DISCLAIMER: All chapters of this work are fiction using characters from the Teen Wolf (MTV) universe. I do not claim any ownership. This work is solely for entertainment purposes and is not considered film or tv canon (not by a long shot).
Jackson knows the minute his client turns toward him in the car that it's going to be bad. The stun gun shoots fire up his side as the door lock clicks. As the night wears on, Jackson wishes it had been a real gun. Death seems the better option.
Jackson wakes later. He tries to move but everything feels broken. He tastes blood. It brings back a flash of the first hit and sudden tears well up. The tears are from fear. Pain can be endured but Jackson hates being afraid. He hates being weak. The sound of someone choking and making odd croaking noises reaches Jackson's ears. It takes him a moment to realize he is the one making the noise. He cries a little more before darkness claims him.
Jackson wakes to the sound of a siren. He tries to sit up but a firm hand presses against his shoulder. Jackson whines in fear as his brain tells him he's strapped down. He thrashes, crying out at the pain that releases. He realizes someone is talking to him.
"Easy, handsome … easy … you're safe … not gonna hurt you," a soft voice reassures him.
Jackson tries to turn his head toward the voice but he can't move his neck. Tears squeeze out from behind swollen lids. Knuckles gently brush over his forehead.
"Easy … that's the neck brace. You've been hurt pretty bad …" A pause follows and then the voice continues. "Jackson. You're pretty lucky, handsome … you got found just in time."
Handsome? Jackson thinks the guy must be blind. He can't see himself but he can feel … and what he feels is anything but handsome. His tongue runs over jagged broken teeth. He has an oxygen mask over his face because he can't breathe through his broken nose. His jaw is definitely broken. Jackson feels more tears work their way out of his eyes. Again, the light brush of knuckles across his forehead.
"Shh … it's gonna be ok, Jackson. You just gotta fight, ok? Whoever did this didn't finish the job … don't give up. Don't let them win," a face drifts into his line of sight. Strangely bright amber eyes look down at him from a face that is both good-looking and kind. Jackson finds himself calming somewhat and wishing he could talk. His head hurts so bad, however, that he's having issues concentrating. Jackson's vision blurs and he falls into black.
Jackson drifts between wakefulness and the cold dark. He hears the familiar voice yelling stats and the laundry list of his injuries. It surprises him – to him the voice had been soft … gentle … kind. Now it is harsh and commanding. Jackson knows he – whoever the man is – expects action to be taken based on his words. Jackson feels himself moving … the gurney beneath him rattles and vibrates as it moves across the floor. He sees brief snatches of the face from before.
Jackson's foggy mind fills him in slowly on events. He was hurt by a client, someone found him and he rode in an ambulance to the hospital. He knows the man is a paramedic. Jackson wishes he could have met the guy elsewhere. He's cute. A broken sob escapes him as he realizes nothing is going to be the same after this – he will never be the same.
A soft touch grazes the inside of his wrist and Jackson sees the amber eyes looking at him. The man winks.
"Hang in there, Jackson. You'll be ok … I know a fighter when I see one."
Jackson's fingers convulsively grasp for the man's hand and he finds it. It's warm and strong. Jackson wonders if he would have even noticed the man before last night. He wonders why he cares and closes his eyes. Jackson knows his choices may have cost him everything.
Jackson can't stop the soft cry of pain that breaks free when he moves onto the operating table. He hears an urgent discussion and then the kind face is in his line of sight again.
"Gotta go, Jackson," the voice says. "I'll check in on you later, ok? Don't give up."
The hand closes around his own again, tighter this time. Jackson whimpers when it's withdrawn but then darkness claims him.
Jackson drifts up to reality against his will. He fights opening his eyes but panics when he eventually gives in and only one opens. A beep speeds up somewhere over his head and a nurse walks in and glances first at the monitor and then at him. She smiles.
"Welcome back, Jackson," she says. "You've been in and out for about three days but I'll let your doctor know you're awake. Just relax, ok?"
Jackson seethes. How does everyone know his name but he knows no one? It's very annoying. He wants to glare but one eye probably doesn't have the same impact. The nurse seems oblivious to his distress because she keeps talking.
"My name is Melissa. I'll be here for a few more hours before the day shift, ok?"
Jackson wonders how the hell she expects him to answer but then it becomes apparent she doesn't. Melissa fills the silence with inane chatter Jackson only partially pays attention to – it's when it stops he realizes she left. Jackson sighs inwardly. Sleep is a long time coming.
Jackson's doctor visits the next day. His name is Derek Hale and Jackson thinks he's probably one of the finest specimens of the male form he's seen in a long time. His own clients were wide and varied in appearance as well as temperament but none of them were like this.
Some I hardly knew at all, apparently, Jackson thinks ruefully.
"Mr. Whittemore," Hale says, glancing at a tablet, which apparently has his information on it. "I can easily say you are very lucky not to be in the morgue."
Jackson somehow manages to make a sarcastic 'you think?' sound which makes Derek look up with narrowed eyes. He looks back down at the chart and shakes his head.
"You were beaten fairly severely, Mr. Whittemore … I can give you the list but, while the damage was great, I think you will eventually recover. What I don't know is whether or not you'll retain sight in your left eye or regain full motor skills," Derek says steadily.
Jackson drags in a shocked breath. He knows that he was hurt badly, knew one eye was bandaged over. Both arms were broken trying to protect his head and face although he'd already taken a couple of blows and was barely conscious at the time. The thought that he isn't going to be able to go back to his life normally … whatever passed for his version of normal life, anyway … is shocking and steals his breath.
Derek sees that his words have stunned the young man into paying attention. He sighs. "I won't lie to you if you drop the attitude, alright? Before we go any farther, do you have family? Someone we can contact on your behalf. All the police found was your wallet – driver's license and a condom."
Jackson wants to move his head side to side in a simple shake but his neck is still immobilized. So he just drops his gaze and hears Derek exhale.
"Alright then … just between us, you do have a concerned visitor," Derek offers.
Jackson looks up and thinks he frowns in confusion. His face doesn't feel like his face so he isn't sure. Derek motions toward the door.
"One of the EMTs that brought you in … his name is Stiles. He's a good guy … he's been pestering me for information about your condition," Derek says. "Which I haven't provided. Stiles is nothing if not persistent, trust me."
Jackson blinks. Stiles. That's the name of the good-looking guy in the ambulance … the one with the whiskey-colored eyes. He wishes he could talk but Derek seems to already know what he's thinking.
"Ok … basic code: one blink for yes, two for no. Got it?"
Jackson blinks once slowly.
"Do you want Stiles to have visitation rights? I can't let God and country traipse through here but one or two is allowable," Derek asks.
One blink. Jackson thinks he's lost his mind completely if he's letting some strange guy he met in an ambulance be his one visitor. But Stiles had been kind and was obviously concerned which is so far out of Jackson's ken he's intrigued in spite of the circumstances.
Jackson endures the rest of his exam with Derek and learns that he's going to be a long time recovering. The prospect is worse than frightening … Jackson finds himself terrified. He hides this from Derek, however, preferring to keep his façade of disinterest in his own fate. He can have a meltdown later when he's alone. Derek says he'll be back to check on Jackson regularly and his eyes, like Stiles', are sincere.
Sobered by his circumstances, Jackson is lost in thought when a light tap comes to the door. A smiley face balloon drifts into the room followed by an arm then the rest of EMT Stiles. Jackson feels his stomach clench when Stiles' gaze finds him and the amber eyes light up and a smile widens beneath them. It's been so long since anyone was glad to see Jackson he barely recognizes the expression. A sudden uncertainty fills Jackson as he realizes what he must look like buried beneath bandages and swelling. It throws him off-balance because his looks are Jackson's armor and sword. No one ever looks beyond the blue-green eyes, full lips or freckle-sprinkled nose unless it's to check out his other attributes. Stiles, however, doesn't seem bothered by it at all.
"Dude, finally woke up, huh? Derek said you gave me permission to visit so ta-da!"
Jackson can at least ROLL his one eye. He gets a small laugh out of Stiles and finds that he likes the sound. Stiles settles into a chair beside the bed as if Jackson isn't some male escort he kept alive with a wing and a prayer in the back of an ambulance a few days ago. He ties the balloon onto the rail of Jackson's bed. Jackson suspects it will be moved but maybe he can persuade Melissa to keep it in his line of sight at least. If he can figure out how to communicate without being able to make much more than grunts. His situation strikes him hard again and Jackson fights back the tears. Stiles is looking at his physical chart and absently talking.
"So handsome, gonna be cops coming to see you tomorrow and -"
The monitor jumps as Jackson's heart begins to pound madly. He whimpers - the most noise he's made since the ride here. Stiles murmurs gentle words as he leans over Jackson.
"Whoa whoa ... Slow your roll, handsome ... Easy ... it's ok, it's ok … I'm here ...you're ok ... Easy ..."
Jackson finds himself soothing beneath the young man's touch. He shivers and Stiles resettles the blanket over him. Stiles brushes a finger or two through the locks of hair that fall over Jackson's forehead. Jackson feels the tears break free. Stiles tsks and a thumb drifts over his cheek.
"Hey … you don't have to be afraid. Just so happens I know the sheriff and he'll be the one talking to you, ok? He's a good guy," Stiles assures Jackson.
Jackson rolls his eye again, trying to rebuild his nonchalant attitude. Stiles smiles. "Guess you never had a good rapport with the cops, huh?"
Two blinks.
"Not really … yeah, Derek told me about your little code-talking. Look, Jackson, he's my dad … you can trust him. He'll do right by you. Besides … don't you want to put this yahoo in jail?"
Jackson considers. He'd actually like to beat the living hell out of the 'yahoo' with a tire iron. Or the fucking baton he used on Jackson in the confines of the car. Instead, Jackson drops his gaze again and doesn't offer any insight to Stiles. He's surprised when Stiles strokes just below his chin. He looks up without thinking.
"Not your fault, Jackson. I get that it's a thin line between rape and reluctance but this … he nearly killed you, handsome. Do you really think he's going to stop with you?" Stiles asks.
Tears again. Jackson would curse long and loud if he could. He hates looking weak and since he met this man, that seems to be all he can do. "Just listen to what my dad has to say, Jackson. It'll be ok. Promise."
Jackson wishes he could believe him.