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After Jackson’s bitten, things both go back to how they were and are completely different at the same time. Jackson’s still gloats, especially since he’s even better at lacrosse than he was before, and he still kinda hates Scott and tries to rile him up as much as possible, though he’s careful not to cross the line of “any angrier and I’ll shift.” He’s also a really good werewolf, and Scott hates to admit it, but Jackson is probably a better werewolf than he is (something else he’ll never let Scott live down).
But the strange part is, when Jackson is around either just Derek or Scott, or both of them, he gets almost…insecure. He hovers around them, constantly wanting to be within touching distance, and all it takes is Derek absentmindedly brushing against him or gripping his shoulder for Jackson to quiet down and look relieved.
“What’s up with Jackson and the touching thing?” Scott asked once.
“He’s got good instincts,” Derek said.
“Yeah, but, I’m not like that,” Scott pointed out.
“You’ve got shitty instincts,” Derek said.
After that Scott hasn’t asked again, even though he had wanted to know what his instincts should have been making him do. So Scott goes to the next best source, Stiles, because even Derek trusts Stiles, and Derek barely trusts Scott and Jackson.
Stiles goes on this entire tangent about wolf packs and touch and family, and Scott doesn’t absorb half of it and doesn’t understand the other half.
“Isn’t that kinda gay?” Scott asks.
Scott is afraid that one day, Stiles is going to roll his eyes so hard that they’re going to fly out of his face.
“No, dumbass,” Stiles says, “It’s not about sex at all. It’s pack.”
Well, that didn’t clear anything up.
>>>
It’s been a bad day. Scott failed another paper and Allison is mad at him and practice was brutal, and all he wants to do is go home and pretend nothing exists, but it’s just him and Stiles and Jackson in the locker room, and Jackson is hovering again. Apparently he doesn’t care if Stiles sees, because he’s in Scott’s space asking him stupid questions about the players, them being co-captains and all, and Stiles keeps mouthing ‘pack’ before he leaves and Scott can’t handle it.
He shoves Jackson against the side of a locker and growls into his neck, too pissed off to care that what he’s doing is fucking weird.
Jackson goes still, then relaxes till he’s almost limp, and Scott might possibly be wolfed out, but all he cares about is that Jackson’s pack and Jackson’s submitting to him. Scott laves his neck, smoothing his tongue from Jackson’s collarbones to Jackson’s jaw, and Jackson arches into it, bares his neck. Scott rumbles happily, and the more Jackson smells like contentment and Scott, the more Scott calms, until he’s covered Jackson’s throat in a thick layer of his scent.
Then, Scott realizes exactly what he’s doing and pulls away.
Jackson has his eyes closed and the contentment wafting from him is almost enough to lull Scott, but Scott has cleaned Jackson’s neck like a cat. Who does that?!
Then Jackson opens his eyes, and he actually has the audacity to look annoyed when he sees Scott freaking out.
“You moron,” he says, and yanks Scott forward by the shirt so that he can nuzzle under Scott’s jaw and lick at his bottom lip.
And then, looking ridiculously happy, Jackson gathers up his stick and bag and walks out of the room.
Oh my god. Oh my god. What the fuck just happened?
>>>
“That actually explains a lot,” is the first thing Stiles says when Scott tells him what happens.
“Have you gone crazy?” Scott says, because really, Stiles has gone crazy.
“Let me explain this so your little werewolf brain can comprehend,” Stiles says. “You’re a Beta, and Jackson’s a Beta. And unlike the Alpha, who is a Highlander, the two of you have to figure out how to exist together and what the pack dynamic is.”
Well, okay, maybe—“Nope,” Scott says, “still doesn’t explain anything.”
Stiles flails in a frustrated way. “Do you not know anything about pack hierarchy? Jackson has been picking at you because he wants to know where his place is, and now that he’s submitted he recognizes you as more dominant.”
“I thought you said that pack was synonymous with family,” Scott says. Why is Stiles so confusing?
Stiles face palms. “Okay,” he says slowly, “so, a pack is structured like a family. The Alpha is the parent, and you and Jackson would theoretically be brothers. Since Jackson has submitted to you, you’ve gained the spot of an older brother, who both picks on and teaches the younger brother.”
“Oh,” Scott says.
“Get out of my room before I catch your stupidity,” Stiles says.
>>>
Now that Scott understands what Jackson has been trying to do—well.
Scott can roll with that.
>>>
After lacrosse practice the next day, Scott makes sure to brush by Jackson after they’ve both had showers, so that his scent sinks into Jackson’s left side.
Jackson sneers and tells him to watch where he’s going, but he smells like happiness.
>>>
So Scott lets Jackson touch him, and he touches Jackson. They have mock wrestling matches after lacrosse practice and they play tackle-tag when Derek has pack meetings and once, when Jackson actually gets sick (“This is bullshit, I’m a werewolf,” Jackson says, and when Derek points out that wolves get sick too, he pouts), he lives in Scott’s bed for three days, which Scott’s mom allows because she’s a total nurse-at-home and also Jackson turns out to be one of those parent-charmer people. He spends most of the time pressing his face into Scott’s pillow and thus smearing his snot all over the place, but he also smells completely like Scott for a week after that, and it makes Scott giddy every time he gets around him.
It gets to the point where not touching Jackson is weird. If Jackson doesn’t smell at least a little like Scott, Scott gets twitchy until he can put his scent on Jackson. And when Jackson goes on vacation with his family for a week, well, Scott can’t help but worry.
When Jackson comes back, as soon as he’s stepped out of his car and onto the Hale property, Scott tackles him to the ground.
“Dude, get off,” Jackson says.
“No,” Scott says, and shoves his face into Jackson’s neck. Jesus, Jackson smells nothing like Scott, and even Derek’s scent is faint.
“C’mon, get off, the ground’s damp,” Jackson says as he wriggles.
“No,” Scott snarls, and Jackson goes still.
Scott grins against his neck, flicks out his tongue for a quick lick, and then rubs his face against Jackson’s neck while he lets their scents mix. He can hear Derek coming out of his house, but Scott’s not moving until his scent soaks into Jackson.
Finally, after Jackson has resorted to nipping Scott’s jaw, Scott gets up. He grins at Derek, who rolls his eyes and says, “You might become a real werewolf yet,” as he levers Jackson up, only to rub his face against Jackson’s cheek and throat.
Scott just laughs, because Jackson smells like Scott and Derek, smells like theirs, and that makes him pack.