SELF PARA → THE FUNERAL
Tagging → Stiles Stilinski
Time Frame → A week after Allison’s death.
Location → Beacon Hills, California
General Notes → It’s been a week after Allison’s death, and Stiles has to attend Allison’s funeral with the largest amount of guilt buried inside of his chest.
thespectacularfaultinourselves said :
:3 Omg, Kayla!! I just want to start out by saying that I have not stopped grinning or jumping for joy since you posted the winners! Thank you! Thank you soo so much! And next for a prompt request can I get Stydia with them comforting each other at Allison's funeral?
I’m gonna tweak the plot a smidge, but not much, I hope to god you like it.
I had been a couple of weeks since the Nogitsune attack, and Lydia had no clue how to process things.
Allison was gone, dead. She had to keep reminding herself that her best friend wasn’t coming back. Would never pick up her phone again or pick her up for school in the morning.
Lydia couldn’t bring herself to go to the funeral. Not with the lies surrounding Allison’s death so heavy on people. Stabbed during a carjacking? How was she supposed to mourn her best friend properly when everyone around her thought she died in a tragedy? Not going out the hero she truly was.
She was trying to make a dent in her homework, having let more than a little pile up over the last few days. But truth be told she had no desire to do it. She found no solace in the formulas, no comfort in the dates and places.
That’s when the tapping began. At first she thought she was making it up. That her over tired, underworked brain had finally snapped. Until she turned to the window to see Stiles perched on the slanted roof.
She opened it a second later his tired smile etched on his face. “Hey.”
“Is there a plausible reason you’re lurking out my window so late at night?”
“Well for one it’s like eight,” Stiles noted pointing to the clock on her wall. “And second, I need you for something, so grab your coat and let’s go.”
“Why can’t we go out my front door?” she questioned, mild irritation creeping into her voice.
He looked at her, sadness flickering deep in his amber eyes. “I thought you might want to avoid your mother’s questions.”
She swallowed back a comment about how her mom was so busy drowning in bills she wouldn’t even notice Lydia walking by, and instead grabbed her sweater. “Fine, but this better be important.”
Stiles didn’t reply as he helped her off the roof. In fact he didn’t say another word until the pulled up to the entrance to the Preserve.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, as he opened her door helping her jump down.
Stiles barely looked back as he reached for her hand. “Starting the healing process.”
They walked a ways, and Lydia couldn’t help but hug her sweater closer to her. She cursed herself for not grabbing her jacket, but Stiles shrugged off his lacrosse hoodie, handing it to her.
“Thanks,” she smiled wrapping up in it.
They had made it to the clearing now, and before seeing it Lydia knew where they were. It’s like she could feel the Nemeton calling to her, like it had every time she drew it over the last few months.
Scott was standing off to the side of the tree trunk; he looked worn out, even from where she stood. Before him was a fire, a small pot hanging over the flames.
“Hey guys,” he greeted, not even turning to look at them. “It’s almost ready.”
“What’s almost ready?” She tried to peer over to see what Scott had, but the alpha moved blocking her view.
“We’ll get to that,” he replied, turning to her. “We noticed you weren’t at the funeral.”
“Not a big fan of the showiness of them,” Lydia countered, clipping the end of her sentence. “Besides funerals aren’t for the dead, they’re for the living. And I didn’t see much point in going.”
Stiles nodded hopping up to sit on the edge of the ancient tree. “I get it. I felt the same way after my mom died. I begged my dad to let me skip it. Still kinda wish he’d said yes.”
“Why have you two brought me out into the middle of the woods? It’s freezing and I don’t want to think about the funeral,” Lydia snapped leaning back against Stiles’ side.
“It sucked by the way,” Scott noted, almost like he wasn’t talking to either of them. “I actually think the whole junior class showed up. Even kids who’d never said a word to you. You’d have hated it.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes, tossing her glance between Scott and Stiles, the latter having grabbed a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey from behind them. He took a long drink, wincing at the taste, before passing it to her.
“You’re my ride,” she took the bottle from him with an annoyed glare.
“Scott’s driving tonight,” Stiles replied with a smirk. “He can’t get drunk, sucks for him, added bonus for us.”
“What’s he doing?” she whispered nodding to Scott.
Stiles leaned in his voice just as quiet. “Talking to Ally.”
And then she knew. She got why her and her friends were out here, in the dark, cool night. Funerals were for the living, but this this, this was for Allison, and for them. This was how they could say goodbye.
She tuned back into Scott, the werewolf, rubbing at his eyes. “I miss you so much. We weren’t even together anymore, but it still hurts not having you here. I don’t think that’s ever going away.”
Scott’s words trailed off as his eyes focused back on the fire. Lydia was afraid she’d have to pick up in the silence, but Stiles beat her to it.
“I’m sorry Ally,” his voice sounded rough, like he was still fighting with the thing that took over his life for weeks. “I’m sorry, that I wasn’t strong enough to fight it off. You’d still be here if I had been.”
“It’s not your fault,” Lydia interrupted looking at his with tears. “Stiles you didn’t do this to her.”
“I know,” he countered, wrapping an arm around her. “But I still feel guilty. I feel like I could have done something to stop it.”
She buried her face in his shoulder, letting the tears that she’d been holding in fall. She didn’t feel the need to hold them back anymore, not while she was with them.
“I wish I could have stopped it,” Lydia finally said, her voice muffled in Stiles’ shirt. “What’s the point in these powers if I can’t save the people I care about?”
“Sometimes death doesn’t have a point,” Scott spoke; he sounded so much older than he should. They all were too young to be this hardened by life. “Sometimes it just happens, and we can’t do anything about it, but remember those we lost, and try to help others in their name.”
He placed his hand over Lydia’s squeezing before he stood. “So Allison has a headstone, something solid and a place where she’s forever at rest, or whatever. But Stiles and I wanted to do something else for her. A way of honoring all the things she’s done for us.”
Lydia was about to ask, when Stiles moved grabbing a flashlight, shiny it at the tree stump. There she saw it, etched deep into the wood, an arrow about the length of her forearm. She watched as Scott grabbed the pot, slowly and carefully bringing it to the tree, pouring the contents into the hollowed space.
The substance glinted in the night’s light, silver and strong.
“Argent,” she whispered, reaching for Stiles’ hand. As soon as Scott finished and set the pot down she grabbed his too.
“This will be our place,” Stiles said, kissing the top of her head. “Somewhere we can go and remember the real Allison. Because none of us would be here without her.”
Lydia nodded, feeling Scott’s hand fall from hers as he sat next to the cooling arrow. She fell back into Stiles, letting his arms keep her up.
“Thank you,” he told him, not even bothering to wipe away the tears. “I needed this.”
“We all did.”
Allison's Funeral || Closed RP
If any day could be erased from her mind completely, Lydia would choose today. She picked herself out of bed, dragged herself into the shower. Slowly she made her way to the kitchen where her mother tried to get her to eat, but she couldn’t. How could she have the appetite? Lydia moped around her…
You. I like you. I’mma keep keep you.
THEME BY HAPILYS