, I'm fine and dandy.'
'Oh.'
'Mh.'
'Right then.'
She pushes back into bed and frowns staring down at her hands in the silence.
'I don't get it,' She whispers.
'What?' He takes the seat next to the bed and he's so sincere that it's in abject opposition to the way she wants him to act. He's supposed to be confidant and assured and here he's so small and sorry and she just wants to punch him in the face, honestly.
'Why didn't any of you tell me?'
He sighs. 'We were trying to help. Protect you. Whatever. It all get's worse once you know.'
'But.. I'm your friend. And I'm smart. I could've helped.'
'Wasn't my story to tell.'
She thinks for a moment and then laughs quietly.
'It explains why Scott was always mooning about everything.'
They sit for a while and he tries to talk about anything but whatever it was that happened last night but she's pushing and she doesn't think he's ever said no to her before.
'Well, I don't know. It was just like he controlled you. I don't know how else to explain it.'
She frowns, still so confused.
'And you won't tell me how or why everyone's got clinical lycanthropy.'
'What, as in, they're all actually little puppies?'
'Exactly.'
'Not much of a story. But I think Scott wants to tell you himself.'
She sighs, it's like playing dodgeball. Nobody wants to hit her with the goal.
'And Derek Hale and stuff....'
Stiles winces. 'Nope. Way to much weird stuff there too.'
'And leaving me in the forest?'
'Oh that. Well Derek called because....'
'Because it was super top secret wonderdog stuff. Got it.'
At the very least, he looks apologetic.
'I get it. Whatever. I'm not part of your club of supernatural freaks.'
Stiles grins. 'Hey, you were the weird puppet-girl last night. Allison and I are just kind of half useful in some situations.'
Lydia rolls her eyes. 'And what about Jackson? What does he do?'
At this, Stiles laughs. 'He's the big scary bogeyman with the paralytic spit.'
Lydia's face pinches like a clip. 'Ew. Well that rules out making out with him like ever.'
Stiles shrugs. 'He's so much of a d-bag sometimes, I don't know why you'd make out with him even if he wasn't a giant green lizard.'
'A what?'
Stiles winces.
'Yeah. Wasn't supposed to tell you that.'
'Stilinsky!'