Le notes: I'm working on a more AU StilesCora fic but in the meantime, I really needed to get all the feels out! Because seriously 3x09 had some great moments between these two! Disclaimer: characters are not mine and the lyrics are from Maroon 5's 'She will be loved' (clichéd choice I know, but I couldn't help myself).

Summary: She can hear footsteps, rushing towards her like…like she's dying. Oh God, she's dying, isn't she? And in the most pathetic way too. —-StilesCora (Coda to 3x09)

.

._.

comes back and begs me,
to catch her everytime she falls

.

._.

it's not always rainbows and butterflies,
it's compromise that moves us along
.

/ / /

The last thing she remembers before hitting the floor is Stiles's back, turned away from her, leaving her to detect how nervous he is just by observing his stance. His back is straight, making her think of the hard lines on his skin. His legs are wobbling underneath the cloth of his jeans. His fists are closed tight, and yet, despite his insecurities, he looks somewhat confident.

He looks his dad dead in the eyes.

This will work, Stiles thinks as he clenches his jaw. He'll believe me, he tells himself. I'll save him, if it's the last thing I do.

"You ready?" His head is slightly turned, over his shoulder as she meets his gaze. It's strange; she's never seen such strength embodied in to a thin and lanky (weak looking) human being. But he's counting on her, he really is. And she can't remember the last time that someone had actually depended on her for something. Even when she was little, her parents had the habit of doing things all by themselves. And Derek's the same, really. They are Hales after all, and Hales are independent.

Stiles's pupils shine for a moment. There's a slight sparkle, she notes; like a lone wishing star in the night sky. Like a glimmer of hope.

This is for his dad. A man so honorable and so pure, just like his boy. A man who only wants to help. However, his own lack of intuition is causing him to fail. Stiles needs her, this time. He really does. To save his dad.

So she nods.

He sees this as confirmation. And then, he leaves her gaze, leaving her to watch him from behind. "All right dad," he breathes, "just watch this."

He's counting on Cora, he really is.

What a foolish boy, she should think. Because he should really know better than to depend on the girl who's been causing destruction wherever she goes. He shouldn't trust her, not this much, not enough to gain back his father's assurance.

But he does.

Oh, what a daft boy he is.

Still, she prepares herself. Cora gets to her feet, ignores the slight stinging on her scalp, the small droplets of blood dripping down the side of her face. She can beat this; she's been through worse than this. She can beat this; she's been through being burnt alive for Christ's sake! She can beat this; she swears she can. She can beat this; he's counting on her to beat this (she is not falling).

But then—

(She falls).

"Call an ambulance."

.

/ / /

She can hear footsteps, rushing towards her like…like she's dying. Oh God, she's dying, isn't she? And in the most pathetic way too. She wants to laugh. She can see it in the papers now; the headline is going to be so comical that really, it's going to be kind of sad. The girl (wolf) who died from being hit in the head with a 45lb weight by a seventeen year old boy (wolf).

And died from what? Eternal bleeding? A simple concussion? Brain damage? How weak, she thinks, she's supposed to heal. She's supposed to open her eyes. She's supposed to stand on her own.

She's supposed to be alive.

But she hears her heart rate slow down, and the footsteps are so fucking loud. As if they're multiplying.

And well—

"Cora, can you hear me?" Stiles, of course he's still here. "Cora, stay with me." Stiles is here, and it's the oddest of things. Because really, he should be thinking of plan B, C, or Z. Since clearly, plan A failed, because she fucking fainted. He should be thinking about saving his dad, before he becomes the next sacrifice. Before he ends up dead. But instead, Stiles is here with her.

Cora can't help but feel guilty.

Stiles runs after the hospital bed, Derek beside him. Her brother, whom she can hear hissing under his breath. Swearing to kill Stiles after all of this is over. Swearing to rip his head off. Because he's asking himself, why didn't Stiles rush her to the hospital right when she got hit? Why didn't he catch her before she fell? After all, wasn't he just about to do so, only moments ago, in the girl's washroom?

He might not remember it, but she does. The way he rushed to her, elongating his body, reaching down, ready to catch her. Inevitably so, Cora had been looking herself in the mirror at the time, and she had seen him coming from behind. She claims that she doesn't need saving. Even though the reflection staring back at her is the face of a girl who's screaming fix me, make me better.

He wanted to catch her, he really did. She's the one who didn't let him. She's the one who said that she was okay. He should know better, he really should. She's the world's greatest liar, after all.

But they're both running, running with the doctors and nurses.

She can hear too many heartbeats, all chasing her, all at once.

They're worried, for her sake.

In another time, she might have thought that this feeling might have been comforting. However, for some odd reason, it makes her feel guilty.

Because she's dying.

Oh God, she's dying.

(—and it all fades to black, to nothingness).

.

/ / /

She has yet to open her eyes but, the fragile world before her feels so damn real.

Her world is white, covered in snowflakes, falling from the sky. It's perfectly soft, perfectly fluffy, melting right away as it hits a child's tongue. Derek's tongue, to be exact. And Derek is four or five years old, at least. He is rolling in the snow, and it's freezing cold. He's throwing snowballs at Laura, who's complaining way too much. The wind is strong, blowing in at least thirty different directions. It carries the snow with it, along with Derek's laughter. It hits the trees, making the branches break. It whistles. It howls, like a wolf. It looks like there's a ice cold blizzard coming. But Derek looks warm.

And mom…mom is laughing.

Cora reaches out: trying to touch Derek, trying to touch mom. She wonders if she's dreaming, because she must be. Since mom is here, mom is not dead.

Maybe, she thinks she's not dying. Maybe, she's just going to a better place.

But—

"C'mon Cora, open your eyes." There is a boy; his hands are on the edge of her hospital bed, grasping tightly. He's waiting, waiting, always waiting. "Cora, wake up." He might be her brother, but the look in his eyes is much too gentle to belong to Derek.

And his fingers, his fingers are devastatingly soft.

They're not Derek's.

They're—

"Stiles, you have to leave."

.

/ / /

The last thing she remembers before hitting the floor is Stiles's back. Now, her brother's voice is tender in her ear. His hands don't leave hers as his fingers fill the spaces between her own fingers. His heart is fast, fluttering like the wings of a humming bird. His tears are heavy, like oceans swimming out of his eye sockets. His hard head leans against her tender skin. Contact, she thinks as she feels herself being pulled back in to the real world. She can hear him sniffling. But Derek crying, it's not supposed to be anything new.

"Don't leave me, please don't leave me." A silent plea, a loud beg. She doesn't recognize him anymore.

"You're all that I have left, please." She'd reply to him, if she could. Because she's seen him at his worse, but she's also seen him at his best. He has Isaac and Scott, and even Stiles. They might not be on the best of terms but, it's never stopped any of them from talking to Derek.

She's the one who has no one.

Or so, she thinks.

"Stiles, I told you to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere, Derek."

.

/ / /

She actually wakes up this time. In the real world, without dreams of snowflakes dancing in the air, and Derek rolling in the snow. Without the soft melodies of the howling winds. No more images of her mother, giggling and laughing. Cora's in bed, and she is not dead.

Her eyes are open.

"Derek?"

He's still crying, like a child who just lost his favorite thing in the whole wide world. But then, when he hears her, he gets to his feet. "Hey, I'm here," She wants to scream, how did he know that that was exactly what she needed to hear?

She's horrified, because she can still feel the sharp pain on her forehead. She trembles, like a little girl, like a babe. "What's happening to me?"

"I don't know," well, she sighs, at least he's honest, "but I'm not leaving okay? Not again." She really can't recognize him anymore (it's like, suddenly, she's the broken one). They've somehow switched places.

A kiss on the forehead later, she can see Stiles watching them from the wide open door. He smiles at her, innocently (he kind of reminds her of her old pet goldfish).

She closes her eyes.

.

/ / /

She's back in Stiles's room.

What a mess it is, papers everywhere, a map covered in marks, tracking all of the recent killings. The walls are painted with posters of music bands. There are board games scattered around, a video game console, left on (wasting electricity and long forgotten). Dirty laundry that's pilling up. It's so rich. There's even a telescope beside his window. How clichéd. How predictable. And yet, it's perfectly enviable. Because it's the room of a normal teenage boy who's life could have gone totally unaffected by werewolves, kanimas, darachs, and alphas.

If only, he had chosen his friends more carefully.

If only, he had chosen to look the other way. But this is Stiles, and unfortunately, he ended up inheriting his father's good morals and loyalties. Which will lead him to losing everything; like his mother, his home (that used to be such a peaceful little town), his friend Heather, and now perhaps, his father too.

So really, she can't expect anything less.

She sees Stiles heading down the same path she did. And honestly, even if he is just Stiles, she'd hate to see anyone go through all the things that she had to face. That's why, she agrees to his idea to tell his dad everything. Because really, if you can't be honest with your own family, who can you be honest with?

He's talking to his dad and then suddenly, he stops.

"You ready?" Stiles asks, turning his head slightly over his shoulder in order to meet her gaze.

And she sees it again, that one (lonely) star in his eyes.

He's counting on her, he really is.

This time, she doesn't let him down.

So she nods.

He smiles weakly, turns around, "all right dad, just watch this."

She prepares herself.

(she won't fall,

—but if she does, he'll be there to catch her).

.

/ / /

End

/ / /

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Le more notes: Inception-much? Very much, actually. Still, I hope this was entertaining enough and worth a review! Tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading, I'll be sure to be back with more StilesCora fics real soon.

—Xoxo Carter