Good Grief ✧ Stiles Stilinski

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Deal or No Deal?

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT:

Deal or No Deal?

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"What the hell, man? I thought we were past this!"

Jackson's eyes narrowed into slits at Jay's words. Very lizardy slits, if Jay had to describe them.

"Past this?" He scoffed. "What part of kidnapping me, chaining me up in the back of a van, and forcing me to listen to McCall and Allison practically going at it while you and Stilinski bitched up front makes you think we're 'past' anything?!"

Well, when Jackson put it that way. . .

Jay couldn't exactly argue with his logic. But he could sit there and glare over at the lizard with his arms crossed, so he did that instead. It wasn't like he'd been part of the initial plan anyway. An accessory to crime? Sure. But come on!

They were currently seated in the Sheriff's office, facing each other across a desk, arms crossed and eyes locked in a battle of wills. The Sheriff and Mr. Whittemore were discussing the situation outside, while Scott and Stiles were tucked away somewhere else—an arrangement Jay found particularly unjust, considering that he'd been more of a bystander to the chaos than an active participant like those two idiots.

"Stiles and I weren't bitching," he muttered eventually, earning a loud scoff from Jackson.

Of course, that was what Jay chose to focus on. Not the kidnapping, not McCall and Allison doing it next to them all, and definitely not the fact that he was some sort of supposed Koala—or whatever absurd supernatural creature they were calling him now. No, it just had to be about Stilinski. It was always about Stilinski these days.

"Oh, right," Jackson laughed, on the edge of going full Joker with his sheer disbelief. "My bad. Did I say 'bitching'? I meant you were pathetically hitting on him after sharing that ridiculous sob story about your ugly jacket. And he still turned you down. I must've gotten my words mixed up between freezing my balls off and being held hostage!"

Jay's face flushed with embarrassment, but he didn't handle humiliation well—especially not from anyone other than Stiles. Just the thought of Jackson overhearing that conversation made rage simmer hot and blinding within him. And seeing Jackson's smirk, knowing he'd successfully gotten on his nerves, only fanned the flames higher.

"You know, Jackson," he began, voice dropping low and dangerous. His eyes flashed amber, his lips curling into a smile that was all teeth, predatory and menacing. Jackson's smirk immediately faltered. "Scott and I were the only ones advocating for you. But if you keep pushing me, I promise, I'll change my mind—" He raised a hand to tap at his lip thoughtfully, claws out and gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Jackson's eyes followed the movement, and he visibly swallowed. "—and Scott won't stand a chance trying to stop me from ripping your fucking throat out if I do."