Chapter Text
Stiles wishes that project "Save Beacon Hills" was past this part. They're working through project phase "Stop Jackson from Murdering Everyone," and it's got him trampling through remote sections of the woods today. He's got sandwiches in his backpack and problems on his mind.
Ahead of him, a little bit up the incline, is the stolen Sheriff's prisoner transport van Stiles took from the force a day ago. He's relieved Scott from watch duty and his werewolf best friend reported that Jackson is still in the back. Scott didn't think to go inside and keep him company, and Stiles withholds the gripe that even lizardmen like Jackson need enrichment in their environment.
The doors are still closed, and the tiny windows a the top of the doors are just beyond his ability to peek through them. Scott will return in a couple of hours. Stiles would kind of prefer the less risky option of just not facing Jackson at all. However, Stiles doesn't regard himself as a total jerk, so he recommits to spending time interacting with Jackson. And of course sharing the sandwiches and bottled water he brought with him.
Lydia, queen that she is, is at the library and digging for more details about kanimas in history. If they can free Jackson from this cycle today, they want to get it done before nightfall.
This hostage situation is happening in a remote part of the Beacon Hills Preserve. With trees as dense as they get around here, there's no easy way to see the van, even from the air. Hikers are very unlikely to come this way today, if ever. Even if his dad's deputies are all searching for the missing vehicle, they are still days away from heading out this far from town to find it.
He tugs his backpack strap over his shoulder and walks up the hill toward his prisoner. Heh. He's got a prisoner now. That's gonna be a super weird story for the grandkids.
For as safe as he should be, he's nearly at the rear doors when his mind helpfully flashes several visions across his consciousness.
Jackson, having freed himself and waiting in ambush, ready to punch his lights out as soon as Stiles cracks open the back door. Or worse, Jackson just punching him for a while and then escaping. It's the pain that's the part he doesn't like.
Or worst, Jackson's transformed into the kanima. It's only happened at night so far, but they haven't found any reason that suggests it couldn't happen during the day. Those scales and claws are terrifying.
He still doesn't get why the kanima hasn't attacked him. At two of the murders, before they'd figured out it was Jackson, Stiles and the kanima made eye contact, but it never advanced on him. It hissed all teeth and warning to keep him away, but that was it. Intimidation tactics. That alone should have tipped them off that it was Jackson. The kanima has a master, but it's Jackson's own twisted sense of self that kept him from transforming properly into a werewolf after the first bite.
With a pause long enough to ensure there's no shuffling happening in the interior, he holds his backpack up in meager defense and pops the door open just enough to peek around his feeble shield into the interior. Jackson is chained to one side of the hold. He's fuming, bare-chested and bare-footed. If he's cold, he's not actually showing signs of it.
His eyes dart to Jackson to see if there are scales anywhere, or slitted eyes or weird lizardbreath smells, whatever those might be. Without any signs of unexpected change, he ignores Jackson's glare and climbs up inside.
Jackson makes a sudden threatening move and is arrested in place by where the chains are bolted to the floor and his waist. Stiles is out of hitting and kicking range and he plans to stay that way. For the moment, team human has the upper hand.
He tries not to think about how, when this is all over, he'll just have to avoid being in Jackson's reach. Or being anywhere that Jackson could readily corner him. Ever again. Jackson's snarling at him now like some feral beast, but the brat has used that look at lacrosse practice plenty of times and most of the team is immune to it now.
Well, maybe he looks a little more ready to rip out Stile's throat with his teeth, but they're looking plenty human. Stiles thinks he should tell Derek that his first beta-gone-wrong has inherited Derek's flair for ridiculous dramatic threats.
Stiles opens the zipper on his bag and starts rooting around inside. "Okay, I bought you some—"
"Let me out! Now!"
This spoiled-ass brat. They'd explained it to him earlier how serious this was, but Jackson walked away like it was no big thing. Like he's got it all under control. Judging that the situation needed more drastic action, Stiles convinced Allison and Scott to help lock their classmate up.
"You know," he says, "I put those pants on you, alright, buddy?" He slams his pack down and points at Jackson while his mouth keeps filling with words he doesn't really mean to say. "One leg at a time." Smooth, Stilinski. Totally on topic.
Jackson squeezes his hands into tight fists and presses his wrists against the metal cuffs. He's flushed red in fury. Stiles guesses that the little rich boy is brewing up a good tantrum. He doesn't speak, but he's working on what to say, so Stiles presses the point.
"You know," Stiles resumes, practically blushing at the words as he feels them leap from his mouth, "being up close and personal with your junk wasn't exactly the highlight of my day." Lie. He knows it's a lie and still, he said it aloud. Change subjects! Change subjects, Stiles!
"So don't think this is fun for me, either," he tacks on, in a failed attempt to change the subject.
The look Jackson gives him is wary, and that's when Stiles really feels he's strayed far from how he meant this to go. It's true, except he knows what it's like when he's protesting a little too much.
Though a little off-center from how he meant to come into this, he's watching Jackson's response. The expression is ambiguous, so he files the look away for further examination later. Instead, he looks for signs that Jackson might have injured himself in his attempts.
The handcuffs seem properly closed, not so loose he can get out even by dislocating his thumb. Not so tight that his hands are swelling and purpling from lack of circulation. His wrists are red, but otherwise unharmed. He sees Jackson straining forward, trying to pull himself away from the wall, but the hook on the back keeps him locked to the bench. His feet are secured directly to the eyehook in the floor, with a short chain running to the handcuffs.
The prisoner is secured well.
It should probably worry him that he's good at this, but he pays attention to what his dad and the deputies have said over the years.
Trying to bring things back on track, he centers himself for a moment before speaking.
"You know we're actually doing you a favor?"
"This," Jackson grits out through clenched teeth and punctuates the action by shaking the chains, "is doing me a favor?"
"Yes." Stiles pleads for understanding. He wants Jackson to stop this. "You're killing people. To death."
Stiles looks for any sign of recognition. It's rare that he ever has Jackson's full attention. He can feel it now. His body feels ready to squirm and he forces himself to appear completely confident. He's not sure if it's working. He's just got to get through this block Jackson's got up so they can figure out more about who the master is and have some kind of hope of disabling the control. It's not that long until dusk and he'd like to avoid more spooky bad murder times tonight.
Stiles ruffles through the backpack for a moment, ignoring the pressure of Jackson's increasingly red-faced glare.
"Now," Stiles holds up two wrapped sandwiches, "you want the ham and cheese, or the turkey club?"
It should be hard to be intimidating half-dressed and chained up. Jackson pulls it off, somehow. Stiles is kinda impressed at how much a strong ego can influence his sense of danger even when he's otherwise relatively safe.
"You actually think my parents won't be looking for me?" Stiles avoids rolling his eyes at this claim of the power of his parents' names, but he couldn't deny he knew it would come up.
Stiles tosses the ham and cheese at Jackson's abs and watches the lump fall into his crotch. Kinda hopes it dinged the dickhead's dick and leaves him a little sore. While the lacrosse co-captain is seething, Stiles digs into his own pockets and presents Jackson's phone. He's got it unlocked in a moment, opens the texting app, and holds it up for Jackson to read.
"Not if they don't think anything's wrong." Stiles thought about this already. This isn't amateur hour, and he wants Jackson to know they put real thought into how to pull this off.
Jackson reads the message. It is a brief exchange with Jackson's father that looks similar enough to things Jackson wrote in the past, suggesting that Jackson's busy for the evening and won't be home until late. Stiles notices the eye twitch and reddening ear tips as the vat of anger inside Jackson roils with impotent fury.
"Is this the plan you and Scott came up with?"
Sure, of course. Keep asking obvious questions, Jax. That'll help.
"I told Scott that we could just kill you." He did not mean to say that just now. It's a fact, he said it before, but it was mostly sarcasm. And about ten percent trying to plant the seed in Scott's mind that they might have to get drastic if they couldn't win another way. It was part of how he got their little group to capture Jackson.
Whatever just passed through Jackson's expression was unintelligible to Stiles. He actually wishes he could take that back. In a way, it tells Jackson how serious this is, but in a big way, it was an awful thing to say.
Jackson waits a few moments before responding. "I can't believe you idiots thought this was going to work."
To soothe his own niggling doubts, Stiles unwraps his own sandwich and starts chewing obnoxiously in Jackson's direction.
"We don't want you to hurt anyone else." It was completely true. If this worked, nobody would die tonight, and maybe Lydia would have a breakthrough in unlocking how to resolve Jackson's broken transformation. "I really don't think even you want that on your conscience if you have one."
Jackson ignores the sandwich, and Stiles looks at it meaningfully a couple of times. Fine. If Jackson's hungry and doesn't want to eat, it's whatever, man.
In the while they wait for Scott to rotate in before Stiles heads back home, Stiles keeps trying to get through to Jackson. He's finally got Jackson asking questions about the kanima transformation when the whole thing backslides.
"Scales. Like a fish?" Jackson clearly disapproves. Was it a matter of style? Is he having a hard time picturing himself as some non-mammalian thing? Jackson doesn't clarify.
"No. More like a reptile. And, umm, your claws have this liquid that paralyzes people. And you have a tail." He saw it when the kanima darted across the street on a previous night's misadventure. He saw it at the mechanic's shop during that terrible murder.
"I have a tail."
"Yeah. You do." Stiles says, blandly. "That's gotta feel super weird spawning out of the base of your spine, but your lizardy self seems to use it for balance and defense since it's very strong. Do you even remember any of this stuff happening to you? I'm curious about how the transformation feels. Scott's never been able to describe it very well."
Jackson is resolute in pursuing the existing topic. "Does it do anything?"
He admits that it is prehensile, and so it helps him hold things as he's climbing. Beyond that and the other things he said, he doesn't know if it can do anything else. He speculates that it might just grow back if somebody rips it off, like on some of those little lizards. They haven't tested that, and he's not sure they should try.
Jackson does not seem impressed with the unstated suggestion that they could find out.
Stiles spends several more minutes going over the lore they'd discovered so far. He shows images of drawings and paintings that people made of kanimas and similar creatures. Jackson seems attentive when Stiles gives his evaluation of which bits seem true based on their experience, and what parts seem more about good storytelling or the prejudice of hunters, since that group never seems to give any super they've declared rogue a chance to explain themselves.
He stays quiet when he's said what there is to say. Scott should be here soon, driving in with his mother's car after dropping her off at work. Jackson stares impassively at a spot on the wall.
"You still don't believe me." It's disappointing. Jackson's denial is putting lives at stake, including his own. If their haphazard little pack doesn't get this handled on their terms, bigger guns will come out and they'll lose their chance to save him.
Stiles sits upright and fishes through recent events to find some other inroad that might break Jackson's barriers.
"Alright, the night of the semifinal game. What did you do right after?"
"I went home," Jackson states as if it were obvious to everyone on the planet. Obvious, and completely wrong.
"You sure about that?"
As Jackson sits there, not making eye contact, Stiles looks him over again. Jackson's stopped straining against the cuffs and so his wrists are a little less red. Even without a shirt, he doesn't seem cold, nor do his feet seem bothered by the cool steel he's being forced to set them on. He hardly notices that Jackson's paying attention to him. Stiles looks from Jackson's wrists to his arms and shoulders. Jackson might not feel a chill, but Stiles feels a river of shock pour down his spine when he notices Jackson is staring directly at him.
Whatever Jackson thinks of what he saw, he finally replies to Stile's question about the game. "Yes, you idiot. What the hell else would I do?"
"You attacked me and Derek at the school, and you trapped us in the pool." Jackson's eye twitches again. "You also killed a mechanic — right in front of me, by the way, that was lovely," he adds a mental note about the disgusting and bloody and terrifying visuals. "And one of Argent's hunters. Oh, and last night, you tried to kill Danny."
That was the straw that forced them into the current circumstances. Jackson had to be stopped or he'd hurt someone they all knew he actually cared about.
What Stiles keeps out of the conversation is how many times he's seen the kanima and gotten no more than a hiss from it. The lizard had never gone for him, though it did paralyze him to keep him from interfering at the shop where the mechanic died. And if he wasn't there with Derek to save him in the pool, he knows how that would have ended up for them.
Kanima-flavor Jackson does not seem to regard him as a threat, and Stiles doesn't know what to do with that. Nothing in the lore suggests any such thing, so he has no way to put the behavior toward him in a usable context. He's not the kanima's master and doesn't know how to find out who that is. If they could just switch that over to someone else, they might put an end to the killing spree.
Jackson finally engages after several long seconds of silence. "Why would I wanna kill my best friend?"
"Well, that's what Scott and Lydia and Allison are trying to figure out right now." Stiles wishes he had a better answer. Whereas Jackson's always ready to declare that he's everyone's type, Danny doesn't need to because he's about the kindest and most nice and capable guy at school. Stiles doesn't hang with him since Jackson's usually around, but they're friendly enough. He knows that Danny and Jackson have been besties since they were kids, too.
Jackson hums sarcastically. "Well, maybe what they should be trying to do is figure out how you're going to pay for a lawyer when I prosecute your asses all the way to jail."
"Alright, well, tell me this," Stiles looks Jackson right in the eyes. He blocks all other distracting thoughts, focusing solely on his own confidence and driving home to Jackson the one example he suspects will hit home.
"On the night of the first full moon, what happened?"
Jackson doesn't squirm, but he does a Jackson equivalent of it. His stillness is immediate and the forced-relaxed aspect that follows signals loudly to Stiles that they've finally found an in.
"Nothing," Jackson mutters.
Stiles lets Jackson withdraw. He watches exhaustion take over Jackson's whole aspect after the flimsy denial.
"Nothing happened," Jackson muttered.
Stiles lets it go for a moment and shares the agenda for the night. He's leaving shortly after Scott arrives and will spend a little time with his dad. He'll return after, and if Jackson is over being a complete idiot, there might be leftovers available for him to eat.
"I don't need a babysitter."
"The kanima does, so that means you do. Our werewolf friend Scott and his hunter girlfriend Allison are going to be great at keeping you company. I'm also gonna check in with Lydia. You want me to pass along any messages to her?"
Jackson snorts at that. "She will never choose you, Stiles."
Stiles glares. "I'd be great for her! And that wasn't what I was talking about."
"Come on. She interacts with you now only because you're the one in the group who seems to pay attention and gives her direct answers."
"I care a lot about Lydia and I want her to have everything. She's a queen and she deserves the best. And I give her direct answers because I don't want her to hurt me." He's having a hard time tracking down how they got on this tangent, but he gets mouthy when he's feeling defensive.
"You have no idea who she is and she makes sure of it." Jackson sneers at him.
"Why? I can't remember hearing you ever compliment her. What's that make you to her?"
"Our relationship is none of your business."
"Come on, Jackson. You two practically put up a marquee about it. You've gone around cheering that you're everyone's type ever since you became a teenager. You wanted to be with the prom queen, she wanted to be with the prom king. You both succeeded. There's hardly enough room to think at school with all that ego baggage you're dragging around, Jax."
"I know who I am—"
"That hubris has gotten people killed already, lizardbreath," Stiles snipes.
"I don't have to lie to Lydia. She knows more about me than anyone, and it goes both ways. It's no surprise you pour so much time and effort into Scott even though he clearly doesn't think with the right head when some pretty distraction comes along."
Stiles scoffs. "You have no idea what you're talking about." He's right, and Stiles really wished he weren't, but it was a solid strike.
"I do, and you should figure it out. Even with all the bullshit Harris throws your way, you always rise with the best in the class. You think I don't know you." Jackson sits upright, reversing their roles to try to impress some big truth upon Stiles. "You're smart and strong. You're wrong about what love is, but only because you avoid it. You have no chill and you are desperate to never feel hurt. Every choice is a safe one, but you're stronger than that."
"I'm desperate?"
"Yes"
"Wait, I'm strong? What do you even mean? I'm the weakest of everyone."
"There is a big difference between knowing something from a book and learning through experience. You're as booksmart as Lydia, for the topics you care about, but you don't let yourself feel. You block out everyone, even Lydia, Scott, and even your father. You accuse me of not listening but you hide from yourself just as much as you hide from everyone else. That drive to control things is the real reason you came up with this kidnapping."
Stiles is again stuck without a response. He's just trying to come up with something that will defend him against this but everything he's calling to mind breaks with the merest scrutiny.
"You're not even good at lying. You and Scott are always overheard at school. Most people assume you're talking about some tabletop RPG, but I paid attention. Figured it out even before Lydia."
Jackson appears to consider the conversation done. He spoke his bits and leans back, as relaxed as he can get in these conditions, and closes his eyes. He's managing his breath, relaxing. Stiles has seen him do that before.
It's an ugly contrast to the thoughts rampaging through Stiles in these last few minutes. He can hardly sort out what Jacksons' saying enough to come up with rebuttals. Each point crumbles against Jackson's barbs.
Stiles is just starting to internally accept that Jackson might have made some valid points when Jackson says next, somewhat quietly, "Most people just don't know how to ignore the distractions and bullshit and get to know you. It's like you make it hard for people to get close, on purpose, and almost everyone who tries stops after you keep them away."
"If you trust me, which you seem to be saying..." Stiles runs his hand over his scalp a couple of times. "Why have you been throwing me all this bullshit all this time? For years?"
"I think you like having secrets. That is a bad game, and there's no way to win."
Jackson leans forward, as close to being in Stiles' space as he can get in his restraints. "And the people who can't take you being yourself? Fuck 'em. They don't care about you now and they're not going to pay attention to whatever else you do. You could save lives every day and they're never going to see you."
"I can't believe I'm being lectured in managing interpersonal relationships by you. Most of your friends don't know you at all."
Stiles watches Jackson's face twist to a sneer as he grinds his next words through clenched teeth. "You don't know anything about me and my friends."
"I've known you for years, Jackson. You've got just as many defenses as I've got. Your chief fallback is on your dad's name and your parents' wealth. None of that has anything to do with you, but you always bring it up." He sniffs derisively. "I think that perfect picture of power and ego is just as ridiculous as my secrets. We're here because you proved many times that you don't care about the truth."
"I care all about the truth, Stiles. I care that you make Lydia feel unsafe around you." Stiles snaps his full attention to Jackson and regards him icily. Jackson seems to regret saying anything, but it's on the table now.
"What do you think you're trying to say now? How many more accusations are you going to make tonight?"
"I'm so unsafe around you that you locked me up. Do you really believe that a plan to force Lydia to like you isn't the same thing? You should be supporting her, not evangelizing your love, Stiles." Stiles feels burning cheeks and stinging in his eyes. "You're harassing both of us. Stop it. Now. Free me."
Stiles can't help himself. "I knew this would come back to Lydia, somehow. She's working with us on stopping you. Maybe you should take that up with her if you've got a problem with it."
"She told you this wasn't the right way, but you ignored her." Stiles doesn't see how Jackson would think that. "And you owe your father the truth. There's shit going down in this town that he deserves to know. You owe him better than all of this." Jackson's gesture to his cuffs and the stolen van in general emphasize his points.
"It's dangerous for my dad to know."
"It's dangerous to you, not him," Jackson insists. "If he knew what he was getting into, he could use his professional training to help. You're fumbling your way through, chaining up your classmates, bowling over disagreements that don't suit your personal views, and people just give in because there's no getting anywhere with you."
"We're here to talk about how you turned into a kanima because your issues are so deep and complex that the transformation into a werewolf went wrong. How are we again talking about my dad and my feelings for Lydia when you're the one murdering people?"
"I have been openly talking about your behavior this entire time. You're not ready to listen, and that sucks because I'm not letting you get away with this. When I get out of here I'm going to ensure you can't screw with my life again. You're too twisted, Stiles."
"What else could I do?" They're both surprised at the wrenching grief in his tone. His tears streak his cheeks and he's sniffling.
Jackson shakes his chains. "Look what happened. Look where we are with all of this."
"You selfish brat! You're out of control and someone is using you to hurt and kill people. There was no other reasonable option and we didn't have time to have a committee with you. But you've got all the hubris of every other spoiled brat. Always gotta win the game, right, co-captain?" he growls, knowing that's a particular sore spot for the jock. Before Scott got bitten, Jackson was the sole captain of the team and relished the control that gave him. "Well, when we figure out a way to stop you from killing people without murdering you in the process, I'll be back."
He snatches his bag and climbs out of the van, shutting and locking Jackson in before storming down the hill. As he throws his pack into the Jeep, Scott arrives in his mom's car. Stiles just throws the keys in Scott's direction and promises he'll return after a little time with his dad. He then notices Allison in the passenger seat and waves hello.
He tries to dial his anger down as the Jeep's engine turns over and he heads home.