Howling for You

Stille Nacht

Disclaimer: If I owned Teen Wolf, I wouldn't have to troll out fanfiction about it. Harrumph!

Derek Hale waited in the shadows of Beacon Hill high school's locker room. Steam filled the room from the remaining running shower, and there were two florescent lights shorting out above him. This made it difficult for anyone to notice him, never mind the fact that he had natural, or supernatural, stealth. Waiting was never exciting, but he remained ever vigilant.

His daily activities had dulled down to the repetitive task of constantly looking after Scott, for his and the pup's benefit, and scouring the wooded areas around the community for any trace of the alpha. Other than that, there wasn't much to his daily life, other than the occasional trip to a do-it-yourself store to work on one of the various trashed and scorched rooms of his old home. Why he even bothered, he wasn't quite sure; it wasn't like there was anyone coming home to the rubble but him. The long days of nothing made him grow bored and restless.

When the shower shut off, his senses perked up just slightly. His waiting was over.

Jackson stepped out of the shower stall and grabbed a fresh towel from the basket, wrapping it around his waist. He yawned lightly and stretched, noticing he was the only one left in the locker room. That suited him just fine. He was tired and didn't feel like dealing with any of his teammates, especially McCall. The guy's voice just grated on his nerves.

At his locker, Jackson pulled out his duffle bag. Inside were a change of clothes; he pulled on his boxers and a pair of dark wash jeans and pulled out a package of gauze. Jackson unwrapped a thick wad of gauze and tore it from the roll. Looking down at the tiled floor, he placed the gauze over the back of his neck and slipped some medical tape overtop to hold it in place. He tugged on a gray shirt and pulled on a jacket to cover up the bandaged area.

Less than a week ago, Jackson had received a deep wound from the town recluse, Derek Hale. He shuddered lightly at the thought. The guy's fingernails, more like claws, had sliced right into him, and he'd been bleeding ever since. Jackson grimaced. He had figured it would just heal after a few days, or at least the blood flow would lessen. In the end, he had decided he would give it a little while longer before getting it checked out. In all honesty, he really didn't want to have to deal with all of the questions. How did he get it? Where was he? Who was he with? Blah, blah, blah, more crap questions, blah. Most of them would come from his super caring, adoptive parents. That was a route he would rather not take.

He plopped down on the bench and pulled on his Chucks. Jackson remained there for a good minute or two. He closed his eyes and let his head sink against his chest. God, was he tired. Ever since he had gotten scratched, he had been afraid to sleep, afraid something, or someone, would crash through his window and attack him.

In the split second that Jackson let himself rest upon the bench, he quickly found himself facedown on the locker room floor. Someone's foot was shoved against his back, and he wasn't sure if he should be frightened or in agony as his jacket was ripped at the collar to reveal his bandaged wound.

"You really shouldn't cover it up," came a familiar voice. Jackson struggled to turn his head to look at his captor and immediately wished he had done otherwise. None other than Derek Hale stood looming over him. "Covering it up will only slow the healing process."

"Get off of me," Jackson spat at him. His voice came out harsh, like he could do something about his predicament.

"You're scared," Derek noted, peering down at Jackson.

"Get. Off. Me." Jackson glared up at him with a pointed gaze.

Derek ripped the bandage from the teenager's neck and stepped off of him. Jackson flipped over and scrambled backward, trying to get as far away from Derek as the row of lockers and bench would allow him. Walking away, Derek smirked to himself. He stopped at the end of the lockers and turned back to look at Jackson almost cowering in the corner, a very faint trail of blood wandering into the collar of his gray shirt. What Jackson didn't know wouldn't hurt him, at least not while Derek was around. Without another word, Derek left the building.

Jackson stayed where he was for a few moments longer, not sure whether or not the man was still there. He had watched him walk away, but his footfalls were completely silent. Eventually Jackson sat up and leaned against the lockers and sighed, placing his head in his hands. Two questions came to him: what the hell had just happened? And had Derek been there the whole time he was getting dressed?

Wow, it's been a long time since I've written anything on here! It's good to be back.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, but I do have a vague idea. I would have pumped more out, but I really need some sleep.