i'm everyone's type

Well. At least Jackson had sobered up. Funny how having to carry your unconscious ex-girlfriend from a lacrosse field to the school, yelling desperately for help could do that to you. He'd gotten her to where there were other people, an ambulance had been called, people from the Sheriff's department had shown up. They hadn't let him into the ambulance with her – he'd had to wait and give a statement before they'd let him drive to the hospital behind a police car. And once there, he'd been yelled at by Sheriff Stilinski, who hadn't seemed too thrilled when he'd pointed out it wasn't him who'd taken Lydia to the dance, but at least it got the Sheriff off Jackson's back. Even if all that meant was that he could go back to quietly freaking out, watching Lydia laying on her hospital bed, with her father and nurses and doctors fussing over her. She was still out of it, and they didn't know what was wrong with her. They said it was like an allergic reaction, and they didn't know what to. Jackson considered saying what he knew, but he doubted it would have helped.

( And then the evening gets long. And horrible. )

[ooc: NFB, NFI, OOC-okay! Warning for NPC death and violence related to that. Taken, again, from TW S01E12. And thus concludes this bit of catchupping, huzzah! At least for a few weeks.]