A/N – After writing "Jinx", I am somewhat hooked on the idea of random characters from Teen Wolf developing strange abilities. Might even make an interesting Challenge for all you other awesome writers out there! This one takes place immediately after the final episode. It will probably ship Stiles/Derek.

Derek leapt down the stairs, and the already terrified Jackson backed up against the door of the house which slammed shut behind him with a final-sounding click. Derek Hale, who was scary enough to begin with was now soul-freezing with menace. The look he gave Jackson with his bestial eyes (the crimson glow already lighting them up) told Jackson everything he needed to know. He was going to die, right this instant. He was a fool to come out here thinking otherwise. Derek smiled, knowing that Jackson recognized his fate. The killer teeth were out, Derek's head lunging forward to rip and tear. Jackson shrieked and tore off to the side, getting behind Derek, but now utterly trapped.

"Look at you. So eager to give away what I would kill for. Why so desperate to give up your humanity, Jackson? Because you know you can't cut it? Because you're no good at it? You are so goddamned pathetic it makes me sick. I could do it, you know. I could make you one us…but I already know what you would use your power for. The same thing you've been doing already; bullying everybody weaker than you and trying to convince the world that you're the best. In other words, overcompensating for the fact that deep down inside you're nothing but shit. How long do you think you'd be satisfied being a Beta in my Pack before deciding you had to be the Alpha? How long before you pulled together a Pack of Omegas that you could treat worse than slaves, starting with the ones you call your friends? How long before you began to really hurt people to satisfy your ego, becoming a monster that my Uncle never dreamed of being? And you know what the sad thing is? I am the one that envies you. I am the one that looks at you and wishes I had your life. I'd have a family that is loving, attentive…and most importantly alive. I'd have a chance at a real life, maybe even find someone to love without worrying I'd tear their throat out. Have children without worrying some Hunter wasn't going to come along and kill them just for being what they were. I wouldn't have to be alone anymore. If you can't see that you're the lucky one, then you're even more broken and pathetic than I imagined possible. I am going to let you go…you have 30 seconds to get in your car and go tearing off in your shiny Porsche down that road and out of my life forever. Next time you come out here, you won't even see me coming…you will die, Jackson. No more threats."

Jackson stood there, head down as he took in Derek's words. When he looked up, his eyes shimmered with tears.

"Fuck you, and fuck your 30 seconds. I have something to say to you, and I don't care if you rip my throat out. You have no idea what it's like to be me. You think you do, but you don't. You had a real family, even for a little while. I was adopted. My own parents didn't even love me enough to keep me. I will never know who they are or why they chose to give me away. Everything I've done was just to try and show them what a mistake they made. I wanted them to know what they gave up. And every time I fail…and I do fail, Derek…it kills me inside. It makes me think they were right all along. And I will never be free of that feeling. I hoped that becoming one of you would…I don't know. Change the rules, get me to stop thinking about things the same old way…if I were like you, I wouldn't be connected to them anymore. I could be my own person. So, either I die or… I get to live in Hell. Some choice, Derek. Sometime soon, I don't know when…it's going to be too much for me, and I am going to check out. My parents reject me, you reject me…I'm not gonna wait around for it to happen again. Then you can spend the rest of your life wondering if you made a mistake with me, too. What is it about me that makes people not want me, Derek? Am I really that bad?"

Derek said nothing, he just did not have the words that make the stupid kid understand. Jackson was in Hell all right, but it was a Hell of his own making. He locked himself in and had thrown away the key. He looked at everything in the worst possible way, and no magic werewolf bite could fix that for him. His anger at Jackson drained away, despite himself. It was hard to be angry with someone so screwed up. The crimson faded from his eyes.

Jackson walked up to Derek and looked him square in the eye, something he had never been able to do before.

"I would trade places with you in a heartbeat; you be the human, and let me be the Alpha. I'd show you how to get everything you ever wanted."

"I would take you up on that trade, Jackson. In a heartbeat. Now go home."

Jackson, bizarrely, put out his hand. A shake? Really?

Bemused, Derek took the hand and gave it a token shake. Then the two men collapsed backward onto the floor, feeling dizzy and nauseous. They recovered in a few seconds and stood up again.

"What the hell was that?" said Derek.

"No idea. Maybe it was us bonding."

"God forbid. I'd eat you for saying that if I didn't think I'd vomit. Out."

Jackson left. When his scent and the sound of the Porsche faded away, Derek pondered Jackson's words. Maybe Jackson would make a decent werewolf, but not until he got his head out of his ass. When would he realize that you can't live your life based on what other people's expectations were? There was no prize for it, except maybe a wasted life. A werewolf with Jackson's issues was the last thing the world needed.

Derek stretched, and decided to have another quick workout before retiring for the night. By his 50th chin-up, he knew something was wrong. His muscles were screaming, and he was nearly too exhausted to move. He must have worn himself out with all of the recent exertions; even the new Alpha strength was not infinite.

Sighing, he went up to his bedroom marveling that for once he could no longer smell the decay of the old house all around him. Maybe he was finally getting used to it.

Jackson arrived home, and sat in his car looking out of the windshield at the bright lights of his parent's house. Their house. The Whittemore estate, in the family for over a hundred years until Jackson came along. His father's sterility had insured that the old bloodline was ended…though the name at least would carry on. If they had been able to have their own children, they would never have taken in Jackson. They wouldn't have needed him. He was the consolation prize. He imagined the Whittemores on some corny game show.

"I am so sorry, you didn't win the ten million and the trip to Aruba, but behind curtain number two lies the next best thing…a lifetime supply of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese, and a baby no one else wanted!"

Jackson masochistically enjoyed the feeling of self-pity that washed over him, even snickering at his own flight of fancy. It wasn't really as bad as all that…maybe Derek had a point. Maybe he was focusing too much on what he had lost instead of what he had. Maybe being a werewolf wouldn't have ended the feelings of abandonment and inferiority that plagued his thoughts. He was not going to ask Derek again, though not because of any of Derek's increasingly imaginative threats. In the morning, he would ask the Whittemores if he could see a counselor. It was time he got some help.

Stepping out of the car, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of the wet grass, freshly watered by the underground sprinkler system. The odor enveloped him, he almost felt as if he were bathing in it. He even smelled the cold water in the pipes, and knew that if he tasted some, it would carry the metallic flavor of iron. A passing breeze brought to him the scents of the Mountain Ash trees that bordered the property, a cornucopia of animals living among the roots and branches; squirrels, groundhogs, rabbits…even a snake.

Jackson wondered at all of this before catching sight of the stars overhead, and the waning gibbous moon. It was like looking through a telescope. He laughed aloud, a clear carefree laugh that neither friends nor family had ever heard from him. Tearing his gaze from the night sky, he jogged to the front door and let himself in.

"Jackson?" called Martha Whittemore.

"Yeah, Mom?" he called back.

"Darling, you know I don't like you going out this late, and without letting us know. With everything that's been going on lately…"

"I'm fine, Mom. Don't worry about me."

"I will too worry, Jackson Whittemore."

Jackson entered the sitting room where his adopted mother sat drinking a cup of tea. A persistent sound began to imping on Jackson's hearing. A steady rhythmic pulsing. Almost like when he ran suicides for Coach Finstock, till his own pulse rang in his ears. But this seemed to be coming from her.

"If anything ever happened to you, Jackson, I don't know what I'd do. I love you more than my own life, you know.

The pulse was steady throughout this speech. He heard Scott and Derek talking about how you could hear it when someone lied by the change in heart rate. Obviously, his mother was telling the truth. But how could Jackson hear it? Was it hanging around them so much? No, that was stupid. A side effect from the claw marks on his neck? Unconsciously, Jackson rubbed at the spot…only to find that the scar was gone. Jackson's eyes widened.

"Um, I know Mom. I'm sorry, won't happen again." Jackson said quickly. He had to get to his room.

"Well, you look tired. Go on to bed, and I'll cook you a nice breakfast in the morning. It's Florence's day off, so I'm taking over the kitchen."

"Sounds good. Goodnight." He gave her a quick kiss (the scent of her soap, shampoo and perfume making his head spin) and fled up the stairs.

His room was a haven from the sensory input overload. So used to the sounds and smells within that he was able to ignore them and almost pretend that what happened in the sitting room and outside was his own imagination. He undressed and checked himself for bites and scratches, but found none. This was hardly surprising. If he had been infected, they would have healed. Using a hand mirror and the wall mirror together, he checked his neck. Clean unbroken skin. Derek must have infected him after all with that scratch, it had just taken longer. Could it be? Was he a werewolf? Wouldn't Derek have figured that out? Only one way to make sure…but now that the possibility existed, he found himself strangely reluctant to prove it one way or the other. It would be scary if it were true, and disappointing if it were not. He had had enough of emotional roller coasters for one night, so he got into bed and closed his eyes. He would try it in the morning…if there were indeed anything to try.

The next morning saw the beat up Jeep of Stiles Stilinski heading down the road towards the Hale house. Seeing Derek's Camaro there, Stiles pulled up all the way and was soon heading up the creaky steps to the front door. Pushing it open, he entered the silent foyer and called out Derek's name.

"Who's there?" came an oddly nasal voice from up the stairs.

"It's me, Sti-WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'WHO'S THERE'"

Stiles ran up the steps and found Derek sitting on his bed with his bare feet sitting in a porcelain bowl of steaming water, dressed in three layers of sweat suits and a bathrobe over it. He was shivering, and his teeth were chattering.

"Derek, what the hell…you have a cold?" asked Stiles.

"No, Stiles. It's Halloween, and this is my costume. Realistic, huh?"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you. I thought werewolves never got sick."

"That was your first mistake. You thought."

"Very funny. Seriously, what gives?"

"I don't know. I've never been sick before, aside from aconite poisoning."

"I'm almost tempted to take advantage of your weakened condition to pay you back for oh, about 600 bumps on my head. But I'll be nice and ask if I can get you anything."

"No, I'll be fine. Tell anyone about this and I'll let you pick which of your organs I eat first. I hear devouring annoying teenagers is very beneficial to werewolf immune systems. It's like Vitamin C."

"You must be sick, I've never seen you this cranky. Wait here, I'll see what I have in my Jeep. There was a food drive I helped out the local church with, and I still have a couple of boxes of non-perishable food."

"I remember that drive. It was 6 months ago."

"I know, I keep forgetting to hand it in. I'm easily distracted these days."

"Remind me never to put you in charge of any medical decisions if I'm in a coma."

"I SAID sarcasm doesn't become you. Be right back."

Stiles went out to the car and checked out the box. Plenty of cans of soup, some mac & cheese, Jello, and a box of teabags and a bear shaped bottle of honey. Perfect, except for the Jello.

Stiles carried the tray of food up to Derek once he had finished cooking, and Derek gratefully took the honey-laden tea and chicken soup while Stiles scarfed down a huge bowl of mac & cheese.

"It's amazing. I can't smell any of this, I can't smell you, I can't hear your heart, and I didn't even hear you pull up. I've never felt weaker in my entire life. It almost feels like…"

"Being human?" said Stiles through a mouthful of food.

"Please chew with your mouth closed."

"Remember that when you're eating my organs."

Derek laughed at that, and both he and Stiles started at the sound.

"My God, Derek. WHERE is Mr. Badass Werewolf? Of all the things I've seen here, this worries me the most. You NEVER laugh. And your threats, though eloquent, seem to have less force behind them than usual."

"I'm not sure. I feel like a weight has been lifted off me somehow."

"Try something for me. Make your eyes glow red, make your teeth grow, or your claws. Anything."

Derek shrugged, then glared at Stiles. He growled low in his throat, which soon led to a coughing fit. He recovered and tried again. He checked his teeth and nails. Nothing.

"My eyes?"

"Still the beautiful color of roadside slush."

Derek was tensing up now. This was impossible.

"Stiles, I need you to make me mad. Furious. Do something, hit me, anything."

Stiles paled. "Uh, no I don't think I really want to take that chance. You might make a quick recovery."

"Please Stiles!"

"All right. But I'm not going to hit you. I can think of something that will make you almost as mad though."

"Just do it."

Stiles got up and walked over to him. Derek closed his eyes, as if bracing for a blow. Stiles reached down, grabbed Derek's face with his hands, and kissed him full on the lips.

"Mmmmmmmmmmuuuuuahhhhh!" he said.

"STILES, WHAT THE HELL, ARE YOU CRAZY?" shouted Derek. He leapt up from the bed and lunged forward, forgetting that he was still standing in a bowl of water. He stumbled and fell right into Stiles arms. This move exhausted him instantly, and Stiles helped him back over to the bed. A quick check revealed no wolfish features.

"It's official. You are no longer a werewolf. Or Badass." Stiles quipped.

"I'll always be Badass."

"Strawberry Shortcake riding My Little Pony to a picnic at Barney's house is more Badass than you right now."

"Stiles, why did you kiss me?"

"Well, you asked me to make you mad and I figured that would work. Maybe not such a good idea, since you have a cold, but I didn't want to hit you."

"After all the times I hit you, you didn't want to take a one-shot freebie?"

"I don't get off on hitting people weaker than me." Said Stiles, pointedly.

Derek's mouth opened, then closed. He looked down at his (now cold) bare feet. Stiles went and refilled the bowl and brought it back, and Derek plunked his feet in gratefully.

"I suddenly feel ten thousand times worse than I did before. Thanks, Stiles."

"No problem. Remember this when you're Badass again."

"I'll never hurt you again. If I do, I will leave town and never come back. I'm…I'm sorry." Derek hunched down, looking absolutely miserable. "After everything I told Jackson about how he would bully other people if he were a werewolf, I realize I'm no better. I guess I owe him an apology too."

"When did you see Jackson?"

"He came here last night to try to get me to bite him again. I refused, and we had this weird conversation about how we were jealous of each other's lives. He even offered to trade, and I jokingly accepted…"

Stiles had a horrified look on his face.

"And you got sick right after? And no more ability to 'wolf-out'?"

Derek felt a sinking sensation in his chest.

"Stiles, that's crazy. How could something like that be possible?"

"Offer to trade me something. Um…let's switch eye color. You take my brown, and I'll take your…whatever color that is. Deal?"

"Okay, deal." They shook hands.

After ten minutes, they checked each other only to discover that nothing had changed.

"Okay, that didn't work." Said Stiles, red-faced.

"No, it was an interesting theory…unless it was actually Jackson that powered the transfer." Derek pondered this incredible thought.

"Why should Jackson be able to do that? He's just an ordinary human."

"We don't know that, Stiles. There are many strange things in this world besides werewolves. From what you told me about Lydia, I'm beginning to wonder about her. Humans who get bitten either turn or die, and she is still lying there in a coma in the hospital. Also, in case you haven't noticed, Beacon Hills seems to be a magnet for strange things to happen."

"Oooh, like we're on a Hellmouth or something?"

"Oh, God please tell me you didn't just say that."

"I remember reading something about this though…when I was looking up all that werewolf stuff for Scott, my ADHD would kick in and I read about a lot of other creatures too. There was this one thing called a Cambion, and it is the offspring of a human and a demon. It's supposed to be really pretty…that's Jackson all right…and have some of the same deal-making abilities of the demonic parent."

"You think Jackson may be a Cambion? He was going on and on about being adopted."

"Right now, I think Jackson's an Alpha, and nothing could be worse than that."

"We've got to track him down. Lord knows what he might do. Let me grab a quick shower, and we'll go find him."

"Okay, I'll clean this mess up in the meantime."

"Thanks. Oh, and Stiles?"

"What?"

"You think Jackson is pretty?" Derek smirked.

"Oh, shut up." Grumbled Stiles.