fandomtownies | The Park, Thursday Afternoon

Entry tags:

The Park, Thursday Afternoon

Yesterday had been trying, from the nightmare wakeup, to the pink pony teacher, to the guy that probably wasn't McCall but looked a whole lot like him. And while he'd slept fine this previous night, Jackson was still feeling the unease. So, he was doing what he usually did when faced with something that upset him: he'd grabbed his lacrosse stick and some other stuff, and headed out into town.

Yes, of course he'd brought his stick with him, come on. He'd been hoping he could keep playing at this podunk school.

He'd considered going to the preserve, but the park had won out, for an even terrain and the slight chance that he'd somehow unearth other players in town, because this place really needed a team. (In just about any sport, actually.) Plus, he had no shame about practising in a semi-public location. So he'd fixed a can on one of the trees and was practising shots using it as a target.

Come on, this was so not the weirdest activity this park had seen. And at least he was wearing his normal clothes.

[ooc: Open, for both Jackson-bothering or general park-related needs! Thread with Derek is chronologically last, though, omg.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Did Derek really need to lurk when taking a nice walk through the park? No, not really. Did he do it anyway? Yes, yes he did.

Because who wouldn't stop and watch someone playing lacrosse with freaky intensity?

Hey, it wasn't that freakily inten-- okay it kind of was. Jackson had even thought to bring several balls, so he didn't have to pause and fetch one before picking up another and launching it at the target.

Maybe he should have already developed some kind of a sixth sense for when he was being lurked on but he hadn't, so. He hadn't noticed Derek yet.

Yeah, Derek was like one of those pictures online where, once you see it, you will shit bricks. The kind with the caption: Soon.

So...

Soon, Jackson. Soon.

From his spot half behind a tree. God damn it, Derek. Someone will put you on a watch list for this shit. Probably Clint.

Sigh, Derek. And sigh, Jackson, for running out of balls to launch through the air. See, that meant he had to actually stop what he was doing and go pick them up. Which meant moving a bit, then crouching to gather them up, then straightening up again. And doing that, he caught sight of Derek and his jaw dropped.

But at least he didn't drop the balls?

... Well, he dropped one. Give him a break, he was suddenly looking terrified.

"Wh--"

Well. At least the kid wasn't snacking his shoulder and demanding to know things. And Derek was at least aware of some other him running around in Beacon 'Lacrosse is out lifeblood' Hills.

So, Derek narrowed his eyes, scenting that overwhelming fear for a moment before stepping away from the tree in a manner that was probably more threatening he intended.

Yeah, Jackson hurriedly took a few steps backwards despite himself.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" he asked, stammering just a little bit, and sounding a little weak at least to his own ears. And not like he was sure he was actually looking for an answer.

See, he wasn't sure this wasn't just in his head.

"How do you know me?" Maybe it was mean to demand answers from the teenager having the nervous break down. Maybe Derek didn't care. Who knew?

Poor, poor Jackson's sanity.

"How do I know you?" he asked, managing some incredulity over his terror. "I don't, you're just some guy!"

Possibly a drug dealer, possibly something more.

"Just a guy," Derek repeated, not looking as though he believed that answer. At all.

Sorry, Jackson.

Goddammit.

"Just a guy," Jackson enunciated carefully, even as his hand went self-consciously to the back of his neck.

Well, in that case, Derek will just leave him in peace... Waaaait a minute.

His mouth turned down further into a frown as he stalked over to get into Jackson's personal space. Sorry, was he using that space?

He was! He really really was!

And now he was trying to back away from Derek because he really was pretty fond of all that personal space, plus there weren't any lockers to get shoved up against here.

No, but that wasn't going to stop Derek. "How. Do you know me?" he said, carefully enunciating each word.

"Shouldn't you know?" Jackson tried. "You're the one who goes around doing... whatever the hell it was that you did to me!"

His neck had not appreciated it.

Derek glared, ducking around to look at where the kid's hand had gone before at the back of his neck. He reached out to keep Jackson from squirming away. Because this was all perfectly healthy when dealing with teenage boys!

Why the hell did he have claw marks there?

"Explain."

For a potential hallucination, this was starting to feel distressingly realistic.

"Explain what?" Jackson replied, trying to get away but not really managing it. "I don't know anything. You did something, and now it won't freaking heal. That's all I know!"

Trying to figure out what might have made him lost control like this was an exercise in futility. But that didn't stop him from attempting. "What did you do?"

Because clearly this was Jackson's fault.

"I didn't do anything!"

Except, you know, try and get in Derek's face about what he was selling McCall.

"This isn't my fault! How is it supposed to be my fault that you're some kind of a drug-addled freak? Or something worse."

Oh, Jackson. This is why bad things happen to you!

Derek tightened his grip, fingers very human still. Thank you very much. Would you like clarify that statement, Jackson?

Oh sure, and of course it was Stiles who had a random guardian angel show up to bail him out of trouble, and not Jackson.

Story of his life.

He yelped. "I don't know what you want me to tell you, okay?"

"Are you one of Stiles' friends?"

Ahahahahahahahahaha!

"What? No."

Oh sure, this was totally the time to sound kind of indignant about that, Jackson.

Well, Derek wasn't his biggest fan either, you know. "Then I don't see how you can know me."

Jackson was so, so confused. "Well I don't know you," he tried, kind of hoping that'd at least get Derek to let go of him. "And you know what, I don't really want to! Okay, I've just met you."

He let the kid go, not moving away just yet. No, it wasn't a werewolf thing, it was a Derek thing.

Yeah, well, Jackson was just going to try and not look like he was scrambling much as he... tried to scramble his stuff together.

With the intention of getting the hell out of here, stat. Lurky freak or no lurky freak.

And thus, Derek continued his trend of being a terrible person to the teenagers of Beacon Hills. It was his calling in life.

He stayed where he was, hands in his pockets and staring the kid down. He'd have to hunt down Stiles for answers, it seemed.

Jackson had probably never felt so stared at in his entire life. He got his stuff together as fast as he could, then set off without looking back as if that would make Derek go away.

He was going to convince himself this had been just a hallucination, yes, and then repress the hell out of it. Because that was certianly going to work out well for his sanity in the long run.

Right.

Did someone say Jackson-bothering?

Generally Topher made it a rule to be outside as sparingly as possible, but he happened to have just come from a junk food run, and was cutting back through the park on his way to the dorms.

"...We have a hockey team now?"

Lacrosse, Topher. When there was a net involved, it was lacrosse. Good god.

Jackson picked up another ball from the ground and sent it hurtling through the air towards the can with impressive precision.

"It's lacrosse."

Topher, you uncultured swine.

Topher eyed him. "Are you sure?" OH GOD, TOPHER. YES, HE WAS SURE. "Tiny ball, long stick... I'm pretty sure that's hockey. Are you perhaps Canadian?"

This was gonna go well.

Jackson stopped what he was doing to give him an unimpressed glare.

"I was captain of the lacrosse team, I think I know what sport this is."

Though, considering the guy looked like a nerd and this town didn't seem to do sports, he was not entirely surprised this guy didn't.

"Ohhhh." Put it together now, Topher... "You're Asshole Jock Guy!"

Okay, so it was possible for Jackson's expression to get even less impressed.

"What did you just call me?"

"...Is that wrong?" Oh god. Topher, please don't do this. "I was making an educated guess."

"My name is Jackson."

And his tone suggested he really should learn that instead of Asshole Jock Guy. Because yeah, he was a jock and he knew he was kind of a dick but seriously.

"Charming to meet you," Topher said, in the sort of tone he used whenever he was bullshitting with absolutely no regard for how obvious it was. "I'm Topher. And I prefer not to be pelted with lacrosse pucks, so let's skip that?"

Pucks, really? There were balls scattered about all over.

"Is there something you want, Topher?"

Jackson was not gunning for the award for being the friendliest guy in school, nope.

"Nope!" Topher said cheerfully, now that it was apparent that he wasn't going to get lacrossed in the face, or anything. "Thank you for your time, I'm just gonna... go somewhere."

"Yeah," Jackson said, clearly wishing him gone already. They were pretty evenly matched in not really covering up their true feelings. "You do that."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Park, Thursday Afternoon

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject