Fic: If Not by Choice 1/? (Derek/Jackson, NC-17)
Title: If Not by Choice (1/?)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Derek/Jackson
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Slash, possible Canon-timeline mistakes.
Word Count: 3218 words
Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish they were mine. But nothing here belongs to me, except for the plot.
Summary: He'd have to go and take a look at those marks, make sure he was just worrying too much and he hadn't done anything stupid that he couldn't remember.
Author's Notes: Good old Fuck-or-Die. Written for a prompt at TeenwolfKink. I didn't want to post this until it's finished but I couldn't resist. Goes AU from "Heart Monitor" and the Derek/Jackson locker room scene in "The Tell" didn't happen.
- - -
“It smells terrible in here anyway.” Scott sighed, pulling at his hood until it lied in place on his backpack.
“Really? In a boys' locker room?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “That doesn't make any sense at all.”
But Scott was more than familiar with the reek of a boys' locker room and that didn't even come close to the stink that was currently assaulting his senses.
“No, it's like. . . something's rotting or dying.” Scott corrected him, about to leave the room when he stopped dead in his tracks. „Okay, seriously, what is that?“ He grimaced in disgust as another waft of the weird smell hit his sensitive nose, „It's disgusting.“
„I don't smell anything unusual. There's sweat and rubber and more sweat. . .” Stiles shrugged in disinterest, watching Scott as he started to sniff around the room, trying to find the source of the smell, “Come on, leave it. It's probably just someone's rotting underwear, not changed in weeks and now stinking up the place. . . ew, I think I made myself sick. . .”
Scott snorted at that but didn't stop looking, letting his nose lead the way. He surrounded a row of lockers, peaking into an open bag but quickly dismissed it as clean. Then another wave hit him but disappeared again quickly.
Like it was moving.
“Um, Stiles?” Scott frowned slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I think. . . there's something moving back here. . .”
He heard footsteps shuffling behind himself before Stiles appeared next to him, a wary look on his face. “Like what? An animal?” he asked, his eyes wide open.
It didn't smell like any kind of animal to Scott, not even a sick or injured one. His job had made him quite familiar with animal scents, even before he became a werewolf, so he was pretty sure he'd recognize any trace of animal in there.
It smelt human but only just.
There was one more row of lockers between them and whatever was giving off the smell and Scott hesitated for a moment before finally taking a big step past them.
And immediately came face-to-face with Jackson, staring at him with something close to rage.
“Holy shit!” Scott almost jumped out of his skin, stumbling into the lockers beside them with a clang. His heartbeat picked up a notch and he took a deep breath to bring it down again.
“What? What is it? What?” Stiles pushed past him so he could see and skittered to a halt just inches from Jackson.
“What are you doing?!” Jackson snapped, pushing Stiles back harshly before turning to Scott, “Get lost!”
“Hey, what's your problem?!” Stiles protested, barely preventing himself from falling by grabbing the edge of a locker.
Scott took another sniff, just to be sure but there was no mistake. The smell was coming from Jackson and it was unlike anything he'd ever smelled before. It was like Jackson's natural scent but turned foul, like he'd been dead for a while, lying in the blistering sun.
“God, Jackson-” Scott almost gagged. “What's that smell? That's not normal, man.”
Jackson turned his eyes on him, obviously stunned for a moment. “. . . come again?”
Scott could see that he was sweating and breathing harder than he should be after they'd been off the field for a few minutes already. His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn't slept in days and he looked overall miserable.
“Are you okay? You look horrible and . . . you smell weird. Like, sick.” he tried to explain, well aware of how strange it sounded. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the smell.
Jackson opened his mouth a few times without speaking, like he was imitating a goldfish but finally shook his head. “I'm fine. Now fuck off, I want to take a shower.” He turned away again, pulling his backpack closer with shaking fingers and Scott noticed the white band-aid on his neck. Stained with blood.
“Yeah, awesome idea. Come on, Scott.” Stiles put a hand on Scott's shoulder and slightly pulled but Scott shrugged him off. He had a really bad feeling about this.
“What's that on your neck? How did you get hurt?” Scott demanded to know, grabbing Jackson's shoulder to hold him still so he could reach for his neck but he was pushed off a second later when Jackson whirled around and lashed out, hitting Scott hard against the chest.
“Don't touch me!” Jackson shouted, his eyes wide open with something that looked like fear.
“Just tell me what happened-” Scott started again but was quickly interrupted.
“Wow, can we stop it with the hitting, please?!” Stiles pushed himself between them, holding a hand up in either direction. “Come on, Scott, the asshat doesn't want our help, so let's go.”
Scott was about to protest - he couldn't just let this go, there was something seriously wrong - until he looked into Stiles' eyes and saw the message there bright and clear.
Let's go so we can talk about this without Jackson there. We'll figure it out.
Scott took one more hesitant look at Jackson who seemed to get sicker by the second, his face white as a sheet and exhaustion in his eyes but then nodded.
He let Stiles pull him out of the room, glancing back at Jackson one more time. He had moved over to one of the sinks, leaning heavily on the rim and staring at himself in the mirror.
Scott took a deep breath against the uneasy feeling in his stomach.
- - -
“I changed lab partners, by the way.” Allison said, smiling at him but Scott stopped paying attention when that god-awful smell appeared again. He looked up to see Jackson enter the classroom, looking for an empty seat.
“To who?” he murmured absently, only half aware of what Allison was talking about. He needed to stay away from her anyway and she wasn't exactly making it easy.
The other boy had obviously showered, his hair still wet and wearing fresh clothes. Scott could smell his shower gel too, a lemon-y scent that reminded Scott too much of the cleaning stuff his mom used on the bathroom.
“To you, dummy!” Allison blinked at him and Scott forced himself to take his eyes off Jackson.
“Me?. . I mean, are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Allison replied, “this way I have an excuse to bring you home to study.”
Scott swallowed heavily, his heart beating a little faster. She really wasn't making this any easier.
“You don't mind, do you?”
Her face fell at that and Scott felt like an asshole.
“I just, I don't. . wanna bring your grade down.” he replied quickly.
He heard a barely audible moan to his right. Jackson was hunched over his desk, still as pale as he'd been before and Scott noticed that the band-aid was gone. His neck was mostly covered by the collar of his shirt but he could see a scratch there, a small half-moon mark like he'd dug his own fingernails into his skin.
Scott frowned. Why would anyone do that, scratch themselves until it bled.
Allison was looking at him like she was expecting an answer and Scott hurriedly scrambled for the right reply. She'd been saying something about studying, at her place-
“Eight thirty?” he repeated dumbly and she nodded as confirmation, smiling sweetly.
Maybe Jackson hadn't scratched himself. It could have easily been someone else, judging from the way Jackson had reacted when Scott had asked him about it. He'd probably be embarrassed if someone had managed to injure him.
It was highly unlikely that Jackson had seen a doctor about it and Scott wasn't entirely sure what infection smelt like on humans, so he figured it was possible that it was just a simple case of an untreated wound producing pus.
But then again nothing in his life had been simple lately.
“How about, uh. . . McCall?”
Oh, crap.
- - -
After class, Jackson was out of the room before Scott could disentangle himself from Allison, so he quickly said goodbye to her, promising to be there at 8.30pm and rushed out the door, motioning Stiles to follow him.
He saw a flicker of a blue shirt disappearing behind a corner, so he took off at a run, pushing through students and teachers until he skittered into the next hallway and saw the other boy closing his locker, about to leave.
“Jackson!” A few heads turned his way but Scott ignored it. “Jackson, wait!”
Jackson briefly looked up as he heard his name being called but rolled his eyes the second he saw Scott and grabbed his backpack, quickly pushing past a group of chatting girls.
“Not now, McCall.” Scott heard him murmur to himself but he kept running until he could grab Jackson's arm, pulling him to a stop.
“I need to talk to you.” he urged, dragging the other boy to the side, trapping him effectively between the row of lockers and the open door to the cafeteria.
“About what?” Jackson groaned in annoyance, his eyes flickering at something over Scott's head and a second later Stiles came into view next to him, leaning against the lockers, his backpack casually over one shoulder, “What the hell do you want?!”
“Those scratches on your neck-”
Jackson's eyes focused on him sharply and Scott could hear him grit his teeth.
“Thanks for your concern, McCall.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, “I didn't know you cared. How sweet. Now let it go-” He rolled his eyes again and pushed past Stiles with force.
“I think it's infected!” Scott exclaimed loudly and Jackson stopped dead in his tracks so he quickly took his chance. “Did you go see a doctor?”
He already knew the answer would be no because he could see all four wounds now, the edges red and barely clean and Scott was positive that Jackson hadn't done that to himself. It had to hurt, too, and judging from his hot, sweaty skin Scott wouldn't rule out fever.
“It's none of your business.” Jackson forced out through gritted teeth and turned around to face them again. “Why are you suddenly so interested in my well-being, McCall? Hoping to be the only team captain soon?”
Trust Jackson in any situation to bring up his desperate need for being the shining star on the Lacrosse team without Scott there to fight him for the spot. It was like it was all Jackson thought about, day and night, waiting for an opportunity to prove himself to the world, to show that he was the best.
Scott still cared about the team, of course he did. He had always liked Lacrosse and now that he was finally good at it too, he liked it even more. But he wasn't going to sacrifice anyone for a school sport, not if he could help it.
“Dude, we're trying to help!” Stiles interrupted loudly, raising both hands in defense. “You look really sick, okay? Just. . . go see a doctor or let Scott look at those scratches at least.”
Jackson huffed, gripping the strap of his backpack more firmly. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering from Scott to Stiles and back before he nodded, his shoulders tensing up.
“I'll see a doctor, okay? Now piss off.” He didn't wait for an answer but turned on his heel and shoved a younger student out of the way, ignoring his exasperated protests.
“Did you see that?” Stiles asked, a pensive frown between his eyes.
“The scratches? Yeah, he didn't scratch himself, someone else did that to him.” Scott replied.
“No,” Stiles looked at him with a wary expression on his face, “they were too deep to come from someone's fingernails, you would need to dig in really pretty hard to get that deep.”
“So? You think it was something else?” Scott couldn't think of anything else that would cause something like-
“I think it was someone's claws.”
Oh. That.
- - -
To say Scott was alarmed when Derek showed up at the animal clinic that night, trembling with rage and right on the edge of shifting, would be an understatement. Scott quickly dropped the rag and disinfectant he'd been cleaning the exam table with and stepped in his way.
“Where's your boss?” Derek growled, his eyes examining the room and the hallway to his left. He sniffed the room for any human scents but cringed, probably not liking the intense animal smell that Scott had always kind of enjoyed.
Scott fought the urge to turn around and check that the door to the adjoining room was still closed. He hoped that his boss was smart enough to stay back and let him handle this. Derek didn't look like he stopped by for a friendly chat and Scott could feel the wolf just under the surface, pacing like he was trapped in a cage, just itching for something - someone - to sink his teeth into.
“He's out, picking up an injured dog.” Scott lied and Derek's eyes squinted just slightly, clearly showing his mistrust at Scott's reply. Yeah, Scott had never been a very good liar.
Scott could hear Derek's heartbeat, thumping fast against his ribs and he thought he saw a flash of blue in his eyes when he spoke. Derek didn't believe him for a second.
“Listen, I was going to come talk to you anyway,” Scott quickly added but Derek wasn't looking at him anymore, frowning at the door behind Scott like it had insulted him. Maybe if he just told him about Jackson, about their speculation that he'd been scratched by the alpha, that'd distract Derek enough for him to leave the clinic with Scott.
“There's this guy at my school, Jackson, and he-”
“I don't care!” Derek interrupted him angrily, taking a deep sniff of the air in the room and whirled around to leave when he couldn't get past the stink of sick animals. “Forget it, I'll find him myself.”
Find him and rip him to shreds for whatever he'd done. Derek looked angry enough to kill and it was only a matter of time until he picked up the right scent and tracked it back to his boss's home. Scott had to act and fast.
“The alpha scratched Jackson!” he blurted out and congratulated himself when Derek stopped mid-step and faced him again.
“That's not going to turn him.” Derek explained shortly but there was a glint in his eyes that showed him intrigued.
“But does it do anything else?” Scott persisted. “Jackson is really sick, I think he has a fever and the scratches don't look normal either.”
Derek was quiet for a moment, deep in thought before he shook his head. “No, a scratch from a werewolf doesn't make you sick. It'd heal in just a few days, almost as fast as werewolf healing, probably leaving scars but nothing worse. Did he say it was the alpha?”
Scott breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't particularly like Jackson, never had but he didn't want to see anyone dying from a werewolf scratch. He would never be able to relax around people again if he knew that a scratch alone could be deadly for them. His mom, Allison, Stiles. He had to keep them safe, no matter what. “No, he didn't say anything. We just thought, since the scratches really look like claw marks and you and I didn't do it-”
“It's probably nothing.” Derek interrupted him sharply. “I doubt it has anything to do with the alpha.”
Scott watched him leave before he turned back to his work. That wasn't as helpful as he'd hoped. If the alpha didn't do it either, what did that leave? Stiles had been right, the marks were far too deep to be from human fingernails but Scott didn't doubt that they were caused by someone's nails. Or claws.
And the uneasy feeling in his stomach remained as he remembered that odd little skip in Derek's heartbeat as he'd assured Scott that it was nothing.
- - -
Derek continued to drive until he was a few blocks away from the animal clinic, almost at the edge of the forest, before he pulled over, putting the car into park but leaving the engine running. He leaned back into his seat, closing his eyes against the tension in his head.
It couldn't be. He'd remember it. It had to be the alpha who'd chosen a human mate and placed the mark already and that was all. None of his business, he couldn't safe someone dying from an unfinished claim. He didn't even know the boy, couldn't place the name with a face, even if he'd seen the boy before.
But why would the alpha leave a human half claimed, risking his certain death by not finishing the connection? He was clearly working on assembling a pack, had started with Scott and it only made sense to claim a mate as well.
Why leave the job unfinished? Derek pressed his fingers on his eyes, trying to ease his pounding headache. Even if he'd been interrupted mid-claim, he'd have to go back the next day to keep the human from getting sick.
Which obviously he hadn't done if the boy had caught a fever by now. It meant the claim had begun several days ago. In a typical mating, a human or werewolf would be bitten during sex, to make it pleasurable for both sides and to finish the connection as soon as it started to form. Leaving the claim open for longer than it took a couple to have sex, was too risky as one could never predict when he'd have to run from hunters or other werewolves.
Derek groaned and rubbed both hands over his face in frustration. It was possible. He didn't remember much from after Kate Argent had shot him, could barely recall finding Scott and Stiles at their school and begging them for help. Asking Stiles to cut off his arm. Burning the monkshood and pushing it into the wound, through the agonizing pain and fire in his body until it finally stopped, like a flush of ice-cold water on his skin, letting him think clearly again.
It was possible that he'd met the boy, claimed him and walked off, like the worst mate in werewolf history, if there was something like that, and left him to his own devices.
He'd have to go and take a look at those marks, make sure he was just worrying too much and he hadn't done anything stupid that he couldn't remember.
Or else he was in big, big trouble. And not just because he'd have to fuck a teenage boy.
- - -
a href="http://lostyoursoul.livejournal.com/3780.html">Next
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Derek/Jackson
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: Slash, possible Canon-timeline mistakes.
Word Count: 3218 words
Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish they were mine. But nothing here belongs to me, except for the plot.
Summary: He'd have to go and take a look at those marks, make sure he was just worrying too much and he hadn't done anything stupid that he couldn't remember.
Author's Notes: Good old Fuck-or-Die. Written for a prompt at TeenwolfKink. I didn't want to post this until it's finished but I couldn't resist. Goes AU from "Heart Monitor" and the Derek/Jackson locker room scene in "The Tell" didn't happen.
- - -
“It smells terrible in here anyway.” Scott sighed, pulling at his hood until it lied in place on his backpack.
“Really? In a boys' locker room?” Stiles raised an eyebrow. “That doesn't make any sense at all.”
But Scott was more than familiar with the reek of a boys' locker room and that didn't even come close to the stink that was currently assaulting his senses.
“No, it's like. . . something's rotting or dying.” Scott corrected him, about to leave the room when he stopped dead in his tracks. „Okay, seriously, what is that?“ He grimaced in disgust as another waft of the weird smell hit his sensitive nose, „It's disgusting.“
„I don't smell anything unusual. There's sweat and rubber and more sweat. . .” Stiles shrugged in disinterest, watching Scott as he started to sniff around the room, trying to find the source of the smell, “Come on, leave it. It's probably just someone's rotting underwear, not changed in weeks and now stinking up the place. . . ew, I think I made myself sick. . .”
Scott snorted at that but didn't stop looking, letting his nose lead the way. He surrounded a row of lockers, peaking into an open bag but quickly dismissed it as clean. Then another wave hit him but disappeared again quickly.
Like it was moving.
“Um, Stiles?” Scott frowned slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I think. . . there's something moving back here. . .”
He heard footsteps shuffling behind himself before Stiles appeared next to him, a wary look on his face. “Like what? An animal?” he asked, his eyes wide open.
It didn't smell like any kind of animal to Scott, not even a sick or injured one. His job had made him quite familiar with animal scents, even before he became a werewolf, so he was pretty sure he'd recognize any trace of animal in there.
It smelt human but only just.
There was one more row of lockers between them and whatever was giving off the smell and Scott hesitated for a moment before finally taking a big step past them.
And immediately came face-to-face with Jackson, staring at him with something close to rage.
“Holy shit!” Scott almost jumped out of his skin, stumbling into the lockers beside them with a clang. His heartbeat picked up a notch and he took a deep breath to bring it down again.
“What? What is it? What?” Stiles pushed past him so he could see and skittered to a halt just inches from Jackson.
“What are you doing?!” Jackson snapped, pushing Stiles back harshly before turning to Scott, “Get lost!”
“Hey, what's your problem?!” Stiles protested, barely preventing himself from falling by grabbing the edge of a locker.
Scott took another sniff, just to be sure but there was no mistake. The smell was coming from Jackson and it was unlike anything he'd ever smelled before. It was like Jackson's natural scent but turned foul, like he'd been dead for a while, lying in the blistering sun.
“God, Jackson-” Scott almost gagged. “What's that smell? That's not normal, man.”
Jackson turned his eyes on him, obviously stunned for a moment. “. . . come again?”
Scott could see that he was sweating and breathing harder than he should be after they'd been off the field for a few minutes already. His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn't slept in days and he looked overall miserable.
“Are you okay? You look horrible and . . . you smell weird. Like, sick.” he tried to explain, well aware of how strange it sounded. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the smell.
Jackson opened his mouth a few times without speaking, like he was imitating a goldfish but finally shook his head. “I'm fine. Now fuck off, I want to take a shower.” He turned away again, pulling his backpack closer with shaking fingers and Scott noticed the white band-aid on his neck. Stained with blood.
“Yeah, awesome idea. Come on, Scott.” Stiles put a hand on Scott's shoulder and slightly pulled but Scott shrugged him off. He had a really bad feeling about this.
“What's that on your neck? How did you get hurt?” Scott demanded to know, grabbing Jackson's shoulder to hold him still so he could reach for his neck but he was pushed off a second later when Jackson whirled around and lashed out, hitting Scott hard against the chest.
“Don't touch me!” Jackson shouted, his eyes wide open with something that looked like fear.
“Just tell me what happened-” Scott started again but was quickly interrupted.
“Wow, can we stop it with the hitting, please?!” Stiles pushed himself between them, holding a hand up in either direction. “Come on, Scott, the asshat doesn't want our help, so let's go.”
Scott was about to protest - he couldn't just let this go, there was something seriously wrong - until he looked into Stiles' eyes and saw the message there bright and clear.
Let's go so we can talk about this without Jackson there. We'll figure it out.
Scott took one more hesitant look at Jackson who seemed to get sicker by the second, his face white as a sheet and exhaustion in his eyes but then nodded.
He let Stiles pull him out of the room, glancing back at Jackson one more time. He had moved over to one of the sinks, leaning heavily on the rim and staring at himself in the mirror.
Scott took a deep breath against the uneasy feeling in his stomach.
- - -
“I changed lab partners, by the way.” Allison said, smiling at him but Scott stopped paying attention when that god-awful smell appeared again. He looked up to see Jackson enter the classroom, looking for an empty seat.
“To who?” he murmured absently, only half aware of what Allison was talking about. He needed to stay away from her anyway and she wasn't exactly making it easy.
The other boy had obviously showered, his hair still wet and wearing fresh clothes. Scott could smell his shower gel too, a lemon-y scent that reminded Scott too much of the cleaning stuff his mom used on the bathroom.
“To you, dummy!” Allison blinked at him and Scott forced himself to take his eyes off Jackson.
“Me?. . I mean, are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Allison replied, “this way I have an excuse to bring you home to study.”
Scott swallowed heavily, his heart beating a little faster. She really wasn't making this any easier.
“You don't mind, do you?”
Her face fell at that and Scott felt like an asshole.
“I just, I don't. . wanna bring your grade down.” he replied quickly.
He heard a barely audible moan to his right. Jackson was hunched over his desk, still as pale as he'd been before and Scott noticed that the band-aid was gone. His neck was mostly covered by the collar of his shirt but he could see a scratch there, a small half-moon mark like he'd dug his own fingernails into his skin.
Scott frowned. Why would anyone do that, scratch themselves until it bled.
Allison was looking at him like she was expecting an answer and Scott hurriedly scrambled for the right reply. She'd been saying something about studying, at her place-
“Eight thirty?” he repeated dumbly and she nodded as confirmation, smiling sweetly.
Maybe Jackson hadn't scratched himself. It could have easily been someone else, judging from the way Jackson had reacted when Scott had asked him about it. He'd probably be embarrassed if someone had managed to injure him.
It was highly unlikely that Jackson had seen a doctor about it and Scott wasn't entirely sure what infection smelt like on humans, so he figured it was possible that it was just a simple case of an untreated wound producing pus.
But then again nothing in his life had been simple lately.
“How about, uh. . . McCall?”
Oh, crap.
- - -
After class, Jackson was out of the room before Scott could disentangle himself from Allison, so he quickly said goodbye to her, promising to be there at 8.30pm and rushed out the door, motioning Stiles to follow him.
He saw a flicker of a blue shirt disappearing behind a corner, so he took off at a run, pushing through students and teachers until he skittered into the next hallway and saw the other boy closing his locker, about to leave.
“Jackson!” A few heads turned his way but Scott ignored it. “Jackson, wait!”
Jackson briefly looked up as he heard his name being called but rolled his eyes the second he saw Scott and grabbed his backpack, quickly pushing past a group of chatting girls.
“Not now, McCall.” Scott heard him murmur to himself but he kept running until he could grab Jackson's arm, pulling him to a stop.
“I need to talk to you.” he urged, dragging the other boy to the side, trapping him effectively between the row of lockers and the open door to the cafeteria.
“About what?” Jackson groaned in annoyance, his eyes flickering at something over Scott's head and a second later Stiles came into view next to him, leaning against the lockers, his backpack casually over one shoulder, “What the hell do you want?!”
“Those scratches on your neck-”
Jackson's eyes focused on him sharply and Scott could hear him grit his teeth.
“Thanks for your concern, McCall.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, “I didn't know you cared. How sweet. Now let it go-” He rolled his eyes again and pushed past Stiles with force.
“I think it's infected!” Scott exclaimed loudly and Jackson stopped dead in his tracks so he quickly took his chance. “Did you go see a doctor?”
He already knew the answer would be no because he could see all four wounds now, the edges red and barely clean and Scott was positive that Jackson hadn't done that to himself. It had to hurt, too, and judging from his hot, sweaty skin Scott wouldn't rule out fever.
“It's none of your business.” Jackson forced out through gritted teeth and turned around to face them again. “Why are you suddenly so interested in my well-being, McCall? Hoping to be the only team captain soon?”
Trust Jackson in any situation to bring up his desperate need for being the shining star on the Lacrosse team without Scott there to fight him for the spot. It was like it was all Jackson thought about, day and night, waiting for an opportunity to prove himself to the world, to show that he was the best.
Scott still cared about the team, of course he did. He had always liked Lacrosse and now that he was finally good at it too, he liked it even more. But he wasn't going to sacrifice anyone for a school sport, not if he could help it.
“Dude, we're trying to help!” Stiles interrupted loudly, raising both hands in defense. “You look really sick, okay? Just. . . go see a doctor or let Scott look at those scratches at least.”
Jackson huffed, gripping the strap of his backpack more firmly. He was quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering from Scott to Stiles and back before he nodded, his shoulders tensing up.
“I'll see a doctor, okay? Now piss off.” He didn't wait for an answer but turned on his heel and shoved a younger student out of the way, ignoring his exasperated protests.
“Did you see that?” Stiles asked, a pensive frown between his eyes.
“The scratches? Yeah, he didn't scratch himself, someone else did that to him.” Scott replied.
“No,” Stiles looked at him with a wary expression on his face, “they were too deep to come from someone's fingernails, you would need to dig in really pretty hard to get that deep.”
“So? You think it was something else?” Scott couldn't think of anything else that would cause something like-
“I think it was someone's claws.”
Oh. That.
- - -
To say Scott was alarmed when Derek showed up at the animal clinic that night, trembling with rage and right on the edge of shifting, would be an understatement. Scott quickly dropped the rag and disinfectant he'd been cleaning the exam table with and stepped in his way.
“Where's your boss?” Derek growled, his eyes examining the room and the hallway to his left. He sniffed the room for any human scents but cringed, probably not liking the intense animal smell that Scott had always kind of enjoyed.
Scott fought the urge to turn around and check that the door to the adjoining room was still closed. He hoped that his boss was smart enough to stay back and let him handle this. Derek didn't look like he stopped by for a friendly chat and Scott could feel the wolf just under the surface, pacing like he was trapped in a cage, just itching for something - someone - to sink his teeth into.
“He's out, picking up an injured dog.” Scott lied and Derek's eyes squinted just slightly, clearly showing his mistrust at Scott's reply. Yeah, Scott had never been a very good liar.
Scott could hear Derek's heartbeat, thumping fast against his ribs and he thought he saw a flash of blue in his eyes when he spoke. Derek didn't believe him for a second.
“Listen, I was going to come talk to you anyway,” Scott quickly added but Derek wasn't looking at him anymore, frowning at the door behind Scott like it had insulted him. Maybe if he just told him about Jackson, about their speculation that he'd been scratched by the alpha, that'd distract Derek enough for him to leave the clinic with Scott.
“There's this guy at my school, Jackson, and he-”
“I don't care!” Derek interrupted him angrily, taking a deep sniff of the air in the room and whirled around to leave when he couldn't get past the stink of sick animals. “Forget it, I'll find him myself.”
Find him and rip him to shreds for whatever he'd done. Derek looked angry enough to kill and it was only a matter of time until he picked up the right scent and tracked it back to his boss's home. Scott had to act and fast.
“The alpha scratched Jackson!” he blurted out and congratulated himself when Derek stopped mid-step and faced him again.
“That's not going to turn him.” Derek explained shortly but there was a glint in his eyes that showed him intrigued.
“But does it do anything else?” Scott persisted. “Jackson is really sick, I think he has a fever and the scratches don't look normal either.”
Derek was quiet for a moment, deep in thought before he shook his head. “No, a scratch from a werewolf doesn't make you sick. It'd heal in just a few days, almost as fast as werewolf healing, probably leaving scars but nothing worse. Did he say it was the alpha?”
Scott breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't particularly like Jackson, never had but he didn't want to see anyone dying from a werewolf scratch. He would never be able to relax around people again if he knew that a scratch alone could be deadly for them. His mom, Allison, Stiles. He had to keep them safe, no matter what. “No, he didn't say anything. We just thought, since the scratches really look like claw marks and you and I didn't do it-”
“It's probably nothing.” Derek interrupted him sharply. “I doubt it has anything to do with the alpha.”
Scott watched him leave before he turned back to his work. That wasn't as helpful as he'd hoped. If the alpha didn't do it either, what did that leave? Stiles had been right, the marks were far too deep to be from human fingernails but Scott didn't doubt that they were caused by someone's nails. Or claws.
And the uneasy feeling in his stomach remained as he remembered that odd little skip in Derek's heartbeat as he'd assured Scott that it was nothing.
- - -
Derek continued to drive until he was a few blocks away from the animal clinic, almost at the edge of the forest, before he pulled over, putting the car into park but leaving the engine running. He leaned back into his seat, closing his eyes against the tension in his head.
It couldn't be. He'd remember it. It had to be the alpha who'd chosen a human mate and placed the mark already and that was all. None of his business, he couldn't safe someone dying from an unfinished claim. He didn't even know the boy, couldn't place the name with a face, even if he'd seen the boy before.
But why would the alpha leave a human half claimed, risking his certain death by not finishing the connection? He was clearly working on assembling a pack, had started with Scott and it only made sense to claim a mate as well.
Why leave the job unfinished? Derek pressed his fingers on his eyes, trying to ease his pounding headache. Even if he'd been interrupted mid-claim, he'd have to go back the next day to keep the human from getting sick.
Which obviously he hadn't done if the boy had caught a fever by now. It meant the claim had begun several days ago. In a typical mating, a human or werewolf would be bitten during sex, to make it pleasurable for both sides and to finish the connection as soon as it started to form. Leaving the claim open for longer than it took a couple to have sex, was too risky as one could never predict when he'd have to run from hunters or other werewolves.
Derek groaned and rubbed both hands over his face in frustration. It was possible. He didn't remember much from after Kate Argent had shot him, could barely recall finding Scott and Stiles at their school and begging them for help. Asking Stiles to cut off his arm. Burning the monkshood and pushing it into the wound, through the agonizing pain and fire in his body until it finally stopped, like a flush of ice-cold water on his skin, letting him think clearly again.
It was possible that he'd met the boy, claimed him and walked off, like the worst mate in werewolf history, if there was something like that, and left him to his own devices.
He'd have to go and take a look at those marks, make sure he was just worrying too much and he hadn't done anything stupid that he couldn't remember.
Or else he was in big, big trouble. And not just because he'd have to fuck a teenage boy.
- - -
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