Chapter 25: Thawed

"Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and
pretending to understand.
Repeat to yourself
"I won't leave you, I won't leave you"
until you fall asleep and dream of the place
where nothing is red.
When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you love it."
—Caitlyn Siehl, Start Here

Jackson woke up with pain hammering in his head and stabbing at his chest. He was covered in sweat, wrapped up tightly in a blanket. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and why.

Rolling over and struggling to sit up inside his blanket cocoon, he found Derek sitting next to him on the bed, clicking away on the laptop Jackson had known he owned, but had never seen him use before.

Derek shut the screen before Jackson could see what he was doing. "How are you feeling?" He asked, his voice quiet.

Jackson shrugged, pulling at the covers, unwrapping and rewrapping them over his shoulders so he could sit comfortably. "Still cold," He said. Despite the sweat, he could still feel that freezing chill in his chest, as if icicles clung to his rib cage. Part of him wondered if the cold would always be with him now, if it had become a part of him as he'd lain out there for hours, waiting to die.

He hoped not. That would be an unbearable way to live.

"Do you want me to get back in there with you?" Derek asked.

"No," Jackson said. "Well, maybe. I'll let you know."

Derek nodded, his face grim. "How much do you remember?" He asked. Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Of what happened when Erica and Boyd found you. You were... out of it. How much do you remember?"

Jackson shrugged again. "It's all sort of a blur," He admitted. "I remember being in the car... someone else was there..." He screwed up his face, trying to remember. "Allison, I think. Allison was driving the car." Derek looked surprised, but said nothing. Jackson thought more, and his face turned red when he remembered Boyd holding him, pressing Jackson's shivering body against his own, trying to warm him.

Jackson, I need to take off your clothes. Is that okay?

Boyd had asked for his permission, he remembered. He didn't know why, but that felt important. He had asked if it was okay... and Jackson had agreed. Somehow, it made the memory more bearable.

"Anything else?" Derek pressed. "Do you remember talking to me, once they'd left? Telling me what had happened?"

Jackson felt his face drain of colour. What had he said? "No," He said quietly. "I don't remember..."

"You told me you tried to die, Jackson," Derek said. His voice was blunt, plain. But Jackson could see hurt and fear in his eyes. "You told me you tried to kill yourself."

"Oh..."

"'Oh?'" Derek repeated. "That's it, 'oh'?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why, Jackson!" Derek was on the verge of shouting. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, and breathed in through his nose. When he spoke again, he was calmer. "Please, Jackson... why would you do that?"

Jackson shook his head, and looked away. "Because I had to, Derek." He pulled his knees up in front of him.

"What?!"

Jackson looked sharply at Derek, his eyes narrowed. "Derek, we both know that I'm turning back into a kanima. It's useless fighting it, it's going to happen."

"Deaton—"

"You can't fight something like this with some crap potion, Derek!" Jackson shouted. "He's kidding himself—you're kidding yourself! That stuff is doing shit all to help me. It's useless." He shook his head. "I'm going to turn again, I know it... and when I do, what are my options?"

"You have options—!"

"My options," Jackson continued, speaking over Derek, "Are I turn, and you can't kill me. So I kill countless others. Or, I turn and you do kill me... and it destroys you," He looked up at Derek. "I couldn't do that to you, Derek... I just couldn't..."

Derek was shaking his head. "No, you have other options, Jackson, you just don't want to see them. Want to know the only way you eliminate all your options? If you kill yourself!" Derek grabbed his hand. "Jackson, so long as you're alive, then they're always something we can can kill those witches, we can keep trying Deaton's cure—"

"It won't work!"

"You don't know that!" Derek shouted. "All you know is that your scared, and your tired. And I get that Jackson, I understand—but you cannot give up. Please, Jackson. You can't give up. It's not over, not unless you decide to end it."

Jackson shook his head. He felt his eyes begin to fill up with tears. "You don't know, Derek, you don't understand—"

"Then tell me! Let me help, Jackson. I want to help you."

"We can't kill those witches, Derek, they're basically indestructible!"

"I know that," Derek replied. "Scott sent me the file. He also told me they have a plan."

Jackson blinked. "What?"

"They have a plan," Derek repeated. "He wouldn't share the details, but he said Lydia found something... a way to contact one of the witches. Apparently one of them is playing for our team." Derek lifted Jackson's hand to his mouth, and kissed his knuckles. "See? There's still a chance. No one's managed to kill these witches before, but no one else has had one on their side."

"Oh..." That was true, wasn't it? One of the witches had been talking to Allison, sending her messages for months now, he knew. Allison had said she wanted to help them.

Derek sighed, and pulled Jackson into his arms. Jackson rested against his chest, feeling numb. They had a plan... a plan to get help... could it work? Would that work?

"Jackson, I need you to hold on," Derek said, stroking Jackson's hair. "Please, just hold on. I promise you, it will be ok."

"You can't promise me that..." Jackson whispered.

"I know," Derek said. "But I am. I will not let you become a monster, Jackson. Not again." He pressed his lips against Jackson's, and Jackson felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He didn't know what he was feeling, didn't know what he wanted anymore. He had to die, didn't he? Wasn't that what the voice said? There was no other way...

"Tell me there's another way," Jackson said, his voice choked with tears. "Tell me..."

"There's another way," Derek told him. He kissed his cheeks, kissed his temple, kept stroking his hair. Jackson clung to him, clung to his words.

"I believe you," Jackson whispered. "I believe you..."

They stayed like that for hours, Jackson wrapped him in his blanket and wrapped up in Derek. At some point, Derek got up and made Jackson some tea, insisting he needed to drink something hot. When he gave it to him, Jackson recognized the scent of the same fennel tea he'd given to Derek, when he'd been injured.

Jackson drank the tea slowly, and relaxed back in Derek's arms. Tears kept threatening to spill over, and eventually he just gave up and let them. He cried into his tea, and into Derek's arms; he had been so lost, and so afraid. And he was sorry, so sorry about what he had almost done.

Almost without meaning to, he told Derek about the horrible voices in his head, and the visions of Matt that felt so real. Told about how he couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take any of it.

Derek held him tighter, and told him he could. He was stronger than the witches, stronger than whatever they were making him see or hear. Told him that he needed to fight, fight for himself, because he could win. Derek made him promise to hold on, to hold out just a little bit longer. And he promised him once more that they would find a way. They would figure out how to kill the witches. No thing was truly invincible.

Jackson promised he would hold on, that he would fight. Promised and meant it.

And while Jackson talked, while he cried, while he huddled under his blanket with his tea and Derek, he felt the ice in his chest slowly begin to thaw.

At some point during the past day, a large screen television had appeared in the loft. When Isaac came home, arriving some time before dinner, he plunked himself down in front of it and began to watching, paying no attention to Jackson, curled up in a blanket on Derek's bed.

Derek was standing at the stove, waiting for the lasagna he'd made to be ready. He looked up as Jackson slowly uncurled himself on the bed and sat up. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Alright," Jackson replied. He glanced over at Isaac. "What are you watching?"

"Game of Thrones," Isaac said. "Season one."

"The best season," Jackson said, thoughtlessly parroting what he'd heard Stiles insist upon so many times.

Isaac looked over, and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah... you watch?"

Jackson shook his head. He stood up, making sure to keep the covers wrapped firmly around him, and walked over to the couch. "No, but, I was thinking of starting..." He said, taking a seat next to Isaac.

Isaac nodded. "It's good. Stiles says the books are better, but..." Isaac shrugged. "I'm not gonna read them."

Jackson nodded as well. "What's happening?" He asked, watching the screen.

As Isaac explained the plot so far, Derek came over and brought them both pieces of lasagna, and a one of his shirts for Jackson, who slipped it on while Isaac was engrossed in explaining the show. Then all three of them sat together and watched Game of Thrones. As they watched, Derek put his arm over Jackson's shoulder, and Jackson leaned against him, watching as Ned Stark slowly unravelled the secret that Jackson knew would lead to his death.

Sitting there, stomach full of lasagna, watching television with Derek, finally feeling warm... Jackson truly realized what he had almost given up.

He had been so lost... felt so hopeless... as if there was no reason to keep going, no reason why he should be alive. His life could only bring pain, and misery... for himself, and for everyone else.

But now, the hopelessness was gone. He felt... content. Almost happy, even. And if it was possible for him to still find moments of happiness, moments of contention even in something as simple as watching television with Derek... was that enough to hold on to? Was that enough for fight for?

He thought about the plan Derek had told him Scott had, to contact one of the witches... he was right, no one had a witch on their side before. If she helped, Abigail or Isabel or whatever her name was... could they actually win?

Jackson didn't know... but for the first time in a long time, he felt... hopeful.

Things could be alright, he realized. So long as he held on, so long as he didn't give up... they could still fight. They could win.

He could be alright.

"I don't understand," Derek said, for probably the thousandth time. Isaac was becoming increasingly annoyed with his questions. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," Isaac replied through gritted teeth. "Maybe if you wait five minutes, you'll find out."

"But who is that guy again?"

"The King!"

"Oh... he's important, right?"

Isaac through his hands up in the air. "I give up, I'm ignoring you now."

"So he's not important?"

Jackson smiled, and put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Not really," He said. "Not as important as you'd think." He put his hand on Derek's face, and turned it towards him. He kissed him, softly.

"What was that for?" Derek asked. They both ignored Isaac's noise of disgust.

"Nothing," Jackson said. "I'm just happy I'm here," He said.

Derek smiled at him, and squeezed his hand. "I'm happy you're here too,"

"And I'm happy we're all paying close attention to the show, and watching in silence," Isaac added.

Jackson rolled his eyes, and they went back to watching. Derek continued to ask questions throughout the episode, and Isaac continued to be incredibly annoyed by it. And he couldn't explain why, but it was the most okay Jackson remembered feeling, in a long, long time.