CHAPTER TWO : full moon incoming

( shape shifted, part i )

————

IT'S LATER THAN SHANNON is used to when she approaches the front doors of the school. Usually, she would accompany her dad to school earlier in the morning, where she would sit in the library or in the courtyard while he set up for lacrosse practice and his classes, which is actually how she managed to be the lucky student who discovered a bloody, mangled bus in her first few weeks in Beacon Hills. Today, though, she had stopped off at Lydia's with Allison to help her prepare for her first day back.

"You really don't remember anything?" Allison asks as she walks up the front steps of the school building.

Lydia shakes her head in response. "They called it a 'fugue state,' which is basically their way of saying, 'we have no idea why you can't remember running through the woods naked for two days.' But, personally, I don't care." She stops at the doors of the school and flashes a proud smile, opening her arms in a way that screams 'look at me'. "I lost nine pounds," she celebrates.

Shannon's eyebrows raise. "I should take up running," she says quietly.

The girls chuckle, and Allison's features soften. "Are you ready for this?" she asks.

"Please. It's not like my aunt's a serial killer," Lydia quips back. With that, she turns and whips the door open, confidently strutting inside, leaving the other two girls completely baffled on the steps. Allison shakes herself out of her momentary daze and follows the strawberry blonde inside. Everyone, literally everyone, currently in the hallway stops in their tracks and stares at the trio — more specifically at Lydia — although a few eyes fall on Shannon and her bandaged arms, and Allison with the whole serial killer aunt thing. Lydia's confidence diminishes instantly, her demeanour turning meek very quickly. Allison tucks a lock of long brown hair behind her ear, and Shannon starts nervously fiddling with the sticky parts of her bandages again.

Allison leans in closer to Lydia's ear. "Maybe it's the nine pounds?" she suggests.

Lydia considers the idea for a moment, then takes a deep breath, flips her hair, and resumes strutting further into the building. Shannon proudly smiles at her friend, and she and Allison set off walking to catch up to her.

"Hey, I promised my dad I'd sit in on practice today," Shannon says once the girls are all grouped up again.

Allison nods. "Yeah, have fun!"

The first thing Shannon hears when she arrives at the morning practice is the shrill sound of her father's whistle. "Let's go! Line it up!" he shouts, prompting all of the boys to stand up and hurry onto the field. "Faster! Make Daddy proud."

Shannon grimaces at the statement and rubs at her exposed biceps to try to generate some heat — she'd neglected to bring along a coat and very much regretted that decision now. Her dad looks over his shoulder at her and strips his jacket off, tossing it over for her to catch, and she puts it on as the boys on the field form a line, Scott making his way to stand in goal. Usually, that position is occupied by Danny Māhealani, one of Shannon's first friends from before she moved, and one of her closest friends outside of her regular friend group now. Right now, though, Danny is lined up with the other boys.

The coach blows his whistle again and throws a ball into the net of Number 18's ( a senior named Ricky ) lacrosse stick. Ricky sets off running towards the goal to make his shot, but Scott breaks away from his set position and sprints towards him, past James in goal defence. James steps back in surprise as Scott tackles Ricky in midair and takes him to the ground. He scrambles to help the older boy to his feet as the coach approaches him, taking a long whiff of the senior's jersey as he does so.

"McCall!" the coach shouts.

"Yeah?"

Ricky stumbles away from the pair. "Usually, the goalie stays somewhere within the vicinity of the actual goal," the coach says. He chuckles but there's no real humour behind the action.

"Yes, Coach," says Scott as he hurries back to his place in front of the goal. James shoots Shannon a look and all she does is shrug. Scott's never really been like this before, so unless it's the full moon making him act up, she has no guesses. The coach once again blows his whistle.

This time, fellow sophomore Matt Daehler is up. The coach throws the ball to him and he starts running towards the goal for his shot. Again, Scott breaks into a sprint, soaring past James, and crashes into Matt's legs, sending the boy flying and landing harshly on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs.

The coach throws his hands in the air in exasperation, while Shannon buries her head in her hands, which are half hidden inside the sleeves of her dad's jacket. Scott gets into a strange crawling-like position and starts to, once again, sniff the boy.

"What the hell, man?" Matt asks.

"My bad, dude," Scott replies before he runs off towards the goal again, leaving Matt to get back to his feet on his own.

"McCall! The position's goalkeeper, not goal-abandoner!" the coach shouts.

"Sorry, Coach..."

The coach blows his whistle again. "Let's go!" he says, throwing the ball to Number 28 — Kendall. He catches it and starts running, and just like the last two times, Scott leaves the goal again. This time, James doesn't even bother getting into position, standing stationary with one hand rested on his hip. Scott sends Kendall flying into the air with a loud grunt and Shannon pulls the hood of her dad's jacket over her head to avoid watching the impact. When she looks back up, Scott is leaning over him, sniffing.

She makes eye contact with Stiles, who is further down the line, his grimace visible even through the helmet. "What is he doing?" Shannon mouths. Stiles just lifts his hands up in the air and shrugs before the coach storms up to him. He hooks a finger in the cage of Stiles' helmet and pulls him closer.

"Stilinski! What the hell is wrong with your friend?" he questions, gesturing over to Scott, who has put himself back in front of the goal for the time being.

"Uh, he's failing two classes, he's a little socially awkward, and, if you look close enough, his jawline's kind of uneven," the younger boy replies drolly.

With his head tilted to the side as he considers each statement, he releases his grip on Stiles' helmet, allowing him to return to his normal standing position. "That's interesting," he says as he walks away. He blows his whistle again when he gets back to his spot and chucks the ball to Danny. "Let's fire it up."

Danny doesn't even have a chance to start running before Scott gets going. Scott takes Danny to the ground and again, starts sniffing him, though he takes his time on it this time around. "It's Armani," Danny says. Scott makes a confused noise, rearing back a little. "My aftershave; Armani," he reiterates.

"Oh," Scott says. He smiles. "It's nice."

The coach blows his whistle. "McCall!" he shouts. Scott looks at him, still borderline straddling Danny's waist. "You come out of that goal one more time, and you'll be doing suicide runs 'til you die!" Scott and Danny both scramble to their feet. "It'll be the first-ever suicide run that actually ends in a suicide! Got it?"

Scott scratches his back with the netted end of his lacrosse stick as he backs up into the goal. "Yes, Coach."

Coach nods at the boy and returns to where he was standing before. Another player, Jackson Whittemore — Lydia's ex-boyfriend and a frenemy of Scott's, Stiles', and Shannon's, stares in a mix of shock and confusion at everything unfolding. "Uh, Coach, my shoulder's hurting," he says. "I'm gonna— I'm gonna sit this one out." Jackson had hurt his shoulder at the start of the lacrosse season after a run-in with Scott, though this was the first time he's used his injury as an excuse to get out of something. He exits the line and sits on the bench next to Shannon, leaning closer to her. "What the hell is Stooge One doing?" he hisses.

Shannon shrugs helplessly. "Wish I knew," she responds.

She and Jackson both look back at the field. Isaac Lahey is up next. His head is tilted forward, and even from their distance, the two on the bench can see just how heavily he's breathing. Stiles is standing behind him, eyes glued to the boy's rapidly rising and falling shoulders. The coach blows his whistle and throws the ball to Isaac, who takes off in a dead sprint towards the goal, ripping up dirt and grass with the ferocity of his run. Scott, again, does the exact same. They leap at each other, colliding in midair, and both collapse to the ground in crouched positions. Both of their eyes glow amber as they look up and make eye contact with each other, though, from the angle that Shannon and Jackson are watching from, they can just barely see Scott's.

The coach blows his whistle as Stiles' dad and two other officers march onto the field. Shannon can hear chatter coming from over their radios but she can't make out any words, no matter how hard she listens in. The three men stop at the coach's side and the sheriff says something to him. "Lahey!" he calls out, his tone more delicate than it has been previously.

Isaac gets to his feet and approaches the coach and the officers meekly. The rest of the team leaves the field, congregating at the stands. Shannon gets up and approaches Scott and Stiles, ready to ask just what the hell Scott had been doing.

"It's him," Scott says, right as Shannon arrives.

The boys are fixated on the conversation that the officers are having with the much, much taller player. "What are they saying?" Stiles asks.

Scott leans ever-so-slightly closer to listen in. "His father's dead," he says. Shannon's features soften. Poor guy. "They think he was murdered."

The sheriff puts a hand on Isaac's bicep and begins to walk him away from the field. Stiles looks over at Scott. "Are they saying he's a suspect?" he questions.

"I'm not sure, why?" Scott replies, his eyes still glued to the scene.

"Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours," Stiles says. Being the son of the sheriff means knowing a lot about law enforcement, which definitely comes in handy in a town like Beacon Hills. He looks at Scott to gauge his reaction.

"Like, overnight?" Scott presses.

"During the full moon."

Scott draws in a nervous breath. "How good are these holding cells at holding people?"

"People, good," he begins. "Werewolves? Probably not that good."

Shannon shakes her head to free herself from her confused stupor like it's an Etch A Sketch. "Sorry, did I miss something?" she asks.

Scott jumps as if he only just noticed that she was around. "Oh, Isaac's a Werewolf now," he explains. He says it far too nonchalantly for Shannon's taste. He turns back to look at Stiles. "Remember when I said I don't have the urge to maim and kill?"

"Yeah," Stiles states. He's stuck staring at the action in front of him, too fixated to look back at his friend while he talks.

"He does."

————

The position that Shannon is sitting in is not comfortable. She's twisted around in her seat, with her legs still facing the front of the classroom but the rest of her body is turned as far as it can go so that she can face Scott and Stiles. Her arms are her leverage, pressed down on the back of her seat to keep her there, and she's pushing through the pain of the strain on the stitches in her waist.

"Okay, now, are you going to explain all of that?" she asks, trying not to raise her voice too much so as not to disturb her lab partner, Jules Pointer, though her head is stuck so far into her latest fantasy novel that Shannon doubts she would hear her anyway. The boys were still yet to explain what went down on the lacrosse field — and why Scott was being so damn weird about Isaac Lahey. They had never paid him any attention until now, and even Shannon, who was on friendly terms with most of the lacrosse team by this point, has barely spoken more than three words to him.

Stiles shrugs with a slight jerk of his head as if the answer should be very obvious. "Derek bit Isaac. Easy as that," he says.

"Why would Derek choose Isaac?" Scott wonders, tapping the capped end of his pen against his open textbook.

"Peter told me that if the bite doesn't turn you, it could kill you," Stiles states.

Shannon purses her lips. "All it gave me was blood loss and a limp," she mutters. Stiles promptly shushes her, causing the blonde to jerk her head backwards and blink rapidly in offence.

"Maybe teenagers have a better chance at surviving?" Stiles continues.

Scott leans forward. "Doesn't being a teenager mean your dad can't hold him?" he asks.

Stiles whacks his pen against his textbook. "Well, not unless they have solid evidence... or a witness..." He trails off as he puts two and two together in his mind. "Wait—" he mutters, turning around to check the bench behind him. Danny is sitting alone at his bench, the spot across from him that is usually occupied by Jackson is left empty. Stiles takes this as confirmation and whirls around the other way to face the taller boy. "Danny," he whispers. Danny looks up slowly, exasperatedly. He's never been a fan of Stiles and his shenanigans. "Where's Jackson?" the short-haired boy asks.

"In the principal's office, talking to your dad," Danny calmly replies with just a hint of a nonchalant shrug.

Stiles jerks a little in his seat. "What? Why?"

Danny raises his eyebrows. "Maybe because he lives across the street from Isaac," he condescendingly replies before going back to his work.

Scott and Stiles slowly turn back to the front of the room. "Witness," Scott says, nodding slowly.

Shannon reaches her head up so that she can see over the top of Stiles' taller figure. She smiles at her friend. "Thanks, Danny," she says, loud enough that he can hear all the way at the back of the classroom. Danny flashes a very quick smile back at her.

The sound of her teacher's throat clearing resounds from the front of the room. Mr Adrian Harris, who is in the middle of writing on the blackboard with a piece of white chalk, doesn't turn back to face the class as he addresses the blonde. "Miss Finstock, if you would like to actually pass this class, might I suggest you actually face the board?" he says, his tone monotonous and antagonistic. The physics teacher's hostility extended to her from the first moment she appeared in his class — seeming to have some sort of one-sided rivalry with her father that only proved to make Shannon's life a living hell for a couple of hours each week.

Shannon rotates her body back to the front of the class, ignoring the looks and light snickers from her classmates. At least Jules still has her attention focused on her book. The blonde glares at the back of Harris' head as if she'll explode it if she stares hard enough.

"We gotta get to the principal's office," Stiles quietly says.

"How?" Scott asks.

The sound of paper ripping out of a notebook is followed quickly by the sound of it being scrunched up, and Shannon knows that Stiles has a plan.

"Everyone, please turn to page seventy-three," Harris drones, still not bothering to turn away from the board.

Stiles' balled-up piece of paper flies through the air and smacks Harris square in the back of the head. He flinches and a few students scattered throughout the room giggle at him. The older man turns around to face the class.

"Who in the hell did that?" he asks menacingly.

Shannon risks a look over her shoulder to see what her boys are doing, and she's met with one of Stiles' long fingers pointing directly at her. Scott, on the other hand, is pointing at Stiles. Shannon's mouth drops open. "Why me?" she asks, though her voice is laced more with disappointment than it is confusion.

"Mr McCall, Mr Stilinski, Miss Finstock... Principal's office. Now."

————

Scott, Stiles, and Shannon sit outside of the principal's office, Scott and Stiles with their ears just about pressed right up against the glass in order to eavesdrop on what's going on in there. Shannon, on the other hand, has manoeuvred her body in such a way that she can fit her legs onto the seat with her, her chin resting on her knees that are now pulled up to her chest.

Soon enough, Sheriff Stilinski exits the room, followed by one of his deputies. Stiles immediately flails for a magazine, which he whips open to a random page so that he can hide behind it. His father isn't fooled, but he chooses to ignore Stiles' antics. "Hi, Scott. Shannon," the sheriff says, not engaging with his son at all.

"H— yeah..." Scott manages out. Shannon chooses to give the older man a small wave instead of saying anything.

The sheriff goes to say something to his son but decides not to. Instead, he just starts walking, and his deputy follows. Stiles rotates his body with his girly magazine still held up to his face to make sure his father won't be able to see him from any angle, and he drops it once he determined that he's far enough away with a sigh of relief.

"Boys, Miss Finstock..."

The three teenagers turn around to face the door leading into the office. An older man, probably in his mid-sixties, has stepped out of the room into the hallway. Shannon, sitting to Scott's right, sees his body tense up upon seeing the man. It takes her a long moment to register that this man is the same man from Kate Argent's funeral, though now she thinks that Scott must know more about him than she does. "Come on in."

They stand up, Scott giving Shannon a little extra assistance to get her out of her odd sitting position, and follow the man through the door into another, much shorter, hallway. The principal's office is at the far end of the hall, with a door on the left leading to the reception, where Jackson is leaning against the desk in pure boredom, and a door on the right likely leading to a bathroom or janitor's closet. Usually, two chairs sit in front of the desk in the office, but a third has been dragged over for this particular occasion. Each teenager takes a seat as the older man moves around to the other side of the desk to sit in his cushy swivel chair.

He picks up a file once everyone is situated. "Scott McCall... Academically not the most accomplished, but I see you have become quite the star athlete!" he begins.

Shannon's eyes dart down to the nameplate on the side of the desk closest to her. 'GERARD ARGENT', it reads.

He plops Scott's file down and picks a second one up. "Miss Shannon Finstock." He stops looking at her file rather quickly, eyes darting up to make contact with hers. "I believe I heard about your accident last week," he says. If he's trying to sound concerned, he's not doing a great job at it. All he's doing is making her heart rate quicken. "I do hope you're alright?"

Shannon forces a polite smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm doing well, sir, thank you," she forces out, her thumbs twiddling in her lap.

"Mr Stilinski..." the principal says, dragging another file over to pick up after he puts Shannon's down. He opens it up and takes a look. "Oh, perfect grades, but little to no extracurriculars." He plops the file down. "Maybe you should try lacrosse?" he suggests.

"Oh, actually, I'm already—"

Mr Argent moves on before Stiles gets the rest of his sentence out. "Hold on... McCall," he says, turning his attention back to Scott. Scott's body tenses up again. "You're the Scott that was dating my granddaughter."

Shannon draws in a sharp breath through her nose as Scott begins to anxiously ramble a defence. "We were dating, but not anymore. Not dating, not seeing any of each other, or doing anything with each other at all—" She kicks his ankle before he has a chance to keep digging his hole.

"Relax, Scott. You look like you're about to crack a cyanide pill with your teeth," Mr Argent jokes.

Scott lets out a breath. "Just a hard breakup," he says awkwardly, averting his eyes downward.

Mr Argent sighs and drops his hand, which had been resting on his chin, down to his lap. "Oh, that's too bad. You seem like a pretty nice kid to me." Scott struggles for words but the principal moves on swiftly. "Now, listen, guys. Yes, I am the principal, but I really don't want you to think of me as the enemy," he says, looking between the three teenagers.

"Heh, is that so?" Stiles sarcastically asks with a forced laugh. Shannon harshly nudges the arm he has hanging over the side of his armchair, payback for him 'shushing' her earlier.

Mr Argent ignores the interaction, though there's no way he didn't actually see it. "However, this being my first day, I do need to support my teachers. So, unfortunately, someone is going to have to take the fall and stay behind for detention."

His eyes fall on Stiles, and both Scott and Shannon also twist their heads to look at him. Stiles is too busy picking at the skin on his nail beds to notice at first, but after feeling all three sets of eyes on him, he slowly glances up. He looks between Scott and Shannon, realising what he's being roped into, and relents.

————

The rest of the school day is long and exhausting, and by the end of it, Shannon can't wait to get home, get in bed, and nap. Her only solace is knowing that the impending full moon won't do anything to her — at least, she thinks. She still hasn't healed from Peter's attack and she doesn't have the same enhanced senses that Scott has, so there's no way that she's a Werewolf.

She pushes the front doors of the school open and nearly bumps right into her Werewolf friend. He backs up, hands raised in surprise. "Oh, sorry!" Shannon says, similarly backing up. Scott manages a laugh, but he looks to be in too much of a hurry to stay and chat. He goes to run past her, only stopping again when Derek's black Camaro pulls up in front of the steps.

He leans across the interior of his car, dark sunglasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. "Get in."

"Are you serious?" Scott asks incredulously. He extends his left arm out, pointing into the distance. "You did that. That's your fault!" he exclaims.

Derek readjusts his grip on his steering wheel and sighs. "I know that. Now get in the car and help me."

Shannon starts walking towards the car, knowing it's better to just listen to Derek when he gets like this before he gets too aggressive — he's always at least a little bit mean. Scott grabs Shannon's wrist as she passes him, barely missing one of the bites Peter had left on her.

"No, I've got a better idea," Scott starts. He releases Shannon's arm, having just grabbed her to stop her from walking, and descends the steps to get closer to the older Werewolf. "I'm gonna call a lawyer. Because a lawyer might actually have a chance of getting him out before the moon goes up."

Derek raises his eyebrows impatiently. "Not when they do a real search of the house," he says.

Scott stops and stares at him. Shannon hurried down the steps to stand at Scott's side. "What do you mean?" Scott asks.

"Whatever Jackson said to the cops, what's in the house is worse — a lot worse," Derek says.

He reaches over and opens the passenger side door, shoving it so that it swings open. Scott gets in this time without question, leaving Shannon to open one of the back doors to climb inside.

————

It's dark by the time Derek, Scott, and Shannon arrive at the Lahey house. On the drive over, which had included a pit stop at Scott's house for him to pick up a flashlight and a granola bar, much to Derek's annoyance, the older Werewolf had given the teenagers a quick rundown of everything he knew about the situation — he turned Isaac into a Werewolf, Isaac's dad got murdered, and neither of them know who, or what killed him.

Scott flicks the flashlight on the second the front door of the house is closed. "If Isaac didn't kill his father, who did?" he asks.

"I don't know yet," Derek replies, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

The boys start walking through the house, with Shannon trailing just behind them. She'd been the one with the most reservations about breaking into a house that was basically a crime scene now.

"Then how do you know he's telling the truth?" Scott presses, scanning the area as best he can.

Derek looks at Scott incredulously. "Because I trust my senses," he says. The boys take a few more steps, looking around the area. Shannon doesn't really feel like much help here. They have super senses — they can see things that regular humans can't. All she is, right now, is someone who can't run if they get caught in the house. "And it's a combination of them. Not just your sense of smell," the older Werewolf pointedly continues.

Scott stops in his tracks, realising exactly what Derek is getting at. "You saw the lacrosse thing today..." he says sheepishly.

"Yeah."

Scott sighs and winces. "Did it look that bad?" he asks.

Derek reaches around Scott's body to pull him slightly closer and gives his shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah," he breathes.

Shannon nods as well. "Yeah, it was horrible."

Scott looks as if he wants the earth to split open and swallow him whole as Derek continues to walk him through the house, his hand still squeezing the Beta's shoulder. When he gets to a door, he lets go and opens it for the teenagers.

"You wanna learn?" he asks. Scott peers in and shines his flashlight inside while Shannon looks past Derek's shoulders. There's a set of long, eerie stairs leading down to a basement filled with all sorts of junk. "Let's start now."

Scott takes his first step down the staircase. "What's down there?" he asks.

Derek and Shannon stay where they are at the landing at the top of the stairs. "Motive," Derek replies.

Scott continues down the staircase, taking it one very slow step at a time. "And what am I looking for?"

"Follow your senses," Derek instructs.

The floorboards creak under Scott's feet as he finishes descending the steps and walks along the basement floor. He moves some things around and backs up. "What happened down here?"

"The kind of thing that leaves an impression."

Shannon turns to Derek with a raised eyebrow. "Do you have to do the dramatic voice?" she asks. He's lowering his voice by half an octave, speaking in a borderline whisper, like he's trying to do the spoken part in Michael Jackson's 'Thriller'.

Derek blinks at Shannon. "Yes."

In the basement, Scott kneels down on the floor and runs his fingers along something, then gets back to his feet and approaches a large freezer. Derek very swiftly, and very quietly, descends the stairs, turning on the flashlight when he's standing right next to Scott, making the younger wolf jump. Shannon goes to join the boys, gripping the handrail as tightly as she can manage so she doesn't fall, even though she knows she won't.

"Open it," Derek says once Shannon makes it down, wedging herself between the two boys.

Scott takes the large padlock off of the freezer and holds on to it as he opens the lid. The inside of the freezer is littered with scratch marks, most of which are stained with old blood.

Holy shit. Isaac was getting locked in this thing.

"This is why he said yes to you," Scott deduces.

"Everyone wants power," Derek says while nodding.

Scott looks at Derek with a furrowed brow. "If we help you, then you have to stop. You can't just go around turning people into Werewolves!"

Derek raises his eyebrows back at the younger boy. "I can if they're willing," he argues.

Scott's arms flail for a moment. "Did you tell Isaac about the Argents? About being hunted?" he snarls.

"Yes. And he still asked," Derek replies impatiently.

Scott raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Then he's an idiot."

Shannon lets out a sigh. "Wow, you're so kind and understanding, Scott," she tells him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Scott glares at her.

"Scott, you're the idiot dating Argent's daughter." Scott's attention snaps from Shannon to Derek, his shock evident in his expression. "Yeah, I know your little secret. And, if I know, how long do you think it's gonna take for them to find out?" Derek questions. Scott averts his eyes and stares back at the freezer. "You saw what happens to an Omega," he says. Scott shrugs lightly. Derek leans in, forcing Shannon to take a step back, and lays a hand on his shoulder. "With me, you learn how to use all of your senses. With me, you learn control—" he looks down and lifts Scott's left hand up so that he and Shannon can clearly see his claws growing in, "—even on a full moon."

Scott snatches his hand back and glares at the alpha "If I'm with you, I lose her."

"You're gonna lose her anyway," Derek says. He shuts the lid of the freezer and steps towards Scott, making Shannon have to take yet another step back. "You know that." He turns and walks away in the direction of the staircase. Scott stares at the back of his head, seething.

"Wait," he says. Derek stops in his tracks and spins around to face the younger boy. "I'm not part of your pack. But I want him out. He's my responsibility, too."

Derek cocks an eyebrow. "Why? Because he's one of us?"

"Because he's innocent."

————

a/n:
i wanted to keep this episode all as one part but it was well over 7k words and i cannot justify that length when shannon's not even doing cool shit yet.

published : november 3, 2022
word count : 5.2k