♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡
𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 eighteen

loca!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

THE NEXT MORNING, Dallas had finally let her grudge against Lydia go. Especially since she had bigger things on her mind at the moment. "I'm thinking of hosting a big sleepover this weekend." Lydia hummed, cocking her head to the side. 

"What so we can watch The Notebook for the hundredth time?" Danny snickered, earning a playful look from the strawberry blonde. Their voices became distant noises as Dallie sat in her own world. Her russet stare was blank as she slouched in her chair. Her golden necklace rose and fell with her chest while her hair was pulled up from her face, a few strands falling in front of her face. 

"Are you coming?" The Martin girl nudged to her best friend, who remained silent and didn't seem to pay attention to her. "Dallie." Her sharp tone caused the girl to shake her head and turn to her. 

"Oh, uh, sure. Whatever." 

Lydia and Danny shared a knowing look as the strawberry blonde leaned forward. "What's going on with you today?" 

Dallas sent them both a bored look and shrugged. "What?"

"You didn't show up for cheer." Danny deadpanned. "You always show up for cheer."

The Latina shrugged and stared down at her food tray. "Well, today I didn't."

"You're coming to my sleepover, right?" Lydia mumbled. She had tried to be more supportive of her best friend, to make more time for her. Yet, the closer she tried to get to Dallas nowadays the further away she'd seem. 

The Garcia plastered a grin across her face. "Of course I am. You know that I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

Without another word, she stood up from their table and pushed past the incoming students. As the bell rang for next period, the brunette didn't seem to run to her next class. Instead, she headed for the exit doors of the school. Education was the very last thing on her mind as the doors blasted open before her. 

She needed somewhere to clear her head. Someplace that was her serenity. Anywhere other than there - and she knew exactly where.

The Beacon Hills Ice Rink didn't have many visitors. Especially lone ones. Which was why it was so peculiar to see the face of Dallas Garcia in there. Her chest felt heavy and her mouth was dry. She hadn't been there in years. Not since her mother disappeared. Dallas remembered how often she would visit with her mother, who taught her an array of tricks. The ice was her safeplace.  She remembered how she grew to close to another little boy, who would help his father clean up the rink after hours. He'd watch her skate from his zamboni and share ice-cones with her. She had gotten so good  at it that her mother would rant on about how she'd win medals and ribbons of all kinds.

But things never really go to plan, do they?

Instead, she remembered the exact bench she sat on with Sheriff Stilinski when she was merely a child - feeding him stories about her parents as they waited for her father to arrive.

She remembered how a younger version of James burst through the doors, embracing her in a hug so tight it made her skin tingle.  The words that her younger self didnt understand back then - she understood now. Dallie knew how they spoke about her mother, how she seemed to have vanished into thin air. 

Now she stood on the ice, her skates trembling against the frost as goosebumps arose on her arms. With effortless glides and whimsical spins, her mind wandered away from her body. Funnily enough, the moment she stepped off the ice at 10 years old - was the moment she started slipping. 

It wasn't all bad, though, because it was the moment she had finally met Stiles Stilinski.

When brought to the police station by her father, she had been told to take a seat while they discussed her mother's whereabouts. Coincedentally, the Sheriff's son was only a few seats down - waiting for his father to leave work.

She remembered how he complimented her unicorn backpack, and how he told her that she had a pretty smile. He had shown her his Star Wars sticker collection and told her stories about space. That particular night, the boy tugged at her heartstrings, like his sweet words were his guitar pick. But everything had changed now.

The Ice rink was nothing but a home of bad memories.

Her mother became a stranger to her. 

Parties became horrific reminders of her death. 

And Stiles Stilinski?

Stiles Stilinski was as distant as ever. 

Dallas just wanted to be first choice. Was that so bad?

Yet, it seems like she was first choice nowadays. She was Peter Hale's... and she knew nothing of what that entailed. What she was sure of though, was that he wasn't going to give her up without a fight.  

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Derek Hale huffed loudly as he watched his pack crumble before him. Boyd and Eric wanted to pursue other packs - to flee from the agonizing threat that surrounded their town. He was so pent up in anger and betrayal, he didnt hear the footsteps creep behind him.

"Personally, I don't see why you're so upset." Peter Hale grinned. Derek lifted his head up high and slowly spun around to glance at the man. "Who needs them when you have Dallas?"

The younger Hale grabbed a shard of broken glass and aimed it towards his uncle's throat, but he caught it just in time. "I expected a slightly warmer welcome, but point taken."

Peter stepped forward. "Its quite the situation you've gotten yourself into, Derek. But fortunately for the both of us, I found a solution."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

On the misty field of Beacon Hills High, Stiles Stilinski sat on the bench with his best friend as he watched Dallas Garcia warm up from the beside the stands. "It's going to be bad, isn't it?" He asked the werewolf. "I mean, like people screaming, running for their lives, blood, killing, maiming kind of bad?"

As it turned out, Jackson was in fact the Kanima. One with a master who gave him targets. Yet, killing it's master didnt do much - as it just looked for another. Unfortunately for Beacon Hills, Jackson had found one. Gerard Argent.

"Looks like it."

Stiles frowned and kept his stare to the ground. "Scott, the other night, seeing my dad get hit over the head by Matt.. you know, while I'm just lying there and I can't even move. It just.. I want to help, you know.. but I can't do the things that you could do. I cant."

"It's okay." Scott tried to reassure his friend.

Stiles gave him a knowing look. "We're losing, dude."

"-What the hell are you talking about?" Finstock hissed from behind them and watched as they both turned to look at him. "Game hasn't even started. Now put on your helmet and get out there. You're in for Greenberg."

"What?" Stiles stammaered over his sentences. "What happened to Greenberg?"

"He sucks." Finstock deadpanned. "And you suck.. slightly less."

"I'm playing?" The Stilinski boy couldn't control his excitement. Now, he could finally impress Dallas. He could show her how truly good enough he was for her. "On the field?... With the team?"

Coach rolled his eyes. "Yes, unless you'd rather play with yourself."

Stiles gave him a serious look. "I already did that today. Twice." He watched as the lycan snickered next to him.

"Get the hell out there!"

Meanwhile, Dallas noticed the certain buzzcut boy's stumbling on the field and quirked her eyebrows together. It wasn't until the realisation hit and a grin stretched across her face. He was playing. She would finally get to cheer for him. Lydia cheered on Dallas from the stands, something that made her smile grow even wider. "I love you." she mouthed to her.

"You too." The Cheerleader mouthed back before turning back to the game.

Stiles stood before the goalie and hyped himself up while his father sent a proud look from the stands.

Scott's cheerful expression dropped as he heard the voice of Gerard Argent echo through the air. "Scott, can you hear me?" Nearby, The Principal grinned as he watched the werewolf shift uncomfortably. "Ah, you can. Good. Then listen closely because the game is about to get interesting."

"Lets put a real clock on this game, Scott." he spoke manically. "I'll give you until the last 30 seconds. When that scoreboard clock begins counting down from 30, if you haven't given me Derek, then Jackson is going to kill someone."

Scott tried to control the anger that had settled deep beneath his chest as he listened. "So tell me, Scott. Who's gonna die tonight?" The old man examined his surroundings. "Should it be your mother, who so bravely came out to support you?"

Melissa McCall watched from the high benches and squealed in excitement for her son. Still, Gerard continued. "Or the Sheriff, your best friend's father?"

Beside Melissa, sat Noah Stilinski, anxiously rubbing his hands together as worry lines appeared on his forehead. "Or how about the pretty little cheerleader who managed to survive the bite of an Alpha?"

Dallas Garcia waved her pompoms in the air, her excitement at an all-time high. Scott's teeth started to gradually grind as he listened to the old man. "Or maybe one of these innocent teenagers with their whole life ahead of them?"

Next, Stiles Stilinski slapped his hand against the lacrosse stick and rolled his shoulders back. "Or should I do everyone a favour and kill that ridiculous coach?"

Coach Finstock chewed anxiously on his thumb as his leg bounced awkwardly. He watched his players on the field and was unaware of the potential threat.

"Its up to you, Scott." He warned. "But you are going to help me take Derek down." He watched as the referee blew into his whistle. "Because if you don't, I'll have Jackson rip someone's head off right in the middle of the field and drench everyone you love and care about in blood."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

"See, prime example right here." Peter hummed to Derek who had his blood coated across his knuckles. Within two minutes, the duo were already beating the living hell out of each other. "Im alive, but I'm not as strong. Im not healing as fast. I need a pack.. I need an Alpha." He paused. "Like you. I need you as much as you need me."

Derek scoffed. "Why would I want help from someone who ripped my goddaughter's throat out?" He looked up. "You're a total pyscho."

"First of all, I'm not a total psycho." Peter rolled his eyes. "And second of all, I did that for her own benefit. You wouldn't understand." He stepped forward. "Sometimes when you need help, you turn to people you'd never expect."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

The whistle blew loudly, the ball being shoved across the grass floor before Stiles caught it in his net. He let out a proud laugh before he was tackled to the ground by an opposing player. Dallas winced slightly, but composed herself as he popped up from the floor.

"I got it, I got it, I got it." He mumbled, pushing the ball around the floor with his net. Suddenly, two players shoved him to the ground with their broad shoulders. The crowd winced with the cheerleader as she pried her eyes away.

She approached Scott McCall, who had Isaac Lahey slouched next to him. "I thought you said you and Stiles practiced all the time." She let out a large breath.

"We did.. We do." Scott excused but trailed off as a ball came in contact with the Stilinski's head.

"So, are you arranging his funeral or am I?" Dallas commented but was cut off by the other Beta.

"Don't worry." Isaac winked at her. "You guys got me now." He pulled his helmet over his face and marched into the game.

Returning to her cheer squad, the brunette watched the Lacrosse game unfold before her eyes. Isaac sent all the players to the ground, minorly injuring them until they had to be taken out of the game. Dallie cocked her head at the scene. Wasn't he supposed to be helping?

More and more players fell prey to the Lahey. "Lahey!" Coach scolded. "Seriously, what the hell is your problem?" The boy simply shrugged, which made Dallie giggle slightly. Somehow, he heard from the field and gave her a playful look.

Suddenly, he was knocked to the ground by the Whittmore. Coach blew his whistle as the boy let out a pained grunt. "It's not broken." He mumbled to Scott who rushed to his side. "But I can't move it. I think Jackson nipped me, I can feel it spreading."

He was hoisted onto the stretcher and pulled from the game. Dallas dropped her hands to her sides and had worry painted across her pretty features.

"You wanna play chess, Scott?" Gerard reminded. "Then you've gotta be willing to sacrifice your own pawns."

Coach Finstock shoved Lahey's helmet to Scott and seethed. "McCall, either you're in or we forfeit."

"Don't you know what you're really bargaining for, Scott?" The Principal mocked once again. "Haven't you guessed what the real offer on the table is? Its Allison."

Scott glanced around the misty field but saw no evidence of the man. "It's always been Allison." he tried to haggle with the teenage lycan. "You give me Derek, and then I'll let you have Allison."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

"You tried to build your pack. You tried to prepare for the worst." Peter mocked. "You weren't ready and because of it, Gerard is winning." The Werewolf paused. "He's taking his time. He's toying with Scott. He's going after your wolves, one by one."

"What does any of this have to do with Dallie?" Derek held his head up and met his uncle's eyes.

Peter narrowed his eyes and pondered for a second. "James hasn't told you yet, has he?"

Derek shook his head which caused the man to continue. "Im not that familiar with her kind. The only experience I've had with it is when I met her mother. Things are different, now, though. Dallas isn't exactly like Marilyn. He must be feeding her something to keep her symptoms under wraps."

Derek seemed to have had enough of the secrecy surrounding her and snapped. "What is she, Peter?" While he was proclaimed her Godfather during her christening, once Marilyn had disappeared from Beacon Falls, James wanted the Hale's as far away from his daughter as possible. He wanted her as far away from the supernatural as possible. "Only you and James know. What is it about her that makes you want her in your pack so badly?"

"She's strong." Peter deadpanned. "And shes unlike anything you've ever seen." he paused, running his tongue over his sharp teeth. "But first, we take care of Grandpa Argent."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Scott McCall had vanished from the field. While all the other players attacked each other, the ball rolled to Stiles Stilinski's feet. "The Ball!" One player called. "Who's got the ball?"

Picking it up and carrying it in his net, Stiles dashed across the field as the plethora of players ran after him. He yelped out while Dallas watched in worry. "Come on, Stilinski." she whispered.

Stiles halted before the goal and turned his head back to the army of lacrosse players. "Stilinski!" Coach Finstock called out. "Shoot it! Shoot the ball!"

In a panicked state, Stiles flung the ball into the goal as he heard the thundering steps of the players. It landed perfectly in the goal, everyone cheering in unison. Dallas jumped high with her pompoms, letting out an excited sqeual for the boy.

"I scored a goal?" Stiles spoke to himself. "I scored a goal!"

When the ball was thrown back into the game, Stiles effortlessly caught it and reached the goal multiple times. Each time, the crowd cheered for him - and so did Dallas. Shot after shot, Stiles jumped up in the air as he became the star of the show. "Yeah!" Dallie cheered out, the final second of the game ticking by. Stilinski heard her from the field, untucking his helmet as the other players lifted him high above the ground. She sent him a proud look, unable to wipe the lovesick grin on her face.

Butterflies circulated around her stomach as he sent her a goofy smile, seemingly just as lovesick as her. Even though the whole field cheered for him, there was only one person he wanted to hear it most from.

And for her, there was only one person she bothered cheering for.

While their eyes were still connected, Scott McCall leaped onto the field. He glanced at the clock which had less then 30 seconds remaining. He noticed how Jackson gave him a murderous look from beneath his helmet and dropped his gloves, his reptillian claws extending from his fingers.

The buzzer pulled Scott from his thoughts and he let out a sigh of relief. "Nothing happened. Nothing."

Although, the crowd was soon filled with fear as each light abruptly turned off. In the midst of the darkness, a singular female screeched out into the air. Citizens and students sped around the field, screams of horror and fear entered the night. Scott tried to focus on what had happened but struggled to push past the hordes of people.

Meanwhile, Stiles tried to run his way to the stands, hoping to find Dallas or his father.

"Scott!" Melissa echoed from afar. "Scott, where are you?"

"Mom, are you okay?" He grabbed her by the wrists as she almost stumbled past him.

"Scott!" She swallowed with relief. "Im fine, but somebody is hurt. Somebody is down on the field."

"Get out of the way" Coach Finstock yelled out to the citizens as each light powered back up and shone their brightness onto the field. "Move, back off." He pushed aside players and lay eyes on the injured player. It was Jackson.

Lydia sped over to her ex-boyfriend, Dallas behind her. "Jackson!" She cried out. "I don't understand, whats happening?" she cried again. Isaac appeared from behind Scott and stared down at the Whittmore.

"He's not breathing." Melissa announced, pressing her ear against his chest. "No pulse."

Sheriff Stilinski glanced around as he noticed a particular absence. "Where's Stiles?" he called out, but received no answer. "Where the hell is my son?"

☆ word count: 3,136. ☆