Stiles could hear screaming coming from the living room. Animalistic grunts and growls that gave away the two occupants of the room. Stiles knew the desert wolf wanted him dead but right now she was trying to kill Malia so he figured it was more important. Braeden was nowhere in sight but the line of mountain ash was still intact, keeping the two battling coyotes trapped in the house and giving Malia no way to escape.

If he broke the line of ash he knew the desert wolf would be free and she could hurt more people. She could go after him. But he also knew that leaving Malia trapped in there with her would almost surely seal her death. He may not be in love with her but she would always be important to him and more than that she was pack.

Steeling his nerves the human crouched down and broke the line. The sounds of fighting stopped, leaving only silence as Stiles walked into the house, hands tugging on his bag straps nervously.

"Malia?"

The boys head turned to the hallway just as a strangled moan escaped Malia's lips.

"Stiles….don't..she's here."

Stiles took a step towards her voice but didn't make it more than a few inches as Malia's mother leapt at him, a scream erupting from his throat as he toppled to the ground. The weight of her body pushed the air out of his lungs and made his head smack onto the floor. He could feel the contents of his back pack crush under their combined weight.

His eyes scrunched closed in pain, sparks lighting up the insides of his eyelids, before he was lifted again and thrown to the mess of glass on the floor where Melissa's coffee table used to be. The teenager threw his arms out to catch himself but the strength of the were-coyote gave him no chance of stopping the momentum she had started him on.

The skin of his hands were pierced, sharp and stinging, with glass as he tried to protect himself and his elbow smacked onto a piece of the metal frame, bruising the skin immediately. But the pain that stole his breath, filled his mind and vision with white, was the shard of glass that pierced his shoulder. Stiles' could focus on nothing but the sharp, invading, wrongness of having something stabbed into your body, forced through layers of clothing, skin, muscle and flesh. His breath was caught in his chest as it tightened in pain.

Ignoring the glass cutting into his palms, the boy rolled onto his back, onto an awkward lean on his back pack which thankfully protected his back from any damage from the carpet of glass. There, protruding from his shoulder like a stake in the ground, was the shard of glass, blood already smeared across the shining surface.

He thought he may have heard screaming, someone saying his name, but his thoughts were clouded. Lifting his head he looked towards the doorway to see the desert wolf tackle a terrified looking Malia out of the house, over the broken line of mountain ash. The fighting sounded further and further away, gunshots ringing out before a particularly loud roar, before they faded into the distance.

The house was left in silence, Stiles' own broken gasps the only sound left to break the still air.

He was alone and he was going to die.

…

Lydia spun around, hair flying, making her neck sting under its bandage. There was something tickling at her ears. Something desperate that needed to be heard. She closed her eyes, forgetting the locked door for now, as she concentrated on her hearing.

There was a….sharpness. A tinkling like glass breaking, crunching under something and then… a gasp. The banshee frowned and scrunched her nose in frustration. She could hear nothing more but she knew it was important. It always was. Someone needed help and if she could help them she would. Looking back to the locked doors of the strange room she had been dropped into by Scott, she knew before she saved anyone else she had to save Mason.

….

Stiles turned his head back to the piece of glass and raised a shaking hand to the protrusion, touching gently as he attempted to tug it to see how deep it had buried itself. However the slightest touch sent a shock of pain down his arm, right to his fingertips, as the glass moved deep within his shoulder. He had only one arm usable, with the glass so deep it would be dangerous to move without the risk of severing something important. Though Stiles considered all of him important he also knew that there was an artery running near his armpit and that he would bleed out in minutes if it was cut.

Raising his good hand, Stiles grimaced and clenched his teeth as he pushed down around the shard, trying to put pressure on the fast bleeding wound. His hand pressed to the wet fabric of his shirt and slid his skin painfully around the glass. He let a groan escape before he could stop it and blinked away his tears. He would be okay. If he kept the bleeding under control and stayed awake till someone came he would be fine. If someone came.

It was hard to breathe and the human tried not to panic as his chest grew heavier. He fidgeted in pain as he pressed on his shoulder again and tried to think of how to get his phone out to call someone. He could feel the wetness of blood spreading through his shirt and over his skin as he grew colder. Stiles knew this was bad, he knew because he was getting tired and had started to shiver all over. He had hit his head when he was thrown the first time and the throbbing and heaviness of his head was not helping his concentration.

It seemed his energy was dripping out of him with his blood, staining the carpet red and seeping the heat from his skin. He needed to stay awake but his eyes were already heavy and his limbs were growing clumsy. He was alone, if he passed out before he got help he would bleed out and could die before anyone got there. Stiles took as deep a breath as he could manage and laid out his plan.

Call for help. Stop the bleeding. Stay awake. He could manage that. This was nothing compared to some of the situations he had been in before, he had already died once and that hadn't been so bad. So it had come with some consequences…a lot of consequences, but it couldn't be too bad if you didn't cheat and come back like they had the first time. And this time his dying wouldn't have anything to do with the Nematon so it couldn't possibly screw anything up. Although the universe always had a funny way of turning everything into a shit show in this town.

Stiles bit his lip as he thought about how his dad would react to seeing his only son in this condition. He hated to worry his dad but he needed help and he needed someone here that knew about the supernatural, in case the desert wolf came back to finish him off. Calling an ambulance without anyone else here to protect the potential civilian casualties was out of the question and Scott and the others were busy with the beast. Calling his dad it was.

Knowing the bleeding would get worse once he removed his hand, Stiles tried to be quick. Rolling over a little to allow access to his back pocket the kid took his wet hand away from his soaked shirt and fumbled for his phone. It hurt to move so much and he let out a few grunts but finally caught his slippery fingers on his phone and pulled it out of his pocket. The struggle had used much of his last energy and he slumped back to the floor once he had his phone in front of him.

His red fingers left smudges of blood on the screen as he called his father and his vision blurred in exhaustion. His fingers, slippery and clumsy from fatigue, almost dropped the phone twice before he finally pushed the right buttons and heard it calling his dad.

Stiles let his heavy arm flop to the floor with his phone by his head and listened to the ring tone as he looked at the picture of his dad that he had taken for the contact photo. They had been eating dinner when he took it, his dad right in the middle of a bite of his salad burger and while it wasn't the prettiest picture of his father, Stiles loved it. His dad was relaxed, out of uniform, just spending some time with his kid. And he looked happy in it.

Stiles listened to the ring tone end as his dad picked up with a gruff hello.

"Dad….help."

His eyelids dropped, too tired and out of breath to say anything more and his eyes closed looking at his dad's photo. He could hear only his father yelling his name as he slipped into darkness.