Chapter 10: They Know
Stiles climbed into the prison transport van that they had stolen right from under the police's noses. The perks of being a sheriff's son, he thought, feeling both proud and slightly concerned for his future. Hope followed after him, looking far too casual about the fact that they were currently committing a crime.
"I brought you some food—"
Before Stiles could finish, Jackson lunged at him, forcing Stiles to slam his back against the metal wall in a desperate attempt to create some distance.
"Let me out!" Jackson snarled, holding his shackled hands up in a way that very clearly said, I want to strangle you.
Stiles let out an exasperated sigh. "You know, I put those pants on you, Jackson," he began, pointing at the sweatpants Jackson was wearing. "One leg at a time. Up-close and personal with your junk was not the highlight of my day. So don't think this is fun for us either. We're actually doing you a favor."
Hope, sitting comfortably in the back, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it was traumatizing. You owe me a therapy session, Jackson."
Jackson rattled his shackles aggressively. "This is doing me a favor?"
"Yes. Because you're killing people. To death," Stiles deadpanned. "And until we figure out how to stop you, you're staying in here. Sorry, not sorry."
Jackson scowled, clearly unconvinced.
Stiles ignored him and dug into his backpack. "Now, do you want the ham and cheese or the turkey club?" He pulled out a brown paper bag filled with sandwiches.
Jackson's face twisted with disbelief. "You actually think my parents won't be looking for me?"
Without missing a beat, Stiles pulled Jackson's phone out of his pocket and waved it in front of him. "Not if they don't think anything's wrong." He smirked and turned the screen toward Jackson, displaying a text message sent to his parents.
Jackson read it, and his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk. Hope raised an eyebrow at the suspicious look on his face.
Something was off.
She hated missing details, but she wouldn't be surprised if she had.
"Mr. Whittemore, maybe I'm missing something, but… this doesn't exactly scream foul play." Noah Stilinski frowned as he read the text sent from Jackson's phone.
David Whittemore snatched the phone from his hand, reading aloud, "Stayed at a friend's house last night. Everything fine. Love you." He looked up at Noah with a serious expression. "Jackson doesn't say things like this. Not since the day we told him he was adopted."
Noah's brow furrowed. "Things like what?"
"Jackson never says 'I love you.'"
"Never?"
"Not once in eleven years."
Noah exhaled. "Well. That's… concerning."
Back in the transport van, Stiles got way too comfortable discussing kanima-related topics while Hope munched on the double-cheese chicken sandwich she had demanded he bring her.
"You have scales," Stiles mused, eyeing Jackson with a mix of curiosity and concern.
Jackson raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Scales? Like a fish?"
"No, more like a reptile," Stiles corrected. "And your claws secrete a liquid that paralyzes people. Oh, and you have a tail."
Jackson rolled his eyes. "I have a tail?"
"Yep," Stiles confirmed.
Jackson tilted his head, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "Does it do anything?"
Stiles hesitated, suddenly aware of the slight menace in Jackson's voice. "Not that I know of…"
Jackson leaned forward just a fraction. "Can I use it to strangle you?"
Stiles groaned. "Why does everyone want to strangle me?"
Hope raised a hand without looking up from her sandwich. "If you ever find a way to make that tail work, I'd like to put in a request for 'wrapping it around his mouth instead of his neck.'"
Stiles shot her an offended look. "Real mature, Hope."
She smiled sweetly. "I try."
Stiles turned back to Jackson, sighing. "Okay, moving on. The night of the semi-final game, what did you do right after?"
Jackson folded his arms. "I went home."
Stiles leaned in slightly. "Are you sure about that?"
Jackson's jaw tensed. "Yes, you idiot. What the hell else would I have done?"
"Oh, I don't know," Stiles drawled. "Maybe attack me and Derek at the school? Maybe trap us in the pool? Maybe kill a mechanic? Right in front of me, by the way, which was just lovely. Oh! And let's not forget one of Argent's hunters. And—last night—you tried to kill Danny."
Jackson remained completely unfazed. "Why the hell would I try to kill my best friend?"
"That's what Scott is out trying to figure out," Stiles explained.
Jackson huffed. "Maybe what he should be figuring out is how he's gonna pay for a lawyer when I prosecute your asses all the way to jail!"
Hope, who had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of their back-and-forth, startled awake at Jackson's sudden shouting.
"Ugh, what now?" she groaned, rubbing her eyes.
Both Stiles and Jackson turned to her.
Stiles jabbed a thumb in Jackson's direction. "He just threatened to send us to jail."
Hope blinked at Jackson, then turned to Stiles. "Why does that sound like a you problem?"
Jackson smirked. "Thank you, Hope."
Hope raised a finger. "Hold on, I'm not on your side either." She yawned and stretched. "But you are kind of stupid for kidnapping him without a long-term plan. Just saying."
"Excuse me?" Stiles gaped at her.
"Not excusing you. Just pointing out facts," Hope shrugged, trying to sleep again.
Stiles groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Why do I even bother?"
Hope patted his shoulder sympathetically. "I ask myself that every day, Stiles."
Stiles stepped out of the van, leaning against it as he started texting from Jackson's phone. He paused when he heard the faint rustling of leaves nearby.
Lifting his head, he glanced to his right. Nothing.
Slowly, he turned around—only to come face-to-face with Allison, standing way too close.
"Oh my God!" Stiles yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin.
"They know," Allison breathed out.
"What?"
"They know Jackson's missing," she said, panic lacing her voice.
"No way. I've been texting his parents since last night—they don't have a clue."
Allison shook her head frantically. "My grandfather told me his parents went to the police. They know." Her eyes darted nervously around the woods.
Stiles' heart sank as his gaze dropped to the black phone in his hands. "Oh..." He held it between his forefinger and thumb, as if it might explode.
And then, a very bad thought occurred to him.
"Crap."
He spun around, sprinting back to the van. Yanking open the door, he grabbed the police radio and turned the volume up.
"All available units, proceed to Beacon Hills Preserve as instructed. Proceed with caution until Sheriff Stilinski's arrival. Repeat: Proceed with caution."
Inside the van, Hope watched as Jackson leaned against the metal wall, his expression unreadable as he listened intently.
"Looks like we're in trouble," she muttered under her breath.
Deciding this was the perfect time for a nap, she shut her eyes—only to snap them open when she felt the van's engine roar to life.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she groaned.