A/N: Set after the end of season 2, and ignoring the existence of the Alpha Pack.
Werewolf 101
Part 1: Werewolf For Dummies
The smell of ash was everywhere. In the air, blanketing the ground and in Jackson's lungs as he awoke with a gasp. He choked and sputtered, coughing the ash back out. He could hear the beat of his heart, loud and fast, as he looked frantically around trying to figure out where he was. His eyes took in blackened walls and burnt furniture, broken mirrors... ash, covering all of it. It drifted lazily through the air, glinting like dark snowflakes in the morning sun. Jackson breathed in again, coughed out more ash, and sat up. At least he knew where he was. Now he just needed to figure out how the hell he'd gotten to the Hale house. And why he was in his boxers...
Walking halfway across town, mostly naked, was not fun. People stared. A few children waiting at a bus stop laughed. Jackson turned and growled at them, his eyes bright blue. That shut them up.
He walked faster after that, sure that at any moment Allison's Dad was going to come charging down the street with a cross-bow, ready to put him down for good. He told himself there was no way anyone who'd seen him could have told anyone so quickly, but the paranoid panic in his chest seemed to disagree. He hoped that if Mr. Argent did come after him, he was a more effective killer than Derek.
Jackson stayed home from school, just as he had almost every day that week. He'd gone on Monday, for a short period of time. His parents had told him they understood if he didn't want to, but he'd thought he'd be able to handle the staring and whispering better than he'd be able to handle being stuck in his house all day.
He had been wrong. Apparently, coming back from the dead was a big deal. Even the teachers stared at him, and whispered. Mr. Harris wouldn't stop asking him if he needed anything (and he hadn't even been in his class). Jackson had only been able to take it for one period, and then he'd gotten out of there.
He had no intention of going back.
The day dragged by slowly, like it had every other day of the week. The difference was, this time Jackson didn't mind it. In fact, he wished it would drag even more. He wished that time would somehow slow down and stretch out forever, so that it would never hit four o'clock, and he would never have to make his make his way downtown to the crumby little hole in the ground that Derek had made his base of operations and start his so-called "training."
It wasn't that he thought he didn't need it. It was just that he didn't care.
He didn't want to be here anymore.
Jackson was late for training on purpose. He'd thought purposefully taking his time would give him a sense of satisfaction, maybe let him feel like he had an ounce of control over the situation he was in, but as trudged down the back alley that led to Derek's basement, he just felt childish.
He wasn't given much time to dwell on that feeling, however, as the moment he pulled open the basement door somebody grabbed him and hurled him over the railing. A yelp caught in his throat as he fell, and then landed with a painful smack face down against the hard concrete floor.
Jackson groaned. It felt like every one of his ribs was broken, and both his wrists as he'd instinctively put his hands out to break his fall (it seemed it had turned out the other way around). He heard foot steps walk up next to him, but before he could even think to move someone grabbed his left arm and wrenched it back behind him. It felt as though the few unbroken bones left in the arm were about to be cracked. He struggled against the ground, until he caught Derek's scent. Then he struggled harder.
"Lesson number one," Derek said, somewhere close to Jackson's ear. "You are not invincible." Jackson gritted his teeth, and felt them growing into fangs. They retracted a moment later when Derek gave his arm a few more yanks and broke it in two places. Jackson screamed and clutched his arm to his chest once Derek had gotten off of him. Derek stared down at him, a neutral expression on his face. "You are not invulnerable. You can be killed—"
"Yeah I know that, you fucking psycho," Jackson shouted up at him. He could already feel his bones knitting themselves back together, but the pain was still blinding. "Or did you forget already?"
Derek shook his head. He stepped forward and put his foot on Jackson's chest, pinning him back around the ground. Jackson bared his teeth. "No, Jackson, I did not forget," Derek said, grinding his boot into Jackson's chest. "I remember that you died. Twice." Derek raised his eyebrows. "I also remember that both times, you came back to life." He removed his boot heel, and Jackson quickly staggered up to his feet, grimacing in pain. "Now I'm here to remind you that that will not happen a third time."
"Promise?" Jackson mumbled, hunching over and still cradling his broken arm.
Derek's eyes flashed. "Do you think this is a game?" He demanded. "You're leaving for London in two months. That means I only have 8 weeks to teach how to control yourself, and hone your senses. To teach you how to survive." Derek raised his eyebrows again. "So now might be a good time to start taking this seriously."
Jackson ground his teeth together. "Fine," He spat. "What's lesson number two?"
Jackson was sure it would surprise no one to find out that Derek was a terrible teacher. His methods involved shouting and scowling, never explaining anything properly and acting as though Jackson not immediately picking everything up was a certain guarantee of his imminent death. When Jackson failed to do as he'd been instructed to, at best he received an angry rant about how very important all of this was, and at worst another broken bone.
At first Jackson's lessons began every day at four, until Derek learned that he hadn't been going to school. Then they started at nine AM, and went on until Jackson was physically incapable of doing any more. Derek taught him different fighting manoeuvres and strategies (very, very basic ones, he stressed). He taught him to focus, how to control the shift and not lose conscious control once he'd changed (and in turn, how to not shift while he was unconscious and wind up running through the woods at night in his boxers—something Jackson had admitted to doing very reluctantly. He still hadn't told him about how he'd awoken in his house).
Once Jackson was able exert some kind of control over his shift (he spent an hour making his eyes glow, then go normal, then glow, then go normal) they turned to his reflexes. Reflex testing, apparently, involved Derek pelting Jackson with baseballs until he was dodging or hitting away nine out of ten (something he was able to do fairly quickly, thanks to his years of athleticism). Surprisingly, Derek seemed pleased with this. Jackson would have expected him to be disappointed.
A week into their training, Derek stood in front of Jackson with his arms folded across a slightly dirty wife-beater. "Now," He said, "Comes the hard part."
Jackson's jaw dropped a little. "You're joking," Derek shook his head. "So all of this has been what, play time?"
"Compared to what we're going to do next, yes,"
Jackson hung his head and groaned. "Please, just kill me," He muttered. He looked glanced up at Derek, who did not look amused. "Just one more time,"
"The five senses," Derek said, ignoring Jackson's plea for mercy. "What are they?"
"Fashion sense, common sense, nonsense, sense of humour—" Derek cut him off with a growl, and Jackson rolled his eyes. "Do you seriously need to me list the five senses?"
"What I seriously need is for you to give me a straight answer when I ask a question." Derek held up his hand, and raised a finger as he listed the senses. "Sight, taste, hearing, touch and smell—"
"—Yes, thank you for the pre-school refresher, will we be having recess soon—"
"—But as a werewolf," Derek continued, speaking over Jackson. "You have another one."
"—Oh god don't tell me I can see dead people, that is disgusting—"
Derek growled at him. Not a low, irritated, back-of-the-throat growl, but full on ear splitting roar. The force of it hit Jackson like a brick wall. It felt as though something had reached inside of him and gripped his heart in a claw, wrenched it down and out of him. Jackson found himself stumbling backwards and falling to the ground. He scrambled backwards until he hit one of the basement walls, and pressed himself back against it. His whole body was shaking.
The red faded from Derek's eyes, and he looked at Jackson with an expression he'd never seen on Derek's face before; remorse. He looked upset, and sorry. Jackson figured that meant he must look really fucking pitiful, shaking on the floor like he was. Derek walked towards him, and he tried to cut it out, and get a grip on himself, but he couldn't.
What the fuck just happened?
Derek crouched down in front of him, and placed a hand on Jackson's shoulder. Jackson gave a start, and glanced back and forth between it and Derek's face. "Are you alright?" Derek asked. Jackson just stared at him. "I—I'm sorry, Jackson," Derek looked down, avoiding eye contact. "I shouldn't have done that."
"W-what... what the hell was that?" Jackson asked. He breathed heavily, but he could feel himself calming down now. Derek's hand on his shoulder felt like it was steadying him, and the shaking sensation slowly left his limbs.
Derek glanced up. "I'm the alpha," He said. He sounded bitter. "You're my beta, which means I have a certain level of... control, over you." Jackson's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't known that. "I promised myself I would never use it, not unless one of you was in danger of hurting yourselves or someone else." Derek looked straight into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jackson. I lost my temper. I won't do it again, I promise."
Jackson nodded. "I'm um, sorry too." He said. He continued to hold Derek's gaze, even as almost every part of him wanted to look away. Somehow it just didn't feel like he could. "I should... I should take this seriously."
"Not 'should,'" Derek said. "Have to. You have to take this seriously. Especially this part." He stood up, and offered his hand to Jackson. Jackson looked at it for a moment, then grasped it and allowed Derek to help him to his feet. "You'll need to use all of your senses to find the alpha,"
Jackson raised his eyebrows, and took a step towards Derek. "Aren't you the alpha?" He poked his finger against Derek's chest. "Found you,"
Derek gave him a look. "Not me, Jackson. The other alpha, in London,"
"Why would I need to find another alpha?" Jackson asked, furrowing his brow. He didn't like the idea of anyone having control over him, not after... what had happened... but he especially didn't want it to be some stranger.
Derek sighed deeply, and took a seat on a nearby crate. "Because if you're going to be living in London, you'll have to join a pack in London,"
"Why?" Jackson could see Derek tensing up, obviously irritated by all the questions. He wondered if it was the questions themselves that annoyed him, or the fact that Jackson just refused to accept what he said at face value.
"The pack bond isn't based on physical location, it's a mental connection," Derek began. "But the longer you're gone, the harder that connection will be too maintain. The less time you spend with us, the weaker it'll get,"
"No, I meant why do I need to find a new pack?"
Derek rubbed at his brow. "Becauseyou do, alright?" Jackson opened his mouth to point out that 'because' wasn't a reason, but Derek looked up so sharply that his words got lost in his throat. "If you want a reason, give Scott a call," Derek stood up, and raised his eyebrows. "Ask him what happens to omegas."
As painful as it had been, being forced by Derek to submit, Jackson was almost glad it had happened. After that, things became easier.
Well, maybe not easier exactly... but less tense. Derek let up, just a bit, and Jackson tried (just a bit) not to be such an ass. They were both better for it.
Even so, the training itself didn't get any easier. Derek hadn't been kidding when he'd said training his senses would be the hardest part. At first, it seemed fucking impossible. He might have been trying to be nicer, but his teaching skills hadn't improved any. If Jackson had a dollar for every time Derek had snapped "You just do it," by way of explanation, he'd have enough money for his plane ticket to London.
Every now and then he was actually able to offer more than that ("Focus, but don't think. Let your mind go blank, and your body take over") and so very slowly, Jackson was able to get the hang of it. He picked up hearing the fastest, and with Derek's instruction he was able to hone it so well that they could have conversations standing five blocks away from each other as easily as if they were standing in the same room.
Sight and smell were slower going. He could focus enough to strengthen how potently he could smell something, but isolating a particular scent was hard. And if he concentrated too hard on his eyes, he got headaches and couldn't do anymore. That usually led to arguments with Derek about whether or not he really couldn't do anymore, or just wouldn't do anymore, which then usually led to spontaneous sparring sessions.
It was after one of these sparring sessions (Derek's terms, Jackson called them fights. Derek would just smile condescendingly at that, as if that was cute) that Jackson first caught Derek looking at him.
It was late in the evening, and he'd been training all day. He was aching and sore all over, and he'd been thinking about how great a hot shower was going to feel. He'd stretched his arms up over his head, and winced because apparently some of his bones weren't quite healed yet... and out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen Derek looking at him. But not just looking him. Looking.
Derek had turned away the instant Jackson had caught him, and grumbled something about having things to do so Jackson should get going already, but Jackson knew what he'd seen. He'd been getting looks like that since he was 14 years old, and he knew what they meant.
It's just that Derek Hale was one of the last people he'd ever expected to look at him like that.
Once that door had been opened, Jackson couldn't stop the thoughts that came rushing through it. It had been surprising to catch Derek looking at him like that, but the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. And after he started looking back, he realized he liked that too. Derek might have been a grumpy, short-tempered ass, but he was very, very fit.
Jackson decided that since they were spending so much time together, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a little fun.
He started subtly, almost innocently. Whenever he was given a rare break after hours of training, Jackson would lift the hem of his shirt, exposing his abdomen, and use it to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He would tilt his head back and pour water into his mouth, letting just a little bit drip down the corner of his mouth. Then he'd wipe his thumb slowly along the bottom of his lip. And every time without fail, out of the corner of his eye he would see Derek watching him, his mouth slightly opened. Jackson would do his best not to smile.
He upped his game very quickly. It was summer and the weather was warm. Jackson began taking his shirt off whenever possible. He pushed his shorts down to expose to tops of his hip bones, and stretched frequently. Derek began avoiding making eye contact with him.
While Jackson had thought it would be fun to make Derek sweat, he hadn't anticipated exactly how much he would enjoy it. Suddenly, the tables were turned. Derek was no longer in charge. Jackson was. He felt more confident, more in control than he had in months and months. Almost like his old self.
He was even beginning to enjoy their training sessions. Exercising his strength, testing his new found senses and agility was exhilarating and empowering. He could climb trees and run at break neck speed, hear someone coming from a mile away. He could see farther and react more quickly than should have been possible. The more he began to enjoy it, the easier it became. Derek had been right, some things were beyond explanation. They just had to be done.
"You're doing really well, Jackson," Derek told him, after another long day of running through the woods, honing his senses. Derek didn't look at him as he spoke, kept his hands in his pockets and in his eyes trained on the ground. "I'm..." Derek broke off, and Jackson raised his eyebrows.
"Proud?" He supplied, stepping into Derek's view.
Derek looked up at him, frowning. "Yeah," He said. "I'm proud,"
Jackson snorted and shook his head. "Do you need a moment? Are you going to be okay? Should I call Deaton, tell him to bring bandages or whatever?"
Rolling his eyes, Derek scooped up Jackson's shirt from where it lay disregarded on the ground. He tossed it to him. "Put your shirt on Jackson, and get going. We're done for today,"
Jackson grinned. "You know, I think I'm good with it off," He said, slinging it over his shoulder. He licked his lips, and looked Derek up and down. "I think you might be, too," He said.
Derek stopped. "What does that mean?"
Jackson shrugged, walking past Derek and grabbing his bag. "Nothing," He said. "See you tomorrow,"
As he walked off, he could feel Derek's eyes on him, watching him leave. He smiled to himself.
Sleep had been a problem for Jackson, for a while now. He'd always been an anxious sleeper, his dreams full of anxiety and fear. But it had been anxiety about lacrosse, about under-performing. Fear over what people thought of him at school, whether they could see through his carefully constructed facade of confidence and bravado. None of that was anything compared to this.
Memories that had been carefully locked away deep in his mind began to surface in his dreams. Memories of screams and pleas, the sight of faces filled with terror. The feeling of skin ripping under his claws, the taste of hot blood splattering against his scaly lips. Memories of being forced to kill, to obey Matt's sick desires and take the lives of those he felt had wronged him.
Every night Jacksons nightmares would wake him, and every night he would cry over what he had done. He tried to tell himself it hadn't been his fault, that it had been Matt who had made him... but that hardly helped. How could it, when it was his ears their screams echoed in, his hands who had taken their lives. Matt may have pulled the trigger, but Jackson had been his bullet.
He began to go to sleep later and later, doing anything to keep himself awake at night. He watched endless television, browsed the internet and even picked up a book or two. He searched for distractions anywhere he could.
On their own, Jackson's thoughts turned to Derek, and he found he was a convenient distraction. They were spending all their time together now, and Jackson was having a lot of fun toying with him. There was a lot to think about, in regards to Derek. It was strange to realize, but he knew so little about him. Did Derek have a job? He didn't think so. Before he'd begun to train Jackson, what had he done with his time? He pictured Derek sitting in his loft, spending countless hours staring angrily at the wall before it eventually gave in and crumpled under the sheer intensity of his gaze.
Did Derek have a favourite colour, Jackson wondered. Did he listen to music, or watch television? Somehow Jackson couldn't really imagine any of these things. Derek was too impossibly stoic, in his mind, for things like music, television and colour. Derek was strictly a black, white and grey person, he was sure.
He wondered what it would be like to have Derek touch him. Not punch or grab him, which had thus far been their only means of physical interaction, but touch him gently, like he would someone he loved. Would Derek even be capable of gentleness? Of love?
Jackson wasn't sure. But suddenly, he was very curious to find out.
The hardest sense for Jackson to master was the sixth one (which thankfully was not seeing dead people). Derek called it instinct, but also said it was more than that. It was a sense of intuition, a pull or tug in his chest he wouldn't be able to explain. His other senses would help him, but it was this one that was going to lead him to the alpha.
To train this sense, Jackson had to find Derek. They started in the woods, and Derek told him they would eventually move on to using the entire town. He was allowed to use all of his senses to track him, but encouraged to try and focus on instinct more than anything.
It was easier said than done (as much with Derek was). It took Jackson almost an hour to pick up Derek's scent. He ran through the woods trying to track him, but he kept losing the scent and having to double back to pick it up again. He tried listening for him, but the woods were noisier than he would have expected. Which sounds were made by Derek and which were animals was often difficult to differentiate between.
Jackson began to move without thinking, taking turns for no reason and letting something he couldn't describe pull him forward. He ran like this for twenty minutes until he finally picked up a fresh scent. Then he stopped and listened, heard something close by and moving towards him. Derek, and he was headed his way. Jackson quickly climbed up the tree nearest to him, hiding in the foliage. He watched and waited, and in a few minutes Derek appeared underneath him. He stopped right under the tree that Jackson hid in, obviously smelling Jackson but not seeing him.
Before he thought to look up, Jackson jumped down and landed on Derek, knocking him flat on his back. He put his hands on Derek's chest, smiling at the surprise on Derek's face. "Found you," He said quietly. His heart beat quickly in his chest, and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt exhilarated.
Suddenly Derek flipped them both over, and Jackson found himself pressed back against the ground looking up at Derek, who smirked. "Good job," Derek said, holding Jackson's wrists above his head.
Without thinking, Jackson lifted his head and shoved his mouth against Derek's. He hadn't planned to, hadn't meant to... but god damn did he want to. Playing with Derek had been fun, but suddenly it was not enough. Jackson wanted more.
Jackson pulled back and looked at Derek, who once again wore surprise on his face. The idea of rejection hadn't initially occurred to Jackson, but it did now. That would be just like Derek to reject him, when they both knew that he wanted him. Grumpy, angry Derek couldn't have anything good in his life, lest it affect his grumpiness and anger.
"Well?" Jackson asked, when Derek just continued to stare at him. "Fucking say something,"
Instead of doing as Jackson demanded, Derek pressed his mouth roughly back against him in a hard kiss. He let go of Jackson's wrists and Jackson felt Derek slide his hands up his palm before their fingers entwined. Their noses bumped together as the hunger of their mouths grew, and Jackson moaned softly as Derek's tongue slipped wetly into his mouth. "Derek..."
Derek paused, his eyes flicking over Jackson's face. "Should I stop?" He asked. "Do you want me to stop?"
"God, no," Jackson muttered. He pulled his hands out of Derek's and wrapped his legs over Derek's waist before flipping them back over so he was once again on top. He smirked down at Derek before going in to kiss him again.
Derek's fingers dug into Jackson's hips as Jackson's mouth kissed from Derek's lips down to the lobe of his ear, biting and sucking on it. He moved down to Derek's throat and sucked a bruise into his skin, watched it heal over instantly. A strange desire came over him then, one he couldn't quite explain. He wanted a mark of his own, one that would last longer on his skin than it had on Derek's. He knew that was something only Derek could give him, and he wanted it all the more for that reason. Jackson smiled, and looked down at Derek. "Give me a hickey," He said.
Derek raised an eyebrow, then sat up, wrapping his arms around Jackson's middle and pulling Jackson into his lap. He kissed along Jackson's jaw and then his neck, bit lightly at the skin before sucking a mark into it. Jackson moaned again, running his fingers up through Derek's hair. The hickey would last for the rest of the day, maybe longer. Already he knew it wouldn't be enough. He felt Derek sigh against his skin. "You were doing it on purpose, weren't you?" He asked, tilting his head back.
"Doing what?"
"You know what," Derek gave him a look. Jackson smirked slightly, and shrugged. "Why?"
Jackson thought it over. He licked his lips, and then leaned in and bit lightly on Derek's lower lip. "Why not?" He whispered.
For now, that seemed good enough.