Remember how after Peter traumatizes and bites Lydia, he's nice enough to let Stiles give Jackson a call before dragging him off to traumatize (and in this story bite) Stiles too? Yeah me too. For Jackson I can only imagine how that phone call must have gone down. Well, if I had to guess it would've been rushed, terrifying, and more than likely cut short by Peter. So, I suppose that's as good a place as any to start with this chapter right!

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf all rights go to the creators.

Chapter 2: The Cocktail

Girl look at that body

Girl look at that body

Jackson groaned and pushed himself up by his elbows. Distantly he wondered how he'd ended up on the ground in the first place. And why he was in the middle of the school parking lot.

Girl look at that body

I-I, I work out

Girl look at that body

Girl look at that body

He groaned again. His head was pounding, and he really wished the stupid DJ would turn down the damn music!

Girl look at that body

I-I, I work out

No, wait, that wasn't coming from the gym. It was coming from his pocket; his pocket was ringing.

When I walk in the spot (yeah) this is what I see (okay)

Everybody stops and they staring at me

I got passion in my pants and I ain't afraid to show it

He hoisted himself up to his feet and dug around in his pocket for a minute before he managed to get his phone free. His mind was still a bit fuzzy, so really no one could blame him for squinting at the screen and mistaking the jumble of numbers there as the name 'Danny Mahealani.'

Show it, show it, show it

I'm sexy and I know it

"Jackson?"

Yeah, defiantly not Danny.

"Stilinski?" Jackson scowled, "how the hell did you get my number?"

"I need you to come down to the lacrosse field."

"Now why the hell would I do that?" He did what they asked, he'd taken Allison to the dance, he kept an eye on her just like he promised. He'd stayed with her (mostly) up until the point where he watched as she and McCall ran out the back door to fuck in a bus.

He kept his end of the bargain; he didn't owe them anything.

"Listen asshole, I did what you wanted alright. She's fine, I watched her, and McCall run out the door not five minutes ago," he spat into the phone, "now how about you leave me alone already? Huh? Or better yet, how about you and McCall actually keep up your end of the deal; remember I didn't do any of this out of the kindness of my-"

"Jackson its Lydia."

Jackson's heart dropped into his stomach.

"What about Lydia?"

He was just starting to notice the shake in Stilinski's voice, the way his words were coming out more rushed than usual, running together with a force greater than his ADHD.

"He got to her," his breathing was coming in harsh over the speaker, "he bit her."

Jackson clutched the phone tighter in his fist, "who?"

He already knew, though; McCall had called him the alpha. The one behind all of Beacon Hills tragedy the past few weeks.

"-what he's going to do to me," he'd missed part of Stilinski's rambling, but it didn't sound good. It sounded like he was being kidnapped.

"Stilinski, I need you to slow down and explain what the hell is happening!"

He didn't, "but… but Lydia, she…" Jackson could hear he gulp of breath he took in, "she's down here," he was practically hysterical at that point, "and she's not waking up."

"Stilinski?" Jackson though his voice was starting to sound a bit more hysterical itself.

"She needs help," he could hear someone else in the background shuffling around, "god there's… there's so much blood."

Was that a growl!?

"Hurry please, she needs help, I don't know where he's taki…" the line went dead.

"Stiles? STILES!?"

Jackson's phone crashed to the ground, but he didn't care he was already running the other way.

~ The Cocktail~

There was too much blood.

"Come on Lydia," on her dress, "stay with me," in her hair, "come on," across her face.

It was unusually cold out, his breath hung frozen blending in with the heavy fog in the air. The body in his arms was heavy, her head hung limply across his arm. For all, he knew she was already dead. (Don't be dead, please don't be dead, Lydia I need you.)

He couldn't breathe, his lungs were on fire, his arms were burning, his legs felt like jelly.

"Help me!"

People were running. They were screaming. Why were they screaming? Why were they running!?

"Somebody!" Couldn't they see the blood? "Help!"

(On her dress, in her hair, across her face.)

She was dying! Lydia was dying! She needed help! They needed to call for help!

"Help me!"

They were still screaming.

"Get help!" Her blood was everywhere, "please!"

(On her dress, in her hair, across her face.)

~ The Cocktail~

The paramedics took her as soon as they arrived at the school parking lot. They wouldn't let him ride in the ambulance to the hospital, so he drove himself. He didn't remember much about the drive there; it was a miracle he didn't crash. He stumbled through the hospital in a panic, pushing his way through the throngs of panicked people to get to the elevators, pushing through the doors before they were entirely open.

"Where is she!?"

But they didn't need to tell him, she was right in front of him.

She was laying there on white sheets, her skin had gained color (still not the beautiful soft pink he knew so well), the bright red had been washed from her strawberry blond hair and it fanned out around her head like a halo. Jacksons's feet guided him closer to the window…

His back slammed against the wall behind him, hard.

"Hey?" Jackson wasn't paying attention, all his focus was on Lydia, her hair, her face, her clothes. (On her dress, in her hair, across her face.)

Laying in the middle of the field. Pale, hurt, unresponsive, bleeding out, dying. God, there was so much blood.

"Hey!?" A rough shake snapped him back to the real world, and he finally turned to the person pinning him against the wall. The sheriff's angry face stared back at him, "What the hell happened to that girl?"

Jackson's gaze drifted back to Lydia, "I-I-I don't know, I went out looking for her and she…"

"Oh, what? What!? WHAT!? And you just happened to wander in the middle of that field and you just found her there like that?" the sheriff wasn't yelling, but the fists bunched around Jacksons suit jacket were shaking, his teeth clenched, his breath in his face, "Don't you lie to me son!"

"No, I wouldn't…" He thought Jackson did this? No, no he would never…could never hurt Lydia. Never.

Another shake, Jacksons head hit the wall, the sheriff didn't notice, "what happened to her!?"

"This isn't my fault!" The sheriff might not be yelling but he was. Heads were starting to turn their way. Maybe if he made enough of a scene someone would come pull this man off of him! And he could get back to what mattered! Get back to Lydia!

It wasn't fair! Just because he was the one who found her…he was the one who saved her. How could anyone ever think he had done this?

"She's your girlfriend that's your responsibility!" Spit flew from the sheriff's mouth, his voice rising.

"No, she's not ok!" It was a mistake, but she wasn't, she wasn't! "And she didn't go to the formal with me!" He wished she had, then he could have protected her, but she didn't!

Seeing the sheriff's shocked face was worth it, "Then who'd she go with?" But by the way his grip on Jackson's shirt was loosening he had a feeling the man already knew.

"Do you really wanna know?" It was a cheap shot, but God did it make him feel better, "she went with Stiles."

The sheriff's hands released Jackson completely his arms falling to his sides, "What?"

"Stiles took her."

The sheriff pointed a finger in his face. His mouth falling open and then closing not a second later like some kind of fish. His hand came back up to rest on Jackson's shoulder, he didn't look angry anymore, just…tired. He gave Jackson's shoulder a squeeze before turning to walk away.

"Don't go anywhere son, I've got a few more questions for you."

But Jackson wasn't listening anymore, already making his way to the window, to Lydia.

~ The Cocktail~

Jackson hadn't taken his eyes off of Lydia for the better part of an hour. Her body was still, there was a sheen of sweat across her porcelain white face. The doctors said she keeps going into shock, her bodies having a severe allergic reaction, but they don't know to what. (Jackson knew, he remembered, Scott told him the bite could kill you Jackson thought he was just saying that to get him to back down. He didn't think that anymore.) The sheriff was pacing the halls behind him, phone pressed flush against his ear. He'd been trying to get ahold of Stiles for as long as Jackson had been staring at Lydia, but his calls weren't going through.

Jackson knew why. He knew that Stiles phone was laying out in the lacrosse field right next to the bleachers in at least a thousand pieces. He wondered how no one could have found it yet, or maybe they had, and the sheriff was just in denial.

"Scott," Jackson turned his head just enough so that he could see the sheriff out the corner of his eye. He must have given up on calling Stiles.

"Scott I need you to answer me here," his voice was soft, barely audible over the chaos in the halls, "Stiles isn't picking up his phone," so they hadn't found it yet, "I'm getting worried, I just…" he sighed big, and heavy, his shoulders sinking as he did so, "I just need to know you boys are ok."

The sheriff hung up his phone and stuck it in his pocket. He was slumped against the nearest wall hand over his face. Another officer placed a hand on his shoulder and was talking to him quietly, Jackson couldn't make out what he was saying. But then the sheriff was pulling himself up and nodding along as the two made their way towards the elevator together.

"…no leads, so far, sir," Jackson turned back towards Lydia as they walked past him, acting as though he wasn't listening in, "not on the pendant or the girl."

The sheriff nodded, "I'm not surprised, it's been six years since the fire," the Hale house fire? "Here, take this."

Jackson glanced back at the two of them in time to catch a glimpse of the scrap paper the sheriff handed the deputy, and it had a very familiar symbol scribbled on it.

Jackson stopped listening; things were starting to make sense now. Kate Argent, Allison's aunt, Jackson had only met her once when he picked Allison up for the dance, but he'd gotten a weird feeling from her. Something told him to stay away, far, far away.

He remembered at lunch one day he'd asked about her new necklace, he hadn't actually cared but he knew it got under McCall's skin whenever he tried to get close her. She said it was an early birthday present from her aunt, a family heirloom that her aunt got when she was her age. It looked far too similar to the sheriffs drawing to be a coincidence.

The Hale house fire happened six years ago, six years ago Kate Argent still would have had that necklace, if she was anything like Allison, she would've worn it everywhere. The 'animal attacks' started happening just before she came to town. The alpha wasn't killing at random, Jackson knew that, if the murders had been random Jackson would already be dead, Lydia too. But the thing had gone after Kate Argent. Kate Argent who was a werewolf hunter, the alpha was a werewolf, Derek Hale was a werewolf. What if the alpha was a Hale?

Jackson didn't know much about the Hale fire, as much as anyone else knew. It was supposedly an electrical fire, twelve people had been in the house, eleven had died. The alpha was the surviving Hale, it all made sense, it fit together perfectly.

He had to get to the Hale house…

"Hello Jackson," shit.

"I was wondering if you could tell me where Scott McCall is?"

Chris Argent was standing down the hall flanked by two other men. They looked rather unassuming, could have been a couple of normal people visiting a friend at the hospital. But they weren't, and Jackson knew there were guns under their jackets and knives in their boots.

"Ummmm, I…uh…I…oh god."

Argent grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him into an empty room. The door was locked, and Jackson had an odd sense of déjà vu as his back was slammed against the wall and rough hands dug into his shirt collar.

"Let's try this again," he growled, "where is Scott McCall?"

Jackson prided himself on keeping his cool. It was what made him such a good lacrosse captain, keeping his head in a stressful situation. Of course, that usually meant reassuring his teammates, worrying about the scoreboard, and trying not to get trampled. None of which involved hunters, werewolf's, guns, or rabid alphas.

"Let me ask you a question Jackson," his grip tightened. "Have you ever seen a rabid dog?"

(Put up a brave face and no one can tell what you're really feeling.)

"No," Jackson growled right back, "what's that gotta do with anything?"

"Well, I have," definitely gonna have a bruise, "and the only thing I've ever been able to compare it to is seeing a friend of mine turn on a full moon. Do you wanna know what happened?"

"Not really, but I get the feeling I don't have a choice here."

"He tried to kill me, and I was forced to put a bullet in his head," Jacksons facade began to crumble, "and the whole while that he lay there dying, he was still trying to claw his way toward me…still trying to kill me…like it was the most important thing he could do with his last breath. Can you imagine that?"

Jackson swallowed, "I, um, I don't…"

"Do you know what they did to Scott on a full moon!?" he pulled Jackson forward and slammed his body back into the door, his head hit the wall and he saw stars, "Do you know they had to lock him up!?"

"Better than them locking him in the basement and burning the house down." He wasn't exactly sure why he said that. He had no hard proof that it was the Argents that started the fire, just guesswork, and a strong feeling. But evidently, it meant something to Argent because he let him go and without the grip on his shirt Jackson slid to the ground.

Argent paced away from him, "I hate to dispel a popular rumor Jackson," he paced back and stuck a finger in his face, "but we never did that."

"Really? Because the sheriff doesn't seem to think so."

Argents frown looked as though it were etched into his face, "We have a code; we don't go around killing for the fun of it."

"He had this drawing. Looked an awful lot like Allison's new necklace."

The only response Argent bothered to give him was a glare.

"She told me her aunt gave it to her, a family heirloom. Now I could be wrong, but we both know I'm not, so how long do you think it'll be before the sheriff figures it out. Or maybe I should just save us some time and go tell him myself."

~ The Cocktail~

His friends were missing. His girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) was comatose. And he was alone in an empty hospital room. Any sane person would have given up, gone home, acted like none of this ever happened and hoped that it all worked itself out by the next morning. But it seems that Jackson was no longer as sane as he once considered himself (too much time spent with Stilinski and McCall). So, he took stock of what he did have.

Car keys, a half-empty flask of whiskey, prom tickets, ruined suit, and a very hazy memory of Lydia's self-igniting Molotov cocktail.

~ The Cocktail~

A scratch on the door, a ding on the fender, a broken headlight. If his dad had known the Porsche would end up in this state, he never would have given Jackson the keys.

He jerked the wheel to the right and slammed his foot on the brake. McCall was laying on his back in the mud, a large animal that could have been mistaken for a bear was standing above him with a foot on his chest. Jackson recognized it from the video store and knew if it were to turn around, he would see the glowing red of its eyes. Derek Hale was lying face down not far from where Jackson was standing, five holes in his back still oozing out a steady flow of blood. Argent had an arm around Allison's waist, she was screaming, clawing at her father's arms trying to get lost. The bodies of dead hunters were strewn across the clearing.

The sight made Jackson sick to his stomach and he already regretted his decision to help. But it was already too late. The moment Jackson had stepped out of the Porsche glowing red eyes were turned to him. Blood dripping from the beast's fangs as he slowly crept towards him. There was only one thing he could do; Jackson threw the cocktail.

The alpha caught it.

He took it and threw it in the direction the Argents had run, the trees surrounding them started catching fire. The alpha continued to advance on him, his features slowly morphing into something else. Then it was a man, a nude man with neatly styled hair and a clean shave. He was clean of any scars that should have marred his body. Jackson stood frozen in fear longer than he'd like to admit and when he finally snapped himself out of his stupor and moved to get back in the Porsche the alpha was only a few feet away. Jackson made to shut the door, but before he could, it was ripped off its hinges and thrown into the fires that surrounded them.

The alpha reached into the Porsche and Jackson was once again grabbed by the collar of his shirt and roughly pulled from the car before being thrown against the side of the Porsche leaving a large Jackson shaped dent in his wake. He struggled against the arms pinning him down, he tried to get away, but he failed in that just as he had failed in everything else. He couldn't stop Stiles from being kidnapped, he couldn't save Lydia, he was too late to help Scott, and just when he thinks he may have gotten something right; he misses the shot.

The alphas breath was hot on his neck as the man laughed in his ear.

"So loyal of you," he purred, "to come help your friends in their time of need, you'll make a commendable addition to the pack. Don't you agree Scott?"

Jackson pried his eyes open (when had he closed them?) to see Scott clawing his way across the grass towards them. Jackson knew he wouldn't make it far, and even if he did Scott could barely move, he wouldn't be able to help Jackson or even himself before the alpha made his move.

The monster's hand moved to wrap around his chin, tilting his head to the side and exposing his neck.

"Now," he spoke around a mouth full of fangs, "hold still. I'd just hate to mess up that pretty face."

Ok so just incase anyone missed it (cause I know before I started writing this story it had been a while since I watched the first season of teen wolf) the reason Jackson's head hurts and he's unconcious in the middle of the parking lot is not because he drank too much and passed out. Its cause at the end(ish) of the episode before Code Breakers he ran into Argent and a couple of other hunters. To keep Jackson from going after the bite I assume after he tells them what he knows they would knock him out in a way that he could assume had something to do with the alcohol. And with a a certain call from a certain Stiles he may have just slept his way through the big fight with Peter.

But thats just what I'm guessing could have happened from what the show told us and the things that were left behind. Ok! Next up we finally get a chapter about Scott and Derek! Yay!