For You (There's Nothing I Wouldn't Do)

Pieces

"What's wrong with my tongue?

These words keep slipping away,

I stutter, I stumble,

Like I've got nothing to say."

-Avril Lavigne, "These Things I'll Never Say"

"You sure you're okay?" Alison questions softly as she hands Lydia a cool glass of water. Shakily, she takes a slow sip, trying to regain her nerves. "Lydia?"

"I feel like . . ." Her voice fades. How can she explain this feeling; this curious sensation that something is wrong even though she can't recall the reason? There's no monster to fight nor is anyone hurt. Everything should be fine, yet there's this lingering fear tickling the back of her brain. "Alison, something's wrong."

"With you?" The huntress asks quickly, expression filling with concern. Her hand wraps around Lydia's, offering her strength and companionship. "Maybe we should call your mom-"

"No," Lydia dismisses, shaking her head. She sighs, her head pounding. She presses a cool hand to her burning head and tries to get a handle on whatever is going on with her. "I saw something."

"Saw something?" Her best friend echoes, brows knitting up in confusion. "What do you mean-?"

"I saw Stiles stab me."

A beat; an exhale of a shaky breath.

"What?"

"I can't explain it," The teen genius mumbles, rising from the bed and beginning to pace, her heels sinking into the carpet. "But something's wrong, Alison." She gestures to the room, to the window with the beautiful sunshine and green grass. With the summer breeze entering the room and flowers swaying in the wind, she knows something is off. It's too perfect, too pristine.

This isn't her world.

"Wrong?" Alison frowns, perplexed. "Lydia, are you sure you're feeling all right?" She walks over there and places a hand on her forehead. She grimaces. "Do you have a fever? You feel warm."

"Alison, you're not listening-" Alison just smiles tiredly at her and then pats her shoulder.

"I heard you," She replies. "It's just . . . we've all been under a lot of stress lately and you're nervous about this date-"

"You don't believe me!" Lydia exclaims, disbelieving. This is impossible. Alison has always believed her before, even when she was going crazy with her newfound powers and Peter's influence. This is wrong.

This isn't her world.

It can't be.

"Just sit down," Alison soothes. "I'm going to go downstairs and get you some medicine." With a small grin, she exits the room, leaving a bewildered Lydia in her wake.

"This can't be right."

Her eyes blinking open to see Stiles on the warehouse floor, breathing and alive. A knife is in her hand and the blood is pooling around her, yet she smiled. He's safe. She's freed him.

With a shudder she opens her eyes only to find herself standing in her living room, sunset's rays coloring the room.

"Wait, what?" The doorbell rings and she finds herself moving towards the front door to open it. She pulls back the door and finds Stiles, standing there with a bouquet of roses.

"Hey." He greets with an easy smile and suddenly, her fears dissipate. Stiles would believe her-he always believed her-and together they could figure it out. They would get to the bottom of this world where Alison acted strange and her mother is nowhere to be seen and time passes in the snap of a finger.

"Stiles." She wraps her arms around him, feeling him stiffen for a few seconds under her before finally returning her embrace.

"H-hey," He stutters. "You okay?"

"I'm just glad you're here." She pulls back, beaming. Then, her expression sobers. "Something is wrong. Alison is acting weird and I keep seeing things-"

"Hey, hey," He soothes, entering and shutting the door behind him before placing the bouquet on the wooden coffee table. "It's okay. We'll figure this out."

"Right." She nods, more confident.

There was nothing they couldn't do if they were together.

"Now," Stiles starts and she notices the nice outfit he wears-the button down white shirt and the dark jeans-and she's feels slightly giddy. Maybe they would be going out somewhere nice tonight. "Tell me what's going on."

And that's when she begins to speak.

She never notices the way Stiles' eyes flash black occasionally whenever her gaze would drop his.

"Stiles."

"Hey, Dad." His voice is sandpaper and parched like a desert. His eyes feel like they have sand in them because of lack of sleep, but he refuses to let go of her. He won't leave her side. The Sheriff walks in, boots echoing in the room. He pulls up a chair and the two of them sit like for what seems like an eternity, the steady beeping of Lydia's heart monitor filling the silence. She's stirred a few times since the fever came on and even opened her eyes for a few minutes, but there was no recognition in those orbs he adored. She had fallen back to sleep immediately when the doctor gave her some fever reducing medicine.

"Stiles?" His father sounds so grateful, so relieved that his son has been returned to him. "Let's go."

"I can't." His father's gaze locks onto his.

"You need to," The Sheriff interjects quietly, but forceful. "Melissa says you've been here for eight hour straight, barely sleeping and not eating." Stiles blinks rapidly, trying to clear his fuzzy vision, trying to disprove this.

"I can't leave her," His voice breaks again and damn, he doesn't want to cry, not again, not in front of his dad. He wants to be strong for Lydia. He wants to pull her back, like she had done the same for him and he couldn't do that if he kept crying like this. "Cause if I leave her, she might-"

"She's strong, Stiles." His father informs him, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "And she wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."

"But if I leave-"

"Alison is outside." As if on cue, a much more put together Alison enters the room in a fresh change of clothes and with her face somewhat refreshed. She's slept, though not very easily.

"I'll look after her." It's a promise coming from Lydia's best friend. Stiles nods slowly; he understands she'll do her best, but he should still be here-

"C'mon, Stiles," His father whispers. "Let's go home, just for a few hours." He rises from the chair, slowly and he doesn't let go of her wrist until his father gently tugs on him. They shuffle out of the room, his father leading him and it's not until they get into the elevator and the doors shut does he let his gaze drop from her.

He'll be back, rested and ready.

He'll save her.

That's a promise.

🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴🎴

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Lawless= Love + Flawless, lmao I don't know!

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