Fifty chapters. Eighty thousand reads. Thank you.
And P.S: You'll like the next one.
*
“So, Danny told me he was recovering some video for Jackson, which he left on the tablet in his car – you know, the video that could show Jackson turning, but uh, as you all can see...” Scott says, his hand on the trunk he just opened. We came back to Jungle’s parking lot to find the video, which might show Jackson turning into the kanima. “The trunk’s unlocked, and no tablet.”
“If Jackson doesn't remember being the kanima, he's definitely not gonna remember stealing Danny's tablet,” Scott adds.
“Why would he steal the thing if he doesn't even know what's on it?” Stiles asks.
“What if someone else took it?” Allison suggests.
“Then somebody else knows what he is,” I say.
“Uh, which could mean someone's protecting him?” Scott says.
“Oh,” Allison says. “Ms. Morell translated the bestiary for me, and it said "the kanima seeks a friend”. That friend could be protecting Jackson.”
“Okay, hold on,” Stiles says. “Somebody watches Jackson make a video of himself turning into the kanima, and then just erases part of it so he wouldn't know? I mean, who would do that?”
“Somebody who wanted to protect him,” I repeat.
“There's something else, Scott says. “Stiles, you said the only thing you found online about the kanima is that it goes after murderers. What if that's actually true?”
“No, it can't be. Tried to kill all of us, remember?” Stiles says. “I don't know about you guys, but I haven't murdered anybody lately.”
“Scott finished off Peter. I have plenty of hunting experience, and Allison is being trained to be one,” I tell Stiles. “We’re murderers if you want to look at it that way.”
“But I - I don't think that it was actually trying to kill us. Remember when we were at Isaac's the first time, it just went right by us, didn't it?” Scott asks Allison.
“You're right, it just ran off,” Allison nods.
“And it didn't kill you in the mechanic's garage,” I tell Stiles, seeing their point.
“Well, yeah, but it tried to kill us and Derek in the pool,” he retorts.
“Did it?” Scott asks.
“It looked like it,” I say.
“It would've killed us,” Stiles says. “It was waiting for us to come out.”
“What if it was just trying to keep you in?” Scott asks.
“I don’t know, maybe,” I say, frowning.
“Why do I feel so violated all of a sudden?” Stiles asks.
“Because there's something else going on,” Scott nods. “We don't know what it is. We don't know anything about what's going on with Jackson, or why someone's protecting him.”
"Know thy enemy,” Allison says out of nowhere, making us all look at her. “Just something my grandfather said.”
She’s been spending way too much time with him, and I know he’s not a good influence. What’s frustrating is that I can’t really do anything about it without Gerard finding out and... punishing me, in one way or another.
“You should stay away from him,” I still try.
“But he’s there for me,” Allison says, almost glaring at me.
“I-I don’t think we should trust him,” I say.
“Grace, he’s family,” Allison says. “You know how important family is.”
Well, you didn’t get shoved against a tree by your own grandfather, Allison.
“I got it,” Stiles says, ending our disagreement. “Kill Jackson. Problem solved.”
“He fought with us against Peter, you remember that?” Scott asks.
“Yes, but what did we just find out? He got the bite from Derek. It's funny how he just got exactly what he wanted by supposedly risking his life for us, it's funny,” Stiles says.
“Yeah, it doesn't mean he's not still worth saving,” Scott says.
“It's always something with him, though,” Stiles complains.
“We can’t just kill him now, Stiles,” I say. “He’s a piece of shit, but he doesn’t deserve it.”
“He doesn't know what he's doing,” Scott adds.
“So what?” Stiles asks.
“I didn't either,” Scott says. You remember when I almost killed you guys and Jackson? I had someone to stop me. He has nobody.”
“That's his own fault,” Stiles says.
“Don’t be so heartless,” I snap at him. “What happened to ‘Grace, stop killing innocent people’?”
“He’s not innocent, he’s-...” Stiles trails off, realising he was being a little hypocrite.
“If we can save him, we should try,” Scott decides.
***
So, we’re back to guarding Jackson’s police van, and Scott and Allison have ventured out to their car somewhere to make out or something, leaving Stiles and I behind. We found a small forest near a parking lot that was hopefully abandoned enough for us to hide Jackson here.
We were so bored we ended up walking around a bit, ending up at a big tree with the van still visible in the distance. We both sit down here, leaning against the tree, and to my surprise, he quietly rests his arm around my shoulders. I find myself leaning into him, and that’s when I notice something’s different. I back away a little to look at him.
“Are you letting your hair grow?” I ask him with a small smile.
“Oh, yeah,” he smiles, taking a hand through his hair, which is now not really a buzz cut anymore, but just awkwardly short. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. “Now it’s just a weird length.”
“I think you’d look nice with longer hair,” I tell him before I can stop myself.
“I- are you implying I look like shit now?” he jokes, cheeks heating up.
“No,” I say. “I’m not implying anything.”
Except maybe that I sort of adore you.
“Okay, then,” he smiles. “Thanks.”
“I don’t care about your hair,” I add. “You always look good. I mean- ‘cause you’re a good person, and stuff.”
“You think so?” he mutters, holding my gaze. I get so caught up in looking at his face, I notice the tiny fly crawling on his cheek.
“Mmh,” I hum, bringing my hand up to his face, trying to get the little insect to fly away.
“Uh,” Stiles’ eyes widen and I can’t wipe the smile off my face when I feel his skin heating up against my fingers.
“There’s a fly,” I say quietly, leaning closer, maybe because I want something I can’t have, maybe because I like to pretend I can have it, maybe because I like torturing myself.
“Y-you’re making this really hard on me,” he whispers, still looking me in the eyes. The insect flies away. My hand stays.
Somewhere in the distance, we hear several hard, metallic noises. A second later, we see the kanima run off, having escaped from the police van.
“Well, shit,” Stiles says.
***
The police van is considerably wrecked, the handcuffs inside torn apart, the metal bumpy and bended, and most importantly, there’s no one inside. We are well and truly fucked.
“I have to tell my father,” Allison says.
“Jackson's gonna kill someone,” Scott sighs.
“Chris might too if we tell him,” I say. “But I guess, maybe we... maybe we should.”
“Okay, tell him,” Scott says to Allison. “Tell him everything.”
“Guys, I gotta tell mine too,” Stiles says.
“Damn. Fuck. We’re in way over our heads,” I say. “We basically kidnapped someone.”
“This is all my fault,” Scott says.
“It's not,” Allison shakes her head. “But we have to tell them. We're just a bunch of teenagers. We can't handle this.”
“You're right,” Scott sighs.
“This means we tell your dad about... everything? Will he even believe us?” I ask Stiles.
“I don't know,” he says.
“He'll believe me,” Scott says.
“I’m going home then,” Allison says. “Are you coming with me, Grace?”
“I don’t think your dad likes me so much, Allison,” I say. “I think it’s best if you tell him alone.”
“Well, okay,” she answers.
“To the police station, then,” Stiles says.
***
When we get to the reception, Stiles speaks to the lady sitting there.
“Could you let us in to my dad’s office? I gotta see him.”
“Scott, Stiles, Grace. Perfect timing,” Mr. Stilinski says after opening the door to his office himself. “Please come in.”
The sheriff sounds a little off, and the three of us just shoot questioning looks at each other before following him inside.
We see what the problem is before Mr. Stilinski can even close the door again.
Jackson’s sitting there on the seat, with an angry looking man in a suit next to him.
“Have you met Jackson's father, Mr. David Whittemore?” the sheriff asks. “Esquire.”
“That means lawyer,” Jackson adds smugly.
Oh, we’re totally fucked.
***
On one side of the table, Jackson, his dad and the sheriff. On the other side, Scott, Stiles and I. Melissa has just walked in with a frown on her face, moving to stand behind Scott, and we’re just waiting for my own personal grown-up to arrive. I’m expecting Chris to show up and mentally preparing myself to face his wrath, but then my grandfather opens the door, and there’s no way I can mentally prepare for this.
Gerard always smiles. They’re always fake ones, but smiles nonetheless.
He’s not smiling now.
He holds my gaze as he walks to stand behind my chair, all without saying a word. It seems I really set him off this time, and my mind is already reeling with all the possible things he could do to punish me, to hurt me. He’s done it before, right? What would stop him if we were alone?
“Good, Mr. Argent. Let’s go over the specifics of this restraining order,” Mr. Stilinski begins. “Stiles Stilinski.”
Stiles drops his head.
“Scott McCall, and Grace Arian.”
Gerard lays his hand on my shoulder, and from a few feet away it would probably look like a gesture of comfort, but from up close, it’s almost a warning. Or a threat.
“You will not go within 50 feet of Jackson Whittemore. You will not speak to him. You will not approach him. You will not assault or harass him physically or psychologically.”
“What about school?” Stiles asks.
“You can attend classes while attempting to maintain a 50-foot distance,” his dad answers curtly.
“But what if we have the same class?” I ask, feeling Gerard’s grip tighten.
“Then your teacher will take care of it,” the sheriff says, nearly losing his temper.
“And what if we both have to use the bathroom at the same time and there's only two stalls available and they're only right next to each other?” Stiles asks, cowering when he catches his dad’s glare.
“I'll just hold it,” he says quietly.
“Do I need to remind you how lucky we are that they're not pressing charges?” Mr. Stilinski snaps.
“Oh, come on, it was just a joke,” Stiles mumbles.
“It was a joke?” his dad asked.
“Yes, I didn't think it would be taken this seriously. Dad, humor's very subjective, okay? I mean, we're talking, like, multiple levels of interpretation here,” Stiles rambles.
“Okay, well, how exactly am I supposed to interpret the stolen prison transport van, huh?” the sheriff asks, struggling to keep his voice down.
“We filled the tank!” Stiles says.
“We were reckless,” I add, trying to lessen the damage.
“I hope you realise that, Ms. Arian,” Mr. Stilinski sneers, and I flinch, feeling my stomach sink at the tone of his voice.
“I’ll make sure she does,” I hear Gerard’s voice behind me, squeezing my shoulder, and something in me says that whatever he’s got in store for me will be much worse than getting shoved against a tree.
When the sheriff says we’re done, we exit the room, leaving Jackson and his dad alone. As we start walking through the hallway, I wonder how much time we have before the mass-lecture begins. None, apparently.
“Scott!” Melissa scolds, pulling her son along and beginning her tirade.
“I’ll keep this quick because I have to go back to the Whittemores, but Stiles...” Mr. Stilinski begins to his own son, starting a heated discussion. I watch the two argue for a while, seeing the similarities in their behaviour.
“Don’t you have the decency to look at me?” my grandfather’s voice shocks me out of my daze and brings me right back to reality.
“I- I...” I stutter, turning a little to make eye contact, regretting it immediately after.
“I’m done with your rebellious actions, Grace. You refuse to hunt and then waste your time doing this instead? You know what’s important to this family, yet you ignore it, you ignore everything we stand for. You’re a shame,” he says harshly, making me look down at the floor.
“Look at me when I’m speaking!” he snaps, and I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears before doing as he says.
“Sorry,” I mumble, hearing my voice break.
“You’re a shame to our family, Grace,” he continues.
“B-but Kate killed-“
“She tried to do what was best. She died an Argent. You like to hate on your family, don’t you?”
“I don’t- I’m not-“
“You know what your parents would think, Grace?” he asks.
“Don’t,” I say, glancing away for a second and catching Stiles’ eyes. He seems fully focused on watching me even though his dad is still yelling at him. I look at Gerard again, terrified.
“They would disown you. They wouldn’t last a day raising an ungrateful little bitch like you,” he snarls.
“I know, I know,” I say, trying to make it stop.
“Lucky for them, they don’t have to deal with you, because they’re dead.”
I can’t stand it anymore, looking away and biting my lip hard to silence my sniffs. Stiles still has his eyes on me, so worried he takes a step towards us.
“Are you even listening to me?” the sheriff yells to his son.
“Grace?” Stiles says quietly, asking if I’m okay.
“She’s fine,” Gerard glares, roughly pulling me along by my arm, making me wince as I struggle to keep up with his steps.
“Grace,” Stiles repeats, wanting to follow after me, and I look back one last time to see Mr. Stilinski pulling him back by his collar, keeping him in place, and then we’re out of the police station, engulfed in cold air.