tampered | I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

Entry tags:

I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

When; Jan 15, after dark
Rating; PG-13 at least (it will likely get violent and angry)
Characters; Jackson (

bigkanimaoncampus), Peter (

velveteenwolf), Allison (

chasseuse), Derek (

lupusalpha)
Summary; Jackson wasn’t prepared for the full moon. And as a result, the resident wolves and hunters need to step in to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.
Log;

As darkness fell across the city, Jackson felt restless. Not the sort of restless that left a person unable to sit still. Something more intense. Outside the apartment building where Lydia stayed, he paced in bare feet and stripped to the waist, his previously fountain soaked clothes still in Lydia’s care. With what she’d said, he no longer knew where they stood. Were they together? Did she even want him staying with her? Losing her to a move was one thing, but this?!

Hands flexed in and out of fists. He could feel it. Just under the surface. Just barely contained. That very thing he’d that gave him the power he’d longed for. Howling. Demanding to be let out, to be the answer to his frustrations.

He hadn’t lost control, yet. Not since the two days before, in his training with Derek, before he came to this city. He was better than this. He didn’t need her. He could do this himself. But the very thought of her brought a flood of blinding jealousy and regret. His grasp shifted and it came tearing toward the surface with such ferocity it made him double over.

This wasn’t just a typical loss of control. He hadn’t felt something like this since the full moon, less than a week ago for him.

Control it! he scolded himself. He was better than this. He was stronger than it.

The effort to contain it drove him to his knees, hands hitting the pavement. On reflex he reached for that which helped him most. Something that mattered to him far more than needing to be better. Memories of a girl. Of Lydia. Typically, it was a flood of all that made her important to him. Small things. Laying in bed with her. A shared laugh. At someone else’s misfortune or their own delight. Or much larger things, such as the painful but humanizing words she spoke after handing him a simple house key. But not this time. In their place there were only memories of her with Stiles, whether real or imagined.

Claws dug into pavement as he let out a ferocious, inhuman roar. The wolf flooded through him before he could stop it.

A sound. Something behind him. Or someone. He twisted around, ready to attack. But before he could locate the source, he caught a glimpse of the moon, just barely peeking out between the clouds.

Full.

He didn’t understand how or why. But the sight gave him a sudden rush of clarity. The tiniest edge of control. Get away! Get out!

He took off, away from the apartments. Running as fast as he could, remaining on two feet instead of all fours as others of his kind tended to do. He didn’t know the city. Where it started or ended, or what lay beyond its streets. Even if he had known the lay out, the roar anger and fear inside him detracted from any conscious ability to navigate.

He just ran.

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For better or worse, Peter's change came earlier than the others. His name came on a breath of wind as the sun touched the horizon with the oncoming glow of twilight. By the time the sky shifted to velvet dark, and the full orb of the white moon hung high in the sky, Peter was already prowling the woods on four feet with black ears that twitched at that sound of a howl. It sounded like he was something maybe kind of like pack, which was enough to have Peter running, an answering howl on his breath, trying to get the werewolf's attention.

This way.

He'd talked enough with the others to know that they didn't always have control, and he didn't recognize the pitch of his howl. It said werewolf, but he couldn't put a scent to it, not yet. Which meant it had to be the Beta that Derek had texted him about. He'd offered to keep an eye out for him, and so fleet paws move the black shadow closer to the sound, to the scent that is all wolf, but not pack. Not yet, anyway.

And of course, Peter has all sorts of conflicted feelings, and he might have control during the moon, but that doesn't mean that there isn't a part of him that wants to pin Jackson to the forest floor and snarl if you hurt her-- into his throat. Lydia is his friend, which isn't quite pack, but it's special and different and is one of those rare things that Peter will fight for.

Peter might be very close to an Omega, but he's still a very large streak of black fur and gold eyes and teeth that Nature has christened as the last word of all things. It's a full moon, and there's a new scent, and typical teenage bravado is tangled up with wolf instincts that hum through him like heat.

He doesn't want a fight, he just wants to make a point, and by the full moon the black wolf promises there's a difference.

Consciously, he wouldn't have recognized the howl as anything but a standard wolf. But he wasn't exactly functional on a conscious level at that moment. He didn't hesitated before moving in the direction of the sound.

Before long, he passed from city to forest. He stopped then, now that the city was only dimly on the edge of his senses.

He'd heard it, calling to him. But even now, he couldn't sense it. But even with Lydia having told him otherwise, he expected someone like him. Bipedal.

In a fit of frustration, he called out with another roar.

Show yourself!

The roar was enough to bring the dark shape closer, separating itself from the dark shadows of the forests, the trunks of the trees. At first it was just eyes, just bright gold that seemed to glow in the dark, but then it was that bit of white around his muzzle, the ebony of his fur hard to discern from the shadows except when he moved, his gaze even, unflinching.

He wasn't bipedal, but he was much larger than a typical wolf, and his teeth were shaped slightly differently, giving his muzzle a slightly more menacing appearance. Peter's movements were almost lazy, a casual disregard as if he didn't really think of him as much of a threat. They hadn't met before, and Peter could tell this wasn't Isaac, wasn't someone he could push around playfully under the moonlight.

Derek had warned him Jackson was the sort to make people want to murder him, but there was something about new werewolves and the fullmoon, and the number of months he's spent having girltalk with Lydia. Lips pull back from his teeth, just a little.

Everything told Jackson that the wolf before him was his own. Every sense, except sight. He'd been told that some could fully turn, but seeing one was different. It was enough of a shock to make him hesitate. Fear working in under the anger. What strength would someone have in such a form? Stronger than him?

Gold eyes. Not red. To him, that meant less than an alpha. Therefore, he had a chance.

Blue eyes flashed in the shadows as he snarled. This wasn't Derek, or Stiles. But he was willing to take any replacement, anything to use that rage on. With a growl, he lunged at the wolf, claws slashing for its face.

Peter wasn't typically one to take a challenge in a fight, usually he backed down. But Jackson was different, and he didn't seem like the type that would take a dropped head as an answer. No, there was too much anger for that. And under the full moon, there was a part of him that wasn't going to stomach the challenge. He'd never actually been attacked out under the moon like this. Even Christina had been different.

Peter met him. He rounds up on his rear paws, one of his forepaws moving to try and swipe Jackson's hand away. His eyes flash and his teeth gleam as he growls, hard and low and threatening.

This is... sort of like keeping an eye on him, right? And then he's lunging in toward him. He's fast, stronger than he looks. This is clearly not what Derek meant at all, but that's something to work out later.

His swipe missed its mark completely, claws meeting only air as the other wolf deflected it. The other hand came up almost immediately, the heel of it slamming toward Peter's muzzle.

There was no denying just how beyond control he'd driven himself. He was pure fury. All teeth and snarls. Beyond threats and taunts. Beyond speech at all.

It was alright; Peter spoke the language of snarls and growls just as well. He could let Jackson let off steam, give in a little. Peter had been turning at the moon since he was thirteen, and spent most of a year under the eye of his uncle, teaching him. His control might be a little bit fractured at this specific moment, but it was still there, a core he couldn't lose.

And if Jackson was taking his anger out on Peter, he wasn't attacking anyone else. It wasn't like rough-housing with Isaac, but it was certainly a way to spend a full moon. Peter lunged in, trying to get paws on Jackson's shoulders, trying to take him to the ground, where Jackson would have less of a balance advantage.

If he were in a more fit state, if this were any other sort of contest, they may have been more evenly matched. Jackson would have been able to evade the tackle and leave the other eating dirt for his efforts with an ease bordering on instinct. But this wasn't the lacrosse field. And Jackson was operating on a whole different instinct.

He crashed to the forest floor. Head and back colliding with gnarled roots with enough force that a human may have struggled to recover. For him, it was just the shock of pain he needed. He stopped fighting. The snarl faded from his face, though he remained transformed. At least for a moment. It was only with some effort that his face looked more human, but his eyes remained blue.

"Who the hell are you!?" he demanded, confusion creeping over the anger.

Peter rolled his eyes, those bright gold that looked unflinching into Jackson's blues. When he stopped fighting, and seemed to back off a little, Peter relaxed. However, shifted like this, he couldn't really answer, aside from like a wolf, which Derek seemed to process, but he wasn't sure about the others. So, Peter gives Jackson a very exasperated look. There'd been a time when he'd still tried to hide it, pretend he wasn't human behind those eyes, but Derek and Isaac knew and it hadn't lasted long after that.

He gingerly shifts a little bit off of Jackson; enough so it's more comfortable, but still close enough that he can pin him back to the ground if he needs to. There's a look that Jackson might be able to read in those bright gold eyes: he's keeping an eye on you, Jackson.

There's a huff and he playfully shoves at one of Jackson's shoulder with one large paw: are you okay now?

He knew that it was all going to go to shit. Jackson may have control, in theory, but he's also an asshole whose worst trait is letting fear get the better of him. He may not admit it, but Jackson is terrified of anyone and anything that could be even remotely stronger than he is. And there's a lot in this city that fits the bill.

The full moon means Derek is on patrol, in a way. Stiles is back at the cabin and Derek is walking through the woods when he hears the roar. Perfect. He takes a moment, rolls his eyes, and then starts moving forward, running in Jackson's direction. The teenager is an omega through and through.

But it was worse than that. Not only did Jackson fear those stronger than he was, but he used anger to hide that fact. And it was that anger which drove him now.

Derek wouldn't have to search long. The alpha was one of Jackson's main sources of frustration. So in such a state, once Jackson became even remotely aware of the other's presence, he started seeking him out.

He sees him first, watches him for a moment, then runs and grabs him by the back of the neck. It's not the most charming hold - Derek is stronger than Jackson because he's an alpha, and it's the kind of hold that makes people think of a mother wolf carrying a cub.

But then maybe Derek does think of Jackson as a cub.

"Where are you going?"

There's enough of a threat in his growl that it's clear he doesn't want a bullshit answer.

Jackson struggled under Derek's grip, snarling and angry. There was no bullshit answer, not this time. Because there was no real answer at all.

Just fury. Mostly in the form of claws, with Derek's torso as a primary target.

Derek's mouth flattens, annoyed, as Jackson's claws tear his shirt. He's infinitely less annoyed about the blood, because he heals right away - Jackson is no alpha, nothing to truly worry about. He's only one beta, and Derek's handled so much worse.

He opens his mouth and roars, his eyes flashing a brilliant red.

Edited 2014-01-17 21:06 (UTC)

He stopped, dead, hand still poised for another vicious slash. The aggression fell from his face, leaving behind the fear that drove it. All that he'd hid before, now plainly on the surface.

Only then was he able to find his grasp again, to pull himself back to something slightly more human. His face shifted back to normal, but his eyes remained blue.

Irritated that it had taken Derek's intervention to regain control, he tried to pull away. "Let go of me," he growled.

He doesn't let go, not right away. He keeps his grip tight on the back of Jackson's neck.

"If you run, I'll catch you."

He tugged at the grip, snarling. He had no intention of running, but this was just plain insulting.

"I'm not going to run. I just don't like your claws being anywhere my neck!"

He remembered the last time, all too well. Fire was still a common theme of his dreams because of it.

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I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free

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