"That doesn't look so good," said Lydia. She was right. The bright red gash along Malia's side looked gruesome. And painful. And hopefully not infected.
The werecoyote remained unworried. "It's okay," she replied quickly - a little too quickly for Stiles' liking. Kira evidently agreed with him, and voiced her concern. But Malia shook her off too. "I can feel it healing," she insisted.
Stiles gave her a sidelong glance. He'd been around werewolves and other creatures for years, and while he had gotten used to (and jealous of) their accelerated healing, he also knew that it didn't always work. They had no idea what the creature that slashed Malia was like. He resolved to confront her about it once they got back to the hotel.
After they had picked up de-aged Derek - god, that had been an awkward ride, him sitting in between the two girls in the backseat, trying not to touch either one of them - they headed back to the cheap hotel they had gotten a few rooms at. Scott and Stiles were sharing a room, as were Lydia, Kira, and Malia. Braeden had taken off, and he and Scott figured they might as well put Derek in their room to make sure he didn't make a run for it. Just as they got out of the Jeep, however, Stiles grabbed Malia and dragged her to his bunk.
He had been watching her in the car and she had gotten paler and paler as the night went on. Despite her assurances, her wound didn't look any better. Her shirt was stained with an angry red and Stiles had caught her wincing on at least three separate occasions. He fumbled with the room key for a few seconds, keeping a hold on her arm.
"Stiles...I'm not in the mood. I just want to go to sleep." When he shook his head, she tugged her arm away. It was a mark of how serious the injury was that Stiles could keep hold of her. "We can mate some other time, I promise."
Stiles reddened as he managed to unlock the door. "What? No. Malia. You're hurt, and I have a first aid kit for those of us who don't heal in five seconds in here. And you," he continued as she started to protest, "have been lying about the severity of the cut. It's not healing, is it?"
Malia froze. She jerked her arm away, this time with enough strength to free herself and send Stiles stumbling into the doorframe. "I'm fine," she hissed. She stalked away as Stiles righted himself and wracked his brain for her reason to act like this. They had been fine earlier. She had even said she would never leave him, even if he was weak or injured...oh.
"Malia!" Stiles rushed after her. "Malia! Wait!" She turned around, eyes flashing. He skittered to a halt in front of her, placing his hand on her arm. "Remember what I told you earlier? We don't leave our injured. If the cut's not healing on its own, I can bandage it. Stop the bleeding." He reached for her hand and she hesitantly let him take it and lead her back to his room.
"Did you really think that we would abandon you if you told us that your supernatural healing wasn't working?" asked Stiles, sitting the werecoyote down on his bed before turning around to get the first aid supplies. Malia's grip on his hand tightened and Stiles squeezed back before letting go. She remained quiet as he retrieved the kit and a wet towel from the bathroom. He took her silence in stride and sat down next to her. "I'm gonna clean the wound now, okay?" She nodded and lifted her shirt up to expose the injury. As Stiles dabbed at it with the towel, wiping the blood off, she finally spoke, in the smallest voice that Stiles had ever heard her use.
"I'm sorry...that I'm not too good with this human thing. I just...well..." She paused for a moment, and Stiles looked at her encouragingly. "Nobody has ever treated me like you do. And I don't know how to respond to it right." She looked sad, then, and Stiles paused his ministrations and lifted his hand to her face.
"Malia. Hey. Malia. It's okay. It's okay, alright? We understand that you've been a coyote for the past decade or so. Nobody's expecting you to adapt immediately. Just...let us help you, okay?" But Malia was shaking her head.
"I don't mean just from being a coyote. None of them," she gestured vaguely towards where the car was, "treat me like you do either."
Stiles didn't know how to respond to that. He went back to cleaning the wound, clearing away all the blood from the gash. When he finished and looked up to reach for the bandages, Malia was gazing intently, and a little worriedly, at him.
"Did I say something wrong again?" she asked. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
Stiles shook his head. "No, you didn't say anything wrong." He stayed quiet for a moment, examining her injury.
Malia huffed, a little impatiently. "Then why aren't you saying anything?" she repeated.
Stiles finished putting the bandage on and sat up straight, drawing level with Malia. "I guess," he said slowly, "because no one's ever treated me like you do either."
The two stared at each other. After a few moments, Malia spoke up. "I changed my mind," she said, moving closer to him. "We can mate now if you want."
"What? Malia! Scott's going to come in soon! mmph-" Stiles' protests were cut off by a rather insistent set of lips.