Dark Hearts
Author's note – So this story is the result of a request made by the wonderful FeralG3 who wanted a Kira/Jackson fic. Honestly, it's a pairing I had never really considered before but the more I thought about it, the more I fell in love with the idea. It's set during Season 3B with a little of later seasons thrown in there so some of it will seem familiar but most of it has been changed and twisted to suit my liking. =D Now, this is going to be my first ever stab at a romance fic so constructive criticism is always welcome…but please be nice! Anyways, hope you enjoy!
Jackson Whittemore wakes with a gasp that does nothing but choke him further, inhaling soggy chunks of something thick and earthy. Whatever that something is, it surrounds him, wetly pressing against his body and face; blocking his eyes, ears, nose and mouth.
Blind panic fogs his brain. He can't see. He can't move. He can't breathe!
His body moves without any conscious thought on his part, writhing about, struggling against whatever it is keeping him locked in place. He claws and kicks, eventually managing to create enough space for himself to force his arm up through the slick substance, further and further until suddenly, his hand breaks free.
A cool breeze blows its way in between his clawed fingers and Jackson finally realizes where he is.
Underground.
Lungs now burning with desperate need, he continues to wildly scrabble at the earth around him until he can finally dig himself free.
The moment his head is clear, he spits out the dirt clogging his mouth and gulps in a breath of the sweetest air he has ever tasted, before proceeding to slowly pull the rest of his body out of the improvised grave.
His eyes are glued shut and he frantically wipes at the soil covering them, which is a hard task when his hands are coated in sludge too, but eventually manages to shift enough of it away so that he can see.
He's in a forest of some sort. Or, to be more precise, he's in some sort of clearing in a forest. The meadow he is sat in isn't too big, about half the size of a lacrosse field, and the yellowing grass there is patchy, like it started to grow but then decided it wasn't worth the effort. Tall trees surround him on all sides, crowded so tightly together that Jackson can barely see anything past them.
Dark grey clouds fill the sky and he can feel the lingering static crackle through the air from a storm not long since passed. The ground is wet with rain, the hole he has just dug himself out of, practically mud.
Shivers wrack his body and his teeth begin to chatter. It's probably shock. He's been through a lot these past few years but even with all the craziness he's lived through, this was something new, something he had never had to deal with before.
Of course, he realises, glancing down at himself, the shivering could also be due to the fact that he is completely covered in cold, wet sludge and wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.
His jumbled thoughts race, trying to piece together where he is and how he woke up half naked, buried under two feet of dirt.
The last thing he remembers…the last thing he remembers is London…
"Fourty-three, fourty-four, forty-five…" Jackson grunts from his bedroom floor as he continues his push-ups. It's been part of his morning ritual since before he started playing Lacrosse. He used to do about fifty back then, before collapsing to the floor in a sweaty, wheezing heap. Now he doesn't even get a little breathless until he reaches about two hundred and eighty but really, who wants to spend that long doing push-ups? An even hundred is his current goal.
Upon number seventy-two, he's interrupted by a jingle coming from his computer. He glances up at the screen to see he's getting a call on Skype. He springs up quickly and hurries over to his desk.
It's probably his parents. They call most days now. He started college a few months ago and decided to rent a flat with a friend from class. It's not cheap. They're living in the heart of London after all but they have their own place and with it comes a sense of independence that Jackson never wants to let go of.
But his parents worry. A lot. And so they either phone, Skype or visit him in person several times throughout the week. They make sure he's keeping up with his studies, that he's doing his fair share of the cleaning (even if his flatmate isn't) and that he's still enjoying life in England…which, of course he is. It's England!
When he sits down and properly looks at the name of the person video calling, he's surprised to see that instead of his mother's name, it's Lydia Martin's.
He and Lydia had kept in touch during their first few weeks apart but the number of calls between them inevitably dwindled until they stopped completely. They hadn't spoken in almost three months.
It's certainly unexpected but Jackson can't help the small smile that creeps across his face. He knows that they'll never be an item again. That ship had sailed a long time ago and that's fine by him. Really. But Lydia will always be special to him. That will never change.
He clicks to accept the call and the video feed starts up. His smile instantly vanishes when the face he is greeted by isn't feminine or perfect or framed by waves of golden red hair. Instead, the face before him is most definitely male, with olive skin, dark eyes and a mop of chocolate brown hair.
"McCall?" he gapes.
No, this isn't happening. He left Beacon Hills for a number of reasons. Scott McCall was one of them. There are thousands of miles between them now. He's supposed to be safe.
"Heeey, Jackson." Scott greets him, grinning awkwardly and rubbing at the back of his neck.
Jackson takes in the room behind Scott, with its mint green walls and mounted floral paintings, and growls inwardly. "Where is Lydia?"
Scott cringes and Jackson realises he may have snapped out the question a little harshly but seriously, what did Scott think was going to happen when he was using his ex-girlfriend's Skype account? And in his ex-girlfriend's bedroom, no less?
"I'm right here," comes Lydia's voice and suddenly she's there, seating herself beside Scott. Far too closely to Scott. The growl isn't so inward this time.
"Well, hello to you too," she mutters with a frown.
"Why is Scott with you?" he asks, spitting out the name like a dirty word. If Lydia is dating McCall now, then so help him, he'll…
"Because I need your help," Scott says, putting a stop to his inner tirade.
Jackson snaps his attention back to him. "What?"
"I need your help," Scott repeats.
"No," Jackson replies instantly. "No way. If you're so desperate that you're asking me for help then something is obviously wrong. Really wrong. And I swore that I was never going to get tangled up in any of your messes again."
"But - " Scott starts.
"No."
"It's Stiles." Lydia butts in.
Jackson rolls his eyes. Of course this was about Stiles. For the son of a Sherriff, that kid managed to get himself into an awful lot of trouble. "What has he done this time?"
"He's missing." Scott says, voice quiet and so sad that Jackson stops for a moment and really looks at the two people before him. Both of them are paler than usual and their eyes are ringed by dark circles. Lydia's are red and puffy. She's been crying.
"What happened?" Jackson really doesn't want to get pulled into another Beacon Hills disaster but Lydia's hurting and he can't help the words slip out of his mouth.
Scott tells him everything, with Lydia adding little bits every so often. They tell him about the Nemeton, about the sacrifice Scott, Stiles and Alison performed in order to find their parents, about the effects they experienced afterwards and about the recent Oni attacks.
After hearing about the strange demon ninjas, Jackson interrupts. "All right, I get it. You guys are caught up in some crazy crap right now but you still haven't explained what Stiles going missing has to do with any of this."
"That's the bit we are still trying to understand." Scott says. "He's sick. Like really, really sick and we don't know if it has something to do with all of the Nemeton business or if it's something else."
"This isn't the first time he's gone missing either." Lydia jumps in. "He disappeared one night last week. Scott's parents found him in the woods. Apparently he'd been sleepwalking."
Jackson raises an eyebrow. "So maybe that's what has happened this time. Have you checked the woods?"
"He wasn't asleep this time." Scott snaps, clearly beginning to lose patience. "Look, something is happening here in Beacon Hills. Something bad and I don't know how to fix it. You have a new life over there in London. I get that. But we could really use all hands on deck here. Please."
And wow. Jackson hadn't expected that. Scott is practically begging him. Both Scott and Lydia look at him pleadingly, eyes wide and hopeful and for a second, Jackson almost caves but then he catches himself. He swore…he swore that he would never get involved in all that supernatural business again. He learned his lesson the last time and he learned it the hard way. He owes it to his parents and to himself to keep that promise.
"I'm sorry," he says and ends the call.
And that's it. That's the last thing he can remember. The next thing he knows, he's breathing in dirt.
He's missing something. Obviously. Because there is nothing in his last memory that even remotely indicated that he was about to be buried alive in the middle of some strange and distant field.
How much time he's missing, he isn't sure. It has to be a few hours at least. At most…well, it could be years for all he knows.
But whatever the timeframe and whatever the reason, he's not going to figure anything out sitting all alone in a puddle of mud. He needs to get out of here and find some form of civilization.
He slowly drags himself to his feet, shaking limbs straining with the effort, and feels more than ever like a ninety-year-old man. By his fourth step, the exertion already has him panting hard, as though he's just run a marathon. Which is just wrong, in every sense of the word. He's a werewolf. And he's a Kanima. He isn't supposed to tire this fast. Even before he took the bite, he was in better shape than this. What is going on?
Only one thing is for certain; it is going to be a long walk.
Forests all look the same to Jackson. They were all just miles upon miles of trees and bushes and strange sounds that constantly make him jump. This one is no different. He must have been wandering around for a good couple of hours now but the scenery around him never changed. It just remained an endless sea of trees, mud and even more trees. If it hadn't been for the odd rock here and the occasional dip in the ground there, Jackson would have worried that he was just walking around in one big circle.
"I hate nature," he grumbles to himself and then curses loudly when he manages to step on a pinecone. Werewolf healing or no werewolf healing, those things hurt!
One hour and seven pinecones later, Jackson finally spots a road up ahead. The trees have thinned out enough so that it's easy to make out the grey asphalt in the light of the sun that is just starting to peek out from behind the clouds.
With a triumphant yell, he stumbles forward toward the road until he tumbles headfirst onto it.
Finally, he has reached civilization!
Before he has time to fully congratulate himself though, a noise cuts through the morning air. The unmistakable sound of a car horn, soon accompanied by the harsh screeching of tires that are being forced to stop too suddenly.
Perhaps, if he was feeling his usual self, he could have avoided it. He could have rolled or jumped out of the way with ease. But in his weakened state, Jackson barely makes it to his to knees before the oncoming car ploughs into his side.