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Stiles is terrible at dying. Lydia finds this out as she stands behind him at the animal clinic, her three best friends lowering themselves into the ice.
(Hold steady, Deaton tells Lydia and Isaac. Their bodies will fight with everything they have.
Lydia snorts.
You're not supposed to drown in a tub full of ice water, hands holding you down until your heart stops and you find yourself on the other side.)
The cold water shocks her system, hands sliding around his broad shoulders, and she hisses. Beneath the pads of her fingers she can feel each heaving breath, the fast thrum of his heartbeat.
(Push hard, says Deaton. They need to feel you, that tether to keep them here.
Lydia starts to ask how that will bring Stiles back from cardiac arrest, but then stops.
She'll do anything to make sure he comes back.)
Her hands move involuntarily as her mind screams that she should stop. Stiles takes one final, shuddery gasp before closing his eyes and going under.
(Isaac speaks. How long...? The question hangs there. How long until their friends die at their hands.
Deaton shrugs. It should be fast.
Lydia hopes.)
Allison goes first, quiet and serene. Brown hair fans around her in a halo, like Ophelia in the brook. Isaac sniffs loudly when he pulls his hands from her shoulders, swiping at his eyes.
Scott stays steady under Deaton's firm grip on his shoulders. With a flash of yellow, he's gone.
(The trick is to keep breathing, says Deaton. Breathe for them, when they cannot. Don't panic. Comfort them. This is the plan.
Lydia feels like she's drowning too.)
Stiles grabs for Lydia's right hand as the water slips over his head, clinging to her. His heart bangs erratically beneath his collarbone. His face goes slack.
For a moment, she thinks how easy this was. How easily three of her best friends just slipped away.
And then, the body underneath her hands starts to thrash. Lydia's hands are slipping, she can't keep him from fighting her. She's panicking, desperately trying to fight the urge to grab him underneath his arms and yank him out, start chest compressions and breathe deeply into his mouth.
She shouts.
Isaac is next to her in an instant.
Together, they hold Stiles down until his pulse no longer thumps weakly underneath her thumb.
She can feel the scream, at the base of her throat. When Stiles stops moving, she can feel it rising, building, gaining momentum.
His lashes look impossibly long, beneath the reflection of the water. She thinks about how his eyes fluttered shut at the school earlier that day.
She's almost choking at this point, but it just doesn't bubble over.
Isaac pulls her away from Stiles, her hands spraying water as she lets go. He takes her ice-cold fingers into his own, rubbing hard to warm her, making shushing noises as he does. He runs hot, and Lydia thinks that for once, Stephanie Meyer was right about something. She bites back a hysterical laugh.
(And then what, she finally asks Deaton. What do we do afterwards?
Deaton holds her gaze steady. And then, we wait.)
Lydia feels entirely empty.
(Lydia, you go with Stiles.)
She doesn't feel the need to scream anymore.
(When I kissed you, you held your breath.)
They wait.