The Art of Understanding - Coyote Theory
Scackson: There are some things from which you can't escape
A few months had passed since Jackson had left. Scott would never be able to use the words run away, and even Danny had learned it was best to avoid the phrase around Scott. He and Danny had gotten closer since Jackson left. Danny needed someone to lean on and Scott didn't want to forget what he had lost. So Scott would always invite him over to study or to hang out with Stiles and Isaac.
But Scott was getting skittish. He found himself on edge most of the time and the only thing he was sure could fix it had vanished with only a note left in his wake. He'd nearly slipped up and gotten Stiles hurt twice. It was thanks to Stiles' quick wit and Derek's quick reactions that nothing had gone wrong. The same could be said for Isaac and even his mother and the sheriff. So Scott started backing off of their Scooby Doo antics, too afraid to get someone hurt to keep going like nothing was wrong.
And then one day he stumbled on another omega passing through town. He told Scott that he'd run across a blue-eyed werewolf that told him to stay away from Beacon Hills because there was an alpha pack and a family of hunters, but that he had come anyway because the condescending arrogance made him doubt the werewolf's words. Scott questioned the werewolf, backing him into a tree when he tried to stay quiet. It was only when Scott slipped up, shifting in his eagerness to find Jackson that the omega sank to his knees and told Scott that all he knew was that the wolf was headed east.
So Scott went east. He didn't tell anyone because what was he going to say? He didn't know where he was going, how long he would be gone, or where he would be staying on the way. He just had to try. Jackson's trail had long gone cold, but Scott never stopped heading east. He found other packs on his way, and he always stopped to question them.
"I'm looking for a werewolf. Blue eyes. In both forms. Blond or light brown hair. A confident, cocky asshole that never seems happy and looks really lonely if you take the time to look hard enough." That was always his description. "He left my pack." It was always a lie, they weren't in the same pack, but Scott believed in the fact that they fit together enough that his heart only gave the smallest of up-ticks and no one ever seemed to question it. Maybe they all assumed Scott realized that running away should have been the end of a pack bond.
"How long has this mate of yours been gone?" The alpha of the second pack he'd stumbled upon asked, looking more amused than Scott really liked.
"A few months." He answered. Something told him not to deny the word mate. Maybe it would help him find Jackson. Maybe it would help him get Jackson home. Maybe it would be true.
"I'm afraid we haven't seen anyone like that, but my sons were just about to go meet with our neighboring pack in that direction. Perhaps they could escort you there and you could keep them out of trouble? They may have seen him."
Scott agreed. And that was how it all began. He traveled from pack to pack, occasionally picking up travel companions for short distances. A few even stayed with him for a while, joining him as he passed through a dozen packs or more, but eventually he would talk them into finding a safe place to stay and he would be on his own again. And sometimes it was dangerous. He'd stumble onto rogue hunter camps or hostile werewolves and it felt just like he was in Beacon Hills. Only it didn't because he didn't have Stiles or Isaac or anyone else to back him up. And every time he was caught by a hunter, trapped in a pack of werewolves, he would tell his story. Sometimes they'd take pity on him and let him go. Sometimes, he'd fight his way out of trouble. Sometimes, he'd luck out and the friends he'd made on the way would show up and save him. And sometimes he was beaten so badly that even with his enhanced healing it would take him a week to fully heal.
And then there was the question. Everyone he spoke to seemed to reach the consensus that they were mates without ever being told anything other than his almost constant description of Jackson.
"He's your mate. Why can't you feel him?" The question was repeated almost everywhere he went. It was only in the places, places that usually felt and looked like the Hale house, where the breaks and tragedies could never be erased that the question went unanswered. They were always the most helpful, the most generous, and the most doubtful. Scott could see it in their eyes that they already believed Jackson dead, only a tiny glimmer of hope that maybe things would turn out better for him offering any light into their weary eyes.
"I don't know why I can't feel him." Was always the simple answer. Most of the time it was met with pity, sometimes digest and condescension. On occasion, it was a grumbled "No wonder he left."
Scott thought the same thing sometimes when he was curled up under a tree to try to catch a little sleep. What was the point of this? Maybe Jackson didn't want to be found. What if it was Scott that he was really running from? Either way, he'd find Jackson eventually and he'd get answers. Nothing would stop him from doing that.
