Stydia

post-orphaned, pre-weaponized

//dedicated to defend bc she graced my imagination with a delightful creature known as toby martin. also I was motivated into finally watching tw bc of her statuses so thanks for introducing me to this fandom I'm unhealthily emotionally invested in//

I've read many Stydia fanfictions. Most of them have been really bad. Generally I tend to read fanfiction at three in the morning when I'm stuck in this odd state of exhaustion with strong need to pee and craving brownie cookies or ketchup chips. The smut the stydia fandoms are gifted with disgusted my innocent mind. The others were of Stiles and Lydia dating. The process was missed. This isn't the process. It's just a story for girls like me who love stydia more than honey garlic chicken wings.

Scott sounded nervous which really didn't help Stiles's nerves "Are you sure she's okay?"

"I think I stated that Lydia is most certainly, definitely not even close to the range of okay approximately three times in the past one minute." Stiles couldn't help being agitated.

There was a pause and Stiles had no trouble imagining Scott with furrowed eyebrows, a pensive expression as he tried to figure out this conundrum of his pack's banshee all while stroking his uneven jaw. Okay, so he probably wasn't stroking his jaw.

"Is there anything we can do?"

Stiles clenched his fists. Scott was being unbearably dense.

He snapped, "She needs her pack Mr. Alpha, her friends." He sighed, closing his eyes when he envisioned Lydia's void expression the moment Parrish broke the new of Meredith's suicide to her. That image was followed by Stiles reaching out to hold her but unlike the usual times of grief she didn't return the embrace and let out all of her sobs into his chest. This circumstance was different. She remained still, paralyzed by shock. An uneasy feeling set in the pit of his stomach as he thought of Lydia staring aimlessly at her walls for days, not moving, not eating just sitting there with that vacant expression and a lone tear resting on her cheek as so many more threatened to fall.

"Stiles? Stiles?" Scott's voice shook him out of his thoughts.

He grunted in response. At this point he was sufficiently perturbed.

"I don't think the pack can help her."

Stiles interjected, shocked, "What?! Scott remember when we both died to save our parents? And then we pulled the actually-we're-not-really-dead stint and our lives somehow managed to get even more screwed up? What did you need the most then? What did I need? What did Allison? Our friends. Our pack."

Scott's voice cracked as he spoke, "She lost a lot of people Stiles. A lot of them were from our pack."

Stiles remained silent. Aiden. Allison. Jackson and Isaac left. He didn't want to talk about it. Even though Scott was his best friend and through all their times of mourning they were each other's rocks; but their support was never given through words. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of them. "Scotty... Hey. Hey. The way I got through, get through everything that's happened in this life is because of you. Malia and Kira help. Derek's a comforting reminder that my life doesn't completely suck. Did you know he called me a hyperactive spazz? Sorry, right, um, yeah Liam the ticking time-bomb is helpful too. All of my friends, my pack. Don't you think Lydia needs them right now?"

"The pack has changed. And Lydia hasn't... adjusted. She needs a friend, an anchor. Someone connected to her on a supernatural level and on a human level. Someone connected to the banshee and Lydia Martin the night she was bitten. The night everything began for her."