𝑅𝐸𝑄𝑈𝐼𝐸𝑀 - M.R.

[RETREAT]

She's in front of him before he can even think, greets him with a screech of his old name - which is starting to drive him insane - "What the hell happened? Where have you been? We were worried sick, we thought you were-"

"Dead?" He cuts her off, looking pointedly at the stone he stands beside, tired of their conversation before it's even started. 

Her glare is enough to shut him up. 

You should never get on the wrong side of Lydia Martin, it's nice to see that hasn't changed.

"Why didn't you call or, god forbid, come visit us, Stiles?" He knows behind her blinding rage there's a real concern there, real care.

He focuses on the anger instead. On the way her eyes burn with intensity as she flings her arms out, controlled and accusatory. 

"I didn't want to." He states, partly because it is true and partly because if he can keep her angry enough maybe he can keep her from calming down and sensing something he needs her not to.

She stops, narrows her eyes, "you didn't want to?" She repeats, incredulity hanging off every word.

"That's what I said-"

She shushes him suddenly, not giving him the chance to finish, holds up a hand in a stopping motion. 

His mouth snaps shut, his face taking on a look between confused and annoyed before stress tugs at his heart, because he knows the look she has on her face, studied it religiously way back when. 

She tilts her head to the side, lips parted slightly, eyes squinted as she looks off into nothing, she doesn't need to see whatever she's communicating with to know it's there. 

When her eyes meet his again, head still cocked like she's listening out for something he asks, "what, what is it?" hoping he doesn't sound as nervous as he feels, because this is unfortunate timing, that's for sure. 

"Death."

It's all she says, lips curling over the word, she shakes her head minutely, as though she can't figure something out.

"You're stood in a graveyard if you couldn't sense them-" he gestures at the headstones they are surrounded by, at what's buried beneath them, "-I'd be worried about your abilities Lydia, even I can sense death here," it feels like an easy out, one he takes with a false sense of bravado. Needs her to take it too, but she's too smart for that, always has been.

She shakes her head again, tongue running over her lower lip as she stares straight through him, meeting his eyes only to add, "they're talking about you."

He swallows, stares back at her with what he hopes is an even expression as he says, "maybe the big piece of rock with my name on it has something to do with that," he motions to it.

There's no need, she's painfully aware it's there.

She's sat at that stone for hours before, just talking to it, wishing somehow it could hear her. Hoping, rather hopelessly, that he'd answer back. 

"I guess even-" he wiggles his fingers mockingly as he tries to think of an accurate word, "-communing spirits-" he settles on, "-get it wrong sometimes, oops." He shrugs in an 'oh well, what can you do?' motion but he knows he's already well and truly fucked.

She eyes him, biting her lips together as she thinks, looks more suspicious than angry when she says, "they've never been wrong before."

He's internally begging her to just leave it as he responds, "there's a first time for everything," he looks down at himself, arms spread out in gesture as if to make sure when he adds, "and I'm definitely still alive."