AN: Time for a little mid-week update! Hope you're all still enjoying this story x
Jamie sat on the edge of her bed, still tangled in the aftermath of what had just happened, the dim light from the streetlamp outside casting a faint glow over the room. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her body a mix of exhaustion and a lingering buzz that made her feel more awake than she had in days. She pushed herself up, reaching for her shirt on the floor. As she slid it over her head, she felt the faint scratches Derek had left on her back, the lines almost delicate against her skin. She rubbed the tender spots absently, and her gaze flickered down to her body as a half-amused, half-anxious thought crossed her mind.
"I'm not going to turn into a werewolf now, am I?" she said, her voice lightly laced with humour, but there was an undercurrent of real curiosity there.
Derek sat across the room, his gaze watching her with an unreadable intensity. He exhaled a soft, amused breath. "No. It has to be a bite."
Jamie nodded, her fingers tracing the marks absentmindedly. The absence of his touch felt too sharp, too immediate. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this alive—or this lost.
Derek's voice broke through the silence, low and purposeful. "Jamie," he said, his tone shifting, suddenly more serious.
Her stomach fluttered, though she couldn't place whether it was excitement or the warning signal of something darker. She met his gaze, and in the coolness of his eyes, something told her this moment wasn't as innocent as it seemed.
"I need you to do something for me," Derek continued, his voice soft but deliberate, like he was choosing his words with a purpose.
Jamie's pulse quickened, her mind still hazy from their encounter. She tried to focus on him, but there was a weight settling in her chest—an unease she couldn't quite shake. "What do you need?" she asked, her voice unsteady, though she hated the way it betrayed her.
Derek paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough for her to feel the tension building. His eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of something—cold, calculating. "I need you to help me get Scott on my side," he said, his voice flat but commanding.
Jamie froze for a beat, a chill running through her at the mention of Scott's name. Something twisted in her stomach, and a sharp pang of realization hit her. Was she just a pawn? Had she been used for something else entirely?
Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to push the thought away, focusing on Derek's gaze. The way he looked at her—like she was the answer to everything. The way she felt so dependent on him now.
"I—I don't know," she stammered, her voice a little shaky. "Scott... he's not—he's not gonna just come over to your side, is he?"
Derek's lips quirked into a half-smile, but there was no warmth in it. "I know what Scott values. And if I can make him see it's in his best interest to join me, he will. But he won't listen to me, Jamie. Not unless he has a reason."
Jamie swallowed, the words gnawing at her insides
"Are you asking me to—what? Convince him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she didn't even fully understand what she was saying.
Derek leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing, his lips pressing together like he was measuring her, weighing something deeper. "He trusts you," he said, his tone deliberate. "He'll listen to you, and when the time comes... you'll be able to convince him to join us."
Jamie's stomach churned, and a cold, sick feeling spread through her chest. But even as the unease set in, a strange pull kept her rooted to the spot, her eyes still locked on Derek. She hated how much she was beginning to crave his approval, his attention.
"I... I don't know if I can do that," she murmured, her voice shaky now, the reality of what he was asking sinking in. She wasn't sure if she could manipulate Scott like that. She wasn't sure if she even wanted to.
Derek's gaze softened, but only slightly, his voice taking on that low, dangerous edge that always seemed to reach into her deepest fears. "I need you to try."
His words burrowed deep into her, and despite the unease gnawing at her stomach, something in her wanted to believe him. He needed her.
Jamie looked away, her mind reeling, the conflict inside her rising. She didn't want to betray Scott. But she'd crossed a line she couldn't uncross, and part of her feared what would happen if she ever tried.
"Okay," she said, the words falling from her lips almost before she could stop them. The resolve in her voice felt fragile, but it was there, and that was enough for Derek.
He stood, moving toward the door. Jamie felt herself panic, reluctant to let him leave.
"Where are you going?" she asked, hating the pleading undertone to her question. Derek turned his head towards her, but didn't meet her eyes.
"I have to go," he replied.
Jamie's chest tightened, and a wave of confusion washed over her. She hadn't expected him to leave so soon, not after everything that had happened. Not when things felt so raw between them, when the unspoken words seemed to linger in the air, thick with meaning. She didn't know what she was expecting, but it wasn't this sudden distance.
"Why?" she asked, the word slipping out before she could stop it, her voice laced with something she didn't want to admit. She hated the way it sounded—vulnerable and needy, but it was the truth. She didn't want him to walk out, not yet.
Derek paused at the door, his hand on the handle. He looked back meeting her gaze this time, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I can't stay. Not right now," he said, his voice low, strained. There was something in his expression—something unspoken, something like regret. It was almost as if he was pulling away not because he wanted to, but because he had to.
She nodded, letting him walk away without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Jamie alone in her room, her mind replaying the nights events as she tried to decipher what had just occurred.
Jamie trudged down the crowded hallway, her books clutched loosely against her chest as her mind wandered. She barely registered the noise around her—the sharp clang of lockers slamming shut, the snippets of conversations drifting by. All she could think about was the way Derek had looked at her last night, the weight of his hands on her body, the feeling of his lips on her skin.
Her chest tightened at the memory, a rush of something—longing, need, and maybe regret—flooding through her.
"Jamie!"
She blinked, snapping out of her thoughts just as Stiles appeared at her side, practically skidding to a stop. He was out of breath, his expression a mix of urgency and frustration.
"What now?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
Stiles raised his eyebrows but pushed forward anyway. "I need to talk to you about Jackson."
Jamie groaned, her shoulders sagging. "Why is it always about Jackson? I'm so sick of people asking me about him."
Stiles frowned, his face shifting from frantic to slightly offended. "Well, sorry for interrupting your brooding time, but this is important."
Jamie shot him a look but said nothing, pressing her lips together.
Stiles hesitated, then dropped his voice slightly as they walked past a group of students. "Do you know what happened to Jackson's birth parents?"
Jamie stopped short, turning to face him. "What?"
"You guys used to be close," Stiles said, tilting his head slightly, like he was trying to read her reaction. "I thought maybe he told you something. You know, before he turned into... you know... this."
Jamie's grip on her books tightened. "No. I don't know anything about his birth parents. And why can't you just ask him yourself?"
Stiles gave her an exaggerated look of exasperation. "Oh, right, because Jackson totally wants to have a heart-to-heart with me or Scott. Did you forget about the restraining order?"
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "That's... convenient."
"Actually, it's the opposite of convenient," Stiles shot back, gesturing wildly. "Do you know how hard it is to investigate someone when you're not even allowed to be within fifty feet of them? It's like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing, and those pieces are in a locked box labelled 'Do Not Open—Court Ordered.'"
Jamie sighed, already regretting this conversation. "I don't know anything about Jackson's parents, okay? Why don't you ask Lydia? She's the one he actually talks to."
Stiles gave her a sceptical look but didn't press the point. Instead, he stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets and tilted his head toward her. "Seriously, Jamie. If you know anything, even the tiniest detail, it could help. Jackson being the Kanima—it has to be connected to his past somehow. It's not random."
"I don't know anything," Jamie repeated, her voice firm. She started walking again, hoping he'd get the message and drop it.
Stiles followed, undeterred. "Come on, you were his friend. You were—wait, are you even listening to me?"
She glanced at him, feeling a flicker of annoyance. Her thoughts were already drifting back to Derek, to the things he'd said, the way he'd made her feel safe and conflicted all at once.
"Jamie?"
"What?" she snapped, looking at him properly now.
Stiles narrowed his eyes, studying her. "You're acting weird. Weirder than usual, I mean. Is there something going on? Something you're not telling me?"
Jamie hesitated, then said, carefully, "I'm just saying there are... people out there who know what they're doing. People who can handle this."
Stiles' expression immediately hardened. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Jamie shifted uncomfortably. "I just mean maybe you don't need to figure everything out yourself all the time. Not everything is your responsibility, Stiles."
"Oh, so what, we should just sit back and hope someone else cleans up the mess?" he snapped. "I'm sorry, but when the people who 'know what they're doing' leave a trail of bodies behind them, I'm not exactly feeling reassured."
Jamie felt her cheeks flush, anger and something else—something like shame—bubbling to the surface. She clutched her books tighter, her knuckles whitening. "You don't know everything, Stiles."
Stiles' eyes widened. "You're right. I don't. But I know enough to see when something's not adding up."
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The hallway buzzed with life around them, but Jamie felt like the air between her and Stiles had gone completely still. Finally, she shook her head, her voice quiet.
"Just leave it, Stiles."
And with that, she walked away, her heart pounding as she tried—and failed—not to think about Derek.
Stiles slammed his locker shut, frustrated. Lydia had been no help—again. As usual, she'd brushed off his questions with a sharp remark and a withering look, leaving him back at square one.
"You seem tense," came a smooth voice behind him.
Stiles turned to find Erica leaning against the lockers, her arms crossed, a sly smile playing on her lips.
"I don't have time for this," Stiles said, starting to walk away.
"Why are you asking Lydia about Jackson's real parents?" Erica called after him, her tone almost sing-song.
Stiles stopped, spinning around to glare at her. "Why are you bringing out the claws on camera?" he snapped.
Erica smirked, tilting her head and retracting her claws.
"That's right," Stiles continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You wanna play Catwoman? Fine. I'll be your Batman."
Erica pushed off the locker, sauntering closer to him. "If you're wondering about Jackson's real parents," she said, lowering her voice slightly, "they're about a half a mile from here... in Beacon Hills Cemetery."
Stiles' mouth opened, but no sound came out. He blinked at her, processing the information. "Wait... what? They're dead?"
Erica raised an eyebrow. "You didn't know? I thought you were the smart one."
Stiles frowned, shaking his head. "Okay, but what does that have to do with him being a Kanima?"
Erica gave a small shrug, her expression unreadable. "You tell me, detective." She turned to walk away but paused, her gaze drifting down the corridor.
"By the way," she added, her tone laced with amusement, "Jackson isn't the only one you should be worried about."
Stiles followed her gaze to see Jamie standing at her locker, absently fiddling with the combination dial.
"Jamie?" Stiles asked, confused. "Why?"
Erica's grin widened, and she turned back to face him, leaning in slightly. "Hasn't Scott noticed already?" she teased.
"Noticed what?" Stiles demanded, his eyes narrowing.
Erica leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "She reeks of Derek."
Stiles froze, his mouth hanging open as her words sank in. "She—what? No. That's—that's not—"
Erica stepped back, clearly enjoying his reaction. "Cat got your tongue?" she quipped before sauntering off, leaving him standing there, stunned and speechless.
It only took him a second to recover. Stiles shook his head and muttered, "No way," before taking off down the hallway toward Jamie.
"Jamie!" he called, his voice echoing through the corridor.
Jamie glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see him practically running toward her. She sighed, closing her locker. "What now, Stiles?"
He skidded to a stop in front of her. Stiles hesitated for a moment, running a hand through his hair, before stepping closer and lowering his voice. "Is there something going on between you and Derek?"
Jamie's eyes widened slightly before she quickly masked her reaction, her face settling into a forced calm. "No," she said quickly. "Why would you even think that?"
But Stiles saw it—the flicker of panic in her expression, the way her shoulders stiffened, the way her gaze darted to the side for just a second too long.
His stomach dropped. "Oh my God," he said, his voice quiet with dawning realisation. He pointed at her, his finger shaking slightly. "Something did happen."
"No, it didn't," Jamie said sharply, her tone defensive.
"It's written all over your face," Stiles retorted, stepping back and shaking his head as if trying to clear the image from his mind. "That is deeply disturbing. Like, seriously, I might need therapy after this conversation."
Jamie's jaw tightened, and she shot him a glare. "Nothing happened," she said firmly, her tone icy now.
But Stiles wasn't buying it. "You're a terrible liar, Jamie." He crossed his arms, his expression both concerned and disgusted. "And, uh, not to make this worse, but you do know he's, like, a full-grown adult werewolf with serious personality issues? What, did you guys bond over the fact that you both use the same conditioner?"
Jamie groaned in frustration, slamming her locker shut. "Stiles, drop it."
"I'm not dropping anything!" Stiles shot back. "You cannot expect me to just let this slide!"
Jamie didn't respond. Instead, she turned on her heel and started walking briskly down the corridor.
"Hey!" Stiles called after her, jogging to catch up. "Don't walk away from me!"
Jamie quickened her pace, refusing to look back. "I'm not doing this with you, Stiles."
"Oh, you're doing this," Stiles countered, practically running now. "You don't get to just storm off and pretend everything's fine when you've got a giant neon sign above your head that says, 'I've made some questionable life choices.'"
Jamie ignored him, her face set in a determined scowl, but before she could make it much farther, the sound of a door slamming open echoed through the corridor. Both turned to see the double doors to the boys' locker room burst wide, and Jackson came tumbling out, landing hard on the floor with a loud thud.
"What the hell?" Stiles muttered, his eyes widening.
Scott followed a second later, his expression twisted in fury. He grabbed Jackson by the collar and hauled him up. "You think you can threaten Allison and get away with it?" Scott growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"Get your hands off me, McCall!" Jackson snapped, shoving Scott back.
Before anyone could react, Allison emerged from the locker room behind them, her face pale but resolute. She held her arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching the scene unfold with unease. Jamie's eyes darted to Allison, then to Jackson, and finally back to Scott, trying to piece together what had just happened.
"Scott!" Allison said sharply, stepping forward. "Don't—"
But Scott wasn't listening. Jackson had shoved him, and now Scott was tackling him to the ground. The two boys brawled right there in the middle of the corridor, fists flying as grunts and curses filled the air.
Scott had Jackson pinned, his fist poised to strike, but Jackson twisted free, flipping them over so he had the upper hand. Just as Jackson raised a fist, Erica appeared out of nowhere, pulling him back with surprising ease.
"Alright, boys, break it up," Erica said, grinning as she hauled Jackson off Scott like she was enjoying the show.
"Scott, stop!" Stiles yelled, stepping in to grab his friend by the arms before he could lunge at Jackson again.
Allison moved closer, trying to calm Scott down. "Scott, please, just stop. You're making it worse!"
Before anyone else could intervene, a sharp voice cut through the commotion.
"What is going on here?"
Everyone froze as Mr. Harris strode into the hallway, his gaze flicking from Scott to Jackson to the rest of the group. His expression was a mix of irritation and exasperation, like he'd seen it all before and was already dreading the paperwork.
"Fighting in the hallway? Really? What are you all, kindergartners?" Harris snapped, crossing his arms. His eyes narrowed on Scott and Jackson, both still breathing heavily and glaring at each other.
"Detention," he said, pointing at Scott and then at Jackson. "Both of you. After school. And—" His gaze swept over Stiles, Erica, Jamie, Allison, and Matt, who had appeared behind them. "Congratulations, the rest of you just earned it too. Complicity and loitering. Detention for the lot of you."
"What?" Stiles blurted out, throwing his hands up. "I didn't even do anything!"
"Then consider this a lesson in being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Mr. Stilinski," Harris said flatly. "Now get to class. All of you."
Scott glared at Jackson as they all began to disperse, Stiles muttering indignantly under his breath while Erica sauntered off with a smirk.
As they walked away, Jamie glanced over her shoulder at Allison, who was walking quickly, her head down. She then turned her gaze to Scott, who looked both furious and embarrassed. Something was brewing, and Jamie couldn't help but feel like she was caught right in the middle of it.
The library was full of the typical school-day misery. Mr. Harris sat at the front, flipping through his book like the world outside didn't exist. Scott and Stiles were in their usual spots, Scott brooding, Stiles fidgeting. Erica was lounging lazily in her chair, chewing gum with an exaggerated smack every now and then. Allison and Matt sat separately near Jackson.
Jamie sat at a table across from them, her mind elsewhere. She kept catching herself glancing at Scott, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept looking at the clock as if waiting for the minutes to drag by.
Erica leaned over to Scott, her voice low enough that Mr. Harris wouldn't overhear. "You know, I don't get why you're still pushing Derek away. He might be the only one who can help with all this crap going on."
Scott stiffened, his gaze narrowing. "I don't need his help."
Erica just shrugged, not buying it. "You do realize the whole 'Kanima thing' might be out of control, right? And he's the one who—" She stopped herself, noticing Jamie was watching them from the corner of her eye.
Jamie immediately looked down, pretending to be absorbed in her notebook, but her ears were still sharp. She had overheard enough of their conversation to know they were talking about Derek.
"It's not just Derek," Scott muttered, voice tight. "It's everything about him. He's not someone you just—trust."
Jamie let out a soft sigh, glancing at Stiles who had his head down, pretending not to be eavesdropping, but clearly following the conversation as well.
Finally, she couldn't help herself. She leaned forward slightly and said, in a tone that sounded casual but held a certain weight, "Maybe... maybe we do need his help, though."
Scott whipped his head around, brows furrowed in disbelief. "You're defending him now?"
Jamie blinked at him, but her face remained neutral. "No. I'm just saying... I mean, it's not like we've got a lot of other options."
"Do you really think he's gonna just help us?" Scott scoffed, crossing his arms tightly. "Everything he does is to suit his own agenda."
Jamie hesitated for a moment, then shrugged, her voice just a little softer. "Sometimes people do things for reasons that aren't so obvious." She looked over at Erica, who was still chewing her gum lazily, watching the exchange with an almost entertained expression. "I mean, who knows what's really going through his head."
Erica chimed in from the side, her tone playful but sharp, "She's got a point, Scott. You don't know what he's been through either. Derek's not all bad."
Scott looked between them, still unconvinced, but his expression softened just a little. "I don't know... I just don't trust him."
Jamie let out another small sigh, this time more inwardly, but she couldn't hide the slight pang in her chest. She was used to Scott's reluctance to trust Derek—it was something that had been a constant since the beginning. But the situation was changing. And maybe it was time for Scott to accept that.
"Well, maybe you'll have to," Jamie said quietly, glancing out the window before looking back at him. "Things don't always go according to plan, and it's looking more and more like we're going to need him on our side."
Erica rolled her eyes dramatically. "Yeah, and who knows? He might actually help. I've seen worse team-ups, trust me." She grinned, flashing Scott a teasing look. "But no pressure. Just saying, though, I don't want to be the one left holding the bag when this whole mess blows up."
Scott's expression darkened as he listened to Jamie's words, his eyes narrowing slightly. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed more tightly, as if he was physically putting distance between himself and the conversation. He was quiet for a moment, absorbing her words, and something shifted in the way he looked at her—something guarded, calculating.
Jamie didn't notice at first, too caught up in trying to make her point, but then she felt the weight of Scott's gaze. She glanced at him, catching the suspicion brewing behind his eyes.
It was subtle, but she knew him well enough by now to see the shift. Scott was thinking—his mind working overtime, and that was never a good sign.
Scott was silent. He studied her for a moment, the gears in his head turning slowly. His lips pressed together in a thin line, eyes narrowing as if he were piecing something together, his mind latching onto a single thought that made his stomach churn.
Derek must've gotten to her.
Scott couldn't help it. The connection between Jamie's sudden defence of Derek and her almost convincing argument about trusting him felt too off. His gaze flickered between Jamie and Erica. He wanted to believe it wasn't true, but the more he listened, the more the pieces fell into place.
He didn't say anything—he didn't need to. He could see it in her face, the way her posture had shifted, how she had begun to soften her stance on Derek without even realising it. She was starting to make excuses for him.
A sharp, almost biting realization struck him: Jamie was starting to see things his way. Derek's way.
Scott's jaw clenched, but his expression remained unreadable. He couldn't let himself get distracted by this. Not right now. But the thought gnawed at him—Derek was already pulling her in.
He blinked and turned his attention back to the conversation, his gaze still locked on Jamie but now more guarded, like she was some kind of enigma he didn't know how to solve.
Erica shot him a teasing grin, clearly unaware of the shift in Scott's mood. "You sure you don't want to at least consider Derek's help? I mean, we all know you're a stubborn guy, Scott, but come on... sometimes it's smarter to accept help."
Scott's response was a noncommittal grunt, his fingers tapping against his leg. But inside, the doubt was creeping in, and the weight of the silence between him and Jamie felt heavier than it had moments before.