"Chris," Stiles pounds on the door.  "Chris, please.  Please, don’t do this." 

There is a response and Stiles rams his shoulder against the hard wood.  He grunts as pain lances up his arm and tries again.  Then again.  

"Chris, you can’t do this.  You can’t do this to Allison.  You can’t do it to me.”  Stiles pleads, voice cracking.  ”Please, baby, don’t—” 

The door opens, and Chris is there.  He’s there and shaking and feverish, but he’s alive.  Stiles throws himself at him. 

"You idiot.  You stupid idiot."  Stiles curses at him, peppering kisses over his face.