Fic: The Sand Pit, Chapter 2
Author: thisnewjoe
Title: The Sand Pit, Chapter 2
Rating: G
Pairing/s: Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore
Character/s: Stiles Stilinski, Jackson Whittemore, Claudia Stilinski, Mrs. Whittemore
Summary: The Stilinski and Whittemore boys are playing in the sandbox when one of them asks a simple question, and finds the other boy can't answer it.
Warnings: None
Content Notes: None
Submission Type: Ficlet
Word Count: 1587
Prompt: #222, "Lie"
Author's Notes: Please share your thoughts about what works and what doesn't work for you in this story. I've got plenty to learn about crafting stories that people will love. Thank you!
She's not his mom? She's been his mom for his whole life. Is she lying to him?
Jackson's face feels hot and wet as he runs from the park, as fast as he can, and toward the center of town.
His dad's office is the building with the white dome. Dad always makes things right, he just needs to talk to his dad. Whenever he's in the park, he climbs the tree on the hill as high as he can. When the trees aren't covered in leaves, he can see the shiny white dome in the distance. That's where he wants to be right now, not in the park, and definitely not around Stiles.
If he thinks about it, he would feel bad for punching Stiles. So he doesn't think about it.
His hand hurts, but since he's not thinking about those kinds of things, he pretends he doesn't notice.
When he notices his belly feels like someone punched him, he looks down, and tries to blink the stinging wetness away from his eyes. He reaches up to wipe his eyes.
"Strong boys shouldn't cry, Jackson." Jackson tells himself that he won't cry because he doesn't want his dad to see. "Keep it together," he says to himself, remembering his dad's response the last time he complained about something. "Be a big boy," he says, just like his dad says it.
His mother has been chasing him for two blocks. He pretends he can't hear her, but she's getting louder, and closer.
He'll be strong for his dad. He'll be a good boy, the best boy, because dad will fix everything.
The startled pidgeon flaps noisily into the air right in front of him, and Jackson fails to dodge to the side fast enough. He trips, and his mother's hand grabs his shoulder as he tries to get up.
Jackson doesn't remember starting the screams of, "Where is my mom?" over and over again. "What did you do to my real mom?" His throat hurts, like he's been screaming for a long time.
Her grip on Jackson is tight. He tries getting up again, but he's being clumsy and she stares at him for a moment, assessing the situation.
"I've been your mom since just after you were born, honey." She says it quietly and simply, like it's some simple fact that anyone woudl know.
"But you're not! You're..." Jackson's anger feels right, so he listens to it talking to him. "Did you steal me?" The painful fist in his belly relaxes a little. He hurts a little less.
"I don't know what happened between you and Stiles, Jackson. I think-- Let's go talk with your father and clear this--"
He uses the hand he punched Stiles with to grab her wrist. "No, I don't want to talk to you." He pulls, trying to get her hands off him. She's still much stronger, and it's adding to his frustration about everything.
Jackson squirms as Mrs. Whittemore closes her eyes. She counts silently to herself, taking a moment to center herself.
This is not how this conversation should have come about, and this is not the time nor place to educate Jackson about this part of his past.
"Your father and I will explain everything to you, Jackson. At home." She stands, and pulls him up with her. He's got to get a hold on himself or this conversation won't go anywhere. "Act like we taught you and--"
"You lied to me!" Jackson's anger and frustration are starting to feel more like tiredness. His limbs are sore, his fist hurts, his face stings, and he thinks briefly about climing in his bed.
"We taught you not to interrupt, Jackson. Get a hold of yourself or I'll tell your father about how you've been acting today." She sighs, feeling tired all over, and noticing how much her feet hurt in these shoes. "It'll be okay, Jackson. I'll call your father and see if he can come home early today." She picks at dirty bits that got in his hair, and brushes her hands back and forth slowly over his shoulder. "Please try to trust me on this. We'll answer all your questions."
Fine. He can do this. He'll wait for dad to come home. He thinks of how his face looks when he's reading, and tries to make his face look relaxed like that.
" Whatever happened between you and Stiles, well, you can figure out later." She keeps her hand light on his shoulder, smiling at his face when she thinks he looks more relaxed and unlikely to sprint again. "You'll also apologize to him for hurting him."
"I won't. We're not friends." His clenched fist feels like he's got sand in it.
The sore fingers catch his attention. The hurt feels good now. It feels good to hurt. It feels right.
When Jackson and his mother come around the corner, they stay on the sidewalk across the street. Stiles is curled into his mother, sniffling and trying to stop his tears. He doesn't notice the Whittemores have returned, and are heading directly to parking lot.
"He hit me." Jackson's never hit Stiles before, not seriously, anyway. "Why would he hit me?"
"What happened, honey?" Claudia asks.
"I don't know!" His mind feels foggy, and most of his attention is on the sharp, rolling stinging in his face. He wonders if people can people lose their thoughts when they're hit. It feels like that. He holds himself tight and thinks about asking the librarian.
Stile's mother holds him close, rubbing her hand up and down his back. She sees Jackson staring ahead, and his mother glancing over briefly to where she and Stiles are holding each other, and turns before Claudia can give her a nod of acknowledgment.
Whatever happened between these two might affect more than just their young friendship. She sighs, when she hears car doors opening behind them.
Stiles snaps up at her sudden sigh. He looks over to the Whittemore car and can't see inside through the reflection of the sky. He watches the car come down the curving road, rolling around the park, and as it passed the playground, Stiles feels the familiar urge to wave at Jackson, even though he's kind of mad at him. He wants Jackson to look over to him, waving back, making things right again until they can see each other again. They always wave.
Neither Jackson nor his mother look again at the park. "He must be pretty mad right now, Stiles." She knows how important their friendship rituals are to Stiles, how it helps him stay more focused. "Usually, when people are mad, they're also sad about something." She scratches his head lightly, and looks to his eyes, waiting until his eyes meet hers. "I think he's too upset right now to wave at you. I know he always does, but don't let this one time bother you too much, okay?"
"But why?" Stiles feels his breath in his lungs and he feels like he's too small and the air is too big. "Why wouldn't he do that? That's what we always do. We have to do it! We made a promise!"
"I don't know, honey. What were you talking about before he punched you?" Stiles tried to think about it. He clenched his hand and felt the little sandy bits between his fingers. He couldn't think of much other than Jackson punching him. He rubs his hands together, watching the little sandy bits fall on his mom's knee, and brushes them away.
"I don't know, mom." He realized that Jackson was mad because of something he did. Maybe it was about the people who died. "I think he hates me now." Stiles doesn't understand what's happening.
Claudia hugged him a little closer for a moment, and whispered. "Sometimes people get mad about things and we don't know why. Maybe after he's calmed-down and had time to think he'll call you and tell you why."
Stiles didn't think so. "Do you think so?" He wanted to see if she did.
Claudia tried to figure out which response to this teachable moment is the right thing to say. She's studied the parenting guides, watched the videos, and sometimes they have great stuff. Most of the time, though, she's winging it.
"He might, Stiles. And I really hope so because you guys are really good friends." Stiles doesn't speak. "Do you remember when he thought you stole his toys? He was mad at you for a while, wasn't he?"
"Yeah, for like four days. It was so long!" His eyes stung. He hadn't felt anything like that before in his whole life.
Stiles counts the days from today. "I don't want to wait until Tuesday to talk to him again."
"Okay. Then call him tonight, after dinner."
"Okay, mom." Stiles smiles because he thinks he should, but he doesn't feel good.
Title: The Sand Pit, Chapter 2
Rating: G
Pairing/s: Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore
Character/s: Stiles Stilinski, Jackson Whittemore, Claudia Stilinski, Mrs. Whittemore
Summary: The Stilinski and Whittemore boys are playing in the sandbox when one of them asks a simple question, and finds the other boy can't answer it.
Warnings: None
Content Notes: None
Submission Type: Ficlet
Word Count: 1587
Prompt: #222, "Lie"
Author's Notes: Please share your thoughts about what works and what doesn't work for you in this story. I've got plenty to learn about crafting stories that people will love. Thank you!
She's not his mom? She's been his mom for his whole life. Is she lying to him?
Jackson's face feels hot and wet as he runs from the park, as fast as he can, and toward the center of town.
His dad's office is the building with the white dome. Dad always makes things right, he just needs to talk to his dad. Whenever he's in the park, he climbs the tree on the hill as high as he can. When the trees aren't covered in leaves, he can see the shiny white dome in the distance. That's where he wants to be right now, not in the park, and definitely not around Stiles.
If he thinks about it, he would feel bad for punching Stiles. So he doesn't think about it.
His hand hurts, but since he's not thinking about those kinds of things, he pretends he doesn't notice.
When he notices his belly feels like someone punched him, he looks down, and tries to blink the stinging wetness away from his eyes. He reaches up to wipe his eyes.
"Strong boys shouldn't cry, Jackson." Jackson tells himself that he won't cry because he doesn't want his dad to see. "Keep it together," he says to himself, remembering his dad's response the last time he complained about something. "Be a big boy," he says, just like his dad says it.
His mother has been chasing him for two blocks. He pretends he can't hear her, but she's getting louder, and closer.
He'll be strong for his dad. He'll be a good boy, the best boy, because dad will fix everything.
The startled pidgeon flaps noisily into the air right in front of him, and Jackson fails to dodge to the side fast enough. He trips, and his mother's hand grabs his shoulder as he tries to get up.
Jackson doesn't remember starting the screams of, "Where is my mom?" over and over again. "What did you do to my real mom?" His throat hurts, like he's been screaming for a long time.
Her grip on Jackson is tight. He tries getting up again, but he's being clumsy and she stares at him for a moment, assessing the situation.
"I've been your mom since just after you were born, honey." She says it quietly and simply, like it's some simple fact that anyone woudl know.
"But you're not! You're..." Jackson's anger feels right, so he listens to it talking to him. "Did you steal me?" The painful fist in his belly relaxes a little. He hurts a little less.
"I don't know what happened between you and Stiles, Jackson. I think-- Let's go talk with your father and clear this--"
He uses the hand he punched Stiles with to grab her wrist. "No, I don't want to talk to you." He pulls, trying to get her hands off him. She's still much stronger, and it's adding to his frustration about everything.
Jackson squirms as Mrs. Whittemore closes her eyes. She counts silently to herself, taking a moment to center herself.
This is not how this conversation should have come about, and this is not the time nor place to educate Jackson about this part of his past.
"Your father and I will explain everything to you, Jackson. At home." She stands, and pulls him up with her. He's got to get a hold on himself or this conversation won't go anywhere. "Act like we taught you and--"
"You lied to me!" Jackson's anger and frustration are starting to feel more like tiredness. His limbs are sore, his fist hurts, his face stings, and he thinks briefly about climing in his bed.
"We taught you not to interrupt, Jackson. Get a hold of yourself or I'll tell your father about how you've been acting today." She sighs, feeling tired all over, and noticing how much her feet hurt in these shoes. "It'll be okay, Jackson. I'll call your father and see if he can come home early today." She picks at dirty bits that got in his hair, and brushes her hands back and forth slowly over his shoulder. "Please try to trust me on this. We'll answer all your questions."
Fine. He can do this. He'll wait for dad to come home. He thinks of how his face looks when he's reading, and tries to make his face look relaxed like that.
" Whatever happened between you and Stiles, well, you can figure out later." She keeps her hand light on his shoulder, smiling at his face when she thinks he looks more relaxed and unlikely to sprint again. "You'll also apologize to him for hurting him."
"I won't. We're not friends." His clenched fist feels like he's got sand in it.
The sore fingers catch his attention. The hurt feels good now. It feels good to hurt. It feels right.
When Jackson and his mother come around the corner, they stay on the sidewalk across the street. Stiles is curled into his mother, sniffling and trying to stop his tears. He doesn't notice the Whittemores have returned, and are heading directly to parking lot.
"He hit me." Jackson's never hit Stiles before, not seriously, anyway. "Why would he hit me?"
"What happened, honey?" Claudia asks.
"I don't know!" His mind feels foggy, and most of his attention is on the sharp, rolling stinging in his face. He wonders if people can people lose their thoughts when they're hit. It feels like that. He holds himself tight and thinks about asking the librarian.
Stile's mother holds him close, rubbing her hand up and down his back. She sees Jackson staring ahead, and his mother glancing over briefly to where she and Stiles are holding each other, and turns before Claudia can give her a nod of acknowledgment.
Whatever happened between these two might affect more than just their young friendship. She sighs, when she hears car doors opening behind them.
Stiles snaps up at her sudden sigh. He looks over to the Whittemore car and can't see inside through the reflection of the sky. He watches the car come down the curving road, rolling around the park, and as it passed the playground, Stiles feels the familiar urge to wave at Jackson, even though he's kind of mad at him. He wants Jackson to look over to him, waving back, making things right again until they can see each other again. They always wave.
Neither Jackson nor his mother look again at the park. "He must be pretty mad right now, Stiles." She knows how important their friendship rituals are to Stiles, how it helps him stay more focused. "Usually, when people are mad, they're also sad about something." She scratches his head lightly, and looks to his eyes, waiting until his eyes meet hers. "I think he's too upset right now to wave at you. I know he always does, but don't let this one time bother you too much, okay?"
"But why?" Stiles feels his breath in his lungs and he feels like he's too small and the air is too big. "Why wouldn't he do that? That's what we always do. We have to do it! We made a promise!"
"I don't know, honey. What were you talking about before he punched you?" Stiles tried to think about it. He clenched his hand and felt the little sandy bits between his fingers. He couldn't think of much other than Jackson punching him. He rubs his hands together, watching the little sandy bits fall on his mom's knee, and brushes them away.
"I don't know, mom." He realized that Jackson was mad because of something he did. Maybe it was about the people who died. "I think he hates me now." Stiles doesn't understand what's happening.
Claudia hugged him a little closer for a moment, and whispered. "Sometimes people get mad about things and we don't know why. Maybe after he's calmed-down and had time to think he'll call you and tell you why."
Stiles didn't think so. "Do you think so?" He wanted to see if she did.
Claudia tried to figure out which response to this teachable moment is the right thing to say. She's studied the parenting guides, watched the videos, and sometimes they have great stuff. Most of the time, though, she's winging it.
"He might, Stiles. And I really hope so because you guys are really good friends." Stiles doesn't speak. "Do you remember when he thought you stole his toys? He was mad at you for a while, wasn't he?"
"Yeah, for like four days. It was so long!" His eyes stung. He hadn't felt anything like that before in his whole life.
Stiles counts the days from today. "I don't want to wait until Tuesday to talk to him again."
"Okay. Then call him tonight, after dinner."
"Okay, mom." Stiles smiles because he thinks he should, but he doesn't feel good.