Please leave a review! (Cross posted on AO3)

Malia was the only one to would stand within a three-foot radius of him when it was all over. Even after they broke up. Stiles ended it a few weeks after Alison woke from her coma. He expected Malia to leave, join her pack once she didn't have an obligation to him. Instead she shrugged and said it was okay and asked if he could make them chicken for dinner.

A voice in his head, painfully reminiscent of memories he wished he didn't have, told him to press it, to explain that she was free now. That she should go be happy with the others. Be safe with the others.
Another voice, smaller, begged for her to stay.

The others stayed away, drifted further and further from his life. Stiles never blamed them. He probably would have done the same thing. Alison almost died. He kidnapped Lydia, stabbed Scott, killed Aden. He wished he could leave him behind too.

He asked her once. He asked Malia, how she could do it. How she could stand next to him after everything he's done.

"You stood next to me," she explained with a whisper and a flash of blue eyes. They were bright in the darkness of his room. "And you're my human."

Stiles didn't press if further, Malia pressed her face into his chest.

They caught them in the middle of the night. Malia demanded ice-cream and Stiles couldn't say no. He was happy for the first time in months, it deserved ice-cream. The atmosphere suddenly changed, Malia's eyes flashed and then one of the tires of the Jeep blow out. They spun off the road, coming to a stop when the back end hit a tree.

People melted from the darkness, attacking quick and efficiently. Stiles yelled for Malia to run, as the windshield shattered, spraying them in glass. Something pulled open his door, dragging him out into the darkness. There was a sting in his arm and the world swam in his vision.

Malia growled and someone yelled for them to bring her too.

"This is your fault," a voice whispered in his ear, "You should have made her leave."

The world went dark.

He woke up strapped down. His body felt heavy and the lights were too bright. Voices demanded to know how he was able to do it. Stiles didn't know what was going on.

He said he didn't know.

They weren't pleased.

He told them he didn't know what they were talking about.

They told him that "They don't play games."

Then there was pain.

The next time he woke up, he was alone. Still strapped to the chair and his body sore. He smelled sour, of sweat and urine, tears and blood. His head lulled to the side, a clipboard lay abandon.

Hydra was on the top next to a neat little logo.

His name was written right below it. His real name.

Everything else was foreign. Stiles couldn't focus enough to figure out if it actually another language or if he was losing it again. He couldn't count his fingers, the straps wouldn't let him move. He kept loosing count.

The door opened and a woman entered. She checked him over. Stiles tried to say something but his tongue was too heavy to cooperate. She left before he could figure out how to get it to work. A man came back shortly after with a needle.

He was getting used to the world fading into darkness.

The next time he woke they asked about the void, the Kitsune and the Nogitsune.

Stiles didn't tell them anything. They never brought up anyone from home. They didn't ask about Scott or any of the other wolves. There was nothing about Malia, Alison, Lydia or his dad. Stiles figured that he were to go out, at least he bring everything he knew with him.

Time passed and they never let him die. Eventually they gave him a cell. It had the basic necessities. A cot in one corner and a sink and toilet in the other. Once they threw him in a shower, cleaning him with a cold spray and leaving fresh cloths in his room.

Stiles wasn't sure how many days passed. Not to many, he hoped.

He hoped for a lot of things during that time.

He hoped Malia made it away safely. He never asked them, just in case. He would rather hold on to the idea that she did, than to know for sure.

He hoped that no one was looking for him. That everyone just accepted he was gone. They didn't need to waste their time or resources to find him. They were better off without him. His father had Scott, Melissa and the rest of the pack. They would take care of each other.

A voice, the same one that said to keep Malia, hoped they would come for him anyways.

He tried to block that voice out. Lucky for him, they didn't leave him alone with his thoughts very often.

He woke up to the sounds of gunshots. The door shook with the sound of explosions. People were yelling, German, Stiles realized at some point during his stay. The door was thrown open, a man in red white and blue jumpsuit was there, holding an American themed shield.

Stiles cowered in the corner, pushing himself between the cot and the wall. Then the man was stumbling forward, and a blur pushed past him. Stiles lost the ability to breath, Malia was on top of him. She was a dirty as he was, her eyes a bright blue.

Stiles couldn't breathe. Malia pulled away, and dragged him to his feet. She was telling him to count his fingers. She begged him to count to ten. He couldn't. Everything hurt and he couldn't get air. He was vaguely aware of more people around them, pulling them from the room. He felt a prick in his arm, something he was far too familiar with. The flash of blue from Malia's eyes was comforting as everything went black.

This time he woke up warm and surprisingly pain free. He was comfortable, his body light like he was floating on a cloud. He wasn't awake for long. But he heard Malia tell him it was okay before he faded out.

The next time he woke up, Malia was curled up at his feet. There was an IV in his arm and wires on his fingers. A heart monitor beeped almost silently to his right.

He knew he wasn't in a normal hospital, at least not one near Beacon Hills. He spent too much time in them. The room was too clean, a pearl white instead of the off white. It lacked the usual hospital smell of cleaning products and sickness.

His door opened and Malia snapped awake, crouching in front of his bed before he could do anything.

A man in a dark suit barely blinked, leading a group of people into the room. Malia stood down, crawling back into the bed. A handful of them looked familiar. The tall short-haired blond saved him, his mind supplied. The group took seats around the room, one of them went to his chart, flipping through it before pulling out a small pen light.

"Hello Mr. Stilinski," the man in the suit said, sticking out a hand, "I'm Coulson. I'm sure you have some questions."

They told him what they could. He was taken by Hydra, though they were still trying to figure out why.

They didn't ask if he knew. He was thankful for that.

But he told them anyways. It was like someone hit play or eject. Everything came out. How he got Scott bitten, Peter, the alpha pack, Kate and Gerard Argent.

The Nogitsune.

He told them how they should have left him there. Just saved Malia and left him there to rot. He wasn't any better than Hydra, he should have gone down with them.

A woman, the only one in the group, swore, kicking her chair back. Stiles flinched but remained focused on his fingers.

One.

Two.

Three.

She stomped over, grabbing his chin with her thin fingers. She didn't make him look away from his hands.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Malia growled, drawing closer to Stiles. Her eyes were on the woman.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

"Ten" a new voice added. Stile's jerked at the sound of the voice, and the shortest blond smiled at him. Stile recognized it, it was the same one he practiced in the mirror. It was shattered around the edges, but only if you were looking, like it was a mask that was broke and painted over.

Stiles didn't realize he was counting out loud. Or maybe it was obvious.

The woman pulled his chin lightly until he was staring into her eyes. "It was not your fault," She said. She sounded so sure, and for a moment Stiles believed her.

"Has anyone told you that before?" a man interrupted, one of the shortest with dark hair. He was painfully familiar, but Stiles couldn't figure out why.

Stiles shook his head, the woman refusing to release her grip on his face.

The man's face darkened, "It isn't your fault kid." He said, he moved to the edge of his chair drawing closer. "It is not your fault,"

"But," Stiles stammered, his eyes stung and tears began to weld up. He refused to let them fall.

"I spent every day telling bird boy that until he believed it," The man ranted.

Coulson hissed, "Tony," glaring at the man.

The short haired blond ducked his head, hiding a smile. Maybe he wasn't as broken as Stiles thought.

"And I will spend every day reminding you of that fact until you do too."

"Why?"

"Because," the tallest blond with long flowing hair boomed, his voice was loud and deep, yet oddly comforting, "no person should have such knowledge of war, especially one so young. You are a child with the heart of the gods. I refuse to allow another to fall because of it."

"We've all been there." The curly haired man said, still holding Stiles' chart. He seemed greener now than earlier.

"I've done my research on you." The short brunet said, leaning forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in one of his hands. Stiles felt like he was being observed like a puzzle or science excitement. "Between police reports, medical information and various notes from teachers, your story checks out. From what I can tell, you are brilliant. A bit of a smartass and ADHD, but brilliant none the less. You went through everything and your GPA never slipped under a 3.8. If shield wasn't stepping in, I would be."

"Tony," Coulson hissed again.

"SHIELD," Stiles whispered as things started to click into place. His eyes flicked around the room, Captain America, Thor, Hawkeye, Black Widow, IronMan: his mind supplied. "Oh my fucking god," he swore at the ceiling, earning a few laughs around the room. Malia nudged his side lightly, laying a warm hand on his stomach. "Fuck"