#bh.start

Jackson walked into Beacon Hills High like he owned the damn place. The last time most of these people had seen him he was lying dead on the lacrosse field.  Of course they knew he didn’t die, no funeral.  But he spent the entire summer with Derek trying to learn everything you need to know about being a werewolf while simultaneously trying not to have a breakdown because, oh yeah, you murdered a bunch of people while you were a lizard, and two separate psychos had been in your head. 

Then his dad freaked out and moved him to London.   Being a werewolf in london (don’t even start with the movie references) with no friends, no pack, no Alpha and all new hunters was the opposite of fun. He learned how fast he could run.  And that some werewolves will also kill Omega wolves, if they can get their hands on them.  And lots of other things which made him glad he had accelerated healing.

He wasn’t positive how the relationships between himself and just about everybody else stood now. Weird things had gone on.  He had consented to let Peter and Derek kill him, but he came back a werewolf. Did that voluntary death absolve him of all his sins?  He would have to deal with people one by one, find out their attitude toward him and figure things out from there.  But without ever seeming as if he didn’t know exactly where he stood, because that would be weak, and Jackson didn’t do weak. 

He heard someone call his name and turned, “Yeah?” 

He felt like a ghost, wandering through the hallways at school. Nothing quite seemed real anymore, what with how little he’d been sleeping. His ability to focus was minimal, and trying to read was just as bad. Stiles came to a sudden stop in the hallway, looking around blankly.