[fic] copper and axinite (2/4)
fic: copper and axinite: spring (2/4)
fandom: btvs/teenwolf/tmi
characters: allison/lydia; dawn summers, clary fray, stiles/lydia-friendship
word count: 5200
setting: set a few years before the events of destiny came a calling; witches-au allison thinks she'll never find her familiar... Lydia always knew that she was different from her family and friends, she just didn't know how much...
a/n: written for the femslashbb's March challenge: Elements (there will be a chapter for every season)
[ chapter one: summer]
[that spring was wet, so wet with rain she felt like she was drowning, and her dreams held no reprieve]Lydia Martin had known her entire life that she had been adopted. It wasn’t something that anyone said, in fact most unknowing people liked to point out that she had her mother’s smile or her father’s hair or something else equally ridiculous.
She had to have been adopted because there was no other logical explanation for her difference.
It began before she was conscious of it. Though her parents, her sweetly oblivious parents, liked to laugh about the signs; the crying fits that she had as a baby just hours before a catastrophe, her wide eyed knowing. She heard her mother tell a dinner party stories about herself, as if she was a horror story to be told over candlelight, the haunted child. Her mother grew more superstitious, her father spent more hours at the office. She could sense them drifting apart, her between them, her eyes seeing too much and her words too knowing.
When she was seven years old she collapsed and was in the hospital for a week. When she woke up, the world was still and a television in her room showed smoke and chaos. Her mother grew desperate for answers after that, answers for the daughter that woke in the instant of death, answers for the way she knew who was calling before the phone rang, who knew sales the day before they occurred, who seemed able to see into the fabric of reality.
When she was seven years old she learned how to hide herself.
It’s a strong lesson for such a young girl. And she perfected it.
Stopped flinching in the instant before the hammer fell.
Pretended not to see the divorce papers lingering in her father’s mind for months before they arrived.
She learned to hide other things, too. Her mother had wanted a normal daughter and so she threw herself into the task with steadfast determination. There was no enthusiasm, just willpower. She papered her room with hideous posters of teen boys with too-white grins and laughed a little too much and kissed boys a little too early. She learned to hide her knowledge behind a grin and a toss of her hair. She learned that she had to hide a lot more. She hid her books on astrophysics and archaic Latin behind magazines with women pouting on the covers. She hid her 4.0 behind a string of boyfriends. She hid her loneliness behind a façade of parties and social activities.
She hid her worry and care behind bored sarcasm.
People loved her. She was loved. She was desired. She was popular.
She was Lydia Martin.
The spring after she turned fifteen it rained so much she felt as if the world was in mourning. It didn’t help that she knew someone important had died. Tragically. Someone important that she was supposed to love, supposed to know. She watched the news, she scoured the internet, she did so many Google searches the librarians were starting to get concerned. She woke once to the sound of her own screaming. She told her mother she was dreaming of being on a rollercoaster.
She applied her makeup more carefully that spring. She curled her hair with precision. That spring she favored long ringlets to her usual soft curls. Because it took attention, she had no choice but to sit in front of the mirror and painstakingly curl each inch-wide stretch of hair from tip to root. She perfected the dark wings of eyeliner over her eyelashes. She wore slightly taller heels than before, putting as much attention as she could into each step. Never missing one single step, never looking anything other than the picture of perfection.
The world was wet and her dreams were rivers and lakes and oceans of tears.
Only she couldn’t help but feel the tears weren’t her own.
When the rain stopped, the dreams stopped. She stopped being a vessel for pain - which is how she had felt, beneath her perfect makeup and high heels, like she was a living embodiment of someone else’s pain and there seemed to be no way to shield herself from it.
After that, the silence was a relief.
And all the more lonely; as if the thing that had been causing her so much pain was actually the thing holding her together.
After that, the silence was deafening.
She found herself reaching for that dark river of heartache. She wondered where all that pain had gone, did it dissipate into the air like water rising up to meet the sun?
And who did it belong to in the first place?
Only thing was, with the silence came a deadening apathy. The show of living almost felt like too much. As if she was just going through the motions, when before she was made up of so many living parts.
She dreamed and couldn’t remember her own dreams.
She woke up thirsty and nothing satisfied.
She longed for her dark river of salt and tried not to cast judgement upon herself for reaching out and hoping to find pain.
A year passed without her even seeming to realize it. A year without dreams, a year without caring. She did a lot of research in that year, as stealthily as she could - though it wasn’t like anyone really paid much attention to anything she did, anyway.
And then it was spring again, wet and demanding and bright.
She turned sixteen in a rainstorm, face held back, arms held out wide as if to embrace the sky as it fell.
She turned sixteen and began to dream of a girl with chocolate hair and eyes the color of dark axinite with long fingers and a strong jaw and a heaviness to her heart.
She turned sixteen and fell in love with a girl in her dreams.
All her research told her that dreams cannot create images from nothing, any face or landmark you see in a dream has its foundation in reality, you just have to look for it. That mountain is just a pile of dirty laundry on your floor, the purple sky is your favorite sweater, the witch with ragged hair is your father’s assistant that scared you when you were five years old and still couldn’t protect yourself from the secret thoughts of strangers that invaded your mind.
All her research has always prepared her for anything the world can throw at her - except her own incomprehensible mind.
She had tried desperately for years to forget this, to shove this under her bed along with all the things about herself that she finds annoying or too complicated to deal with.
All her research has always prepared her for anything the world can throw at her - except her own wayward heart.
Coach is going to fail you for that stunt you pulled in class yesterday.
One thing that Lydia Martin has always allowed the world to see, one thing that she has claimed for herself and never allowed presumptions or social status or her mother’s quizzical brow take away from her, is her strange friendship with Stiles. He was the only one she knew who was even half as smart as her - actually, he kept up quite well despite his straggling 2.0 and obsession with Scott McCall.
He was also the only one who could see behind her bullshit.
And only thought more highly of her because of it.
Yeah … well… it was still a damn good essay.
That’s not the point, Stiles.
Hi. I’m Lydia. Today I’m avoiding something in particular by having an argument about something I genuinely don’t give two shits about because I think my friend Stiles is an idiot.
I don’t think you are an idiot.
Thanks!
I know you are.
Lydia.
Do you ever clean your room?
No. I just wait for you to come over and do it.
That’s gross, Stiles.
Fine. If you won’t tell me what’s going on with you, then I’m going to make you watch me play this new game I found last night. There’s lots of gunfire. You’re gonna hate it.
Lydia flopped back on Stiles bed and tossed an old stuffed bear from hand to hand. I don’t even know how to…
Stiles lay down on the bed next to her, shoving her with his bony elbow and hip to get more room, resting his head against hers, One of these days you’re gonna stop being Miss Cryptic with me and actually tell me what has you so spooked, you know.
Tears fell down Lydia’s cheeks. I’m not spooked.
And I’m not dashingly attractive. See? Lying is super easy.
She laughed and relaxed more into his side. You are dashingly attractive.
I’d feel more smug about it if I wasn’t lying in bed with the prom queen.
Shut up. She punched him in the arm and he laughed, curling into a ball and pressing his face into her neck, his knees wrapping around her waist. I’m not a prom queen when I’m here.
No? What are you? He wrapped his arms around her waist and nestled into her, she played with the skin on his elbow and stayed silent. What are you, Lydia Martin?
I don’t know. Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat as if that would solve it. She was always looking for the easiest fix. It was her second largest flaw. A girl who falls in love with someone in a dream that she’s never met.
Like a Disney princess!? Stiles laughed, his whole body vibrating.
She laughed with him, letting the rhythm of his body carry her into something so far removed from her own stilted, controlled life. This was why she loved him, why she never let go no matter what happened in her life, why she came willingly into house and slept so many nights curled up beside him in his bed. Because he felt everything and never held back - and with him, she almost felt like feeling wasn’t all that bad and that hiding was actually the worse alternative.
She let him guide her back into calm, following his lead as he sobered again, his body becoming still and his breathing becoming even.
Damn. I was holding out hope that you’d fall in love with me.
No you weren’t.
No. I wasn’t. He smiled and kissed her cheek.
Once, in the seventh grade, they tried to be something different for each other. For two months they held hands at lunch and kissed and none of it felt right for either one of them. On their two-month anniversary, Lydia opened her front door to find Stiles crying on her porch, a present in his hands carefully wrapped. She didn’t tell anyone why they broke up and Stiles fielded strange questions from his dad about Lydia for the next year. She threw herself into dating lacrosse players and he threw himself into one weird hobby after another.
What’s wrong with us? she hadn’t asked that since they were fourteen years old, Stiles leaning over her to wipe away her tears from another painful breakup and mascara running down her face unattractively. Then, he’d told her there was nothing wrong with them, they just loved in different ways. And then he’d held her until she stopped crying and then made his dad watch Princess Diaries with them for the umpteenth time that year. (It always made Sheriff Stilinski cry, but he never figured out that that was the reason why they loved it so much.)
Stiles hummed, There’s nothing wrong with you, Lyd. We just gotta put our impressive brains together and find the girl from your dreams. She stiffened in his arms and he chuckled, poking her with his forehead, Like I didn’t know.
I should have said something.
You should say a lot. He took a deep breath, So should I, probably.
Words are overrated.
Words are underrated and we should use them more.
They wouldn’t. They were safe for each other precisely because they could say to the other all the things they couldn’t tell anyone else. They were safe for each other precisely because they didn’t say the things they should.
Over the next eight months, Stiles pushed her on a regular basis about the mysterious girl. He had sketches of her hung all over his room. She sneakily suspected that he was running a hack into some facial recognition programs that he really shouldn’t have access to. But she didn’t ask.
Their friendship flourished on knowing without asking.
(They probably both deserved better… but children who know how to hide are taught too early to do otherwise. And helping another hide is the clearest sign a child can give to prove their love and loyalty.)
Over the next eight months, Lydia dreamed of a girl with dark hair and bright eyes and nothing whatsoever was solid or sure. And Stiles kept her secrets, like he always had. And they never discussed his, just like they always had.
It was almost as if life was finally going back to normal.
And then it was spring once again.
A little old house, built out of memory and loved out of time, surrounded by woods that creeped up on either side. Threatening to take back that which was theirs, but only with the intent to protect and envelop and not with the desire to destroy. As if the house itself, its little garden in the back, its fruit trees, and thick grass, was a gift from the trees they were just waiting to take back. A little old house with smoke coming out the chimney, the sound of laughter and shouts inside. A little old house ringing with the sound of girls.
Her dark-haired girl was inside. She circled around the house three times, waiting for her to come out. She didn’t.
That was alright. She could be patient.
She waited in the rain, tail tapping on the ground.
Lydia woke up and wasn’t herself. She was too low to the ground and was covered in hair and everything smelled too much. It was hard to walk, so low and on four limbs instead of two.
So she did the only sensible thing she could think of.
She went to Stiles’ house.
He was at school, because it was a school day though she was certain that when she had gone to sleep it had been a Saturday evening and she had had a date the next day with Jackson or… someone. But he always left his window open. She slipped in and made a nest for herself on his bed and fell asleep.
She avoided looking in any mirrors or reflective surfaces on the way.
She woke to Stiles’ scent and raised her head to find him staring at her, face ashen white, and a baseball bat in his hands. She rolled her eyes and stretched out her back, paws in front of her digging playfully on his comforter. She sat up patiently and waited for him to figure it out. And hoped he didn’t try to hit her with that ridiculous bat.
She wasn’t sure exactly what she was, but she knew that a wooden bat wouldn’t hold up against her.
Which was simultaneously thrilling and a little terrifying.
Okay. Okay. You are a mountain lion. Why is there a mountain lion on my bed? Stiles began pacing back and forth across his bedroom floor. He looked at her seriously, Are you a gift from Derek Hale? Because I told him that gift basket last of pigeons wasn’t from me, but I don’t think he believed me.
Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, she was well-aware that he had in fact, sent that gift basket of live pigeons to Derek Hale. He’d used her laptop to place the order.
Stiles laughed, You are from Derek!
Lydia rolled her eyes and shook her head, letting out an angry breath. Get it together, Stiles.
He cocked his head to one side, Do you understand me, kitty-cat?
She snapped at him, pissed now. This was taking far too long and fucking “kitty cat” he had to be joking. Except she was a mountain lion, so snapping at him actually scared him. A lot. His face went that ghastly shade of white again and she … well she didn’t really feel all that bad. Kitty-cat, indeed. But it wasn’t helping, her losing her temper with him, when he didn’t even know it was her.
She let out a low purr and put her head down on her paws, trying to apologize.
Light dawned in Stiles’ eyes and he reached out a hand to scratch her on the nose. Which felt awesome, actually. Lydia? he whispered.
She growled a little. She would have nodded or something but he was too close, she didn’t want to scare him again.
Lydia if that’s you I am seriously pissed at you for hiding something this big from me for so many years but… he looked down into her face. Holy shit. You … Lyd? Are you stuck? Can you shift back?
Lydia shook her head slowly from side to side. The very un-cat-like gesture causing her to go a bit cross-eyed with effort.
Is this why you weren’t in school yesterday?
Lydia’s head shot up and she looked toward the calendar on the wall.
Yeah, Lyd. It’s Tuesday. How long have you been gone?
She growled.
Oh right. No hablan Inglés. Forgot. He winced.
She huffed out another sigh and he scratched her again on the nose.
And you have no idea how to get back, do you? That’s why you came here.
He went to his computer and started typing furiously. I’ll do what I can, Lyd. But … I mean… without really knowing… goddamnit you idiot. I could have helped… His voice cracked. She went over to him and rubbed her head against his leg in apology. I think I prefer you this way. He was teasing, but she still snapped at his knee a little anyway. He just laughed and rubbed her head affectionately. I’m buying you a kitten after this… or myself. You’re buying me a kitten after this.
She fell asleep with her back pressed up against his legs and dreamed of nothing at all.
She woke up stiff and cranky and hungry and very, very nakedly-human. Stiles was still in his chair at the desk, asleep with his head on the keyboard. She got up as quickly as she could and threw on an old shirt from the pile of “mostly-clean” clothes on the floor and a pair of basketball shorts in the corner.
She also considered waking Stiles up, but the clock read two in the morning, and she knew it wouldn’t be the first time he spent an evening asleep on his computer. Instead, she padded down the dark hallway to find something to eat in the kitchen.
Sheriff Stilinski was sitting at the kitchen table, a box of takeout in front of him amidst a pile of paperwork and files. He raised his eyebrows at her, reaching for the French fries, Does your mother know you are here?
She shrugged.
He sighed and put the fries in his mouth. I’ll call her in the morning.
Lydia walked to the table and peeked at the container. A bacon cheeseburger with cheesy French fries. Without a word, she took the box off the table and threw it in the trash under the sink and then opened the refrigerator and began pulling ingredients out for a salad. There was some chicken in there, too. Chicken Caesar sound okay?
I already have Stiles griping at me about what I eat, I don’t need you---
Apparently you do, Sheriff. Lydia set to work. She knew the Stilinski kitchen better than her own.
Within a few minutes, dinner was ready and Lydia made him clear the table. No work at dinner.
Lydia. It’s my house. Also it’s nearly three in the morning.
She just glared at him until he cleared the papers and files to one side of the table.
Over her salad, she looked across the table at the man who had been a kind of sanctuary when she had been a child and terrified of every shadow in every corner, who didn’t pry into her continued presence in his house now that she was a teen. Thank you, Sheriff.
I should be thanking you. What did you do to this chicken?
She blushed and took a bite of her salad.
You know. For a while I thought… well, I’ve thought a lot of things about you and Stiles over the years. But his mom… just before she died she told me we had to watch out for you, keep you close. I teased her, said she just wanted to be sure to train her daughter-in-law early.
He smiled across the table and Lydia smiled back, willing herself not to cry. Stiles’ mother’s death affected all three of them in ways none of them liked to think about.
She said you’d always be a Stilinski, but not to get my hopes up. Said you and Stiles weren’t… that way.
Lydia shook her head, I think we’d both like to be, but…
The sheriff stopped her with a wave of his hand, You were a daughter to her and so you are a daughter to me. No matter what. So I won’t ask why you are wearing my son’s clothes at two in the morning and I won’t ask where you’ve been the past two days. But if you needed help, don’t forget that I’m here.
God dad, you are such a sap. Stiles slouched into the kitchen and grabbed a plate from the cupboard before joining them at the table and digging into the serving that Lydia had purposefully made for him.
Yeah, I guess I am. Guess she’s too good for you, anyway.
Well, Stiles said through a mouthful of salad. I think we already knew that.
They joked around for a while, interrogated the sheriff on secret news from the station, and then sent him to bed promising to do the dishes.
He’d stay up all night if I let him, Stiles said at the sink while Lydia made the leftover chicken into sandwiches to send off with the sheriff in the morning.
Like father like son, I guess.
I couldn’t find anything, Lyd.
I know.
Where were you?
Lydia stayed silent for a long time, until Stiles finally turned toward her, arms folded over his chest and wearing his “no fucking around this time Martin” expression.
I went to find her.
Her? The girl from your dreams?
Yeah. I mean. I think so.
Why?
Lydia shrugged, tears threatening to pour down her face. I think she needs me.
His hands were wet and a little soapy from doing the dishes, but she let him hug her anyway, sinking into his warmth and letting him comfort her … all of her.
For the first time.
Nothing happened for the next week.
Stiles bought her a tracking device. She was mildly offended that he got it from a Petsmart, but they couldn’t really afford an expensive James Bond-style chip or anything. He put it into a not-too-unattractive necklace. Something they hoped wouldn’t fall off if she transitioned again.
I need to be able to find you if you disappear for too long, Martin.
She just nodded and put the necklace on.
She told him about her dreams, about knowing before seeing, about always somehow understanding what was coming. He had a million theories as to what she was, but none of it really explained the whole turning into a mountain lion thing that seemed to be happening.
He tried to get her to predict the lottery and instead she saw a fire destroying a building full of people. When she saw the building on the news a week later, she sent him a screencap of the report on youtube and he never asked her to predict something again. He bought her chocolate to apologize and she took it mostly because… she felt a bit like the universe owed her some chocolate after all the shit it had put her through.
When she dreamed of the house again, it was still raining, but summer was right around the corner. She woke up on his floor three days later, his eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep and too much caffeine.
The tracking device told them she’d travelled a couple thousand miles and back in the span of three days.
Did you see her?
She shook her head, She’s not ready I don’t think. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for.
He put his arm around her shoulder, She’ll come out. She’ll see me.
But she won’t be seeing me. She’ll be seeing some bizarrely misplaced mountain lion completely lost.
Maybe that’s what she needs to see?
She couldn’t help but feel like the girl in that house in the woods didn’t want her and this whole thing was just another awful prank pulled by the universe. Knowledge she couldn’t stop or use, shape-shifting she couldn’t control, and a heart pulled to the opposite end of the country by a girl who didn’t know she existed.
All through that spring, she lost days every week, coming closer together every time. They needed an alibi and soon.
Eventually she’s going to come out and then… and then what, Stiles? I’m going to have to stay and see where it leads. She needs me for some reason and I can’t keep disappearing every week like this.
What about pneumonia?
We already used that.
How about an internship?
Um… actually that’s not bad.
With their combined powers, they created the perfect cover story for Stiles to submit to the school or her parents if she was ever gone for longer than three days. The necklace tracker was working so he’d always know how to find her if something went wrong.
What if I wake up out there and I’m naked?
They set up a post office box in the town nearest to where the gps said she was going and put the key next to the tracker on her necklace. It was the best they could do. Stiles shipped her packages of clothes and money and a cheap phone. All on her father’s dime, of course.
They prepared for everything.
Except for what she was supposed to do once the girl actually came out of the house.
I’m scared, Stiles.
He swiveled his chair around to face her and set his elbows on his knees, Well I think that’s a good thing, actually.
A good thing?
Yeah… when’s the last time anything scared Lydia Martin?
When we were eight and you climbed onto the roof and tried to fly and broke your leg in three places. I was scared then.
When’s the last time you were scared for yourself?
She bit her lip.
He laughed and turned back to his computer, Oh man. I cannot wait to meet this girl.
What if she doesn’t want me?
Who could not want you?
I dunno. Maybe a girl who’d rather have a mountain lion stalk her than an actual girl.
So if she doesn’t want you, we’ll use my research on witchcraft to curse her and you’ll find someone else.
So just wait for another dream girl?
No. His eyes darkened. Next time, you’re choosing for yourself. No more of this ‘the universe controls me’ bullshit. The Lydia I know and love wouldn’t put up with this shit. He examined her, Aren’t you angry about this even a little bit?
She laughed, Maybe I will be once I understand what’s going on. Keep on with the research.
Just as spring was turning into summer, she finally saw the girl with her own eyes, no dream-filter on. She was carrying a bow and arrows and was less surprised by Lydia’s presence than maybe an ordinary human should have been.
She was full of energy and life and anger and purpose in a way that made the hair on Lydia’s spine stand up.
She was awake for the entire run back to Stiles’ backyard.
I’m not letting the lion take over anymore.
You think that’s what’s been happening?
It’s what you think. Why didn’t you say something before?
He shrugged. Losing spans of time was a defense mechanism. I didn’t want to push you too hard.
She sat down on his bed and towel-dried her damp hair, the impossible run from the previous night had worn her out. I can’t keep running back and forth. Put Plan B into effect this weekend.
He took her hand, Are you ready for this? Are you ready to be in control of this?
She drew in a long, shaking breath, No. But I am ready to know her.
She shifted in his backyard at twilight three days later and let him scratch her nose before she began her cross-country run. He sat down on his haunches in front of her and took her face in his hands, I think you need her just as much as she needs you, maybe she can tell you what you are.
Lydia shook her head and bopped him on the nose softly with one paw.
You’re more than just my sister from another mister, kiddo. You’re amazing. He stood up. So you were waiting for her to tell you just how amazing you are, doesn’t mean it’s any less true.
Lydia growled at him.
Go. Go find out who you are. Don’t come home until you’re sure.
Three months later, she returned and crawled into his bed and cried and refused to speak to anyone for a week. For a while, she was a zombie, she avoided him and threw herself into being a perfect daughter to her shallow mother once again.
After three weeks, he booked two tickets and a hotel room and went to her house and personally packed her bag with her favorite clothes and her curling iron and her lucky eyeliner and dragged her to the airport.
She didn’t protest much.
Even when he personally drove her to a house burned into a memory and waited for an hour on the street for her to work up the courage to open her door.
Do you want me to come with you?
I can shift to get back to the hotel.
He nodded and turned the key in the ignition, If you aren’t back in five hours, I’m coming back and I’m tearing the front door off the hinges.
I love you, she whispered.
Go get your girl.
After a year of dreaming and wondering and running and playing and hiding, Lydia Martin finally knocked on the door of the house in the woods that held the key to what was either going to save her or be her undoing.
Allison answered the door, mid-laugh, hair wild around her shoulders. At the sight of Lydia on the porch, she stopped and her face turned hard.
I’m sorry, Lydia whispered. It’s just that you asked me not to leave and I had to explain why I did.
fandom: btvs/teenwolf/tmi
characters: allison/lydia; dawn summers, clary fray, stiles/lydia-friendship
word count: 5200
setting: set a few years before the events of destiny came a calling; witches-au allison thinks she'll never find her familiar... Lydia always knew that she was different from her family and friends, she just didn't know how much...
a/n: written for the femslashbb's March challenge: Elements (there will be a chapter for every season)
[ chapter one: summer]
[that spring was wet, so wet with rain she felt like she was drowning, and her dreams held no reprieve]Lydia Martin had known her entire life that she had been adopted. It wasn’t something that anyone said, in fact most unknowing people liked to point out that she had her mother’s smile or her father’s hair or something else equally ridiculous.
She had to have been adopted because there was no other logical explanation for her difference.
It began before she was conscious of it. Though her parents, her sweetly oblivious parents, liked to laugh about the signs; the crying fits that she had as a baby just hours before a catastrophe, her wide eyed knowing. She heard her mother tell a dinner party stories about herself, as if she was a horror story to be told over candlelight, the haunted child. Her mother grew more superstitious, her father spent more hours at the office. She could sense them drifting apart, her between them, her eyes seeing too much and her words too knowing.
When she was seven years old she collapsed and was in the hospital for a week. When she woke up, the world was still and a television in her room showed smoke and chaos. Her mother grew desperate for answers after that, answers for the daughter that woke in the instant of death, answers for the way she knew who was calling before the phone rang, who knew sales the day before they occurred, who seemed able to see into the fabric of reality.
When she was seven years old she learned how to hide herself.
It’s a strong lesson for such a young girl. And she perfected it.
Stopped flinching in the instant before the hammer fell.
Pretended not to see the divorce papers lingering in her father’s mind for months before they arrived.
She learned to hide other things, too. Her mother had wanted a normal daughter and so she threw herself into the task with steadfast determination. There was no enthusiasm, just willpower. She papered her room with hideous posters of teen boys with too-white grins and laughed a little too much and kissed boys a little too early. She learned to hide her knowledge behind a grin and a toss of her hair. She learned that she had to hide a lot more. She hid her books on astrophysics and archaic Latin behind magazines with women pouting on the covers. She hid her 4.0 behind a string of boyfriends. She hid her loneliness behind a façade of parties and social activities.
She hid her worry and care behind bored sarcasm.
People loved her. She was loved. She was desired. She was popular.
She was Lydia Martin.
The spring after she turned fifteen it rained so much she felt as if the world was in mourning. It didn’t help that she knew someone important had died. Tragically. Someone important that she was supposed to love, supposed to know. She watched the news, she scoured the internet, she did so many Google searches the librarians were starting to get concerned. She woke once to the sound of her own screaming. She told her mother she was dreaming of being on a rollercoaster.
She applied her makeup more carefully that spring. She curled her hair with precision. That spring she favored long ringlets to her usual soft curls. Because it took attention, she had no choice but to sit in front of the mirror and painstakingly curl each inch-wide stretch of hair from tip to root. She perfected the dark wings of eyeliner over her eyelashes. She wore slightly taller heels than before, putting as much attention as she could into each step. Never missing one single step, never looking anything other than the picture of perfection.
The world was wet and her dreams were rivers and lakes and oceans of tears.
Only she couldn’t help but feel the tears weren’t her own.
When the rain stopped, the dreams stopped. She stopped being a vessel for pain - which is how she had felt, beneath her perfect makeup and high heels, like she was a living embodiment of someone else’s pain and there seemed to be no way to shield herself from it.
After that, the silence was a relief.
And all the more lonely; as if the thing that had been causing her so much pain was actually the thing holding her together.
After that, the silence was deafening.
She found herself reaching for that dark river of heartache. She wondered where all that pain had gone, did it dissipate into the air like water rising up to meet the sun?
And who did it belong to in the first place?
Only thing was, with the silence came a deadening apathy. The show of living almost felt like too much. As if she was just going through the motions, when before she was made up of so many living parts.
She dreamed and couldn’t remember her own dreams.
She woke up thirsty and nothing satisfied.
She longed for her dark river of salt and tried not to cast judgement upon herself for reaching out and hoping to find pain.
A year passed without her even seeming to realize it. A year without dreams, a year without caring. She did a lot of research in that year, as stealthily as she could - though it wasn’t like anyone really paid much attention to anything she did, anyway.
And then it was spring again, wet and demanding and bright.
She turned sixteen in a rainstorm, face held back, arms held out wide as if to embrace the sky as it fell.
She turned sixteen and began to dream of a girl with chocolate hair and eyes the color of dark axinite with long fingers and a strong jaw and a heaviness to her heart.
She turned sixteen and fell in love with a girl in her dreams.
All her research told her that dreams cannot create images from nothing, any face or landmark you see in a dream has its foundation in reality, you just have to look for it. That mountain is just a pile of dirty laundry on your floor, the purple sky is your favorite sweater, the witch with ragged hair is your father’s assistant that scared you when you were five years old and still couldn’t protect yourself from the secret thoughts of strangers that invaded your mind.
All her research has always prepared her for anything the world can throw at her - except her own incomprehensible mind.
She had tried desperately for years to forget this, to shove this under her bed along with all the things about herself that she finds annoying or too complicated to deal with.
All her research has always prepared her for anything the world can throw at her - except her own wayward heart.
Coach is going to fail you for that stunt you pulled in class yesterday.
One thing that Lydia Martin has always allowed the world to see, one thing that she has claimed for herself and never allowed presumptions or social status or her mother’s quizzical brow take away from her, is her strange friendship with Stiles. He was the only one she knew who was even half as smart as her - actually, he kept up quite well despite his straggling 2.0 and obsession with Scott McCall.
He was also the only one who could see behind her bullshit.
And only thought more highly of her because of it.
Yeah … well… it was still a damn good essay.
That’s not the point, Stiles.
Hi. I’m Lydia. Today I’m avoiding something in particular by having an argument about something I genuinely don’t give two shits about because I think my friend Stiles is an idiot.
I don’t think you are an idiot.
Thanks!
I know you are.
Lydia.
Do you ever clean your room?
No. I just wait for you to come over and do it.
That’s gross, Stiles.
Fine. If you won’t tell me what’s going on with you, then I’m going to make you watch me play this new game I found last night. There’s lots of gunfire. You’re gonna hate it.
Lydia flopped back on Stiles bed and tossed an old stuffed bear from hand to hand. I don’t even know how to…
Stiles lay down on the bed next to her, shoving her with his bony elbow and hip to get more room, resting his head against hers, One of these days you’re gonna stop being Miss Cryptic with me and actually tell me what has you so spooked, you know.
Tears fell down Lydia’s cheeks. I’m not spooked.
And I’m not dashingly attractive. See? Lying is super easy.
She laughed and relaxed more into his side. You are dashingly attractive.
I’d feel more smug about it if I wasn’t lying in bed with the prom queen.
Shut up. She punched him in the arm and he laughed, curling into a ball and pressing his face into her neck, his knees wrapping around her waist. I’m not a prom queen when I’m here.
No? What are you? He wrapped his arms around her waist and nestled into her, she played with the skin on his elbow and stayed silent. What are you, Lydia Martin?
I don’t know. Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat as if that would solve it. She was always looking for the easiest fix. It was her second largest flaw. A girl who falls in love with someone in a dream that she’s never met.
Like a Disney princess!? Stiles laughed, his whole body vibrating.
She laughed with him, letting the rhythm of his body carry her into something so far removed from her own stilted, controlled life. This was why she loved him, why she never let go no matter what happened in her life, why she came willingly into house and slept so many nights curled up beside him in his bed. Because he felt everything and never held back - and with him, she almost felt like feeling wasn’t all that bad and that hiding was actually the worse alternative.
She let him guide her back into calm, following his lead as he sobered again, his body becoming still and his breathing becoming even.
Damn. I was holding out hope that you’d fall in love with me.
No you weren’t.
No. I wasn’t. He smiled and kissed her cheek.
Once, in the seventh grade, they tried to be something different for each other. For two months they held hands at lunch and kissed and none of it felt right for either one of them. On their two-month anniversary, Lydia opened her front door to find Stiles crying on her porch, a present in his hands carefully wrapped. She didn’t tell anyone why they broke up and Stiles fielded strange questions from his dad about Lydia for the next year. She threw herself into dating lacrosse players and he threw himself into one weird hobby after another.
What’s wrong with us? she hadn’t asked that since they were fourteen years old, Stiles leaning over her to wipe away her tears from another painful breakup and mascara running down her face unattractively. Then, he’d told her there was nothing wrong with them, they just loved in different ways. And then he’d held her until she stopped crying and then made his dad watch Princess Diaries with them for the umpteenth time that year. (It always made Sheriff Stilinski cry, but he never figured out that that was the reason why they loved it so much.)
Stiles hummed, There’s nothing wrong with you, Lyd. We just gotta put our impressive brains together and find the girl from your dreams. She stiffened in his arms and he chuckled, poking her with his forehead, Like I didn’t know.
I should have said something.
You should say a lot. He took a deep breath, So should I, probably.
Words are overrated.
Words are underrated and we should use them more.
They wouldn’t. They were safe for each other precisely because they could say to the other all the things they couldn’t tell anyone else. They were safe for each other precisely because they didn’t say the things they should.
Over the next eight months, Stiles pushed her on a regular basis about the mysterious girl. He had sketches of her hung all over his room. She sneakily suspected that he was running a hack into some facial recognition programs that he really shouldn’t have access to. But she didn’t ask.
Their friendship flourished on knowing without asking.
(They probably both deserved better… but children who know how to hide are taught too early to do otherwise. And helping another hide is the clearest sign a child can give to prove their love and loyalty.)
Over the next eight months, Lydia dreamed of a girl with dark hair and bright eyes and nothing whatsoever was solid or sure. And Stiles kept her secrets, like he always had. And they never discussed his, just like they always had.
It was almost as if life was finally going back to normal.
And then it was spring once again.
A little old house, built out of memory and loved out of time, surrounded by woods that creeped up on either side. Threatening to take back that which was theirs, but only with the intent to protect and envelop and not with the desire to destroy. As if the house itself, its little garden in the back, its fruit trees, and thick grass, was a gift from the trees they were just waiting to take back. A little old house with smoke coming out the chimney, the sound of laughter and shouts inside. A little old house ringing with the sound of girls.
Her dark-haired girl was inside. She circled around the house three times, waiting for her to come out. She didn’t.
That was alright. She could be patient.
She waited in the rain, tail tapping on the ground.
Lydia woke up and wasn’t herself. She was too low to the ground and was covered in hair and everything smelled too much. It was hard to walk, so low and on four limbs instead of two.
So she did the only sensible thing she could think of.
She went to Stiles’ house.
He was at school, because it was a school day though she was certain that when she had gone to sleep it had been a Saturday evening and she had had a date the next day with Jackson or… someone. But he always left his window open. She slipped in and made a nest for herself on his bed and fell asleep.
She avoided looking in any mirrors or reflective surfaces on the way.
She woke to Stiles’ scent and raised her head to find him staring at her, face ashen white, and a baseball bat in his hands. She rolled her eyes and stretched out her back, paws in front of her digging playfully on his comforter. She sat up patiently and waited for him to figure it out. And hoped he didn’t try to hit her with that ridiculous bat.
She wasn’t sure exactly what she was, but she knew that a wooden bat wouldn’t hold up against her.
Which was simultaneously thrilling and a little terrifying.
Okay. Okay. You are a mountain lion. Why is there a mountain lion on my bed? Stiles began pacing back and forth across his bedroom floor. He looked at her seriously, Are you a gift from Derek Hale? Because I told him that gift basket last of pigeons wasn’t from me, but I don’t think he believed me.
Lydia narrowed her eyes at him, she was well-aware that he had in fact, sent that gift basket of live pigeons to Derek Hale. He’d used her laptop to place the order.
Stiles laughed, You are from Derek!
Lydia rolled her eyes and shook her head, letting out an angry breath. Get it together, Stiles.
He cocked his head to one side, Do you understand me, kitty-cat?
She snapped at him, pissed now. This was taking far too long and fucking “kitty cat” he had to be joking. Except she was a mountain lion, so snapping at him actually scared him. A lot. His face went that ghastly shade of white again and she … well she didn’t really feel all that bad. Kitty-cat, indeed. But it wasn’t helping, her losing her temper with him, when he didn’t even know it was her.
She let out a low purr and put her head down on her paws, trying to apologize.
Light dawned in Stiles’ eyes and he reached out a hand to scratch her on the nose. Which felt awesome, actually. Lydia? he whispered.
She growled a little. She would have nodded or something but he was too close, she didn’t want to scare him again.
Lydia if that’s you I am seriously pissed at you for hiding something this big from me for so many years but… he looked down into her face. Holy shit. You … Lyd? Are you stuck? Can you shift back?
Lydia shook her head slowly from side to side. The very un-cat-like gesture causing her to go a bit cross-eyed with effort.
Is this why you weren’t in school yesterday?
Lydia’s head shot up and she looked toward the calendar on the wall.
Yeah, Lyd. It’s Tuesday. How long have you been gone?
She growled.
Oh right. No hablan Inglés. Forgot. He winced.
She huffed out another sigh and he scratched her again on the nose.
And you have no idea how to get back, do you? That’s why you came here.
He went to his computer and started typing furiously. I’ll do what I can, Lyd. But … I mean… without really knowing… goddamnit you idiot. I could have helped… His voice cracked. She went over to him and rubbed her head against his leg in apology. I think I prefer you this way. He was teasing, but she still snapped at his knee a little anyway. He just laughed and rubbed her head affectionately. I’m buying you a kitten after this… or myself. You’re buying me a kitten after this.
She fell asleep with her back pressed up against his legs and dreamed of nothing at all.
She woke up stiff and cranky and hungry and very, very nakedly-human. Stiles was still in his chair at the desk, asleep with his head on the keyboard. She got up as quickly as she could and threw on an old shirt from the pile of “mostly-clean” clothes on the floor and a pair of basketball shorts in the corner.
She also considered waking Stiles up, but the clock read two in the morning, and she knew it wouldn’t be the first time he spent an evening asleep on his computer. Instead, she padded down the dark hallway to find something to eat in the kitchen.
Sheriff Stilinski was sitting at the kitchen table, a box of takeout in front of him amidst a pile of paperwork and files. He raised his eyebrows at her, reaching for the French fries, Does your mother know you are here?
She shrugged.
He sighed and put the fries in his mouth. I’ll call her in the morning.
Lydia walked to the table and peeked at the container. A bacon cheeseburger with cheesy French fries. Without a word, she took the box off the table and threw it in the trash under the sink and then opened the refrigerator and began pulling ingredients out for a salad. There was some chicken in there, too. Chicken Caesar sound okay?
I already have Stiles griping at me about what I eat, I don’t need you---
Apparently you do, Sheriff. Lydia set to work. She knew the Stilinski kitchen better than her own.
Within a few minutes, dinner was ready and Lydia made him clear the table. No work at dinner.
Lydia. It’s my house. Also it’s nearly three in the morning.
She just glared at him until he cleared the papers and files to one side of the table.
Over her salad, she looked across the table at the man who had been a kind of sanctuary when she had been a child and terrified of every shadow in every corner, who didn’t pry into her continued presence in his house now that she was a teen. Thank you, Sheriff.
I should be thanking you. What did you do to this chicken?
She blushed and took a bite of her salad.
You know. For a while I thought… well, I’ve thought a lot of things about you and Stiles over the years. But his mom… just before she died she told me we had to watch out for you, keep you close. I teased her, said she just wanted to be sure to train her daughter-in-law early.
He smiled across the table and Lydia smiled back, willing herself not to cry. Stiles’ mother’s death affected all three of them in ways none of them liked to think about.
She said you’d always be a Stilinski, but not to get my hopes up. Said you and Stiles weren’t… that way.
Lydia shook her head, I think we’d both like to be, but…
The sheriff stopped her with a wave of his hand, You were a daughter to her and so you are a daughter to me. No matter what. So I won’t ask why you are wearing my son’s clothes at two in the morning and I won’t ask where you’ve been the past two days. But if you needed help, don’t forget that I’m here.
God dad, you are such a sap. Stiles slouched into the kitchen and grabbed a plate from the cupboard before joining them at the table and digging into the serving that Lydia had purposefully made for him.
Yeah, I guess I am. Guess she’s too good for you, anyway.
Well, Stiles said through a mouthful of salad. I think we already knew that.
They joked around for a while, interrogated the sheriff on secret news from the station, and then sent him to bed promising to do the dishes.
He’d stay up all night if I let him, Stiles said at the sink while Lydia made the leftover chicken into sandwiches to send off with the sheriff in the morning.
Like father like son, I guess.
I couldn’t find anything, Lyd.
I know.
Where were you?
Lydia stayed silent for a long time, until Stiles finally turned toward her, arms folded over his chest and wearing his “no fucking around this time Martin” expression.
I went to find her.
Her? The girl from your dreams?
Yeah. I mean. I think so.
Why?
Lydia shrugged, tears threatening to pour down her face. I think she needs me.
His hands were wet and a little soapy from doing the dishes, but she let him hug her anyway, sinking into his warmth and letting him comfort her … all of her.
For the first time.
Nothing happened for the next week.
Stiles bought her a tracking device. She was mildly offended that he got it from a Petsmart, but they couldn’t really afford an expensive James Bond-style chip or anything. He put it into a not-too-unattractive necklace. Something they hoped wouldn’t fall off if she transitioned again.
I need to be able to find you if you disappear for too long, Martin.
She just nodded and put the necklace on.
She told him about her dreams, about knowing before seeing, about always somehow understanding what was coming. He had a million theories as to what she was, but none of it really explained the whole turning into a mountain lion thing that seemed to be happening.
He tried to get her to predict the lottery and instead she saw a fire destroying a building full of people. When she saw the building on the news a week later, she sent him a screencap of the report on youtube and he never asked her to predict something again. He bought her chocolate to apologize and she took it mostly because… she felt a bit like the universe owed her some chocolate after all the shit it had put her through.
When she dreamed of the house again, it was still raining, but summer was right around the corner. She woke up on his floor three days later, his eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep and too much caffeine.
The tracking device told them she’d travelled a couple thousand miles and back in the span of three days.
Did you see her?
She shook her head, She’s not ready I don’t think. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for.
He put his arm around her shoulder, She’ll come out. She’ll see me.
But she won’t be seeing me. She’ll be seeing some bizarrely misplaced mountain lion completely lost.
Maybe that’s what she needs to see?
She couldn’t help but feel like the girl in that house in the woods didn’t want her and this whole thing was just another awful prank pulled by the universe. Knowledge she couldn’t stop or use, shape-shifting she couldn’t control, and a heart pulled to the opposite end of the country by a girl who didn’t know she existed.
All through that spring, she lost days every week, coming closer together every time. They needed an alibi and soon.
Eventually she’s going to come out and then… and then what, Stiles? I’m going to have to stay and see where it leads. She needs me for some reason and I can’t keep disappearing every week like this.
What about pneumonia?
We already used that.
How about an internship?
Um… actually that’s not bad.
With their combined powers, they created the perfect cover story for Stiles to submit to the school or her parents if she was ever gone for longer than three days. The necklace tracker was working so he’d always know how to find her if something went wrong.
What if I wake up out there and I’m naked?
They set up a post office box in the town nearest to where the gps said she was going and put the key next to the tracker on her necklace. It was the best they could do. Stiles shipped her packages of clothes and money and a cheap phone. All on her father’s dime, of course.
They prepared for everything.
Except for what she was supposed to do once the girl actually came out of the house.
I’m scared, Stiles.
He swiveled his chair around to face her and set his elbows on his knees, Well I think that’s a good thing, actually.
A good thing?
Yeah… when’s the last time anything scared Lydia Martin?
When we were eight and you climbed onto the roof and tried to fly and broke your leg in three places. I was scared then.
When’s the last time you were scared for yourself?
She bit her lip.
He laughed and turned back to his computer, Oh man. I cannot wait to meet this girl.
What if she doesn’t want me?
Who could not want you?
I dunno. Maybe a girl who’d rather have a mountain lion stalk her than an actual girl.
So if she doesn’t want you, we’ll use my research on witchcraft to curse her and you’ll find someone else.
So just wait for another dream girl?
No. His eyes darkened. Next time, you’re choosing for yourself. No more of this ‘the universe controls me’ bullshit. The Lydia I know and love wouldn’t put up with this shit. He examined her, Aren’t you angry about this even a little bit?
She laughed, Maybe I will be once I understand what’s going on. Keep on with the research.
Just as spring was turning into summer, she finally saw the girl with her own eyes, no dream-filter on. She was carrying a bow and arrows and was less surprised by Lydia’s presence than maybe an ordinary human should have been.
She was full of energy and life and anger and purpose in a way that made the hair on Lydia’s spine stand up.
She was awake for the entire run back to Stiles’ backyard.
I’m not letting the lion take over anymore.
You think that’s what’s been happening?
It’s what you think. Why didn’t you say something before?
He shrugged. Losing spans of time was a defense mechanism. I didn’t want to push you too hard.
She sat down on his bed and towel-dried her damp hair, the impossible run from the previous night had worn her out. I can’t keep running back and forth. Put Plan B into effect this weekend.
He took her hand, Are you ready for this? Are you ready to be in control of this?
She drew in a long, shaking breath, No. But I am ready to know her.
She shifted in his backyard at twilight three days later and let him scratch her nose before she began her cross-country run. He sat down on his haunches in front of her and took her face in his hands, I think you need her just as much as she needs you, maybe she can tell you what you are.
Lydia shook her head and bopped him on the nose softly with one paw.
You’re more than just my sister from another mister, kiddo. You’re amazing. He stood up. So you were waiting for her to tell you just how amazing you are, doesn’t mean it’s any less true.
Lydia growled at him.
Go. Go find out who you are. Don’t come home until you’re sure.
Three months later, she returned and crawled into his bed and cried and refused to speak to anyone for a week. For a while, she was a zombie, she avoided him and threw herself into being a perfect daughter to her shallow mother once again.
After three weeks, he booked two tickets and a hotel room and went to her house and personally packed her bag with her favorite clothes and her curling iron and her lucky eyeliner and dragged her to the airport.
She didn’t protest much.
Even when he personally drove her to a house burned into a memory and waited for an hour on the street for her to work up the courage to open her door.
Do you want me to come with you?
I can shift to get back to the hotel.
He nodded and turned the key in the ignition, If you aren’t back in five hours, I’m coming back and I’m tearing the front door off the hinges.
I love you, she whispered.
Go get your girl.
After a year of dreaming and wondering and running and playing and hiding, Lydia Martin finally knocked on the door of the house in the woods that held the key to what was either going to save her or be her undoing.
Allison answered the door, mid-laugh, hair wild around her shoulders. At the sight of Lydia on the porch, she stopped and her face turned hard.
I’m sorry, Lydia whispered. It’s just that you asked me not to leave and I had to explain why I did.