𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘 𝗢𝗙 𝗬𝗢𝗨 ── 𝘚.𝘚𝘛𝘐𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘚𝘒𝘐

♡ 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗡 ♡

♡ 𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ♡
𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯

generation why?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

DALLAS GARCIA'S LIFELESS BODY WAS ZIPPED UP IN A PLASTIC BODY BAG BEFORE BEING SLUMPED ONTO THE STRETCHER AND HOISTED INTO THE AMBULANCE.

The muddy rain pounded against the concrete flirting as the siren lights lit up the school. All the other students had been sent home - but the officers weren't allowed to disclose any information on what happened, just that there had been an incident and that the formal had been cancelled.

Stiles and Scott were nowhere to be seen, especially when they were rounding up the students to send them home. Sheriff Stilinski had hoped that his boy had left early and had missed all the commotion - but he wasn't so sure.

What he was sure of, though, was that he had bigger fish to fry. Dallas Garcia was confirmed deceased by the paramedics while Noah glanced at the bodybag mournfully.

He had been there for the girl through thick and thin. The first time, was when he comforted her ten-year old self at Beacon Hills Ice rink. He remembered it clearly, how she shivered while waiting for her father and how he offered the blanket from his car, which had been sticker graffitied not days before by his son.

He then remembered how shaken up she was from the video store attack, how the brunette couldn't speak a single word for days - not even to her own father.

But yet, he always knew that she'd come out of those situations stronger than ever.
Except this time she didn't.

This time she had lost her life to whatever was creeping in the woods.. or maybe... Who.

The ambulance's lights were dimmed and the sirens were subdued while the vehicle set it's route to Beacon Hills Medical Hospital. It's rubber wheels slipped on the wet asphalt while the paramedics attempted to resuscitate her heart.

"Somebody stop the bleeding!" One panicked. "We can't perform the defibrillation if shes still bleeding!'

"Her pulse has been at a standstill for over six minutes, Hawkins, the brain can't survive that amount of damage."

The paramedic pulled a bandage from med kit and wrapped it around her throat while the other scolded him. "Careful not the disturb the tissue, we need to preserve her as much as possible for the autopsy."

The other paramedic sighed and ran a hand over his skull before muttering into the audio recorder. "Dallas Kimberly Garcia, time of death: 11:11pm."

A dark cloud hung over Beacon Hills while Sheriff Stilinski stood outside the Garcia residence. He held his flashlight one hand and his hat in the other.

He rang the doorbell minutes earlier and awaited a response. "Dallas?" He heard James Garcia let out a breath of relief from the inside. "Did you forget your keys again?-"

His relieved expression fell as he lay eyes on the Sheriff. Noah held a sympathetic look across his face and swallowed dryly.

"May I come inside?" 

James nodded and stood beside the oak door, allowing the man to brush beside him and enter his abode.

"What did she do this time?" James sighed heavily. Noah have him a confused look as he explained. "Dallie is going through what some parents call the.. rebellious stage. Don't tell me she spiked the punch bowl-"

"Uh.. no." Noah felt a weight bury itself on his chest. "That's not it.. there's been an accident."

James's confused expression fell as his eyebrows fused together. He awaited the dreaded sentence with wide eyes while his arms dropped to his sides. "No.."

"Dallas unfortunately didn't make it." The Sheriff spoke with empathy and ease. The Garcia stumbled backwards and leant against the wall, his breathing becoming an erratic mess. "Her heart had stopped by the time the paramedics reached the scene. I'm so sorry that this happened."

"Where is she?" James sobbed out, staring up at the man who attempted to comfort him.

"Her bod-" he stopped himself. "Dallas is being transported to the hospital where they can run some tests, to determine what kind of animal killed her."

His painful sobs came to a halt as he croaked out. His vision became blotted with betrayal and anguish. "Animal?"

Noah nodded. "James, your daughter died to a fatal bite to the neck."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Inside the mortuary, the forensic pathologist laid the girl across the cold, metallic table and began to study her wounds.

She pulled another audio-recorder from her trouser pocket and placed it in her upper lab coat pocket. "Autopsy of Dallas Kimberly Garcia, recorded and annotated by Dr. Harley Pinsborough." She began. "Brunette, 5'6, Latina, 16 years of age. Non-smoker."

She focused on the main injury on her neck - which seemed to be the only injury. Unusually, there were no signs of struggle. No skin cells buried under the nails, no cuts or bruises, or any other notable marks. The blonde woman sighed as she noted that into the device.

She pulled the bandage from around her neck, wincing as the dried blood stained the palish skin. "Large indent in the thyroid gland-" she picked up a ruler and sized the bite. " - deep enough to reach the vocal windpipe. Another indent in the esophagus, but with seemingly less pressure."

The woman slipped a pair of blue surgical gloves over her hands and gently pulled at the tore skin. "The haemorrhage is most likely caused by a predatory animal." The doctor furrowed her eyebrows. "Although, the animal did not seem to remove any of the flesh for food - but rather, killing for sport."

The yellow-haired woman pushed her glasses up against her face. "Victim seems to have died from thrombosis, which caused the blood vessel to clot and interrupt blood flow to the heart... while she bled out from the bite." Dr. Harley studied the lifeless brunette. "No other wounds found."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Lydia Martin paced around her bedroom floor, squeezing her cellphone tightly in her hand as she was forwarded to Dallas's voicemail.. again.

Worry had begun to set in when the police and an ambulance had pulled up at the school. They had all been demanded to leave - but she didn't see Dallas leave with any of them. The strawberry blonde didn't seem to see the McCall or Stilinski either, so she held on to the slither of hope that she could be somewhere with them. Someplace safe.

"Hey, this is Dallie Garcia!" The voicemail beamed.  "For whatever reason, I'm unable to pick up the phone right now-"

The Martin let out a frustrated yell and threw her phone to her bed, dropping herself to her window seat and laying her head in her hands.

Meanwhile at the Māhleahani residence, Danny was having a similar reaction. Usually the Latina would call or text him around 11:30 about her outfit for the next day - or to gossip about petty highschool drama.

He shook it off and assumed that it was probably nothing. His brain had a tendency to overthink, much like any teenager's. Still, he couldn't seem to shake the sick feeling that lingered in his gut.

Back at the hospital, Allison Argent pushed her way through the crowd of doctors and lay eyes on James Garcia. Jim was slouched on stiff chair, his head dropped in his hands and his eyes bloodshot red. He glanced up at the brunette and wiped his eyes, "Oh, hey, Allison." he murmured. "They're not letting anyone see her."

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing but stammers and stutters left it.  He furrowed his eyebrows as she stumbled backwards, throwing herself against the doors she had entered through merely seconds ago. 

Allison slumped into the passenger seat of Kate Argent's car. "You getting it now?" she mused. "It's what they do... and they can't help it."

The youngest huntress kept a blank stare ahead. "All of them?"

"Yes, Allison." Kate nodded her head remorselessly. "Even Scott."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Stiles Stilinski stood before Peter Hale, cursing under his breath and wanting nothing more to make him pay. 

"Give me your keys."  He ordered to the lanky highschooler. 

He dropped his head and sighed heavily. He pulled the metallic keys from his pocket and handed them to the Alpha. "Careful," he mumbled. "She grinds in a second."

Peter crushed them against his hands, his erratic strength causing each key to naturally bend out of place. He handed them back to Stiles and turned to leave. 

"So, you're not gonna kill me?"

Peter gave a blank look to the boy before trending towards him eerily. "Don't you understand yet?" he began. "I'm not the bad guy here."

The human's face contorted with anger. "You murdered my friend, how the hell aren't you the bad guy?"

"I did her a favour." he mumbled before cocking his head. "I like you, Stiles. Since you've helped me, I'm going to give you something in return."

Stiles cocked a brow.

"Do you want the bite?"

His heart leaped out of his chest at the man's words. His palms had begun to sweat and his nervous system was at the point of breakdown. "What?"

Peter repeated. "Do you.. want the bite?" he pursued the boy. "If it doesn't kill you, and it could, you'll become like us."

The Stilinski swallowed hard. "Like you.."

"Yes, a werewolf." he commented sarcastically. "Would you like me to draw you a picture?" he stalked towards the human. "That night, in the woods.. I took Scott because I needed a new pack. It could've easily been you. You'd be every bit as powerful as him." Peter watched as he clenched his jaw. "No more standing by his side, watching him become stronger, and quicker, more popular.. watching him get the girl. You'd be equals." he pulled at his arm. "Maybe even more."

He raised his wrist to his mouth while the monsterous fangs extended from his mouth. "Yes or no?" he took his silence as agreement and leaned to take a bite. Stiles seemed to break from whatever trance he was captured in and yanked his arm back. 

"I don't want to be like you."

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

James Garcia's head picked up as he heard another teenager enter the hospital, but this time it was Stiles Stilinski. Before he could even make his way to the lawyer, his father grabbed him by the collar and pushed him back in place. "It's good that we're in a hospital, because I'm gonna kill you!"

"I'm sorry. I lost the keys to my keep." he panted, "I had to run all the way here-"

"Stiles, I don't care!" The Sheriff cut him off, his voice raised and almost yelling. 

Stiles dropped his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Is she okay?" 

The Sheriff sighed heavily and whispered silently. "She's in the morgue, Stiles." the man began. "And they cant perform a full autopsy because they don't know what happened.. but what I do know, is that she lost alot of blood - and her heart gave out."

He watched as his son's hopeful expression fell. "Don't say a word to anyone.. not until Jim has adjusted." he nodded to Mr. Garcia. "Did you see anything?.. I mean, do you have any idea who or what attacked her?"

The buzzcutted boy raised his head to meet his father's eyes and fell speechless momentarily. "No.. No, I have no idea." 

"What about Scott?"

"What do you mean?" he knitted his eyebrows. "What about him?"

Noah crossed his arms defensively and repeated. "Did he see anything?"

"What do you.. is he not here?" Stilinski panicked. 

"What are you talking about? I've been calling on his cell phone. I've gotten no response."

The boy dropped his head in realisation and made eye contact with Jackson Whittmore, who was slouched against the vending machine and shrugged. "Yeah, you're not gonna get one." he mumbled out. 

⊱ ──────ஓ๑♡๑ஓ ────── ⊰

Stiles marched his way down the halls and heard the familiar calls of Jackson Whittmore. 

he chased after the lanky teenager and ignored the swaying of his tuxedo. "Where are you going?"  

"To find Scott." The youngest Stilinski deadpanned, not even bothering to take a look at the popular boy. 

"But you don't have a car."

Stiles snapped slightly. "I'm aware of that. Thank you."

"Here, I'll drive. Come on-" he attempted to grab the Stilinski by the arm but was swatted away. 

"Look, just because you feel guilty all of a sudden, doesn't make it okay, all right?" he seethed. "Half of this is still your fault."

The Whittmore tried to reason with him. "I have a car, you don't." he murmured. "Do you wan't my help or not?"

"All right, did you bring the Porsche?" he asked Jackson who nodded and held up his keys. He nsatched them from his grasp and marched ahead. "Good, I'll drive."

They both turned to leave but met the eyes of none other than Chris Argent. "Boys." he greeted. "I was wondering if you could tell me where Scott McCall is."

Stiles attempted to speak but was cut off by James Garcia, who held a travel sized coffee cup in his hand and an exhausted look in his eyes. "Chris." he greeted the man who flickered his attention from Stiles to the parent. 

"Evening, Jim." he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to hear about what happened at the school, my prayers are with you."

The man clenched his jaw and pushed against the door that led to the lobby. "Much appreciated, so, whatever you need with Stiles and Jackson, do you mind if you take it elsewhere?"

Chris nodded respectfully and waited until the man had left, signalling the men behind him to grab the two. They shoved them against the stretchers of an empty room while Chris locked the doors behind them. "Let's try this again," he turned intimdatingly to the boys. "Where is Scott McCall?"

The duo didn't reply which caused Mr. Argent to slam the Stilinski against a locker by his collar. "Let me ask you a question, Stiles." he glared. "Have you ever seen a rabid dog?" 

"N-No.. I could put it on my to-do list if you just let me go." he commented sarcastically. Chris softened his grip a little and proceeded to speak. 

"Well, I have.. and the only thing I've ever been able to compare it to is seeing a friend of mine turn on a full moon." The pain was evident in his voice. Nearby, Jackson was being held in place by one of the Argent's men, a death grip on the lacrosse player's arm. "Do you want to know what happened?"

The human cleared his throat. "Not really. No offense to your storytelling skills."

"He tried to kill me.. and I was forced to put a bullet in his head." he flicked his thumb against the boy's forehead and continued. "The whole time that he lay there dying, he was still trying to claw his way toward me, still trying to kill me, like it was the most important thing he could do with his last breath. Can you imagine that?"

Stiles breathed heavily. "No." he mumbled. "And it sounds like you need to be a bit more selective-"

Chris slammed on the locker door beside the boy's head. "Did Scott try and kill you on the full moon?" he demanded. "Did you have to lock him up?"

"Yeah, I did. I had to handcuff him to a radiator.. why? Would you prefer that I locked him in the basement and burned the whole house down around him?"

Chris released his grip and stepped away from Stiles, his humorless chuckle echoing through the walls. "I hate to dispel a popular rumour, Stiles, but.. we never did that.

"Oh, right." He breathed out. "Derek said you guys had a code, I guess no one ever breaks it."

The Argent shared a look with his men. "Never."

Stiles spoke up again. "What if someone does?"

Chris turned his head to the Stilinski and quirked a brow. "Someone like who?"

"Your sister."

☆ word count: 2,699. ☆

A/N: ok but Isaac lahey? KING