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A part of Jackson wondered why he’d even bothered to come back. There was nothing in this town for him. Lydia was busy with god knows what, and had only had time to warn him that there were supernatural creatures everywhere , a team of terrible smelling old men in space suits, the deputy hellhound that had her attention, and a pretty-boy wannabe villain monopolizing all of Scott McCall’s attention.
Clearly Theo Raeken had never met Peter Hale. That was the monster who haunted Jackson’s memories.
When it wasn’t, y’know, himself. Or Matt. Or Gerard Argent.
Okay, so Jackson had run into a lot of monsters in his relatively short life and Theo Raeken didn’t even rank.
He didn’t even really know where he was driving, just sort of aimlessly circling the town trying to simultaneously form a plan and run from ghosts. That’s all this town was to him; ghosts and memories, but, Lydia’s calls recently had been short, clipped, scared. She’d given him some information and omitted other pieces that he thought might have been relevant. Coming back had felt like something he needed to do, like maybe, for once they might need someone with a clear head to observe the situation.
For whatever definition of clear you considered his head.
His attention fell on a too-familiar blue jeep on pulled to an awkward stop on a darkened side street. Jackson could smell the fury and anxiety and devastation from inside his own car. Walking up on Stiles Stilinski in a dark road, when he smelled like an anger machine and didn’t even know Jackson was in town? Probably not his best move.
But, Jackson saw him, standing in the middle of the street, one hand gripped around a wrench, the other shaking. His entire body was a line of tension and anger, his shoulders broader than Jackson remembered them. As Stiles spun to throw the wrench -- at his precious Jeep, jesus christ what had this town done to him -- Jackson jumped to grab it out of thin air, landing in a squat just short of the front bumper of the clunker.
“Y’know, for something this old, it would probably be really difficult to find a replacement for whatever parts you decide to destroy.”
Jackson watched Stiles’ face carefully. Reflecting back on his time in Beacon Hills, a resounding, repetitive fact seemed to come to life; even when he fucking hated him, the person who seemed, against the odds, to know what was going on was Stiles. Jackson remembered sitting in that prison van, Stiles fully aware that he was a dangerous murderer. He remembered feeling like a caged animal, under scrutiny.
He saw a lot of those feelings in Stiles’ face now.
“ Jackson ?” He said, rolling his eyes and bringing one hand up to cover half of his face, “Oh god today just keeps getting better.” A dark laugh rolled out from between his lips.
“I’m glad I can have such a positive impact on your outlook.” Jackson smirked, hoping the flippant tone would disguise the gut-deep fear of Stiles in this moment. This, this wasn’t the Stiles that Jackson had once known, and he would do well to remember that.
Stiles tilted his head up to the night sky, moles a stark contrast to pale skin in the low light -- and when did Jackson start caring about Stilinski’s moles? Jackson is mesmerized though, and can’t help but watch the quiver in the other teen’s lips, the way his body, strung so tight with anxiety and fear starts to shake. Jackson is waiting for it, waiting for the blow-up, waiting for the explosion and wondering if he’s going to be caught in the crossfire.
Lydia told him about the Nogitsune, about Allison . She’d told him that Stiles had been taken by a monster and that the version of him that they got back wore a mask and tried to pretend he was okay, but she didn’t think he was. Lydia had told him that she was afraid -- of Stiles and for Stiles.
Jackson braced for impact, but instead, he watched a single tear slide out of the corner of one of Stiles’ eyes, divert around the moles and fall to the pavement, sparkling in the air like glitter for its brief hang time. And then, Stiles lowered his chin, brown eyes finding Jacksons, and instead of the burning anger that had been in them, there was nothing.
The mask was back on.
It didn’t make Jackson feel any less unsettled.