In Which the Full Moon Brings the Best of Friends
I do not own Teen Wolf.
Chapter 1: In Which The Full Moon Brings the Best Of Friends.
Jackson sat in the dark tinted interior of his black Camaro, hands on his laps and his head pressed against the headrest. It was only two more days till the full moon and he could already feel its effects on him. He was agitated, irritated and ready to tear into anyone that so much as looked at him funny. Which was about every single person in his new school despite the fact that he was been here for almost two weeks. He had been damn lucky to convince his father to book their flight so that he would arrive in London with some time to spare before he had to change. He could not have imagined what a disaster it would have been, had he transformed on a plane. He pushed the thoughts out of his head and tried to focus on his anchor; the beautiful, feisty Lydia Martin. His girlfriend of unremembered amount of years. He focused on the memory of her scent, the feel of her skin beneath his hands, the sound of her voice; allowing the feelings that she invoked to bring his back from the edge of chaos. That was what Derek told him would work; having an anchor keeps you from going over the edge. Only that it wasn’t working so well anymore. He wasn’t able to keep the memory strong. He could only barely remember her scent, could not remember with as much clarity as before of what her skin felt like or what her voice sounded like. He was losing his anchor. But he held on anyway; had to hold on because he nothing else. There was nothing here to hold him. Despair and helplessness began to wash over him, driving the memories away and accelerating his heart beat. He snapped his eyes open hoping that reality would bring him back, instead the world was now bathed in a pale blue tint. He opened his mouth to let out a despairing whine to hear a low menacing growl erupted from his lips. Pain bloomed from his thighs and he saw that his claws had sprouted and were digging in through his jeans. Rage at his own incompetence rushed over the previous feelings of despair and helplessness. Jackson pressed his chin to his chest trying to hide his face in case someone saw his glowing eyes through the glass; his body heaving under the desire to just let go and destroy when a voice shouted at him.
“Hey man, are you okay? Can I help?” For some reason the voice jerked him out of the downward rage spiral and left him feeling both shaky and lightheaded. The world went back into its normal hues and his fingers were just normal blunt stubs still clawing at his ripped, now bloody jeans. Whoever it was that had pulled him back from the edge with just two sentences, was now tapping at the glass.
“Are you have some kind of attack? Do you need help?” Jackson turned cautiously to see a guy with a shock of pale blond hair and eyes that were blue enough to show through the tint, with his fist pressed against the glass. The guy had one eyebrow raised and a concerned look on his face. Jackson liked him immediately. There were only two people in the world that he had ever liked immediately; his best friend Danny and Lydia. And since they were the two people that were the ones that had never failed him he choose to follow his gut again. He smiled a shaky million dollar Jackson smirk and sent the glass down.
“No man, I’m okay,” he lied, feeling the beads of sweat rolling down that side of his face. The guy raised the eyebrow higher and glanced down at Jackson’s thighs, then back into his eyes.
“Were you hurting yourself?” the guy asked. Jackson opened his mouth to retort but stopped. He looked down at the two rows of small puncture marks and felt tears well up. Was he hurting himself? Yes. Yes he was hurting himself. Hurting so bad inside that he wanted to just turn and tear himself apart. But there was no way in hell he was going to tell that to a stranger, no matter if he liked him. He didn’t know him yet. He looked back up to the guy, opened his mouth to make some snarky comment but couldn’t. There were no signs of mocking or judgment in those blue eyes. He could hear the steady beat of the guy’s heart and knew he wasn’t lying about how he was feeling. He blinked hoping that his eyes weren’t getting misty.
“It’s not something to be ashamed of,” the guy said, his voice gentle and somehow incredibly soothing, “Everyone has their way of coping with stress. You want to talk about it?” Jackson almost blurted out “Oh hell yes!” when the school bell rang. He winced, his wolf hearing not doing him any favors. The guy smiled.
“Saved by the bell,” he commented, stepping back from the window but not heading to the school.
“Aren’t you going to class?” Jackson asked.
“Aren’t you?” the guy responded. Jackson had no comeback for that so he got out and locked up the car.
“Are you going in with those?” the guy asked looking at Jackson’s jeans.
“I have clothes in the locker room,” Jackson replied. The guy still didn’t move.
“What?” Jackson asked, flaying out his hands in a helpless gesture, after a few seconds of them standing there motionless.
“I’m new,” the guy said, “I figure you could tell me when to head to since I have no idea where I am going.”
“You are so weird,” Jackson said heading towards the school door. His legs were already healed and he saw the guy looked at his steady gait but said nothing. “What’s your name?”
“Bentley Hawke,” the guy introduced himself, “Recently relocated from down country.”
“Bentley? Really? That is a bit of a crappy name,” Jackson laughed.
“Yes so I’ve heard,” Bentley said good naturedly, “What’s yours?”
“Jackson Whittemore,” Jackson replied, “From America.”
“Ah, a boy with two last names from the might U.S. of A.,” Bentley responded, “What was the problem with your folks? Had an identity crisis when they named you?”
Jackson froze for a split second, flashbacks of the Kanima rushing back to him. He could almost feel the soft pulsing of the kanima’s change under his skin and the feeling of the prison van’s cold walls and the total revulsion of seeing himself turn into something hideous. Suddenly Bentley was in his face, shaking him by one shoulder. Jackson snapped out of the memory, shaking himself. He smiled but it felt like a grimace instead. He opened his mouth to make a funny retort but instead he heard himself say,
“I have no idea. They died in a car accident before I was born and I was cut out of my mother.” Then with a sound that he didn’t want to acknowledge as a sob, he pushed away from Bentley and began heading quickly to the locker rooms. A few steps later he remembered that he was to show Bentley around and he half turned, still walking.
“You should get someone else to show you around,” he called out not really knowing or caring if Bentley heard him, “I…I can’t do this right now.” Then he was running full out, probably looking like a totally maniac and he couldn’t care less. It was two more days to the full moon and he was going to pieces. He burst into the locker room, slamming the door behind him. Thankfully the room was empty so no one could see that he was having a meltdown. God, he wished Derek was there. Even Scott. Anyone who was a werewolf and would know what the hell to do. He took deep breaths, trying to think of Lydia. Trying to get back under control. Trying to stop the transformation that he know was coming on. He heard the door to the locker room open and Bentley’s voice calling out to him.
“Jackson. Hey, I’m sorry man. You obviously have problems and I didn’t mean to trigger you off like that. You ok right?” Jackson felt his pent up emotion just ebbing out. He sagged onto the floor in relief not even bothering to wonder why it was that this weirdly helpful new guy would make him feel that way. He heard Bentley coming up behind him and he turned to see him approaching him with hand held out as if in surrender. Jackson let out a half laugh, half sob.
“Put your hands down,” he said, “It’s ok. I’m…I’m ok now.”
“Oh, good,” Bentley said and dropped his hands. He stood there awkwardly. “I’m sorry Jackson.” Jackson nodded back tiredly.
“It’s fine,” he said, “I just…today has not been a good day for me. I’m usually more put together than this.” Bentley shrugged.
“Everyone has their days,” he replied and then glanced at his watch. Jackson glanced at his and cursed pushing up off the floor.
“I’m gonna be late for first period,” he said opening his locker for his new jeans, “Don’t you need to see the Principal or something?”
“It’s not my first day,” Bentley said, “I just get lost.” Jackson sighed and asked him what class he had. It turned out that they had math together.
“Follow me,” Jackson ordered and led them out.