warning: explicit violence; temporary character death
ship: scott/malia
note: title from ruelle's song "live like legends"

faith falls hard on our shoulders (but legends never die)

I.

All things considered, Scott isn't entirely surprised by how it ends. Fear and blood and death. That's been his life for so long now that he can't help but feel defeat swamp him. The enemy isn't who he expected. It's not monsters, but men. People. Humans that he spent so much of his time saving. Giving up everything he had, giving all of himself, to trying to keep them safe.

He wants to ask them 'why?' even though he knows that it's fear that motivates them. Fear of the unknown, of power, of the supernatural and their impossible abilities. He wants to remind them he has known them his whole life. He's walked these streets since he was just a child. He was just like them once; an asthmatic boy just trying to get through school. He was just a curious kid that went into the woods with his best friend. A boy by a megalomaniacal wolf bent on revenge, sure, but an average boy all the same. He grew up with these same kids. He saved them and their siblings, their friends and their families from all the horrors that entered Beacon Hills. He lost friends, lost his first love, lost people he cared about to this. He knew fear. He knew pain and anger and loss. For all of his power, all of his special abilities, he was just a boy.

Just a boy.

There are bodies scattered all around him. In the furor to attack him, they hurt themselves and each other, too. A barrage of bullets from above, untrained and inexperienced, destroying everything in range. He sits huddled against the wall, an arm wrapped around his stomach, open wounds weeping, blood soaked clothes clinging to him. It's with a shaking hand that he digs his phone out from his pocket, leaving red smears on the screen as he scrolls through his contacts to find her. They were separated at some point; locking eyes even as they were forced to run in opposite directions, angry mobs of people pushing them apart.

She'd called his name, her voice higher, frantic in a way that's so unfamiliar to her. 'Scott! Scott!?' She's always so careful to hide her fear. Swallows it down and covers it with anger and action. But he could hear it. The sharp edge of worry that coats her voice as she cried out.

He called back, 'Lia! Run, Lia! I'll find you! Just run!'

She let out a wounded growl— he wasn't sure if she was hurt or it was in answer to what he said. He was pushed back, chased away, cornered in the library to fight it out with the blood-thirsty humans, stinking both of terror and anticipation.

His thumb hovers over her name now. Hoping against hope that she's safe somewhere. Maybe she found Lydia or Derek or hell, even Peter. Maybe they got her out. He needed her to get out. Because as he sits in a pool of his own blood, quickly growing bigger by the second, he knows. Of all the times he's faced death before, this time feels more real. More absolute. There's so much. So much he wants to do and say. So much of life he had left to live.

His mom is in the hospital, in a coma he can't pull her out of, and he's not sure what happens after this. How she'll handle it when she wakes up. If she wakes up. All she wanted was for him to be safe and he can't even give her that. She's done so much, seen so much, and she never left him. She deserved better than this. Better than a coma and a dead son. Better than anything Beacon Hills has ever given her.

Tears drip off the end of his eyelashes and fall down his cheeks in sharp, quick lines. He closes his eyes, draws a deep, rattling breath, and presses his thumb on Malia's name as he lifts the phone to his ear.

It rings and rings and rings.

His heart squeezes in his chest. Worry that she didn't make it- that she's hurt somewhere and he can't get to her- that she's just as doomed as he is. And he never got a chance. He never told her. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. This morning, when they were laying in bed, tangled together, her head on his chest and his fingers in her hair. Sun coming in through the slats of wood covering the windows, dust particles dancing in the criss-crossing light, the sound of her steady heart a balm to the fear that had been following them for weeks. He told himself he'd say it later. When the danger was over. When the world was put right again and they weren't running for their lives, he'd tell her.

"Scott?"

He breathes out, quick and hard. "Malia…" His eyes open and his brow furrows. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

She pauses before saying, "Yeah, I'm fine. What about you?"

He looks down at himself, blood squelching between his fingers, and he smiles crookedly. "I'm okay."

"You got away?"

His gaze moves over the bodies, overlapping each other in all directions. And as much as he wants to hate them for what they've done and who they've hurt, another part of him just pities them. Their fear erased their humanity. They died consumed with that terror and rage. "Not exactly," he tells her. "They cornered me in the library."

"Are they still there?"

He shakes his head, even though he knows she can't see it. "I can't hear any heartbeats nearby. They're all dead."

"Who killed them?" she asks, confused.

His mouth hitches up faintly. "You don't think it was me?"

"If it was, it was an accident. You don't kill. You're… too good for that."

His eyes squeeze shut. "I'm not. I've killed. I've hurt people."

"In self-defence."

"Does that make it better?"

"Yes," she says, blunt and honest. "I know you."

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "They killed each other. Not on purpose, they just… They were trying to kill me, but then they started shooting wildly and they just… They shot everyone."

She swallows tightly; he can hear it through the phone. "But, you're okay now?"

He can't feel anything from his stomach down. At some point, his legs had gone numb. Half his body is cold and limp and he knows it's a bad sign. But he doesn't want to tell her that. He doesn't want her to come running back here, not when he knows she's okay. Just because he can't hear heartbeats doesn't mean it's safe. "Better now that I know you're okay," he tells her instead.

"They chased me out of the school and into the lacrosse field… I tried to come back, but I couldn't."

"Where are you now?"

"The woods. They… They're everywhere."

"You have to go." He grits his teeth. "Find Stiles or Derek, anyone, just get out of Beacon Hills."

"There's no way out."

"You have to try. You can't stay here. They'll find you! You have to—"

"Scott!" she interrupts. "It's okay. I'm okay. They won't find me."

"You can't hide forever."

"I managed it for 8 years, I think I can manage a little longer."

"They'll kill animals too, just in case." He shakes his head, even as it starts to feel too heavy for his neck to hold up. "Malia, you have to find a way out. A tunnel or a car or something. Just…" He licks his dry lips and sucks in a deep breath. "I need to know you got out."

"Do you remember when all of this started?"

His brow furrows. "What?"

"Not this this. But… us…"

He frowns. "I… Yeah…"

"You were worried then too, even though you were the one that was hurt. You were still worried about me. You always are. About everyone. That's what I love about you. I had to learn how to care about people, how to protect them, but for you, it was so easy. Because you're so good, Scott. You're such a good person. And I wish I was more like you. I do. I wish I could care as much as you do. But I don't. I— I don't have it in me."

"You do." He smiles. "You do care. I've seen you care. I've seen you save people. You've put them before yourself and you've risked your life for them. For people you didn't even know. People who've hurt you. I've seen you grow and become this… amazing person. Because you are. You're amazing. And I… I'm lucky. I got to see you. I got to know you. I… I got to have you. And I'm so… grateful that I did."

Her voice trembles as she says his name. "Scott…"

"I wish it was different… I wish I could make it better. That we met another way. Maybe your car doesn't crash and you don't spend all that time running. Maybe I don't get bit and turn. Maybe we're just two people who find each other and the whole world doesn't keep falling apart around us. Maybe we get a chance to be together and nothing… none of it hurts."

"I like that dream," she whispers. "But I like our reality, too." She pauses. "Maybe not this part. All the blood and running and death. But… all the moments in between. When it's just us and we're happy and hopeful. I… I liked waking up with you. Sometimes I'd just lay there and pretend to still be sleeping because I didn't want to get up. I wanted to stay right there, with you. It wasn't Paris, but it's okay. You are so much better than Paris!"

He smiles faintly. "I don't know if I'm mysterious."

She laughs thickly. "I like that I know exactly who you are. That you wear all your feelings on your sleeve and you always try to do the right thing."

"I just…" He swallows dryly, his heart trembling in his chest. "I just wanted to save people."

"I know. And you did. You saved so many."

He stares upward at a darkening ceiling, his vision wavering. "I didn't tell you… I was gonna tell you…"

"Tell me what?"

"That I... I…" His breath leaves him shakily.

He thinks of her. Of muted light and sleep-mussed hair. Of steam collecting all around her, water sluicing down her bare skin. Of her fingers stroking through his hair as he sits next to his mother's bedside, her chin on his shoulder. Of how she hugs him, spooning him in his bed, holding him tight as he cries. Of her breath stuttering against his mouth as he leans in to kiss her for the first time, her eyes glowing a bright blue in anticipation. Of how she says his name in a grunt, a whisper, a shout, a cry. Of how she digs her fingers into his back so hard it almost draws blood but her mouth moving over his is soft as a feather. Of her hand in his, their fingers knit together, as they run, blindly, looking for a way out, a way forward.

"Scott?"

He wants to tell her everything. That he's not sure how he would've survived this long without her. That this thing between them has been building up for a while and he's glad they got a chance to explore it, even if it wasn't as long as he wanted. Because he wants more. He wants so much more. And yeah, it's only been a month and a half since all of this started, since the whole town's gone haywire and everyone turned on them. Since he looked at her and the thought of not kissing her was just impossible. And maybe he falls easy. Maybe, like every other feeling he wears on his sleeve, she's seen this one, too. But he wants her to know that he loves her. He loved every second they had together and they mattered. They were everything.

But his throat tightens like a noose is closing around it and his lungs deflate with all the flare of an emptying balloon. And he realizes that this is it. Whatever time he has left is dwindling fast. His mouth opens and closes but no words come. Just blood, coating his tongue and wetting his lips, dribbling down his chin as he tries to say her name, over and over again.

"Scott, are you there?"

His fingers flex on the phone before it slips from his grip to fall to his lap. It's one last grace that he can still hear her, that his hearing hasn't abandoned him just yet. So that when he goes, slipping away from the world, it's with her voice echoing in his ears.

"If you can't say it, it's okay. I… I think I know. At least, I know what I want to say and that's… I love you. I just… I need you to know that, okay? No matter what happens. Or who comes for us. I want you to know that I love you."

His eyes close, a tear slipping down his cheek, and then another. And he smiles, a tiny curl of his lips. It's okay, he thinks. It wasn't a long life. In fact, it was pretty short by some standards. But he was loved. By his mom and Allison and Stiles and Kira. By his pack. By Malia. It's not perfect. But it's something. It's more than some people get. He did his best. He tried. He tried so hard. And now it's over.

It's finally over.

He wishes he could do more. Not just for him, but for them. For the people falling victim to their fear. For his pack who relied on him, who trusted him. For his mom, who didn't deserve any of this. For Malia…

But he can't.

He can't.

...

"Hey."

Scott opens his eyes to find he is not in the library. Instead, he's in a car, on a hill, overlooking Beacon Hills. Which, contrary to what he remembers, is not currently a cesspool of fire and war. Instead, it looks calm and quiet. When he drags his gaze from the scene, he turns his attention to the driver's seat.

She's smiling back at him, her eyes soft and her grin wide and warm.

"Allison?" His brow furrows as he shakes his head. His hand reached for his stomach to find himself unharmed, his shirt no longer soaked in blood, his body free of bullet holes. "I… How?"

"Fate?"

"You don't believe in fate."

She half-smiles. "Maybe just a hallucination brought on by death then." She squeezes her hands around the steering wheel, twisting it as her smile dims. "A lot has happened, huh? I guess something is always happening in Beacon Hills— it's a hotbed of supernatural activity— but… this seems worse somehow."

"Death usually does." He stares at her searchingly, mapping out the face he knows so well. The face he's remembered in his best and worst dreams. The face that still makes his heart ache before it plummets into his stomach. "You're not real."

She turns and stares at him, wide brown eyes looking all over his face, memorizing him as she bites her lip. She looks real. She looks… alive. "You have a beta now. Liam, right?" She nods. "And my dad, he's been helping you and your pack… I hoped he would."

Scott swallows tightly. "He's saved us a few hundred times, yeah."

Her smile is soft and small, but sincere. "And Kira…"

"We were good for a while. She's gone now. Not permanently, but…"

"Permanent enough." She stares at his profile a moment. "I know you loved her."

"I… I did, yeah." He draws a deep breath and lets it out on a sigh. "She gave me hope. Made me feel something after everything… after you…"

"I'm glad." She hugs her arms around herself. "I am. I know I always kind of thought we'd end up together again, eventually, but… It's okay, you know? I just… I wanted you to be happy."

He nods. "I know. I wanted that for you, too."

"Do you miss her? Kira?"

"Yeah. Sometimes." He frowns. "Even if we weren't going to be together, she was my friend. She was strong and smart and a good person."

Allison gazes at him a beat. "Sounds like you."

He half-smiles. "You always saw the best in me."

"Not always. And I regret that. I had doubts. I was insecure sometimes. With everything going on, it was hard to know who or what was right."

"But, you made the right choices in the end. It's okay to be tempted, to get confused. In the end, I always knew who you were."

Her eyes glisten, a sheen of tears filling them. It takes her a moment, her voice strangled, but eventually she asks him, "And Malia?" She searches his face. "Does she make you happy?"

"I…" He stares back at her a moment before he nods. "She's different. She's not like you, not exactly. She's not like anyone I think I've ever met. And… we're different. Sometimes I wonder if we're too different, but then… I don't know. She makes me think. And she's always there. Even if she doesn't agree, she's the most loyal person you could ever meet. And… And I love her. I love how strong she is and how I feel when I'm with her and that when we're together, she lets her guard down. She lets herself be vulnerable with me because she trusts me and because…" He smiles. "Because she loves me, too."

Allison nods slowly. "You know you deserve this, right?"

He looks up, his brow furrowed. "Deserve what?"

"A chance. A real chance." She shakes her head. "Scott, you give so much, you try so hard, and you're always willing to sacrifice yourself if it means other people will be okay. Even now. After what they did… You still want to fight for them."

"This isn't them. Something else is controlling them. If they could just get away from it, if they could think clearly… I don't think they'd do this. Not to me or to anyone else."

Her smile is sad. "You always believe the best in people."

"A fatal flaw, I guess."

"You're not dead yet."

He frowns and darts his gaze around. "Aren't I? I'm talking to my dead ex-girlfriend."

"Hallucination, remember?" She reaches for him, her hand landing on his wrist and squeezing gently. "She's coming for you. Because that's what you do when you love someone and you know something's wrong. You fight for them and you do whatever it takes to bring them back."

There's a distant ringing in his ears, drowning out Allison's voice for a moment. His vision darkens around the edges and he gives his head a shake to clear it. "I don't… I can't hear you…"

Scott? Scott, can you hear me?

A different voice. Not Allison's, but feminine and familiar.

Why didn't you tell me you were hurt? Why didn't you ask for help? You're so stubborn…

"It's okay. She just wants to help you."

Scott opens his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them at all, and finds Allison staring back at him. Pale skin and flushed cheeks, her eyes so big and soft and sad. "She can't, can she? I lost a lot of blood. I died. At least, it felt like I did."

"That's the funny thing about you, Scott McCall, you have a habit of surviving." Allison cups his cheek and runs her thumb along the arch. "You're a fighter… And you're not done fighting yet."

Scott, I need you to hold on, okay? I can get you help, but you have to fight…

"I can't." He stares at Allison, his heart thumping and his stomach turning. "I'm tired. I— I'm exhausted."

"Sometimes a fight doesn't have to be physical. Sometimes it's just mental." She shakes her head. "She'll do the hard work. You just have to hold on."

He drops his gaze, defeat filling him. "And then what? I go back and I fight for real. I fight the town and whatever's controlling them. And I just wait for whatever or whoever comes next. That's all there is, right? Another horror story around the next corner. That's all there ever is."

"It feels that way," Allison agrees. "It feels like it's never going to end. Like you'll never get through it. But we both know that's not all there is… Sometimes you have to take whatever good you can find. Those little moments in between where you don't have to fight or hide or save anybody. When it's just you and your friends and the people you love... When the noise gets quiet and you can breathe again… I know you know that feeling. I know you found it again…"

.

( Kissing her is new and familiar at the same time. He's known her for so long, but not like this. This is new and a little scary, but even more exhilarating. This thing, this want, has been building up for a while now. This awareness of her has been right there on his periphery. He looks for her now. When they're in danger, he reaches for her. It's instinctive. The way he searches her out in a crowd. How he latches onto her voice and her heartbeat and her scent. She's been right there and just out of reach at the same time.

But now she's here, in reach, her lips moving against his, both hard and soft, quick and slow. One of her arms wraps around his waist, the other stretches up, hand sliding over his face. She pushes forward and he pushes back, leaving them both immoveable, caught in a give and take of equal power. He could push more, she could pull more, but they don't. Instead, they stay in that middle-ground, meeting each other halfway.

Until they're tumbling sideways, knocking into a dresser and a table and then the wall. They're turning, twirling, like it's a dance, and neither have to give up their control. It's an endless circle, flowing between them. They trip, falling back on his bed, and she's panting and flushed and smiling up at him. Her eyes are brown and blue, light and dark. They twist and flip and wrestle back and forth. She laughs and he laughs and he hasn't felt this in what seems like forever. This playful excitement that floods him.

When they finally stop, she's on top, straddling him, her hands pinning his wrists above his head. She's grinning in victory and he's smiling right back in surrender. To her, to whatever this is between them. She leans down, her nose nuzzling against his own, and her hands slide up from his wrists to cover his, palm to palm. He can feel her warm breath on his lips and he stares up at her, heart banging loudly in his chest. And he knows.

He knows in that split second before her lips meet his.

It's inevitable.

Loving her always was. )

.

( The world has fallen into chaos again. Or maybe just their once sleepy town is the only one affected. Maybe it's just the beginning of the infection. He's not sure. What he is sure of is that they've all had to go into hiding. Creeping around on the edges of it all, trying to put together pieces of how this happened, who caused it, and how to reverse it.

In between secret meetings over what they've all found and just trying to stay alive, he steals moments with her. Between fighting for survival and keeping his pack alive, he sneaks in brief kisses and the brush of their fingers and the simple whisper of her name. He pulls her into bed with him just to hold her for the few hours they might get before something else goes wrong. He wraps himself around her in the shower, taking his time kissing up the slope of her neck even as he knows that they're operating on borrowed seconds and minutes. That anybody and anything could interrupt. All they have are these moments. Caught in the fragments of time when something isn't chasing or attacking them. Holed away in a boarded-up house, in a room that isn't really his, but has to be for now. Folded together- slick, bare skin meeting - in the dead of night, the fear of death and pain nipping at their heels.

It's four in the morning when he wakes up to her tracing his face with her fingers, staring at him with that expression, equally stubborn and scared.

He takes a deep breath and tries to shake of the exhaustion clouding his head. "Hey…" He brushes his fingers through her hair. "You okay?"

"Mm-hmm." She nods, but she's not convincing.

"Talk to me." His hand slides down her back, drawing random shapes along her skin.

She doesn't say anything at first. Instead, she turns her head, resting her ear against his chest, and drops her hand to his arm, stroking the black, tattooed bands that ring it. "What happens after?"

"After what?"

"After we beat them. After we win…" She's confident enough in that, at least. "Let's say we fix it. Get rid of whoever is changing people, making them afraid of us. Then what? You go to college?"

"I want to. Eventually. When I know that things are okay here…" He stares down at her, but she won't look up. "You still planning to see Paris?"

"Maybe. Possibly… I don't know." She runs her thumb along the thicker band. "I thought Paris could be my thing, you know? Everybody else has one. Stiles has the FBI, you and Lydia have college. Even Mason and Corey know what school they want to go to."

"School's not for everyone and that's okay. You don't have to go to college. There are other things you can do."

Her lips purse. "Like what?"

"What do you want to do?"

She sighs. "I don't know. I'm only really good at this."

"At what?"

"Fighting."

"Okay, well, what about what Braeden does? Or Parrish and Sheriff Stilinski?"

She looks up at him then, her brow furrowed. "Law enforcement?"

"Sure. What's wrong with that?" He nods. "I think there's a cadet training program in Davis. It could help you get into a police academy."

"Davis," she repeats. "Like… where you are."

"Yeah. I…" He pauses. "I thought if you wanted… I mean, when all of this is done, I thought we'd still…"

She presses her lips together and searches his face.

"Is that why you were worried?" His brow furrows. "You thought I didn't want this to last?"

Her gaze falls sharply. "You didn't say…"

He smiles crookedly. "Neither did you."

Her eyes raise to meet his once more. "Then we are? Together, I mean."

"I thought so." His smile widens. "I want us to be."

"Okay. Then… we are." She nods decisively before placing her head back down again.

"It doesn't have to be cadet training if that's not what you want." He strokes her shoulder. "We can look at other things. Find something you'll like and just… make it work. Whatever's going to make you happy."

"You make me happy," she says, a little surer of herself now.

And Scott grins down at her. He combs his fingers through her hair and feels it as she relaxes; the tension and worry of before bleeds away.

As far as stolen moments go, this one feels bigger somehow. He falls back asleep with her cradled against him, content in the knowledge that this might just last.

He really wants it to last. )

.

( "I have to do this."

"No, you want to do this. There's a difference!"

"Malia…" Scott stares at her. "People are dying."

"People die. That's what they do!" She glares at him. "If you go out there, you could die, too."

"I can't just let this happen… I can't not help." He reaches for her, but she pulls away, and he sighs. "What if it was me out there? Or Liam or Mason or Lydia? Could you leave them?"

"Of course not. They're pack." She crosses her arms over her chest. "And if you go, I go. That's how this works."

"Those people out there, they're somebody else's pack. They have friends and family that love them."

"Their friends and family are trying to kill us!" She steps up to him, her brows hiked. "I don't want them to die, okay? Aside from a few very specific people, I don't want anyone to die. But, if I have to choose between someone else dying and you dying, I'm going to save you."

"I don't want it to be a choice." He shakes his head. "I want to do the right thing. I want to save as many as I can and I want us to get through this."

"Yeah, well, I want you to live. I want our pack to live. I want to get the people that matter to us out of here and I want to get as far away from whatever is causing this as I can. Because if we don't, then we are stuck here, Scott! We're being surrounded by people that want to kill us. There are only so many options."

"I won't run. Not yet. Not when we might be the only chance at saving people and stopping this… this… thing."

She growls at him, baring her teeth, but unlocks her arms from her chest. "Fine."

He cocks his head and stares at her searchingly. "Fine you'll stay or fine you're leaving?"

Malia rolls her eyes. "I told you… Where you go, I go. Even if that's straight into a grave."

Scott grins slowly. "You know what this means?"

"That we both have a death wish?"

"No, it means we made it through our first real fight as a couple. Look, no limbs lost or anything."

She snorts. "It's a miracle."

His grin widens. "You know I feel the same way, right? I want you to be safe just as much as you want me safe."

"I'd find that more believable if you didn't just spend ten minutes convincing me to stay and fight."

"I do want to go," he admits. "I want to run as far away as I can get because… I'm scared. Honestly. But I can't run if I think there's a chance that I can make a difference."

Malia purses her lips and grinds her teeth together. "Okay. So, we're doing this. Or we're trying anyway. But if I die, I'm gonna be seriously pissed. And if you die, I'll bring you back just so I can kill you myself."

When Scott reaches for her this time, she doesn't pull away, instead letting him tow her forward until their chests meet. He reaches up, brushing her hair back and off her face, tucking it behind her ear before he strokes his fingers down her neck. He smiles as she shivers, softening against him. "We won't die… I won't let you."

Malia leans in and drops her forehead against his. "I won't let you die either. And, I'm stubborn, so you can trust me when I say I'll fight literal death for you."

"I do trust you."

Her eyes soften and she reaches up, hooking her hand around his shoulder. "I just want us to be okay."

"I know." His fingers slide along her jawline delicately. "I do, too."

Malia closes her eyes and Scott leans back to kiss her forehead. Her fingers dig into him a little harder and he lets out a quiet sigh, just holding onto her a moment. They both knows they've made promises they can't really keep, but they want to.

They really want to. )

.

Scott draws an unsteady breath. "I didn't get to tell her."

Allison smiles at him gently. "You'll get your chance."

He raises an eyebrow, not so sure himself. "How do you know?"

"It's not over for you. Not yet." She takes his hands in hers. "Just hold on, Scott. Hold on to her. Hold on to all of them. Your pack and your mom and everybody who matters to you. They'll get you through it. Even when it hurts, when all you want to do is let go, don't stop fighting."

She's getting blurry. He's not sure if it's his eyes or his mind or what. But he knows he's losing her.

"It's okay," she tells him. "You're going to be okay."

"Allison?" She doesn't answer. "Allison?"

He can't feel her hands in his anymore. He can't really feel anything. It all goes dark around him, until he's free floating in nothingness. He remembers what she said, about fighting, about not giving up. And even though he's tired, even though every part of him aches and burns with exhaustion, he knows she's right. He has too many people relying on him to die now.

...

When Scott opens his eyes again, he's not in the car or in the library. He's staring up at a bald light bulb hanging above his head, so bright it burns his eyes for a moment.

He lifts a hand, his arm like lead, trying to block out the brightness. The movement pulls at his stomach and he groans as he feels the bullet holes of before pulling under the movement. His body is screaming with pain, enough that his vision swims and he nearly passes out again.

"Careful. I haven't pulled them all out yet."

He blinks, turning his head in search of-

"Mom?"

She grins down at him, even as her face looks tired and haggard, skin pale and damp with sweat. "Hey. You didn't think I'd let you die, did you?"

"Mom, how are you…? You were in a coma."

"I woke up." She presses a hand against his shoulder, pushing him down. "Argent figured out what I was hit with and mixed up his own antidote. I'm not in perfect shape, but I'm healthy enough to fix you."

He shook his head, blinking rapidly. "What happened? How did I get here?" Speaking of 'here,' Scott takes a looking around to see just where he ended up. Somehow, he's not all that surprised to find he's at the vet clinic, laid out on a metal gurney. "I was in the library at the school…"

"You were," Melissa agrees. "Malia found you and carried you here. You weren't looking too good. In fact, a lot of your friends didn't think you'd make it…" Her mouth tightens. "I wasn't so sure myself."

Scott reaches for her, his hand wrapping around her wrist and squeezing gently. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"Don't be sorry. Just, get better." She stares down at him searchingly. "This was close, Scott. Way too close."

"I know."

"Do you?" She motions to his stomach, littered in open wounds and blood-soaked bandages. "Your heart stopped. You weren't breathing. You did die. But, for some reason… You came back."

"I'm not done yet." He lays his head back down then. "I'm going to fix this. Whoever is doing this, I'm going to stop them."

"In the meantime, why don't we just focus on keeping you alive?" Her hand lands on his stomach, steadying him. "There are still two bullets left in you. It's going to hurt pulling them out."

"It's okay." He nods at her encouragingly. "I can take it."

Melissa sighs at him.

"Here."

Scott startles at the voice and looks up to see Malia stepping into the room from the hallway. "Hey…" he says, his voice softer.

Her smile is slow and tentative before she circles the table and takes his hand. He follows her with his head, gazing up at her as she stares down at his stomach. His heart feels a little unsteady, but he thinks that has more to do with her being close than the bullets his mother is about to pull out of him.

She said she loved him. Before he, well, died, she'd said the words that had been stuck in his throat as he slipped away.

He's pretty sure his grin has turned goofy, but she doesn't say anything. Neither does his mother. In fact-

Clink.

He frowns. Turning his head, he finds his mother has already dropped one bullet in a dish with the others. "How did you…? I didn't even feel anything."

Melissa glances at him and then to Malia.

Scott looks down abruptly and realizes that dark veins are crawling up Malia's arm from the hand she has tied to his. "Malia!"

She grimaces but doesn't let go. "You've had enough pain today."

He stares up at her. She's drenched in blood— his, he thinks. There's a gash in her forehead, dried blood crusted in her hair, and a healing bruise across her cheek. And that's just what he can see. "So have you."

"Not like this." She nods her chin down toward his stomach. Her attention turns to Melissa then. "Pull it out. I can take it."

Melissa looks between them before quickly turning her attention back to his stomach and a hole deep in his gut. He can feel it in a distant way. The pain is there, it's just muted. Malia's siphoning away enough of it that he feels a little floaty. His pain receptors are like static; white noise that doesn't quite compute.

There's another clink before his mother is patching that wound up, too. When she's finished, she pushes the tray away, smiles down at him tiredly, and then moves to the sink to strip off her gloves and wash her hands. With her back to them, Scott turns to Malia. She's still holding onto him and the set of her lips says she's not feeling so great.

"You can stop now."

She doesn't look at him, her gaze focused entirely on his stomach.

"I'll heal," he reminds her.

"You thought you were dying… That whole time, while we were talking, you were literally dying and you didn't say one word."

"I didn't want to worry you."

"You didn't want me to come back," she accuses.

Scott lets out a heavy sigh. "I wanted you to be safe. If you came back, they could've hurt you, too."

"So what, you were just going to sacrifice yourself? Let yourself bleed out in the library and hope we'd just go on without you?"

He presses his lips together, even though the answer is an obvious 'yes.'

She lets go of his hand then. The pain rushes in. Not as acute as it might've been while the bullets were being pulled out, but the rush of awareness is jolting. Suddenly he can feel all of it, every nerve is lit up like a Christmas tree, and it doesn't feel good. In fact, his stomach twists and turns and he can feel vomit or bile or something climbing up the back of his throat. His vision blacks out for a few seconds before slowly clearing. He can hear his heart in his ears, along with Malia's pacing footsteps. At some point, his mom left the room, giving them some time to talk it out.

"Malia…" He reaches for her, his arm almost too heavy to move in his exhausted, pained state. "Please, I just… I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You always do." She throws her hands up. "And whatever you think is right goes, screw what everyone else wants."

His brow furrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you don't see yourself the way I do. The way we do. Somehow, you're convinced that we can survive without you. But that's not how this works." Her hands find her hips, fingers tapping nervously. "You're so sure, so ready to sacrifice yourself, that you never think about the fallout. About what I'd do without you."

"Malia—"

The doors swing open then, cutting him off. Before Scott can process what she's said or even how he'll respond, he's surrounded. Stiles, Lydia, Liam, and Derek crowd around him. His pack. Worried, concerned, and relieved; it flows off them in waves.

They all look like they've seen better days; bruised, battered, and exhausted. In the time since this has started, his pack has stayed strong even through the worst of it. But he can see how it weighs on them now. The loss of life, the struggle to survive, the fear that some of them won't.

"Hey… Good to see you awake. We weren't sure you'd, uh…" Stiles moves to his side, gripping Scott's shoulder tiredly. "We just weren't sure." His mouth wavers and his eyes search Scott's face.

"I'm okay." Scott nods at him and then looks around to the people that have gathered. He can hear others in the distance. Argent and Deaton's heartbeats echo from somewhere in the clinic. Corey and Mason are talking in the front room in quick, hushed whispers. And Theo… Theo? Scott can smell him. Close, but not a part of the rest.

Lydia peers down at him knowingly, her mouth set in a frown. "It was close though, wasn't it?"

He wants to tell her that he saw Allison in a hallucination or a dream or maybe something else. Maybe something bigger than that. But this isn't the place or the time, so he nods instead. "Yeah. But it's all right…" He looks from person to person, lingering on a worried Liam. "I made it."

"This time."

Malia's words are like cold water.

She's standing apart from the rest, her mouth twisted. Before he or anyone can say anything to contradict her, she leaves. Shouldering through the door and stomping her way through the clinic.

Liam jumps a little, ready to follow her.

"Leave her. She needs a minute to cool down," Scott says. He doesn't want her to be alone, but he also knows that if Liam goes after he, he'll only get his head bit off.

Derek stands at the foot of the metal bed, his arms crossed over his chest. "She's not wrong. This was too close for comfort. If they're getting so desperate that they're shooting each other, then we need to be on alert. It's one thing to be dangerous, it's another to be reckless."

"They were hysterical. It was like they couldn't see who was around them. They were just firing rapidly, at everything…" Scott's eyes grow distant as he remembers the sound of the gunfire, the terrified cries of everyone around him, and there was nothing he could do. "They were blind to everything but their fear."

Lydia swallows tightly. "It's only going to get worse. The more people die, the more afraid they get."

"There's not a whole lot we can do," Stiles said. "Every time we save one person, we find out three others are dead."

"The bodies are piling up, human and supernatural alike." Derek shakes his head. "But even without that, the Anuk Ite is what's really causing it."

"How do we know it hasn't already merged? Deaton said that when both sides came together, it'd be unstoppable, right?" Stiles looks around at each of them. "So, how do we know it hasn't already?"

"If that's true, then there might not be a solution." Scott's mouth flattens. "We have to assume it hasn't. That there are two enemies out there that we need to take down. Not the humans, but whatever is controlling them."

"Great, so all we need to do is find someone pretty and someone ugly." Stiles waves an anxious, frustrated hand around. "As if those markers are going to solve anything."

"We know what the ugly side looks like. It's the skinless body." Lydia hugs an arm around her waist. "But the other one could be anyone. It could be Monroe for all we know."

"She's pretty enough," Liam agrees, drawing incredulous looks. "I'm just saying!"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Who else?"

"Why are we assuming pretty means female?" Lydia's brows hike. "It could just as easily be a man."

"Great, that doesn't narrow our search down whatsoever…" Stiles taps his foot irritably. "If I were a beautiful creature hellbent on creating fear and violence everywhere I go, what would I look like…?"

"You'd want to blend in," Derek says. "Just because you're inherently pretty doesn't mean there aren't ways to hide that."

"So, someone who blends in with us or them?"

"Either. They have to be able to move between both groups without being noticed." Lydia begins pacing. "The ugly half can appear and disappear at will. When Malia attacked it, its physical body was like smoke. But the body in the morgue was corporeal."

"What if beauty's in the eye of the beholder?" Derek frowns thoughtfully. "If this thing is a shifter, maybe it's shifting its face… That's how it moves from the humans to the supernatural."

"What, like T-1000 in Terminator 2?" Receiving blank stares back, Stiles rolls his eyes. "An advanced prototype that was made out of mimetic pollyalloy that could reshape itself to look like other people, including clothes and weapons…? Worked for Skynet and tried to assassinate John Connor…? No, nobody? Okay, when this whole thing is over we're having a serious movie night."

Derek and Stiles start bickering then, about how serious things are versus how important it is to have something to look forward to. Scott is half-tuned out to it; exhaustion is creeping up on him and he'd give just about anything to pass out. His eyes are already half closed, the distant noise of his pack a strange comfort. Just as he can feel sleep encroaching—

The door swings open then, admitting an excited Mason and Corey. "We found something!"

Scott's eyes shoot open. He feels hope build in his chest, finally a solution to an issue, but then he feels something else. Something dark, like a shadow falling over him. It's swallowing him whole, a gaping sinkhole that's dragging him down. His vision sways and he lifts a shaking hand, dropping it down against his chest, claws digging into his skin.

"Scott?"

His heart clenches tightly and panic floods his system. A cold rush of dread climbs from his toes like inky lake water, ready to submerge him entirely. "Something's wrong…" His teeth clench and his eyes turn a vivid red. It's her, it's her, it's her. He can feel it in his bones. "Malia… Find Malia."

The others exchange a look before Derek and Liam are moving toward the door, followed by Lydia and Stiles.

As the room empties, Scott feels a tearing sensation in his chest— a fraying cord, a split tether, a connection splitting at the seams. His heart aches and pulls, like it's being torn from the ragged concave of his open chest. There's nothing he can do but roar.

…

Malia is angry. Pissed might be a more apt description. Scott is an idiot. A self-sacrificial, hopelessly hopeful, lamb of a wolf. Muttering under her breath, she leaves the clinic, needing distance and a minute to just breathe. It's not until she reaches the treeline that she admits that she's not so much angry as absolutely terrified. When she'd found him in that library, she'd been so sure she was too late. There was so much blood and his heart was barely beating. He didn't move, didn't react at all to her calling his name. She'd picked him up, carrying him through the carnage, and fled from the school. It was pure luck that she found the others. Stiles and Derek in that beat-up blue jeep. She wasn't sure what would've happened if they hadn't shown up. If she would've just run the whole way to the clinic with him dying in her arms. It was so far and he was already so lost to her.

She stumbles through the trees with a strangled sob in her throat, her hands shaking and her stomach bottoming out. The first time she tells him she loves him and he's dying in a pool of blood, unwilling to admit he needs help. That's not how she wanted this to go. And it scares her. How easy it is for him to embrace the idea of death. How easy it is for him to sacrifice himself for what he thinks is the 'greater good.' But she needs him. After everything, after all they've fought, all they've done, they deserve that, don't they? But then, maybe that's why it's easy for him. He's lost people, too. Boyd and Erica and Allison. Malia didn't know them. They were just shadows that trailed after him; a part of his life she wasn't there for. And after everything he's given, everyone he's saved, they still want to kill him. Maybe, for as much as he fights, there's a comfort in death he's unwilling to admit. A chance to finally stop fighting. Stop living on the edge of desperation.

And she'd heard him, hadn't she? His head in her lap as she stroked his hair and told Stiles to drive faster. As she begged Scott not to leave them— leave her. He'd whispered Allison's name. He'd called out for her in his dying breaths. Malia doesn't want to be a jealous person. She doesn't want to feel hurt by the lingering ghost of a girl she didn't even know. But she does. She can't help it. Because maybe some part of him is willing to go. Maybe some part of him is tired of fighting. There is no Allison here. There's just pain and hurt and an endless fight.

Malia's loved two people in her life. The first was Stiles. He taught her what it was to be human again. He indulged her more animalistic instincts. He gave her a hand to hold when she was stumbling through the world, unsure of herself in every way she could be. Some days, he felt like a mentor, a teacher, more than a boyfriend. Other days, he was the attentive partner she wanted and needed. But they weren't right for each other and she gets that. A part of him had always loved Lydia, which hurts, but she forgives them. Because they're pack and she needs them and because even if it hurt, she just wants them to be happy.

Scott is different. Scott sneaks up on her. He's her friend and her alpha and her moral compass. Whereas Stiles was a little gray on killing enemies, Scott isn't. Protect, protect, protect. She feels it down to her bones that as much as she wants to hurt and maim, sometimes she has to let reason blot that out. Scott reminds her that she is both animal and human and neither is better nor worse than the other. He makes her feel strong and capable and wanted. And before today, she believed she was the only one he wanted. She knew he'd loved before. That Allison and Kira had made a mark on his life that no one and nothing could erase or replace. She was fine with that. But she thought… She'd hoped that he'd moved on. That when he talked about the future, about Davis, about the police academy and vet school, that he saw her there with him. That he wanted her there with him. And maybe he did. Just not as much as he wanted someone else.

Her dad told her once that a person's first love is always the strongest. That it roots itself inside of you. Lydia was that for Stiles and Allison was that for Scott. And Malia's starting to wonder if there's a place for her anymore. She's pack. She'll always be pack. But she wanted something else, something more, and for just a moment, she thought she had it. But maybe her destiny was always supposed to be a placeholder. A present but not a future. A now but not an always.

She's not watching where she's going, stumbling through the trees, her heart lodged in her throat. An arm wraps around her stomach abruptly and yanks her backwards. Panic floods her. Instinct says to fight, so she does, with flailing arms and legs and a flash of teeth. But then a voice is at her ear-

"Shh! Shut up or they'll hear you."

Malia goes still. Theo?

He pulls her back until they're crouched beside a tree. "They're looking for you."

She raises an eyebrow at him.

"Fine, they're looking for Scott's whole pack, but a few people rate higher on that list than others." He frowns at her and then casts his gaze around the trees. "They want to lure him out and you're a sure-fire way to do that."

Malia presses her lips flat. "How do you know?"

"I've been tracking them. They're not all trained hunters. Some of them are just kids."

"Kids with guns," she mutters.

"Which is why we're hiding… We need to get back to the clinic. To the others."

A gun cocks and Malia feels a cold sensation drip down her spine. She turns slowly to find a boy, not much older than her, holding a gun between his shaking hands. There are tears in his eyes and a scared flush to his pale cheeks. His finger trembles against the trigger.

"Just… calm down." Theo's behind her, his hands slowly raising in surrender. "Do you know who this is? Huh? You don't want to kill us. We're collateral."

"We?" Malia snarks, her gaze stuck on the boy.

She can't see Theo, but she knows he's rolling his eyes. "Look, this is Scott McCall's girlfriend, okay? You want to drag him out of whatever hole he's hiding in, this is how you do it." Theo's hand falls to her shoulder and squeezes, hard. "Think about what the others would say… You want glory, kid? This'll get you all the glory you can take."

Malia feels a stubborn pull in her gut as a growl builds in her throat.

"Malia," Theo warns.

"I'm not giving them Scott," she says. "That's my pack, too. They can't have them."

Theo is already sighing and for a strange moment, he reminds her far too much of Peter. "You have no survival skills, you know that?"

"I'm loyal." She bares her teeth at the boy and flicks her hands, her claws out. "And I don't cower."

She lunges forward, swiping at the boy, sending him stumbling backwards, startled. She kicks his knee out from under him and snatches the gun from him, tossing it away. He reaches for a knife on his belt and she grabs for his wrist. She pulls him forward, until he's chest to chest with her, their arms out to the sides. As she snarls down at him, she can smell his fear and the bitter stink of piss pouring down his pants. This close, she can see fresh pimples on his face and braces on his teeth. A boy, she thinks. Just a little boy playing with a gun. And she thinks of what Scott would do. How he'd throw this kid away to run off, scared but alive. Her fingers loosen around his wrists.

Click-click-boom.

A shotgun blast sprays across her back. Her chest lurches forward as her head goes back in a strangled cry. Her knees give out and her eyes blink from blue to brown.

"No!"

She falls, landing on her knees in the damp forest ground. A cough sends blood spraying across her chin and she slips sideways, weightless.

Theo catches her, his eyes glowing gold. He snarls at the people surrounding them before looking down at her, panting through his fangs. "Hold on," he tells her.

Malia struggles to draw a breath. She wonders if this is how Scott felt in that library.

A woman steps out from the woods; beautiful with dark skin and a sinister smile. "Looks like my night is improving…"

Theo grips her tighter and growls at the men that step forward.

It's the last thing Malia sees.

...

Theo is calculating the odds in his head. There are at least eight hunters circling them. The clinic isn't far, but if he heads in that direction, he'll be serving up Scott and his pack on a silver platter. Not that he's particularly concerned about most of them, but he knows he has a better chance with Scott alive than dead. He also knows that keeping Malia alive will ingratiate him to the alpha. But there's not much he can do here, not with this many enemies, all packing guns, and a dying Malia in his arms.

"If you don't get her help, she's going to die here," Theo says, turning his attention to Monroe, the guidance counselor turned lynch mob leader.

"And that concerns me why?" She raises an amused eyebrow.

"You want Scott McCall don't you?" He stares at her searchingly. "He's been a thorn in your ass since this whole thing started. Him and his whole pack are the reason supernaturals are still walking these streets. Every time you gain an inch, he takes back three."

Her smile turns sharp. "Your point?"

"This is his girlfriend. Which means if she dies, one of two things happen… He finally snaps and kills every single one of you amateur idiots. Or he gets sloppy and still ends up killing all of you."

"And you're offering another solution, is that right?"

"Use her…" His hands dig into Malia's arms as he hears her heart slow. "Keep her alive and lure him to wherever you want. Kick his ass, kill him, whatever. And before you think about faking him out, if she dies, he'll know."

Monroe stares at him through narrowed eyes. "Say I do, what keeps me from killing you?"

The ominous sound of ready guns surrounds him.

Theo grinds his teeth. "You'll need a messenger, won't you?"

Her mouth curls. "I thought all you pack animals put your alpha first?"

His eyes flare gold. "I'm my own alpha."

With a hum, she considers it for a moment and then nods. "Grab the girl."

Theo is reluctant to let her go. Much as Malia would gladly gut him if he so much as looks at her wrong, she's a coyote, and half of him instinctively wants to protect her for that alone. As a few hunters gather up her limp body, Theo waits for the final verdict. Is he useful or useless?

Monroe stares him down, seeming to enjoy the perilous dangling of his life. "Take him, too," she finally decides.

Relief floods him, but it's short.

Malia's heart has stopped and, in answer, he can hear a heartbroken alpha's deafening roar split the sky.

tbc

author's note: this was supposed to be a short oneshot, but ballooned to over 21k, pre-editing. it's split up into 3 parts currently, but may be separated into four as i continue post. i prefer to keep the chapters at 10k or less since i don't want to overload anyone. on the bright side, this story is finished, it just needs a little extra editing before i post each successive chapter. i know a lot seems to be happening, first scott semi-dies then malia seems to die, but there's a reason for it. it all builds to its crescendo. :)

you know, i think this might be the first time i'm posting a teen wolf fic that isn't a crossover, lol. personally, i'm very excited that scalia is happening on screen. they're cute and awkward and i love it.

some of you may also be interested to hear that i'm also working on a season 1 rewrite in which malia is a part of the show from the very beginning. i'm undecided yet if i want to post while i write or wait until i've finished writing it all to post, so we'll see what happens.

in any case, thank for you reading and please, try to leave a review. they're a huge motivation! :)

- lee | fina