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"Maybe you should get back into some of your old activities. Lacrosse, maybe? What about swimming?"
The suggestion rattled around in Jackson's mind, still settling in with Derek's contact in London. Living in a bustling city was helpful, something he didn't expect, but there was still weight on him. He had to explain to his parents why he was in need of relocation, a forged scholarship making way for him here. He felt lost, though, vaguely untethered. It wasn't that he didn't have strong pack bonds, that had never been quite the issue for him. He'd been a bit of a loner, not relying on familial or friendship connections. No, his loneliness came from feeling empty. It was a feeling he'd had for months now, only deepened by the way certain things made him feel in the aftermath.
For the most part, it was smaller things. Seeing a flash of red hair brought back the mixture of feelings Jackson held toward Lydia, their separation mutual and amicable, but painful. The apparently popular buzzed hair of some boys at the local private school were startling reminders of Stiles. The lack of moles was what reminded him that he was across a literal ocean now. Lacrosse wasn't as big here, but he was able to join a casual rugby league full of supernaturals, the sport a perfect diversion from those more base physical needs during a full moon.
It was the swimming that got to him.
Jackson used to be the fucking captain of his high school team, and now he couldn't let himself submerge his head, a primal need to breathe overriding any conscious effort to return to the movement. He remembered how he used to race Allison in the school pools, their bone structures giving them an edge, even if it was imagined. Ever since that night, standing under the bridge in a fog of blood and fury, he couldn't stand the thought of water in any large quantity. He could shower, in and out relatively quickly, and the rain was never a bother. But baths, swimming, even visiting the beach could trigger a panic attack.
"You know when you’re drowning you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out. It’s called voluntary apnea. It’s like no matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding. Then when you finally do let it in, that’s when it stops hurting. It’s not scary anymore, it’s… it’s actually kind of peaceful."
Screw peaceful, Jackson thought. He knew Stiles' research-laden brain was only trying to help when he first called, not knowing who else to turn to.
When the nightmares started, Jackson had thought that was all they were. Until he started seeing Gerard's face again, shimmering above the ripples of water. Once those dots were connected, Jackson realized it was a memory coming to mind, flashbacks to his time as a kanima. He was no stranger to the memories of Matt leaking into his subconscious, especially now that he was seeing a therapist who was in the know about the supernatural, helping him identify issues within himself and how he was treated. But this was distinctly different. This memory was the moment he was separated from his old "master," the ownership lost and leaving him floundering internally. Oh, how he wished he had been found by someone else, someone who had just ended it for him.
Staring at the pool in front of him, lights dimmed so as to not alert anyone that he was inside the building after hours, Jackson took a deep breath. He eased himself into the pool, initially not minding the chill that spread through his body. As soon as the water reached his chest, though, he felt something pull, as though to submerge him. He gasped as he was tugged down, some invisible force wrapped around his ankle yanking him down, down, down into the murky deep. He could smell the creek, feel the rocks under him as Gerard pushed in tandem with the pulling sensation, his lungs utterly screaming at him, a fire engulfing his body.
His head started to shatter, splinters stabbing at his skull as he fought off the urge to gasp and let the air in. Just as he thought he would just pass out from lack of oxygen, he felt claws on his forearm yanking him up, and all he felt is confusion at first. This wasn't a part of the memory.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
Jackson heard the voice call out to him as it gasped. His own lungs were burning as he struggled to find air, eyes blurry as he pushed himself up off the floor to a kneeling position, too lightheaded to straighten up fully.
"Who the fuck are you?" The words were shot, scratchy from his throat being on fire.
"I'm apparently the idiot who just lost a bet. I should've known Danny was right."
"Danny?" The name was so startling, so out of place, that Jackson found himself calming. His vision was still messed up but at least he could breathe now.
"Yeah, guy who refused your ass several times? The smart cute one from Beacon Hills? He sent me, said he had a vision of you drowning yourself."
"I wasn't- What do you mean drown myself? You didn't see that?"
"See what? All I saw was you underwater, bag of rocks tied to your ankle. It's still down there, I had to cut it off. I just assumed you were... well. Trying to die."
Jackson kept his eyes trained on the boy for a few seconds before crawling to the edge of the pool. He could see the stones, just as he was told.
"I didn't bring those. I've never seen them before. And who the hell are you again?"
"Ethan Steiner, long story. Wish we could've met under different circumstances." He held out a hand and Jackson took it, both giving it a shake for the introduction and using it as leverage to stand. "If I had to guess, I'd say you have someone out to kill you. Offend anyone recently?"
"Those days are behind me," Jackson grumbled.
"I don't think a pretty face like yours could resist the trouble," Ethan teased, a slight smile on his face.