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“I'm fine.” Stiles says with a wave of his hand.
“No, you're not.” Jackson says. “Look,” he sighs, leaning against the railing of the balcony. “I know we never really got along before.” Stiles snorts and Jackson punches his arm for interrupting him. “Fine, okay, I was a dick.” He concedes. “But I know you're not fine. And I know you're pretending you are so the others don't worry. I get it.”
“You get it?” Stiles scoffs. Actually getting mad now. “How the hell could you 'get it'? You have no idea what it was like.”
“I have a better idea than any of them do.” He gestures to the rest of the pack inside. “Or did you forget about the whole lizard thing?”
Actually, Stiles did forget. Not completely. But enough to where it didn't really click, what Jackson was trying to saying. Until now. “Oh.” Stiles muttered. “I... Jackson, I didn't mean, um.”
“It's fine.” Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't really like talking about it, but..” He took a deep breath. “Stilinski, no one is really gonna understand what it's like to have something like that happen. To have your body used like that.”
“I'm glad they don't.” Stiles says in a quiet voice. “I don't want any of them to understand what it's like. I don't want any of them to have to go through anything like that.”
Jackson nodded then hesitantly said, “Scott mentioned that you... remember it. All of it.” Stiles nodded, not looking at him. “Christ,” Jackson let out in a shaky breath. “If I remembered all the things that bastard made me do,” He shook his head. “Sometimes I have dreams about it, but I don't know if all of it's really what happened, or if it's just..”
“A nightmare.” Stiles finished. He paused before adding, “Sometimes I still wake up screaming.”
Jackson nodded. “Me too.”
They stood there for a few more minutes. Leaning against the railing and looking out at the town. It seemed so quiet from up this high. One could almost forget all the death and destruction this town saw on a weekly basses. “We should go back inside with the others.” Stiles says. He began walking to the door, but stopped when Jackson called after him.
“Hey Stilinski,” he shook his head and corrected himself. “Stiles. I'm heading home in a few days, but if you ever need to talk, I could give you my number.”
“Why, Mr. Whittemore,” Stiles teased. “I do believe you have a girlfriend. Whatever will she think?”
Jackson punched his arm. “Don't be an ass.” He pushed past Stiles and headed inside, a smirk tugging at his lips.