WARNING: the revised-not-such-ball-sucked version for when I re-read it is on and it still suck balls.
Author's note:
Guys, what the hell?/?/
Srly. How do I begin to explain how amazing people around here are? I can't believe my eyes, guys, I just can't.
You are made of awesome. All of you. There's so many people who read and reviewed and followed the story in such short time, that never had happened to me before, I'm surprised and amazed!
This chapter would be a bit longer, but it's late and I have class tomorrow and if I left to write another time, it'd probably be out only in the end of the week, so I decided to shorten it. (it might or might not mean that maybe there will be another chapter by the end of the week. I make no promises)
Thank you to every single one of you who reviewd and favorited and followed my little fic. I hope I'm not disappointing you.
I also want to say that when I wrote the beginning of this chapter, it hurts. It wasn't meant to...
No, wait.
It was.
OMG. I'm becoming Jeff Davis!
Sorry. :(
PS: Guest 2 who reviewed in March 6, I hope you are right about me. I didn't think I wrote such genius thing. I really hope you are right and that I live up to your expectations.
Tissues recommended.
Chapter One: All your magic
"When darkness falls and surrounds you,
When you fall down, when you're scared,
and you're lost:
Be brave."
Muse
In the beginning, Melissa McCall fought for him.
She ran through those corridors like her own life depended on it and entered his OR. The doctors were executing the procedures, trying to revive his heart with electroshocks. She lost precious minutes washing her hands to be able to cross those few steps that separated her from her son's best friend, a kid she raised like her own, especially after his mother passed away.
When Melissa finally stepped inside, the doctors were putting away the machines, but no biping sound was coming from the cardiogram.
"What are you doing? Why are you stopping?" she demanded, and immediately walked to Stiles and started a CPR.
"Melissa, the boy is dead." One of the doctors, Bob, said, touching her arm, but she shoved him off.
"NO! I'm not giving up on him!" she continued on the CPR. "Did you hear me, Stiles? I'm not giving up on you. Don't you dare dying on me."
Everything was quiet in the OR. One of the doctors, the same who tried to make her stop, started to help. She didn't realize she was crying until she felt the mask soaking in her tears.
"Come one, Stiles." She whispered.
Time was running out and his heart wasn't beating for way too long, but Melissa continued.
"Melissa." Someone behind her said. She ignored. "Melissa." He tried again, this time touching her shoulder lightly. She shivered. "The boy is dead."
She sobbed, and her hands went from the boy's chest to his hair.
"Stiles, please…" she begged. "Not after everything you went through, please." Someone pulled her from his body.
"Time of death." The doctor announced.
"Stiles?" Melissa called one more time.
"Eight forty-two."
"STILES!"
In the hall, Scott was sitting by Kira's side, head down, crying silently, the girl embraced him. He shivered when he heard his mother's scream; his heart sank as if it wanted to stop beating as well. They had taken Lydia already, because she was too nervous and couldn't stop crying. Her banshee self knew how to mourn. But standing up in the middle of the hall, still facing the doors, Malia was still. Her hands together in her venter – every place he touched -, cold, waiting.
She was losing him. They were all losing him.
And just as it came, it went. She was suddenly warm and took a relieved breath.
The machine biped. Heartbeat increased. Melissa fell to her knees, thanking for this little bit of magic.
-X-
Still crying, Melissa stumbled through the doors. Her eyes met Sheriff's and her tears became laugher.
"He's fine. He's back and he's fine."
Sheriff Stilinski, who just like Malia refused to cry without knowing for sure what was going on – he didn't care Lydia announced the dead, that piece he would not admit -, finally gave up when Melissa embraced him.
"Thank you, Mel. Thank you."
Smiling, Malia looked from them to her hands, and rubbed one in the other.
-X-
A couple of days before the bloody battle that removed the nogitsune from Stiles' body, the fox gave him a break and he broke into Malia's house. It was the first thing he did – go find her and apologize and tell her he only let the nogitsune take over him so she wouldn't get hurt – and she told him it was okay and they went for a walk. They ended up in his house and he showed her his books and his pillow and some photos. His favorite book was Neverending Story and he had this old paperback that used to be his mom's and she used to read to him when he was little and he let Malia borrow it.
It was the book she was reading by his bedside while waiting for him to wake up.
"You felt it too, didn't you?" Someone asked from the door – Lydia -, and Malia raised her head and looked in the other girl's direction.
"What?"
"When he died. You felt it." Malia nodded, her heart aching just with the memory. She had no idea how she managed to stay calm that day. Anything could've triggered her transformation, but no. Lydia stepped inside. "I'm curious. How did you feel it?"
"Well…" she marked the page with her finger before answering. "I don't really know. I just felt… odd. Like… my hands were cold and…" Malia looked to her hands and smiled. "I guess every place he touched. I felt it deep down my uterus or something."
Lydia frowned.
"Every place he touched…?" and then it hit her. "Oh. I thought you were in a mental house."
Malia shrugged.
"Can't say it was romantic, but it sure was sweet."
"Oh." Lydia repeated, leaning on the bed. She wasn't expecting it at all.
"Scott told me you're a banshee." Malia said and Lydia nodded. "That must be cool."
"I'm still learning how to use it, but yeah." She smiled and they fell into silence for a few moments. "Hum… Malia, if you want to go eat something or… go home for a while, I can stay here with him."
The werecoyote thought for a second, analyzing her options. She took a hard look on Lydia and remembered how the girl reacted when her banshee thing kicked. She bit her lip, thinking harder, than let out a breath.
"Yeah, sure." Malia finally said. "I'm hungry and I really need to call my dad." She walked to the door, the book still in her hand, and Lydia called her one more time.
"Malia?" the girl turned around. "When you said you felt it in your uterus… you think you are pregnant with his baby?"
The werecoyote smiled, almost a laugh.
"Had my period last week, so no." she answered and Lydia let out a breath she was holding. "But he did something to me, you know? When Scott turned me back, he blocked me. I don't know what happened, but I couldn't turn anymore. But when Stiles touched me the way he touched me - you know what I said about the hands? - I started to feel able to shift again. My eyes glow and in the full moon, the coyote… it wanted to break free. Scott said he'll teach me to control it next month."
"Scott is a good teacher, you'll see." Lydia affirmed proudly and remembered that Stiles was even better.
With nothing else to say but nod, Malia left, leaving Lydia finally alone with Stiles. He was there, in a coma, for two days, but Lydia only had the courage to show up now. And for the first time she looked at him.
He was beaten. There were marks in his arms and his face, still in that purple-ish state. She could only imagine how many times he was punched and kicked and stabbed, how many bullets he took. For one thing they could thank the nogitsune: it kept him alive.
She moved closer, to the spot where Malia once was, and held Stiles' hand, sat in his bed.
"Hi." Lydia whispered. "I miss you. Can you wake up?" she asked and waited for a moment to see if he responded. "I guess not yet, huh? It's okay. The important thing is… you're healing, aren't you? So soon enough you'll be back for real." She swallowed and held his hand tighter. "You have to, Stiles, because I can't be the only brain around, I won't be able to take care of anyone the way you do. You're our advisor."
Lydia paused, thinking. Stiles was their advisor. He was smart and clever and he was the one who always figured everything out - she had said it herself not long before. He helped Scott and Malia said he helped her too, somehow. He was an emissary.
"Is there anyone in this town who's a normal human being?" she asked to herself, maybe louder than she intended, and a bit embarrassed she looked at him again. "I know I've been oblivious for way too long. I'm sorry for all the times I ignored you. I never thought I'd have someone who'd wait for me, and you showed up. I never thought it was possible. You were around telling me the contrary and I did nothing. Now you have her." she paused, swallowed hard. "I don't condemn you, Stiles. Just… don't forget me, okay?"
Lydia waited again, hoping for him to wake up, but got nothing.
"Okay." She said one more time and sat on the chair by his side.
-X-
Stiles was never alone, for always one of his friends, or one of his friend's parents, or Malia, or his father were with him. But he didn't woke from the coma quickly.
It was in the fourth afternoon, when Malia – the only kid who didn't go to school – was sleeping in the chair by his bed, her head rested in the mattress, one of her hands in his. He moved, held her hand, and she immediately woke up. When she saw he was awake, she stood up, smiling happily. The girl was so amazed she didn't even know what to do.
"Hello, beautiful." Stiles said huskily, making her laugh and step ahead, sit on his bed.
"Finally." She whispered, and lightly lay her head on his chest. "Don't ever do that again."
"Which part?" he asked. "Be possessed by a wicked spirit or leaving you alone in a crossroad or basement?" it was meant to be a joke, but when Malia replied, she was very serious.
"Die on me." She said, looking into his eyes and for the first time the tears accumulated in hers. "Do you know what it is? Stiles, you were dead. They declared your time of death and I felt you were gone."
"Did you?" Stiles asked surprised.
"I felt cold and hollow. As if part of me was gone. And you were dead! God damn it, Stiles, I almost lost y-" he shushed her with a kiss so soft she for a second thought they weren't even touching lips. Then the kiss deepened, one of his hands in her hair, the other on her chest, feeling her heartbeat. "You have a terrible breath now." Malia whispered.
"Do you mind?" he asked, looking in her eyes. And the same way she did in the basement of the Echo House, Malia just smiled and shook her head, leaning to kiss him again.
They didn't see Lydia standing outside the room, nor could know how long it took for her to leave.
-X-
"How are you feeling?" she asked much latter. He gave her space in the bed and she was laying on her side, looking at him.
"Like shit." Stiles answered.
"You look like shit."
He smiled.
"Thanks." And after a moment. "How's Allison?"
Malia took one second to respond.
"Still in a coma. When she wakes up, she'll need physiotherapy."
"You mean if?"
"No. I mean when. We are all very optimistic she WILL wake up. You did. Did I mention you were dead?"
"Maybe. I can't remember the first tenth times you used the term 'death'."
She punched him lightly in the shoulder.
"A-hole." And Stiles laughed. He sounded stronger each minute. "It's not your fault, you know that?"
"I want to believe it." He said after a few seconds. "But sometimes is hard not to blame yourself over things you can't control."
They looked at each other and smiled sadly, for both of them were damaged people responsible for things out of their control. A couple of minutes later, Melissa and doctor Bob entered, Sheriff Stilinski right behind them.
Fast as a cat, Malia climbed out of bed and gave space for father and son, just like sheriff did when she was reunited with her dad. She grabbed her book and sat in the sofa across the room, waited for her time to come again. She was so deep in the story, she only realized the sheriff was standing in front of her when he spoke.
"Where did you get this book?" he asked, but it wasn't an accusation. Malia looked up, but Stiles responded.
"I lent to her, dad."
She gave space for him to sit and nodded.
"I saw the cover." She said to him. And flipped to the front cover. Behind it, there was a dedication.
"It was Claudia's, her father gave it to her." He pointed the name on the base of the dedication. "We named Stiles after him."
Malia looked at the name one more time, than looked at Stiles with a small smile.
"Don't even start." He threatened pointing a finger mockingly and she laughed.
"Are you liking it?" the Sheriff insisted, distracting her for the doctor was telling Stiles to remove his hospital gown. She wanted to tell him that there was no surprise in there, since they failed greatly in keeping their clothes on even after they decided to slow down the relationship. Instead, Malia talked about the book.
"Yes, I'm loving it! I had only seen the movies, but boy, the book is amazing!"
They talked for a long time about books within books and fantastic stories and how life was surreal until Stiles interrupted them.
"May I have this dance?"
Malia looked at him. He was standing in front of her, one hand extended, back in the hospital gown.
"Which dance?"
"This one. To prove the doctor I'm strong and fine."
She took his hand and stood up.
"Were you supposed to be standing, Mr. Stilinski?"
"Are you kidding me?" he held her waist and they started to sway around the room over imaginary music. "Of course not! I guess I'm a miracle."
She laughed.
"You are."
"Please, don't say again that I was dead."
Malia looked down and they stopped dancing. She exchanged a look with his dad and raised her head, then got on her tiptoes and kissed Stiles gently.
"I'm gonna leave you two now. Stay alive."
"Okay, Haymitch." He replied to her back. He saw her take the book and leave the room and waited another minute for the doctor exam and ask what he had to and then turned to his father. "I guess we had better days, huh?"
Sheriff Stilinski oscillated between different reactions before choosing one. He didn't know what brought Stiles back, nor if the kid would turn into a were-something or if he was something else. Stiles was alive. He smiled to his son, and his son smiled back.