Chapter Text
Since Peter's resurrection Lydia had waited for —dreaded— the time when after a long silence and a quick succession of varying emotions forming across her face Allison would ask the most natural question in the world.
"So, hypothetically speaking, would it be doable for you to bring more people back from the dead? Could you bring back my mom?"
It happened on Victoria Argent's three month memorial when they were all standing around Scott's gas flame kettle grill Derek's pack notwithstanding roasting s'mores because the woods weren't safe, even for people with fangs and superhuman strength.
Five pairs of eyes nailed her in place. Everyone had loved ones they wanted back, everyone. Her grandparents had been her first option and then perhaps at least half of her ideal dinner party. But nobody had mentioned it before. She could see others often looking at her in a certain incredulous manner thinking about the silliness of the beautiful vicious little victim wielding this kind of power, and then dismissing it shaking their heads at her. Those so often adoring eyes had been thinking that whatever power Lydia had would expire on graduation.
The s'more at the end of her stick collapsed in on itself under the charcoal crust of it. The stick started smoking and Lydia was finally forced to blink. "No."
The one perfect word to feel like it encompassed everything. Not being possessed by anyone ever again. Not getting into situations where possession might be a conceivable possibility. Not forming forcibly or otherwise soul bonds with other people. Not for any reason, not for anyone, for anyone's mother.
Look at her now vow intact barely able to wiggle her toes, with a banana drip on one arm, Jackson ostentatiously feeding her dark chocolate nuggets on the other. And all the people –friends- in her hospital room that had come to see her, probably breaking a dozen rules by doing so. Scott brought roses which he might have taken from Stiles' flowergasm and gave one to Allison who had locked his hand in a grip and didn't let go.
Erica brought Lydia her make-up kit and stared Jackson into leaving the bed. She helped her sit up, applied her blush and held a mirror for Lydia to put on her lipstick with a weak but thankfully steady hand. Erica braided her bed hair and she even tied an orchid (there were plenty) over one ear.
The trademark red smile curled satisfied across Erica's face, dark brown eyes smiling too, her own make-up immaculately applied.
"Feeling better?" Erica asked.
"Much," Lydia asked smirking back. Erica nodded and retreated to the standardized hospital couch occupied by Boyd and Isaac, smoothly melding herself on Boyd's lap whoeffortlessly shifted to take her in.
The sudden and given the circumstances seamless inclusion of Boyd, Erica and Isaac in their—they'd decided against motley crew—scurvy lot came the story of finding her unconscious on the McCalls' lawn.
Isaac reported, laughing, what the town thought had been the zombie apocalypse. Like most of the people in the know he had horrified himself with the intensity of searching for a familiar face in the black and white rag mass of zombies - of course they had been buried in suits. He laughed because he could and because there was the candy striper with the blackest hair who had smiled at him in the elevator.
"They're saying it was a prank! Two coachloads of people from Oslo dressed as zombies for Halloween creating a riot. They're saying they've seen the coaches and people coming out."
Stiles corroborated. "Dad says there's been talk of retaliation. We may be looking at a prank war. It's like no one saw werewolves jump unnatural distances or dead grannies scratching with maggoty claws on the kitchen window or anything!"
"Or Lydia Martin being dropped off by her living dead train at the McCalls' front lawn?" Lydia shook her head to clear her anger.
"I saw you, smelled you actually," Isaac said. "The town had cleared by then and the ambulances' sirens never stopped screaming. I was looking for Derek. Sniffing."
"But I saw her, first," Scott spoke up.
Isaac nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. You jumped before I approached."
Scott had attacked her. After the hard strange night he had had, exhausted from fighting and fear, and fighting and fearing for Allison most of all he had gone home to check on his mom and let her know it was okay to come out of hiding. He had run leapt the last 20 yards smelling the trail Derek had left towards the crouching figure he'd locked on in his rage. He jumped her claws out and landed on his side painfully next to her on the last microsecond swerving to miss her. Lydia was opening a hole in the lawn. Her unique Lydia scent was blanketed under Hale werewolf, Alpha and spoiled meat—human meat. It clung in his nostrils like ash.
She'd looked at him with glassy eyes. "Do you mind," she'd said. "I'm busy."
Jackson stood up scraping the chair he had been sitting on against the wall. "I'm going to get coffee." The door swung shut behind him. If there was something Lydia knew well was the fact that Jackson didn't drink venting machine coffee.
She shook her head. "I don't remember any of that."
"Is there anything else you don't remember?" Scott asked.
"I don't know," she replied. "The doctor said I've suffered memory loss as well."
"Scott's telling the truth," Isaac said.
"Where were you?" Scott asked turning to him.
"I thought I caught Derek's scent coming from the north so I took off. Then he doubled back. I thought he'd decided not to leave so I—
" I found him over Peter Hale's body. I helped him bury it. Then he left."
"Who killed Peter?" Scott asked. Isaac shrugged. He looked sideways at Lydia.
"They both smelled of you."
"What do you mean they smelled of her," Stiles yelled in panic. "Did they hurt you?"
No way. "I don't remember." She didn't remember that day at the Hale house either or pointing the zombies towards the five Alphas and towards all the werewolves, every werewolf in Beacon Hills.
On queue her heart monitor picked up an intense pace. "I'm feeling tired," Lydia said lying back.
"We'll let you rest." Allison who had not let go of Scott's hand came over. "I'll be on the other side of the floor if you need me, OK?"
Stiles tried to kiss her hand. "No," she told him.
"Get well soon," he replied.
"I need to rest."
He was dragged outside by Scott. The three werewolves who had belonged to Derek but reverted and had fought against the Alphas stayed behind. Erica leaned down to kiss her cheek, hand against her shoulder. Isaac took her hand smiling, apologetically she thought, and Boyd who she had not talked to before placed a hand softly on her ankle.
A great jolt in her heart shook her whole before the stupid thing which had betrayed her already settled into place, normal, discreet. Erica gave her that smile again this time a little more open, almost unreserved.
"What was that for?" Lydia asked.
Erica shrugged. "There's this saying Derek taught us. The lone deer is always thirsty."
"I'm not a deer."
"You're not thirsty either."
Each day Lydia would get a visit, two counting Allison who spent lunch and afternoons with her. Allison didn't come one noon and the sun patch in Lydia's room shifted until it reddened the opposite wall and waned without her showing up at all. Lydia heard her screaming from the other wing. It agitated her made her test the hold of her legs and beg for a wheelchair. Boyd and Erica who had come on time bearing books (how did they even know?) told her what their ears picked up. Allison's dad had recovered, the nurses said, his internal injuries healing overnight so as to amaze his surgeon. He had woken up from the coma. Mrs McCall came in close to tears and confirmed it. Allison still wailed.
The End