Chapter Text
“I'm sorry,” Jackson says one day.
Isaac is intrigued; Sorry is not something Jackson tosses about lightly. He takes a gulp of his slushie (Peach for him, and cola for Jackson).
“What for?”
“I knew, you know,” Jackson says carefully, “about your dad,” and draws back as Isaac twitches, because Isaac doesn't talk about his dad. He didn't pre-werewolf, and he doesn't now. Before, it was because no one cared to ask. Now, everyone knows better. The slushie takes on a slightly sour flavor. Isaac forces his mouthful down.
He wonders why Jackson is bringing it up at all, although it’s probably a good sign of positive progress in their interaction. Jackson and Isaac have this thing, now, where Isaac fixes him and Jackson fixes him right back. It’s good. It’s all in the nitty-gritty, he’d told Jackson, baring everything and understanding how to heal the wounds.
They’re not even a quarter of the way through, but Jackson had buried his face in Isaac’s chest and told him about the day (a little after he turned four) he found out that he wasn’t who he thought he was. Isaac supposes this makes them emotionally challenged recovery buddies who should be sharing about sensitive, angsty issues.
But then it’s shocking, because Isaac hadn’t even known that Jackson noticed him before werewolf-gate.
“You knew?” It comes out a little sharper, a little more upset than he intends. Jackson looks even more nervous than before and it’s a surprise when he plunges on determinedly.
“I knew and I didn't do anything. I heard the shouting and the crashing and I didn’t care. I don’t remember myself caring. I - ” Jackson looks like he’s about to cry, because he’s found another thing to fervently hate about who he used to be, who he still lapses into on bad days.
And of course Jackson knew, Isaac had been stupid to think he was keeping it a secret, but it hurts to hear it said aloud. The whole school probably knew- knew and ignored it. Isaac blinks and reminds himself not to dwell on things that don’t matter anymore.
“It's fine,” he says, and it is - it just isn't pleasant, facing the demons he has already conquered and watching them taunt him from inside their chains. They laugh, as though they won, even though Isaac knows better. They mock him; try to shove pieces memory into his mind; try to make him crack.
It’s a reminder of the man he tries so hard so forget. Every morning, he wakes up and washes the lingering nightmares away. He breathes in the scents of the pack and knows that things are good, maybe even better than good. He kills the man a thousand times over and it hurts less and less.
He kills and he brings back to life. When Isaac goes to bed at night, he thinks of a warm smile and arms around his middle as he wobbles around on a new bike. He thinks of hot fries at the diner on wendesday afternoons after swim lessons and story-time before bed. Isaac remembers and he’s fine.
But even worse than that, it’s a reminder of the Jackson from before - the cruel, careless Jackson, who only saw himself. It’s a spike of fear at the back of Isaac's mind that one day Jackson would lose and become that person again.
He pushes that thought away at once. Isaac has come to find that Jackson isn’t a fundamentally bad person (he likes small animals and cries over the Notebook, for goodness sake), just completely messed up, with a heart slowly emerging from loveless hibernation. Even his bad days have mellowed, borne more of habit than actual malice and Jackson always apologises (if somewhat grumpily) afterward. Jackson is taking control of who he is, and Isaac is watching it happen with a considerable measure of pride.
Clearly, Jackson does not see what Isaac does.
“It isn't just fine”, Jackson insists. “I let you hurt for so long, and you- ” he pauses and looks at Isaac with guilt that’s been eating at him for ages, “I let you hug me and comfort me when you should want to rip my face off.”
Isaac looks at Jackson and sees the tired, wrung out heart he's carrying about and is again faced with the fact that he wants to take all of the pain away. He plays with this fact gingerly, tucks it carefully into a section of his mind for further consideration.
“Jackson”, Isaac says firmly, and watches Jackson brace himself - for shouting, for a punch, maybe, or harsh words that will stay burned in his mind forever. Once more, Isaac realizes that he will sooner rip his own teeth off before doing anything that might damage Jackson even more. These revelations are probably very significant, Isaac thinks to himself.
“It's fine,” and he knows Jackson can hear the steady beat of truth.
Jackson doesn't understand, and Isaac wouldn’t expect him to; Isaac doesn’t even quite understand it himself. But Jackson looks like the weight of a small country has been lifted off his shoulders and Isaac’s shoulders sag as the tension he didn’t know was there disappears. Jackson bites down on his lip (and this is clearly a quirk of his) and inches a little closer like a skittish deer.
“Can I -,” he pauses and Isaac looks at him encouragingly, “Can I hug you?”
And that, Isaac thinks, as he moves towards Jackson, is definitely Progress.