The sound of lockers slamming was all Derek could make out as he waited for either Scott or Jackson to break the silence that had lasted all day. They'd both been tiptoeing around the conversation neither of them really wanted to have, but Derek could tell Jackson was about to crack.

In a big way.

The fact that they now found themselves the last in the locker room was no accident either. Derek could hear the thoughts bouncing around in Jackson's head at this point, but he was determined not to step in unless it was absolutely necessary. Under normal circumstances, Derek would think it was sweet how concerned Jackson was about a fellow teammate, maybe even a friend, but right now it was just annoying.

And the fact that Scott couldn't keep his damn mouth shut, literally or figuratively, made him nervous.

"McCall," Jackson said, walking over to him.

His footfalls told Derek exactly where he was and he shut his eyes to envision the scene, hoping he would be able to tell a second or two before anything escalated if he needed to leave the coach's office.

Scott's anger at his own situation was bubbling right near the surface at all times. Derek knew that feeling well. But right now it was dangerous. And not just because they needed to keep their true nature a secret.

Jackson Whittemore was a good kid, and Derek knew that if Scott let himself lose it, even for a second, he'd never forgive himself. He knew that feeling well too.

Scott sighed. "What, Jackson?" He stood up, the bench groaning in protest at the absence of weight, causing all of Derek's muscles to tense. "We have to get out to the field."

"Not until you tell me you've taken my advice," Jackson countered.

"Jackson, I told you, I'm not on drugs," Scott responded, the frustration evident to anyone who might be listening. "I know you're worried about me, but please just believe me."

"If you gave me a reason to, maybe I would," Jackson begged. "There's gotta be an explanation for your sudden improvement, McCall. And that's the easiest one. Give me something else." He paused, his tone shifting. "Anything else, dude."

"Just lay off, all right?" Scott muttered.

Scott was still laboring under the assumption that he was the ugly duckling of the team, and of school, and Jackson being worried about him didn't make any sense. Derek understood that, but he was playing with fire. His moods were too hot and cold to be ignored, even by a casual observer. He needed Derek and Peter more than he realized.

Derek heard the gentle clap of Jackson's hand on Scott's padded shoulder and he stood up without thinking. He had touched Scott. They were in entirely dangerous territory, no matter the intention.

"In case you're missing the point, McCall, I'm trying to help you," Jackson insisted.

"Well, I didn't ask you to care!" Scott yelled, rounding on Jackson as Derek pulled open the door. "So leave me alone!"

Derek was around the lockers with his arms crossed before either of them could respond to Scott's rage.

"What's going on here?" he asked, looking between the two of them.

Scott shrugged off Jackson's hand. "He doesn't trust me. That's what."

Jackson turned to Derek with a smug look on his face and Derek watched him carefully. "I'm sure you've noticed McCall's been acting strange. He won't tell me why, so I think he's on drugs. I'm trying to help him out, but he won't let me."

Jackson watched Derek just as closely as he waited for a reaction that was never going to come. He had spent all day playing out this very conversation, or some version of it, in his head. He knew what he wanted to say now. What he hoped would have the greatest impact on both of them.

But he was still uncertain. He was still... nervous.

"Because I don't need your help, Jackson," Scott mumbled.

Derek nodded once and unfolded his arms, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I see." He turned to Scott. "We might as well just come clean, I think."

He knew Scott was going to get the wrong impression, especially since they hadn't talked since breakfast, but it took everything Derek had not to laugh out loud at Scott's eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"Are you serious?" he asked incredulously.

"It's not that big of a deal, Scott," Derek said, giving a noncommittal sort of shrug. "Jackson can keep a secret. And the last thing we want him thinking is that you're on drugs when you've just been having private practice sessions with me all summer. Right?"

Scott blinked rapidly a few times, not turning to face Jackson before he answered slowly. "Right. Private practice sessions," he repeated.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he straightened up to his full height and turned to face Jackson.

"I guess he's right. I should come clean," he continued.

"Private practice?" Jackson scoffed. "That's bullshit. Practice made your asthma go away?" He pointed his finger right at Scott's chest. "Don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't taken a hit off your inhaler since the first day of school, McCall."

"Of course practice can't make asthma go away, Jackson," Derek said shrewdly. "But breathing exercises can. Surely an athlete as accomplished as yourself knows that."

With Derek's words still lingering in the air, Jackson fell silent. He might be a good kid, but Derek knew what would get to him. At least shut him up, anyway.

"Jackson, I appreciate you looking out for your teammates. I can understand how his improvement might seem abrupt to you, considering where he was at when we ended the season last year, but I can assure you that I've seen it form gradually over the summer. He worked really hard."

"Okay, but why... why did he keep it a secret, then?" Jackson stammered.

"I was embarrassed, okay?" Scott added convincingly. "I've been bad for so long. I just wanted to get better. But I kinda didn't want everyone to know that and then expect me to be good. It's... a lot of pressure, you know? Especially with my mom. I wanna be able to get an athletic scholarship, because there's no way she's affording college on a nurse's salary. I was just trying to take some of that off her plate. That's all."

Jackson opened his mouth to say something else, but Derek held up his hand to stop him. He knew it ran deep for Scott, but not a damn word he'd just said was anything close to a lie. For Scott McCall, he'd won the lottery with that bite, even if he didn't realize it yet.

Feeling sorry for him had been all wrong for Derek. He didn't need that. He needed guidance. He needed direction. He sure as shit didn't need pity, though.

"Jackson, we'd appreciate you keeping this to yourself," Derek interjected. "And, of course, the assumption that Scott was on drugs stays between us as well."

Once again, Jackson opened his mouth to debate further, but Derek's stern gaze stopped the words in their tracks.

"I'll see you out on the field, all right?" Derek asked, motioning toward the door behind him with his head.

He gave one last huff before he stalked past them, slamming the door behind him as he left. When Derek was sure he was out of earshot, he turned his attention back to Scott, hoping that his anger was back in check fully.

He swallowed nervously. "I, uh, don't think he bought it."

Derek couldn't help but chuckle at that. "No. But he'll have to. I mean, we could always give you a drug test to shut him up, but it would probably show some other things we don't want people to know too. Probably not worth it."

Scott nodded, giving Derek a half smile as he started to pack up his stuff and get ready to go outside too. "Thanks, by the way. I don't think he would've let it go this time."

"Probably not," Derek agreed. "That's what a pack does for each other, though, Scott. It's not just turning and full moons and stuff. It's about having each other's backs. About everything."

Surprisingly, Scott hung his head. And Derek had no idea what to make of it. He seemed embarrassed, maybe. Or shy. But neither of those reactions made sense at this point.

"If he had kept pushing, and I had gotten angry enough, I could've hurt him, huh?"

Then he understood. He was embarrassed about what could have happened, what he was capable of, more than what had actually gone down.

"Definitely," Derek acknowledged. "That's why you need to learn to control your anger as soon as possible. It isn't as hard as it sounds when you actually start doing it. And you don't have to be in a pack for me to show you that. Okay?"

Scott nodded again. "Okay." He looked up at Derek, his mouth set in a straight line. Almost like he had decided something. "Okay. I'll join your pack."

Derek licked his lips, pausing intentionally to give himself time to choose his words carefully. "I was serious. You don't have to be in our pack."

"But you're right," Scott admitted. "It's dangerous. I... need a pack. And not just one with me and Stiles."

Derek smirked. "It's going to be okay, Scott. I promise." He reached out and pulled him into a side hug, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. "Let's get you to practice and we can talk about it later."

Scott nodded one more time, his stick hanging limply at his side as Derek led him out toward the field. Despite all the odds, he was more optimistic than he'd been in years, and for something that had never brought him all that much joy in the first place.

For once, Derek Hale saw his werewolf gene as not just something that killed. But something that might help.