Stiles had nightmares all the time. There didn't need to be an outbreak to cause them, because Colleen was right. People die all the time, and all it really took for Stiles was to lose one person early on enough in his life that it left an impression. He didn't know it existed, not until he thought he would have to watch Matt Daehler beat his father to death right in front of him. Ever since, Stiles spent his life waiting for the hammer to fall, but maybe that was the wrong way to look at life. After all, Stiles was still left standing. He couldn't say the same for everyone else. First his mother, then Jessica, then Colleen, and now Allison. People die all the time. Stiles understood that, but he couldn't accept what he saw before his very eyes as anything but another dream. Another horrible, bloody dream that he would never be able to escape for as long as he lived. There was no other way to explain it. He couldn't feel anything, no matter how tightly he squeezed his gun. He knew there were tears streaming down his face, but he couldn't feel those either. Allison was so peaceful and still. Scott was crying too. Scott never cried.
And Lydia? She looked nothing like the girl he swore he loved since the third grade. The way she moved was even dreamlike. So was the way her tears just seemed to stop so suddenly, and the way she turned and went right back to bossing him around like usual, but in a voice he barely recognized. No. There was no way this could be anything but a dream, so Stiles did what you were always supposed to do in a dream. He followed.
When Lydia's feet carried her no further, Stiles eyes wandered up the vertical expanse of the oak tree Lydia faced. There was blood on the tree, he could see that clearly, but Stiles wasn't afraid. Not until he saw the three graves, all in a row underneath the tree. Words that haunted him all the time echoed through time, coming from a voice that he remembered well, but would never actually hear ever again. Stiles mouth went dry and fresh tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
'We're all gonna end up under that tree.'
This wasn't real. It was only a dream.
Stiles was barely breathing as he watched Lydia slowly turn to face him and Scott. Her finger crooked slightly as it raised, pointing up towards the full moon before she held it in front of her lips. Like neither Stiles or Scott were supposed to ask a question, or even say a word. For once, Stiles had nothing to say. This was a dream. He knew what was going to happen. He knew what Lydia was going to do. Her lips barely moved as words came out.
"Nothing will ever be the same." Her eyes flickered to the three holes in the ground before settling back to Scott and Stiles. One hole was for Allison. Stiles knew who the other two were for before Lydia even gave him the bonechilling look that he would never forget. She opened her hand, revealing a deep gash that had been stitched closed. How did Stiles miss that before? With her other hand, she held the knife out to Stiles. Trembling, he accepted it.
As Stiles stared down the knife, he saw Lydia grab a shovel that had been laying on the ground not far from them. His eyes finally flickered from the knife, to Lydia's hand, as he understood what she was instructing them to do without words. Beneath Stiles feet, the world seemed to shift, like he was standing on the surf, and the sand was rushing out beneath his feet. It reminded him of the first and last time his mother had ever taken him to the beach. The feeling had been a rush, but the only thing rushing now was blood as Stiles closed his hand over the blade of the knife and pulled it free with a wince. His breath shook as he turned to face the open grave that Lydia had apparently dug just for him. He looked up at the tree, and swallowed a sob that must have crept up on him when he wasn't paying attention. Then he looked at Scott with tears in his eyes, and held the knife out to him.