Somewhere in Beacon Hills, Later Saturday Evening FT
If Jackson was honest, he hadn't been expecting to come back into consciousness anymore. It had felt final somehow, the last time darkness fell. But he came back. He didn't know how much time had passed. Or where he was. He didn't know anything, really, except that there was a key in front of his eyes. A key held by delicate, slim fingers. And then a clawed, scaly hand reached out to take the key.
His hand. The kanima's hand. Same thing.
He held the key up. It was his house key. And then he looked past the key and he saw Lydia. There were tears on her cheeks. And it was like -- like the last few moments were coming back to him in faint echoes. There were others here. Derek and Scott and Isaac. There'd just been fighting.
But most importantly of all... He had almost just attacked Lydia.
Closing his hand around the key, he stepped back. Several steps, away from Lydia who was still staring at him. He could feel a burn in his throat, and stinging in his eyes, and from the corner of his eye he could see Derek getting up from the floor. He looked over. He nodded.
It had to be done.
Derek was in front of him in a flash and the claws pierced his flesh like daggers. There was another set in his back: two sets of claws cutting into him and almost lifting him up off the floor before they pulled back, just leaving searing pain behind. They'd done their job. Jackson's entire torso felt like it was on fire, and he was choking on something, maybe blood, but at least he was here. He was feeling this. If he had to die then at least it was as himself. Not as someone else's puppets. Not by someone else's decision. His. There was very little comfort in that, but it was all he had left. Almost all, anyway. Lydia caught him as he fell to the floor. Holding him up while he knelt on a surface that should have been hard but which he couldn't even really feel anymore. Her tear-streaked face was still beautiful. And it took effort to speak, push words past the pain. He probably couldn't have managed more than a whisper even if he'd wanted to. "Do you-- do you still --"
"I do," she choked out, past her tears. She nodded, and kept nodding. "I do still love you. I do, I do still love you."
Jackson closed his eyes and let his weight fall more against her. Maybe that wasn't really his choice, anymore, either. He was fading. Slipping away from himself one last time. The key finally fell from his grasp. Lydia kept muttering to him but he didn't really hear her anymore. Not her words, anyway. Her voice carried him off. Darkness fell over him again. And then after what could have been seconds or minutes or just about any amount of time at all, there was nothing. Nothing at all.
For a moment.
And then there was something. Something pulling him back, something bright and strong echoing through his brain. Claws on concrete. Something stretching. Someone growling, a deep, guttural sound. A werewolf.
And then with a shudder, Jackson was back in his body. He was standing up. He was alive. His wounds had healed. Something had changed. He could feel it. There were no ghost hands on his shoulder anymore.
And the growling, that had been him.
And Lydia was still there. Looking shocked, for all the two seconds he got to look at her before she launched herself at him, hugging him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her hesitantly at first, like he didn't even remember how to fully control his own limbs anymore. Then more tightly. Clinging like she was his anchor and could make sure that whatever had changed would not change back again.
He was free, and he didn't want to go back.
[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay! Taken from TW S02E12 'Master Plan', warning for violence, and technically character death. GOODBYE CANON!]
His hand. The kanima's hand. Same thing.
He held the key up. It was his house key. And then he looked past the key and he saw Lydia. There were tears on her cheeks. And it was like -- like the last few moments were coming back to him in faint echoes. There were others here. Derek and Scott and Isaac. There'd just been fighting.
But most importantly of all... He had almost just attacked Lydia.
Closing his hand around the key, he stepped back. Several steps, away from Lydia who was still staring at him. He could feel a burn in his throat, and stinging in his eyes, and from the corner of his eye he could see Derek getting up from the floor. He looked over. He nodded.
It had to be done.
Derek was in front of him in a flash and the claws pierced his flesh like daggers. There was another set in his back: two sets of claws cutting into him and almost lifting him up off the floor before they pulled back, just leaving searing pain behind. They'd done their job. Jackson's entire torso felt like it was on fire, and he was choking on something, maybe blood, but at least he was here. He was feeling this. If he had to die then at least it was as himself. Not as someone else's puppets. Not by someone else's decision. His. There was very little comfort in that, but it was all he had left. Almost all, anyway. Lydia caught him as he fell to the floor. Holding him up while he knelt on a surface that should have been hard but which he couldn't even really feel anymore. Her tear-streaked face was still beautiful. And it took effort to speak, push words past the pain. He probably couldn't have managed more than a whisper even if he'd wanted to. "Do you-- do you still --"
"I do," she choked out, past her tears. She nodded, and kept nodding. "I do still love you. I do, I do still love you."
Jackson closed his eyes and let his weight fall more against her. Maybe that wasn't really his choice, anymore, either. He was fading. Slipping away from himself one last time. The key finally fell from his grasp. Lydia kept muttering to him but he didn't really hear her anymore. Not her words, anyway. Her voice carried him off. Darkness fell over him again. And then after what could have been seconds or minutes or just about any amount of time at all, there was nothing. Nothing at all.
For a moment.
And then there was something. Something pulling him back, something bright and strong echoing through his brain. Claws on concrete. Something stretching. Someone growling, a deep, guttural sound. A werewolf.
And then with a shudder, Jackson was back in his body. He was standing up. He was alive. His wounds had healed. Something had changed. He could feel it. There were no ghost hands on his shoulder anymore.
And the growling, that had been him.
And Lydia was still there. Looking shocked, for all the two seconds he got to look at her before she launched herself at him, hugging him tightly. He wrapped his arms around her hesitantly at first, like he didn't even remember how to fully control his own limbs anymore. Then more tightly. Clinging like she was his anchor and could make sure that whatever had changed would not change back again.
He was free, and he didn't want to go back.
[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay! Taken from TW S02E12 'Master Plan', warning for violence, and technically character death. GOODBYE CANON!]