Work Header

Lydia Gets Everyone’s Shit Together

Work Text:

The whole pack was gathered at Derek’s loft for a movie night when the first signs started appearing. Lydia had known about Stiles’ feelings for Derek almost before Stiles had, so it was unsurprising when she started to notice Derek struggling to deal with his own attraction. Everyone was sprawled in various positions around the top floor of the loft, and all were focused on the tv, currently showing The Lion King. All, that is, except for Stiles, Derek and Lydia. Stiles was getting more pizza, Derek was watching him and Lydia was watching Derek. Watching as he frowned at Stiles. Watching as he gently smacked Stiles’ hand away from the pizza box. “That’s enough for you.” Watching as Stiles’ face fell and he looked suddenly guilty and glanced down at his full plate in disgust. Lydia watches Stiles for the rest of the night, realising he doesn’t eat anything else. She doesn’t start to expect something’s up until about a week later. They’re all (once again) piled up in Derek’s living room, this time watching Tangled (Malia insisted). Lydia watches Stiles as he declines all offers of food, saying he had dinner with his dad beforehand. Lydia knows this isn’t true, because the sheriff is still at the station and Stiles doesn’t like to eat alone. She notices at school too. How Stiles says he eats breakfast at home, how he never seems to have time for lunch, and how he no longer seems to eat at pack meetings/movie nights. Then she starts to guess. And being Lydia, it doesn’t take her long to figure out it exactly what is wrong and what caused it. No one else seems to realise that Stiles is wasting away. He seems to get worse every day. When Isaac told him to “move over fatty” Stiles looked ready to cry. He left early that night. When Lydia saw him the next morning, there were bandages peeking up from his jacket sleeves. Lydia wanted to cry. She had never seen Stiles so vulnerable. Even after the Nemeton, when Stiles was plagued with nightly nightmares that he had to scream himself awake from, he had pulled through. But this, this was killing him. Lydia watches as the dark shadows under his eyes grow darker, his clothes get larger, his wrists get mauled. Until one day she can’t stand it anymore. Completely giving up hope that Stiles will pull through on his own, Lydia drives over to his house one Saturday morning. She makes him breakfast and carries it up to him in bed. She knows that he won’t eat it unless she stands over him, and that’s what she intends to do. But when she gets to Stiles’ room, she is horrified by what she sees. A skeletally thin boy, hunched over on his bed, dragging a razor across his wrist. Tears trickled their way down Stiles’ pale face, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Lydia rushed to put the tray down on the nearest available surface and rushed to him. “Stiles!” He leapt back into the headboard of his bed in his hurry to get away from whoever made the noise. When he saw Lydia, he burst into fresh sobs. She didn’t hesitate before rushing forwards and swatting the razor onto the floor. She launched herself at Stiles and cupped his face in her hands. He tried to look away, but she held him steady. “How long?” Again, Stiles tried to turn his head, but Lydia wouldn’t let him. “Stiles. How. Long.” He looked down and this time, she let him. “A few weeks.” He muttered. “Is this because of Derek?” She asked softly. Stiles looked horrified. “What- how- are you- does he-“ Lydia laughed softly despite the seriousness of the situation. “He wouldn’t know it if you shouted it at him. It’s just me.” Stiles looked immensely relieved, though still wary. “Stiles. Listen to me. You have to stop this. It’s killing you. And,” she continued, standing up. “I want to know why I’m the only one who noticed anything was off, and I’m the only one who doesn’t have super-senses.” Catching sight of Stiles’ terrified expression, she hastened to reassure him. “Oh no I’m not going to tell them Stiles. Don’t worry. And I want that eaten by the time I get back.” She added with a particularly commanding stare to emphasise her point. “And I mean eaten. Not chucked out or thrown up afterwards. Eaten.” Her expression softened. “I’m worried about you Stiles. This isn’t healthy, and I know you know that. But I really care about you, and so does the rest of the pack. We want you to be okay.” She picked up the tray and placed it on his lap. “Okay?” Stiles nodded. Lydia beamed at him before whirling around and striding from the room. She had a bone to pick with Derek and the rest of the pack in turn. She found the rest of the pack crashed at Derek’s loft, though Derek was nowhere to be seen. She charged in, effectively putting an end to whatever argument they were in the middle of. “Am I the only one who’s noticed anything off with Stiles lately?!” She was met only with looks of confusion. “No? No one’s noticed anything?” Everyone looked mildly terrified by now. Lydia was scaring them. She threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “And you are the ones with the super-senses!” The rest of the pack shared a confused look. Shaking her head, Lydia stormed out. But not before whirling around on the threshold and raising a threatening finger. “If any of you behave even remotely differently around Stiles, I will hurt you.” No one doubted that threat. The next night was their weekly pack movie nights, and everyone one was (once again) draped off various items of Derek’s furniture watching Spirited Away. Stiles is curled up in an armchair that seems to swallow his now dangerously thin frame. Submitting to Lydia’s threat the pack behaves normally around Stiles. Scott and Erica have just started wrestling on the pile of cushions with Malia sitting in Isaac’s lap cheering them on. Lydia waits until Derek excuses himself to go to the bathroom before getting up to follow him. She waits for him in the kitchen. Just as he goes to re enter the living room, she stops him. “Derek.” Derek notices that she looks uncharacteristically fierce and her eyes smoulder with suppressed anger. “What do you see when you look at Stiles?” Derek started to brush off the question but Lydia hit him around the head. “Derek! Answer. The damn. Question.” Derek shifted awkwardly on his feet before looking up again and glaring at Lydia. “I see a sarcastic, lanky teenager who lately has been a lot less of a pain in my ass.” He said flatly. Lydia’s jaw dropped. Her eyes seemed to shoot sparks as her face contorted with fury. She grabbed Derek by the forearm and dragged him from the kitchen and out the back door, not caring that her manicured nails were cutting into him. When they were sufficiently far away from the loft (so the other werewolves wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop) she rounded on Derek and slapped him so hard he blinked and saw spots. “You. Are. Heartless!” She hissed. “Is that really all you see? Can’t you see that he is wasting away, pining for you, and all you say is that he is less of a pain in your ass?!” Her voice had risen to a shriek by now. Derek tried to interrupt her but she held up a hand to silence him. “He is starving himself, and, fuck, Derek,” here Lydia grabbed her hair with both hands in despair, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, “He is cutting himself because he feels worthless. And none of you noticed! None of you! Not one! Not with all your super-wolfy senses, no! Couldn’t you smell something off?” Now it was Derek’s turn to look flabbergasted. “He- what?” Lydia nodded, tears now glistening on her face. Derek staggered backwards, his mind going blank with shock. “I-I have to talk to him.” “Damn right you do, Sourwolf.” Spat Lydia. “Now go. Find him. Save him from himself.” Derek nodded before turning around and heading for the Stilinski house at a sprint. (Derek’s POV) Derek shifted and bolted away from a trembling Lydia, deep into the woods in the direction of Stiles’ house. He had slowed by the time he reached the back yard, and was about to shift back when he froze the complex waves of emotion pouring from Stiles’ room was shocking. Derek shifted and straightened up slowly, reaching out his senses. Searching. Feeling. He could only just make Stiles’ usual scent, the rest was buried under layers upon layers of pain, sadness, rejection, blood, and fear. Wait. The others were fading out, slowly being drowned by terror. Complete, utter terror. The scent of it was thick and cloying, and his throat started to constrict with tears because of it. How had Stiles gotten so damaged without him noticing? Without anyone noticing? No, that’s not true. Lydia noticed. She cared enough. She read the signs, and she tried to fix Stiles. Guilt flooded him, but not for long. The waves of terror and panic flooding from the house were only getting stronger, and Derek could actually hear Stiles’ panicked heartbeat rising. Without thinking, he charged forward and leaped up to Stiles’ window. Looking in, he saw a sight that made his heart break. Stiles was writhing in his bed, fists clenching and unclenching handfuls of his blanket. His chest was rising and falling in an irregular pattern, and his whole body shuddered with silent sobs. Quietly sliding open the window, Derek slipped into Stiles’ room. He was halfway in when he heard something that made him freeze. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ Derek heard a gasp and Stiles sat bolt upright in bed, his hands grabbing his hair, his knees pulled up to his chest. “-sorry, sorry, sorry-“ a strangled cry, then Stiles started to scream. Horrible, terrified, heartbroken screams that went on and on while Stiles flailed wildly in bed and frantically grabbed at anything to ground himself. Before he knew what he was doing, Derek was across the room and grabbing Stiles’ wrists. He flinched, then looked down. The soft white skin was marred with several vivid red lines, crisscrossing their way down his forearm. Stile was still heaving with silent sobs, still writhing under Derek’s grip, still choking “sorry” but at least he he’d stopped screaming. Derek sat down on the edge of the bed and gently shook Stiles. “Stiles. Stiles, wake up! It’s not real!” Stiles jerked up with a gasp, tears pouring down his face. He yanked his spindly wrists out of Derek’s grip and pulled them in to his chest. It was then that Derek realised Stiles wasn’t wearing a shirt, and that you could count each of his ribs. His stomach was concave and hollow, and you could see the tips of more scars poking up from the waist of his too-big shorts. Derek gasped at the sight and Stiles gave a hollow laugh. The sound chilled Derek more than the teen’s screams. “That’s right Derek. Gasp. Flinch. Be disgusted. Tell me I’m sick in the head. That I’ll never be good enough for anyone. That I’m not worth your time. I don’t even know why you’re here. After all, what use is a broken toy?” Derek felt what little of his heart that was still whole shatter. A broken toy. That’s what Stiles thought of himself as. A broken toy. “Stiles-“ he began, but Stiles waved him off. “Save it, Derek. It’s not like you even cared until Lydia threatened you.” “Stiles.” Stiles turned around. “What. What is it, Derek.” Derek stood limply in the middle of the room, twisting his fingers together the way he did when he didn’t know what to do with himself. Stiles rolled his eyes and turned away. “Whatever, Derek.” Derek could hear that Stiles was close to tears. “Go back to the rest of the pack. I’m sure they’re missing you.” A choked sob. Then Stiles turned suddenly around. “You know, Derek, when you suddenly appeared, it was like a god had answered my prayers or something. I thought you actually cared for a minute.” A pause. Then, “that was the best minute of my life.” Oh my god. Derek gaped at Stiles’ back. The best minute of his life was when he thought you cared. Throwing caution to the wind, Derek crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his arms around Stiles’ tiny waist. He buried his nose in the dark silky hair and felt Stiles stiffen under his embrace. Derek was about to reluctantly withdraw from the hug when Stiles let out a sob. He turned around and threw his arms around Derek’s neck and began to cry into his shoulder. “Stay.” Was all he said. It was all he needed to say. Derek held Stiles until he stopped crying. They stood there for a good 10 minutes before Stiles reluctantly withdrew from Derek’s grasp. “‘M gonna shower.” He mumbled. Stiles seemed to take an absolute age in the shower. He finally emerged some 20 minutes later wearing.... was that Derek’s hoodie? The one that had gone missing the very pack meeting before Stiles had gone all quiet. Derek stood up for no particular reason when Stiles re entered the room, only to catch a whiff of an entirely different emotion cutting through the stench of despair and pain. Want. He looked sharply up at Stiles, who was still standing in the doorway. He was tugging at the sleeves of the hoodie. Finally he spoke. “It smelled like you.” “What?” Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping into the room. “The hoodie. It smelled like you. That’s why I took it.” “Oh.” Was all Derek said. Then, thinking he should perhaps elaborate on this in-depth answer, he said “that’s a pack thing. The scent I mean.” He looked up at Stiles again after not getting a response to this less-than-interesting piece of werewolf information. Stiles’ response was not at all what Derek had expected. Stiles gave Derek a strange look, one he was unable to read. They moved at the same time. Stiles ran across the room and leapt into Derek’s arms, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him hard. Derek responded instantly, placing his hands under Stiles’ legs and kissing him back fiercely. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist and sat up a little straighter in his arms, tilting his head to get a better angle. Derek carried Stiles over to his bead and they both collapsed onto it, still kissing. Stiles broke the kiss to roll them over so he was straddling Derek’s firm middle. He looked down at the werewolf. Derek’s pupils were dilated, his lips are swollen and he was panting slightly. He gave an almost puppy-ish whine when Stiles brushed his lips against his ear before leaving a trail of burning kisses down Derek’s neck. He smirked slightly before moving back up and recapturing Derek’s lips with his own. They kept on kissing and kissing, each content to not go any further, but neither wanting to stop. When they finally did, Stiles rolled off Derek’s hips and snuggled closer to him. “Wow.” He breathed softly. “If someone had told me two hours ago that I’d still be alive, let alone kissing Derek Hale, I would have said they were crazy.” He sighed happily and snuggled in closer to Derek, nuzzling his nose into Derek’s neck. Derek sat up suddenly. “Did you say alive?! Stiles, you weren’t going to...” Stiles happy smile melted right off his face. “Yeah.” He said quietly. His voice was hollow. “I was.” “Oh my god.” Derek whispered. “Stiles...” “Don’t.” Stiles interrupted suddenly. “Don’t, Derek. Don’t drive yourself crazy over something that didn’t happen.” When Derek tried to speak again, Stiles cut him off with a soft kiss. “In the morning.” “Alright.” Derek finally agreed. “In the morning.”