Jackson swallowed against the bile rising in his throat. The forest was littered with bullet casings and bodies. Blood soaked the leaves that covered the ground. When he'd first seen the people lying motionless he'd thought they were unconscious, but as he'd gotten closer he realized the horrifying truth. There was a difference between seeing a person and seeing a body. He hadn't known that until he'd gotten close enough that he had to keep going forward.

The people hadn't been killed by animals. He wasn't even sure what could have killed some of them. There were blisters covering some of the bodies, like they'd run through steam so hot it boiled them alive. He gagged and stumbled away from the scene. Somewhere deep inside him he knew that this was a clue to what had happened to Stiles. He wasn't sure why, but it was a certainty that twisted in his guts like a knife.

There were things that most people weren't supposed to see, people who weren't soldiers, police officers, or doctors, things that regular people weren't prepared for. Some images could never be erased from memory. Jackson was certain that the sight of the bodies was going to haunt him until he died.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If there were clues to what had happened to Stiles hidden somewhere in the massacre Jackson needed to find them. He didn't care how many nightmares would plague him if it helped lead him to his missing friend. Stiles wouldn't do any less for him. He turned back towards the nearest body, but a low moan tore through the silence and froze him in place. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck even though his breath curled in white puffs from his lips. He swung his flashlight in the direction of the sound. The single beam of light revealed nothing, the darkness at the edges seemed more ominous.

"Help, please, help me."

The words sounded like a desperate prayer from someone who had long ago given up hope on having it answered. Despair that was so hollow it left Jackson shaking from a different kind of chill than the air that bit his cheeks and hands laced the rasping voice.

"Is someone there?" Jackson wasn't sure exactly where the pleading was coming from, but no one deserved to be in the kind of pain. Nothing should make someone sound so agonized. He took a single step, then another, and before he knew it he was jogging across the brittle leaves and sticks that littered the forest floor. "Where are you?"

No answer came. Jackson was almost sure that he'd imagined the sound, or that it'd been made by the unhappy ghosts of the people who had been murdered. He closed his eyes and listened. There was no such thing as ghosts, the person who was calling for help was very much alive, and it was his responsibility to find them. A wet cough cut through the silence off to his left. Without thinking he turned and ran in that direction, flashlight sweeping wildly back and forth.

"Here…"

Jackson almost slipped as he came up to a steep decline. He pointed the flashlight down towards the bottom. At the very edges of the light Jackson saw a person crawling across the ground. For the first time in years hope blossomed in his chest. The person had black hair. He ran down the slope, almost lost his balance as he went. The tiny spark in him that prayed that it was his missing friend was extinguished when he saw how dark the person's skin was. Bitter disappointment picked its way through his insides, but he pushed it down. He needed to help the person. That was the most important thing, after that he could find out if they knew anything about Stiles.

Jackson hopped over a fallen branch, skidded to a stop, and dropped to his knees. "Hey, what happened? Are you okay?" Jackson wished he could take back the words as soon as he'd said them. Of course, the person wasn't okay.

"I'm great, now that someone's here to help."

The person rolled over onto his back, and Jackson barely resisted the urge to turn away. He knew the person on the ground, despite the boils that covered his skin and the blood that crusted his face. There was no way Jackson wouldn't recognize Danny. He's spent years watching him, jealous of how popular he was, how rich he was. Jackson sometimes wasn't sure if he wanted Danny or wanted to be Danny. He was the most popular kid in school, but more than that he was so supremely confidant. A lot of people thought he was a real dick, but Jackson thought there was something more below the surface.

"Jackson?" Danny's eyes opened, but there was no way he'd be able to see. There were no whites to his eyes, just a horrifying spider web of red and black. "Jackson, right?"

Jackson wanted to respond, but he couldn't make his lungs work. Blood stained Danny's clothes. It looked like it had poured out of his eyes, his ears, his nose, and even his mouth. He had no idea how Danny could even be conscious, or what could have happened to him in the first place. Danny made a snuffling noise, and then emitted a low whine of pain as blood started to trickle from his nostrils.

"What happened?" Jackson asked the question, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. He just wanted to keep Danny talking while he called for help. He pulled out his phone but cursed under his breath when he realized there was no signal.

"Poison... need water." Danny rolled back over onto his stomach. His hands churned up dirt as he dug them into the ground and tried to pull himself forward.

"I don't have any water." Jackson had never felt so powerless, not since he'd first been told that Stiles was missing, and the sheriff was dead. There had to be something he could do, but he wasn't very familiar with where he was in the woods. He'd been paying close attention to where he'd been going up until the point where he'd walked into the nightmarish scene of blood and death. "I can carry you back to the road. We can hitch a ride back into town."

"No," Danny coughed, a rattling sound that echoed through Jackson's chest. "Stream up ahead. Please."

"Okay, don't talk, I'll get you there. I'm sorry if this hurts." Jackson winced as he gripped Danny's arm and pulled him up. Lacrosse had been great exercise for Danny, his body was sinuous and heavy with muscle. He was the captain of the team, one more thing on the long list of things that Jackson envied him for. He wrapped Danny's arm over his shoulder and stumbled forward. He needed to get Danny to the water; maybe once they were there he'd have a signal and could call for help.

Danny had said he'd been poisoned, but he looked like a couple of the bodies he'd first come upon. He was lucky to be alive, even if maybe he didn't think so. Being in pain was better than being dead. Danny might have caught a glimpse of who had attacked him.

"Do you know who did this?"

Danny nodded. "There's something else. The person who did this to us, she kidnapped your friend. She and her brother have been torturing him for years for their own amusement."

Jackson nearly tripped, nearly dropped Danny to the ground. "Stiles? They have Stiles? Are you sure?"

Danny let out another cough. Blood trickled down from the sides of his mouth. He turned his sightless bloody gaze on Jackson, lips curling up at the very edges. "Yeah, they have him. Help me get to the river and wash the poison off my skin, and I'll help you get him back. The Argents will reward you too for helping them bring the monsters to justice."

Jackson didn't care about a reward, he cared about finding Stiles. Adrenaline surged through his body. After years he finally had a trail to follow. He'd help Danny, and Danny would help him. He'd get his friend back, and maybe make another in the process. For the first time in a long time Jackson felt the cocoon of loneliness that he'd been wrapped up in unraveling.