Jackson's house is a mess on Sunday morning. Empty bottles of alcohol are littered everywhere, and the floor is sticky with spilt beer and various other liquids that Jackson's doesn't want to know about.

Four party guests had stayed the night, sleeping on the couches or the floor or each other. Jackson forces them to help him clean up some of the mess before he kicks them out, grumbling and hungover. It isn't his problem that they'd gotten too drunk to drive, and decided to do the "responsible" thing and stay over. What the hell did he care if they got into accidents? At least they would have been out of his hair.

Jackson spends the rest of the day cleaning up the mess. He's a little hung over himself, and his body os aching and stiff all over. If it wasn't for the mess he had to clean up, he would have considered it worth it. The mess... and Scott.

Jackson thinks about that all day, while he scrubs dried beer off hard wood flooring and fills garbage bag after garbage bag. He thinks about what he's going to say to Scott on Monday. Well, more like what he's going to threaten Scott with, so the little shit will keep his mouth shut.

He goes over everything in his mind again and again, but he's only able to come up with one thing; Allison. He grimaces just thinking about it. Allison is definitely the least appealing option, but unfortunately it seems like the only one he really has. He can't threaten Scott physically, and the team had already proven that they couldn't be relied on to teach him a lesson. Allison is the only thing Scott has that he could take.

Ka-ching. More money in the asshole bank.

Monday afternoon he finds Allison sitting alone in the cafeteria, eating an apple and reading an old, dusty book. It looks like the sort of thing he'd find lying around Derek's house. He tries to pretend he doesn't feel anything in the pit of his chest, as Derek comes to mind. It's not easy.

Allison is engrossed in her book, so Jackson clears his throat to get her attention. She looks up, and the shock on her face when she sees him is enough to tell him that Danny isn't the only one who's noticed his absence. The thought is both comforting and annoying.

"Do you, uh, mind if I join you?" Jackson asks, even though he's already sliding in next to her on the bench.

Allison nods a few times, and shuts her book. "Yeah, of course," She says, swallowing the bit of apple in her mouth. She laughs. "I mean no," She corrects. "I don't mind."

Jackson makes himself smile at her. "That's good," He says. "I was worried for a moment there."

She smiles again, and begins fiddling with the ugly necklace she always wears. "So, uh... I kind of feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

Jackson nods, and looks away. "Yeah, I've been kind of busy..." He says, scratching at the back of his head. "I've been, uh... dealing with some stuff..." It isn't a lie, exactly. He had been dealing with stuff. Regularly fucking an 20-something werewolf with more issues than GQ definitely falls into the realm stuff.

Allison's brow furrows, and she leans in a little. "Yeah? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm—" Jackson breaks off, realizing with a sudden sickening horror that Scott might have already told her. Would she have told Lydia, if she knew? How many others would know? He's going to murder Scott McCall. Immediately, before Derek can murder him.

"Jackson, are you alright?" Allison asks. She looks worried. "Your face just turned like... completely white."

"Y-yeah," Jackson stumbles, trying to clear his head. "I just—I'm really not feeling well," He rubs his forehead, feigning illness. "Um, when was the last time you talked to Scott?" Allison's brow furrows in confusion. "It's just—I might go home, and since he's my co-captain I want to let him know I won't be at practice."

"Oh," Allison says. She looks away, and picks up her half eaten apple again. "Um, Scott and I really haven't been seeing much of each other lately." She takes a small bite of the apple, and chews. "I don't really know where he'd be."

Relief floods through Jackson's body, and his pulse slows. They aren't talking, he can't have told her. "That's gr—too bad. I mean, you two always seemed so... happy, together."

Allison shrugs. "Yeah, well..."

"No, I get it. Sometimes things just don't work out." Jackson rubs at the back of his neck again. "Relationships are hard..." Allison nods in agreement, peeling some of the skin off her apple. Jackson slings his leg back over the bench, and begins to stand up. "Well, I should go find McCall," He says. "Then y'know, get out of here..."

"Alright, well... see you later, I guess."

Jackson nods. "Yeah, definitely. We should hang out, sometime." He says. "Catch up."

The smile Allison gives him is a little tense, but he's pretty sure it's because she's thinking about Scott. That's good, he could work with that. Something happened to drive a wedge between them. All Jackson would have to do is widen it.

Jackson heads out of the cafeteria, mentally compiling a list of places he could find Scott. The locker room before practice is the surest bet, but that's not until after school.

Jackson pushes the cafeteria door open, and comes face to face with Scott McCall. Their eyes meet. Jackson's narrow, and Scott's get big. Neither of them says anything.

"Uh... what's going on?" Stiles asks. Jackson had barely noticed him standing there. He looks back and forth between Jackson and Scott. "Seriously, dude—?"

"Scott and I need to talk," Jackson hears himself say. It sounds a lot more confident than he feels. He hates the way Scott is looking at him, like he's some sort of freak. He can see fear in Scott's eyes too, but not the kind of fear Jackson wants to see. The fear is his eyes is much too close to revulsion.

"Uh, no, no we don't," Scott says, shaking his head. Jackson grabs his arms and Scott flinches away.

"Yes, we do," Jackson seethes. He longs for the days when Scott was a weak little asthmatic, someone Jackson could easily over power. Everything was so much simpler back then. "Or, if you like, I could head back into the cafeteria and continue my conversation with Allison,"

Scott's eyes flash, and for a moment the fear is replaced by anger. "Allison?"

Stiles is watching them with his mouth hanging open, and a look on his face like he missed something. That's good. It means Scott hasn't told him yet, either. Maybe there is a little left over fear in him, after all. Or maybe he's just too disgusted.

Jackson grins. "Yeah, we were having a really nice chat, catching up and everything. I cut it short because I had to talk to you, but if you're busy—"

Scott wrenches his arm away, and gives Jackson a resigned look that's a mix between hurt, and wanting to hurt him. "Fine, we'll talk."

They go find an empty classroom to talk in. Once they're inside, Jackson slams Scott back into a wall. It really says something about how pathetic Scott is, that he lets him. Both of them know Scott could easily over power him, and yet he does nothing. Really, Scott is probably the least deserving person on the planet, to have been given all that extra power. He doesn't even know what to do with it.

"What did you hear?" Jackson demands, holding Scott by the front of his shirt.

Scott looks away, squinting at the door. "Uh, nothing," He says. His voice is at least three octaves higher than usual. Jackson doesn't need fucking werewolf hearing to know he's lying. "Really—"

Jackson shakes him a little. "Liar. I know you know."

Scott cringes, and slowly turns his head back. He seems to force himself to look at Jackson. "Yeah, I know, okay." He squeezes his eyes shut. "God, you have no idea how much I wish I didn't."

Jackson drops his hands from Scott's shirt and takes a step back as a wave of nausea hits him. The things Scott must of heard—Jackson moaning, begging. Telling Derek to hurt him.

He's going to be sick.

Jackson turns way from Scott, and puts his hands on a desk to steady himself. "You can't tell anyone, alright?" His voice is shaking, and he knows he's lost all sense of intimidation. Scott doesn't say anything, and Jackson makes himself turn back around to face him. He points his finger at him. "If you say one word—"

"I won't," Scott interrupts. "I won't say anything, or tell anyone, I swear. I mean, I don't even want to know it. Why would I want anyone else to?"

Jackson gives Scott a searching look. There's a lot of reasons Scott would want to tell people; revenge, to shame Jackson into leaving him alone... just out of pure spite. But it wasn't like he was going to tell Scott that. "Good," Jackson says. "Because if you do—"

"I won't. Really. I kind of just want to pretend it never happened, and forget it."

Jackson nods. "Good," He says again. "Do that."

There's silence for a few moments, and they both just look at each other. Scott gets a hesitant look on his face. "Can I ask you something?"


"Why?" Scott asks anyways. "I mean, why—why Derek? Why, and—and how? How did that happen?" Scott looks around a little, and lowers his voice. "I mean... did he force you...?"

"No!" Jackson shouts, giving Scott a disgusted look. "No he didn't force me. God, you really think Derek would do something like that?"

"I don't know!" Scott says. "I mean, no I didn't think he would do something like that—but I didn't think either of you would do something like what I heard, either!" Scott pauses, and gives Jackson a look. "Well?"

Jackson sighs. "What do you want me to say?" He asks, sitting back on the desk. "I don't know. It just happened." That's a lie, but there's no way Jackson is going to tell Scott about how he'd dreamed of Derek for months, and obsessed over him and craved him like a drug. Or how he'd begged Derek to fuck him, over and over again. Because he needed him.

"It 'just happened'?" Scott practically yelled. "How does something like that 'just happen'? Things like that don't just happen—" Scott frowns, and then a look of realization appears in his eyes. He looks at Jackson. "Is that what's been going on with you? When I thought you were having panic attacks, and—" Scott's eyes gets wide. "You smelt like him! I thought he was harassing you or something—oh, man, you guys have been doing this for months—"

Jackson stands up violently. "Alright, we're done." He says. He didn't need to sit there and listen to this.

Jackson exits the room, and heads straight of the school to the parking lot. Now that he's made sure Scott won't tell, the next thing he has to do is find Derek and tell him it's alright. No one besides Scott will know. Nothing has to change. And it's just Scott, after all. Who the hell cares what he thinks? Jackson is pretty sure Derek doesn't.

At least... he hopes.

Derek isn't home. After almost an hour of searching, Jackson is sure of it. He looked in every bedroom—including the ones in the half of the house that was almost completely destroyed by the fire. He's pretty sure he almost died at least three times, stepping on parts of the floor that crumbled under his feet or getting to close to places where the walls and flooring were obliterated. He calls out for Derek all the while, and keeps expecting Derek to appear in a dark corner, jumping out at him and giving him a heart attack.

But Derek doesn't, because he's not there. And he's not there the next day, either. Or the one after that.

Jackson handles it as calmly as possible. On the fourth day, he goes to Derek's house and breaks things. He punches holes in the black walls and screams, sure that where ever Derek is he can hear him. He pushes over the blackened furniture and topples piles of useless junk until the foyer is even more demolished looking than before.

On the fifth day, when Jackson walks out to his Porsche after school, there's a crowd of people around it. They part as Jackson approaches, and Jackson can feel their eyes boring into him.

Jackson barely has a moment to wonder about what the fuck is going on, before he sees. His backpack drops off his shoulder, onto the ground, and he stares. He shouldn't be as surprised as he is, when he sees the damage that's been done to his car. But he is.

His Porsche's tires have been slashed, and the windshield has been smashed in, along with all of the mirrors. There are three long scratches on the hood, and the words "STAY AWAY" have been carved into the metal.

Jackson stares at his destroyed car, at the message being sent to him. It really shouldn't be this surprising. Or painful.

The crowd around him whispers and stares, but Jackson doesn't see or hear them.

"Oh my god—" Jackson hears, a moment before Lydia pushes her way through the crowd. "Jackson, what the hell happened to your car?"

Jackson's retort is instinctual, formulated and spoken with almost no conscious effort. "I don't know Lydia, I guess I ran a red light," He says. He doesn't bother to look at her as he speaks.

Lydia glares at him. "You should tell the police," She says. "Right, Stiles?"

Stiles is standing a little to Lydia's left, looking at the broken passenger side mirror. He practically falls over when she says his name. "Huh?"

"He should tell the police, shouldn't he?" Lydia repeats. "Look how deep those scratches are. And the words." She gestures to the gouges on his hood. "This isn't just vandalism, this is a threat. This is personal. Someone has very deliberately knifed Jackson's car."

Not knifed, Jackson thinks. Clawed.

Jackson doesn't bother giving Lydia or Stiles an answer. He just picks up his backpack and walks away. He can't deal with this right now, especially not around them. He needs alcohol, and a dark black pit to crawl into.

He can hear shouts as he walks out of the parking lot, Lydia calling his name and telling him it's not her fault if someone murderers him on the walk home. He almost laughs. At this point, that would be a blessing.

Once Jackson gets home, he calls the mechanic and sends him to the school for his car. Then he breaks into his fathers liquor cabinet, and grabs the first bottle of amber liquid he sees. He drinks in his backyard, staring at black tarp covering pool and trying to remember what his life was like before Derek Hale was in it. He remembers lacrosse seemed really important, but he can't remember why.

Derek can't be serious about this. It's just Scott. Who the hell cares if he knows? Derek will realize that. Realize that it doesn't fucking matter, that he's just over reacting. Any day now.

Jackson takes a long drink from his bottle, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He just has to be patient, that's all.

Everything will be alright.

A/N: I'd like to take this time to remind everyone about the dangers of drinking and driving, and mention that if you throw a party and someone gets drunk there and then drives and gets into an accident, you're responsible for them. Or your parents are, if you're a minor.

These are things you should know, Jackson. Your Dad is an attorney.

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