chapter four
[ season 2 | episode 2 ]
[ shape shifted ]
PULLING HER LACROSSE JERSEY OVER HER HEAD, Marlowe tried to get her mind away from the nightmare last night. Because of the jolt it sent through her, she never went back to sleep— deciding to clean instead. The night terror's weren't a rare occurrence, but she'd eventually learned to cope with them. Or, at least, some of them.
Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see flames dancing across her eyelids. And when she walked closer to her locker, she could feel the heat sliding into every single one of her pores.
Squeezing her eyes tight and taking a breath, she let her body cool down. There is no fire. There is no heat. Repeating the words like a mantra, she could feel some sense of calm washing over her. They were a clutch; something to pull her back into the unrelenting claws of reality. Despite having witnessed so much tragedy in her short life, she still preferred the real world over the dreams her mind would accumulate.
Cherishing one last moment of peace, she walked into the hallway. Boys traveled in and out of their locker room, a musky, Axe-like scent following their every move. She crinkled her nose at it. Marley never really liked Axe cologne.
Finally, after waiting for nearly twenty minutes while just picking at the dirt under her nails, she looked up to find all of the boys heading out to the field. Her eyes scanned the crowd for one in particular. With ears studying every voice in the haze of sounds, she tried to find his but landed on Scott's instead.
"No, it's not Marlowe. Her smell isn't like that. There's a new wolf." Her breath caught in her throat at his words, a tight feeling forming in her chest.
McCall knew about Isaac, meaning he'd do anything to uncover the boy during practice. If she went to him now, he would definitely know that Lahey was the new wolf but if she didn't go to him, he might not know that they know. Weighing the two, she decided to just follow the group out onto the field.
While dumb and dumber were immersed in conversation about her and her new friend, Marley sat next to the beta. His curls bounced, one falling messily onto his forehead, as he looked up at her. "Marlowe?"
This time, it was an external cringe. "Please just call me Marley," she said, her lacrosse stick falling onto the grass in front of them. "Stiles and Scott are onto you. They know there's a new wolf— just not who. Be careful around them, Isaac."
"Yea, I know. I heard them in the locker room. Don't worry, Marley. I got this." He wore a cocky smirk, a stark contrast to the shy and nervous boy who she bumped into the other day. She knew the bite changed people, she just hoped it didn't change him like that permanently.
They all lined up, Scott taking goalie with Ben standing guard. She stood right in front of Isaac and behind Jackson, both boys towering over her. Smelling the anticipation radiating off all the players, she twirled her stick and fidgeted with her feet. The constant movement of lacrosse helped her get out all of the excess energy she held in her tiny body, a way to release everything.
Coach blew the whistle and she felt herself go into her sports mode. Her erratic heartbeat calmed, her fidgeting coming to a stop. As soon as that sharp shriek reached her ears, a facade of serenity slipped over her.
"Make daddy proud," Finstock said, his lips stretching into a smile. He tossed a ball to number eighteen who charged forward, only to be thrown to the ground by a vicious Scott McCall. Who was supposed to be inside the goal. The whistle sounded again and she looked to Coach. "McCall! Usually the goalie stays somewhere within the vicinity of the actual goal."
Waving his whistle around, he back Scott up to the goal, receiving a small Yes coach from the boy. As she watched the scene play out, her the gears in her head began to turn. Holy shit. He was going to find the new wolf by sniffing every single player on the team. Smart bastard. It was probably Stiles' idea.
"Let's try it again." The whistle went off once more and a new competitor, Matt, rushed towards the net. He was fast and determined to make the ball into the goal and score against Scott McCall, the team's new golden boy. But that determination faded when said golden boy charged forward and sent him flipping over his shoulder.
Matt landed flat on his back, a grunt leaving his lips and mixing with the thud of his body meeting the hard grass. The werewolf, sniffing him like an actual dog, pulled back and met his gaze. "What the hell, man?"
Shuffling to his feet, Scott retreated back to the safety of the goalie net— trying to escape Coach's inevitable wrath. "My bad, dude." Matt hopped up and left for the bench.
"McCall!" Coach's voice rang out, making nearly all of the lacrosse players cringe. Marley almost felt a shred of pity for the boy who'd invoked his anger. "The position's goal keeper, not goal abandoner." She snorted, ignoring a glare from Stiles who stood behind Isaac.
Scott mumbled an apology before another player, twenty-eight, caught the ball in his net. He ran forward, his movement a bit hesitant after watching the goalie take down all of the players so far. Everyone in the line-up watched him run halfway to the goal before a force took him down. Despite the guilt in her stomach, she tried to hold back a laugh at the situation.
Finstock ignored his player, moving towards the other kids. He hooked two fingers around Stiles' helmet, yanking it until his head was just a few inches away. "Stilinski, what the hell is wrong with your friend?" It was a loaded question.
Narrowing his eyes, the boy answered. "Uh, he's failing two classes," maybe she should offer some tutoring, "he's a little socially awkward," that was very true, "and his girlfriend just broke up with him." Ouch, that one was a low blow.
It wasn't enough for her though. "And, if you look close enough, his jawline's kind of uneven." She'd pointed it out the first day she met him, noticing the crooked lines and off centered chin. Despite the asymmetry, he still looked like the type of teenage boy who could play girls like he played lacrosse.
"That's interesting." Coach released the helmet, his eyes lingering on Scott for a moment, almost as if he was analyzing the boy with the uneven jaw.
Danny ran forward with the ball as soon as the whistle was blown, his movement making the boy guarding the goal to step aside and let Scott rush forward. If she was being honest, she thought he'd ignore Danny. After all, the boy was way too kind to be a vicious and bloodthirsty wolf. He was on the floor moments later with his teammate sniffing him up and down.
"It's Armani." Listening to their conversation, Marley furrowed her brows. What's Armani?
Scott seemed to be confused too because a small "Huh?" left his lips right after he said that.
"My aftershave. Armani." Remembering how nice Danny usually smelled, she smiled to herself. Since the day she tried out for the team, the kind and nice-smelling boy had befriended her. Almost like he knew how it felt to be different in a group.
She could hear the smile in Scott's voice as he said, "Oh. It's nice." He laid on top of the other kid for a second longer, either smelling the nice aftershave or soaking up the awkward air surrounding them. Probably the latter.
The shriek of a whistle hurt her ears, the sound even sharper because she'd been using her heightened hearing. Coach stalked towards the spot where the two boys were laying on the field. "McCall! You come outta that goal one more time and you'll be doing suicide runs till you die." She winced at the threat and thought back to the last suicide run she did. Her calves were sore for a week afterwards. "It'll be the first ever suicide run that actually ends in a suicide. Got it?" There was a hint of sadistic humor in Coach's face as he watched Scott scurry up to his spot.
"Yes, Coach." Scott's eyes line up with Jackson's, both boys holding the hostile eye contact until the smaller one moved his eyes to Finstock.
"Uh, Coach, my shoulder's hurting. I'm gonna— I'm gonna sit this one out." Almost as if he felt a faint ghost of pain, he reached up and rolled his shoulder. She felt like scoffing at the lousy excuse, knowing it made him seem even more suspicious:
Coach nodded. "Alright. St. Claire, you're up. McCall she's a girl, she won't be able to endure a body slam." He thought about his words for a moment before his eyes widened. "Not that— I don't mean that girls are weak. I just— um." Cutting himself off, he sounded the whistle and tossed a ball to her.
She caught it, praying that Scotty boy wouldn't tackle her to the ground because he already knew she was a wolf and he was sure the new scent wasn't hers. Her feet pounded against the ground, sending specks of dirt and grass flying up behind her. For a second, she relished in the wind and felt the air working against her. But only for a moment. With her eyes trained on the goal, she twirled past Ben and shot the white ball perfectly into the net, avoiding McCall's lacrosse stick by a mere meter. With a triumphant smile and cheeky wink, she retreated to the bench.
Coach waved a hand in her direction, a sarcastic smile stretching onto his face. "There you go! See how easy that was, McCall?" He yelled across the field and kept that stupid, taunting smile while pacing back and forth. "Now, just stay in the damn goal. Lahey, you're up."
She felts her heartbeat quicken, a bubble of nerves falling into her stomach and settling. While twiddling her thumbs and chewing on her bottom lip, she could feel her bouncing leg shaking the entire bench— a look of disapproval coming from all of the players.
Tuning into Isaac, she could hear his harsh and uneven breaths, the growl building in the back of his throat. He seemed pissed. And she wasn't the only one to notice because Stiles, still standing right behind him, was sending lasers into the back of his head. The tall boy's eyes meet Scott's and they stay there for what seemed like a millennia. Almost as if the eye contact sent a wave of knowledge through the boys, they all became aware of who the new wolf was.
Catching the ball in his lacrosse stick, Isaac charged forward as soon as the whistle sounded. His feet kicked up more dirt than her's had, the once smooth grass becoming choppy and messed up. Both boys were running at one another, neither stopping and neither slowing. At that rate, they'd both probably end up with a concussion. Each one jumped into the air, their bodies colliding with one another before they were crouched on the ground. From where she sat, she could see a dim glow of gold coming from both of their eyes.
As soon as the faint yellow ceased, she heard a small plead from her pack mate. "Don't tell 'em." A trio of officers, including Stiles' dad, stalked towards the boy on the field, their radios sending small signals into the atmosphere. She heard his heart race and the shaky breath he soon exhaled. "Please don't tell them." Something in her chest throbbed at his tone.
Seeing their eyes trained on Isaac, Marley stood abruptly and began making her way towards him. It was no doubt about his father and, if they talked to the right people, he probably seemed like a major suspect. So caught up in reaching him, she didn't realize Scott was coming towards her until he grabbed her forearm. The touch sent a wave of goosebumps over skin, making every single hair stand. Something in her wanted to flinch back, to escape, but she stood her ground.
His tone is harsh as he whispers to her, "Did you know?" Despite having a rough tone and glare, his touch was tender against her bare arm and nothing like her old household. She almost let out a sigh when she came to the conclusion that she was safe.
Deciding to play the stupid card, she yanked her arm away and put on a face. "Know what?"
Scott narrowed his eyes, obviously knowing that her confusion was fake. He blocked her from continuing on and crossed his arms. "Don't play dumb with me. You knew that Isaac was a werewolf."
Looking around to see if anyone heard him, she scoffed. He'd practically just announced their supernatural selves to the entire lacrosse team. "Would you mind saying that again? I don't think the people in LA heard you." It was her turn to cross her arms, mirroring Scott's stern-looking stance.
The nerdier of the two jogged over, his helmet in one hand, revealing the buzz cut underneath. "You knew? Oh, of course you'd be on Derek's side. Perfect. Just perfect." He put his hand on his hip, cocking one leg out. Instead of their perhaps badass forms, his was sassier and fit his personality a helluva lot better. "What's it like being teamed up with a raging psychopath who happens to be a sour wolf?"
It took heaps of self control for her not to bare her fangs and snarl at the cocky boy. "Derek isn't a psychopath, nor is he a sour wolf. And he's my alpha. I'm not on his side, I'm in his pack." She thought for a moment before internally smirking. "Like Scott said the other night, packs make us stronger."
"One, he is, indeed, both of those things and two, you don't get to use Scott's words against us." Stiles scoffed, his pale cheeks faintly turning pink. He knew it was the reaction she wanted but he couldn't help throwing out the sarcasm and wit. It was just in his genes.
Marley put a grin on, her curls bouncing as she titled her head to the side. "What? Too proud to admit that I have a point? Aw, don't get flustered, Stiles. It's okay to be wrong sometimes."
His head reared back, an aghast look on his face. "How dare—"
They were interrupted by Scott shushing them, his eyes flitting between the two relentlessly. He rolled his brown irises, a huff coming from his lips. "I'm trying to listen, dumb and dumber."
"Hey, I am neither dumb nor dumber. That's my nickname for you two. Stiles is dumb and Scott, no offense, is dumber." The boys glared at her, ignoring the hoard of lacrosse players moving towards the cold, metal bleachers. She shrugged, her eyes moving back to where the trio spoke to Isaac.
As he listened to their conversation, which was probably illegal in many aspects, he seemed almost choked up— like he didn't expect to hear what he'd heard. And what made it worse was that Marley knew exactly what they were talking about. Which was also probably illegal.
"His father's dead. They think he was murdered," the last word comes out in almost a whisper, a faint promise flying away in the air while bringing the atmosphere down. She felt her throat close up, her lungs and heart burning. Murdered. Isaac, completely innocent, was no doubt being interrogated and accused while she knew everything that transpired but couldn't say so. Guilt dripped down her closed throat and bubbled in with her stomach acid.
Watching the newest addition to her pack get escorted away with the police made something in her gut churn, a sense of unease and anxiety washing over her. If he was a suspect, they'd be required to hold him overnight. During the full moon. Which, though pretty, isn't exactly an ideal night for a werewolf to be in jail.
Stiles chewed on one of his nails, joking the two wolves in watching the police. "Are they saying he's a suspect?" Trying to overcome the urge to roll her eyes, she nearly knocked him upside the head.
"No, Stiles, they're just escorting him into the woods to have a tea party and chat, that's all." She laced sarcasm into her words, intertwining the sass into every consonant and vowel. The boy almost looked shocked that someone besides him had chosen to be a sarcastic little asshole for once. It soon turned into distaste, though.
Scott ignored the comment. "I'm not sure, why?"
The paler one looked like he wanted to drown himself, his obvious panic setting off her own internal panic system. Despite knowing exactly what he was going to say, she was still let down by his next words: "Because they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours."
"Like overnight." Holy fucking hell. This time, she outwardly facepalmed, her dumbass meter nearly reaching it's limit. Both of the boys turned to stare at her, the stupid one looking more confused than his friend.
She faced him, her eyes flat and eyebrows laying low. "You are so lucky you're pretty, Scott." Returning her look with one of both confusion and resentment, he narrowed his eyes and hugged through his nose. Stiles, ever the loyal comrade, also sent her a dirty look.
Their staring lasted close to a minute before Stiles addressed Scott instead of her, his cheeks flushed and voice tight from the sheer aggravation. "Yes, overnight during the full moon."
With their eyes still trained on Isaac's figure, they all seemed to share a single breath. The air seemed to have dropped in temperature since the officers arrived, a chill now overtaking Marley and her companions. It felt like someone drained the heat from them, leaving their bodies to rot and decay in a frozen wasteland.
"How good are these holding cells at holding people?" Scott seemed worried, his voice dropping an octave and brows furrowed.
Pushing a lock of coiled hair behind her ear, she folded her arms, trying to warm up the tiniest bit. "I'm gonna go out in a limb here and say the cells won't last long compared to an out of control werewolf."
"And, as much as I hate to say it, you would be correct. They're good with people, not psycho wolf teenagers."
Students continued to move around them, staring on at their classmate being spoken to by the sheriff. Isaac Lahey's reputation consisted of having a dead older brother, living across from Jackass, and being one of the most reserved student at the damn school. Not being escorted off the lacrosse field by police and definitely not murdering his own father. Even if the guy deserved it.
Scott gulped, his Adam's Apple bobbing with the action. "Stiles, remember when I said I don't have the urge to main and kill?" Almost as if on cue, the words clicked in her brain and she swung her heads towards him.
"Yeah."
"He does." The trio continue to stare at the group, chests tightening as the tallest of them all, a teenage boy clad in lacrosse gear, swivels his head to meet their eyes. His blue linger in her brown for a moment longer than necessary, a plead of help floating between the two betas.
Feeling her throat tighten more and her fingertips go numb, she sensed some form of a panic attack coming on, the overwhelming dread already settling in. Scott's words, though untrue, were like a weight in her stomach, pulling her body down and chaining her to the depths of the underworld. She couldn't breathe. God why couldn't she breathe? Instead of just sucking in cold breaths of air, she was barely even getting the smallest bit down her throat and into her lungs and every molecule of oxygen felt like a knife against her skin. A cold and sharp knife tearing apart her flesh and leaving her to drown in her own blood.
Stiles' eyes turned to her, recognizing the shallow breaths and panicked eyes. "Hey, calm down. Just breathe, okay." Her eyes narrowed, hand lashing out to shove his two tentative ones away. If she could breath and speak properly, she'd probably wheeze out a sarcastic retort like Wow, Stilinski. Never thought of that before.
Instead, she closed her eyes and placed a hand on her chest. Her heart began to beat steadily, her chest rising and falling with normal movements. Normally, without her supernatural hearing, it would've taken possible hours to calm herself down fully but the feat was much easier when she could tune into Scott's calm and rhythmic heartbeat.
Swallowing a shallow breath of air, she panted. "Isaac is not a murderer." Tears pricked at her eyes, begging to be released. She swallowed again, taking the droplets of salty water down with her saliva. "He did not murder his father."
"Okay and how much exactly do you know that?" Stiles looked at her incredulously, his eyebrows raised and voice rising. She wanted so desperately to shrink back at his accusing tone, to submit against his anger. "How sure are you that he won't go around murdering people, huh, Marlowe?"
Hearing him sneer against her name sent shards of nostalgia down her spine, memories surfacing and trauma bubbling in her mind. Marlowe. So many terrible memories were associated with the name, reminders of before she'd moved to Beacon Hills. Marlowe. She used to love her name. Bask in the way the consonants and vowels complimented each other, proudly knowing that her father picked the name out himself. Marlowe. Now she hated it. The sound of it made her want to cringe away.
But this wasn't her old house and Stiles couldn't hurt her if he tried and she was defending her pack mate and she was safe. "I just know, Stiles. Alright?" Ignoring every nerve in her body that begged to run, she stood her ground. Instead of arguing, the Stilinski boy turned on his heel and headed towards the locker room. She merely rolled her eyes, following the herd of students walking in the same direction.
After peeling her lacrosse gear off and changing back into her normal clothes, she waited patiently in the locker room until the familiar shrieking bell sounded. Trying to hold down a groan, she made her way toward's Mr. Harris' infamous classroom. Students crowded the hallway, gossiping and digging through their lockers. The crowd made her stomach seize, a chill passing through her arms all the way down to her toes.
Like usual, she was the second one to make an appearance in class— right after Erica Reyes, of course. Moments after she sat in her seat, sending a close-lipped grin to her table partner, dumb and dumber strolled in, waving her over to their table.
It took her a second to realize they were actually looking at her. "What?"
"Sit over here today. We can talk about the whole, um, Isaac thing." Scott looked like a puppy as he whirled his head around, watching for any eavesdroppers. Holding down a chuckle, she pulled a chair up from the table next to them, wincing at the loud screech it made against the tile.
Plopping into the stool, she folded her arms on the black tabletop. "Alright, what is it you wanted to talk about." Both boys sent her a look, their brows narrowed and eyes wide.
"Um, I don't know, maybe the fact that one of our classmates is a bloodthirsty werewolf in jail?" Stiles seemed almost exasperated as he whispered the harsh words to the duo in front of him. The way his sentence ended sent a punch directly to her gut, her head swirling around the words and the meaning behind them. Noticing her uncomfortable stance, he continued, rolling his eyes, "He's not a murderer, I know."
Students piled into the classroom as the bell rang again, each taking their respective seats. Their tall, lanky teacher appeared behind his desk as if the bell summoned him, his lips turned down into his usual frown and hands smoothing his formal blazer. He took a few seconds to introduce their work, a paper and reading that the trio would probably just ignore, and left them to work.
Scott took a second to pretend he was reading, the other two simply staring at him with flat expressions. Sighing and rolling his eyes, he pursed his lips. "Alright, Marlowe, do you know why Derek chose Isaac?"
Running her hands down her khaki-clad thighs, she stared at him, taking a moment to make sure she heard him correctly. "I don't know, I'm not exactly a psychic." And she wasn't lying. She truly had no idea why Isaac was chosen to be Derek's second beta, or why Peter chose her to abandon on the sidelines of the lacrosse field.
As his friend looked away from her, Stiles mumbled something along the lines of "Okay, you don't have to be a bitch about it." Wanting to chuckle at his retort, she found herself starting to think of the duo as something more than acquaintances, and that scared the hell out of her. His eyes flitted between his best friend and the she-wolf, a small sigh leaving his lips. "Peter told me that if the bite doesn't turn you, it could kill you. And maybe teenagers have a better chance at surviving. Did they say anything to you, Marlowe?"
She shook her head, knowing that her lack of answers was aggravating the smaller boy and annoying the bigger one. "No, I swear. I don't really know much."
"Does being a teenager mean your dad can't hold him?" It was Scott this time, his words holding a hopeful double meaning. Marley, having some experience with police, knew the answer and it made her stomach churn because she knew things that they didn't.
"Well, not unless they have solid evidence. Or a witness. Wait," he paused, whirling around the look at the boy sitting behind them.
Danny Mehealani, a Hawaiian boy with an outstanding brain and major lacrosse skills, stared down at his lab book without sparing them a glance. She noticed the seat next to him, which belonged to Jackass Shittemore, was empty. "Danny." Annoyed, he looked at the two boys with a flat expression, leaving a small grin for Marley. "Where's Jackson?" Stiles finishes.
His expression fell flatter, something she didn't think possible, and he twirled his pencil in his hand. "In the principal's office talking to your dad." Feeling nausea rise in her stomach, she gulped. Mr. Lahey didn't seem like the type of abusive father to be quiet when it came to punishment and Jackson lived across the street, no doubt hearing a thing or two.
The other two, though, didn't know this. Instead of her sour face, they sported one of pure confusion. "What? Why?" Stiles' brows furrowed, his forearm leaning further on the back of his stool.
Instead of troubling her teammate any more, she answered the question. "He lives across from Isaac."
Like a lightbulb going off in the dark, their faces lit up and both boys were hit with realization. "Witness," Scott said, his eyes staring straight into hers.
Gears turned in Stilinski's head and he smirked, looking at his friend and enemy— he dropped the smirk as soon as his eyes met hers, though, of course. "We gotta get to the principal's office."
"How?"
Mr. Harris interrupted their planning, his hand scribbling some directions on the chalk board. "Everyone, please turn to page seventy-three." Heaving a collective sigh, the students shifted until their books were open to the page on cancer cells. Everyone except for the trio began reading.
Stiles' grin grew and he shuffled through his book bag until his hands wrapped around a neon green notebook, the cover cracked and bent. "Just go along with it." He tore a page out, balled it up, and threw it straight into their teacher's head. Her mouth fell open in shock and she stared at him like he'd grown a second head. He sported a natural grin and didn't even spare her a glance.
What in the ever-loving hell is he doing?
Harris whirled around, eyes glimmering with rage. "Who the hell did that?" His words ended a riot of laughter, eyes falling on every single student.
Marlowe, not wanting to be dragged into their drama, pointed straight at the culprit, gawking when Scott pointed to her. She furiously shook her head, curls falling off her shoulders at the action. "What?" It was a faint hiss, quiet amongst the leftover giggles.
His eyes narrowed as he stared down the three kids pointing to each other— Stiles' finger towards Scott, Scott's pointing at Marley, and hers pointed at Stiles. "All three of you, principal's office. Now."
Eyes wide as saucers, her head-shaking became more aggressive. "No, I didn't do anything."
"I said now!"
Fighting back a fierce string of curses, she complied.
word count: 4910
author's note
yeah <3
i'm obsessed with the dynamic
i've created and imagined for marley,
scott, and stiles and i cannot wait to write
about them more
also isaac lahey