~Hear Me Cry~

By: Aerys Krystie.

Happiness

Scott stared at Jackson, as though he was insane. Jackson stared back blankly, not understanding what was so difficult about the plan. They had an hour before the painting was arriving and he wanted to destroy it before it got loose in the town. It would be easier to do it while it was being unloaded, before the postal service got involved.

Maybe it was the breaking and entering part that Scott had an issue with. Jackson didn't know and he didn't care. Destroying that painting was the only thing on his mind. Stiles was on board, so why wasn't Scott? Jackson didn't need either of them, but they had been at the loft when he and Derek finally returned. And it didn't hurt to have a couple extra people know about the painting.

"Look, I've got the key code for the door. I just need someone to keep a lookout, in case the guards make their rounds. The longest part will be searching for the painting an—"

"What's so bad about a painting?" Stiles asked and Jackson frowned, forgetting that he hadn't told Scott or Stiles about the painting or what he'd seen. He wasn't allowed to see either of them, for that month-long break.

Straightening, Jackson stared at Derek. "Did you tell anyone anything about what was arriving?" he demanded. Derek opened his mouth and Jackson narrowed his eyes. "Don't lie," he added with clenched teeth.

"I was a little occupied with training," Derek said and Jackson sighed.

"You remember what we were researching?" Jackson asked Stiles and the human nodded. "There's a pissed off spirit attached to the painting. She possesses people to have them murder."

Scott stared at Jackson. "That's insane," he said simply with a shrug.

"And werewolves and wendigos aren't?" Jackson snapped. When Scott didn't have an answer for him, Jackson went on. "As long as she doesn't have another link to this world, burning the painting should work."

Stiles grabbed the book that Jackson had brought up, looking at the picture of the painting. It wasn't very pricey and no one should miss it. It was a large oil painting of a family. All of them blond, except one little girl that had black hair and cold blue eyes. Jackson knew he should feel sympathy, she was clearly adopted into the family. He should feel some kind of kindred emotion, as he had been used as a killer when he didn't know his place. But he didn't and he didn't care.

"She's so young," Stiles muttered, a touch of sorrow to his voice. "What could make someone so young a killer?"

Jackson raised his eyes, meeting Derek's. The two werewolves that had the blue eyes from taking an innocent life. Jackson had an answer ready, as he knew someone was bound to ask the question. He didn't want to say it, because it would sound trite.

"Some people are just born rotten," he said and looked down. "Some people just have that lust for blood."

"She had been adopted into the family only a few months before the house burned down, killing her and the family," Stiles said, reading the description of the painting. The only thing that survived the fire. It was completely untouched.

Jackson closed his eyes as he felt the eyes on him. He sighed and straightened, glaring around at the werewolves. "I was a puppet," he told them. "I haven't taken an innocent life since I became a werewolf." He shivered as warmth wrapped around his core. Shaking his head, Jackson drank the peppermint tea that was cooling. "But she has and she uses innocents to do it."

The others went silent, glancing between each other as though none of them knew what to say. Finally, Erica asked, "So, who do you need?"

Jackson smiled at her. "I want whoever is available. Stiles, do you still have those matches?"

Stiles' eyes widened and fear surrounded him as he glanced at Derek. The alpha just glared at him, but said nothing about knowing of the setting Jackson on fire. "Yeah, I got them."

"Good. I also need you to bring the gas you used on me." Derek growled and Stiles jumped to his feet. "Stop it," Jackson said, staring at Derek. "Take them somewhere to the forest. We'll meet you there. Take Isaac with you. He'll feel any changes more than you."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Someone's taken to being a leader," he said with a smirk.

"Former captain of the lacrosse team," Jackson stated. "You can stay here. I doubt we'd need your old ass slowing us down."

Peter's eyes widened and he stood up, glaring at Jackson. "Look here, pup," he snapped, eyes flashing blue.

Jackson rose, challenging. "You really think you can do anything to me, grandpa?"

Peter reached for him, but Jackson grabbed his arm, dislocating the shoulder and slamming his face onto the table. The mugs fell to the ground, spilling their contents. Jackson growled as he could smell his peppermint tea going to waste. He wanted to rip Peter apart, leaving him scattered around the town, but Derek's eyes flashed red and the pair of them stood back.

While Isaac and Stiles cleaned up the spilled drinks, Derek stood in front of Jackson and Peter. "You're better than that, Jackson," he said and Jackson ducked his head, knowing it was true. There was no need for him to attack Peter. "As for you," he said as he turned to Peter. "That's my mate. If you ever try to attack him again, I will let him do whatever he wants to you."

Jackson felt a cruel grin spread over his face as he looked at Peter from the corner of his eye. Peter shifted the weight on his feet slightly, unseen by most eyes, but enough for Jackson to know that Peter was a little scared of him. It was enough to have him lifting his head, still grinning in that same feral way, eyes blue. The expression was enough to have the others stopping their work to stare at him.

Just ten minutes alone with Peter and being allowed to do whatever he wanted had a pleasurable shudder running through Jackson. He wanted to make the older werewolf suffer for what he had done to Derek, taking Laura so cruelly from the world. Peter could claim it was a broken bond, but there was a difference between that and actively hunting down his own niece because he wanted to be an alpha.

Various methods of torture ran through Jackson's mind and he knew Derek had seen them, as even he began to stare at Jackson like he was insane. Not being non-existent seemed to scare Derek more than when Jackson didn't feel anything. Maybe it was because revenge hadn't crossed his mind. Maybe it was because Jackson had a bit of a bloodlust for those that hurt his mate. Maybe it was because Derek knew that if Jackson really wanted to, he couldn't stop him from hurting anyone.

"The painting," Stiles said quietly and Jackson blinked, the grin dropping from his face as he gazed at Stiles. "It'll be arriving soon."

"Reyes, Boyd, you're with me at the depot." Jackson turned and grabbed his jacket, looking over his shoulder. "Derek, you're here with the grandpa. Make sure he doesn't fuck this up for us."

Derek's eyes widened. "What?"

"If he fucks this up for us, innocent people will die. You're the alpha. It's your job to make sure that doesn't happen," Jackson said as he pulled on his jacket, the others moving to the loft door. "Consider this payback for me missing out on the wendigo."

"Jackson…" Derek's eyes narrowed in warning, but Jackson just shrugged. He wasn't backing down from his decision and he knew more about the warehouse layout than Derek did. After a short silence, Derek sighed. "Be careful," he said and kissed Jackson's forehead.

Jackson smirked and fixed his jacket. "You brought my soul back, Derek. Don't worry about me."

Turning to follow the others, Jackson waved as Derek stared after him. He knew he should have mentioned that earlier, but the chance didn't arise and he was just grateful to have the pain finally gone completely. He jumped into the backseat of Stiles' jeep, as Erica took the passenger. He checked the back and found that Stiles still had everything needed in there.

The drive to the depot was done in silence. Jackson ran the code through his mind over and over again, thinking about where the shipments were placed. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes to find a box big enough to store a large oil painting.

The silence was broken as Jackson cried out, pain shooting through his eyes to the back of his skull. It came from nowhere, but it refused to go away. Boyd, sitting beside him, tried asking what was wrong. Jackson wasn't sure, but somehow he knew that the spirit was out. She was about to make another kill. He could feel Derek wrapping around him, taking the pain.

Opening his eyes, Jackson gritted his teeth. He reached around the passenger seat, going into the glove department and grabbed the packet of tissues. He wiped his eyes, growling at the blood on the white paper. He blinked and sat back, knowing he had to learn how to shield his mind from attacks like that. He couldn't count on Derek to take the pain every time some supernatural creature went on an attack.

Stiles parked a block from the depot, the werewolves slipping out. "Be ready," Jackson told Stiles and Isaac. "She'll be angry with us."

"Be careful," Isaac said and hugged Jackson quickly. "We can't lose you again, man."

Isaac pulled back and closed the door, leaving Jackson to frown after them. He hadn't really done anything, but he shrugged and joined Erica and Boyd. They made the trip to the warehouse quickly, hearing guns firing. Jackson broke from them and punched in the code for the door, using the sleeve of his jacket to keep his prints from the handle.

Running through the warehouse, Jackson made his way over to the delivery section. The truck was still idling, but blood was thick in the air. One of the guards was calling the police department and Jackson jumped into the truck, searching through the boxes. He wasn't expecting the spirit to attack the moment she came across some body she could possess. He expected her to wait a couple more minutes, at the very least.

A stray bullet whizzed by his ear and Jackson ducked slightly, still moving through the boxes. He found one that was from the southern hemisphere and his eyes lit up. He could hear Erica muttering, 'Hurry up, Captain.' He ripped the lid off the box and pulled out the straw packing material. He moved onto the next box, ducking behind it as another bullet was fired at him. He looked over and found that the security guard had his pistol drawn, shooting into the truck. There was a slight waver to the face, showing him that the man wasn't in control of his actions.

The security guard stepped onto the truck and Jackson searched the box, finally finding the painting. He grabbed it and used it to stop another bullet that was fired at him. The last thing he needed was the sheriff's department finding his blood at a crime scene. There was only so much that Sheriff Stilinski could do after that.

Shoving the guard back, Jackson ran past him and out the door. He met up with Erica and Boyd and the three of them ran through the town. Sirens were heading for the warehouse and Jackson wished they had gotten there sooner, to hopefully save the other guard. They split up, deciding to take different routes to the woodland. Thankfully, Stiles and Isaac had strong scents to follow.

They merged together in front of a small fire that Stiles and Isaac got going. Jackson threw the boxed painting onto the flames, actually having to shield his eyes as it went up in near white flames. There was a scream that pierced through them. It was over. The chill on his spine was gone, so he sent the others home. He could wait until the painting was completely destroyed.

Jackson stared into the flames of the fire, which had dulled significantly after that first blaze. He watched as the oil from the painting bubbled and melted, distorting the faces of the subjects. He should have gotten there sooner. The other guard would still be alive if he hadn't gotten angry with Peter.

There was another heartbeat and Jackson glared over his shoulder. "I said go ho…" He trailed off at the red eyes that flashed at him. "Oh. I'm just making sure it doesn't come back."

Derek nodded as he stepped into the light of the fire. He stood beside Jackson, watching as the canvas became ash. "They told me what happened," he said softly and Jackson glared at the flames. "Don't blame yourself."

Jackson nodded, not looking from the fire. He would tell Derek anything he wanted to hear, but he couldn't shake the guilt. It was the same with the victims of the wendigo and the first victim he saw of the spirit. He knew he couldn't do anything, but he would still feel as though he should have done something to help them.

He tensed as Derek wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. "You're stronger than you think, Jacks," he said gently and Jackson relaxed under the arm. "You waited until now to break down and that's what a leader does."

Jackson refused to think of all the times he had failed his team on the field, when they would lose. After Coach Finstock tore into them, Jackson would lay in another round of degradation. Everything he ever said to them, he was saying to himself just as much. Once he was alone, he would sit and think – think about what he could have done differently to help the team.

Now, it was the same problem. His pack had done their jobs perfectly. He was the one that had fucked up and an innocent had lost their life. A family had lost their father. What was he doing? Watching a painting burn, while his mate tried to pick him up. He was Jackson Whittemore! He was meant to be the one that lifted others, instead of being the broken bitch on the floor of the locker room.

Still, even as that thought flitted through his mind, Jackson pressed into Derek's side more. He shivered as a thumb ran over his neck, tracing where the scars once were. He had been meaning to ask Derek about that. He could think of a dozen other people that would be better suited for his mate, which didn't do much for his old self's self-esteem issues. As he was now, Jackson didn't have those in the buckets he previously did. He still felt like a failure.

"You're not," Derek murmured into Jackson's hair. "You can't save them all."

Jackson flinched, knowing the words were true. He lowered his eyes, feeling a tear fall from his lower lashes. He raised his eyes, glaring at the fire. He had wanted to stop a massacre in Beacon Hills and technically, he had done that. The painting and the spirit were gone. She couldn't hurt anyone again, but the guard was just another for his atonement book. Just another funeral he needed to attend so he could apologize for his failure.

The one thing Jackson figured he'd never want to relearn was depression. His life had felt so good for the few hours of, during and after mating with Derek. Now, his appetite was gone and he couldn't sleep without seeing faces. The victims of the kanima, the wendigo and the angry spirit haunted him. Even with Derek by his side, Jackson still felt the nightmares creeping in. He didn't want Derek to lose sleep, so he just stayed awake most days. Only when he was fully exhausted, too tired to dream, would he let his body shut down.

His mood was affecting Derek, as well. The alpha didn't say anything and tried to act as though everything was normal, but Jackson could see the worry in his eyes every time they looked at each other. There were more tender touches and Jackson was feeling worse. Derek was doing everything in his power to make him feel better and he was sinking further into a dark hole of despair.

It was time to deal with the nightmares.

Derek slipped into bed, while Jackson forced himself to eat some leftover Chinese. It was the only night of the week when Derek wasn't up for most of the night. The only night of the week where he and Jackson could cuddle for hours, talking about nothing and everything, relearning each other's bodies and maybe have some adult time, providing the others were asleep.

Sitting on a counter, Jackson had his back to Peter, who was still in the living area, watching a movie. He stared out the window, across the street as he ate the fried rice. It wasn't all that late, but he knew that Derek was waiting for him in bed. He didn't want to talk to him while Peter was still awake. The less Peter knew about him, the better.

The noise of the TV and the beating hearts faded away to silence as Jackson strained his ears. There was something happening. He didn't know what it was and it definitely wasn't at threat, but he had heard something. He could feel something.

Just as Erica and Boyd returned, the fried rice dropped from Jackson's hands as he went into his mind. There was a door he had noticed before, one that stood out to him. It was a beautiful dark brown with a gold knocker, being held in a bear's mouth. He had wanted to open it, but it wasn't the door he was looking for at the time. He needed to know if it led where he thought it did.

Running past doors, Jackson frowned. The one he needed wasn't where he thought it would be. The doors whirled by, their colors mixing and becoming indiscernible. They all became one, until it stopped and the door he was looking for was in front of him. He felt his heartrate increase as he approached it, not knowing what it did.

Opening the door, Jackson found billions of threads, all brown in color. There was one that was bright red and throbbed, like a vein pumping blood. Hesitantly, hand shaking, he touched the thread and cried out as pain erupted over his body, starting from his ankle and ending at his throat. What he saw made him scream, whether with pain or fear or both was unknown, but he snapped back to himself, not closing the door.

Jackson forced his eyes open, knowing his tears were mixing with his blood. He stared into the concerned eyes of his pack. Swallowing, he winced as his throat felt bruised and touched it. When he pulled his hand back, there was nothing on it, but he knew that what he saw was still happening. He didn't know if he could help, but he would be damned if he was going to lose another innocent life.

Pushing up to his feet, Jackson grabbed a jacket. "I'm going out. I'll be back in a little bit," he said and left without any other explanation.

Running from the building, Jackson tried to remember where they were. His eyes widened when the thread appeared in front of him and followed it, taking corners sharply. He could hear two others behind, clearly curious about what happened. Taking on the world alone wasn't an idea that occurred to him, especially as he knew he was stronger with Derek by his side. That didn't change the fact that Derek couldn't help with his current problem.

His lungs seared as breathing became a challenge. His throat was bruising more and he pushed his legs harder, refusing to arrive too late again. He crashed through the woodland, ignoring everything that caught and scratched him, letting one particularly needy branch have his jacket. He kept running, the thread getting brighter the closer he got. He kept running until he found he couldn't.

Looking over his shoulder, Jackson frowned at the trap on his ankle. His eyes went to the others that were around him and his eyes widened. Some hunter knew about Mama Bear and her cub, which just raised his anger. He opened the trap and picked his way through the others, finding Mama Bear caught in two. Her cub whined and tried nudging her, wanting her to get up.

"Jackson?"

Jackson looked over his shoulder at Derek's voice. "Stay back," he said. "There's traps everywhere."

Derek stopped and stared at him, watching him closely. Jackson pulled open the trap around Mama Bear's throat, where she had fallen on it after the pain of having a paw caught in one. The cub looked at him, eyes wide and fearful. Jackson gritted his teeth as Mama Bear's blood spilled over his hands. He needed Derek to move her.

Knowing what he was thinking, Derek picked his way over to the bear and lifted her head. Jackson threw the trap behind him, setting off another one. He bit his wrist, sucking out the blood and spat it into his hands, smearing it over her wounds. His vision was blurry, but he could see the holes healing over and he swallowed thickly, moving onto her paw.

Again, Derek moved her paw and Jackson made himself bleed. Mama Bear opened her eyes, looking at them, while her cub nuzzled her neck. Jackson sat back, staring at her. She struggled to her feet and pressed her dry nose to Jackson's cheek. He laughed, ignoring the tears trailing down his cheeks. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as Mama Bear and her cub wandered off, away from the traps.

Jackson looked up as something was dropped on him. Derek's leather jacket was warm. The alpha gazed at him, eyes soft, filled with compassion and loving awe. "When?"

Sniffling, Jackson brushed a tear from his cheek, ignoring the smear of his and bear blood on it. "I don't know. I just knew."

Derek crouched down, cupping Jackson's blood-smeared cheek. "Something's come to my attention," he said quietly and Jackson frowned, tilting his head. "I liked the old you, but I love the new you."

Jackson frowned, but returned the gentle kiss Derek gave him. An unknown emotion spilled from his mate into him and curled around, making a place in his body. Happy. Pulling back, Jackson stared at Derek, reading those eyes. There was something unbelievable about the way he could see everything Derek was feeling, but joy was definitely the front runner.

"I can't believe I taught you something," Jackson said and laughed when Derek ruffled his hair.

"There's a first time for everything, pup," Derek said as he pulled Jackson to his feet.

Jackson looked around them, glaring at the traps that had caused an innocent animal so much pain. His moment of glory, reteaching Derek that being happy was okay, was pushed to the side. He wanted to hunt down the monster that had set the traps, but knew it was a human. He sighed softly and looked at Derek, who gave him a smirk.

"Wanna know what'll make me really happy?" Jackson asked and Derek laughed, practically throwing back his head and howling it.

"I'm pretty sure murder is against a protectors code," he said when he calmed down and Jackson shrugged.

"I can't save them all." Derek narrowed his eyes slightly, but the smile stayed in place. "Fine. Can I at least vandalize his house a little?"

"As long as I can join you."

Jackson grinned. While they could be curled up in bed, feeling each other, there was something far more bonding about setting off traps and collecting them, walking through a nearly empty town and throwing them through the windows of the hunter that originally placed them. They laughed and ran when the lights turned on, getting back to the loft. The pack was asleep and Jackson kissed Derek.

"Am I pack?"

Derek nuzzled into Jackson's throat, inhaling deeply and letting a small moan slip. "Definitely."

End.

Thanks for reading, my love to Bulgaria! Wishing everyone a safe and happy holiday season from the great Down Under.

Until the next one.

Peace.
Auska.