To Save a Life

Disclaimers: No copyright infringement intended. MTV owns Teen Wolf. I own nothing.

P.S. I adore all teen wolf characters (except for the evil ones. Those I hate as I should) and I have great respect for each of them. I don't believe in bashing. So please remember in commenting that my love for 'the pack' overrides my love of any one ship. But be warned this is Stalia-centric story. So if you don't like that don't read it. Stalia is my OTP and I am prepared to go down with my ship ;)

Chapter One: Whiskey In the Dark

Stiles felt like he hadn't slept in days. He remembered carrying Lydia to Ms. Martin's car and tucking in her seat belt, he remembered the haunted look in her wide eyes. But everything else was a blur. When he jolted into wakefulness hours later it was dusk. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes and tried to shake the sinking feeling in his gut. An image lingered in his mind's eye, of Malia being held down by a dread doctor's disembodied gauntlet, mercury spilling from her eyes. He needed to see her, to hear her voice, anything to get that image out of his head.

Sitting up he felt groggy, his eyelids felt heavy and bruised. And there was day-old dried blood on his favorite pillow. He grimaced, tugging on his shoes, he shuffled to the bathroom to clean himself up. After his patch job he stumbled down the stairs on lead feet. He forced down some burnt coffee, while he shrugging on his coat and grasping for his keys. The screen door slammed behind him as he jogged down the front steps. The night sky was settling into a dusky blue.

Bounding into his jeep, he hit the call button on his phone. A few ignored voicemail's and a patch of highway later, he was no closer to reaching her. He swung by her place, but found her car missing. Drumming his fingers nervously on the wheel he thought of what he wanted to say to her. Knowing from experience she was probably at one of her favorite haunts he threw the jeep in reverse and turned back onto the highway.

A thousand fragmented thoughts raced through his brain as he drove. Things he wanted to tell her, things he was afraid she might say. The closer he got to the preserve the more his hand tightened on the wheel. It wasn't wise confronting a seriously pissed off werecoyote, but he was ninety percent sure that, she loved him and wouldn't take his head off. The other ten percent thought that she just might.

He found her car abandoned by the chain fence, parking his jeep he stalked through the woods at night about as comfortably as he ever did. He could see his own breath, he hunched his shoulders at the late October chill and shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

He found her, where he expected, her back pressed against one of the rocks leading up to her old den. What he didn't expect was to find an open bottle of Jack Daniels in her hand. That's new.

She wasn't looking at him, but she knew he was there. She was obstinately ignoring him. They hadn't spoken privately since that day outside the sheriff's station, and from the look of it she wasn't about to start. Then something in her posture changed and she turned looking him up and down, "I smell blood." She said.

Stiles raised his eyebrows, before he remembered the blood on his pillow.

"No, it's just my ear. I'm OK." Her eyes don't seem convinced, but she doesn't challenge it, like she might have only a few weeks ago.

"You, been to see Lydia?"

"No. I ah-just crashed after everything. You?" his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.

"Me neither. Scott, and I have been taking shifts watching her house though. Just to make sure."

Warmth unfurls deep in his chest, he's overcome with a familiar rush of emotions. Pride. Affection. Falling in love with her didn't happen all at once, it built up over a handful of moments like this one. Until one day it caught him completely off guard.

He takes a step towards her, his eyes watching her intently, but she looks away bringing the bottle to her lips taking a long pull. He watches her swallow it enviously.

"If you were there all day, what are you doing here now?"

"Drinking." She answers in that nonchalant way of hers. Smirking he shakes his head

"I can see that. Aren't you tired?"

"After these last few weeks. I'm not sure I'll ever sleep again."

A chill slithers down his spine, behind his eyes he sees a flash of the gauntlet around her neck and he stiffens.

Ignoring the wary look she shoots him he crosses the space between them and drops down on the rock next to her feet. He just needs to be closer to her. He hopes her inner coyote is appeased that his posture defers to her dominance. Malia doesn't say anything just passes the bottle to him. Keeping her eyes trained on the gnarled branches of the dark woods around them.

Her head is tilted at an angle that signals his inner detective that she is lost in the subtle sounds of the forest. He knows she can probably hear the shift of the wind in the trees and long grass, the hum of crickets and night owls. He hopes she is tuned into that and not his skittering heartbeat. It's kind of terrifying being so in love with someone who is a walking lie-detector. It often makes him feel like she holds all the cards. But he's gotten very good at reading her. And even if she's not much for talking out her feelings, Malia has a bundle of tells.

This for instance, tuning him out meant that he had to make the first move because, Malia was about as stubborn as he was.

Stiles downed a mouthful of whiskey before choking out, "You ever gonna talk to me?"

"Stiles," she sighs, tiredly. "I really don't want to talk."

"Ok." He whispers, his throat tightening. He's never heard her say his name quite that way before. She's said his name thousands of times in so many ways. But never like this. Never like it was painful.

Malia takes a breath and slowly exhales it, she makes an almost imperceptive wince, and adjusts her position on the rock slightly. It's then that Stiles notices the way her left arm is slung across her waist, protectively. His eyes cut to her, assessing her face, he turns his body toward her and she tenses.

"Easy." He coaxes. "What happened?" He asks reaching for the hem of her shirt, but with icy cold fingers she brushes him off.

"It's healing. Deaton, gave me something, I mixed it with this." She told him, saluting him with the bottle. Stiles blanched, the whiskey on his breath suddenly making him feel queasy.

"And what's it gonna do to me?" he gulped. Malia smiled wolfishly at his expression.

"You're in for a rough night, Stilinski. But you'll live." The queasy feeling dissipated with one look into her gleaming eyes, she was laughing at him. He hadn't made her smile in a really long time, even if it was at his own expense it felt good. But the feeling passed quickly.

His eyes suddenly narrowed, "You'd only go to Deaton, if Scott or I dragged you. Why aren't you healing? How bad is it?" he interrogated.

Malia held up a hand forestalling him. "It's from a few nights ago. Deaton says it's most likely psychological, he couldn't find anything laced in the wound."

"Laced in the wound," he repeated.

"The desert wolf is known to lace her claws with poison." Malia informed him coolly.

Stiles swallowed thickly, "The desert wolf…cut you up with her poison claws?"

Malia nodded, and brought the bottle back up to her lips, "Most people only get crazy on one side of the family." She began, taking a sip and hissing at the burn of the whiskey on the back of her throat. "Me, I had to get the matching set."

Stiles stuck out his hand and waggled his fingers. "Gimme" he grumbled. Malia served him a sardonic look before dangling the neck of the bottle out to him. She muffled her surprise when he downed a long pull of the whiskey before returning it to her. His face contorting in disgust from the meld of sour whiskey and the bitter of taste wild Reishi. Malia was hunched forward resting her elbows on her knees, she dropped her head so he couldn't see her smile.

Stiles raked a hand through his hair, "You should have told someone." he ground out, "You never should have went after her alone."

Malia scoffed, "She had Deaton."

"She wasn't trying to kill Deaton. She was after you. You're gonna get yourself killed." Stiles was furious he could feel it coursing hotly through his veins. Malia's nostrils flared.

"I can handle the desert wolf." She growled. Stiles jutted his finger toward her abdomen

"Yeah. Sure seems like it." He said, curtly.

"You left." she snapped. "Did you think I was going to come tell you my sad little story?"

Stiles, thinned his lips "No. I expected you to know that no matter what is going on with us. I'll always be there for you."

Malia shot to her feet, stalking away from him, with a growl she hurled the bottle out into the darkness. Wiping at her mouth with the back of her sleeve, she whirled back towards him,

"HOW THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT!"

Stiles stared her down, fists clenched at his sides, "BECAUSE WE SAID WE'D NEVER LEAVE EACH OTHER BEHIND!"

Malia's eyes locked with his and for a fraction of a second there was a flash of hurt in her eyes, but it was quickly swallowed up in a sneer.

"Well words are cheap, aren't they, Stiles? It didn't keep you from walking away." She replied coolly.

His shoulders drooped, the fight going out of him. "Malia," he pleaded, softly.

"No. Don't do that." Malia snapped.

"What am I doing?" he asked.

"Don't look at me like that with your big brown eyes. I'm mad at you." Malia frowned. Stiles, sighed he stepped a few paces away from her. Facing her square on, he abruptly shut his eyes.

"Ok, then." He whispered. "I'm not looking at you."

"This is stupid."

"Malia, please." he entreated "Just let me get this out. And then if you want me gone, I'll go."

He heard her, breathing from a few feet away and could feel her eyes on him.

"Talk." She barked. He listened to the crunch of the leaves underfoot as she stalked away from him, back to her rock.

"I, uh-" he stumbled, his mouth going dry. He didn't want to lose her. And this was that moment that he probably loses her for good. Anxiety was rolling off of him in waves. He drummed his fingers against his thigh and cleared his throat. Malia is just a few feet away on the rock and she can hear his heart and smell his chemo signals and he is perilously in the dark. He's got a chance here to put all the feelings churning inside him into words. A chance to make her understand.

"We, gonna be at this all night, Stilinski?" Malia asks, her voice gentle. It's that that anchors him. Even when she's furious with him, she's gentle. For someone who is as fierce and powerful as she is, it's a surprising quality, but one he's well acquainted with. A flood of images come to him unbidden. He sees her with her nose buried in one of his thick plaid shirts, reading her textbook. He sees her parked with him in the jeep, her head pillowed in his lap her feet dangling out the window. He sees her laughing, dashing away from him as he chases her for the remote. He sees her in the darkness of his room, those gorgeous eyes of hers wide in concern, her touch careful as she brings him back to himself after a nightmare.

"I lost something," He forces out. "When I pulled that pin, I killed him. And I lost part of myself. I thought I was going to lose my best friend. That my dad was never going to be able to look at me again. That I didn't deserve you." He choked out, "And then you figured it out. And you didn't judge. Just like you promised when we met." His lip curled upward in a rueful smile. "I was so angry that you could just accept what I did. I didn't deserve it. I wanted you to be angry at me to fight with me. I wanted you to expect better of me. I didn't deserve you. So I pushed you away. I hurt you." He felt it now the prickling behind his eyes. "And I know that you won't believe this but I need you to hear it. When your family died. It wasn't your fault. It was the desert wolf, you were just a kid. And I know you want her to pay for taking them from you, for making you hate yourself for years. But you can't kill her, Malia. You can't let her take that part of you. She's already taken so much. Don't let her have this." he pleaded his voice thick with tears. "I don't ever want to have you feel like this. Like you are not yourself, anymore. Like you're not good enough-"

He never sensed her approach but he felt her touch feather-light on his face, her thumbs brushing against cheekbones, swiping away his tears.

"Open your eyes, Stiles." She commanded softly. He blinked his eyes open to the blurry image of Malia's concerned gaze. She had not let go of him, her fingers continue to swipe at tears that fell unbidden.

"Mal-"

"It's my turn, Stilinski" she shushed. Squeezing his shoulder as she looked at him point blank.

"You aren't a killer, Stiles. You're a survivor. Theo wound Donovan up and set him loose. There was nothing you could have done to change it. You aren't the bad guy. You're the guy that runs in a straight line into danger for his friends. You've saved Scott, you saved Lydia last night, and you've been saving me since before we met. You're still trying to save me." She insisted.

She pressed her forehead to his, her lips brushing against his with her every word she spoke, "You're still the good guy, Stiles." She told him firmly.

He surged forward kissing her with everything he had, a moan catching in his throat. Malia kissed him back hot and possessive, her arms winding around his neck, "You're still my good guy," she panted against his lips, pulling him to herself, slanting her lips against his own.

He pushed her up against the nearest tree. Tracing apologies against her lips and skin. Her hands were anchoring his face while his were cradling the back of her neck. His hands delved through her hair, skating along her back, until he wrapped her close in both arms. She was toying with the hair at the nape of his neck when his hands slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. The drag of his fingers along the coarse fabric of the bandage on her abdomen made him pull back from the kiss abruptly.

"You're hurt." He mumbled against her lips. Malia shook her head, dismissing his concern and tugging him back towards her. Stiles dodged her lips and kissed along her jaw, then nuzzling against her ear, "Malia, you're hurt. And it's freezing." He coaxed, rubbing his big hands up and down her back trying to warm her. Malia's eyes were glowing that ethereal shade of blue, and a wolfish grin was tugging at her lips.

"You weren't complaining a few seconds ago," she replied, smugly.

He leaned in planting a sweet kiss on her lips lingering there as he told her, "I'm so not complaining." Then Stiles pulled her close, trying to warm her up, Malia propped her chin on his shoulder sinking happily into his hold. After a moment she let out a contented sigh stepped back from him, offering her hand.

"C'mon, I'll help you find the jeep. You're hopeless in the dark." She teased. Stiles scoffed,

"You weren't complaining a few minutes ago, either." Malia smirked tugging his hand, she carefully guided him around the tangle of roots and furrows in the forest floor. Her hand might feel icy cold in his grip but just holding her hand like this had heat coursing through him. When they came to the chain, Stiles tenderly lifted, Malia up and set her down on the other side of it, sparring her the twinge of pain in her abdomen leaping over it would have caused. It was a gesture she was unaccustomed to, but her eyes were warm when she watched him hop over the fence himself.

She grabbed her phone and bag from her car then climbed in the jeep next to him. Stiles cranked up the heat, and reached into the backseat for the sweater he always kept back there for her. She quickly tugged it over her head, and then settled in next to him snug in her favorite of his sweaters.

A few minutes later they came to the fork in the road a few miles out of the preserve, Stiles looked over at her in askance. Left was toward her dad's house and right would bring them to his. He waited for her answer with his arm slung over the wheel. Malia smirked and reached over his arm, flicking the indicator upward then invading his space she the spun the wheel towards her. Stiles shook his head smiling down at her, which she took as an invitation to kiss him. He nipped at her lips "You, keep this up were never going to get there," he warned.

She shrugged, "I'm fine where I am." He paid her a fond look before he tucked her back into his side. Stiles pulled out to the right and they drove the rest of the way in a contented silence.

Passing headlights gliding over them intermittently until they pulled into the Sheriff's drive. Malia's night eyes guided them almost soundlessly upstairs to his room. Stiles changed her bandage in the half-light of the bathroom, his face drawn with concern, and regret.

Hoping to pull him out of his dark mood, she leaned forward, whispering, "Kiss it better." He raised an eyebrow but accepted her challenge. Dropping to a knee he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin right above her redressed bandage. Her breathing hitched and Stiles was satisfied to notice her eyes were glowing his favorite shade of blue, again.

"Careful," he teased "Your coyote is showing." Malia shoved him away affectionately, he helped her pull her shirt back over her head and switched out the light.

Kicking off their shoes, they curled up together on his bed, sharing his pillow. Malia drifted off quickly, but Stiles stayed up guarding her from the night, until the first streaks of dawn filtered through his faded blue curtains.

His hand slipped under her shirt checking her bandage again. It peeled away seeped with black blood, but the deep gashes underneath had faded, he gently traced the few faint lines that remained. He gusted a breath of relief against her temple. Pulling the blanket back up around them both, he thought about how guilt, fear and secrets had nearly cost him everything.

But the pack falling apart and having to be pieced back together had taught him something. And he was now unequivocally certain that Theo and the dread doctors would fail. They would fail because they were out for themselves, for their own selfishness agenda. And it would be their undoing.

They had gotten to Stiles and his friends. But they had underestimated, his pack. Because together they had faced down a kanima, a dark druid, an alpha pack, assassins and a psychotic Peter Hale. They were survivors. And as long as they were together, they could survive anything. Because pack, means friendship, it means love, it means never being left behind. Stiles tucked a strand of hair behind Malia's ear. So bring on the desert wolf, dread doctors and chimeras, because—the pack is back.