"Malia," Stiles whispers in shock. He shakes his head, unwilling to accept this turn of events. "No." Her arms are folded in on herself, her body shaking uncontrollably. He surveys the wound, running his hands over the blood and the ashes the knife left behind. "We're going to get you to Deaton." He nods, assuring himself that it will work. "He'll know what to do. He'll fix this." But Malia just shakes her head.
"Stiles," she whispers, her breath coming in laborious spurts. Her hand moves towards his torso and she rests her fingers on the skin enclosing his heart. "You're okay." She says it as though it's the only thing that matters. Perhaps, to her, it is. The edges of her mouth lift slightly before she coughs and wheezes, blood staining her lips. Stiles gently takes her hand, squeezing it tightly.
"Yeah," he says, his voice cracking. "You saved me." She shivers and Stiles pulls her closer.
"Good." Malia closes her eyes. But Stiles isn't ready to let go of her yet.
"No," he states, shaking his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You can't do this." She opens her eyes, and Stiles sees the pain in them. "You said you'd never leave me behind, remember?"
"I'm sorry," Malia tells him, and it's an apology he can't accept.
"No, no, no," he repeats, as if denying it will turn back time, as if it could give Malia her life back, the life she deserves after everything she's been through.
"Yes," she says simply. Her breaths are barely coming now, her chest beginning to heave. "I'm so sorry. But also-" She cuts herself off with a bloody cough, contracting in on herself. Stiles rubs her arms in an attempt to comfort her.
"What, Malia?" he asks. His throat feels suffocatingly small, as if he's choking on grief.
"Thank you," she tells him. "I know I'm not the love of your life." She looks over at a tearful Lydia, a peaceful expression on her face. Then she directs her gaze back at him, the light in her eyes growing dim. "But you were the love of mine." A tear rolls down her cheek. "So be happy."
"I love you, Malia," Stiles tells her, because he knows he always will. She manages a small smile and uses her last bit of strength to reach hand up and touch his face tenderly.
"Thank you," she breathes, and then she goes limp.
"Maliaaaaaaaaaa!" Lydia screams, indicating that Malia is truly gone. Suddenly, the temple begins to shake and the Horsemen all look upwards. In a flash, they disappear, their departure followed by the roaring sound of thunder.
Images flash before his eyes, fragments of memories, most of them of Malia. With Lydia's scream still ringing in his ears, he allows himself to appreciate his time with the fierce werecoyote that was Malia Tate.
"Just focus on something," he was telling her."Focus on my voice, or-" She cut him off with a kiss, and it still surprised him that this beautiful, strong girl chose to be with him. When she pulled back, he watched her brown eyes turn crystal blue, their beauty and depth never wavering. That was when he realized that he was her anchor. She needed him to hold her here, and that was exactly what he planned to do.
"I'd never leave you behind," she had said to him, her expression serious, her eyes wide. Until that moment, he hadn't been sure that she felt for him what he felt for her. Now, looking into the warm darkness of her irises, he knew the truth.
"You did it," he told her after she managed to stay human on the night of the full moon. He understood the effort it took, the strain he had put on her. But he was certain that Malia could do it, he just needed to assure her that he wouldn't leave. She hugged him, still seeming shocked and grateful, but Stiles wasn't shocked at all. He always knew she had it in her.
"The vision," Malia said, grinning.
"Don't mock the vision," he teased.
"Hey, I like the vision," Malia told him. "Especially if I'm part of it." They both smiled and when they kissed, it felt like the beginning of something great. Looking back, it was more like the beginning of the end.
Tears flows freely down Stiles' face as he gazes around the ruined temple. His father is lying on the ground, a piece of fabric cutting off the blood pouring from his leg. Lydia has gone over to the sheriff and is trying to help him up, but Stiles can see the slight tremor of her hands, the way she's trying to hold it together. Scott is on his knees, and when he locks eyes with Stiles, no words are needed. They have always shared everything; they will share in this grief now, too. After a few moments, Scott gets up, grabs the unconscious masked man, and turns towards his friends.
"Let's get out of here."