~Hear Me Cry~

By: Aerys Krystie.

Author's Note: TRIGGER WARNING: Self-mutilation and attempted suicide.

Sorrow

Jackson stood at his window, staring out over the street. He had felt Derek's sadness when he left and had sent something back to him. He had sent warmth. Why had he sent that? Why did he feel the sadness that Derek felt, thinking he had failed? Why was there a need to protect and boost?

Those questions rolled around his mind for the rest of the night. He looked at his laptop when it chimed at him, letting him know there was an email. Opening it, Jackson saw that his teachers had responded to him. His parents didn't want him at school, saying something about them being 'worried' things could go bad.

Jackson didn't understand it, but he had completed all the assignments sent to him within a night. He completed his homework, sending that in everyday and found that not sleeping was better for him. The idea of spending the day in school surrounded by faces that conveyed every kind of expression sounded exhausting to him. He wasn't sure if he could do it and was almost glad to be away from school.

He had searched for the link that Peter mentioned, knowing it was somewhere within him. He had felt it every time Derek's emotions got the better of him. He didn't know where to find it without Derek leading him, though. He had searched every nook and cranny within his mind, discovering that he had links with Boyd, Erica and Isaac. He wondered how he didn't feel those.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, there was a red thread. After giving it a tug, Jackson had followed it. Derek was eating dinner with the pack, while Peter told him how training was going. There was a spark of something in Derek, but Jackson couldn't place it and had retreated.

That night had been eventful, he concluded. He knew what he was looking for when it came to that link. He didn't know how Derek was able to shut it down at times, but he figured that was something for him to learn later. For the moment, he didn't need to shut it down. He wasn't projecting his emotions.

Going back to the window, Jackson felt for that link he couldn't destroy. Derek was asleep, his mind tumultuous. Frowning, Jackson sent through that feeling he had the previous day, almost seeing the warmth embrace Derek and the strain vanished from the alpha's face.

Coming back to himself, Jackson touched his cheek and looked at the liquid. Why did offering comfort cause him to cry? He wasn't sure if he would ever understand it, even if he did get his emotions back. He raised his eyes, watching as a kid threw papers onto lawns.

Stiles was right. Jackson should be unleashed on Derek's enemies. Could he die, though? Derek was scared that he could. Without the pain, Jackson didn't know if he could. Leaving his bedroom, he went downstairs to the kitchen. Grabbing a cleaver from the knife block, Jackson cut off his fingers, the knife slicing through the joints like they were butter.

Jackson tilted his head as his fingers regrew. He flexed them and then pushed his discarded fingers to the side, chopping at his wrist until his entire hand was off. Like his fingers, the hand regrew, almost instantly. There was no pain and barely any pressure. He could do a lot to help Derek.

Raising his hand, Jackson looked at it. As far as he could tell, there was no trouble in the town, since the rogue hunter was handed over to the Argents. Tilting his head, Jackson cut off his hand again, just to see if it would regrow. He wasn't sure how many times he could do that and he needed to know if it had limits.

Unlike the first time, his hand regrew faster. Almost in a blink of an eye, it had regrown. That was different. Jackson expected it to take longer to regrow, not become faster. He removed his hand again, just to make sure it wasn't a fluke. The hand was back and Jackson wiggled his fingers. Everything worked perfectly. He rotated his hand, his joint cracking a little. He could live with that.

The next thing to test was his throat. Jackson grabbed a fillet knife and ran the sharp blade along his throat. Blood trickled out, but the wound was healing almost instantly. Holding the knife slightly different, Jackson made a swift movement across his throat. The hole healed over, but more of his blood came out, adding to the mess on the kitchen counter and his shirt.

Putting that knife down, Jackson grabbed one that was a little stiffer. The quickest way to his brain was through the ear, if he remembered his biology class correctly. Just as he was about to stab it into his ear, he heard a scream and looked at the kitchen entrance. His mother stood there, hands covering her mouth as she stared at him.

"Good morning, Mom," Jackson said.

"Jackson, what are you doing?!"

Jackson looked at his hands and fingers on the counter for a moment. "A test," he said and stabbed the knife into his ear.

His mother screamed again and his father came running down the stairs, freezing as he stared at his son. Jackson removed the knife, looking at the blood that was smeared on it. As he was about to test it again, his father grabbed his hand and cursed when he saw the body parts on the counter.

"Call Derek," his father shouted.

"Jesus Christ, Jackson!" his father shouted and Jackson tilted his head. He recognized the anger, but there was something else. "Why would you do that?"

"I needed to test it," Jackson answered.

"Test what?" Derek demanded as he strode into the kitchen. He looked over at the counter and his eyes widened, returning them to Jackson.

Jackson held his hands up, showing the alpha that everything was fine. "Stiles is right. I can't die. Check it out." He turned his head, showing Derek the dried blood on his ear.

Derek stared at him and Jackson felt it. His chest constricted and his throat dried out. Derek was sad, but it felt more powerful than before. It wasn't just a few tears, it was a cold sensation that had Jackson shivering. Jackson wasn't sure what it was.

"You…tried to kill yourself, because of what Stiles said?" Derek demanded, that cold, empty feeling disappearing, replaced by anger.

"He was right," Jackson snapped with a glare, which had his parents looking at him. "You may as well use me for something good!"

"I won't send you to your death!" Derek roared, slamming his hands on the table, which broke.

Jackson stood up and shoved Derek back. Derek growled when his back hit the counter that held Jackson's body parts. "What else am I good for?" Jackson demanded. He stormed up to Derek and grabbed the cleaver, removing his fingers again. His mother screamed echoed around the room and Derek's eyes widened as the fingers regrew. "I feel nothing, Derek."

Derek couldn't stop staring at Jackson's hand, even going as far to take hold of it. His heart hammered in his chest, as fast as Jackson's was. The rage was slowly dying from both of them and Jackson stepped back, gazing at the alpha and awaiting his next instruction.

Jackson's father cleared his throat. "Derek, we…" He glanced at his wife, her eyes wide and staring at their son. "We can't handle this."

Derek nodded, unable to take his eyes from Jackson. "I'll take him to my loft," he said and finally looked at the parents. "You're free to visit him, whenever you want. Jackson, pack some clothes."

Jackson turned to his parents. His mother was sobbing and his father seemed paler than normal. Their scents were rank with something that Jackson hadn't smelled in a while. Fear. They were terrified of him and what he had become. That definitely should have made him feel something, but he simply walked past them and up to his bedroom. He packed as much of his clothing as he could in a suitcase, grabbed his laptop and went back downstairs.

"I'll bury those in the garden for you," Derek was saying as Jackson entered the kitchen. His parents were sitting on the chairs, not bothered by the lack of table.

Derek collected the fingers and hands, stepping out of the kitchen door and onto the back patio. Jackson watched his mother. She was staring at the floor, hands over her ears, as though she didn't want to hear anything being said. His father was staring ahead, barely blinking and definitely refusing to look at Jackson.

After a few minutes, Derek returned, brushing the dirt from his hands. He glared at Jackson, who tilted his head. He hadn't done anything wrong, as far as he knew. He didn't know why Derek was disappointed in him. Jackson frowned. He could feel that. Disappointment. He knew what it was.

"As you should. I've been beating it into your head for the last five minutes," Derek said, eyes flashing red. "Get to the loft."

"Okay."

Jackson turned and left the house, getting into his car. He started the engine, still feeling Derek's disappointment. He wondered why he could feel it so strongly, since they were so far apart. It didn't matter, he decided and backed out of the driveway.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Derek demanded as soon as he entered his loft, freezing when the stench of blood hit him.

Jackson stared at him, watching his nose. He looked down at his shirt and realized he was still hadn't changed. The idea hadn't occurred to him, as he didn't mind the smell of blood. Derek narrowed his eyes and breathed out sharply through his nose.

"I had to test the idea," Jackson said and Peter sat up straighter on the sofa.

"And what idea is this?" Peter asked, looking between the two.

Jackson tilted his head and turned to Peter. "If I could die," he answered.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Can you?"

"I haven't done enough tests," Jackson said, turning to Derek when a roar sounded. Derek had his fist through a wall.

Isaac wandered out of his bedroom and froze, staring at the three of them. His eyes went to the front of Jackson's shirt. "Is that your blood?"

"Yes."

Isaac frowned. "How…?"

"I cut my throat open."

"What?" Peter said and jumped to his feet, checking Jackson's throat.

"That's not the best part," Derek said with clenched teeth. "His mother saw him stab himself in his ear."

"It's the quickest way to the brain," Jackson explained as Peter turned his head, scratching away the dried blood.

"He's not…wrong," Isaac said, standing beside Derek. "Did you feel any of it?"

"Oh, he didn't," Derek answered with the same clenched teeth. "He was even nice enough to give me a demonstration. Cut his fucking fingers off, right in front of me!"

"Huh," Peter said and picked up Jackson's hands, looking them over. "There's not a scar or indication that they were removed."

"I was told that we don't scar," Jackson said.

"Not the point, but nice to know you know that," Peter said and dropped Jackson's hands, stepping back. "Well, at least we know you can't die from your own hand."

"I don't know that, yet," Jackson told him. "As I said, more tests are needed."

"Jackson…" Derek growled and removed his hand from the wall. He grabbed hold of Jackson's shirt and dragged him into his bedroom. "Shower."

"Okay."

Jackson went into the bathroom and stripped off. He stepped under the water, washing the dried blood off his body. He turned off the water and grabbed the towel, drying off his body and walking out into the living area, drying his hair.

"Jesus, Jackson!" Isaac exclaimed and turned around.

Jackson stopped and looked at them. Peter and Derek were staring at him and Jackson got the feeling he had done something wrong. As neither of the other two said anything, Jackson went to his suitcase and dressed.

Peter laughed and shook his head. "Guess there's no shame left in him, then."

Jackson frowned and looked to Derek for confirmation, before he remembered that Stiles was the one that explained emotions and feelings to him. "What's 'shame'?"

"It's a form of embarrassment," Isaac answered, looking over his shoulder. He turned around when he saw that Jackson was dressed.

"And what's 'embarrassment'?"

"It's something that's a little difficult to explain," Isaac said and scratched his jaw. "It's…well, it's a feeling you'll know when you feel it. You'll want to curl up and die."

Derek shook his head. "It's a form of fear – fear of what others might think, fear that you've done something wrong." He checked his watch and glanced at Isaac. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for school?"

"Oh, man," Isaac whined and looked at Jackson. "Why doesn't he have to attend school?"

"You really wanna explain Jackson to someone?" Derek asked, chuckling when Isaac's shoulders slumped. "That's what I thought, pup. Get dressed."

"I'm gonna see if I can pick up that trail again," Peter said as he stood, moving to the door. He froze when Jackson joined him.

"Not happening, Jackson. Sit." Jackson's legs folded under him, as he stared at the door. "I meant on the sofa."

"Okay." Jackson stood and he sat on the sofa, still staring at the door. Tracking a scent was something he could do. He could help Peter find whatever he was looking for…and he could test the theory a little more. "Why—?"

"Because I know you'll try to get yourself killed," Derek answered with a glare. "I don't trust you."

Jackson frowned and tilted his head. "I don't know what that is."

"Don't know what?"

"Trust."

Derek snorted. "That's because you never trusted anyone. Probably didn't even trust yourself."

Jackson turned his head, staring at Derek. "I've upset you." He sought out the link and found that Derek had shut it down.

Derek leaned forward, his eyes darkening. He opened his mouth, but Isaac came out of his room, dressed for school. "We'll discuss this later," he said.

"Okay."

Jackson straightened his head and stared ahead, waiting for the time to go by. He wasn't sure if he wanted Isaac to leave, as something fluttered in his stomach. He remembered that feeling too well. Fear. Except he wasn't scared. He knew Derek couldn't hurt him, regardless of how hard his hits were.

Isaac kept glancing at them. Jackson had heard Derek recline in his chair, before asking his beta how his studies were going. Isaac admitted to needing help in chemistry and Jackson knew he should have felt his anger flare. He still couldn't believe he got a B- on his report card. His final year of high school and he had to work from a B- to his usual A.

"I've got things I need to do," Derek said as he stood and moved to the elevator with Isaac. "Stay."

"Okay."

Jackson continued to stare at the wall Derek had punched. The sun was beginning to set, lighting the loft in ways that would be beautiful, had he understood what beauty was. He stayed where he was, knowing that Derek would be angry if he even twitched out of place. He shouldn't care about that, but he did. It was the first thing he cared about and he was going to latch onto it, for the moment.

Why did he care if Derek was angry with him, for disobeying him? He always disobeyed Derek. It was something he used to enjoy. Derek was angry with him for testing a theory. Perhaps Derek didn't like science. He had no idea what Derek liked, but he had seen books scattered around the bedroom and in the living room.

Peter was the first one back, panting. He went into the kitchen and drank from the faucet, before he looked at Jackson. He sat beside the pup, staring at the wall and trying to find what he found so interesting. After a minute, he stood up and went back to the kitchen.

Jackson felt a slight pressure in his chest and looked at the knife that was plunged into him. He removed it and tossed it onto the coffee table, making sure his pose was the same as when Derek left. He continued to stare ahead, frowning when his head was tilted to the side for him. He straightened it when the grip was loosened, continuing to stare at the wall. Derek would be home soon.

After a few minutes, Peter left the living room and Jackson heard a shower turn on. Just as it was turning off, Jackson heard Derek and his betas arriving. They were a few blocks away, but they would be home soon. They were talking excitedly and Jackson realized his hearing wasn't as good as it should be.

Raising his hand, he touched the knife handle that was sticking from his ear. He pulled it out and tossed it onto the coffee table with the other one. He didn't know what Peter was doing and he didn't care. He wasn't the one that had stuck those knives in him.

The elevator went down and Jackson heard Erica asking about something. "What's wrong? What does it mean?"

"It's a warning," Derek answered, his voice getting closer by the second. There was a pause. "What the fuck?" He pulled open the door to the elevator and stared at Jackson. "Did you move from there?"

"No."

"Then why are you bleeding?" Derek demanded, stepping closer and looking at the knives on the coffee table.

"I was stabbed."

Isaac raised an eyebrow and stepped around the others, going to his bedroom. Peter joined them in the living room and Derek's eyes snapped to him. "Did you stab him?"

"Yep," Peter answered as he flopped onto the sofa beside Jackson. "Nine times. He still has the knives in his back."

Erica frowned and stepped around the sofa. She gasped as she saw the seven knives in Jackson's back. "Holy shit. That's badass."

Derek growled, eyes becoming red and his claws growing. "Why did you stab him?"

Peter shrugged. "Morbid curiosity. I had to know if he would die." Derek growled again and Peter stiffened, bowing his head. "I won't do it again."

"I'm going to pull this out, Jackson," Erica said, gripping one of the handles.

"Okay."

Erica grimaced as she pulled the knife out of Jackson's back. "Oh, god. I don't think I can do this."

Boyd joined her behind the sofa. "You seriously don't feel that?"

"No."

With a deep breath, Boyd grabbed one of the handles and pulled it from Jackson's back. "Oh, that's so weird." He removed another. "Anything?"

"No."

Glancing at Derek, Boyd shook his head. He winced as he grabbed another knife and pulled it out. "I think I'm going to be sick," he said, dropping the knives on the coffee table. "I can't watch pack bleed."

"That's fair," Derek said, placing a hand on Boyd's shoulder. "You don't need to feel ashamed. I wanted to know how you would react, considering it's Jackson."

"Hey, stabbing him is completely different from…pulling knives out of him." Erica dropped the knife she held, shuddering.

"Join Isaac in his room and do your homework," Derek ordered and Jackson stood. "Not you."

Jackson remained standing, waiting for his order. Erica and Boyd left the living room and even Peter found a reason to leave. Jackson frowned as he felt a tug towards Derek, but there was no hands on him. He stayed where he was. There was a stronger tug and Jackson fell face first onto the coffee table. He got back to his feet and stared ahead.

"Why don't you come towards it?" Derek asked and the tug happened again.

"I didn't know I should."

"This," Derek said and the tug happened again. "Is your alpha calling you to them."

"I didn't know that." Jackson frowned and stepped forward when he was tugged.

"Good. Turn around." Jackson did as he was told and heard the knives from his back joining the ones on the coffee table. "When I told you to stay, I meant for you to stay in loft, not stay on the sofa."

"I didn't know that."

Derek opened the cuts in the shirt, looking at the scars on Jackson's back. "We don't scar."

"I know."

"Then why aren't you healing them?"

"Because I'm not one of you. If I was pack, I would have emotions."

Derek stared at Jackson's neck for a long while, before he nodded and stepped back. "Go shower."

"Okay." Jackson stepped towards Derek's room.

"Take your suitcase with you."

Jackson turned and grabbed the suitcase, making his way into Derek's room. He stripped and showered, seeing the water tainted with his dried blood. He washed and stepped out, looking at his reflection. He saw the scar over his heart. He would never be pack again.

Derek sat on his bed, waiting for Jackson to come out of the bathroom. He knew Jackson needed another lesson, but it was one that Derek didn't want to deliver. He knew the previous lesson had stuck with him. He had felt Jackson at the other end of the link, trying to offer the comfort to soothe his raging wolf.

Seeing the blood on Jackson's shirt that morning wasn't something Derek ever wanted to see again. Coming home to it was worse. His own damn uncle had tried to kill Jackson and for what? Just to say he did? He would need to rip Peter apart after he was done with Jackson. If Jackson was going to bleed for anyone it would be for him, his alpha.

Holding his head, Derek closed his eyes. He prayed that Jackson never asked again if he was pack. He was tired of never having the answer he wanted to give. How could he know if Jackson was pack? His youngest pup could kill all of them, even him and think there was nothing wrong with it. He didn't smell like pack, either. He didn't smell like home. There was nothing to prove he was a werewolf.

Derek's eyes flew open as the scene of Jackson cutting off his fingers resurfaced. He thought he had repressed that memory. Jackson had done it without a hint of anxiety. He knew what was going to happen when he removed his fingers, but he had probably done the same thing the first time. Knowing he couldn't feel pain meant he could try to kill himself, at least four times.

How could he keep someone like that around his pack? He didn't need Isaac waking up one morning to find Jackson disemboweling himself, just to check a fact for biology. Or pouring acid on himself for a reaction for chemistry. That wouldn't be fair on Isaac and no one should have to witness that.

Jackson finally left the bathroom, fully dressed and went to leave the bedroom. "Stop," Derek told him and Jackson turned to him, tilting his head. He was tired of seeing nothing there. "Come here."

Tilting his head to the other side, Jackson stopped a few feet from Derek. Glaring at the boy, Derek found his thread as a beta and tugged him closer. He might not smell like pack, but if Derek had that link with him, he was still pack. Until that thread disappeared, Jackson was his responsibility. He needed to make sure Jackson remembered where he belonged.

"What do you feel?"

"Nothing."

Derek nodded and opened his emotional link to Jackson. He watched Jackson's face, saw the life come back into his eyes. He heard the heart beginning to beat again. "What do you feel?"

Jackson frowned, not because he was confused, but because he was uncomfortable. "Warmth."

There was the old Jackson. The one that didn't need anyone to look after him. The one that was too good for emotions. "Why did you try to kill yourself?" Derek asked.

"That hasn't changed. I needed to know if I could die."

Derek lowered his eyes for a moment and then stared at Jackson, watching as he rolled his shoulders. He really didn't like having someone look after him. He wanted to prove that he was a big boy and could look after himself. Derek knew that was bullshit. Jackson would always need someone to watch over him – mostly to save him from himself.

Reaching out, Derek grabbed Jackson's left hand, not surprised when Jackson tried to pull it away. He had missed that fight in Jackson. He didn't want his alpha fussing about him, despite craving it. He lifted the shirt and found a scar on Jackson's chest. He had no idea what Jackson was, but he could wolf out when he was angry or when Derek was angry.

"You aren't a weapon, Jackson," Derek said quietly, holding his hand and massaging the fingers. "You're Jackson Whittemore. You're not some creature that we're gonna drop on our enemies."

"God, you're an idiot," Jackson sneered and Derek glared. "Why wouldn't you use me for that? I can't die, dumbass."

That was one thing he wasn't sure if he missed. Jackson's mouth and his inability to think before he spoke. He still had that inability, it seemed. He always answered without thinking, even if the answer was one Derek didn't want to hear.

"We don't know if that's true," Derek stated and stood, dropping Jackson's hand. "I'm not going to lose any member of my pack, even you."

Jackson stood his ground, glaring up at Derek. "What does it matter? Peter stabbed me nine times. I didn't feel any of it. He even stabbed me in the ear – clear shot to the brain. And hey, would you check it out? I'm still fucking standing!"

"Don't make me put you in your place, pup," Derek warned, his eyes flashing red.

"Try it," Jackson challenged.

Derek went to grip Jackson's neck, only to have his hand slapped away, hard. Jackson had a lot of strength in him, even when he was an angry jerk. Reaching out again, Jackson slapped his hand down. Jackson couldn't feel pain, he probably couldn't feel anything.

His annoyance spiking, Derek grabbed Jackson's shoulder and spun him around. He pinned the young wolf to the wall beside his door, growling. His hand firmly on Jackson's neck, he glared at the young pup that had been nothing but a pain for him. From the blackmail for a bite, to the kanima and now this. He was almost at his wit's end, waiting for Jackson to be the wolf he was meant to be.

"I'm still your alpha," he said, his eyes flashing red. "And if you continue to anger me on purpose, I will put you in your place."

"And where would that be? At the bottom of your pack? I'm already there." A smirk spread across Jackson's for a moment, his eyes sparkling. "Or under you?"

"Keep dreaming, pup," Derek said and pushed back from Jackson, shutting down the link. The smirk fell from Jackson's face and his eyes lost that luster. "Get out of my room."

"Okay."

Derek turned away and flinched. He really hated that word.

When the others were asleep, aside from Jackson, who was staring out the window, Derek sat at the table with Peter. After giving his uncle the beat down he deserved, and giving him an hour to regain some strength, he wanted answers. Not for what he did to Jackson. Hell, Derek would be lying if he said he didn't want to stab Jackson sometimes.

"Did you find them?" Derek asked, sipping his tea.

"No. Their scent is all over the town and I couldn't tell which was the freshest one. They're a crafty lot." Peter rolled his shoulder and glanced at Jackson.

"Why would they show up here, knowing there's an established pack?" Derek looked at the photo of the symbol on the door of the Hale house. Even from the photo he could feel its power.

"I think that answers your question." Peter glanced down at the photo. "They're either recruiting or trying to have more territory."

Derek didn't like any of those choices. His eyes drifted over to Jackson, the idea dancing through his mind. No. He couldn't send Jackson out to face off against a pack of werewolves. They had smelled eight different scents. That was a decent pack to wipe them out, especially if there was an alpha pair.

Aside from the symbol, they hadn't tried to make contact. Boyd, Erica and Isaac had said there were no new students at school, for the moment. They had only picked up their scents a couple of days ago. If they knew how to hide their scent, they could have been there longer.

Sitting back, Derek closed his eyes. Why hadn't they reached out? If they didn't want to fight fairly, Derek was fine with that. If they hurt any of his pack, he would murder them all. Opening his eyes, he gazed at Peter, still lost in his thoughts. He remembered when packs would move through, during his youth. They stopped by, just to let the reigning pack know they were there and would move on within a few days.

"I could ask them why they're here," Jackson offered, not turning from the window.

"No," Derek growled, glaring at the picture.

"He's got a point, nephew. They might try to intimidate him. When that doesn't work, they might think the rest of the pack is like him," Peter said, wincing as he raised his mug.

"He doesn't smell like my pack," Derek stated, forcing back a flinch. He hadn't meant to say that.

"Even better," Jackson said with that same monotone voice, reminding Derek that nothing meant anything to him. "They won't blame you when I kill them."

Peter stared at Jackson. "Are you sure you want the old Jackson back? I kinda like this badass."

Derek glared at Peter, before turning it to Jackson. "You're not going to kill anyone."

"You should use me, Derek," Jackson said simply. "I'm your best chance of thinning that pack."

"No," Derek growled, noticing the way Jackson's shoulders tensed. He let that anger wash into Jackson. "You've killed enough people for one lifetime."

"And if they attack us?" Jackson shot back, finally turning from the window. "How do you plan on keeping your precious pack from getting the blue eyes? I already have them."

Derek refused to let the guilt cloud his anger. He knew he was responsible for Jackson's blue eyes as much as Matt was. "You had an excuse for that, Jackson. This time, you don't. If I learn that—"

"What about your pack, Hale?" Jackson demanded and gestured down the hallway. "What about Isaac? You want him dying or having to kill?"

"That's part of being a werewolf," Derek stated and stood, mostly to prevent Jackson from running out the door. "Something you should be learning."

"That being a werewolf means you hide and cower?" Jackson shook his head. "Didn't you use to give me shit for always being scared? You're not any better, you bitch!"

"There's a difference between being scared of my shadow and starting a fucking turf war that could destroy a town!"

"If I kill them, there'll be no fucking turf war, jackass,' Jackson said with a growl.

"There's at least one alpha in that group, moron," Derek snapped and felt his eyes turning red. He pushed back his wolf, not wanting to fight Jackson in his home. "I thought you were smarter than this."

Derek kept his face neutral as anger flashed through Jackson's eyes. The anger was coming more naturally to him than any other emotion. Derek should have known that would be the case. He was feeding Jackson his emotions and he had a lot of anger, towards everything.

But just as quickly as the anger flashed through, it was replaced with something else. Something that Derek never thought possible. Sadness. His own sadness. Jackson was actually upset at his words, as though being told he wasn't smart was something he'd had to deal with.

Derek realized that Jackson was extremely intelligent. He had to be, in order to make sure his parents weren't disappointed with him. He had to be the perfect boy, in absolutely every way possible, just so he could keep others happy.

"I never thought you'd be dumb enough to think you could take out an alpha." Derek smirked, adding as much salt as possible to the wound. "You've never been able to do anything right in your life. How stupid can you get?"

Derek watched as Jackson tried to get angry; tried to hide his sadness through another emotion. His eyes widened when Jackson stormed passed him, ripping the loft door from the rollers and throwing it behind him. It took out the window and the wall, forcing Derek to duck for cover behind the dining table.

Peter had ducked and popped his head over the table. "Why do we want the old Jackson back?"

Derek shut down the link, knowing that Jackson wouldn't hunt down the pack without his permission. He looked at the state of his loft and figured it was time to move those meetings to the old house. He couldn't do as much damage there.

Going to his room, Derek tried telling himself that he had done the right thing. Jackson had learned sorrow.

End Chapter.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. Drop a line if you did.

Until the next time.

Peace.
Auska.