Uh, you meant it as you always mean it, which is to say 'Fuck you I'm Jackson and I'm a big fat d-bag who drives a Porsche and loves making Stiles' life an endless pit of misery and loathing?'
You know what? I ain't even mad. Maybe now people will start listening to me when I say shit's going wrong!
You know, Stiles didn't ask for this. And even if you want to say that he asked for it by way of being willing to sacrifice himself at the Nemeton, that's still suffering the consequences of a selfless act.
I know you're getting a lot of mileage from feeling like it's the pot calling the kettle black, but that's not really the situation at all.
That's not what I-- you know what? Fine. Nevermind that mine was repayment for going head-to-head with a psycho alpha when I could have just stayed out of it.
After you were bitten. When you were still unconscious. Me and Stiles...we took my car and went after Peter. We had those chemical fireballs you'd come up with, and helped bring him down. It was after that I went to Derek and asked him.
Hm, I'm afraid you're the first person I've come across today.
I guess I jumped the gun, I've only had the Motorrad to talk to until you came into the picture. Talking to others helps me learn more about the people that make uo this world and where they came from. That's one of the most important experiences for a traveller to have.
I'll leave you to your brooding if it's too much trouble, though.
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