A.N. This just wouldn't leave me alone. The idea started as a joke really after several nights of too little sleep and a lot of Derek/Jackson-fics. So now I decided to experiment and give it a shot.
To be honest I haven't actually seen any of the Teen Wolf episodes so any OOC-ness it totally my fault.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I in any way associated with Teen Wolf and the other fandom this work is influenced by (which I'm not going to mention just yet :P). Everything you recognize belongs to its respective owners and creators.
Moonlight
1.
In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Beacon Hills exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was to this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my father escaped when he and my mother divorced. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year when I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.
It was to Beacon Hills that I was now being exiled. I detested Beacon Hills. I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.
"Jackson," my mom said to me – the last of a thousand times – before I got on the plane. "This is for your own good."
"Whatever." I said. I wasn't happy about this and I wouldn't pretend to be.
"Tell David I said hi." She sighed.
"I will. Love you." She smiled and hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane. It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Beacon Hills. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with dad, though, I dreaded that part a bit.
Dad had been fairly nice about the whole thing and seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time since the divorce. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.
But it was sure to be awkward between us. We hadn't really talked much since I had told him I didn't want to come visit him in Beacon Hills anymore. I hadn't really made a secret of my distaste of the small town.
–
When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen – just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun. My dad was waiting for me, leaning against his black SUV.
"It's good to see you, Jackson." He smiled and gave me a one-armed hug. "You haven't changed much. How's your mom?"
"Mom's fine, she says hi." He nodded and took one of my bags from me. I had only a few bags that easily fit in the car. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington.
"I found a good car for you." He announced when we were strapped in.
"What kind of car?" I was a bit suspicious of the way he said it.
"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."
"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.
"Well, the guy I bought it from has done a lot of work on the engine – it's only a few years old, really." He dodged the question a bit. But I wouldn't give up so easily.
"When did he buy it?"
"1984, I think."
"Did he buy it new?"
"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties, or late fifties." He admitted. I just shook my head. "Look, I know it's not a Porsche like you're used to, but the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."
"If you say so." I said and turned to stare out the window.
Everything was green; the trees, their trunks covered in moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.
It was too green – like an alien planet.
–
Eventually we made it to my dad's house. He lived in a small two-bedroom house at the edge of town. And there, parked on the street in front of it, was my new – well new to me anyway – truck. It was a simple reddish color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. It definitely wasn't the Porsche, but to my surprise I could actually see myself driving it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged – the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.
It only took one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. It looked nothing like my room back home. Wooden floor, light blue walls, and a peaked ceiling. The only furniture was a bed, a dresser, a desk with a chair and an old stationary computer, with the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack.
When I finished putting my clothes in the old dresser I went downstairs. Dad sat in the kitchen with a steaming cup of hot coffee. I knew what was coming, but I sat down anyway.
"So, your mom and I have agreed upon some rules," he started. "School comes first and on school nights you'll to be home by nine."
"What?!" Nine? That was ridiculous.
"No discussion. You made your bed and now you'll have to lie in it." He said. "Homework comes first, friends and girlfriends second. And no lacrosse."
"There's a lacrosse team?"
"As a matter of fact there is. And don't bother trying to weasel yourself in, I've already talked to Coach Finstock and the principal. They know what happened in Phoenix."
"Sounds like you have it all figured out." I commented dryly.
"Someone has to." Dad said and sighed. "You're not a kid anymore, Jackson. It's time to grow up." I snorted and stood up.
"I'm going for a run. Or is that also off the table?"
"Run all you want, just stay close to town. Do not go in to the forest."
"Why not?"
"Some hikers were found ripped to pieces by some animal two weeks ago."
"What kind of animal?"
"Wolves."
