Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It sounded different.

His voice.

He couldn't say how, just different.

Louder. Stronger.

The voices too. Loud and irritating. Like screaming buzzes that only he heard.

He must be crazy, that was the only explanation. Because he could see them too. Like shadows and shapes that appeared and disappeared. Like ghosts. Distorted ones that yelled for him to hear, so he yelled back. And then... the silence.

He didn't know what it meant. What it was. And it was terrifying. He was too scared to sleep. He would see death by his side anyway, so the sleepless nights weren't punishment, but deliverance.

Sometimes, the voices were... nice. Calm and low, sadder about death than angry. But those were rare and he hardly met them in the years.

But then he heard. Her voice, screaming inside him.  But she was dead, she was just a remnant of what he never was.  It wasn't real, he was sure of it.

And he researched.  He tried to figure out what to do with himself.

It was like in the past, when he spent sleepless nights trying to figure himself out, to accept himself.

Girl.
Boy.
Both.
None.
She.
He.

Me, that voice screamed.  But back then, he couldn't listen.

So he tried.  Nights when he hid from his mother, afraid in the locked room.

She had accepted him, she had to.  But this was something else, it was scary and painful and loud.

Supernatural, the voices screamed.

Monster, he tried to shout over them, scared and huddled against the bedroom wall night and day.

Like Lydia, that dead voice tried with the last of the hope he didn't have.

No.

No.

No.

Just… couldn't.

Banshee, as he discovered.

Banshee, a banshee.  She!

He.

A banshee.

That voice was scared, because she had been killed.  She had been killed.  He knew she no longer existed, that he had died and he had made sure of it.

Expensive surgeries, isolation from the start, fear, acceptance, screaming, new clothes.  The name.

She never existed and he erased any trace that he could prove otherwise.

He's a son.  And not a daughter.
A friend.  Not a friend.
An enemy.  Not an enemy.
A monster.  Not a banshee.

He could not.

However, he could still hear the voices.  That.  The screams and the feeling of despair.  That was the part he couldn't suppress.  disappear.  To kill.  To hide.

It showed who he once was and needed to disappear.  He needed to disappear.

Monroe didn't know.  She should.  Then she would kill him.  He knows so.  She had already tried for other reasons.

The voices screamed, angry and aggressive for him hunting people like him.

But these people didn't know what it was like to hate yourself for your body, to look in the mirror every night and wish you were in another.
They didn't know how desperate it was to hear the voice of the mother, the father, when they approached and you still hadn't done what you were told.
They didn't know what it was like to concentrate late at night and have to wipe away the bruises and blood.
They didn't know what it felt like to circle every part of your body that you hated and realize there was nothing left.
They didn't know what it was like to be him.
And he didn't want them to know.
Because he would get pity, stares, maybe even hate.  But it doesn't help.

He need help.  But he refuses to ask.

He'll wait for her to find out and kill him.
Or else he will kill himself.

Because it's disgusting and wrong.  He shouldn't exist.  That part of him shouldn't exist.  He hates himself because of her.

She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She. She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She.  She. 

Banshee.  She.  Screams.  Help.  Anger.  Touches.  Death.  Please.

Banshee.  She.  Screams.  Help.  Anger.  Touches.  Death.  Please.

Banshee.  She.  Screams.  Voices.  Ghosts.  The death.  Dreams.  Anger.  Screams.  She.  Please.

Tic Tac
Tic Tac
Tic Tac
Tic Tac

His head flew up, startled.

Books.  Library.

He sucked in a breath, panting, and brought trembling hands to his face.

Hey, here.

The voices called to him, with shouts. Her hands skimmed over his arm, brushing the skin.  He stood up, a shiver rippled through him, his insides felt like ice and he gripped the edge of the table, feeling eyes on him.

Is not real.
It's not real, he kept repeating, desperate to make it come true.

Nolan, the voices shouted.

Nolan- more firm.

He raised his head, startled by the firmness of the voice.  Is not real-

Lydia.

Lydia was staring at him with slightly wide eyes.

Shit.

Chapter Text

Banshee, they said.

 Lydia had learned about herself. After the screams and fear, she learned.

 The feeling of death walking with you. It was scary, it still is. Knowing, predicting, death.

 That was what she did. Stiles could make as many jokes as he wanted, but he didn't know how it felt. Having death on your side.

 You felt like a god. Selfish, humane, wrong, evil. You know someone is going to die and you need to decide what to do with it.

 She found herself thinking about what had happened in Mexico at times. That man had just died so that Calavera would know, confirm.

 He hadn't been the only one.

 She is a banshee. Lydia is a banshee and thanks to Peter. She knows that, for some reason and some way, that attack on the field brought all of this about.

 A girl playing with death, she had heard.

 They are perverse, they know everything. They play with information and are loyal to you. dangerous and powerful. It was described where she read it.

 She.

Lydia had noticed that. There were only women.

 In every place she read, according to Gerard's and Deaton's own bestiary, banshees were female. Girls, children, feminine.

 But there was Nolan. Lydia figured that out for herself, recognized the signs, could see the clear fear surrounding the boy and the voices…the voices were too much even for her.

 Screaming his name. Nolan looked scared and disgusted.

 And Lydia was always smart, the most of the pack, no matter what Stiles thinks, so she put the signs together. It took a while, but she did.

 Nolan was a banshee.

 But he wasn't a girl.

 And according to everything... Yes, only women had powers like hers.

 And so there were only two explanations.

 Nolan was an exception and Lydia is sure Deaton would love to hear about it. If she knew where he was, she could at least ask, but the man was gone.

 Or Nolan was a woman. And that was impossible.

 Nolan is a boy, there's no way he's a banshee in that case. Unless he's-

 Oh, she thought when she found out. And his stomach turned, queasy

Because now she knew. And now she knew how he was probably feeling.

 And she needed to do something about it.

 Because that was her power. And Nolan reeked of death, and not because of his powers.

 So Lydia went to talk to him. And the voices around shouted. Loud and Lydia was tempted to scream to stop them, but that was up to Nolan.

 __ Nolan __ She called and he practically jumped at his steady voice, probably mistaking it for the ghosts.

 __ Lydia __ He replied, looking as uncomfortable as he should feel about himself.

 __ I know __ And she knows Nolan understood, mostly from the way he tensed.

 Then she watched his reaction, shoulders rising to hide his neck, hands curling around his stomach and he- God, he looked like he needed to cry.

 __ About...everything __ Lydia specified, reaching out to clasp one of his shoulders.

__ You don't __ Nolan whispered and Lydia smiled small. She could tell, if it was sooner, he'd be right. But she had put the pieces together, and unless Nolan really was an unusual exception to the fact that there were only female banshees, there was no way she could be wrong.

 __ You are trans. It's okay, Nolan. __ Lydia lowered her voice, taking care only the two of them could hear __ And you are banshee __ And our enemy. She didn't say, but he knew. And Nolan probably knew why Lydia was there.

 He was banshee. And he was still with Monroe. Hunting them.

 Why?

 Why?

 She wondered what his response would be.

 __ I don't- __ He didn't seem to know what to say and his voice was low.

 They had stopped and he noticed. His eyes flickered over her before dropping across the table he was slumped over.

__ And a hunter__ Lydia added, saddened that she could feel death coming from him. In every possible way.

 Banshee

 Assassin

__ She's going to kill me, you know __ Nolan finally said and Lydia searched his eyes to stare.

 They looked alike, she knew.

 Nolan, in hindsight, reminded her of Alisson. And that hurt sometimes. Because he shouldn't end up like her.

 But seemed to want.

 __ I want her to find out__ He whispered, looking scared for admitting this to her.

 __ Let me help, Nolan __ She grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face to rest on his shoulder. Lydia left her hand in his hair, another thing they had in common, but his was lighter.

 __ I don't want help __ But their hands shook as they tugged at her shirt, their fists tightening the fabric, and Lydia let him wrap his arms around her no matter what.

 __ Nolan, Monroe can't find out __ She ran a hand playing with her hair, to the side, Lydia noticed that he was sweating near the back of his neck and her hair was sticking to her skin.

 __ She need to kill me __ He whispered with a firm voice for those who will declare their own sentence.

 Lydia's heart broke, she knew the desire was real. She could feel it. And it hurt that he felt that way instead of ask for help, accept that part of him.

__ There's nothing wrong with you __ Lydia squeezed him tighter when she sat him down trying to pull away, she didn't let go.

 __ It's disgusting! I'm- she! __ Nolan's hands shook harder and Lydia felt tears start to wet the fabric of her shirt. She didn't care. __ I'm not a girl __ Nolan's voice shook.

 __ You're not a girl __ Lydia agreed with him. She had no idea what it was like to feel wrong in her own body, the insecurity of a teenager, the one she felt when she was younger, was nothing compared to what Nolan must have felt accepting himself. She knows this. __ You are banshee. It's like me, your powers, whatever the bestiary says, doesn't change that. A banshee boy, you are a rare thing. And there's nothing wrong with that, Nolan __

 __ I don't want to be rare. I don't want to be anything. __

 __ Don't say that, Nolan. I can help you. I can help you control your powers, get away from Monroe, leave the hunters, accept who you are! You will be strong and you will be safe, with me, with us. __ She tried again, pulling his face away from her shoulder and meeting his eyes steadily.

 __ And I can not. Liam didn't- I don't deserve help __ And it hurt even more to know that he thought so. That Nolan didn't want help because he thought he didn't deserve it.

 __ Everyone deserves help, Nolan __

__ Peter Hale tried to kill them. Derek Hale too. Deucalion. The alcetia of alphas. The ghost riders. They- none of them come close to my age. Theo Raeken arrives. And he was sent to hell. Did any of the others go? I want to die, not hell. Because I know that's where I'm going if I die. __  Nolan tried to pull away and this time Lydia let him, too shocked not to try to keep him in front of him.

 Nolan started to gather his things, desperation showing in his actions.

 __ I promise, Nolan. It won't happen, you die or go to hell. I promise. I protect you! __ Lydia reached for his hand.

 And this time, Nolan heard her.

 Tired out

 Trusting her.