Wishing on Silver Linings
CHAPTER THREE
Out on the field, Shay can already feel the tension seeping into the air as Scott and Stiles jog out with the rest of the team.
Coach Finstock blows his whistle and orders everyone into positions. Shay tries to go and talk to Scott, who dazedly holds his stick like it's a life line, but Coach cuts in front of her, turning her back in the direction of the goalie net, and shoves lightly.
"You can chit chat with McCall later, Jansen. Hustle, hustle!" He turns back to the rest of the team. "Jackson, take a long stick today!"
For the most part things go as smoothly. Well, as smoothly as things go when a bunch of boys slam and trip each other in the name of sport. There are times when Shay wants to be out there, running around and shoving people's shoulders with her own. But then she sees the way it is – Greenberg taking a nasty tumble after being too slow to dodge a shove – and couldn't help but be grateful all she has to do is catch the balls. And, embarrassingly, admire Jackson as she does so.
As cliché as it sounds, Jackson Whittemore is basically the king of lacrosse. He's aggressive and quick, either an unmovable object or an unstoppable force. Only a sophomore and already team captain, Jackson gives it his all on the field, ready to remind all challengers who really rules lacrosse. Shay hates to admit it, but neither her nor Scott stand a real chance when going up against him.
Which is why it isn't so surprising that Scott gets his ass handed to him as he runs at Jackson. The sound of his body hitting the ground makes Shay flinch, an empathetic "ouch" unconsciously slipping out.
She hears the cocky way Jackson asks," You sure you still want to be first line, McCall?" As much as she adores him, Jackson's ego has always rubbed her the wrong way. Fighting off the urge to go and defend Scott, Shay looks to Stiles, waving her goalie stick until she gets his attention. She gestures to where Coach Finstock is hissing into Scott's ear from where he kneels on the ground, a clear what's wrong with him. All Stiles gives her are arched eyebrows and shrugged shoulders, his own way of saying your guess is as good as mine.
"McCall's gonna do it again," shouts the coach mockingly as both he and Scott straighten up. "McCall's gonna do it again."
Shay can't help the small "Scott, wait-!" that she lets out. At the coach's shushing wave her way, Shay bites her lip and gets back into her usual guarded position.
The speed that Scott runs at is impressive. But not as impressive as the brute way he collides with Jackson, taking their captain down with intense strength. Shay hears the wounded noise Jackson lets out as he hits the ground. Scott falls to his hands and knees right after him. Like the rest of the team, Shay abandons her position and runs to them.
Stiles and Shay crowd Scott as the rest of the team and the coach look over Jackson.
"Scott?" Stiles asks.
Shay holds his head steady by his helmet as Scott struggles with breathing evenly. "In and out, Scottie. Just like we've practiced."
"I can't control it, guys. I-It's happening." Scott makes a pained face as he shakes in their hands, body trembling. The hairs on the back of Shay's neck stand up; she has to fight to keep the urge to hiss at bay. Whatever werewolf stuff is happening to Scott, it's triggering something in her. The words spidey-sense comes to mind.
Danger. Dangerdangerdanger.
Shay follows Stiles' lead as he throws one of Scott's arms over his shoulder; Shay takes the other. Together, they lead him away from the team, out of the field, and back into the locker room.
Unbeknownst to the three of them, familiar eyes watch as they go.
||/\\||
The three of them burst through the boys' locker room door like a hurricane, a tornado, and a wildfire. That is to say, messily. Scott falls to the ground again, pushing out of Stiles' and her grip as he literally growls. Before Shay knows it, her own body shakes and shifts, teeth aching with a stretch she has only felt within the past few days.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
Yellow. Scott's eyes are glowing yellow.
Instinctively, Shay pushes Stiles behind her, making his back smack against the metal of the lockers. He scrambles to his feet and darts to the farthest wall as Shay meets Scott head on, grabbing him as he makes to chase Stiles.
The two of them snarl and tumble, rolling on the concrete ground, helmets butting with snapping teeth held back only by the helmets guard. Shay manages to kick Scott back into the sinks, the porcelain creaking with the force of it. Scott growls in pain before launching himself back at her. Shay barely dodges his hands, tripping and pushing him back onto the ground. With a particularly hard kick to her head, Shay's helmet flies off and her face hits the corner of the locker. In the seconds she's disoriented, Scott leaps up and tackles her, pulling her up by the shoulders only to slam her back down. The back of her skull makes a sick crack against the concrete.
It's only then that they are both suddenly sprayed with the harsh chill of a fire extinguisher.
Scott stumbles off her, blocking his face from the cold. It follows him, leaving Shay to catch her breath and blink away the dark spots that dot her vision.
"Stiles?" she calls, reaching out in front of her. A bare hand meets hers, yanking off the goalie glove and touching his palm to hers. The gesture is soothing. Shay closes her eyes as the aching at the back of her head pulses. "Scott?"
"Wh-What happened?" comes the disoriented voice of her best friend.
Shay shakes her head, hissing at the pain that shoots to the backs of her eyes. "You lost it."
"You tried to kill me," Stiles corrects bitterly. "It's like I was telling you before! If Shay hadn't been here to fight you off, I don't know what would have happened. And that was stupid, by the way, Shay. You could have been hurt!"
"I think I'm a little hurt right now," she groans. With her other hand, Shay tangles her fingers in her hair, feeling for any blood. Luckily, she finds none, just a sore spot.
Another hand reaches for her head, patting the sweaty hair back. Opening her eyes, Shay sees Stiles looking down at her, bright eyes filled with distress, with guilt. She tries to smile up at him, but the dots are still there.
"How did this happen?" Scott asks aloud.
Stiles answers without looking away from Shay's head. "It's your anger, your pulse rising. That's the trigger."
"But that's lacrosse! That's any sport out there."
Stiles lifts Shay's head up as he and Scott help her sit against the locker. The cool metal soothes away some of the burning ache. "Sports are violent. That's kind of the whole point."
"Well it's going to be a lot more violent if you end up killing someone on the field. Or even in the locker room. Just look what happened!"
Shay takes a hold of the hand Stiles has on the side of her head. He meets her eyes, now alert and worried. She shakes her head and says to Scott," You can't play Saturday. What if this happens again? What if you lose it out on the field and I can't stop you?"
"What if you really hurt her?!" Stiles snaps. "What if you both lose control? Shay's a werewolf too, Scott. What if next time neither of you know what's what or who's who?"
The confliction in Scott's eyes makes something akin to guilt bubble in Shay's chest. And when he says "B-But I'm first line!" Shay let's Stiles be the one to say," Not anymore."
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They clean up after that. Stiles takes Shay into the girls' locker room as Scott stays in the boys' to mull over what they'd just told him. He helps carefully take off her pads and shirt, looking away as she pulls on her regular clothes from earlier that day. It hurts to move her head too fast.
"Maybe I have a concussion," she says. "Can werewolves get concussions?"
"No idea," Stiles answers, still looking away. "And, I don't know, Shay. You didn't look like Scott did."
"What do you mean? Also, you can look now."
He shrugs and sits beside her on the bench. "Scott looked wolfy. You looked more…"
"More?"
Stiles rubs his eyes. "I don't know – narrow. Does that make sense? Your eyes and your mouth-" He gestures to his face, scrunches up his nose, and squints.
Shay rests her head on the pad of his shoulder, focuses on breathing. When the silence becomes too much, Shay whispers," Who cares what I look like. That was scary."
Stiles lets out a shaky laugh. His fingers fidget and fiddle with his knee pad. "Yeah. Yeah, it was, wasn't it? But you didn't look afraid. I'm the one that ran for cover."
"You aren't like us, Stiles. You could have gotten hurt."
"But you did." There's an angry edge to his words. Shay grabs his hand and squeezes.
"Not your fault, Stilinski. And it's not Scott's either. We just need to keep an eye on him."
Stiles pauses. "Then who's going to keep an eye on you?"
"You, of course. You have two eyes for a reason."
The laugh he lets out is easy in the tense air. "I'll drive you home."
"That would be great, Stiles."
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.
Shay hugs Stiles tightly after he pulls up to her drive way. He lets her cling to him, rubbing her back and patting her side lightly when she's held on for too long.
"Call me tomorrow, okay," Shay tells him.
"Roger that."
Inside, Beth fusses over her daughter. "I've always hated that game. So rough, and you're so small! Are you sure you're okay, Shannon?"
Shay nods from where she lays on the couch. She has an icepack pressed against the back of her head, back and feet propped up on pillows. Leave it to her mother to go the extra mile when concerned. Beth tuts before going back into the kitchen to finish making dinner. Whatever it is, the smell is overwhelming.
"Just – run by me what happened again?" her mother calls from the kitchen.
"I told you mom," Shay sighs. "We were done for the day. I slipped in the locker room, wasn't wearing my helmet. No big deal."
Beth goes on to rattle about safety precautions and damaged brain cells. Dazedly, Shay realizes that her head stopped hurting hours ago, but to keep the icepack pressed against her head until the ice melts back into water. By then dinner is ready and her mother serves her dish in the living room, turning on the television for them both to watch. The smell she'd been smelling was spaghetti and meat balls. Her favorite.
"Mom, I'm not dying," Shay laughs.
"I don't know what you mean," her mother snips, smiling slyly as she takes a sip from her wine glass.
It's nice – to be there with her mom, watching bad TV while eating her favorite food. They haven't had a night in together for a long time. Shay lets herself relax into the cushions of the couch and listens to her mom's sarcastic commentary of the vampire movie that's showing.
"I've always preferred werewolves," she finds herself saying aloud. Irrational fear pokes at her ribs as she watches her mother's face closely.
Beth hums to herself. "Yeah, me too."
And she knows that her mom has no idea what she's getting at, but the heavy feeling in her chest lightens ever so slightly.
"Love you, mom."
"Oh, I love you more, sweetie."
"Yeah, you're right."
"Shannon Jansen!"
She can't help but let herself laugh until she chokes on a meat ball.
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It's the draft that wakes her. Shay blinks her bleary eyes, mind still foggy with sleep, and fumbles for her phone. Clicking the screen on, the time reads three-thirty in the morning. It is way too early to even be remotely awake. She squints at the picture of her, Stiles, and Scott, groaning before clicking the screen off.
In the black of the glass, Shay sees it. Her entire body freezes, heart stuttering to a halt as
It's a dream, it's all a dream. There isn't a man standing by my window. There isn't, there isn't. It's a dream, it's a –
"Shay," comes a voice. "I know you're awake. And I know you know I'm here."
Heart lurching, Shay curls tighter into a ball under her covers. She wants to scream for her mom but knows that her mother isn't equipped to deal with intruders. Especially intruders that are werewolves.
"Shay," snaps the voice of Derek Hale.
"G-Go away."
The blanket is yanked from above her and thrown down onto the floor. Instantly Shay is up and off her bed, grabbing at the lacrosse stick that sits by her night stand. Derek looks unfazed at her weapon of choice, walking closer and pushing it down as he crowds her against the wall. Shay's heart races wildly as they share the same breathing space, panic and fear and anger twisting her stomach. This is it – Derek Hale is going to kill her or worse. In a moment of sheer panic, Shay opens her mouth to scream, but Derek covers her mouth with his hand, pressing down until she closes it.
"Do not scream," he orders in a terrifying growl. "All you're going to do is listen, understand?"
Shay blinks the tears in her eyes away and nods frantically.
Derek searches her face for a moment before retracting his hand, taking a step back but remains close enough to keep Shay on edge.
"Do not let Scott McCall play on Saturday. You shouldn't play either, but he's more of a liability than you are. Do not let your friend go out onto that field, Shay. Because if he gets me found out, I'm going to kill him. And if you try to stop me, then I'll kill you too."
His hand goes for her face again. This time Shay can't help but shut her eyes and let a small shout slip past her clenched teeth. But nothing touches her. She blinks and all that's left of Derek Hale is an open window, curtain billowing softly with the nighttime wind. Shay counts to twenty before she dares to let out a breath. When nothing happens, she makes a dash for the window, slamming it closed and locking it shut. Heart racing, Shay grabs for her phone and calls the one person she knows would be awake at this hour.
He answers on the second ring. "Shay?"
"Stiles," she gasps out, clutching at her chest. "Stiles, he was here. Derek was in my house. He came into my room!"
The noise Stiles lets out can only be described as frustrated. "Yeah, he paid Scott a visit earlier. He was really insistent on Scott not playing on Saturday."
"And you guys didn't think to share that very important detail with me?!"
"We didn't think he'd break into your house! It's Scott that's not dealing with everything well right now. And…well…"
"And well what, Stiles?"
"Scott doesn't think you want to talk to him. Because of the, uh, whole locker room thing."
That makes the words already coming out of Shay's mouth stop. After everything, Shay had let Stiles lead her out of the school and into the parking to his Jeep. The drive was quiet, Stiles only talking to check up on how her head was doing. At one point, she had started to doze, but Stiles said she couldn't, poking her cheek until she opened her eyes again. She hadn't texted or called Scott, hadn't even called Stiles to ask if he knew anything about Jackson either. For a second, Shay feels bad for cutting him off for the night.
"That's not true," she ends up saying softly.
Stiles sighs. "Yeah, I know. But you're going to have to tell him that. He's sure you hate him now."
"I don't think I could hate him, even if I tried."
"Yeah, me neither."
Shay hums to herself before asking, "Speaking of Scott, how are things with him and Allison? I haven't heard him talk about her since the party."
With a groan Stiles says," Not good, Shay. Not good. Scott found out that the hunters in the woods that night, get this, weren't just any hunters. The main one was Allison's father."
Instantly Shay sits up. "Shut up, no way!"
"Yes way."
"Oh no, poor Scott. Wait, does Allison know about werewolves and stuff?"
"He says he doesn't think so. I wouldn't doubt it if Argent told her, though. This just makes everything more complicated."
They're quiet for a few moments, the only sound going through the line is their breathing. Shay grabs at her blanket from the floor and curls up at the foot of her bed, holding the phone close to her ear. "What are we going to do, Stiles?"
"Not let Scott play. Keep him from revealing you two to his girlfriend's dad."
"And me? Do I play?"
"Depends. You aren't the one with bad impulse control lately. The only times you've really lost it are when I snuck up on you and when Scott loses control, but it's like you only do to stop him or make sure he doesn't hurt anybody. Maybe you shouldn't, just in case he loses control outside of lacrosse too."
Shay hums distractedly.
"Get some sleep, Shay," Stiles says, soft in a way she's only heard a few times. Shay hears just how tired he is, how worried.
"You first, Stilinski."
"Not all of us can just knock out like you and Scott can." There's a silence that lasts longer than Shay is comfortable with. "You'll talk to Scott, right?"
Shay closes her eyes, breathing in deep through her nose. "Yeah, Stiles. I'll talk to him."
"Good. We need to stay a team. I can't take care of you both by myself."
He has been taking care of them, is the thing. Shay doesn't like it. She doesn't like that Stiles has to run around after her as she chases after Scott. It used to be the opposite – the way they work is Stiles drags Scott around and Shay is pulled along by Scott. That's how their friendship has always been. All of this must be weighing down on Stiles, even if he won't say it.
"You don't have to take care of me, Stiles," she says. "I'll manage."
Stiles lets out a scoff. "Uh-huh. Sure."
"Goodnight, Batman."
"Night, Wonder Woman."
||/\\||
Shay corners Scott the next day at school right as he's about to run away from her. Faster than the fumbling boy, Shay takes a hold of his elbow and steers him to a semi-deserted hall, free of listening ears. The way he won't look at her makes Shay soften her grip from demanding to comforting. Scott must sense the change, finally glancing at her from beneath his fringe.
"Stiles says you think I hate you," she claims evenly.
Scott lets out a quiet "Dammit, Stiles" before closing his mouth and shrugging. Shay tips her head back to let out a drawn-out sigh, over dramatism at its finest display. While Scott scuffs his shoe awkwardly on the floor, Shay curls her arm around his neck and pulls him down, rubbing her knuckles against his skull.
"Shay! Cut it out!"
"Not until you get that stupid idea out of your head!"
"Okay, okay! It's out, it's out!"
Laughing, she lets him go, though keeps him close. Scott rushes to fix his already untidy hair and sends her a weak look. Shay pats down his puffy hair with a smile.
"How could I ever hate you, Scottie? Like, really?"
"I know. It's just-… I could have hurt you."
Shay pokes his chest. "And I could have hurt you back. But I didn't. And neither did you. We just have to learn to manage all of this. I don't blame you, Scott."
For a few seconds, Scott is quiet, taking in her words. Eventually he nods and pulls her in for a hug. Shay lets him, patting his back in a way she hopes helps. The looks people give them makes her cheeks heat and roll her eyes, but for Scott's sake she lets him drag the hug out as long as he wants. When he does let go, Shay puts a hand on both of his shoulders to look him square in the eye.
"Ready for the hardest part of today?"
Scott swallows thickly and hesitates before nodding. Together, they walk down the hall to what may be their demise.
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To say that telling the coach they both wouldn't be playing at tomorrow's game goes horrible would be the understatement of the year.
Looking at Scott and Shay with his wide, wild eyes, the coach gestures at the space between them – or, more specifically, the lack there of. Shay glances down at where her knuckles touch Scott's. Oh no.
"Are you both ditching the game to go on, what, a date? Is this what this is about?"
Scott's eyes go as wide as Coach Finstock's. "Wh-What? No-!"
"Coach, please," Shay begs, exasperated.
"If not a date, then what? Night in together? Study session? I can't believe I'm saying this, but no dating in the team, McCall, Jansen."
"Coach, we aren't dating!" Shay finally fumes, cheeks heated and overall embarrassed. "Scott is having trouble with controlling his anger. If he plays, he might, well, get too angry."
Coach leans back, arms crossed as he shakes his head. "That's why you play lacrosse! Problem solved!"
Scott shakes his head. With clenched hands, he urges," Coach, I can't play tomorrow!"
That's when Coach Finstock finally stands from where he'd been sitting on his desk. Shay and Scott both take steps back, but their backs hit the wall and then Coach is right there. Shay doesn't like the way he points his finger at the two of them, pressing it close enough Shay can feel the stinging accusation behind it.
"Listen, McCall. Playing first line is taking on the responsibility of first line. Now if you can't handle that, then you're back on the bench until you're ready. And you, Jansen," Shay bites her lip to keep from flinching," are going to play tomorrow because this team needs their goalie. If you ditch, you're benched."
"Coach-"
"Benched," Coach Finstock points at Scott," or play," points to Shay.
"If we don't play, you're benching us?" Scott says, incredulous.
Getting in close, Finstock widens his eyes impossibly more. "Play the game."
The two of them dash out of the office as quick as they can when he dismisses them. Shay rubs her face with both hands as she and Scott walk down the halls, defeatedly. Scott's phone rings and, when he looks at it, he groans. Shay nudged him to show her. It's a text from his mom, telling him that she was able to get the night off to go see him play. Shay groans.
"You're so lucky your mom never goes to the games," Scott says.
"Yeah, but only because she's afraid to witness my death even though I told her I'm goalie and not getting pummeled."
"Yeah, well-"
Right as they turn to go up the stairs, a familiar smile and dark hair interrupts them. Shay feels instantly awkward as Scott and Allison make goo-goo eyes at each other. With Allison Argent, lingering just a little behind her, Margo clutches at two thick books. Margo smiles as she notices Shay beside Scott, lifting up two fingers from under her books to wave. Shay grins at her quiet friend. Allison's smile wavers, however, the second she sees Shay.
"I'll, uh," Shay clears her throat, already squeezing past them," see you in class, Scottie."
She barely sees his wave as she zips away, grabbing ahold of Margo's shoulder and hoping that whatever those two talk about, it won't lead to disaster.
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In English, Shay and Margo sit side by side toward the back. Shay finds out that one of the books Margo is carrying is their class textbook. The other, for her own nerdy pleasure.
"Reading's fun," Margo defends lightly. "And this one is a classic."
Shay stops playing catch with the textbook like it didn't weigh almost four pounds, grabbing the smaller novel in her hands. The cover is plain, a moss green with black lettering. Frankenstein by Mary Shelly. Shay fights off the twitch that tingles at the corner of her eye.
"Frankenstein, huh?"
"I-I like stuff like this."
"Oh, yeah?" Shay asks distractedly. "What, like vampires and ghosts and witches and stuff?"
"Don't forget werewolves," Margo puts in, obviously trying to be funny. Shay spares her and chuckles, ignoring the rise in her pulse. Margo goes on to say," My dad used to be a big fan of classic horror movies? So, I would watch them with him and read the books by myself. He doesn't watch the movies anymore, b-but I still read the books. My sister, she was never into this stuff like I was."
"She sounds lame," Shay replies. "Monsters are cool."
The smile Margo gives her is soft and genuine. "Yeah, they are."
It's only after class that Shay remembers what she had wanted to ask Margo. As the bell rings shrilly in her ears, Shay leads Margo out into the hallway, pressed against a locker to keep from getting pushed by the waves of other teens hurrying to their classes. Margo looks surprised when Shay asks about Allison.
"What about her?" Margo asks, confused.
"How'd you meet her? She hangs with Lydia Martin, and last time I checked, Lydia really spooked you out."
A faint hue of red dusts across Margo's nose. Her mouth pulls into a little frown. "W-We met at Lydia's party? And I have Allison for two of my classes and she's nice. Lydia is there in one of them, but Allison always waves at me."
Shay raises an eyebrow at her friend, taking in the reality that the poor girl had made a friend out of the claimed best friend of Lydia Martin. That couldn't be the greatest feeling in the world. But wait-
"You were at that party? Didn't we just establish that Lydia is no good?"
"I-I was invited, Shay. I couldn't say no."
"Of course, you could have. Who invited you?"
When Margo doesn't elaborate, Shay's eyes go round. Hunching just a little to make eye contact with Margo's green orbs from behind thick frames, she pokes at Margo's shoulder. The brunette looks to the floor.
"Did Lydia Martin invite you?"
For a few seconds, Margo says nothing. And then she nods. A small movement of her neck, so subtle Shay almost didn't see it.
"Whaaat? How even-"
Above them, the bell rings over the hall speakers. Margo moves from where Shay had unconsciously crowded her against the locker, slipping past her but not running away. She waits until Shay gets her bearings back and together, they head off to lunch. Shay doesn't pry anymore about Lydia Martin. It's clear that not everything is as black and white as the world makes it seem. Still…
"Did you have fun at the party at least?" Shay asks, using a bright tone to keep things relaxed.
Margo shrugs a shoulder as they walk. "I didn't stay very long. Maybe only for an hour and a half."
"Meet any cute boys there?"
Margo's face goes beet red and had Shay not become a werewolf, she wouldn't have heard the very, very quiet mumble of," He's not a boy."
"Oh, so a girl then?"
"No!" Margo sputters, laughing a little. "I just meant, well, he's… not our age."
That grabs Shay's attention. "What, like a college student?"
"Maybe. I didn't ask."
Huh. It's always the quiet ones, it seems. Shay can only pat Margo on the back and tell her to make smart decisions (to which Margo's face goes redder than Shay's ever seen). When Margo asks about if Shay had gone, Shay laughs it off awkwardly, telling her friend that her and Stiles had to go pick up Scott early since he had gotten "food poisoning or something".
"So that's what Allison was talking about," Margo says to herself.
"What do you mean?"
"She'd mentioned how you and Scott had run out of the party together. I'll be honest, she thought you guys were a thing for a second. I told her you weren't."
"We aren't," Shay assures her. "Promise. Jackson Whittemore is the only one for me."
"Lydia's boyfriend?"
"For now," Shay says slyly. Margo laughs and they get in line for their food.
Scott and Stiles are sitting there at lunch, waiting for them. Scott greets them glumly while Stiles grumbles under his breath, moving his tray over so Margo can put hers down. The extra glance he sends her way has Shay kicking his knee with her foot not so gently. He yelps but at the surprised look Margo gives him, Stiles waves it off, covering his mouth with a hand and glaring at Shay as she smiles.
"Scottie, how'd it go with your girlfriend?" Shay asks him.
At the withering look Stiles send Scott's way, Shay's smile vanishes. "What, what is it?"
"Allison," Scott starts," she invited me on a date, sort of. But -"
"But she told him that it was a double date with Lydia and Jackson and she told him to invite me! Now he wants me to go just to rub it in my face that Lydia still hasn't noticed me." With that, Stiles finishes his rant in a huff, crosses his arms, and looks somewhere off to his left. Scott stays quiet, staring down at his tray before meeting Shay's gaze with a sheepish smile and shrug.
"She's also going to watch me play on Saturday?"
That makes Stiles turn, fuming. "That too!"
Shay glances at Margo and says," That's…nice of her."
"But he shouldn't be playing," Stiles urges through clenched teeth. "Not with his condition."
"Oh," Margo says," are you sick, Scott?"
"No, just…anger management issues," he supplies easily, glancing at Shay and Stiles for approval.
Shay rubs her forehead and Stiles drops his head against the cafeteria table. Margo looks at them all with a big, flashing question mark over her head, but she only nods, assures Scott that with the right breathing exercises he would be okay. At the muffled scream that comes from Stiles' smooshed face, Margo laughs and calls him all funny.
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Shay meets Scott at his locker after the bell rings. He fumbles with is locker combination, clearly on edge. After watching him struggle with it for three more minutes, Shay gently nudges him out of the way and plugs it in for him, twisting the dial with ease. Scott smiles thankfully and doesn't even bother to question how she knows his locker combination when he can't even remember it.
"Things are looking pretty impossible, huh, Scottie?"
Scott sighs, shoulders drooping in what looks like defeat. "For real."
"Want to hear something depressing?" Shay asks, leaning against the lockers.
"What?"
"My mom texted me. She wants to come to the game."
Scott slams his locker closed with an agape mouth. "What? No way!"
Shay tilts her head back to stare at the bright lights on the ceiling. "Yup. The one game I shouldn't even go to and she's coming. Go figure."
Right as Scott opens his mouth again, they are both pulled frantically by the collars of their shirts. Stiles pushes them to the stairwell where they hide just out of sight. He gestures to two men standing a little further down the hall, who are talking in serious voices. When Shay looks closer, she sees Sheriff Stilinski, all serious faced and crossed arms. In the time that she's known Stiles and come to call him her best friend, she's never seen him like this in person, only hearing from Stiles about his "strict cop" expressions.
"Can you hear what they're saying?" Stiles presses, leaning his face between Shay and Scott's.
Scott and Shay share a look before they concentrate. Scott stares at the men. Shay tilts her head and listens.
"I want everyone under the age of eighteen to be in their houses by nine-thiry. We'd like to institute the curfew effective immediately."
"Curfew because of the body," Scott says to Stiles.
The boy huffs, face twisting sourly. "Unbelievable. My dad's out looking for an animal when that girl's killer is somewhere right now, hanging out doing whatever he wants!"
Shay shakes her head. "We can't tell him the truth about Derek, Stiles."
"I can do something."
"Like what?" Scott asks.
"Find the other half of the body," Stiles answers simply, expression letting Shay know he's already made up his mind.
"Stiles, that's nuts!"
Scott agrees with a "Are you kidding?"
Stiles says nothing more, already walking away down the hall with hurried and determined steps. Shay calls out to him but he only waves distractedly before disappearing around a corner. She knows that whatever he's planning, her and Scott are going to somehow get dragged into it. Like always. Exasperated, Shay turns to ask Scott about what he thinks about everything when the space beside her is empty and Scott is down the hall, talking to Allison. Not wanting to get in the middle of that again, Shay turns and walks away.
She doesn't get far.
In the blink of an eye, Shay finds herself being dragged by the elbow out of school and to the parking lot.
"Scott, what the hell?"
"I need you to come with me to the Hale house. I might lose it."
"Scott, what-"
"He's been talking to Allison!" Scott finally shouts, whirling at her. Shay backs up a step, startled. "What if it was Jackson? What if some crazy killer werewolf was after Jackson? Wouldn't you do anything to make Derek stay away?"
He doesn't give her time to answer, hoping on his bike and waiting for her to take her spot on the bars. Shay can only groan as she climbs on, holding on to his shoulders as Scott speeds away from the school and into the preserve.
.
.
.
Derek Hale is terrifying.
Watching as Scott yells and raves at Derek about Allison, Shay stands five steps behind him, close to his discarded bike. The house in front of her is burned and ruined, ash covering most of the wood that's still standing. A strong sadness eats at her heart as she watches Derek walk across the porch, biting back at Scott's yelling with calm anger. She can only imagine him coming back to this place, remembering his family. Despite the obvious creepiness that hangs over him like a dark cloud, Shay can feel the sadness.
When Derek disappears right before their eyes, Shay tugs at Scott's sleeve. "C'mon, Scottie. Let's go."
Scott only turns to ask her," Do you smell it?"
Shay stares at him in confusion before closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. When she smells it, her eyes widen and Scott gestures to a mound of overturned dirt.
Under the dirt pile, the scent of blood lingers.
.
.
.
They tell Stiles about the blood and Derek when he comes barreling into Scott's house, tripping over himself as he storms into Scott's room. Shay barely catches him right as he's about to face plant on the floor. Instead of thanking her, Stiles clutches at her shirt, looking between her and Scott hurriedly.
"Where did you find it? And, yes, I've had a lot of Adderall, so…" He blinks his eyes repeatedly, pupils wide and dark. Shay rubs his shoulders worriedly.
"I found something at Derek Hales," Scott answers evenly.
Stiles visibly jumps, gesturing wildly for him to go on. "Are you kidding? What? What'd you find?"
"In the dirt," Shay says," there's upturned dirt. The scent of blood is there."
"That's awesome!" At the too rough squeeze Shay gives him, Stiles backtracks," I mean, that's terrible. Whose blood?"
"We don't know," Shay says.
Scott stands, zips up his sweater as a look takes over his face. It's similar to the one Stiles gets when he's got a plan or an idea stuck in his head and he can't let go.
"But when we do, your dad nails Derek for the murder and then you help me figure out how to play lacrosse without changing. Because there's no way I'm not playing that game."
"Guys-" Shay tries but the two boys are already talking amongst each other, stepping out of the room. For a second she stands there, feeling lost. Something doesn't sit right with her, like something about this whole situation isn't right. She doesn't have Scott's pursuit for resolve, doesn't seem to be lacking control like he is. A niggling feeling in the back of her head has a pressure building up between her eyes. She look out of Scott's window, towards the woods. Unconsciously, she takes a step toward the window.
"Shay?"
Stiles' voice snaps her out of whatever sort of trance had swallowed her. Shay blinks for a minute, regaining her bearings, before she turns to him. The questioning look in his eyes make the hazel shine brighter. Since when did Stiles have such nice eyes?
"Coming," she breathes out. He smiles and jogs back down stairs, only stopping to peak back up at her when she doesn't immediately follow.
With one more glance outside, Shay walks out of Scott's room and follows her two best friends out of the house to do whatever it is they're planning to do.
||/\\||
At the hospital, Shay and Stiles agree to keep watch outside while Scott goes in to sneak into the morgue. Scott looks to Shay with a really? You're gonna let me go in alone? sort of look. Shay only replies with "Someone has to keep an eye on Stiles." Stiles indignant cry is ignored by both of them as Scott slips through the door and Shay leans against it as it closes.
Stiles wonders over to lean against the front desk while Shay takes a seat on one of the uncomfortable hospital waiting room chairs. She notices the increased race of Stiles' heart as he scrubs wildly at his face, looking somewhere torn between desperate and determined. Shay narrows her eyes as he leans "seductively" against the wall, arm bent and swipes his tongue against his bottom lip nervously.
"Stiles?"
"Hey, Lydia," Stiles greets awkwardly, completely ignoring Shay's worried voice.
Oh god, she's here? But if she's here…does that mean Jackson is, too?
"You probably don't remember me," Stiles continues," but I, uh, sit behind you biology? Anyway, I always thought we had this sort of connection-"
Shay winces in her seat. Stop while you're ahead, Stiles.
"-unspoken, of course. Maybe it would be kind of cool to, uh, get to know each other a little better."
"Hold on, give me a second," comes the high pitch voice of Lydia Martin. Funny, doesn't sound like she's talking to Stiles. Until she says," Yeah, I didn't get any of what you said. Is it worth repeating?"
Ouch. Pure murder.
Shay looks at Stile's face as he stumbles to speak. Eventually he swallows and says no, sorry. He backs away and almost tumbles into Shay's lap, saving himself by sinking into the seat beside her. Shay immediately throws an arm over his shoulder and tugs him close, pressing the sides of their heads together. Stiles says nothing, just breathes in and out deeply. He may not say it, but Shay can tell that the way Lydia had dismissed him hurt his feelings.
A few minutes pass by in silence, the only sounds around them being the noises of the hospital. Shay hears the click clack of Lydia's heels touching the floor as she gets up and walks. Shay peaks over and sees why: Jackson, rubbing his shoulder with a tired expression.
"Did he do it?" Lydia demands.
Jackson continues to rub at his shoulder as he says," He said not to make a habit of it, but one cortisone shot won't kill me."
"You should get one right before the game, too. The pros do it all the time." Lydia advises sharply. Anger burns through Shay's veins, hot and pulsing, at the way Lydia completely dismisses the obvious pain Jackson must be in, what with how he hasn't let go of his limb yet.
It only gets worse as Lydia goes on, bringing Jackson down with every biting word she says. Shay can see that Jackson's patience becomes thinner and thinner as he silently takes in her words, like knives to his ego. Right as it looks like he's about to snap, Shay finds herself half standing, half still in her chair. The only reason she hasn't stormed over to give Lydia a piece of her mind is because of the arm that's circled around her waist, strong and comforting.
"Shay," Stiles says urgently," come on. Look, he's fine. Calm down, Shay."
Her anger evaporates at the smooth smirk that forms on Jackson's face as he kisses Lydia deeply. He pulls her in close and, for a split second, his eyes open just a bit to meet Shay's own. It feels like the world is exploding around her, looking Jackson directly in the eye as he makes out with his girlfriend. But then he closes his eyes and seconds later he and Lydia are gone, happily trotting out of the hospital together. Shay stares after then, feeling a sharp stab at her heart. Stiles, behind her, exhales with sympathy.
"Shay-"
"What are you guys doing?" The two of them jump at the sudden sound of Scott's voice.
It's then that Shay realizes that Stiles is still holding on to her – rather intimately, she might add. Stiles clears his throat and lets her go, Shay readjusting her shirt with a frown.
"What'd you find, Scotty?" she asks, not bothering to answer his question.
"The scent was the same."
"You sure?" asks Stiles.
"Yes."
Stiles stands, hands on hips, as he leans closer to Scott to ask," So he did bury the other half of the body on his property?"
"Which means we have proof he killed the girl," Shay puts in, though the words taste awful as they come out of her mouth.
Stiles nods, agreeing. "I say we use it." He starts walking at a fast pace towards the hospital exit. Scott and Shay hurry to catch up.
"How?" Scott asks him.
Stiles doesn't answer, though. Instead, he turns on his heel, almost bumping into Scott, and asks," Are you doing this because you want to stop Derek, or because you want to play in the game and he said you couldn't?"
The question impresses Shay for a second. For Stiles, it's always been about stopping Derek. For Shay, it's always been about keeping everyone safe. For Scott, however – things tend to get blurry.
Scott defends himself, saying," There were bite marks on her legs, Stiles. Bite marks!"
It doesn't answer his question, but Stiles nods anyway. "Then we're gonna need a shovel."
He loops his arms around both Shay and Scott as they walk out of the hospital. Shay doesn't bother to tell them how uneasy all this makes her feel. She's sure they feel the same way.
.
.
.
Late at night, the trio watches from a distance as Derek creeps out of his house and into his expensive Camaro.
"Where do you think he's going?" Shay wonders aloud.
"Who cares," Stiles snaps, starting up the jeep engine," let's go."
They take down the shovels and flashlights, walking close together as they head towards the house. Shay breathes in deeply, searching for the metallic scent of blood. She finds it, but this time there's something else with it.
"Scott, do you-"
"Yeah," he interrupts, sniffing the air," I do."
"Well I don't," Stiles cuts in. "What's up?"
"It's different. I don't know how." Scott shakes his head. "Let's just get this over with."
And with that, they begin to shovel.
Who knows how long they stay out there. With every lift of the shovel, Shay can feel the subtle ache of her muscles – which is surprising, given how they've been at it for so long and she's barely feeling anything. Stiles, beside her, huffs and sweats, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. She tells him to take a break but he waves her off. Maybe he just doesn't want to feel inadequate.
Eventually, Scott's nerves give out. Without stopping, he says," This is taking too long. What if he comes back?"
"Just keep digging," is all that Stiles says.
"What if he catches us?" Scott presses.
"I have a plan for that," Stiles replies easily.
Shay throws a pile of dirt on the mound she'd created. "Which is what, Stiles?"
"You run one way, Scott runs another, and I run the other. Whoever he catches first, too bad."
"You know that's going to be you, right?" Shay grunts. "We're the werewolves here. You're the rabbit."
Stiles glares at her, angrily shoving his shovel into the dirt. At the thunk he hears, he automatically pushes at Scott and Shay's shovels, stopping them. The three of them toss away the shovels and begin to attack the dirt ground with their hands, frantically digging away. A flash of fear runs down Shay's spine at the thought of seeing that girl's face again – the blank eyes, the open mouth. She pushes past the sudden tightness in her stomach and keeps going, if only to get some sort of justice for the dead girl in the ground.
The knots they find are tied together with skill, too tight to just pull open. it takes them a second before they can loosen them and open the bag. And when they open it, they all scream.
Like instinct, Shay is pushing the boys out of the hole, scrambling to get out after them. Stiles and Scott pull her up by the arms. She lands on her side next to Stiles. Gripping the front of his t-shirt, she hisses out," What the shit is that?!"
"A wolf," Scott gasps out.
"I though you said you smelled blood, as in human blood," Stiles snaps.
"We told you something was different."
Shay shakes her head, whispering," This doesn't make any sense."
"Let's just get out of here. Help me cover this up."
Shay and Scott get to work pushing dirt back into the hole. Stiles doesn't. He stares off at the ground. Shay pinches him. "What is it?"
"See that flower?" he asks, pointing at a purple flower a few feet away. "I think it's wolfsbane."
"Like in the Wolfman?" Shay asks.
He nods and hops up, pulling at the flower, which is the rope they'd been untying earlier in the hole. Stiles follows it back to the hole, going in a weird circle pattern the further down it goes. Shay watches from the side as Scott and Stiles walk around, pulling the rope as they go.
And when Scott goes still, Shay's heart leaps.
"Stiles?" he says, staring down into the hole.
"H-Holy-!"
And when Stiles goes still, Shay's entire body moves to see what they found.
She wishes she hadn't. She wishes that it had still been the corpse of a wolf. Not the corpse of the dead girl that's been haunting Shay's dreams.
.
.
.
Somewhere in Beacon Hills, a Derek Hale parks his car in front of a diner that never closes. Looking out of the windshield, he spots a figure seated by a window. The scowl that so often feels permanent on his face drops into something softer as he steps out of his Camaro and into the diner.
[A/N: Salutations to all my beautiful readers! First things first: Izi Wilson, darling, you are so wonderful. Thank you so much for reviewing. Second: kisses and hugs to all of you that favorited and followed this silly story of mine. I love you all! Lastly: to the guest that mentioned the possibility of a Derek/OC – your answer will come soon enough. Please, if you're reading, please review! It means the world to me. 3]