♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡
𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 sixty-five

mr perfectly fine.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

SCOTT MCCALL knelt before Dallas, his hands stapled on her forearms and eyes narrowing through her muddled gaze. His breath hitched in his throat while each cold, unsteady breath rattled through his ribcage. 

That was, at least, until his phone buzzed in his back pocket and his eyes drew to the pixelated screen. 

LYDIA: Library. Now. Alone.

His eyes clambered back up to hers. Deep within the shade of brown, suspicion glimmered back. Dallas felt her throat grow raspy from the frequent swallowing. "What?"

The reign of silence was long. Her insides felt gutted, swished around with a melee, and gave her a sickening stomach ache. The seafoam in her veins began to bubble and eyes of dark matter began to sting with suppressed virtue as her raspy voice coiled through. "Scott."

His hands ran through his hair while his brain beneath sunk into deep thought. "She wants me to meet her." The werewolf's dark eyebrows fell into a furrow. His bones shivered underneath his skin while his hands gripped the phone's ridges. 

"Okay," Dallas subdued her sigh of relief and inhaled sharply. While the rims of his sofa scorched her bare thighs, the Siren ignored it and jumped to her feet. "I'll come with."

His hand blocked her path and restricted her from going any further. "No." He gave her a stern look. However, it held a familiar.. almost fraternal shade. "Um, stay."

Chills danced up her spine and frosted the bone, keeping her standing silent with her hands dropping to her sides and nails stamping into her palms. 

"Stay?" Dallas began. "Do I look like a dog to you?" She stepped forward with brows curling into a furrow. 

Scott remained silent for a moment, a moment too long since he received a smack in the shoulder from the Garcia with visible distaste. "Ow!" He hissed. "I was thinking!"

"Well?" She waited. "You're seriously not just going to leave me here."

"I kinda am." A thoughtful glimmer waved across his face while he glanced away. 

Dallas dropped to the leather sofa and blew the hair out of her face. "Fine." she shrugged. And with that, the Siren watched him scurry through the door with nothing but keys in-between his teeth and worry on his mind. Tutting at her circumstance, the brunette plopped back down onto her couch with a dramatic huff. 

"Have fun being dead!"

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

It had taken him days. Many sleepless nights on empty roads and coffee beginning to run through his bloodstream .. but James Garcia had finally arrived in Virginia.

Many times, the doppelganger had the urge to turn around and flee back home. Beacon Hills wasn't safe - but hell, something told him Mystic Falls was a can of worms he'd rather keep shut. 

James Garcia tucked the cap over his hair while the chilly mid-day wind cascaded chills over his bare skin. It seemed to be a peculiar town - one always set in a state of frozen autumn air. 

Leaves crinkled underneath his shoes and rocks bounced against the Italian leather. From the overhang of strained pine trees to benches dedicated to the dead, and a rather orthodox Clock Tower stapled into the middle of town, it seemed no different than the desolate one of Beacon Hills. 

However, it held the same dark aura. An aroma of death, clouded by the mystery of what lurked behind plain sight. It made him coil inwardly. 

A soft jingle echoed in his ears as he stepped into Mystic Grill, the cap pulled down to cover his eyes and his jacket bunched up to his chin. Brown eyes scoured across the room until they landed on the Barista. 

Blue-eyed, blonde hair and a name tag stamped with 'Matt.' 

"Excuse me." James found himself sitting at the bar, ignoring the strange looks from the pedestrians beside him. "You wouldn't happen to know where this is?" 

Pulling out the newspaper, Jim tapped his ringed fingers against the black and white photograph of an old home, the Mikaelson name just above. 

Matt leaned closer. His eyebrows fell into a furrow and lingered on the newspaper - which seemed to be printed rather than bought. "Yeah, that's the Mikaelson Mansion." He paused. "It's not really a local landmark, though. Owners are quite stand-offish."

Taking a glance at the Garcia's patient gaze from beneath his hat, Matt Donovan huffed silently. "Turn left at the Clock Tower, you follow the road down and then make a right. You'll see a clearing, walk through it and it'll be straight ahead." 

James tucked the newspaper snippet back into his pocket. "Thanks."

"Not from around here, are you?"

He turned to leave but kept his stare at the young boy. "No. I don't really intend to stay here that long, either." Jim nodded. "Thanks for the directions."

The Doppelganger rushed the doorway, almost pushing over the blonde who passed by in one single move. Mumbling out a quick 'sorry', he readjusted his baseball cap and ducked out of her way before disappearing into the misty streets. 

Caroline parted her lips, flickering her gaze to Matt. "Who was that?"

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Dallas ran her pink acrylic nails across the marble countertops, watching idly as the door swung open and a slightly muscular frame come into view. Her breath hitched in her throat and porcelain breaths shivered through her throat with every shaky inhale. It was an understatement to say that the butterflies with Stiles Stilinski still never stopped. The fluttering never dimmed. The swarm never ceased. 

Keys dangled from his mouth and his jacket slung over his broad shoulder as he struggled to kick the door shut with a usual frustrated huff. His hair, which usually held quite a thin layer of gel, fell over his face and stuck to his forehead with each disgruntled inhale. 

"Maybe consider putting the keys down first."

His head snapped up to meet her eyes and stifled a warm grin. "Your dad told me to wait for you." She cocked her head to the side at the mere mention of her presence. "I thought you weren't coming."

He spit the keys out from between his teeth and jangled them into his back pocket in one swift motion. "My Jeep broke down." Stiles swallowed harshly, avoiding her look as he did so. "Again. For good this time, I think."

Running her hands from the countertop, Dallas stood before him and planted them against his chest instead. "Why didn't you call me? My Dad left his car, I would've picked you up-"

Gently, he pulled down her hands from his chest and held them in his for a few moments before turning away. "Figured you were too busy figuring out the best way to kill Scott."

Dallas felt the sharp tone he had slice at her gut and maybe kill a few of those butterflies. "What has he said to you?" She spoke with a furrowed brow and stepped forward.

Stiles swung open the fridge while his shoulders sunk beneath his flannel and head bowed forwards. "Nothing. I haven't spoken to either of you because you're too busy trying to kill each other all of the time." The Stilinski pulled out a water bottle and used his free hand to wave sporadically as he spoke. "But go ahead, don't let me get in the way."

"You know my problems with Scott. But that's between me and him, I don't know why you're mad at me-"

"I'm not just mad at you, Dallie. I'm fucking mad at both of you." He gripped the water bottle so tight that it crinkled underneath his grip. "Scott has been a terrible, piece-of-crap friend by promising you things he can't give you. And you're just as bad for agreeing with it." Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "He's an Alpha. You're a Siren. I'm just the guy who sits on the sidelines watching my two best friends at each other's neck every day and can't do a thing about it."

"Oh, so I should just forgive him? Everything he said about my family? My aunts? My mother?"

"Oh, no, because that's ridiculous. You don't forgive anyone, Dallie." He scoffed. "Because you're always right. You don't even acknowledge your mom's existence anymore. You harbor all this hate and flip your switch because you're terrified of being vulnerable with anyone. With me."

Stiles let out an exasperated hiss and got closer to her face. "You know what I'd do to see my mom again? You can. And you're still holding onto a grudge." 

"A grudge that left me with ice burns and a nasty association as the girl whose mother didn't want her?" Dallas spat shakily. "Sorry, I'm not thanking her for making me feel empty inside." She blew the hair out of her face and shook her head in aggressive dismay. 

Feeling her body shake, Dallas dawned on the fact he stooped so low. "You're such a fucking jerk, Stilinski." Her eyes fell into a glossy red as unwanted memories of that night poured into her head. 

He ran his tongue over his teeth as he frowned outwardly. "Which usually means I'm right."

"Of course, you are. You do the research, you connect the threads, you keep tabs on every creature in this town." She hissed and roughly pushed two hands against his chest. "Including me, apparently." 

Stiles pulled at her hands to get closer to her face. "Anger? Cool, at least I'm hitting one emotion you keep buried in there."

Dallas laughed sourly. "Oh, please. You aren't hitting anything this week. Never mind a fucking emotion." Her tone scorched his pale skin. "What my humanity does is of no concern to you. I'm not sitting here explaining myself to a man I'd usually eat."

Stiles shook his head at her, his lips suppressing what had probably been a smile - a laugh, at most. "Fine. Then don't." He leaned against the fridge while narrowing his eyes toward her. "I officially don't care. Do whatever you want." The Stilinski paused. "Just don't expect me to come wrapping my arms around you the moment you start feeling alone."

Dallas grabbed her jacket, swinging her purse over her shoulder and reaching for the door handle. Her voice shook as she spoke and the cold air sent chills up her already unsteady spine. "Fine, I'll get someone else to!" she hissed. "Who knows, maybe Theo's still available!"

"Fine!" He yelled back at her, his voice struggling to find stability also. "Just try not to imagine my face when he does, huh, baby?"

Her face fell red. She felt the tension in her cheeks as heat flocked to them. Her eyelids felt heavy and water seemed to hide underneath the skin. Her porcelain breaths shattered into heavy ones and her swallowing began to hurt. 

"This was a stupid idea." 

He clutched the countertops desperately. The tips of his knuckles faded to white and the veins had begun to stick out from atop the bone. "Which part?" 

Dallie's voice trembled. The dam that kept the flood of unspilled tears and suppressed emotion started to crumble beneath itself, sending a crack down her already swollen heart. 

"All of it."

Before Stiles could speak once more, the door swung open and she disappeared through it. Her steps became so heavy and her hands immediately cradled her cheeks. So much so, that she didn't see Sheriff Stilinski pass by, his eyebrows knitting together in a symphony of worry and confusion. 

It wasn't until he stood in the doorway, his badge swinging from his belt and a hefty sigh escaping his lips. He didn't need to say anything. By the way Stiles hunched over the countertop and slammed his hands against it before he walked away told him enough. 

Stiles felt stupid. 

He questioned if she really meant it. And he wondered if that was really the end. 

And Dallas felt stupid.

She regretted saying it. And she wondered if he believed her. 

 The door slammed to her side and her bare knuckles gripped the steering wheel of her father's car. Her hands slammed against the coarse leather, a frustrated yell clawing up her throat and her nails etching into the base-coat of the steering wheel.

 As her ring caught on the metallic logo, the bare crystals sliced against her finger and an unexpected cry of pain sprang from her lips. 

Her hand, now bloodied at the edge, pulled down the sunshades and rooted through the pocket for a spare tissue. But her closing wound didn't catch her attention, the teary and glossy eyes staring back through the mirror did. 

One tear slid down her dreary face, soaking her pores in a salty river of distress. The more she watched, the more began to fall from beneath her eyelashes. Before she knew it, they poured out helplessly beneath her eyes and brought a heavy reign of smudged mascara with it. 

God, since when did everything hurt so much? 

Like an open wound, a sharp pain etched in her chest. The butterflies swarmed from her stomach and seemed to bite at her bones. Some sliced her soul with their wings and others settled in her throat and made it hard to breathe.

Dallas gripped the wheel senselessly. 

You don't even acknowledge your mom's existence anymore. 

That's how you get used to doing everything alone.

You're terrified of being vulnerable. 

I didn't want you to leave, too. 

At least I'm hitting one emotion you keep buried there. 

Don't stop digging. 

Don't expect me to come wrapping my arms around you the moment you start feeling alone. 

Please do. 

Maybe Theo's still available.

He's not you.

This was a stupid idea.

It wasn't. 

Which part?

None of it. 

All of it.

Dallas sunk in her seat and pushed the mirror away from her gaze. In a single moment, it felt like she was minutes away from death. Endlessly rehearsing the things she should've said. 

Her heart could've fallen out of her chest. She'd expect it to be bloodied or bruised. Or fall out in a million broken pieces. 

Her vision blurred into an abyss of darkness. The colour drained from her reality and she saw everything flash before her eyes. Flashes of red, empty, soulless, bloody red clouded her distorted vision. She felt the skin of every person she had laid her hands on underneath her touch. Every scream she suppressed came echoing down her ear at once. 

It was suffocating. She could scream. Yell until her lungs gave out. But in every scream she had, she heard someone else's. 

Dallas could do nothing but sit in her father's car, underneath the clatter of rain and cloudy skies, and sob into his steering wheel. 

She had no right to feel sorry for herself. Not when she had hurt so many people. It made her sick to even begin to wallow in any form of self-pity. "Get a fucking grip, Dallas." She hissed, leaning forward to rest her head against the wheel. "You don't deserve to mourn anyone." Her voice cracked slightly. "Look at what you did."

It didn't stop the tears from pouring. And Stiles was right. There was nobody to wrap their arms around her this time. Dallas had done such a good job at destroying everything that she destroyed herself in the process. The supernatural couldn't take accountability for her flaws - this was all her.

"I ruined everything," Dallas murmured into her palms. She found a glimmer of humour in it. That was her specialty. 

Her friends needed her and she hid.

Stiles needed her and she hid. 

She wished someone had told her it would hurt this much. 

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Scott McCall took gentle steps through the library, carefully examining his surroundings with a steady breath. "Hey, Lydia?"

Scrolling aimlessly through his messages, Scott noticed the emptiness of the library and furrowed his eyebrows into a somber look. The pixelated screen reflected back at him as he searched for the Banshee's name. 

However, what he didn't expect, was to see it buzz inside the wooden bookshelf and echo throughout the room. Following the sound, his footsteps halted at the sight of it and his eyes fell into suspicious slits. 

Only then, when he stared down at his name, did his gaze catch the line of mountain ash that lined around his feet. Scott tried to back away from it but the clearing of Theo Raeken's voice caused him to stop in his tracks. 

"That's not possible," Scott muttered, watching as the Raeken walked through the barrier with ease. 

Theo didn't bother to smother his smirk. "You're right." He grinned. "A werewolf shouldn't even be able to touch mountain ash." 

The cogs behind Scott's brain twisted and turned creakily. His eyes darkened with betrayal and just then, he regretted not asking the Siren to come along - a part of him probably would've allowed her to eat Theo.

"You're a Chimera." 

Theo spoke over the Alpha with dominance. He had spent so much time bowing to the boy and praising the ground he walked on, it was his time to speak. "I'm the first Chimera." He paused. "It's the coyote part you don't notice."

He circled Scott like prey. "It's why Malia trusted me first, even though she probably didn't know it." As Scott drew closer, the Chimera took steps backward over the mountain ash. "You found the perfect world though, Scott." 

His voice became a sinister mix of sinister excitement and rage. "Because a Chimera isn't just a monster with different parts," Theo spoke through gritted teeth. "It can also mean something impossible to achieve. An unrealizable dream."

Scott gazed at the boy - the boy that had changed so much since he had seen him last. "And they realized you?" 

Theo nodded. "They came close with me." The Raeken took another step back with a sadistic glint in his eye. "But we can't all be perfect. We can't all be true Alphas."

The Alpha bared his teeth at him, bolting towards the line of ash with nothing but rage - and he was knocked right back onto the floor with a rough grunt as soon as he did so. 

The Chimera watched with a glimmer of a smile as he stepped over the line just before the werewolf made contact. "Damn, I felt that." he teased before turning away and tossing his phone into the trashcan beside the doorway. 

"No calls, Scott."

"No Stiles, No Dallas, No Malia.. and No Lydia." he stood at the entrance with a slanted smirk. "You're just going to have to wait here alone for what happens next." 

Scott clambered up from the floor helplessly. "What do you mean?" He gasped for breath. "What's next?"

The Raeken seemed to hold a much more wicked glint than befoe as he replied. "The Supermoon."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Dallas scrolled through the missed calls and delivered texts to Scott McCall. Her fall from grace bruised her brittle bones and a small part of her hoped he'd at least advise her on how to put them back together again. 

But he was ignoring her. 

She gripped the wheel as she parked outside the high school. It was ridden with shadows and the half-moon lurked above ominously. A part of her wanted to turn back. However, home wasn't a place she felt welcome. Stiles' house even worse. 

And after all, Scott McCall was the person she had hurt the most when devoid. 

The cold air brushed against her empty skin and introduced a new level of loneliness to her shaken spine. Her hands pressed against the wooden door and her ear dawned on the wood to hear for voices. She remembered how he'd told her to stay. Only now did she acknowledge that maybe he did that for her own safety rather than to push her buttons.

Only now did she acknowledge that quite a lot of people did that. 

Upon hearing nothing but silence, Dallas stepped away and opted to drive home. Perhaps she'd sleep in her father's car tonight. After all, he was the only person who could make her feel better in times like these - and he was nowhere to be found. She wondered if he had left her too. 

Atleast, that was up until she heard a pained grunt echo from the library. "Scott?" she called out. 

No answer. 

A part of her told her that she'd been ignored for a reason. After all, you don't welcome someone who brings woe and horror everywhere they go. 

But the lingering feeling in her gut told her she should stay. Humanity told her to stay. 

Her hands pressed against the coarse wood and pushed the heavy wooden doors open. The grunts became louder and more painful with each step she took. Dallas finally swung them open and wallowed at the sight. 

Scott McCall threw his body against the mountain ash over and over again - leaving his face tattered with bruises and lungs breathless from his persistent jolts to the floor. 

Dallas felt her shoulders sink and met his panicked gaze. "What the hell are you doing?"

He leaned forward to speak but Dallas had already kicked open the line of ash with her shoe. He leaped forward once more and let out a breath of relief as his fingers grazed the outside world. His eyes then met hers and noticed the smudged mascara underneath. 

"Your eyes."

Dallas didn't bother wiping them and nodded to his bruises. "Your face."

He groaned idly as he stood up while the Siren offered a hand, which he accepted hesitantly. "What happened?" Scott brushed himself off and wafted away the dirt and dust. 

Dallas felt her heart drop into her stomach. If it were made of glass, those words would shatter it instantly. Luckily, it was nothing but meat and muscle - and it simply tore a little more instead. 

"I ruined my life." The Siren smiled, but little joy lay beneath it. "What about you?"

"Theo's trying to ruin mine." He paused. He noticed her simple demeanor. How she carried herself comfortably rather than confidently. Her gaze was broken, not harsh. "We were right. You were right."

She avoided his look as they turned to the open door. Wind cascaded through the night air and the dusty moon lit up the still wet tears that sat underneath her eyes. "That doesn't make me feel any better." 

Scott didn't want to push - but he asked anyway. "What.. what made it flip?"

"Stiles really fucking hurt me." Dallas clenched her jaw and cleared her throat. "But I hurt him worse."

Dallas felt Scott's hand drop on her shoulder and his puppy-dog smile etch into a sympathetic grin. He didn't need to say anything else. That action alone confirmed what she hoped - that the annoying teenage boy that acted like a brother.. would continue to act like an annoying brother. Despite their many squabbles. 

"I still don't want your pity." She spoke with an annoyed tone as she walked through the open door. 

"Well give me some pity, I'm hurt!" He clutched his ribs as he walked behind her, wincing loudly as he did.

With an injured Alpha and a mess of a Siren back on their feet, perhaps Beacon Hills did have a chance. 

☆ word count: 3,904. ☆

a/n: i aint waiting for stiles to disappear. thats too much stallas content wasted