Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1130652.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Jackson_Whittemore
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Jackson_Whittemore
  Additional Tags:
      Pack_Dynamics, Pack_Feels, The_Hale_Pack_-_Freeform, Stubborn_Jackson,
      Werewolf_Jackson, Alternate_second_season, Divergent_Timeline, Work_In
      Progress, Alpha_Derek_Hale
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-11 Updated: 2014-01-26 Chapters: 2/? Words: 8605
****** Change You Like a Remix (then raise you like a phoenix) ******
by Traxits
Summary
     Jackson gets his bite but there is something wrong with it-- him-
     - and he struggles to find his feet in a pack that he doesn't want.
Notes
     Alternate Season Two. A word of warning, discard everything you
     remember about season two before reading this story. I am playing
     very fast and loose with the canon material, and I have no plans to
     change that. The same events may happen, they may not, and even if
     they do, they may be drastically out of order so as to suit my own
     designs. Thank you so much and please, enjoy the story!
***** Scenting *****
Jackson was trembling as he shoved the door shut behind him. He could do this.
Had to do this. He needed this, and unlike stupid Scott, he could handle it. He
drove a Porsche, after all, didn't he? And not just that, but he knew how to
handle her, knew what he was doing.
"Derek?" His voice was steadier than his hands, so maybe Derek wouldn't hear
how nervous he was, how he couldn't stop make himself sweating or shaking.
Maybe he'd just hear what a bad-ass Jackson actually was— or would be, after he
got his damn bite. He was owed by this point.
He could still see the flames licking at the walls and the banister when he
didn't keep himself focused, and he blinked away the memories (dreams, that's
all they were, all they'd ever been, no matter that this place was charred
through and through and had obviously burned exactly like he'd dreamed) before
he started looking upstairs, trying to find... Derek had to be in here.
"Derek!" His voice pitched a little high, almost cracked, and his jaw tightened
at the thought. Derek Hale wasn't supposed to spark this kind of anything in
him. He wasn't supposed to do anything but give Jackson his bite and let him go
on through his life, made better for it all.
One of the floorboards creaked, and Jackson's attention snapped to it at the
top of the stairs. Derek was standing there, studying him, but it was too dark
to see anything else.
"I... I h-helped you." For a second, that was all he could manage, because when
his mouth opened again, nothing came out. He had to swallow before he could
add, "I helped saveyou."
Derek took a few steps forward, head tilted and a slow grin curving his lips.
That grin had Jackson's breath coming in a little quicker, a little more
shallowly. He was going to have heart failure before this night was over,
wasn't he?
"You got what you wanted! You... got what you wanted. Now it's my turn. To get
what I want."
Derek didn't say a word. Instead, he leapt down the whole length of the stairs,
landing lightly at the bottom. His grin only widened. Jackson had to stop
himself from taking half a step back, from running from this whole place as
fast as he could. Derek would only chase him, wouldn't he? Especially as...
predatory as he looked. Derek always scared him, and now, he managed to look
even more dangerous than he ever had before. Jackson swallowed.
For another second, they just stood there, staring at one another, Jackson
struggling to breathe, and then one hand reaching out to catch Jackson's shirt
and haul him in close. Jackson heard the shift more than he saw it— the bone
had a distinct sound as it shifted around in Derek's face— and his eyes closed
as he dragged in another breath. Derek's mouth hovered probably not even an
inch off his skin right there at his throat.
"You did," Derek said, his voice low and rough, rougher than Jackson ever
remembered hearing him.
(That wasn't true though, was it? He'd sounded like that when he'd asked if
Jackson had ever been here in this house before. He'd sounded rough and broken
and so wounded that Jackson wondered if maybe he had the same kinds of
nightmares. Or maybe he just knew something that Jackson didn't. Maybe he'd
lived it. The old Hale house, wasn't it? And he was Derek Hale. Maybe his whole
family had burned here, burned alive, broken and screaming and Derek hadn't
been able to help, hadn't been able to stop—)
"I want it, Derek." Jackson's voice was steadier than he thought it should have
been. He was grateful, especially right around Derek like this. "You owe me."
"You want it, Jackson?" Derek's breath was impossibly hot against Jackson's
skin, had him shivering slightly as he held himself still instead of jerking
back like he wanted to. "You want what, exactly? Want me to bite you? Want me
to turn you?"
Jackson couldn't stop the faint little noise that escaped him at the words.
Turn him. Make him better, stronger, faster; make him more like Scott, and what
the hell was his life that he wanted that? "Yeah," he breathed. His heart
skipped a beat in his chest, and Derek's hands came up, brushed against his
sides.
"You want to be mine, Jackson," he said, and Jackson's eyes eased open. "You
want to be in my pack and protected, don't you? I can give you that."
"N-not part of your pack. Not yours," Jackson countered, and he did take half a
step back. "I don't do that kind of shit. I just want what Scott's got."
Derek raised an eyebrow, but he didn't crowd Jackson. Instead, he gently
applied pressure to Jackson's sides until Jackson stepped back in closer to
him. He smiled for that, this sharp and edged smile that had Jackson's breath
hitching slightly. "You want what Scott's got. Want to be as good as him, do
you? What about better?" This time, Derek dipped his head in and his lips
brushed against Jackson's ear. Jackson didn't stop him, not when Derek sounded
like that though. "You could be so much more than what Scott is. He doesn't
have a pack—"
"Just do it," Jackson managed, a snarl in his voice. Derek didn't seem to be
phased though, because he just laughed against Jackson's skin.
"So eager," he said softly, and Jackson felt the scrape of his teeth in the
words. "You want me to, Jackson? Want to feel me biting you?"
Yes. Jackson was shocked to hear this faint whine in his throat as he turned
his head, giving his throat to Derek if that was what he needed. He already had
scars across the back of his neck from Derek's nails— what difference did it
make if Derek bit him there too?
"So lovely," Derek said lowly, and Jackson felt a wall against his back. When
did Derek even move them, and why wasn't Jackson arguing? Derek's hands were
hard and heavy against him, fingers curving over Jackson's hips and holding him
right there against the damn wall, and how many times had Jackson done this to
Lydia? Pushed her up against something and pressed his lips to her throat, and
grinned to himself when he got one of those little breathy gasps out of her.
Now he was the one with his back against a burnt wall, Derek's hand sliding
down on the outer edge of his thigh, pulling it up and pushing his hand further
up to grab Jackson's ass, hold him steady as Derek pressed against him. He was
the one making those breathy sounds as Derek's teeth scraped over his throat,
and all he could think was that Derek was going to bite him at some point, and
fuck, that was hot.
"Derek," he gasped, and Derek's teeth scraped over his skin again.
"Gonna be a good beta, aren't you? Once I get you used to what all this means."
Jackson growled faintly, shifting against Derek's heavy weight, hands pushing
against Derek's shoulders. "Just do it," he snarled again, and Derek laughed
again.
"I'm doing it," Derek countered between his chuckles, and Jackson made this
noise— damn, when did he start sounding like this, all fucking pitiful and
needy— as he jerked against Derek's weight.
He was hard, Jackson realized vaguely, and he shuddered at the thought. Derek
was hard from this. From all the crazy that had happened, from making Alpha, or
from the idea of turning his first wolf? Derek's weight shifted against him,
pressing a little harder back, and Jackson gasped as he realized that Derek
wasn't the only one hard for this. Derek's hand tightened on his ass.
Jackson jerked, but he didn't stop Derek as one of those hands slid over to
brush a couple of fingers over the swell of him. He always got off harder when
he pinned Lydia against the wall, so it probably shouldn't have shocked him
that Derek doing the same thing had him hard too, but there was something
entirely different about getting off on being on the other end of this.
(Then again, he'd always liked Lydia on top, hadn't he? He'd always loved it
when she got aggressive with him and held him down and rode him like he was
there for nothing but her pleasure.)
"Look at you," Derek murmured against his ear, and Jackson felt himself
flushing for the words. He wasn't some virgin. He'd had sex before. Lots of it,
and not just with Lydia either. He growled.
"Do it, Derek. Either do it or get your hand off me and bite me and let me go—"
"You want me touching you, Jackson? Say it. I want to hear it."
Jackson whined as he jerked under Derek again, his hands clenching hard on
Derek's jacket. When had he even reached for it? "Want you doing something," he
hedged, and then Derek's hips shifted against his, pushed their erections
against each other, and Jackson's head went back for the feel and the pressure.
"Want it," he said then, his eyes closing. "Want you touching me."
He felt like a girl, saying something like that, but Derek's hand gained a
little weight and yeah, that was worth it. It was so damn good, feeling
pressure against his dick, Derek's fingers working on the zipper for a second
before Jackson's jeans gave way and let him in. Jackson's fingers tightened on
that jacket, and Derek's teeth scraped against his throat all over again.
"Derek—"
"Gotta give it up to me, pretty boy," Derek growled, and his voice was even
rougher, catching slightly as his fingers wrapped around Jackson's dick. "Gotta
give it all over to me. Your alpha. Say it."
"My alpha," Jackson whispered, and when Derek gave him more for it, he moaned,
his eyes squeezing even more tightly closed. "My alpha," he repeated, voice
firmer. "Don't stop..."
"You really think I would?"
But Jackson was only half listening to Derek's voice, especially with him doing
that, his hand moving over Jackson's dick, the perfect damn rhythm to keep
Jackson moving into it. "Derek, Derek..."
And then those fingers loosened, and Jackson's eyes flew open to meet Derek's
gaze. "Derek—"
"C'mon, pretty boy. So greedy, aren't you? Got your alpha right here and you're
just gonna take?"
Jackson flushed hard, his fingers digging even harder into Derek's back, but
Derek hardly even noticed. Finally, he managed to loosen his grip, and his hand
shook when he reached down to open up the front of Derek's pants and wrap
around Derek's dick in response. He couldn't help it, and it was weird anyway,
moving his hand like that, not backwards exactly, but still different than when
he jerked himself off. But that low growl from Derek had been all Jackson
needed for encouragement, and he focused on what he was doing. He was good at
this, at sex and at making it good for his partner (for Lydia), and now, with
Derek breathing harder, Derek's hand moving to wrap around a fistful of his
hair, Jackson couldn't look away from his face. He was so close, was going to
come right there in Jackson's hand, and so help him, Jackson wanted him to.
Was this normal?
(Was this how Danny had felt his first time? How he'd felt when he'd figured
out he was gay? But Jackson wasn't gay. He and Danny... when they'd been
younger and Danny had been testing, they'd kissed a few times, more out of
Jackson's curiosity than anything, and none of those had ever made him feel
like this. Hell, he hadn't even kissed Derek.)
He shuddered at the sounds Derek was making in to his hair though, and he
didn't let himself stop. Why would he? He wanted to feel it; he had this
bizarre notion that it would make some part of his brain just click into place
if he could just get this from Derek—
And then he had it. Derek broke all over his fingers, came in his hand, and
Jackson nearly moaned for it, eyes opening to blink up at Derek. He didn't
relax until Derek kissed his forehead, murmured a low, "There we go. That's
good, pretty boy."
There was something wrong with him, that those words made this okay, made it
good, even, and he shuddered as Derek's hand moved, dislodging Jackson's and
wrapping around Jackson's dick in the same movement.
It didn't take much at all for Derek to have him moaning, shuddering against
him and jerking under him, and then Derek dropped further down, lips brushing
against Jackson's dick. Some part of Jackson was up just enough to realize that
this was probably a terrible idea, especially with Derek's fangs brushing
against him on every damn movement, but it was Derek. It was his alpha, and
this was what Derek wanted from him. Jackson couldn't find any reason not to
give it to him.
It wasn't like Derek was doing anything but making this good for Jackson,
making him moan and cry out, sucking him off hard and fast and so damn
possessively that Jackson wasn't entirely sure he even remembered what it meant
to be anything but Derek's.
He was, wasn't he? When Derek was doing this, when Derek's mouth on him was
enough to have Jackson's head going back, Derek's name on his lips as though
that was the only word he even knew.
It might as well have been, because that was the name he cried out when he
broke, and Derek made this low, growling noise, all possession, all ownership
as he slowly pulled off Jackson. Jackson's legs wobbled some, and Derek's growl
intensified until Jackson managed to catch himself, hold himself steady because
that was what Derek wanted out of him.
Derek's mouth brushed his hip, slid further up, and when Derek's teeth broke
his skin on his side, Jackson cried out all over again.
===============================================================================
Jackson's eyes eased open slowly, and he realized after just a second that he
had absolutely no idea where he was. He pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes,
wrinkling his nose because damn, all the smells—
Smoke, fire, death, and he gasped, lips parting as he shuddered, nightmares
that he shouldn't have ever had in the first place dragged up all over again.
It took him a minute before he could make himself breathe again, make himself
remember that wait, he was okay. This place, it had burned years and years ago,
and it was unlikely to be burning again now just because Jackson was there.
He blinked at the thought, and reached up to tug the jacket draped over him
closer. It was only then that he remembered he hadn't worn a jacket over here.
Well, he had, but he'd left it in his car, hadn't he? He pulled the jacket
around, studying it, brow furrowing as he breathed in and caught a scent of
something that made him just want to wrap around that damn jacket and bury his
face in it, breathe in that musk of loam and earth and how the hell did dirt
manage to smell so good. Derek's jacket. How had it...
He flushed suddenly as he remembered everything. Not just where he was— he'd
managed to work that out because there were only so many places in Beacon Hills
at stood like this, a burnt out husk of memories, of lives destroyed and
forgotten— but what he'd done. He reached over and touched his side, fingertips
light on the bite mark there. He swallowed, but when he pulled his hand back,
there was no blood. It had already scabbed over. Started healing even. He
cupped it in the palm of his hand, just feeling the heat off it, and there was
this almost crushing sense of triumph that threatened to cut off his air, make
his chest so tight that he couldn't breathe.
He had his bite. He was going to be better than Scott, better than Derek. He
just... He needed time to get used to it, figure out how to use his new body
best, and then nothing was going to be able to stop him. Not stupid Scott or
stupid Derek or any of those hunters— not even Allison's dad, who honestly
terrified him more than Derek ever could. (Surely he wouldn't be stupid enough
to kill Jackson though? His... Jackson's adopted parents... They would raise
hell if something happened to him. Especially something that implied foul play,
and Sheriff Stilinski would never hear the end of it until every Argent was in
jail.)
None of that really mattered though. What mattered was that he had his bite, he
was going to get even better, and then no one could say he didn't earn
everything he had. His hand trembled when he finally let it drop from the bite,
and a sound had his ears pricking up, had him twisting around to look—
"Awake finally, are you?" Derek's voice was easy and light— always lighter than
Jackson expected when he looked at the man— and something about it had Jackson
tipping his head back to look up at him, baring his throat in the motion.
Derek's hand dropped and his fingertips skimmed over Jackson's throat (what the
hell was Jackson thinking, giving that up to Derek like that, so easy, and what
the hell was up with his brain that he wanted to? That Derek touching him had
something in his head just quieting down and practically purring?) and up over
Jackson's chin.
It was then that he caught the scent of something else under there... Death and
dirt and grease and... Jackson's lips peeled back off his teeth in a snarl as
he shoved away from Derek, tossing the jacket at him instead of keeping it.
"Who is that?" He scowled as he looked up at Derek, and Derek just raised an
eyebrow, giving him one of those dark looks. There were the edges of a smile
flirting with Derek's lips.
Jackson thought that Derek nearly always had that smile on his face, that
faint, patronizing amusement, like he was just indulging Jackson every time
they ever spoke.
"Your packmate," Derek said, crouching down with his jacket in hand. Jackson
started to push himself up to his feet, but Derek caught him and pulled him
back down and in close until Jackson's back was against Derek's chest. Derek's
nose brushed his hair, and Jackson's lips parted on a slight sound— no, surely
he didn't actually make that little squeaking noise aloud. He'd only... He'd
only thought it. "You don't like how he smells?"
Jackson just didn't like his smell on Derek. Especially not since Jackson
couldn't smell himself on his alpha—
Wait. His alpha?
Bullshit.
He jerked away, scrabbling to his feet and out of Derek's arms. "Like I give a
damn. Just because you gave me 'the Bite' or whatever doesn't make me part of
your little pack, you idiot." He dusted himself off, wondering why the hell he
had his pants on and not his shirt. Had he taken it off? Surely not. "I don't
do that kind of thing, and honestly, it isn't like you've shown outstanding
leadership qualities."
Derek laughed at him.
Laughed.
Jackson flushed all over again, scowling. "It's true! You—"
Derek was on his feet then, grinning and close to Jackson, close enough that
Jackson wanted to take a step back but he didn't dare. He wasn't going to yield
to Derek just because he was bigger. Jackson was a wolf now too. He would be
able to—
"I wouldn't recommend it," Derek said, and he leaned in closer, his lips
skimming just beside Jackson's ear. "I'm your alpha, Jackson. I could tear you
into pieces before you even realized what I was doing." Just to prove the
point, Derek's nails shifted, and Jackson's breath caught as they scraped up
his stomach, dipping in each line of his abs.
"Thought you needed me for your pack."
"Thought you weren't interested."
Jackson scowled. "Look here, jackass," he started, and before he could gain any
momentum at all, Derek's nails dug in a little into Jackson's stomach.
"You listen," he countered. "If you think that this is just about your bite and
has nothing to do with anything else that happened last night—"
Jackson was never going to get rid of that damn flush, was he? He sputtered,
protesting immediately, pulling back from Derek to meet his gaze and scowl even
as his heart skipped a beat. "That was what, your freaky initiation thing?
Doesn't mean shit. I got my bite, you got what you wanted, and we're even. I
don't ever have to talk to you again. In fact, I don't. Ever. Want to talk to
you again." He straightened up all the way, holding Derek's gaze even as that
slow grin crossed Derek's face all over again. Jackson hated that damn grin.
"Ever, huh?"
"Ever. Period. Now, unlike you, living out here in this burnt out house, I
actually have things to do. So." Jackson shoved past Derek then, and he gritted
his teeth in order to ignore that little chuckle he could hear. It followed him
right out of the house, and it wasn't until he shut his car door that Jackson
let himself snarl the way he wanted to for it. He bared his teeth for a
heartbeat, slamming the heel of one hand hard against the steering wheel, and
he watched the windows of the house for a minute. No movement, but then again,
what did that mean? Derek could have easily slipped out another way, or hell,
maybe he could still hear Jackson.
"Shit," Jackson muttered, his temper fading as he thought about just what he'd
gotten himself into. This was insane. His side still hurt faintly, and he
turned to check it, fingers running over the scabs there. He was shirtless
still, so after a second, he leaned back to find his pack and dig out a spare
t-shirt. He always kept one, much as he hit the weights in his spare time.
A faint grin touched his own mouth at the thought. He'd need to make sure
people saw him pumping more weight than normal, more often. That way when his
super strength hit, no one would be weirded out by it. He was smarter than
McCall. He knew that he was going to have to introduce people to his new
abilities slowly.
Except maybe Danny. His grin widened sharply, and he slid his fingers over his
side again, feeling the bite there. He'd show Danny. Danny would think it was
cool.
He cranked the car then and pulled out, deciding he needed a shower the minute
he got home. He could still smell smoke and fire and Derek all over him. He
didn't want to smell like Derek. Especially not when Derek had come back
smelling like death and dirt, and who the hell had he even found for his pack
that smelled like that? Jackson turned it over in his head a few times, trying
to decide if he could even make a guess (not because it mattered, but because
Jackson wasn't an idiot, no matter how much of a jock he was).
By the time he got home, he still didn't have a guess though, and he sighed as
he leaned back into his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. He glanced up at
the sky, and for a heartbeat, fear burst through him, this little shaky wash of
ice that made it impossible to breathe. What was he doing? How was he going to
pull this off? It obviously hadn't come up yet for stupid Scott, but not all
full moons happened in the middle of the night, and Jackson knew it. He'd
started researching it the minute he decided he wanted whatever Scott had. What
was he going to do the first time one happened during the middle of the school
day? Or worse, during the middle of a game?
He shoved himself out of his car then, grabbing his stuff as he started to head
inside. It didn't matter. He'd deal with it, same as he always dealt with
everything, wouldn't he?
A howl had him shivering, his ears pricking, and he glanced over his shoulder
instinctively, expecting... what? It wasn't like Derek could have caught up to
him with him driving and Derek on foot, could he? What would Derek even want
with him?
He scowled and headed inside. The adopted parents were out— they generally were
when Jackson gave them the heads up that he would be late coming in— and he
grabbed the leftovers from the microwave after he nuked them a bit. He ate
without tasting it, stuck the dishes in the dishwasher, and headed on upstairs
to his room, where he deposited his bag unceremoniously on his bed. He fell
down onto it just a minute after, rubbing his face into it, sighed, and
wondered again just what the hell he was doing.
He should have asked Derek what to expect. What would change right away. He
hadn't been able to find any of that online— probably because everyone who had
lived through it was too busy reveling in their new-found strength and speed
and stamina to bother writing about it— and even Scott might be able to tell
him...
Like he'd ask either idiot. He snorted, shoved himself up, and headed to the
shower. As the water ran, he stripped down, hands running lightly over himself
instinctively, a regular pat down for injuries. Lifting weights the way he did,
he always checked just because the last thing he wanted was some injury to
flare up when he was in the middle of impressing someone. He glanced out his
window toward the house across the street, and his lips pressed together
slightly as he saw that the lights were still on. Not a good thing. It also
wasn't his problem. How many times had his adopted father told him that, told
him that people who stuck their noses in other people's business ended up dead?
He turned away from the narrow window and stepped into the shower to start
scrubbing down. His body wash was almost overly loud smelling when he opened
it, and he wrinkled his nose faintly before his eyes widened. Was he smelling
better already? How long had it been? His hand dropped down to his bite again
instinctively, and the water had softened up the scabs but there wasn't blood
running down his side or anything. Just heat coming off it.
Was that normal?
He shivered at the thought, cupping his hand around it, and for just a second,
he could almost feel Derek's mouth there again. On him. Biting him.
He gasped, staggered back, and that was when his legs gave out under him, left
him sitting in the bottom of the tub, trembling.
He heard another howl, and he shrieked a sharp, "Shut up already!"
Thankfully his parents weren't home. They didn't have to hear him losing his
mind.
***** Bleeding *****
"What do you mean you're not on your way back? You promised, Derek. You said
you were just going for that and to keep Laura from being crazy, and then you
guys would be back. Then you said soon as you finished up, you know, your
whole... spiral thing, you'd be back."
Derek leaned back against his car, his head tilted to one side as he watched
the windows of the school. Leia's hesitation was all he needed to picture her
with the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder so that her fingers were
free to make air quotes around the word. A grin curved his lips. "Heathen," he
said evenly.
"Hey, not one of you so your freaky shit doesn't apply to me," she retorted.
"That means I don't gotta pay lip service to it. You know what I pay lip
service to?"
Derek snorted. "Oh, I can think of a few things."
"Ew. Don't be nasty. Not when you're way out there in California, being all hot
and… California boy and I'm stuck here, alone and babysitting your sub-leaser."
There was a pause, presumably while she checked around herself to make sure
that said tenant wasn't in the foyer. That meant she was painting, and Derek
smiled slightly at the thought. She'd been so insistent that she wasn't going
to paint a single thing while he was gone.
"By the way? Next time you sublease, I am sitting in on your interviews. This
guy is totally unacceptable."
His attention snapped sharply away from the humdrum of school activity back to
her. "Has he messed with you?" he asked, and he could hear the faint growl in
his voice at the thought. He'd been so careful, screening the idiots who had
applied for his sublease.
She laughed, and his temper flared for just a second at the thought that maybe
she was playing him. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and it slowly
started to cool again, just as she replied with, "Much as I want to say 'yes'
just to get your pretty ass home, no. I don't even think he realizes I live
downstairs. Sad state of life, being ignored like that. I mean— Hey, you
bastard, you did that on purpose, didn't you? Went and got a gay tenant just—"
"To keep you focused on your studies?" Derek said, and his smile widened just a
little. He could hear one of the teachers scolding Stilinski, and his ears
pricked at the low chuckle that followed it. His smile sharpened into a grin
that he seemed to only ever get around that pretty little idiot who had begged
him for the bite.
My alpha, Jackson had said, and Derek had rewarded him for that. He had taken
one look at Jackson and known how to play him, how to get exactly what Derek
wanted out of him. Jackson might not think he was leader material, might think
he was outside of the pack, but he belonged to Derek. He had a spot there right
beside Isaac, and even better, there was something special about the thought of
Jackson.
Derek's first wolf.
He wanted to play with Jackson all over again.
"You're not even listening to me! Geez, Derek, what the hell is out there in
California that you're this distracted? Ooh, is it a girl? Or a boy. Whatever
floats your boat—"
Derek's attention came back to Leia, and he snorted in the phone at her.
"Hardly. I have things to do."
"Making new friends?" She was laughing all over again at him, but he didn't
mind so much. She had a nice laugh, low and throaty, and he liked hearing it.
"Literally 'making' new friends, I bet. With Laura—"
"Yeah." He shifted against the car, and his attention snapped back to the
school, to the window he was watching. He heard Jackson asking to be excused,
and while he might normally not give a shit that Jackson felt like cutting
class, what had his interest was the panic he heard there in Jackson's voice.
His eyes narrowed, and it took all of his concentration to filter out what he
was listening to in order to follow Jackson's progress through the school.
He hung up the phone— Leia was in mid-word, but she was used to this from him,
from Laura, hell, from the whole damn pack— and he headed into the school. He
ignored everything around him, shooting glares at anyone who dared get in his
way, and he went straight into the bathroom Jackson had ducked into. He could
hear Jackson's breathing, gasping and sharp, and more than that, he could smell
the panic.
He knocked on the stall, and he had to close his eyes and brace himself, keep
from laughing when Jackson called out, "I'm fine, Danny, go back to class!"
Idiot wasn't using what Derek gave him. One good deep breath would have told
him that it wasn't Danny standing outside the stall. Then Derek's amusement
faded, and he drew a deep breath. Unless whatever was wrong meant that Jackson
was unable to smell him, and more than that, Derek could smell blood, but it
smelled... wrong. Muted somehow.
He damn near ripped the door off the hinges, and he hauled Jackson out of the
stall, baring his teeth automatically at the way Jackson tensed up at him.
"Jackson," he said, and his voice was low. Jackson wouldn't hear the way Derek
was barely leashing his temper at the idea that one of his wolves— his first
wolf— wouldn't have immediately came to him the moment he was scared.
Then again, it was likely irrational to expect that of him. It wasn't like
Jackson was born a wolf, wasn't like he had even figured out how to let Derek
know when something was wrong. Knowing that didn't stop Derek from being pissed
though.
"You doing okay?"
Jackson stared up at him, wide-eyed, and damn, he always had such a panicked
look on his face. Like a deer in the headlights of a car it knew full well that
it couldn't avoid. Derek crowded him, stepping in close, and Jackson
automatically stepped back before he made himself hold his ground, his hand
reaching back to brace himself against the sink.
The feel of something solid under him must have bolstered his courage, because
then Jackson was baring his teeth right back, and Derek could feel another
smile touching his mouth.
He seemed to be incapable of keeping a straight face in front of Jackson, in
front of someone who amused him this much.
"Derek. Fuck off. I don't need you—"
"You're not alone now," Derek reminded him, and with Jackson bracing himself,
he could get even closer, right in Jackson's space, close enough that touching
him would be all too easy. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets; he wanted
Jackson to reach for him first. He could have that, and when he got that from
Jackson, it would be the first of Jackson submitting to him, giving in to the
instincts that Jackson already had running through his head.
(Truthfully, it was probably the first reason Derek had actually considered
giving Jackson the bite. Jackson was already starving for someone to give his
life direction, to tell him he was good enough, tell him where he needed to
improve and what he needed to fix. He needed a place to belong, and there was
no where quite like a pack to give someone that.)
"And if something's wrong," he continued, working to keep his voice steady and
even, "then I need to know."
"I am not in your pack," Jackson said again, snarling and the only thing that
kept him from jerking away from Derek was the fact that they both knew that was
as much yielding as anything else would be. He twitched though, and Derek
wanted to get his fingers on the back of Jackson's neck, feel those scars he'd
never intended to put there. "And nothing's changed from the other night.
You're still a shit leader, and you came back smelling like someone else—"
Derek's eyebrows shot up at that, and his smile widened into a sharp grin that
was little more than too-sharp teeth. "You didn't like the smell of your
packmate?" he asked, because the first time he'd asked that, Jackson hadn't
answered him. Jackson twitched again, and he looked away from Derek, a muscle
in his jaw jumping.
But Derek couldn't focus on that expression, sweet as it was. His eyes were
locked on Jackson's ear. Fluid was leaking out of it, and Jackson obviously
couldn't feel it, and Derek reached up, his fingers heavy on Jackson's jaw as
he turned his head to look at it more clearly. Blood and some kind of black
goo, and there was that smell, something muting the heavy metallic scent of the
blood. Earthy and it made Derek's skin crawl, because it was wrong, wrong,
wrong.
Jackson caught sight of himself in the mirror though, and he gasped, his eyes
widening again, and when he looked back at Derek, there was nothing but genuine
fear in his face. "What's going on?"
Derek swallowed, and for a second, he stayed quiet, then he finally managed a
low, "Your body is fighting the bite."
His first wolf, and he was going to be Derek's first death? There was something
wrong with Derek maybe, the alpha hadn't taken the way it should, and no, he'd
already bitten Isaac only...
Was Isaac doing this too? Was he already dead in a pool of black somewhere?
(She was dead, her dark hair hair wet and slick, muddy with the black fluid
that leaked from her eyes and nose and ears and mouth, but there was blood
around her mouth, flecked in and puddling over the black that was too thick to
really mix with it. The blood wasn't from the way the bite— red and livid and
angry on her shoulder, glistening and still oozing black— had killed her, but
was instead from the way she'd been screaming. And he hadn't been able to help
her, hadn't been able to do anything but watch and admit defeat and eventually
kill her. Her throat was ragged, open and gaping and black, and he couldn't
stop crying. His own throat ached, and the screaming wouldn't stop.)
"Why is it doing that?"
The naked fear in Jackson's voice pulled Derek back to reality, and he
hesitated before he shook his head. "I don't know. ... We need to get you out
of here." He wrapped a hand around Jackson's wrist, and Jackson didn't fight
him.
Derek liked it when Jackson didn't fight him, but damn if it had to be now,
when he couldn't enjoy it. It wasn't until Derek had Jackson in the Camaro that
Jackson even seemed to process that they'd left the school. He looked over at
Derek, and his lips parted for a second before he finally found words.
"I can't just leave school—"
"You have blood dripping out of your ears and nose," Derek countered, and he
reached in the back, found an old t-shirt that smelled of sweat and death and
shoved it at Jackson. Jackson's nose wrinkled, but he didn't argue as he
pressed a piece of the shirt to his ear to try to staunch the bleeding. He
didn't press it up against his nose— bleeding pretty heavily, and Derek would
bet anything that this whole thing had started as a nosebleed in class— but he
tilted his head forward so that he dripped onto the shirt, reaching up with his
free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"You're not in any shape to sit in class."
"Gonna be missed."
"Better think of an excuse then."
Jackson shot him a dirty look, and damn, he was expressive, managing to do that
even with the sweaty t-shirt against his ear and the blood leaking from his
nose. "You keep calling yourself an alpha, aren't you supposed to come up with
my excuse?"
"Only if I'm your alpha," Derek countered, and Jackson hesitated before he
dropped his eyes again. Derek's phone rang, and before he could reach for it
there in the middle of the console, Jackson had it. He raised an eyebrow and
looked back up at Derek.
"Leia? Cute chick."
Derek didn't so much as hesitate before he reached over and declined her call.
Jackson sat there with the phone in hand for another moment, and then he said
lowly, "Your girl?"
"Neighbor," Derek said shortly, shrugging.
"You seriously telling me you don't tap that?"
Derek ignored him until Jackson started fidgeting, shifting and sighing before
he dropped the phone back down in the middle of the car, and then Derek
murmured lowly, "Your alpha. Say it."
"Not my anything," Jackson countered, and he didn't look at Derek as he turned
in the seat to face the window a little more. Derek glanced over just to make
sure he had his belt on. "Just the idiot dog who bit me."
A muscle jumped in Derek's jaw, but he didn't let himself slam on the brakes.
Jackson must have felt something, because he glanced back over at Derek, then
right out the window again, swallowing thickly as he pressed the shirt against
his ear a little more. They didn't say a thing before they got back to
Jackson's place— mostly because Derek didn't exactly have a new safe house yet
now that the hunters had burst into the old Hale house— and Jackson got out of
the car in a huff.
Derek stopped just outside the door, glancing across the street, and then he
followed Jackson inside.
Jackson didn't say anything to him, just stormed up the stairs, and Derek
followed him easily enough, his eyes flicking over the rooms they went through.
A kitchen that looked like it came out of a magazine, a living room that didn't
look lived in, a hallway full of nearly nothing but pictures of them as a
family and pictures of Jackson, Jackson in lacrosse gear, at various
competitions (not just physical either, and there was an entire line of framed
report cards that boasted just how smart Jackson actually was). Derek's throat
tightened, and he glanced sharply up at Jackson's back, nearing the top of the
stairs.
That wasn't the sort of kid who needed the bite, and Derek wasn't sure what,
precisely, he'd been expecting, but it wasn't this.
It had been the desperation in Jackson's face every time he talked about the
bite, about getting the power, the strength; when he'd heard that, Derek had
assumed... Well. He'd honestly assumed that there was someone Jackson was
trying to get power over, strength enough to fight back against. Derek had been
looking forward to drawing Jackson into his pack, shielding him and protecting
him and teaching him what pack meant.
He headed up the stairs, and he followed Jackson into his room. Jackson
disappeared into his bathroom— private bath, and man, what Derek would have
given for one of those when he was younger— and Derek headed over to the
window, glancing out curiously.
He could get into the room easily enough from the outside if he had to. There
were plenty of ledges and trees nearby; he probably wouldn't even be seen.
After just a second, he headed over to the bed and he dropped down onto it, his
eyes closing as he folded his arms under his head. He could smell Jackson here,
nothing but Jackson, if he was honest, and that surprised him too. Given what
he'd seen of Jackson, he'd have expected perfume to linger on these sheets, and
while there was a vague scent of a girl, it was old and it was definitely only
the one girl. Lydia. Derek didn't know her all that well, but he'd scented her
several times over the past few weeks, and he'd grown to at least associate the
name with the smell.
He listened to Jackson in the bathroom, in the shower, and he could smell the
body wash that Jackson opened. His lips quirked in a faint smile as he heard
Jackson gagging at the sheer strength of the scent. Doubtless, Jackson would be
tossing his entire set of toiletries soon, getting something that didn't make
him smell like he just doused himself in that sharp, fake ocean musk that boys
his age seemed to like. Then the water cut off, and Jackson came back out with
a towel around his waist, and Derek waited until he heard that sharp intake of
breath before he cracked an eye open to look at him.
"Hey, hey, man, no shoes on my damn bed!"
Jackson looked better, more color to him, and that settled Derek's stomach in
ways he hadn't realized needed to be settled. He held up a hand to motion
Jackson over to him. Jackson hesitated, then dropped a hand to his towel before
he inched over slowly, like Derek might lunge at him if he moved too fast.
Derek wondered if he should point out that he really wanted to lunge with
Jackson moving so slowly. It meant that Derek could watch each muscle flexing
under his skin, and Derek just wanted to haul him down on the bed and start
nipping.
The moment Jackson was in range, Derek did in fact reach for him, and he did
haul Jackson down onto the bed with him. He rolled over on top of Jackson,
leaning in to sniff the crook of his shoulder, nose brushing against Jackson's
skin before he moved to scent along Jackson's ears and then back down his skin
over his shoulder and chest. Jackson went perfectly still under him, no fight
like Derek had honestly expected, and Derek glanced up at him, a very slight
smile tugging on his mouth before he focused on what he was doing.
"You smell better," he finally said, and Derek could feel Jackson letting go of
the breath he'd been holding.
"What did you mean, my body's fighting the bite? There's a full moon in just a
few days—"
"I know," Derek said softly, and he leaned forward, touching his forehead to
Jackson's stomach. He could feel Jackson breathing like this, could smell the
water against his skin. Jackson had apparently decided against his body wash,
and that was so much better because Derek could smell *him* under the water
there. He licked the little dip in between Jackson's abs, and he felt Jackson
stiffen under him before Jackson's hands found Derek's shoulders. They didn't
push Derek away though, just curved there, holding on, and Derek tipped his
head to look up at Jackson.
Eyes closed and bottom lip in his teeth, and all Derek wanted to do was spread
him open and take, get that desperate little voice again, get Jackson calling
Derek his alpha again. Derek liked hearing that. He liked the reminder that it
was his turn now, that he was going to be the one calling the shots and no one
else was going to get in his way. Not Scott, not the Argents, not any of them.
He licked Jackson's skin again, and then he pushed himself up and rolled his
shoulders and glanced out the window. "You should probably sleep," he finally
said, and Jackson stayed where he was, shivering. Derek didn't look back at
him, but he was fairly certain Jackson was staring up at Derek.
"Sleep? It's the middle of the day. What am I supposed to tell everybody?"
Derek slid off the bed and headed over to the window, studying the house across
the street. Then he looked back to Jackson before he said softly, "I take care
of my wolves, Jackson."
Jackson's lips pressed together hard, and he jerked his head down and away.
When he didn't say anything, Derek shrugged.
"Suit yourself. Leave your window unlocked." He turned on his heel and headed
for the stairs. It was Jackson's fingers loosely wrapping around his wrist that
stopped him, and Derek raised an eyebrow as he looked back at Jackson once
more.
Jackson was quiet for long enough that Derek considered pulling away from him,
and then there was a very low, "Please, Derek."
Derek was glad that Jackson had his head down, that he couldn't see the triumph
flash across Derek's face for that. He made a low noise as he schooled his
expression again, and he stepped over to the bed, his free hand reaching to
tangle his fingers into Jackson's head and pull him back so that Derek could
see his eyes. Jackson didn't fight him, just shivered for it, and his lips
parted. So pretty. Derek felt his own lips peel back, flashing his teeth in the
sunlight pouring in through the window.
"Say it, Jackson," he growled lowly.
Jackson shuddered, and he swallowed, but he found the words after just a
second. "My alpha," he whispered.
"And what does your alpha do for you, Jackson?" Derek said, his voice just as
low, just as soft. He leaned in though, getting his mouth just beside Jackson's
ear as he spoke.
"Take care of me," Jackson finally whispered back, another little shiver
running down his back. Derek's teeth flashed again in the light, and he nipped
Jackson's earlobe sharply. Just enough to draw blood.
"Good boy," he murmured, and he knelt down beside the bed to look up at
Jackson, meet his gaze and raise an eyebrow. "You'll tell them you don't feel
well. That you think you picked up some kind of virus. That or you can tell
them that you are just feeling a little overwhelmed with everything that's
happened." His hand flexed in Jackson's hair, and then he smoothed the blond
strands back out, combing his fingers through them gently. "Your ex girlfriend
in the hospital and her best friend's aunt being a murderess. No one would
argue."
Jackson blinked slightly at him, then nodded. He leaned forward, and Derek
shifted to sit on the edge of the bed just so that he could tuck Jackson's
forehead in against his throat. He petted Jackson for a minute, and Jackson
didn't even seem to notice how close to losing his towel he was. Derek didn't
point it out, only gently dislodged the loose hold Jackson still had on his
wrist and moved to fix the towel, tucking it under the edge of Jackson's thigh
to keep it steady. His fingers curled lightly through Jackson's hair, and
Jackson made a little noise for it.
Starving for the attention. That's what he was. Derek sighed faintly, petting
him soft and steady, and he turned to press his cheek against the top of
Jackson's head. "You're okay," he said after a minute, the words nearly
sticking in his throat. "Figure it out."
"You have no idea what's wrong with me," Jackson said, and for a moment, Derek
wasn't sure if he'd actually said it or if Derek had just been imagining it.
But no, he'd felt Jackson's breath against his skin, and Derek's eyes narrowed
before he pulled back. His hand tightened in Jackson's hair just to make him
meet Derek's eyes.
"Take care of my wolves," Derek repeated. He'd never been an alpha before, but
he'd been his sister's enforcer, and more than once, he'd felt like the pack
back in New York had been his instead of hers. He kept his gaze steady on
Jackson. He'd cared for all their wolves, right up until Laura had run them
off, one by one. "Take care of you."
Jackson whimpered faintly for that, trying to jerk away, but Derek didn't let
him. He just leaned in and brushed his lips against Jackson's cheek.
"My alpha," Jackson repeated again, his eyes closing, and Derek kissed his
eyelids too, mostly because he could smell the tears starting to come up. He
was pushing too hard, too fast, but Jackson was a stubborn thing, and Derek was
pretty sure that even with this, his control was tenuous at best.
"My beta," he murmured back. "Now, get some sleep."
Derek had to find someone to talk to about this.
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