Stiles' death:
Scott had called her. Three o'clock in the morning. She hadn't fallen asleep, she couldn't, her banshee instincts telling her something was wrong. And now she knew why. They'd managed to get Stiles safely back to the clinic, Deaton had tried everything he could but by the time Lydia showed up, there was no use. He was human; he couldn't heal. She didn't want to hear an explanation at the moment, she ran to his side and immediately gripped his hand while her other hand flew to caress his cheek.
"Hey, Lydia." He smiled as she began to cry. It was stronger now, the supernatural feeling in her stomach that she begged to go away because this boy was hers and he wasn't allowed to leave.
Looking around, Deaton seemed to have left the room but Scott with still there, watching with a few tears of his own.
"D-did you–?" She tried to ask if he wanted to talk to Stiles but couldn't get the words out.
"I talked to him in the jeep, it's okay." Scott nodded to assure her not to waste anymore time. He didn't tell her how he was listening in on the boys heartbeat, how it thumped weakly and no longer proud as it once was. Lydia looked down briefly at his torn up abdomen, all blood and mangled flesh.
"Don't," Stiles pushed her gaze back on his own, his fingers lingering on her skin for a minute before dropping back to his chest. "I-I don't want you to see it."
"Don't pretend to be strong." She scolded.
"I'm not,"
"Yes you are, don't trick me like that, Stilinski."
Then he groaned and winced sharply, drawing in a breath slowly and he felt weak.
"Scott!" She called out and he was there instantly, taking his brothers pain, allowing him to live a few more minutes.
"Lyds, don't be sad." He coughed.
"You're dying." She wept, partially a scoff because she couldn't believe he was telling her not to be upset. He felt the warmth of her palm against his cold cheek and nestled into it, loving the feeling one last time. He didn't want her to be sad he was leaving. So he tried to make her feel better. "I think you look really beautiful when you cry." He told her. Now she was sobbing. She didn't want to, she wanted to talk to him not to stand there blubbering.
"You know I love you? You know I've always loved you, right?" She managed.
He nodded. "Will you still love me?" He meant after he was gone. He meant after he would stop breathing and would leave her.
"Of course I'll still love you, I love you so much." She had to say it several times, she wanted him to know.
"Then I'll still love you. I love you, Lydia." He squeezed her hand and coughed. Scott perked up, ready to take his pain but Stiles stopped him with a faint "no". And then she felt it, like the snap of a bone inside her body and she knew he was gone. But for once, she didn't scream.
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Lydia's Death:
Scott had called him. Three o'clock in the morning. He hadn't fallen asleep, he couldn't, his gut telling him something was wrong. And now he knew why. They'd managed to get Lydia safely back to the clinic, Deaton had tried everything he could but by the time Stiles showed up, there was no use. She was a banshee, but she couldn't heal. He didn't want to hear an explanation at the moment, he ran to her side and immediately went to hold her cheeks.
"H-hi." He breathed out, a tear already escaping him. She smiled, watching as he quickly glanced at her bloody torso before returning to her eyes. She was cold and dying, but her eyes were still vibrant, a piercing green. A green he would miss.
"Wh-what do I say?" He kept stuttering but she knew he couldn't help it.
She smiled, reaching up to caress his cheek before twirling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, the way she knew he liked. "Tell me you love me."
"I love you, I do. I've loved you since the third grade, I'm not about to stop now." He told her quickly.
And then he seemed to stop trembling. "I never got to marry you. I never got to have kids with you or buy you a house or take care of you." He cried silently.
"I forgive you." She whispered. He laughed, something forced and almost sad. But she was glad he had, her intention for saying what she had said after all.
"But I got to love you, right?" He smoothes back a curl of strawberry blond from her face.
"I love you too."
He saw her chest stop moving, but he felt the string in his own chest being cut first.
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Authors note:
Aight aight short and I used the same scenario for both but moral of the story is both of my children are dead.
Comment, read, enjoy!
-Chloe
