lacrosse socks

The Light of Beacon Hills

Fic title: The Light of Beacon

Genre: Comfort, Angst-ish

Author: itsstydiabitch

Summary: Lydia has a panic attack over Allison’s death and Stiles is there to comfort her.

A/N: So I FINALLY get to release this fic. Ive been storing it for 2 weeks now because my stupid laptop has been in cleanup, so here’s a little thing for Stydia week!. This fic is simple and I know there’s ton of versions of this fic already but I just really love the idea of Lydia totally being open with Stiles and Stiles being there for her as always. Sooo yeah. Here we go!

“Wrong” he says handing her back the assignment.

Eyes filled with astonishment she looks to the stifled man in disbelief.

“Wrong!” She questioned, her voice flustered.

“It can’t be wrong, I’ve never gotten a problem wrong ever, check it again.”

The teacher quickly glanced over the paper.

“I’m sorry Lydia,” he said sliding it back once more, “try again.”


Lydia scribbled out the incorrect equation on her paper. Did she really just get a problem wrong? Lydia Martin, mathematical protégé,? No, it couldn’t be, it was impossible. Lydia excelled in all aspects of academic activity. She was top of the food chain, head of all her classes, she was a straight A student for god sakes, but her best, most advanced subject by far was math.

“Think” She said looking down at the unfinished problem sheet before her.

“You can do this Lydia. Think.”

Lydia stared at her work blankly. Her head felt hazy, heavy. Like a thick layer of fog clouded her brain. Weighing it down. “Think damn it” a half hour flies by and with no sudden sign of a revaluation, frustration sets in.

“What’s wrong with you, why are you so stupid” she whispered, slamming her hands to her face.

Leaning her head against the cool desk, Lydia can already feel it. Her brow begins to sweat, her chest ached. Her head pounded against her skull as images of dark red splurged in her mind. –Oh god, not here, not now.–Lydia clenched her eyes shut, hands knotted in to fists by her side.

Bowing her head, she focuses on her breathing and the fresh smell of paint, wafting off the walls.

“Breathe, Count to ten, calm down. Breathe” Lydia commands.

One by one she counts off, loosening a digit each number she names.

“One.” She sighs, “Two. Thre- three.”

She makes it to six before the pictures force their way in.

Horrible sights of large black figures with sharp swords and cold emotionless daggers for eyes. Lydia tried to barricade the scenery, to suppress the memories, forcing herself to press on.

“Seven. Eight.” At nine, she saw her.

Her features were recreated flawlessly, not a single detail out of place. A girl, no more than 17, laid on a concert floor. Bloodied, beaten, motionless. She looked so delicate, so o peaceful as the black blood stained her perfect cherry lips. A lump forms in Lydia’s throat as the silent angel’s eyes snap open, mouth falling while her screams rattle through Lydia’s ears.

“Get out, get out of my head, please!” Lydia begged for mercy, pleaded for release. Anything to make the pictures go away, but it was no use. A spot in her psyche, a frenetic pulse of dead emotion and locked away nightmares forced their take over.

Her hands grew sweaty as her breath quickened. Her nails found a destination in a patch of soft skin. Digging in. It was too late. Lydia was having a full blown panic attack. Right there, in the middle of third period. Great.

“Why didn’t you save me Lydia. You knew, didn’t you. You knew what would happen and you didn’t stop it. You let me die. You killed me.”

“I’m sorry, I tried!.” Lydia screams, frantically fingering the holes in her skirt.

Lydia bite her lip, hard, forcefully, sheets of tears obscuring her vision. Her body trembled violently. Anger plagued her like a disease, spreading through your system like molten lava.

She felt utterly sick, weak, as if she could fall to the ground. The floor swallowing her whole and the world would go on perfectly without her existence.

“I tried Allison, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Sharp pains filled her body as the hands of her former best friend sink into her shoulder blades. Scratching and pushing hard. Anger swelled in Allison’s eyes as Lydia struggled for her escape.

Thuds, pops and bombs ringed throughout the room. Lines of reality and fiction merge into one as muffled sounds and familiar voices, flutter in and out of her subconscious. Calling out for her, screaming her name.

“Lydia open your eyes. Lydia look at me!”

A voice cries, echoing through the hollow walls of her cranium.

“It’s me, it’s Stiles. Open your eyes, Lydia!”

Pressure pounded against Lydia’s head. The room around her spins uncontrollably as she latches shaken fingers to her ears, desperately straining to keep her world in place.

“Allison! No! You’re not real, you’re lying!” She screams shaking her skull friskily.

Stiles reaches for her, cradling her quivering face firm in his hands.

“I’m real, Lydia, you’re having a panic attack please. Open your eyes. Look at me. Please!” He begged.

Lydia’s breath hitched as her eyes, engulfed with tears, slowly flittered open. Gaze landing on the young boy’s silhouette. The knot in her chest loosens, and for the first time, she can breathe.

“St-Stiles, you..?” Her brows furrow, confusion covering her face, a soft whimper escapes her lips as she takes in her surroundings. She no longer sits in the vicinity of her over stocked classroom. Instead she’s faced with a new scenery. It didn’t take her long to realize they were in a gym locker room. If the lacrosse gear and miscellaneous socks piles shoved in the corners weren’t a dead give away, then the stench surly was.

Stiles eyes dart open at the sound of her voice, he releases a hard, shaky breath.

“Oh, thank god, Lydia.” He partially squeaks. “You scared me half to death!”

Lydia’s eyes run over the boy’s stature. His face is covered in a layer of cold sweat. His eyes sharp yet soft. Personal space clearly wasn’t an issue for Stiles as he bends at the waist bringing himself down to her level. One hand tensely cradles her cheek, the other stroking her hair fondly.

Stiles shifts his weight from foot to foot, forcing his heart back to a steady speed and goes on answering the questions she’s yet to ask.

“I saw you in class” he explains,

“Told Mr. Harris you were having cramps and needed some fresh air so he let me take you for a walk. You started hyperventilating, you stopped breathing, you kept calling my name and I-”

Lydia froze, her stomach twisted. Humiliation bubbled inside her, turning her face 10 shades of red as her head dropped parallel to the floor.

“I, I did.?”

Stiles crocks a smile, sliding a hand over his sweat stained face.

“Yeah you did.” He mused. “I would have enjoyed it to if it weren’t for how terrified you looked and wow little red, you can’t do that to me. I saw you over there and all I could think about was making sure you were okay, I almost had a heart attack.”

“And you’re here..” Lydia whispered, shame forcing her head low.

Stiles lips purse. He curls his index tilting her chin up, focusing her eyes on his own.

“I’m here.” He says, his thumb circling a spot beneath her apples. “And I’m not going to leave you.”

Lydia lays a hand over the one resting against her face, leaning into his touch. A faint smile graces her lips as she grows silent for a moment, simply staring into his eyes. Those big beautiful golden eyes that hold the entire world with in them. After everything they’ve been through, those eyes still manage to glow so bright.

The atmosphere shifts as Lydia’s grasp on Stiles’ hand tightens.

“I killed her. I killed my bestfriend.” She chokes, fresh tears glistening off her face. “I could have helped her. I should have saved her.”

Stiles could hear the pain in Lydia’s voice. See the anguish that hardened her once soft green eyes. No amount of concealer could hide the bags underneath them or the damage in her heart. She was wrecked.

He moved forward, scooping Lydia’s small mass high in his arms.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare. Do you hear me. You did everything you could. Don’t you ever blame yourself for what happened. Allison wouldn’t want this.”

Lydia’s fingers find the hem of his plaid cardigan, curling instantly.

“She’s gone, Stiles. She’s gone and she’s never coming back. I’ve lost her!” Lydia sobs.

Her fingers shift forward, moving along layers of warm flesh as Stiles tangles a hand through her hair, petting softly.

All her life Lydia lived as the girl behind the mask. She trained herself to be tough, emotionless, an unbreakable machine. Her image had to be perfect and her perfection gave her, her power.

But now, she didn’t care about power, she was tired of being perfect. She couldn’t hold back the guilt and the anger that stirred inside her. She couldn’t fight off the tears that hide behind her lids. So this time, she doesn’t.

Lydia collapses into Stiles, burying her face in the pit of his neck and cries. Harder and longer than she’s ever cried before.

She cries for her pack, her family who’s lost one of their own.

She cries for Ethan, who now lives without a brother.

She cries for Derek, the man with betrayal as his only friend.

For Scott, the boy who’s chance at life was stripped from under him.

For Isaac and argent, who walk alone with no family by their side.

She cries for the sheriff and Melissa, who constantly live in fear.

She cries for Stiles, the kid that lost his mother at 8.

But most of all she cries for Allison.

Her bestfriend, that will never get the chance to celebrate her 18th birthday, or marry her true love. Her sister. Who’ll never come over for sleep overs or movie dates. No late night chats or boy talk over mani petties. She cries and cries until she can’t cry anymore.

Eventually, her tears dry as Stiles holds her tight in his arms, swaying them back and forth. Lydia, now numb, and emotionally drained, lays her head safe against his chest, listening to the soft patter of his heartbeat.

Stile’s voice is luke warm when his lips glide Lydia’s cheeks, ending at her lobe.

“Hush little strawberry blonde don’t you cry.

Allison’s watching you from the sky.

And though she’s not here, she’s never gone.

In your heart she lives strong.

I’m sorry, this is crappy as you can see

But I’m just trying to stay in key.”

Wow. Who knew the kid apart of an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures had such an amazing voice. A slight laugh tickles her throat, this kid. He never ceases to amaze her. Lydia steps back to look her serenader in the face.

“Well someone’s been taking time off of their werewolf duties to take up side projects, I see”

He smirks. Leaning down, Stiles presses a kiss to the base of her temple and continues.

“She’ll be missed more than I can say,

Rest in peace badass Ally A.

This is really cheesy, but hey, I’m Stiles.

So wipe your tears and show me that smile”

And of course she can’t help but obey, because he is Stiles. Crazy talented, super intelligent, good hearted, Stiles. The same kid who’s name she didn’t know a few months ago now somehow managed to become the closest person to her heart.

He tucks a loose curl behind an ear. Pressing another long kiss in to her hair and one to the tip of her nose He flicks away a falling tear and cups her jaw in his nimble fingers, with tender to his touch and conviction in his words.

“She loved you so much, Lydia. I know it hurts. I can’t promise that it’s going get easier, I don’t know if the future well be better. But I know this. You are so strong Lydia. You’re the strongest cookie I’ve ever meet. I promise you, you’re going to get through this, you’re going to be okay.”

“How, how can you be so sure Stiles.”
She buckles. Her voice hoarse and laced with doubt.

“Because. There’s no one on this god forsaken planet that has more heart than you Lydia. No one else with more intelligence or drive. You’re going to make it because you’re a fighter. So I need you to fight little red. I need you to fight for Allison, for Scott. I need you to fight for me.”

Lydia nods slowly, blinking away the excess water before she’s back in his arms. The same arms that manage to hold her together ever time her world was breaking apart. God how she loved being in those arms.

“So what do you say, ready to go back out there?” Stiles says, giving her a good “bop” on the nose.

She raises her head looking back into those bright pools of gold.

“Yeah, but maybe, we could stay here, just for a little while longer?’

Stiles nods, a sign of understanding as he begins swaying them once more. Lydia’s eyes close as she listens to the sound of Stiles’ soothing voice fill the room. He hums softly, occasionally whispering good things in Lydia’s ear, while she plays with his moles, tracing patterns in the small of his back.

A sense of security washed over Lydia. A rush of warmth descended throughout her being. It wasn’t much, but Stiles faith in her, and being in his arms was enough to give her hope, it was enough to keep her fighting, even just for a day longer. Because it is said that in our darkest hours, we must focus to see the light in life, and no spark burned brighter than the light of Stiles Stilinski.