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Being a werewolf was not what Jackson thought it would be.
He wanted the frightful strength of a wolf, not the incessant need to touch everything so that his scent lingered. He wanted the heightened scenes, not the ability to smell which one of his classmates jerked off that morning. He wanted immunity to illness and human vulnerability, not the inability to get drunk anymore. If anything, being a werewolf makes him want to drink more now than ever for a million reasons.
Like needing an Alpha.
An Alpha who clearly disliked the fact that Jackson was now his Beta. Not like Jackson was exactly thrilled that he had someone who made him submit and obey without question.
Again.
Hell, he could work in a team - he’s the lacrosse captain for a goddamn reason - but this wasn’t a team. It was Derek yelling at them and beating the shit out of them for “their own good” while they all stared at each other with varying degrees of boredom and disgust.
“Dude, are you trying to fucking kill Jackson?”
“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek grits out through clenched teeth.
And why the hell is Stilinski trying to defend him? Jackson doesn’t need that weasel’s help with anything.
“No! You are teaming two of your most aggressive fighters against him by himself! Erica and Isaac aren’t fucking playing around over there. She almost cut his throat, which yeah you guys heal but, like, deadly my guy!”
“He can handle himself, Stiles! He’s proven that already.”
Jackson almost preens at the comment, but the way it’s said makes his wolf whine.
“The Kamina is not Jackson. I’ve known that asshole since Kindergarten; I can tell you with absolute certainty that the thing that spoke to me, looked me dead in the eyes while scaly and bloodthirsty, was not him. Plus, I would have been the first person he’d have gone after if he was himself. Whatever you think he is capable of, you're wrong because all we witnessed that night was the Kanima. And he is not the Kanima. Jackson needs proper training just like the rest of your Betas.”
“I will rip your throat out.”
“With your teeth? Yeah, I got that memo.”
“Stiles,” Jackson hears Lydia interrupt the fight like whatever she had to say was vastly more important. “Come look at this translation about Omegas and tell me what you think.”
He gets about another minute of breathing before Derek yells at them to get back to training. When he gets back into position opposite Issac and Erica, each one of them gets into the attack stance Derek taught them. This time though, they go at him one at a time. No one calls them out for it.
“I’ve had so many knives stuck into me, when they hand me a flower I can’t quite make out what it is. It takes time.”
- Charles Bukowski
“Who the fuck invited you?”
“Shut up, I’m not staying,” Stiles snaps back but then repositions himself so he is solely facing Danny, who’s standing there looking far too amused. “But I’m also not leaving until you concede that Lydia is a Slytherin.”
“I maintain my Ravenclaw stance.” The tan teen replies. Jackson huffs, crossing his arm in front of his chest, and he knows from the way that Danny’s eyes flicker to him then back to the other human that Jackson is being judged for how he’s acting. But could anyone blame him? He’s delaying seeing their movie to have a conversation with Stilinski, of all fucking people.
“That’s just because you want her in the same house as you.”
“You think I’m a Ravenclaw?” Danny asks, genuinely sounding curious, but his scent morphs into one of peppermint happiness. Jackson loves when his best friend smells like this, but he grinds his teeth, knowing Stilinski caused it.
“I mean, you would be a Ravenpuff if that were a thing, but alas, that is not how this works, and honestly, you are way too observant, and tech wizardry to not be a Ravenclaw.”
“Some stupid nerd bullshit.”
“Oh stuff it, you closeted Hufflepuff.”
“I’m a Gryffindor, you fuckwit.” Jackson growls and maybe bares his teeth a little before he realizes that Danny is, in fact, here and still does not know about his new features.
“So anyway,” Danny redirects the fight without even batting an eye, which is mildly insulting in a way. Did Danny really think Jackson growled like that before he was bitten? That this was normal behavior? “Are you waiting for someone?”
“Uh, no.” Stiles answers. He pulls out his phone from his back pocket to glance down at the screen. Whatever he finds there makes his scent sour with potent lime. “I mean, I was, but I guess I’m not now.”
“That’s cool, dude,” Danny reassures. “Me and Jackson were going to see the new action movie if you wanted to join?”
“What?” Jackson and Stiles exclaim at the same moment. The two share a look of disgust with each other then turn their attention back to Danny. Jackson is not about to help Danny throw a pity party for Spaztinski just because he got stood up by whoever was smart enough to bail on him.
Luckily, Stiles seems just as appalled by the idea. “No, no, I’m good.” He fails around an arm as he talks. “Made new plans instead. Thanks though. Actually, I think my ride is here, so I’m just gonna . . . yeah, thanks. Bye.” Then the human makes a rush to the door.
Jackson watches from the theatre windows as Stiles approaches a car with one Erica Reyes sticking out the window. She reaches out an arm as he gets closer, and Jackson recognizes that she is scenting him. She says something that makes Stiles laugh with his whole body. He gets into the passenger seat then they disappear.
He and Danny missed most of the previews but ultimately got to their movie with more than enough time. Usually, Jackson loves these movies; a badass hot guy beats the shit out of some people, some explosions happen, and then gets his girl and saves the day at the end of it. Simple and pure. But right now, all Jackson can think about is how easily Erica and Stiles moved together.
How simple a pack should be.
“What a marvelous feeling it would be, if we could say exactly how we felt. What a monumental victory. What a terrifying thought.”
- Akif Kichloo
“You would think he’d be nicer to me since he’s the one that bit me,” Scott complains one day after training as Peter leaves the loft. The older man had made passing remarks as he left about needing to recuperate his brain cells after sharing a room with Scott all afternoon. Jackson and Erica both found it pretty funny. “Like, he was supposed to be my Alpha, doesn’t that mean he’s supposed to be more connected to me or whatever?”
“Peter bit you on the side,” Derek says like that answers anything.
“Yeah,” Scott agrees with the obvious statement. “So?”
“I bit my Betas on their shoulders.”
Yet again, Derek is unhelpful.
Suddenly Stiles perks up. “Biting in different locations has different meanings.”
“Really?” Erica’s interest spikes. “What’s the difference between shoulder and side?”
“The bite is less painful when it’s near arteries to enter your blood faster. The shoulder is a common place to use. Enough pain is involved as a warning for the type of life a werewolf would lead, but not enough to want death. A bite on the side means you’re fodder. The Alpha is unconcerned about whether you turn healthily, only that you actually turn.”
Scott blows a raspberry and slumps back in his seat, with Stiles patting him on the shoulder for comfort.
The pale human licks his lips while he looks lost in thought over whatever. Jackson averts his eyes from the other boy’s mouth. “So, uh,” He finally speaks. “Would you happen to know what a bite on the wrist means?”
Derek draws his eyebrows together in judgemental confusion but responds anyway. “A sign of trust. Intimate. My mom used to bite family on the wrist to turn them. She bit my cousin and my aunt on the wrist when they asked her to.”
“Oh,” Stiles says but looks more confused than Isaac when he does calculus homework. Completely and utterly lost with the given information. “Huh.”
“What about a bite on the back of the neck?” He had to ask. Had to know.
That need to know felt fatal when Derek, his Alpha, turned his gaze to him and something vindictive shone in them. “Any bite on the neck means submission. A declaration that the Beta will obey their Alpha without question.”
Erica smirks at the answer, and Scott is subtly trying to hide a smile behind his hand with a fake cough which is almost crueler. Stiles looks at him with a grimace which honestly could just be Stiles’ regular reaction to looking at him.
Sometimes he wonders why he lived.
Why the world bothered to let him keep going when this was all that was left for him.
Sometimes Jackson thinks it would have been better if he just died on that field.
“I am not actually tired, but numb and heavy, and can’t find the right words.”
- Franz Kafka
The tension in the McCall living room is as thick as Peter’s ego is wide. Honest to god, Jackson has no idea why Derek is here. He was ready to turn the Porsche around at the sight of the Camaro, but Lydia demanded they stay for the pack bonding night constructed between her, Stiles, and Scott. Because that’s what this is supposed to be - a bonding experience for them all to come together and view themselves as the team they so clearly are not. Lydia suspects Stiles had a hand in Derek showing up, but Jackson hasn’t the slightest idea why.
So Derek is here. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.
And of course, since this is McCall’s house, Allison was invited.
Which, don’t get Jackson wrong, he does really like Allison. He would be all for the chance to be around her like before he turned animal and she turned huntress. He just rather hang out with her again somewhere that wasn’t with the Alpha that killed her mother or the two Betas that she helped throw into her basement for her grandfather’s pleasure.
“You let Boyd drive the Camaro last week,” Isaac whines.
“Because he's the only one I’d trust with the Camaro and only in the case of emergencies.” The Alpha states. “Getting you to Deaton before the Harpy’s toxins reached your heart was an emergency. Plus, he’s the only one with some sense out of you.”
Isaac, and for some reason Scott, look disappointed that they are not trusted with the beauty of a car, while Jackson feels as insulted as Lydia looks at the last comment.
A snort comes from across the room.
“You find something amusing?” Derek asks. He says it like he’s annoyed, but his scent doesn’t match the sentiment. If anything, he seems the most laidback Jackson has ever seen him, which still isn’t much, but it’s still something.
“Yeah, the fact that none of you know each other at all,” Stiles replies. “Anyone who thinks Boyd is a voice of reason just because he’s not loud or chatty clearly does not listen when he does talk.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” The said large wolf replies, but he has a playful smirk on his face.
Stiles gives him a tired and unimpressed look. Scott and Isaac exchange a pathetically unsubtle look. Jackson would scoff at the two losers if he weren’t glad to see that he’s not the only one confused by this dynamic change happening. “Last week, when Erica was drugged by that hunter, she wanted to drive the Zamboni at the ice rink, and Boyd not only let her but got her to start singing the Canadian national anthem while he recorded it. I showed up in the middle of the second verse because he at least texted me to know that Erica was drunk from wolfsbane and needed some help.” The human looks off into the distance dramatically. “I live in terror every day knowing that Isaac is the voice of reason for the trio.”
“Do you still have the video?” Lydia asks primly to the still smug-looking wolf while the rest of them digest this new piece of information. Boyd smiles, actually fucking smiles, and nods.
Erica is immediately pawing at his jeans for his phone. “Oooh, play it. I never got to see.”
“Send it to me, and I’ll play it on my laptop,” Stiles says.
“I also have one of Stiles and Erica singing the Spongebob intro song together. No wolfsbane or alcohol involved.”
They spend the next forty minutes watching embarrassing videos and telling funny stories about one another. Jackson doesn’t join in, just sits in his place on the couch and just maybe watches along with whatever is currently on the screen. Derek looks like what Jackson can only define as gassy as the Alpha stays out of the conversation as well.
It’s not like Jackson has anything embarrassing to share anyway, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be sharing it with these misfits. Despite the fact that Lydia sends a video for Stiles to play for the room of Allison flirting terribly with a manikin in the middle of a store, and she grins freely at a series of photos that Stiles took of Boyd making faces behind Peter’s back. It’s only then that he does admit, at least to himself, that he has to bite his lip to keep from smiling too much or even laughing once or twice.
“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming: “Wow! What a ride!” ”
- Hunter Thompson
The entire Hale pack is at the loft for the first time, but not for a social call, obviously, because Jackson wouldn’t have been invited if it was and he wouldn’t want to be anyway. No, now they are waiting for Deaton to show up and make sense of Stiles and Lydia’s findings on whatever is drowning people in the preserve. Jackson would prefer to be anywhere else, but Lydia put work into this and demands to know the answer. Derek could have at least bought some furniture before making them do this instead of having people just standing around or sitting on any surface they could find.
Peter, who has done nothing but make snide comments the whole way through this session of Guess Who, stands from his perch on the staircase and idly makes his way to the kitchen of the loft. For what? Jackson doesn’t know because he doubts anything in the kitchen actually works.
What grabs Jackson’s attention is when Stiles rises from his place on the floor and enters the same room Peter just had.
“I don’t like you.” He hears Stiles say, and there’s a snort in response. “You are a manipulative, sadistic asshole, and I don’t regret helping kill you.”
“Is there a reason why you are informing me of all this?” Peter drawls back. Jackson glances over to Boyd, who is literally on the edge of his seat but still keeping a hold on Erica, who would be out of her seat if not for his grip.
“I don’t like you, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all that happened to you. I was alone after my mom died, which is nowhere even close to what happened to you, but I get what being left alone in grief feels like. I can’t imagine the kind of pain you were in. I don’t like you, but you didn’t deserve to go through that. I’m sorry that you had to. I’m, uh, I’m also sorry about . . . about whoever I remind you of.”
The tension seems to bleed out the more Stiles talked, and by the end, the silence left in the kitchen just seemed sad.
Quietly, Peter spoke once more before coming back through the living space and out of the loft altogether. “She would have liked you.”
“But if you bury your sadness under your skin instead of letting it out, what else can it do but grow in your veins, to your heart?”
- Nikita Gill
“Do you even comprehend how many people died simply because one rich brat wanted the bite? How many people are no longer here because one selfishly pathetic kid felt entitled to power?”
Derek couldn’t just kill Jackson. It would cost him one Beta from his already small pool of underlings. It would jeopardize the rest of the pack as a whole. It might send Lydia running to the authorities or the hunters.
But as he sits flat on his ass, chest bleeding from Alpha claws, with said Alpha baring his fangs in the Beta’s face, Jackson thinks Derek would kill him if he could. The rest of the Betas keep their distance, clearly unwilling to get in the way of a pissed off Alpha. Jackson can’t really blame them, he wouldn’t interrupt for any of them either.
But that doesn’t mean everyone is afraid of the Alpha wolf.
Stiles is the one to get in Derek’s face.
“Stacy Miller babysat me until I was twelve. I lived with her for two weeks after I gave myself second-degree burns trying to make myself dinner. My dad went on a bender after his shift and came home to find her collecting my stuff. He begged her not to tell Melissa or anyone, and she agreed but she wouldn’t leave me with him because if this was a police visit to a civilian she wouldn’t have left a child in that type of parental care. She let me sleep in her bed all those nights and taught me how to deal with my panic attacks. Kyle Ram played football with his three sons and would invite me and my dad over to join. Pamala Nelson would sit with me and make up bizarre, outrageously impossible gossip together when dad was busy in his office and I wasn’t allowed in. Talib Singh gave me notes after my mom died; little reminders to take care of myself and random quotes that he thought I’d appreciate. And I did.” Something like a whine rises in the back of Jackson’s throat which he catches midway, but no one is paying attention to him. All eyes are on the human challenging the Alpha. “Those were the people I grew up with. The people who helped raise me even when my dad couldn’t. So you don’t get to do that.”
Derek lets his face return fully human, but looks angry about it. Yet he still doesn’t stop Stiles. Doesn’t throw him across the yard like he did to Jackson for talking back.
“You don’t get to guilt Jackson into thinking their lives are on his hands. Because Stacy had a master’s in psychology specifically so she could talk to survivors of trauma and I know she would never stand for you victim blaming.”
Derek glares and growls and stands taller, but Stiles holds his ground in front of Jackson. The Beta wolf doesn’t know how he feels watching this empty headed human act as his firewall. But it seems like the part of him unsure of how to feel is entirely human because the wolf side perks at the interference.
After what feels like a lifetime, Derek breaks first. “Fine. He’s your mess to pick up then.” He snaps, still in Stiles’s face. Before Stiles can retort, Derek flashes red eyes at the other Betas still standing around. “The rest of you, with me. We’re not done yet.”
The Alpha runs off into the thick of trees with Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and Scott hesitantly following in his wake. Leaving Jackson and Stiles by themselves. Jackson and his white knight.
“I didn’t need your worthless - ”
“Whatever you’re about to say,” Stiles fumes. “Just fucking don’t.”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Because I just stood up to a motherfucking Alpha werewolf for an asshole who’s been bullying me since I was making mud pies in the sandbox and now I’m having hindsight regret. So whatever it is you’re about to say: Don’t. It’ll just fuel my regret of not just letting you get ripped to shreds.”
Stiles runs a hand through his hair, and the action brings to Jackson’s attention that the human is shaking. Jackson realizes that maybe Stilinski didn’t like him, hated him even. but he - of all people - didn’t blame Jackson. Didn’t let the Alpha blame him.
That’s more than any of his pack has done for him.
“They’re not mud pies if they’re in the sandbox.”
That startles a laugh out of Stiles. Jittery and breathless, but a laugh nevertheless. He shakes his head then bends over and puts his hand out, offering it to Jackson.
Jackson takes it.
“Sometimes fear does not subside and you must do it afraid.”
- Elisabeth Elliot
“Stilinski is here?” He asks the minute Lydia opens the door to her house. He saw the stupid junker of a Jeep parked in front of the neighbor’s house across the street and Jackson doubts Stilinski is visiting the old crabby hermit that lives there.
“Yes, and I’m not making him leave, so you’re gonna have to suck it up.” The girl says, opening the door wider for him to enter. She raises an eyebrow as if daring him to turn back around now. He makes a show of making a resentful face as he crosses the threshold, but he’s surprised at how uncaring he is at the actual prospect of Stilinski crashing his time with Lydia.
She closes the door then wordlessly marches up to her room. He follows. Something starts to smell off the closer they get to their destination and the minute she opens her bedroom door it’s evident what it is.
Sadness.
As he walks into the room he sees Stilinski passed out on her cream peach bed covers with a baby blue quilt draped over him. The smell of sadness is subdued now, but the source of it is clear. “What the fuck happened to him?”
She eyes Jackson from where she sits on a pile of pillows and blankets on the floor with opened books strewn about. “He had another fight with his dad.” She says curtly. “We can watch something on my laptop, but I’m putting the volume on low. Not like it matters to you.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” He agrees easily and sits himself down next to her. She puts on something cheesily romantic, though he thanks God it’s not the Notebook again. He makes it twenty minutes in before he can help himself. “What was the fight about?”
“Why do you care?” She asks immediately like she was ready to counter with that exact response. He’s not as prepared. He just shrugs which jostles where she’s leaning against him. She doesn’t answer his nonanswer.
They get another fifteen minutes before he whispers: “I don’t like how he smells when he’s pissy.”
Her forehead crinkles in thought at that. She even purses her lips a little as she considers this answer. He guesses she finds it acceptable because she leans further into him and says, “His dad doesn’t know about what’s going on. He knows something is happening but Stiles can’t, or rather, won’t tell him what. Their relationship has been strained ever since this all started for him and Scott but apparently, it only got really bad when his dad got fired.”
And Jackson gets this weird wave of guilt rushes through him. Which, to be fair, that was Stilinski’s fault. But at the same time, he was just trying to protect people from Jackson. Stop any more blood painting his claws.
She doesn’t say anything more than that and he doesn’t ask for it. They finish the movie - the hot guy ends up with the equally hot girl even though she was supposedly claimed to be nerdy and unattractive by the movie's plot - and they start a new one - this time the hot girl is trying to save the broody hot guy which reminds him of Derek. Jackson hears Stiles’ heartbeat pick up meaning he’s awake. He doesn’t move or indicate he’s awake for another ten minutes and Jackson doesn’t say anything about it.
When he finally does sit up it draws Lydia’s attention. Stiles looks over to where two of the most popular kids at his school are cuddled up on the floor. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to crash like that.” He throws the blanket off himself and ungracefully stands from the bed. “I’ll just get my books and go. Sorry again.”
Lydia loudly pressed the spacebar to stop the movie. “Sit down Stiles. We just started the movie. You’ll be able to piece together what’s happened so far.”
“Uh, no thank you?” He says. “But thanks for letting me stay for as long as I did.”
“And as compensation for letting you stay, you are going to watch this movie with us.” She says sharply. No room for argument when it comes to Miss Lydia Martin.
Stiles hesitates from where he’s half bent over to pick up one of his books that’s on the floor. “Christ Stilinski, just get over here and watch the stupid chick flick. If I have to suffer then I might as well subject you to it as well.”
Lydia scoffs and her nose twitches cutely at the comment. Stiles huffs and a confused smile spreads across his face. The lanky teen inches his way towards where they are in the pile but still sits with a gap between the couple. It might have to do with the fact that Jackson is in the middle. When he’s close enough to Lydia’s satisfaction, she pressed the spacebar again.
Jackson doesn’t know when it happens, doesn’t know how long they were like that, but at some point, Stiles had relaxed enough to lean closer to the center which makes his shoulder brush against Jackson’s. Which doesn’t invoke the urge to shove the dork away. And if he may have leaned both himself and Lydia the same way so the boys’ shoulders press together more fully then Jackson certainly doesn’t notice. He does notice, however, that Stiles no longer smells of sadness by the end of the movie.
“My dear, here we must run as fast as we can just to stay in place. And if you wish to go anywhere you must run twice as fast as that.”
- Lewis Carroll
Pack meetings are the absolute fucking worse.
They always devolve into shouting between people. Usually with Derek. Usually with Derek and Stiles. Which just pisses Jackson off even more.
He wonders what the next argument will be about.
He’s sitting at the end of one of the couches in the loft - which Lydia insisted on furnituring thank god - with Lydia under his arm. She’s turned in her seat to speak with Stiles next to her. They’ve been debating over a translation in the Bestiary but they’re both frustrated because neither thinks they have the right meaning. Jackson tunes in and out as people file in.
Scott looks confused that Stiles is there when he walks in which Jackson can’t help but roll his eyes at. Stiles only knew there was a pack meeting tonight because Lydia texted him that morning about it and she and Jackson showed up at his doorstep to force him into the Porsche. He went with only mild complaining.
Peter just fucking appears out of nowhere because it's just part of his creep nature. He stalks down the stairs, but instead of taking his usual seat on them, he continues into the room until he’s leaning against the wall behind the couch he and the two brainiacs are sitting on. Jackson’s wolf is alert and vigilant.
“No, Stiles, a Golems is not aquatic.”
“Then what the fuck does it mean that its source of life is water?”
“I don’t know, but I do know that Rock Trolls are depicted to rampage villages by catapulting their limbs when angered. If they can reach villages even miles away from rivers then they can’t be aquatic.”
“What if it’s because of the rocks at the bottom of the river?” Scott pops into the conversation, looking like a happy puppy because he’s contributing. He’s really not doing anything to squash Stilinski’s dog comments.
“No.” The simultaneous rejection from both Lydia and Stiles has Jackson snorting.
Stiles looks sheepish afterward, like he feels bad for the outright dismissal. “Sorry Scotty, they do get their limbs and body parts from their rocks that could be found in water. It's just that they don't really have much regard for their bodies. Everything is replaceable. Definitely not their source.”
Scott nods but it’s clear that he still thinks he’s right in some aspects. Jackson is about to make a snarky comment about it, but when he feels the looming presence behind him creep closer his jaw tightens.
He looks over to where Peter is now leaning over the back of the couch to look over Stiles’ shoulder. “Hmm.” The older wolf makes a thoughtful sound.
“You gonna be actually helpful?” Stiles asks, not even looking up to see how close the man is to him.
“Just wondering what materials could you bring to life in a river.”
“Cryptic, great. Thanks.”
“Hm.”
Stiles gnaws at his bottom lip and Jackson can almost hear him flipping through files of information in his head. Erica and Boyd show up at some point. Boyd takes the last seat open next to Stiles while the she-wolf sits on his armrest, placing her feet in his lap. Annoyingly, Peter is still in Stiles’ space. Erica glares at the oldest wolf and even Boyd sends some side-eyes his way, and Jackson feels this weird swell of pride that his pack is monitoring the situation together. This was all something they could agree on apparently.
Expect Scott who is on his phone across the room. Probably messaging Allison by the smell of it.
“Lydia, could you go back to page three-thirty-six please?” Stiles asks, drawing Jackson’s attention back onto the boy. Lydia flips back two pages and Stiles tilts his head as he reads the contents. “Clay. It’s clay.”
Lydia instantly perks up and reads the passage he’s looking at. The light in her eyes is crystal clear as she understands the new information. “Because their centers are moldable. Like clay dolls.”
Peter smirks behind them, pleased with himself. Or Stiles. But probably himself.
Jackson’s wolf bares its teeth when he sees one of Peter’s hands come up from where it was placed on the couch and places itself on the back of Stiles’ neck. He can vaguely hear Isaac say something as he and Derek enter the loft, but he can’t understand it as Peter caresses Stiles’ nape. The second the hand moves so that fingers can trace skin underneath the human’s shirt Jackson sees red.
The next thing he knows he’s vaulted over the couch and has Peter pinned to the floor, baring his teeth in warning.
He hears the Alpha yelling at him, but his wolf pays him no mind. Instead, he growls louder and digs his claws into the man’s shoulders. “Touch him again,” He slurs between his fangs and growls again to finish the threat.
The Alpha is growling now too but his wolf still doesn’t care. What his wolf does respond to is the hand that slaps at his back and the other one that comes up to grip one of his biceps. He focuses his attention on the boy kneeling next to him and the smell of vanilla perfume that comes from behind him as a third hand gently presses between his shoulder blades.
“Jackson, Jesus, calm down. It’s okay.” Stiles says and he growls back in response because no, that was not okay. “Dude, seriously it’s okay. I throttled him last time we researched together then talked and made a truce. We’re good. It’s okay.”
And his wolf believes the human, so the fangs retract and the claws remove themselves from the man’s skin.
Peter gets back up and assesses Jackson with amusement as he does so which causes him to flash his teeth in one more warning, but he focuses on the hands still lingering on him. Those hands leave him when the Alpha gets in his face, growling about control and how he is gonna have a hell of a time at the next training session.
None of that matters though. Not now. Not when he can smell sweetened rain mixed with spicy gratitude from Stiles and a proud flavor of honeysuckle from Lydia.
He’ll take whatever consequences Derek has for him.
“I want to become acutely aware of all the things I’ve taken for granted.”
- Sylvia Plath
“Can’t we just talk to the fairy?” Scott asks.
Jackson is so sick of Scott’s bullshit boy scout routine. The ‘let’s hold hands and everyone can get along’ shtick doesn’t fit the real world. Their world.
“Yes actually,” Lydia answers. Jackson hates his life just a bit more. “But don’t call them fairies.”
“The Fae don’t take kindly to the name and the last thing we need to do is upset Tinkerbell while they have Isaac and Erica,” Stiles explains but doesn’t look at his supposed best friend as he says it. “The smartest plan is to send Lyds to talk with the Fae along with two or three wolves as her backup.”
“Sending the whole pack would be seen as confrontational. Instead, you plan on sending a Fae to meet with Fae as a sign of respect while also demonstrating a united front with wolves nearby.” Peter grins. “This is why I should have bitten you instead.”
“I’m too tired to even describe how weird that is on so many levels, so I’m just gonna say thanks and move on,” Jackson notes how true that sentence is from Stiles' scent alone. It smells like caffeine is infused into his blood.
“We’re not sending Lydia in by herself,” Derek says in that annoyed Alpha way.
Boyd, who has been uncharacteristically pacing around the loft during the meeting. Jackson supposes he can understand. The girl he normally has attached to his hip and the boy that he got turned with are missing. The broad wolf now stops in his tracks. “Stiles just said not to - ”
“This Fae is picking us off. Separating ourselves at a time like this is not a good idea. We need to go in together.” Derek asserts. No room for argument. Or at least no room for anyone sane.
Peter raises a hand. “I disagree.”
“Good thing I don’t care what you think.”
“As you have pointed out, this is a Fae that has the ability to pick us off. Would coming out with a show of force really be the ideal plan?” The oldest wolf makes his point anyway.
Derek stands and makes his way over to Lydia. He reaches out a hand to grab her wrist but she steps away from his touch. “This isn’t up for debate. We’re going.” While the Alpha seems to have enough sense to not try and touch the Banshee again, he does position himself to make it clear that she is to follow him.
Stiles grumbles the entire way to their cars and Jackson has to hide his smirk at some of the colorful comments he makes in regards to Derek.
It’s kind of ridiculous how fast the Fae appears upon the group of them walking into the preserve.
“Good evening Banshee,” The Fae greets easily. “It is lovely weather today, is it not? The sunlight looks so stunning in your hair.”
“Thank you. I am grateful for your willingness to meet me.” Lydia says respectfully.
“You are very welcome, though I will say that I was not expecting such a large gathering.” The Fae gestures towards the wolves and Stiles. The sole human awkwardly waves a hand which causes the Fae’s lips to twitch upwards. “May I inquire as to why I am being ambushed?”
“We believe you have two of our Betas,” Lydia explains. She keeps all of her normal judgment out of her voice. Jackson still doesn’t see why they can’t just grab the damn fairy and make them return Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb. They are right there. It would make this so much easier.
“Yes. And?” The Fae asks. This is just proving Jackson’s point for him.
“And we would like them back.”
“You do? They seemed so aimless to me. Closer to Omega than Beta. I thought them both dispensable to whatever pack let them drift so far in bonds.” The Fae scans over the group of them again. “I suppose that is just how this operates here. Pity.”
“They are not dispensable to our pack and we would like for you to return them safely. Please.” Lydia tacks on the last pleasantry in hopes to sway the Fae.
“I see, so you wish for your wolves back because they are valuable to your pack?”
“Yes.”
“Then in exchange for your valuable pack members, let me have your least valuable pack member.” The Fae says like they are making the pack a great bargain. “Just the one. I will take good care of them, I assure you.”
Stiles is the first to break the silence. He laughs. He laughs like it’s the funniest damn thing he’s heard all month. “Alright Zombiewolf, rock, paper, scissors. Best two out of three. Loser is the most useless pack member.” He turns to the older man only a few feet away from him, with his fist resting in his palm and waiting.
“Stiles!” The chastising comes from both Lydia and Derek.
The Fae, though, looks more interested than annoyed. “Alpha, tell me, who is your least valuable packmate?”
“Jackson,” Derek responds immediately though it almost seems like the words were forced out.
But all Jackson can hear is his own name echoing in his ears. Years - fucking years - of making sure that everyone knew he was the best. Keeping his image fucking pristine to stay at the very top. All his life trying to prove that he’s worth something.
And now his Alpha says he’s the most worthless person in his pack.
“WHAT?”
Can’t the fucking spaz let him have even a minute to process without running his fucking mouth? Like, seriously? What, did Stilinski really want to rub this in his face right now? Mock him for not being able to keep his pedestal.
“A Spark.” The Fae says with a bit of wonder laced in their voice. “A Spark fueled by belief. How interesting. And what does the Spark believe right now?”
“That this isn’t fair. That isn’t fair. Jackson isn’t - ” Stiles bites out but can’t finish. And that’s the moment Jackson can smell it. Storms of anger, frustrated leaves that can’t fall, and faint ozone. “He can track best out of the Betas. He plays nice - nicer than I ever would have expected out of him! Yet here you are, shitting on him yet again! Why? Because you want to root for underdog Scott McCall. Easier to identify with since someone who secretly reminds you of your sixteen-year-old self, right?”
Derek actually flinches at the last part. Jackson feels smug about that. Leave it to Stiles to use his endless words as his weapons. The jock never doubted how much damage the human could do. He just expected it to be directed somewhere else.
“And what about me? Why don’t you - I just - AGH.” Stiles pulls out his grown out hair. “Peter, I get. I still think that’s a little unfair, but I can’t say I don’t get it. Me though? After fucking everything. The hospital, the dance, finding Isaac, the pool. Everything. After all that and I’m still - ”
Anger makes a swift shift to sadness. Hopelessness. “You know what? Fine.” Stiles turns away from Derek. The Alpha almost looks like he’s about to say something to him. But nothing comes. Stiles turns away from all of them. He speaks to the Fae who still looks captivated by the entire situation. “I, Spark Stilinski, seek trial among your court.”
“Very well Spark Stilinski, step forward.”
Before anyone could protest, Stiles strides past Lydia to the Fae. They reach out a hand for him once he’s close enough. Jackson hears himself, Lydia, and Scott call out his name right as he takes the offered hand. No one says anything as they all stare at the vacant spot that both the Fae and Stiles had stood.
“That idiot!” Jackson growls, running up to stand beside the Banshee.
Suddenly, two new people appeared where the missing people stood. Two blond, unharmed wolves. Boyd rushes forward first, grabbing at and examining a grinning Erica. Scott goes to do the same with Isaac.
“Are you hurt?” Derek asks. Jackson is surprised he even cares enough to ask.
“Are they hurting Stiles?” Scott asks, eyes wide and filled with worry.
“No,” Erica answers. “Kit never hurt us. Any of us, but especially not Stiles. He’s their favorite.”
“Kit?” Peter is the first to question the name.
“The Fae,” Isaac says. “Probably not their real name, but it’s what they told us to call them.”
Peter stays back like he usually does with pack members that are not Stiles, but Jackson has kept his eye on the older wolf long enough now to know he’s running through different information in his head. “You mentioned that Stiles is their favorite yet we only witnessed him disappear mere minutes ago. How long do you believe you have been gone?”
Isaac and Erica glance at each other. She gives a little shrug. “Give or take two months.”
“How long was Stiles with you for?” Lydia asks, sounding much too intrigued by the time difference.
“About, uh, maybe two weeks. Maybe a little less.” Isaac answers. “Didn’t stop him from being their favorite. The two of them wouldn’t shut up about magic and shit.”
“He talked Kit into letting us come home though,” Erica defends the human. “He got us home.” Boyd nods along with her statement like he was there to witness it for himself. He pulls her closer, nosing at her temple to calm her.
Derek insisted that all the teenagers go home with only Isaac listening to the demand at first. Erica and Boyd left after another two hours, but Jackson is pretty sure it has more to do with what Erica was whispering in the larger boy’s ear with faint mentions of Stiles. Scott leaves at the three hour mark with the excuse of his mother being home soon. Jackson feels maliciously victorious in the fact that he’s outlasted the supposed best friend. Lydia is last to leave not too long after Scott, but not before telling Jackson that he better stand guard and inform her the minute anything happens. He dramatically sighs and grunts his acceptance like it’s the heaviest burden for him to bear.
With Derek, Peter, and Jackson only left in the clearing - all of them keeping their distance from the others. It’s around the four and a half hour mark that Stiles reappears out of thin air. The first thing he says is: “Kit won’t be returning.”
“The fuck were you thinking Stilinski?” Jackson charges straight for the human, grabbing his bicep and not letting go. He’s not allowed to disappear like that again.
“Chill, I made a couple of deals with them that leaves us all happy. No more snatching poor unsuspecting wolves from the woods at the cost of me having to go back and visit a couple of weeks in the spring and fall. Couple of weeks in their time, not ours. No one will even notice me gone.”
“That sounds too easy,” Derek comments.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “They're lonely. They used to be part of the Autumn Court but some bad shit that I’m not gonna air out to you happened and now they are alone. Kit just wanted someone. I can be someone. Besides, you should have seen their library, it’s heaven.” Stiles' side glances at Jackson before looking down at the hand still gripping at him. He puts his own hand over the wolf’s. “Dude, for real, it’s okay. Kit would have hated you anyway, so it was better that I volunteered as tribute.”
Jackson relaxes his hold, not letting go but loosens his hold, and huffs lightly. “Fuck you, I would have whoo’d the shit of some fairy.”
Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes again but there’s a warmth in it this time. “First off, Fae. Second, I’m sure you would have Mr. I’m-Everyone's-Type.”
The human’s attention then goes to the others still there with them. He gives a slight nod to Peter along with a shy smile, then goes stone face when he looks to Derek. “I’m not pack. Am I?”
“No.” Again, Derek answers as if the words were forced out of him. He looks almost contrite the minute they leave his lips, but mostly he looks lost on how this keeps happening to him.
Stiles nods his head along like he knew already what the answer would be. Knowing Stiles, he probably did. The nod turns into a shake of the head instead. Citrus heartache and anger roll off him in thick waves. “Kit gave me a gift,” Stiles explains. “Thought that since wolves are able to make me tell the truth, I should have the same opportunity.” Both Hales blanch at this. Stiles lets them have a moment to let it fully sink in that they no longer have the ability to lie to him - not if he wants the truth. Once he’s done letting the moment marvel, he grabs onto Jackson's hand, bringing it away from his arm but keeping it curled in his own hand as he pulls the wolf away from the Alpha and the older Beta. “You’re welcome for saving your Betas, by the way. Again.”
Neither of them says anything as Stiles guides them back to where they had parked. Stiles finally lets go of his hand to pat Jackson’s shoulder, the human scenting him in his own way. “I could only use the gift once. I only really needed the one question anyway.” Stiles quietly tells him, confides in Jackson, before he walks off to his Jeep then drives off without another word.
“I don’t pay attention to the world ending. It ended for me many times and began again in the morning.”
- Charles Bukowski
Stiles is not at the next pack meeting.
Derek made sure Stiles would not be at the next pack meeting because Stiles was the only topic to be discussed.
He Alpha-Ordered them all to not contact the human anymore. That he was a risk to himself and something much worse could have happened from the stunt he pulled with the Fae. That he is not pack and therefore should be left out of the supernatural world and shoved back into the human one where he safely belongs.
Jackson calls complete and utter bullshit. So does Lydia it seems, as she up and leaves the loft within the first two minutes of Derek speaking. She doesn’t even say anything as she struts out.
Erica, on the other hand, had a very loud, very colorful vocabulary upon her exit from the meeting. Derek tried to flash his eyes and roar her into staying put. She flipped him off as the elevator door closed.
Allison keeps glancing over to Scott as if expecting him to say something in defense of his best friend. Jackson thinks she has too much faith in the loser. Other than being mopey and huddling into himself, Scott sits there quietly as Derek excommunicates Stiles.
Isaac looks conflicted by the whole thing, but that’s probably because of all the conflicting emotions at play. Boyd, quiet through the entire ordeal even when Erica made her show of defiance, stands once it seems Derek is finally satisfied. He looks the Alpha in the eye before he calmly walks away: “We didn’t come back for you.”
Derek is the next to leave, venturing upstairs smelling of savory anger and frustrated saltwater. When Jackson hears things being broken in the upper part of the building, he pulls out his phone to look at the message he received nearly half an hour ago from Lydia.
She says that she, Erica, Boyd, and Danny are over at the Stilinski house and are marathoning Say Yes to the Dress whenever he wants to join them.
He starts placing an order from Stiles’ favorite pizza place on his way out.
“We were together. I forgot the rest.”
- Walt Whitman
The Last Straw happens on a Friday night.
Jackson is driving with Lydia in the passenger seat and Danny in the back. His best friend is listing off restaurants nearby, trying to find one they’ll all agree on while they drive aimlessly. The search is not going well because Lydia wants Italian but Danny is advocating for burgers.
“What about the diner on main?”
“Don’t think I forgot you said the same exact thing thirty minutes ago. The answer is still no.”
“You two are annoyingly picky. Maybe I should just go out with Stiles; throw some curly fries his way and he’s content.”
“Doesn’t matter if he’s content or not, he’ll annoy you either way,” Jackson says. Danny snorts, but Lydia remains silent. Things go quiet in the car again, he assumes Danny went back to scrolling for options, and Jackson side-eyes his girlfriend/friend/anchor/Lydia. There’s a glassy texture to her vibrant eyes.
He’s about to ask what’s the matter when she screams.
The car swerves, leading them off road and into a dirt pathway. His Porsche rocks back and forth with a groan as it settles into its new off road position. By the time they all seem to jerk back to life with realization of what happened Lydia is finished shrieking.
“Jesus Christ, Lydia! What the hell?” Danny groans.
Jackson turns in his seat to look at the other boy, inspecting him for injury. He’s holding his head, but Jackson smells no blood. “You okay?”
“No, now I repeat: what the hell?”
Jackson opens his mouth, but Lydia speaks first which he’s kind of thankful for because he has no idea what the fuck he was going to tell Danny.
“Jackson. Jackson.” She chokes out and reaches for him but doesn’t look his way. Instead, she’s staring out her side window and into the woods. He goes to put a hand on top of hers where she’s gripping him but the next second she lets him go and is out of the car. He huffs but opens his car door as well. He watches her strawberry blond hair flutter in the wind as she continues to stare off into the darkness. “Jackson.”
He can smell the salt of her tears as she sobs out his name.
Danny is now out of the car too, standing beside Jackson while they both stare at the distressed girl. “Lydia,” Danny calls for her softly, “what’s happening?”
A gust of wind comes and it rakes another hiccupped cry from Lydia. When she turns around, the cloudy mist in her eyes along with the tears dripping from her eyelashes makes her look haunted. “Stiles is dying.”
“We don’t even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.”
- Charles Bukowski
“I must say, even though I was the one to program my number into your phone, I never thought you would be the one to contact me first.”
“Help.”
She’s crying. She called him, of all people, and is crying for help. Something dire is happening.
“And how might I be of assistance?”
“Come to Deaton’s. Bring books. Bring whatever you needed to come back. Just . . . please. I’ll go through it again, I’ll do whatever I need to. He can’t . . . he can’t leave yet. Please.”
He looks up at the crimson moon. It appeared only hours ago. And now Lydia Martin is calling and asking for his help to save someone. To save him. The pieces fall into place rather quickly and Peter makes a sudden, illegal, u-turn to head to the druid’s establishment. There are not that many “him’s” that they could be talking about and the conclusion that leads to unnerves Peter.
“I’ll be there in ten,” he says before hanging up.
He gets there in seven.
The Sheriff’s cruiser is in the parking lot.
He bursts through the door with little of his usual tact. Several pairs of eyes
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jackson yells, eyes flashing back and forth between his natural and neon blue eyes.
“Hale?” John Stilinski whispers. He has red-rimmed eyes as he clutches his son’s hand.
Stiles lays, still and paler than natural, on the countertop. Deaton holds Stiles’s other hand by the wrist probably to monitor his heart rate and eyes Peter warily. If Peter thought the druid was capable of feeling, he’d almost say the man looks sorrowful.
“What is happening?”
“Insanity.” Another teenage boy whispers from the corner of the room. Peter is vaguely sure he doesn’t know this boy, but he’s not entirely positive. His life has been plagued with hormonal teenagers as of late.
He waits for an actual answer as he strides to Deaton’s side. It’s only as he walks closer to the motionless boy that the smell hits him. Rotted leaves, thunderstorms, and a distinction of ash that he is much too accustomed to. From his new position, he can see clearly what has caused the hyperactive boy to become so still. The meat and flesh on the left side of his neck is torn away leaving muscle and tissue exposed.
“You know what is occurring. There is nothing we can now do but wait.”
“The bite is killing him,” Peter says. He refuses to look up when the Sheriff's breath hitches.
“Yes.” Deaton agrees. “I believe that the Moon’s Blessing is trying to purge him of it, but the wound . . .”
The wound is lethal. It looks like whatever Alpha did this couldn’t decide if they wanted to rip the boy’s throat out or turn him, so they did both at the same time. It’s amazing that he's still breathing as they speak.
At that moment Lydia comes rushing into the room. Both her eyes and cheeks are red like she’s been scrubbing at them. Her focus immediately goes to the older wolf and she quickly assesses him. “I told you to bring whatever it is you needed to do it.”
“Not that simple darling.”
“Then make it simple.”
“Ah, yes, why hadn’t I thought of that. Of course, I’ll see to it that resurrection is accessible to all.”
“I didn’t call you here for banter Peter!” She yells. “He’s died three times already!”
The room grows quiet. Peter has nothing witty to say to that. He has nothing to say to that because for once the druid is right. Their only choice is to wait.
“Four,” Jackson says at long last. It’s the softest Peter’s ever heard the boy’s voice. “His heart stopped a fourth time. Only for a couple beats, but it stopped again.”
“What happened?” Peter asks again. Lydia has resigned herself to the same corner of the room as the unknown teenager. Peter and Jackson wordlessly go back and forth taking Stiles’ pain. Sheriff Stilinski has not looked away from his son’s face the entire time.
“I had a vision.” Lydia finally admits. “There was Stiles and the gleam of fangs and the moon shining and blood. Just so much blood. I screamed for him.”
“We wandered through the preserve afterward.” The unknown teenager supplied after Lydia stopped. “Trying to find wherever it was that Lydia saw him. Kinda hard when the only description was near trees but in view of the moon.”
“And you are?”
“He’s Danny. Didn’t mean to let him find out, he was in the car when Lydia screamed and we weren’t exactly gonna make a pit stop when Stilinski was somewhere bleeding to death.”
“He asphyxiated.”
“What?”
“The first time he . . . when I screamed. It was because he was choking on his own blood and couldn’t breathe. That was why his heart wasn’t beating when we found him. He choked to death on his own blood.”
“I assume that when his heart started again was when the moon turned red?”
Lydia’s head shoots up, and she stares hard at the man. “Why? What does it mean?”
Peter sends his own hard stare to the druid. “You didn’t explain?”
“I was too preoccupied with stopping his bleeding to give a history lesson.” The man responds coolly. He’s full of surprises tonight because Peter hears a bit of sass in the comment.
The born wolf huffs and stops pain draining. Jackson has a hand on Stiles with black lines crawling up his arm in seconds. “Spirits are attuned with the natural energy of the world. Drawing magic and power from the world around them whether that be from forests, rivers, what have you. Natural energy is a powerful, raw material. That’s why spells have so many woodland creatures and flora involved.”
“I just found out that Werewolves are real and my son has been fighting with and against them for the past year,” John speaks up. He sounds so tired. He smells exhausted and in pain, though Peter doubts he could drain that type of pain away. “Why are we talking about Spirits now?”
“Because there’s a myth of the Moon Spirit,” Peter repeats what he had told the pack gathered in the loft just earlier that night. Derek had been panicked by the moon’s sudden change of hue and demanded answers. That was where he was leaving from when Lydia had called. “Whenever the moon changes color unexpectedly it means that Mother Moon has chosen someone she deems worthy to possess a portion of her power. The color of the Moon that night indicates the types of magic that person either possesses already and will amplify or what type of magic they will gain control over. Yellow is the most common; elemental magic. Still rooted in nature.” Stiles would have snorted at the unintentional-intentional pun.
“Blue Moon is for higher-powered beings. Manipulation Magic. Manipulation of what or who depends on the person and their specialties.” Deaton adds for him.
“And what about red? What does a Red Moon mean?” Jackson asks, sounding irritated that he’s taking so long to get to his question.
“Chaos Magic,” Deaton answers for Peter. “One of the most powerful and dangerous kinds of magic there is. Unpredictable and volatile. What I do not yet understand is how Stiles has come into possession of such magic. He had a spark, yes, but I would not have thought it possible to be translated into Chaos magic. Perhaps Manipulation magic if given the proper training, but even that under the circumstances we have now would feel preposterous.”
“Spark,” Lydia whispers. The room looks to her as realization slowly creeps into her eyes. “An Alpha spark.”
Jackson knitted his eyebrows. “We didn’t see the Alpha.”
Lydia shook her head, whether in agreement or disagreement was unclear. “His shirt was drenched in blood. He bled while standing rather than just falling over. He killed the Alpha then tried to walk away. Tried to get help. He killed the Alpha and inherited the Alpha spark.”
“My son killed a Werewolf?” John sounds stuck between shocked and proud.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Peter remarks. Jackson flashes his blue eyes in warning. “I hold no ill will. Though I do wish you would have used something less traumatic than fire to do it.”
Jackson bared his teeth and looks like he’s about to make another retort, probably not an intelligent one but at least he tries, when both he and Peter look in alarm at Stiles’s chest. Rather than the lethargic rhythm it once had, it hammers away as though he is in a fight. It steadily increases so that it is the only thing Peter can focus on.
Amber eyes fly open and before anyone can register what was happening, Stiles is turned toward Peter and Deaton where he throws upright between the two men’s feet. It’s not bile though. It’s black goo with hints of blood and ozone surrounding the foul thing. The Moon truly is trying to purge him of the bite.
Stiles is panting by the time he stops projecting the goo onto the floor. Peter steps closer to the other side of the metal slab so he doesn’t get any more gunk on his shoes. The boy lays his head back down with a thunk and a groan, though Peter isn’t sure that the two are actually related. There are tears in his eyes as he half-liddedly looks up at both his father and Peter.
“No one told me there was an Alpha.” He painfully rasps out and then his eyes slide shut again.
Peter hasn’t felt this murderous since he woke up from his dirt nap. His nephew better have an excellent explanation for this.
“Very early in my life it was too late.”
- Marguerite Duras
Jackson walks into the vet clinic at eight in the goddamn morning with a chai tea in hand. Never let anyone tell you he didn’t try to be the nice guy. Trying doesn't always mean successful, though.
He ignores all the screaming animals as he walks past the cages and heads straight for the back of the building where he had been only hours before. Deaton had sent a handful of them off - specifically Jackson, Danny, and Peter; the Druid knew he couldn’t kick Lydia out if he tried - once the man had deemed Stiles stable enough to make a recovery. Something itched under Jackson’s skin with every passing second that he couldn’t see that recovery for himself.
Stiles had died a total of six times last night, each more terrifying than the last.
Deaton and Peter, who apparently is back as well, are gathered around Stiles’ body still laying on the metal slab. With only a quick glance in their direction, Jackson sees the vet moving something along Stiles’ skin.
Lydia doesn’t even greet him when he walks in, just reaches out a hand for the tea. He takes a sip of the drink in retaliation before actually handing it off to her.
“Nothing for me?”
Jackson turns to the sound of the broken, scratchy voice. Stiles is looking back at him. He’s pale, even more pale than he normally is. Deathly pale. It highlights the bruises under his eyes and the redness of his lips from where he’s biting them. “I’m kidding. I think swallowing anything would probably hurt like a bitch.” He then hisses in pain anyway and Jackson strides forward, ready for a fight. He finds none in the small room.
“That will do for now,” Deaton speaks as he backs away from Stiles. Jackson now sees the wooden pen/wand/what-the-fuck-is-that-thing-supposed-to-be in his hand and the black inky substance that it left on Stiles’ skin. “You will be in need of more once your magic no longer is focused on healing yourself, but those will be painful and taxing on the body so I think it’s best if we save those for now.”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, “are you saying these weren’t supposed to hurt?” When Deaton says nothing but the corners of his mouth turn the slightest bit upward Stiles groans.
Choosing to move past that, Stiles then turns his head to flicker his gaze between Peter and Jackson. “So, should we start our own Zombie club now?” He gives a dry laugh to his own joke. “Lydia can be our advisor. Because Banshee.”
“Good to know that the bite didn’t take away your ability to never shut the fuck up.” Jackson sighs. He rolls his eyes when the corners of Stiles’ mouth tick further upward. And he might be grinning back because despite his tone, he really is thankful that the bite didn’t change Stiles.
“How is your back?” Peter asks.
The ghost smile on Stiles’s face falls away. Jackson almost growls at the older wolf for upsetting the already harmed boy.
“Why his back?” Lydia asks the question before Jackson can even think about it. She squints accusing eyes at Peter then shifts that unspoken threat over to Stiles himself. “What’s wrong with your back?”
“Nice going.” Stiles glares at Peter and fucking pouts. Like, actually pouts. He blows a raspberry before looking up at the ceiling while he speaks again. “Ugh, alright fine, but like, I’m fine okay? It barely even bothers me anymore. So we’re not making a thing out of this.”
Then Stiles sits up.
“What the fuck?” Jackson whispers.
“Stiles,” Lydia gasps his name as though that saves either of them the pain.
Littered on Stiles’ back are scars, red ugly branding disfiguring the pale skin. From his position, Jackson can count seven of them and he hopes that there’s not more hiding somewhere. How the hell did Stiles even hide these? But the worst of it is right between his shoulder blades, a different type of marking than the rest. Five jabbed lines made of white maimed skin. It’s a claw. Or what’s supposed to look like a claw. Someone carved a claw pattern into Stiles’s skin.
The redheaded spit-fire of a girl collects herself quickly, fast enough that someone who didn’t know her would call her heartless. She’s not. She’s just in control and will stay that way. Her posture straightens and she goes forward to stand at Stiles’ side. “How - ”
“No.” Stiles interrupts. “I’m not doing that. We’re not doing that. One traumatic experience at a time. You can ask all your questions at a later date.”
Her plush lips form a thin line as she considers this answer. Once she’s had a minute to run it over in her head, she nods.
“But - ” Jackson starts his own protest, his wolf wanting answers as to why Stiles is hurt without anyone's knowledge.
“Drop it,” she interrupts him now. Jackson gapes, offended. She softens her glare. “For now, just drop it.”
Jackson shakes his head at the ridiculousness of it all. Stiles looks like he’s been tortured and they’re putting it on the back burner. What if whoever did it is still out there? What if they go after one of the pack? (Does it make him an even worse person if he hopes it’s Derek.)
But he stays silent because apparently they are dropping it.
She holds her tea out in front of Stiles. He shakes his head. “No, Lydia, I was serious before. The last thing I want to do right now is try to swallow something. And my head still is fucking pounding from having a voice that’s not mine blaring in my head.”
“You’re hearing voices now?” Jackson asks. He turns in the direction he last saw Deaton. “Should we be worried about that?”
The man actually enters the room again. He smiles slightly at Jackson, which is not something he has ever recalled happening before. “Not at all.” He turns his smile towards Stiles and that one makes more sense in Jackson’s head. “The Moon simply had a message to send along with her gift.”
“Mother Moon spoke to you?” Peter asks, sounding surprised.
“Yeah, but I couldn’t understand most of it. I don’t know if that’s because she was speaking a different language or because I had too much blood loss.” He shrugs. He rubs at his temples and winces, though it’s unclear if the action caused it or was in preparation for it. Jackson steps forward and wraps a hand around Stiles’ elbow. The black lines that appear on his own arm are thick and long, and the pain that rushes through him makes his breath stutter. But it feels worth it when he catches Stiles’s eye and he finds the spark still lit in them. “I do remember one thing she said to me though. The very last thing she said to me actually.” He looks back to Peter, which Jackson definitely does not brood over, looking the man in the eye as he repeats Mother Moon’s words. “You already possess the heart of a wolf, now I give you the spirit of the moon.”
“I like the scars because I like the stories. Bravery, stupidity, pain - none of them came free.”
- Jessica Martinez
John knows what he’s done. He knows what a mess he had made of himself after losing Claudia. He knows that he abandoned his son when the boy was mourning just as much as he was. He knows that he’s made Stiles grow up too fast. Knows that he should be ashamed of himself.
Yet when he also knew that Stiles began lying to him - about where he’s been, who he’s been with, what in the hell he’s been doing - he pushed the boy, his boy, away in anger and frustration. Stiles was leaving him in the dark so John decided to leave him as well.
And now John knows what the weight of his son’s hand as he lays dying feels like. John, for one night, knew what it felt like to be completely alone in the world.
Claudia would hate him for how he’s broken her son.
“Dad, I have to leave,” Stiles says.
He’s putting a new bandage on his neck; the wound has healed rapidly but still underway.
“What do you mean leave?” John asks.
“The pack isn’t gonna help me with this. They’re the ones who intentionally left me in the dark and I got hurt as a result. And it’s . . . it’s not the first time.” Stiles talks quietly, lower and slower than John is accustomed to. “I’m just so tired dad. And now I have to learn to figure out how to control the new superpowers I apparently have because even with all these runes I can tell it’s not enough. I can feel the magic in my veins. I can feel it on my skin, in my chest. I can’t let anyone get hurt. But I’m just so fucking tired.” Stiles, sixteen and broken, curls into himself as he chokes on his own voice. John immediately moves to take his son into his arms like he should have done eight years ago. “This town is killing me,” Stiles cries into his shoulder, “It did kill me. It killed me. Please, I have to go.”
John knows he’s right.
“I want so much that is not here and I do not know where to go.”
- Charles Bukowski
Peter lounges on the open window sill to Stiles’ room. He thinks it only fair that since the boy breaks into his own home on his own accord for a plethora of reasons and nonreasons, that he is allowed to pull a Derek-esquisse move. Plus, Stiles is a newly turned being with more power than he knows how to handle yet, Peter thinks it's justifiable enough for him to check on the boy to make sure that he hasn’t ripped a hole in reality or something of the like.
Perhaps he does get a bit of satisfaction from how the teenager still flails around when he enters the room and sees Peter, but it is irrelevant.
“Dude, really?” Stiles sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. The dark circles hugging his eyes make him look older than he is. Or maybe that’s his trauma.
It’s a reminder to Peter that he’s had a hand in creating this young boy’s trauma, among others. The man before the fire would have hated himself for that. Maybe that’s why he likes Stiles so much. This human boy makes him remember what he was like and in moments like this, makes him feel a portion of who he was.
“I wanted to see how you were coping.”
“Coping just dandy.” Stiles snarks back and moves further into the room, rummaging through a dresser. He hasn’t told Peter to leave yet, so he counts that as a minor victory. “Gonna take some time to myself to recover.”
Peter gives a humorless laugh at the statement. “Right, because Beacon has been a place for forgiveness and healing in the past.” It’s in the way that the boy looks at him afterwards that Peter realizes how much Stiles agrees. The way Stiles smells shyly guilty. How, when Peter eyes the boy’s room, he notices the bare walls and the odd neatness of the room.
“Ms. Martin seems quite attached to you as of late.” Peter comments. “I would think you’d monopolize on such an opportunity.”
“Yeah, I wonder why Lydia would suddenly feel the need to hang around someone who was bitten by feral Alpha and left in a field to bleed to death,” Stiles says dryly. “Someone else who has the same shadows that haunt their dreams.”
Peter doesn’t have a response to this. So instead, he makes a show of making himself appear comfortable in the room by leaving the window sill and walking about. He stops to examine a piece of paper on the desk that turns out to be part of a filing for car insurance. A car that is not the Jeep. His performance of wandering accomplishes his goal of annoying the teenager and calming him. Peter isn’t here for a fight.
Stiles huffs out a breath but walks over to the computer chair of the desk, ungracefully throwing himself into the seat, and taking the papers into his hands. The older man holds his hands up in surrender then goes about his walk around the room while Stiles watches him. They stay in silence like that together for quite the while. Peter would consider it comfortable, more than it should be given their history. “Why did you come back, Peter?” The boy eventually asks quietly.
“From?” Peter questions lightly.
“The dead.” That draws his attention back to the boy. “Why did you come back?”
“Isn’t that the natural response? To fight death.” He says. It’s reasonable enough of an answer. Peter leans further back in the chair, acting casual. Hoping that Stiles buys the response enough to not use the gift the Fae gave him. Peter wasn’t sure what exactly would leave his mouth that instant and he would prefer not to find out especially with an audience.
Stiles stares at him, squinting his eyes as he tries to read Peter. He doesn’t believe him. “You ran out of people to kill. People that hurt you. Burned you. Your one goal is already complete and yet you fought to come back. Crafted carefully laid out plans, scaring a teenage girl and plaguing the only family member you have left to walk the earth. Why?”
He was far more smart than anyone gave him credit for. More observant than people counted on. Peter stands because he can’t keep staring back at the younger man. He knows that he’ll give too much of himself away like that. “World domination?” He says playfully. If he were having this conversation with McCall then the answer would have been taken seriously. Then again, Peter would never have banter with McCall unless strictly necessary.
Stiles gives a breathy laugh with a shake of his head. Then silence fills the gap between them again. A sigh leaves Stiles next, then he gets back up from the chair to walk over to Peter, forcing him to look him in the eye for the second time tonight. “George Herbert had a proverb: Living well is the best revenge.” Skinny, noodle arms wrap around the man’s neck and his wolf wants to both yip in happiness and howl in mourning. As though this was the last affection they will ever receive from the boy. That thought alone made him uncharacteristically clasp to the teenager in exchange, trying to memorize the smell of rosemary and rain. “I hope you get your full revenge, Peter.”
“If you’re losing your soul and you know it, then you’ve still got a soul left to lose.”
- Charles Bukowski
“Stiles is going to stay with a pack in upstate New York for a while. Deaton thinks there might be someone who can train him.” Jackson says, pushing at his peas.
Another day in Beacon Hell, another uncomfortable dinner with the Whittemore’s. Jackson has had more than enough, that’s why he’s telling his parents what the druid had said earlier that day while Stiles was painfully given more tattoos.
“The Stilinski’s are leaving Beacon?” His father asks.
“No, Stiles is.”
“By himself?” His mother sounds concerned. Which does not bode great for the next part of the conversation he has planned.
“You know how you want to move us to London?”
David Whittemore sighs, putting his fork down on his plate and using his now free hand to rub at his face. “How did you know that?”
“Wolves have good hearing.”
“Of course they do.” His father sighs. With a deep inhale of breath he folds his hands together, gaining a new air of businessman rather than parent. “We just feel that this town isn’t safe anymore and maybe we can start fresh somewhere else. Somewhere with no supernatural risk.”
“Dad,” Jackson says as evenly as possible. “I’m a werewolf now. They are pack animals. I need to be around supernatural shit because I am supernatural shit. There is no reversing this. Unless you want to run away from me then you can’t run away from the things that go bump in the night.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“But it’s what you said.”
“I take it that you aren’t fond of the idea of moving?” After a minute of considering his commitment, Jackson shakes his head. “What do you suggest then?”
“Let me run away from you instead.” He sees and smells the anger that comes after he says that, but he’s quick to keep the mic. “Let me go with Stiles. He’s going to keep in touch with his dad too while he’s away and he’s not even sure how long he’s gonna be gone. I can get the pack Deaton’s talking about to train me as well. And most smaller local packs homeschool so they don’t have to send teenage werewolves to public schools. Beacon is a perfect example of why. Just however long he needs to train and to . . .” He makes a face because god why does he need to talk about this? It’s stupid. “And to recover. We’ve all had a bad year. He just wants time to feel better. Less . . . broken. I guess I want that too.”
He feels pathetic.
Like a kid groveling to let him go out and play. And Jackson Whittemore does not grovel for anyone.
The way that David and Nora stare at him does not help. She’s always treated him with kid gloves and tenderness, even in times he knew he didn’t deserve it. He’s gotten away with so fucking much because she treats him more like a guest than her child. David has expectations. Ones that Jackson just can’t seem to reach because they are ever changing. He has to be so many things for that man; why can’t he just appreciate that Jackson is the best?
Even now, looking into David’s eyes, Jackson can feel the disappointment. Jackson never being the Whittemore that they wanted.
“We’ll talk about it,” David says.
Jackson nods knowing that’s the best he’s going to get for now. He pushes the peas around once more before he excuses himself minutes later. He throws up more than he ate in his bathroom.
It takes three days, but his parents agree to let him go.
“I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find you are not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
It’s his last pack meeting before leaving.
Lydia and Danny are coming with him and Stiles for the initial settling in. They’re only allowed to stay until the summer ends in another two and a half weeks, but they are both more than willing to accompany. Danny still has yet to blow up on any of them about the whole werewolf thing and they all have a sneaking suspicion that it’s gonna come an hour or so into the three day car ride. Trapped with no more excuses.
But they have to wait until the full moon Monday night. Stiles and Lydia agreed that it’d been easiest to slip away when the wolves were all recovering from the effects of the moon. They’re right, they always seem to be, but Jackson wants to leave this forsaken shits-ville now. Especially when Derek paces the loft like this, worrying about the Moon Spirit.
Jackson had found the entire situation satisfying at first; having a pack meeting about who could possibly be the Moon Spirit while he, Lydia, Peter, and Deaton, who had been asked to join them for expertise, sat quietly. The novelty of it faded after the first hour. Coming up on hour three, the newest wolf was ready to scream.
“We could get Stiles to run it through his dad’s database for any matches?” Scott offers and it takes everything in Jackson not to growl at the suggestion.
“Fine.”
“What?” Lydia bites out before Jackson can. “I thought you wanted to distance him from the pack?”
“We need to figure out why this Spirit is here. If Stiles can actually be useful in this case then we have no choice.” Derek looks pained to say it, like asking Stiles for a favor was the last thing he wanted to do and Jackson has a feeling it’s not because of the pain or risk it might bring to the human.
“The Moon Spirit is someone to be respected,” Deaton interjects. “Perhaps chasing them around Beacon would be unwise.”
“They are in our territory!” Derek shoots back.
“Derek, I really must advise you to not create further conflict with the Moon Spirit. They are in possession of more power than you think; having the blessing of the moon makes them even more powerful to supernatural creatures such as werewolves. Do not upset the Spirit more than you already have.”
“I don’t take orders from a Druid.”
“It also looks as though you don’t value common sense as a vital mental function.” Peter snarked from the steps. He looks unbothered by the growl he receives in response. “The Spirit has done nothing to our land, can hardly even catch a whiff of them running around the preserve. Yet you wish to pick a fight with your gang of toddlers.”
“The Crimson Moon is an indication that the Spirit was blessed by the moon on that night, turning them into the Moon Spirit. They most likely used the preserve for the moonlight then fled. They have probably left Beacon at this time or will be leaving soon.” Deaton says, once again trying to rein in the conversation.
“Or they are recovering strength for when they are ready to attack.”
“Are you questioning Mother Moon’s authority?”
Derek and Peter have a staredown, clearly trying to gain some form of submission from the other. “You’re all dismissed. Keep your senses alert.” Derek growls then storms out of the loft before anyone could say anything.
Throwing a fit like a child not getting his way.
What a fitting way for Jackson to remember his Alpha by.
“I am out with lanterns looking for myself.”
- Emily Dickinson
It’s the night of the full moon.
On normal full moon nights, he’d at least stay near the pack in the beginning hours since he was more animal than man on the surface his instincts said to stay with his pack and Alpha, but this time around his wolf also seems done with Derek and his bullshit. He has no concept of time, but he knows that it must be close to early morning because he has enough consciousness to no longer be hunting the current squirrel running from him for eating purposes. His human side is present enough that he’s not going to eat anything (or anyone) unsavory but not present enough to stand back on two legs to start running the hell away from this town.
His chase after the squirrel ends when he picks up a pleasantly familiar scent.
Earthy rain despite the floor of the woods being bone dry.
It smelled like Stiles.
Jackson runs in the direction that the scent comes from, a calmness to it that was unusual for the spaztic teen. It doesn’t take long for him to find the other teen seeing how he is the best tracker in the pack.
Stiles kneels in front of the large tree stump that Jackson, Lydia, and Danny had found him dying only meters away from a little over a week ago. Something was placed before Stiles - a bundled blob of shadows resting at his knees, the said boy hunching slightly over whatever it was. The teen has his eyes closed but he keeps mumbling things to himself. Even to Jackson’s wolf ears it sounds like nonsense.
Jackson stalks forward, wary and ready to attack.
He snarls when he sees that the thing was another wolf. It was wrapped in vines and greenery, but limp within the earthy confines.
A howl in the distance caught Jackson’s attention, setting him more on edge with the whole situation. It was Derek. He sounded in pain yet something akin to confused hope laced the echoing cry.
Apparently, Jackson wasn’t the only one caught off guard by the howl because Stiles went silent and his eyes were open once again. He looked around the clearing like he was a lost child in a supermarket without their mother. His heartbeat was going frantic and Jackson had to step forward then before the idiot gave himself a heart attack. His movement caused Stiles’ manic rubbernecking to stop and focus on him. The Spirit stared at Jackson. Jackson stared back.
They stayed like that for an undetermined amount of time.
Stiles’s heartbeat steadies itself. Jackson takes a few more steps forward so that he’s standing at Stiles’ side, making them the same height from the brunet’s position on his knees. After a few uncertain breaths, Stiles nods to himself then breaks eye contact to look down at the mystery wolf still lying before him.
“Stay with her. When I get far enough away, howl for the others.” Jackson huffed. He’ll pretend like it’s because he’s being told what to do, but his first thought is about Stiles walking around the preserve in the state he’s in. “Please, just do it. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Stiles whispers. Jackson growls back. The last time Stiles was alone in the woods didn’t end particularly well.
To fully express his disapproval, Jackson bumps into the boy's side. This leads to Stiles tipping over to land on his side in the grass. The wolf barely even had to put his weight into it.
“Fine,” Stiles bites out as he pushes himself back up on his elbow. “But only because I don’t think the stupid tree would even let any of them near here. Maybe Boyd, but even that I don’t know for sure.” Jackson puffs out his chest at having won the argument without even needing words. He does reposition himself, though, so that Stiles can’t see his tail wagging.
Stiles seems too preoccupied with the wolf still lying limp in front of him to notice Jackson’s prideful display. He cards his hand through the wolf’s fur, whispering one last thing to it. “I hope you make things right around here.” Then he struggled to stand on jelly legs. Jackson has to help, being subjected to acting as a crutch. How the fuck he thought he was even gonna make it out of the clearing was beyond Jackson. Dumb dweeb.
Stiles tries to shoo him away when they somehow reach the jeep without incident. Jackson nicks one of Stiles’ fingers with his fangs then jumps into the rusted piece of garbage, seating himself on the passenger side. Furry and unrecognizable is the only way he’d be caught in the trash Stiles called a car. Grumbling and whining, the brunette climbs into the driver’s seat and takes them back to his house in silence. Jackson follows at his heels as they enter the house.
No one makes any protest when Jackson enters Stiles’ bedroom or when Stiles lays on top of the covers and pats the spot next to him or when Jackson lays down so that their sides are pressed flush together.
Are you feeling a bit shaken, maybe stirred, maybe fearful and doubtful and completely utterly, wildly terrified? Good. Keep Going.”
- Victoria Erickson
They wake the next morning at the ass-crack of dawn, only having slept for about three hours total.
Jackson has flesh and only two legs again as well as one Stiles Stilinski huddled into his side with one lanky arm thrown across his midsection. He shoves the other boy off him, simultaneously waking him, then heads for the closet to find something temporary to wear. The Sheriff must have said his goodbyes the night before because once they down two cups of coffee each Stiles loads his packed bags into the minivan parked in the garage. The car was given to them by the Whittemore's, something replaceable but big enough to move around in. It's an ugly shade of green and it makes a noise when it turns on. Jackson hates it. Stiles loves it. He even names it. Martin. Maybe the teen wasn't as over Lydia as they thought.
They stop at Jackson’s house to pick up his shit and exchange awkward farewells with his parents. His mother’s heart doesn’t skip a beat though when she tells him that she hopes that this helps him, so he decides to at least try and stick with the calling schedule they made him.
Jackson feels like shit. Maybe that’s why when they are finished putting all three of Lydia’s suitcases - which she refused to have tied to the roof so one of Stiles’ and Jackson’s cases each had to be tied instead - into the car and she judgmentally looks them both up and down, no words even had to be exchanged before Jackson was handing the keys to their minivan. He almost has the energy to make a joke about Martin driving Martin for the first time. But he doesn't have the energy for the consequences of that so he keeps his mouth shut.
Danny is next and so much easier to pack up with only one medium sized suitcase and a bag.
They stop by the local coffee joint upon Stiles’ request and Danny’s support of the idea. Upon Jackson’s intentional mention that this would be Stiles’ third black coffee that morning, Lydia negotiates with him to get a different drink. It’s a drink that’s more sugar than caffeine, but at least it won’t burn a hole through his stomach. Danny also manages to talk Jackson into buying them all breakfast sandwiches, because no one can sweet talk him like Danny.
The sandwiches haven’t even been finished yet when Danny starts up on his demand for answers. Stiles talks the most since he’s been involved for longer and more at the center of it. Lydia and Jackson speak up when it’s their turn to talk about their experiences with the Hales and the Bite. Stiles waits for Jackson to start explaining the Kanima but smartly interrupts his silence as a pass. He tries to tune out most of the stuff Stiles says about his time being murderous and used.
“Wait, where were you during all this?” Danny questions as Stiles finishes his explanation of how the then-human brought Lydia crashing into the warehouse to save Jackson with the power of love.
“Busy getting the shit kicked outta me.” Stiles actually grins at this.
“By?” Danny raises an eyebrow. Jackson tries not to think about eyebrows too hard.
“Humans.”
“Fragile baby.” He says almost out of habit of poking fun at Stilinski.
The boy glares back at him. “Fragile baby that has saved your wolfy ass more times than you can count.” Then he flips him off. Jackson growls back in response.
“Jesus Christ, how did we think the two of you could live together?” Lydia comments as she stops at the red light despite no one being in sight for miles. She says it more to herself than to the conversation at large, but he still takes offense.
“Alright,” Danny cuts back in. “So where were Erica and Boyd then? They obviously didn’t actually find a new pack because they are still in Beacon. That’s how this works, right? One pack per, like, territory or something like that?”
Stiles, again, takes the lead in the conversation. Because of course, he does. “Yeah, basically. But this was when they were still trying to get away. Allison shot them both with arrows then helped her psycho grandpa - the same old bastard who fucked with Jackson - hang them up in the Argent basement. Had both of them hooked up to wires that kept a constant flow of electricity into them to make them heal slower, almost like they healed not at all.”
It’s at this moment that Lydia’s shift in scent hits him. Jackson turns to her and only now notices that she’s staring straight ahead out of the windshield but not moving despite that the light was now green. Her scent is fearful/hateful/anger which sets him on edge but he knows better than to speak first when she’s in this state.
“Humans. Humans hurt you. You said the other team beat you.” Her voice is hard with accusation. “You said the other team. But you never meant the lacrosse team, did you?” Her eyes finally flicker away from the road in front of her and up to the rearview mirror where she stares Stiles down. “Stiles, you were in the basement with Boyd and Erica weren’t you?”
The second Jackson heard the boy’s heart skip a beat he knew that she was right. Fuck, how could that be right? That wasn’t how that night went. Except Stiles is staring back at her through the mirror, biting at his bottom lip and wringing at his hands. Then with a sigh, Stiles turns away from her piercing eyes and stares out the window. “Gerard took me from the field.”
Jackson should have found the old bastard and ripped him apart. His eyes were already blue, what more could he lose from it?
“Threw me down the stairs and into the basement then beat me until every inch of my body hurt. He left his mark.” The blond digs his claws into his palm as he remembers the mess that was Stiles’ back. Imagines the hunter poking and prodding at the stubborn human who would only open his mouth to say something stupid. “Chris let me go and from what they told me, he let Erica and Boyd free soon after.”
Jackson’s body suddenly felt tight and warm and like he needed to hit something. Preferably Gerard. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Well, for starters, I drove right to the puppies afterwards just to save your ass from being a perma lizard and no one could tell how much pain I was in. So fuck all of you. At least Lydia noticed that I looked like death.” He snarks back, looking like he’d actually stick out his tongue at the werewolf if he didn’t think it’d cost him the body part. And now Scott and Derek can be added to the list of potential punching bags for Jackson. Because he literally became a werewolf that night, he had an excuse for not smelling something off about Stiles while he lingered in the background. What the fuck was theirs? “Secondly, Gerard only wanted to use me as a message. Wanted to use me as a warning to Scott and probably Derek not to mess with him, and that he will be gunning for them. Did you really expect me to let him have that satisfaction after all that he did to me? Licking my own wounds in silence was a petty win, but a win nonetheless.”
“He burned you,” Jackson growls. He’d seen the markings all across Stiles’ back.
“Branded actually,” Stiles corrects and Jackson’s stomach lurches forward, helped by the fact that Lydia and Danny now both stink of fear and disgust. Staring out the window instead of looking at any of them, Stiles continues. “Though, I guess we’re both right technically. He branded a symbol apparently used in the hunter community for, well, it basically labels you a werewolf’s bitch. You tossed away your lot with humanity to be subservient to a monster. If a hunter catches you with the symbol, you’re to be killed just like any werewolf. The rest of the shit is just regular burns - he used the same prods on me that he did Erica and Boyd. He at least did turn down the volts for me, still enough to make me cry for death and leave me with scars, but if he dished the same treatment that was given to them, I’d be dead. Dead sooner.”
“And you still stayed with the pack,” Danny says rather than asks. Jackson knows that his best friend is trying to reassess everything that he knew about Stiles Stilinski according to this new information.
“A pack that didn’t even consider you pack,” Lydia adds. God, he doesn’t think he’s ever smelled her this pissed before. This is probably what she smelled like that one time Samantha Morris started spreading rumors that the redhead was sleeping with half the lacrosse team. Sam does not go to their school anymore.
“Derek, Scott, and probably Isaac didn’t consider me pack,” Stiles responds. “Erica, Boyd, and Peter did.”
“You are the only one who even tried to help me figure out what I was. You are pack to me, Stiles.” Lydia says, her scent calming down into a sort of fondness.
Danny bumps shoulders with the Spirit. “I might be new here but I know that I’d be lucky to be in a pack with you.”
“I’m literally moving across the country with you shithead,” Jackson huffs. “I consider you pack too.”
Stiles gives his own huff with a weary smile. It’s lopsided, looking weighed down by pain, but he mutters out one word. “Thanks.”
“Aren’t we all waiting to be read by someone, praying that they’ll tell us that we make sense?”
- Rudy Franciso
They’re somewhere in Utah with Jackson behind the wheel and Stiles in the passenger seat when he remembers to ask.
“Who was that wolf you were with last night?”
“Was wondering when you were gonna bring that up.” Stiles snorts.
“Stiles, stop befriending the supernatural wildlife.” Danny playfully chides from the backseat. He has an ancient looking book open in his lap with Lydia attached to his arm as she reads it along with him.
“There was a packless wolf in Beacon?” Lydia asks, looking up from the book for the first time since it was pulled out.
“One in the preserve,” Jackson replies because that’s an even bigger deal and they all know it. Derek is gonna be pissed when he finds out.
“She wasn’t packless. She’s Laura.”
“Wait,” Danny now closes the book because this conversation takes president. “Laura Hale? That Laura? Because I thought that Laura was dead. Like, she was the body you two idiots went looking for. The one Peter killed.”
“Yeah. So the Nemeton, the tree stump,” Stiles clarifies when both Danny and Jackson send him a look. “It’s alive. Kinda. In a sense. It used to be a living, sentient tree before it was a stump. It’s been hurt and used and corrupted. I’ve been trying to heal it in my spare time, you know, when I have spare time. So once I got my Spirity powers, it started reaching out to me.”
Lydia perks up at that. “What did it want?”
“To make a deal.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jackson mutters. What is with Stiles and making deals with old, powerful things?
“On the full moon,” Stiles continues on like he hadn’t heard Jackson. “When my powers are at their peak, I would heal it. At least, as much as I possibly could. In exchange, it’d help me bring a worthy Alpha back to the land. It knew I was leaving and wanted a decent Alpha to take care of Beacon just as much as I did.”
“So you brought someone back to life?” Danny asks incredulously.
Stiles kind of shrugs. “She was always meant to be the next Alpha Hale. I think that’s part of why Derek is so shit at it. Everyone was focused on making sure she knew how to do it right that no one really gave the others an Alpha 101 course, which to be fair they never expected they would need to. But I’m a Spirit so I already had a connection with death and with the combined power boost of the Nemeton and Mother Moon . . .” He makes vague hand waving movements. “Laura Hale.”
“Did you do anything else noteworthy that you’re not telling us Stilinski?” Lydia asks.
“I may or may not have also made Scott human again.”
Well, that’s certainly news to Jackson. “What? You can do that? Take the bite away?”
“Apparently? I don’t know, I just - Scott was in the preserve because of me. He was bit because I made him go out there and then he was something he never wanted to be.”
“Something better.” He points out. McCall doesn’t want the bite but wants the perks of it like the cherry-picker he is.
“In case you forgot,” Stiles exasperates, “I didn’t want the bite either. I wanted to stay human. So did Scott. It was my fault that Scott became a werewolf. I couldn’t leave without fixing that.”
“Jackson decided to start playing nice with you at just the right time,” Danny mutters. Stiles grins broadly at the comment.
Jackson wonders why Stiles didn’t tell him any of this before they left. Was it because if Jackson thought he’d have a different Alpha that he’d change his mind and stay? Would he have? He’s not sure, but that should have been his choice right? If he could have made this pack work somehow, shouldn’t he have?
Plus now the Spirit can just rip the wolf out of someone. For anyone not paying attention for the past decade, Jackson and Stiles do not have the best track record. If Jackson went through being a murderous lizard only to have Stiles take the wolf now inside of him away because of some dumb fight, he won’t have to be a lizard to be murderous again.
But when Jackson sees that smile plastered on Stiles’ face, hears Danny chuckling to himself, smells Lydia more content than she has been since her world had been rocked with the supernatural, Jackson can’t help but not give a shit. They’ll work it out.
"The art of living does not consist in preserving and clinging to a particular mode of happiness, but in allowing happiness to change its form without being disappointed by the change; happiness, like a child, must be allowed to grow up. ”
- Charles L. Morgan
“Hey, Lydia?”
“Yes, Stiles?”
They’re out for a walk in the rather nice Nebraska weather. They stopped for the night and set up camp in a local Inn. Jackson was scandalized by the quaintness of it, but Lydia quite likes the aesthetic of the homey little hostel; it reminds her of visits to her grandparents when she was little. They arranged it so that Jackson and Danny would set up their room and things for all of them while she and Stiles went to get food for the evening. Of course, Lydia is only carrying one bag while Stiles has three - they may only have one werewolf among them but he was still a werewolf.
He stops walking which in turn makes her stop walking. She widens her eyes in a way that says ‘hurry up and spit it out’. He takes a breath then looks her in the eye. “I need you to yell at me.”
“Pardon?”
He sighs, shifting his weight from one foot back to the other. “I like being friends with you. I like the type of relationship that we have now.” He explains. “But what we have now doesn’t take back the years before now. You have to have some ugly feelings towards me. Well earned ones. I don’t want those lurking in the shadows of our friendship. So yell at me.”
She takes a moment to consider this. It’s not an outrageous thought in the terms he uses, but still, it leaves something unsettled in her. “Do you really want to do that? Go poking into this?”
“Yes,” he says resolutely. “If we don’t then we’re just building on a rotten foundation and it will make everything come crashing down one day or another. So let’s dig it up, let’s poke at it, let’s break it. We can figure out what to do with the parts that remain afterward.”
“You scared me sometimes.” She admits. She’s never really said any of this out loud before. Stiles has always been a goofy ball that everyone either laughed at or with; why would anyone ever take him as a serious threat? What would people think of her if she said she saw him as one? “Obsession can make people do violent, unspeakable things and how the hell was I supposed to know if or when yours would get to that point. I changed the way I walked to science in seventh grade not because Casey Heller wanted to talk with me on her way to lunch but because I wanted to avoid walking in the same direction as you. I would always wait for Jackson in his Porsche after lacrosse practice because I was scared to find myself left alone with you in the parking lot. I stopped changing in the girl’s room after school because I didn’t feel safe. You made me feel unsafe.”
She chokes on the last word and places one hand over her mouth to stop any vulnerable sounds from escaping her. The tears started appearing in her eyes halfway through and she honestly didn’t know how much this would affect her. Didn’t know how deeply she actually felt.
He remains silent as if waiting for her to continue, but she’s done. She wipes at the corner of her eyes and her cheeks, praying that her makeup isn’t ruined now.
“I’m sorry. I know that does nothing to fix it now, but I am sorry and I’m going to try and be better.” She nods along already knowing that he’s true to his word. He has been trying and has been better with her since both their worlds became ten times more dangerous. “I would like to keep in contact with you, but only if it’s by your choice.”
Jackson’s head shoots up the minute they walk into their hotel room - only two beds. She’s simultaneously stunned and unsurprised that Jackson and Stiles conceded to her idea of them sharing one of the beds with only a jab at each other and letting Danny share the other bed with her. Now though, Jackson looks at her with concern, eyes flicking back and forth between Stiles and herself. She knows that he’s smelling more than just the Chinese food. “What the fuck?” He simply asks.
“Stop gaping, it’s not a good look for you.” She instructs.
“No such thing as ‘not a good look’ for me.” He retorts and relaxes, getting up to take the bags from Stiles.
Danny and Jackson get into a heated debate over what to watch on the limited cable service that the hotel offers. Jackson threatens to take the car and leave by himself if they put on any romcoms. The Spirit sends Lydia a lingering soft smile from across the table when their eyes meet. She returns it without even thinking.
She knows he’s being better because at this moment, in this quaint hotel room, with this company, she feels the safest she has in months.
“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”
- Arthur Ashe
They don’t need to find the Alpha, he finds them.
“My name is Alpha Ford. Emissary Deaton warned me about your arrival.” When Jackson opened their apartment door, he knew it was another wolf but this was more than he was expecting. To say he’s unimpressed would be an understatement. He senses when Stiles enters the living area, walking towards him and their unexpected guest, but Jackson doesn’t turn his gaze away from the insulting Alpha at their doorstep. “Here is my address,” the man holds out a piece of paper that Jackson does not take. The Alpha is undeterred and continues talking with his hand still out. “You are to be there by noon tomorrow or you are to leave this town immediately, am I understood?”
Stiles reaches around Jackson, which he growls at the offense, and takes the slip of paper. “We’ll be there. Thank you, Alpha Ford.”
The man nods solemnly then turns away without another word to them.
“We did not leave one dick Alpha for another!” Jackson growls after slamming the door. The said Alpha is definitely not far enough away to have not heard him.
“We’re foreign entities in his town. His very small town. Smaller than Beacon small. All Alpha’s are possessive, it makes sense that those with smaller territory are more protective. We just have to play nice tomorrow and we’ll be fine.”
Jackson blows out a harsh breath to show just how bullshit he thinks that is but doesn’t make another comment. He’ll trust Stilinski on this.
That trust wanes by noon the next day as they enter the house by the lakeside that looks like it could predate the lake itself. The Alpha is the one to let them in and guide them to a room just past two corridors, and maybe he’s spending too much time with Stiles because Jackson makes note that he doesn’t hear, smell, or glimpse another soul in the house on the walk to a back office. They aren’t trusted to be near the pack.
“Welcome, please, sit.” Alpha Ford instructs. It sounds too much a command for a dog for it not to be intentional. This Alpha is really trying to test him, huh?
Two women wait in the room for them, both with a seat positioned on either side of a desk near center of the office. The head wolf takes his seat behind the large piece of furniture. Stiles shoots Jackson a look before they take their own seats in front of the desk. This feels more of an interrogation than an interview. “Now is the time for you to make your case as to why you think I should let two pack deserters into my pack.”
“You said Deaton talked with you,” Stiles replies.
“A currently unclaimed emissary, yes. He spoke to me about a Moon Spirit newly acquiring his powers. Asked if he may enter my territory. Granted, the fact that you are a novice when it comes to your powers worries me for the safety of the town as a whole, but I couldn’t turn you away.” The Alpha talks in a degrading, chastising way that gets under Jackon’s skin. “Then I get a call just days later saying that a wolf will be accompanying the Spirit, and both will be in need of a pack. So the conclusion is simple: you ran from a pack and now want to use mine.”
“I know Deaton is fucking annoying, but he’s not sketchy enough to just pawn a couple of . . . what are you even accusing us of?” Jackson eyes him, putting as much judgment into the stare as possible. Two can play this game of condescending asshole.
The man eyes him back. “You’re an untamed Beta. You may have been part of a pack, but you’ve never recognized an Alpha to be yours. Do you know how dangerous that can be for my pack?”
Well.
Guess his wolf agreed: fuck Derek.
“That makes way too much sense,” Stiles mumbles under his breath. Jackson can see the moment he realizes that they could all hear him perfectly clear anyway. He moves on quickly. “He’s not feral though.”
“That’s not the issue,” the pregnant werewolf speaks up. “Being unbound to an Alpha for so long will make it less likely for him to regard this territory's Alpha with authority. Even if he is accepted into the pack.”
And, fine, maybe how he’s acting now isn’t helping disprove their point, but the Ford bastard started it. “Our former Alpha had issues with the both of us. That’s why we’re here.”
“I was told the Spirit was here to train,” Alpha Ford says.
“I am, but I need a pack to focus my powers on. Something to protect.”
“And your old Alpha didn’t want that?” The oldest werewolf in the room asks. She eyes Stiles like he’s an enigma.
“Our old Alpha already made himself clear that I wasn’t pack before we left. Jackson technically was before we left, but rolls and position in the pack started shifting at that point so his disappearance can be easily patched up.” Stiles winces at the way he worded it. Jackson would slug him for it, but again, he kind of has to remain in control in front of the pack that already seems to believe that they’re the latest big bads in town. “There will be no pack feuds over us, I swear.”
“Fine, let’s say we do take a chance on both of you. We have five blue-eyed Beta’s in our pack. Is that gonna be a problem?” The funny thing is that he says it with a smirk like it would be a problem for them. Like he’s finally got them. “Don’t want you to get squeamish and run off at the first sign of trouble.”
“I think we can stomach it.” Jackson responds, flashing his neon blue eyes at the Alpha. The smirk falls away.
“Deaton didn’t mention - ”
“Jesus fucking Christ, I don’t know why you keep acting like we’re demons sent here to corrupt your pack.” Jackson slumps back in his chair. He doesn’t know what the fuck they’re gonna do if the Alpha tells them to get the fuck out. Has Stiles thought that far ahead? He probably has. The fucker.
“I was human.” Stiles rushes out the statement before the Alpha can make a snide comment back at Jackson. It works because he falls silent to listen to Stiles. “I was the only human in my pack until I was considered a liability by my Alpha. He gave orders to leave me out of everything supernatural happening in our territory from that point forward. It only took two weeks for me to no longer be human. I don’t think I have to explain to you, Alpha Ford, how Spirits are made.” Jackson leans into him. It’s uncomfortable because of the two armrests dividing their space, but Stiles seems to relax just the slightest bit at the gesture. “That’s only what happened in the past month. Our Alpha wasn’t exactly looking out for our best interests. We had to leave before something worse happened. To either of us.
“I know that us showing up after abandoning a pack seems alarming, but we’re just trying to find refuge. And I know that us showing up with blue eyes seems like a danger, but blue eyes aren’t that simple.” All the wolves look at him in question, even Jackson. He shrugs under the new type of scrutiny. “Innocence is subjective. Personally, two out of the three blue-eyed wolves I’ve known didn’t deserve them. Even the third one could be debated because of the mental state he was in and how conscious of his actions he was. It’s not as simple as just smacking the label of murderer on someone. There are stories behind those blues. And besides, I rather have a blue-eyed Beta who feels guilt over a gold-eyed one who has no remorse or concern.”
The room goes silent after Stiles finishes his ramble.
“I like him.” The old woman declares, beaming. Stiles smiles back at her. “We’re keeping him.”
The Alpha looks scandalized by the statement. “Mama, you can’t just - ”
She waves him off with a flick of the wrist and addresses Stiles directly. “Would you like to come play cards? I have some brownies from two days ago, lord knows it was a fight to save some for myself.”
“We’d love to, but no games that involve lying. I’m not losing at poker because you can hear my heartbeat.”
“Oooh, and he’s clever. I like him very much. Come, come.”
The old woman walks out of the room, beckoning them with a wave to follow. Jackson clutches at Stiles’ hand and drags him out of the house.
“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”
- Virginia Woolf
Stiles grabs him by the hand and drags him into the house.
They maneuver past people, some not even hiding how they are staring at the pair of them until Stiles finds a couch with enough room for the both of them.
After a round of chess out on the porch facing the lake, Stiles and Nessa - the older Beta - taking their time to thoroughly think out their moves while Jackson sat beside Stiles lazily watching the movements but not understanding the meanings, the two teenagers finally left the Ford pack house. Jackson remembers the gentle casualness of Nessa’s invitation to the two of them to the pack meeting occurring the following day. Jackson also remembers the way Stiles’ face went bright as he told her they’d be there, but his scent betrayed his nerves. Jackson tries to forget the fact he plainly scented Stiles’ neck right in front of the woman in an attempt to calm his pack mate.
Whatever, not like he had anything to be ashamed of. Stiles was pack. Pack scent each other.
There’s a girl about their age already seated who is definitely a wolf and she gives them a look as dirty as a Peter Hale when they sit on the other side of the furniture. Jackson had to shove Stiles so that the Spirit was sitting at the end of the couch and Jackson acted as the barrier between them and the female wolf who looked ready to slash at them.
“You sure you wanna sit here fresh meat?”
“Sorry, is there assigned seating we weren’t told about?” Stiles deadpans.
“No,” she says through a smile that was clearly just a reason to bare her teeth. “You just wanna be careful who you decide to piss off.” She finishes off by putting her wolf eyes on display.
Jackson snorts at the pathetic attempt of a threat. “Gonna take more than blue eyes to scare us.”
She blinks in confusion, clearly not expecting that in response. The electric blue fades back to hazel. They were the same hue as Derek’s but so vastly different. Like each fleck in them made new meaning to the bigger portrait.
Apparently, Stiles agrees.
“I like your eyes.” The mole littered boy tells her. “Both versions.” She starts blinking again. She opens her mouth and they wait, but nothing comes out. “I’m Stiles by the way and this is Jackson.” He lifts his hand from the back of the couch to give the girls a two finger wave.
She stares at them for another minute, then turns away. But she doesn’t get out of her seat, which he guesses is a good enough acceptance.
More people shuffle around, some of them familiar faces. It’s a small pack, not much bigger than the one they had just left. He can count on one hand how many more Betas there are other than the two women they met the other day. A girl who looks no more than twelve comes over to the couch and takes a seat half on the small portion of the furniture left and half on the older girl already sitting down.
Before either Jackson or Stiles, who also carefully watched the situation, can make a comment about or to the newcomer the Alpha takes center stage in the middle of the room.
“These are our two new temporary pack mates,” Jackson rolls his eyes at the added reminder of temporary . “Stiles Stilinski and Jackson Whittemore.”
“Happy to be here,” Stiles awkwardly says in the silence that follows.
“This town is a Supernatural center,” Enrique pushes past Stiles’ comment to address them in front of the entire pack.
“Oh, god not again,” Jackson whispers at the Alpha’s new statement.
“Define center?” Stiles asks, apparently still holding onto the hope that they really didn’t just move from one Beacon Hills to another.
Enrique gives them a onceover at their reactions but answers the question anyway. “Polaris is a town made up of all supernaturally informed people.”
“An entire town of just supernatural people?”
“Not quite,” The elderly Beta from the other day steps forward then. “Many of our residents are humans but are in the know. Polaris is and has been a neutral ground for decades, retired hunters and senior witches alike come here for some semblance of peace. Anyone is allowed here as long as they make no disturbance to that peace.”
“I can’t imagine how it stays that peaceful,” Stiles says without a filter. “I mean, all the conflict we’ve seen in just our little town with only about eight-ish supernatural creatures, I just don’t see how it remains undisturbed here.”
“That’s why we’re here.” The Alpha says.
And then suddenly it clicks. The way the Alpha is the way he is. Stiles nods along with the statement. Jackson can tell that Stiles sees it fall into place as well, and some part of Jackson (a little wolf and a little human) is proud that he’s able to keep up with the sharp-witted boy.
“We thank you for letting us stay with your pack Alpha Ford. I, Stiles Stilinski, and my companion Jackson Whittemore will do whatever we can to aid in maintaining the territory under your supervision.” Stiles says formally. It reminds Jackson of the way he spoke to the Fae. Nessa’s eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline and the look in her eye is one of amused curiosity. He wonders how Stiles knows all these rules. How he of all people follows them. Then Stiles quietly tacks on one last defeated sentiment. “We need the peace.”
And maybe that’s how.
“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.”
- Charles Bukowski
After the ninth time Lydia’s phone chirps, Jackson is ready to break it. He’ll buy her a new one, he just can not take another shrill alert that the Hale Pack are texting her.
She stops walking altogether this time. And since she’s Lydia Martin, they all stop with her. Stiles seems most grateful for this unprompted break as he falls onto the ground while looking out of breath. Danny pats Jackson on the shoulder before going over and sitting with the unreasonably exhausted teen. Jackson crosses his arms and places himself in the line of vision between the Alpha and the two grounded boys, his wolf not exactly thrilled about the fact that they're out in unknown territory with a somewhat hostile Alpha and his pack. He tries not to make himself look as prepared for a fight as he is.
“If your Banshee is so busy, maybe it would be better if she did not attend this pack outing.” Enrique grits out, clearly over the phone as much as Jackson is.
“Your mother invited us,” Lydia primly responds without missing a beat, looking down at her phone all the while still walking. It’s true, Nessa has made it her job to make Stiles and Jackson feel comfortable in their new environment so when she heard that the adults in their little pack were going hiking, she extended it to their even smaller group of wayward teenagers. Lydia accepted upon their behalf.
“Is everything alright?” Gemma, the pregnant Beta Stiles and Jackson met that day in Enrique's office who they later learned is the pack’s Right Hand, tentatively asks the red-headed girl.
“Yes, the pack from back in California just realized that Jackson is among the missing.”
Enrique, Gemma, and the other Beta who Jackson doesn’t remember the name of honestly all exchange looks. The male Beta looks like a Paul. Or a Greg. But Jackson doesn’t think that’s right. Gemma is again the one to speak. “How long have you been away from your pack?”
“Uh, about a week now. Actually, nine days,” Stiles responds, finally able to catch his breath.
“And your pack only now has noticed your disappearances?” Enrique asks.
“Disappearance,” Lydia corrects, still not looking up from her phone as another alert is made. “They only figured out Jackson is gone so far.”
“God, they suck,” Danny says under his breath. He pulls Stiles closer to himself with the arm he already has wrapped around the other’s shoulders. It’s a very wolf-like move, pack affection, and it makes the wolf in Jackson rejoice. He doesn’t fucking know why, but it does.
“None of them will probably even notice I’m gone for another week or so. Maybe more.” Stiles says when Gemma looks at him with the unspoken question in her eyes. He speaks nonchalantly, but the wolves can sense his bitterness with the shift his scent takes when he says it.
“This was your pack?” The male Beta asks. George? No, it started with a K, Jackson vaguely recalls. Kyle?
“By the barest of definitions, yes. This is why they left.” Lydia says. She pockets her phone and turns her attention to Jackson. “They will know you are no longer part of the pack by the end of the day. I doubt there will be much upkick about it further than that.”
Jackson scoffs. “Thanks, Lyds,” he says dryly but lazily follows after her when she begins the hike again. Enrique and the rest of his pack quietly follow as well without question, though the Alpha looks rather lost in his own head.
As Jackson makes his way past Stiles, he reaches out a hand for the other boy to use to get up off the ground. There’s no hesitation to take it but there is a lingering of the contact after he’s up. Jackson lets him go after a few more seconds but waves an annoyed hand to indicate for Stiles to start walking. They fall into step together easily. Stiles brushes their shoulders together as he leans in close to Jackson’s space, bringing their heads in close proximity so he can whisper in the wolf’s ear. “Kevin.”
“But we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever.”
- Haruki Murakami
“Stiles, I will throw you in myself,” Danny warns.
“I am having a delightful time right here with River thank you,” Stiles calls back. The teenage girl from the pack meeting proceeds to ignore him as she reads her book like she has been for the past hour. Jackson didn’t know her name until this second. Though he is surprised that she hasn’t made any attempt to get away from Stiles the moment he sat down next to her by the lake’s side.
Jackson, Danny, Cam (Kevin’s thirteen-year-old son), and the younger girl from the pack meeting are all in the Lake while Gemma and Kevin sit at the edge with their feet kicking the water. Gemma has her two-year-old son bouncing on her lap though he tries his best to squirm out of her grasp to join the others in the water despite not knowing how to swim yet. His name is Chip. Chip even gives Jackson baby-fever.
Stiles and Lydia both opted to not get into the lake; Lydia because she doesn’t trust whatever is floating around in the water and Stiles because he doesn’t trust Jackson not to drown him so that he gets their apartment to himself.
“Wimp!” Jackson calls from where he just lifted and tossed Cam in the water.
“Peer pressure is uncool!” Stiles calls back.
“And this is why you only had one friend in high school.”
“You suck.”
“Girls, girls, you’re both pretty.” Danny jokes. Cam laughs obnoxiously. Jackson splashes them both in retaliation.
Something about the interaction must have sparked a desire to join them because Stiles stands up and strips off his shirt.
The party goes oddly silent as he walks over to the lake’s edge. It takes a minute for Jackson to realize that the Ford pack hadn’t seen Stiles’ body as they had. The scars that the Spirit dons from their old lives. The Argent burns that no one knew about, the lumps that never recessed with time from a creature getting a jump on them, the healed over gashes that they sewed up themselves in cramped bathrooms left by feral omegas. They all stare at Stiles’ skin as if they are able to read the horror story that their details depict.
Gemma holds onto Chip tighter, much to the child’s dismay, as her eyes linger. “Child, what - ”
“Dude, that is so cool!” Cam screeches over whatever concern was going to be raised. The prepubescent boy swims closer to the bank to get a better look at the older teen’s skin looking like a Stiles is suddenly the coolest person he ever met.
Stiles freezes at the new way everyone was looking at him. He looks split between finishing his short trip to the water and running back to get his shirt.
Lydia gracefully strides along behind him innocently enough, though Jackson sees the glimpse she gives the Spirit’s back. Very less innocently, she gives him a rougher shove than one would have expected from her graceful, delicate appearance. Stiles makes a wild noise as he falls face-first into the cold water and Jackson laughs harder than he has in his whole life.
“I thought we were good?” Stiles shouts as he resurfaces.
Lydia shoots him a devious smile. “We are, you just need to learn how to swim if you're gonna be living here. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” She says coyly and Jackson thinks he might drown if he laughs any harder but the look of utter betrayal on Stiles’ face might be worth it.
This does gain Stiles’s attention though and the look of utter betrayal turns into one of determination. “Last time I was in the water, I had a two hundred pound werewolf on my back. Two hours of carrying that hairy bastard so he could go save his puppies.” He dips his head back in the water then runs his hands through his soaked hair when he straightens back up. When his eyes meet Jackson's, the wolf can see that whatever was left of the self-consciousness from displaying his body fade away most probably as Lydia planned, and mischievousness brighten the amber hue. “You got any tips for me for next time oh wise swim captain?”
Jackson might drown but still thinks it might be worth it as he tries to swim away from Stiles. Danny intercepts the Spirit at some point though, and they start play wrestling with Cam cheering in the background for no one in particular, but the violence in general.
“They aren’t here because it’s been easy,” Jackson hears Lydia saying to someone. “Nothing is easy in this lifestyle. They’re just trying to find somewhere that is easier. Somewhere they can breathe without choking on their own grief.”
“When you’re born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it’s not.”
- Richard Kadrey
Jackson couldn’t take another second of this.
“There’s nothing to do in this fucking place!” He seethed. Two full weeks of this stupid, nowhere town and he’s so miserably bored. They have driven around the streets, looked at all the stores, found all the shortcuts in the backroads, and there is absolutely nothing to do anymore.
Stiles didn’t even bother to look up from his book. “Drug rates are pretty high up here because of sheer boredom.”
“And you came here anyway?”
“So did you.” Stiles shrugs.
“Well, I didn’t know we’d end up in a cramper, duller, crappier town.”
“We came here for peace.”
Jackson decides to just scroll through his phone for the twentieth time that day, repressing that thing lurking in his chest when he finds photos or videos of the lacrosse team all together and looking more than content (probably with a little chemical help). He’s caught up in staring at a picture of Trevor, Frank, and Will laughing at Greenberg who has his ass sat on a skateboard, legs hiked up to walk that way, that he doesn’t notice Stiles getting up from his spot at the table. Not until the brunette is behind him and smacking him in the head with the folder he’s holding. “What the fuck Stilinski!”
“You are a terrible guard dog.”
“How about I deck that smirk off your face asswipe?”
“Please, I just bonked you, it didn’t hurt. If it did then we need to revoke your werewolfdom.”
With his other hand, Stiles puts down an old crappy looking book in front of Jackson.
“The fuck is this?” The blond grumbles.
“I know reading isn’t something your brain - ”
“Finish that sentence and I will make sure we crash Martin next time I drive.” Jackson bares some teeth in a mockingly sweet smile. “My werewolfdom will keep me as flawless as ever. Don’t know so much about you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles waves away the threat which just pisses Jackson off more. He thought that was a good one. “It’s Bukowski.”
“What?”
“The book.” He points at the said item. “It’s Charles Bukowski. He’s a German writer. Fairly easy to read despite being kinda angsty and more than a little misogynistic at times. I thought you might like some of the things he has to say though, and maybe you’d stop complaining so much about boredom.”
Jackson stares at the paper filled abomination. Charles Whatever-The-Fuck isn’t even part of their English curriculum. Why does Stiles have this? But with one final glance at his phone, Jackson decides that, fuck it. Besides, most drugs don’t affect werewolves anyway so . . .
“The others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn’t understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go”
- Charles Bukowski
Jackson is making dinner when Stiles gets back from his ninth day of begging the magic lady in town that Deaton pointed him to for teaching him how to control his powers. In all fairness, the only mishaps Stiles had caused since their arrival were the three times he got emotionally overwhelmed and caused an hour-long power outages and the one time accidentally taking Jackson’s voice away from him. Jackson thinks he could learn to live with those types of accidents, so the teacher woman can go fuck herself. Defeats the purpose of them coming all the way here, but they didn’t know what a recluse the bitch would be.
The wolf stirs the box-ready mac and cheese within the pot of boiling water. Stiles comes into the kitchen. He takes one look at what Jackson is making then goes to the fridge and takes out some leftover chicken wings from the other night. “The magic teacher is a Goddess.” He says as he gets out a knife to start cutting the chicken off the bones and chopping them into pieces.
“I swear to God, if you start making another ten-year plan for your fucking teacher, I’m taking the minivan and leaving.”
“No, I mean,” He takes a breath. “Hecate. Greek Goddess of Magic, Witchcraft, Gateways, the Moon, etcetera, etcetera. The woman that Deaton sent me to is Hecate, the literal Goddess.”
“So you’ve been harassing a Goddess for the past week and a half?”
“Yep.”
They leave the conversation at that as they finish cooking together. Stiles throws in the chicken and gets out packets of Buffalo sauce from some take-out place to add into the mix as well. Jackson continues to stir as Stiles adds and mixes everything in. Once the mac and cheese is deemed ready, Stiles hops up on the counter right of the pot while Jackson leans on the counter to the left of the pot and he grabs them both spoons. Stiles tells him more about his newest and most informational encounter with the literal Goddess, and he tells Stiles about how Nessa came and visited him at the flea market today and about some of the more memorable customers while they both eat out of the pot together.
Their lives are weird, but Jackson finds it weirdest how casually comfortable it all is.
“Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony, and music inside me.”
- Vincent VanGogh
Jackson meets Hecate by accident.
It’s three days after Stiles tells him about the true identity of his teacher.
Maybe it’s the radiance of her midnight skin, maybe it’s the way her irises look like moon craters, maybe it’s the way a single glance from her feels cosmic, but whatever it may be that gives her away, Jackson knows she’s the Goddess on sight. Jackson runs into a literal fucking Goddess shopping in the refrigerator section of a Stuart’s in upstate New York. His life feels like a punch line at this point.
“You’re Hecate right?” He asks.
She doesn’t even bother to give him a side glance, which, rude. Totally something he’d done to several losers in the hallways of Beacon, but he’s usually the one who has to do the ignoring. Besides, he’s much nicer to look at than the almond milk she’s currently eyeing up. “My name is Valerie in this lifetime. And I advise you to rethink who you decide to approach so casually, little wolf.”
“I came here with the Moon Spirit.”
“And I came here for milk, so if you would be kind enough to allow me the peace your friend deprives me of.”
Jackson scrunches his eyebrows together at this. He of all people knows what a fucking nuisance Stiles Stilinski can be and he knows that the boy has been visiting her daily in hopes that the Goddess would help him, but Jackson can’t deny the pang of irritation at her spiteful tone. “He died,” Jackson tells her and maybe he says it with a bit of bitterness.
She finally looks in his direction. Though he doesn’t feel like he’s being seen. Her gaze is as passive as her tone. “He’s not special.”
It takes everything in him not to swipe his claws at her apathetic face. “He’s sixteen” Jackson spits, as though that fact matters. Because it does matter. It should matter. “He’s sixteen and he died only to come back with magic powers that could make him kill someone else. He’s just trying to ask you to - ”
“I have been through enough.” She cuts him off.
“So have we!” He shouts. He realizes that he’s gotten the attention of not just the Goddess but the entire store. Do they understand his point? “Yet we’re still here for some god awful reason. We’re still alive and have to figure out how to keep everyone else safe because of that. If we give up, me and him? That just leaves more bodies in our wake. More than we already have.”
“I have seen carnage, young man.”
“Then you’re not special either.” He flashes his blue eyes at her as he uses her own venom against her. “Stiles has seen more shit in the past year than I bet half this town has. And he’s still going through having to learn how to control powers he never asked for. He’s trying because he has to despite how fucking tired he is.” She turns away from him again now. He smells her scent shift, something sweeter but unpleasantly so. Something he knows to be shame. Good. “Must be nice for you to have nothing to try for.”
He walks out of the Stuarts without another word exchanged.
He didn’t get a single thing he went there for, but he thinks it was worth his mic drop moment even if it means having burgers without buns.
“The floor seemed wonderfully solid. It was comforting to know that I had fallen and could fall no further.”
Sylvia Plath
Two days later Stiles comes back to their apartment glowing. Literally. Half of his runes have a faint red glow to them.
“If you’re going to self-destruct, do it outside.”
“Haha,” Stiles mock laughs at the joke. Jackson smirks in return. “No, my teacher just decided to help me with strengthening my runes. The glowy situation should be gone in the next three hours.”
“Kevin helped you?” Jackson asks. That’s the only teacher he can think of. Technically Gemma too since she homeschools them in English, but he can’t imagine the female wolf knowing much about magic. The human though? Well, all the humans in the pack Jackson was part of were the know it alls and since Kevin is single handedly teaching all the Ford Pack kids Maths and Science, the pattern fits.
But Stiles is always full of surprises. “Not Kevin. Val.”
“Who?”
“Val. Or Hecate, but she doesn’t like being called that, so Val.” Jackson blinks helplessly at this new piece of information. Stiles, on the other hand, gets suddenly giddy about news, jumping up and down in place like a child. “She finally agreed! I have an actual Goddess training me!”
He’s not going to lie, Jackson stops listening to Stiles fanboy. He considers mentioning that he probably had a hand in this. That he’s the one who got Val to change her tune. But Stiles is still bouncing on his heels as he spouts on and on about the woman and his first day of training and why his tattoos are glowing. Jackson doubts he can find a word in edgewise, so he decides to just relax and pretend to listen.
He’ll tell him later.
“I cannot make you happy, but I can commit to support you in the creation of your own happiness.”
- Yung Pueblo
They’ve been formally introduced to all of the Ford pack at this point and get a grasp of how things run within the group.
But there are still huge questions that they have to keep toeing around. Such as:
1. Where did the white name “Ford” come from when the only actual Ford family (Enrique and Nessa) are Dominican?
2. Who is Chip’s father? Jackson once mistakenly assumed that Kevin and Gemma were together and was quickly shut down on that end. Since then, Stiles found out for them that Kevin’s wife died soon after childbirth. That only left Chip’s mystery father.
3. Where are River and her sister’s parents? They both live at the pack house with Enrique and Nessa, and it seems that Enrique is their acting guardian, but he’s not their father.
4. WHAT WAS RIVER’S SISTER’S NAME?
Jackson’s heading to the library to return a book. Stiles’s book obviously. That Jackson just might have borrowed at some point.
And feasibly he wanders the rows of books after he returns the book. Then finds an empty corner of the library to bring a new book.
He makes it one hundred and twelve pages in when his secret spot no longer becomes secret. River’s little sister slides into the wooden chair next to him. She offers him a shy smile. She’s unsure of herself, to say the least, so Jackson takes some pity on her by returning her smile.
He goes back to reading for another three pages before he notices the opened composition notebook being lightly shoved in his direction.
I like John Green too
Jackson feels his face heat up involuntarily, hating that he’s been caught. He puts the Turtles All The Way Down cover down on the table. Reaching over to steal the glittery blue pen she clearly used to write the message Jackson writes his own message back.
Im late to the trend of either liking or shitting on him just wanted to see all the fuss
I liked Turtles better than Fault in Our Stars so good pick
Jackson smirks. He knew he had good taste.
why are your eyes blue?
Jackson stares at the question on the piece of paper. Part of him just wants to crumble it up and pretend that this just didn’t happen. The girl is a quiet thing anyway, so he doubts she’ll bitch about it to River or Enrique.
But, well, some small voice in the back of his head rises above his anger and regret. Burning bridges leaves you isolated.
i was a lizard thing for a while and killed a bunch of people against my will
me and River killed our parents
Jackson doesn’t so much as flinch. Mostly because he knows she’s waiting for him to. He does the same thing. Even with his lack of appall she adds more. Feels like she has to explain herself.
witch’s curse
on you or them?
Them. We had to protect ourselves.
Im sure they are glad it was them instead of you two
He doesn’t put down the pen. He’s never really talked about this before. Now he’s the one unsure of himself and what he’s allowed to say. But then he realizes that he’s a werewolf and she’s a werewolf and she had to murder someone in her teens and so did he and their lives are so completely fucked and he’s allowed to just say what he wants to.
I would have wanted it to be me instead
That day he finds out:
1. Nessa married a white man. One that puts milk to shame. The two met in Arizona, where he swept her off her feet and they never looked back. He was the Alpha before he died of old age.
2. Chip’s dad is no longer with them.
3. Her and River are in fact Fords. Their mother was Enrique’s older sister who married another wolf from an allied pack in Harlem. Their relatives from the city don’t keep in contact anymore.
4. Her name is McKenzie. She’s Jackson’s first friend in Polaris.
5. She hasn’t spoken since her parent’s death three years ago.
He grabs a book on sign language on the way out of the library.
“Maybe there's something you're afraid to say, or someone you're afraid to love, or somewhere you're afraid to go. It's gonna hurt. It's gonna hurt because it matters."
- John Green
The first morning after a full moon in Polaris is one of Jackson’s worst.
“Where were you?” Enrique corners him. He flashes his eyes red which, having the wolf in him still so close to the surface, makes Jackson stand a little straighter. River and Nessa seem to be the only ones who don’t seem phased by the Alpha’s brewing anger.
And Stiles. In all fairness, Stiles has a lot of practice with ignoring clearly pissed off Alphas. He moves around the angry Alpha like it’s nothing, just casually walks around him to hand off a coffee to Jackson.
“I asked,” Enrique’s voice steadily gets louder, “where were you? You were supposed to stay in sight of either me or my Left and Right hands.” Nessa and Gemma both give him a sympathetic look, probably feeling bad that they ratted him out. “So what do you think you were doing last night in my territory?”
Stiles doesn’t help him because he can’t. Stiles was put under a spell by Val to keep him from having any powerful sway due to the moon since he’s still not stable enough in his magic to endure another full moon. Last time he had an outlet for his power: Laura and Scott. And he had guidance from the living tree thing that he and Lydia talked about.
So Stiles can’t help him spin a tale for this one.
And Jackson is too tired and achy to come up with a convincing, not at all incriminating lie. But the truth is also extremely embarrassing. Because his wolf is embarrassing. The bastard.
“He was at my complex.” A new voice enters the conversation as the said person enters the room. “Kept stalking around the premises. Startled a few of my neighbors, but was otherwise non-hostile towards anyone. You have more control than you implied.” Val says the last sentence right to Jackson.
“Well, it took a while,” He mumbles.
“He was in the town?” Enrique sounds repulsed and panicked about the idea.
Val looks around the kitchen a little unimpressed. She seems as unbothered by a fuming Alpha as Stiles which has Jackson worried about what she’s teaching the Spirit. No one needed a more ballsy Stiles, the one they have causes enough mayhem. “Yes, but as I said, he had good control. He wasn’t civil, no wolf is,” she gets several growls at the jab, “but it was clear that he was not hunting for anything or anyone. More like guarding.”
She then stalks over to Stiles. A slightly glowing hand comes up to touch his forehead. Some of the runes on his skin glow back in response and his breath kind of hitches. Jackson kind of, maybe, holds his own breath at the sound. The wolf is still definitely too close to the surface. “Good,” She removes her hand and Jackson can inhale again, “I was worried you might have carried some of the moon's effects into daylight, but it appears you have made it through. Congratulations. Though, next time, I think I will have to put you asleep somewhere closer to the woods.”
The room goes silent as she makes her way back out of the kitchen and seemingly vanishes in the doorway. Jackson hears little mumbled whispers around the room in the aftershock, mostly questions about where the fuck Val came from and where’d she go. Then enough time goes by for Stiles to process everything he just learned.
“Awwww,” Stiles turns to Jackson with a mockingly sweet grin.
“Shut up.” Jackson does not turn red. He does not.
“You caaaare about meeee,” Stiles goes to poke at Jackson’s ribs until he lets his claws out to prove what a bad idea that is. The smirk on the brunet's face doesn’t fade at all, and neither does the pleasant perfume of serene rainfall and content spices which makes Jackson feel at ease. A little less at ease when he has to chase after a Spirit running out of the kitchen with his phone pressed to his ear and laughing the words: “Lydia you will not believe this.”
“It wasn't love at first sight exactly, but familiarity. Something like, oh, hello, it's you. It's going to be you.”
- Mhairi McFarlane
“The ideal man.”
“You did not just say that about an animated car.”
River looks at Stiles like . . . well, like he just said that an animated car is his ideal man. I mean, come on, how is Jackson supposed to do anything but agree with her judgmental face? Stilinski is just fucking weird sometimes.
McKenzie was the one to invite them this time. Pack movie night. Nobody even batted an eye when they walked in the front door without knocking and took their seats on their shared couch with River and McKenzie.
“No,” Stiles scoffs as though she’s the one who said some outrageous shit. “I mean, Lighting McQueen is - ”
“Don’t,” Jackson warns, “or I’m leaving you here and heading to London by myself.” Stiles dramatically gasps at the threat, clutching his metaphorical pearls.
McKenzie snickers. Jackson’s wolf takes a victory lap at causing the girl to make such a sound.
“I meant Owen Wilson by the way,” Stiles says after he recovers. “That man can get it whenever he wants.” McKenzie, River, and Gemma all make a noise akin to laughter at this while Cam looks disgusted and Kevin just shakes his head in a fond manner. Jackson even thinks he catches Enrique’s mouth twitch upward.
“Why did I bring you with me?” Jackson sighs.
“Aye, I technically took you with me.”
“Can we just watch the movie please?” Cam asks.
He feels fingers begin to run themselves through his hair and who is he to dissuade them? He leans further into Stiles’ side which makes his thigh press up against River’s. The girl glances at the contact point at first then at Jackson. He raises an eyebrow in challenge. She rolls her eyes then throws her leg over his so that he can lean even further into her space while his upper half leans on Stiles.
He literally sighs with how comfortable he is.
“There are thousands of worlds to inhabit within this one.”
- Victoria Erickson
“There’s a blue-eyed Beta looking for you,” Enrique says after Jackson opens the door to their apartment two months after they first arrived. Lydia and Danny left nearly a week and a half ago and both Jackson and Stiles are too caught up readying themselves for homeschool life to be at each other’s throats now that they are alone. Or maybe they get along better than anyone expected.
“For me or Stiles?” He asks immediately.
“Both technically. He asked about Stiles first then when we didn’t give him an answer he asked about you.”
“What’s going on?” Stiles came up behind Jackson, coming from their bedroom. No, even after Lydia and Danny left they did not stop sharing the same bed. It’s a pack thing, Jackson reminds himself. Because Stiles and him have known each other for years and familiarity, even if a hostile one, is comfort.
“Peter found us,” Jackson answers Stiles. Derek, even if he is blue-eyed once again now that Laura is back with the Alpha power, would never have asked about Jackson.
“We can send him away if you like.” Enrique offers as Stiles and Jackson stare at each other, communicating in their own fashion.
“You’re not gonna question why a blue-eyed Beta is looking for us?” Stiles asks, turning away from Jackson, at last, to look Enrique in the eye as he speaks. He and Jackson reached an agreement already.
“We know you’re skittish when it comes to offering up information about yourselves, so no I’m not gonna ask. If you don’t want to talk then I’m not gonna make you.”
“Where is he?” Jackson asks.
“Waiting at the pack house, Mama is distracting him.”
“Leaving Nessa and Peter alone together sounds like a terrible idea. We should get back there immediately.” Stiles says, pushing Jackson out the door. The change in Enrique’s stance as he keeps pace with the two of them already half way down the hallway even to Jackson, so it’s not surprising when Stiles tacks on: “He’s not a danger to her, more like they’re both scheming menaces and I fear their combined power.”
They get to the pack house in less than ten five minutes, the pep in Stiles’ step making the already short walk that much quicker.
There standing in Nessa’s kitchen is one Peter Hale, looking as pristine and douche as they left him. “I knew you were saying goodbye, but I was not expecting parting gifts.”
Peter’s smirk falls away the minute Stiles takes a hesitant step forward, away from Jackson. The older Beta takes his own step forward and that seems to be enough of a signal for Stiles because he rushes the rest of the way into the man’s arms.
Peter noses at Stiles’ temple and whispers into his ear despite the fact that all the wolves could hear him perfectly clear either way. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come looking for you?”
And there’s that ache in Jackson’s chest again. That hollow throbbing sensation that reminds him that someone would hunt for Stiles. Uproot everything to get him back. Jackson didn’t have anyone like that. Didn’t have anyone who would miss him that greatly to try and find him, to reach him somehow even when it appeared he was out of it.
Jackson wasn’t the type of person worth finding.
Just like he wasn’t the type of person worth keeping.
Then Stiles steps back.
Once he’s done embracing the older man, he takes the same steps backwards so he’s standing by Jackson's side again. The same way they have been since they arrived here. Stiles keeps talking to Peter as though his actions meant nothing. He tells the man about the trip up here with Danny and Lydia. Tells him about how the only other people that know where they are is Erica, Boyd, and both their parents. He just keeps talking, completely oblivious to the earth shattering revelation that Jackson is having.
“No,” His wolf tells him, “Stiles would come for him. Stiles would.”
And for some reason, that feels like enough.
“They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.”
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
No one is ever allowed to know what Stiles has done to him.
Jackson is leaving the library at nine at night and only doing so because Lisa made him. Jackson Whittemore had to be talked out of a library. By a librarian he knows by name.
His reputation is ruined.
The walk back to the apartment isn't that far, but Nessa's house is closer. He shoots Stiles a text saying that he's heading for the packhouse for a while.
The thing about super hearing is that you don't get to control how much you do and don't listen in on. The easiest way to go about it is to find one noise to fixate on and block out all the junk around it. That's why Jackson wears his grandfather's old watch; the subtle ticking is a perfect focal point.
That being said, not all noise can be blocked out that easily.
He stops when voices to his left start to sound distressed. It's a coffee shop parking lot with only a handful of cars present. Jackson doesn't see anyone or anything out of the ordinary, so he begins to walk past the -
"Let me go, Anthony."
Jackson turns back and runs towards the panicked voice. Despite never hearing her voice sound quite like that, he recognizes Gemma's sweet tone anywhere.
There in between a large SUV and Gemma's pick-up truck, the woman stands with a man clutching her arm. Polaris is small and Jackson's been here long enough to know faces; this is not one he knows. For once Jackson is relieved that Chip isn't anywhere to be seen.
Without further hesitation, Jackson rips the hand wrapped around Gemma's arm away. "She said to let her go."
The guy is startled by Jackson's interference but recovers quickly. "And who the fuck are you?"
"You're going to leave her alone no matter who I am."
"How about you mind your own damn business kid?" He shoves at Jackson, but the teen doesn't even step back from it. "This is between me and my wife."
"I told you, I'm not your wife anymore," Gemma says.
"Yes, you are." The man hisses back. "I haven't signed shit, so you are still mine."
"Gemma said leave her alone. I don't give a shit if you're the King of England," Jackson shoves him back now, more than happy to see the man stumble a bit because of it. "You respect her and her wishes. Have a great day now."
He shoulders past the guy, bumping him a bit too hard so that he lands on his ass but otherwise will be fine, as he gets in the driver's side and is thankful that she slides into the passenger side having understood his verbal cue. She hands off her keys with trembling fingers. Jackson starts the car and peels out of the parking lot as fast as possible, but not fast enough to miss the hard kick that reverberates off the bumper. Gemma flinches at the sound and shrinks into her seat.
He doesn't ask her anything as he drives. Though his main question is where the fuck to go. He can take her to the packhouse - it's the most logical place to go after a packmember has been threatened - but something in Jackson tells him not to. That she doesn't need an audience for the aftermath. So instead, he just keeps making turns.
"He's human," her voice shakes just as bad as her hands. Jackson looks at her from his periphery but sees that she's not looking anywhere in his direction. He doesn't say anything back, just lets her talk then. "I was born a wolf to a werewolf father and human mother. My father didn't tell my mother anything about the supernatural; she was religious and he was scared that she wouldn't want to be with him anymore if she thought of him as a monster created by the devil. But by extension, he also didn't tell me I was a werewolf." Jackson looks at the hands still wringing together in her lap, they now have claws instead of blunt nails. "Well, when I turned four, I popped my first claw. I thought it was so cool. So cool, in fact, that I had to show mom. All Hell broke loose that day. She left. Didn't come back. Don't even know where she went or is now. All I do know is that my father never stopped blaming me for it. There was nothing but misery and guilt in that house. So the minute I turned eighteen, I did what my mother taught me, I left. Never looked back.
"I met Anthony only a couple months after that. God, it felt like fate. I was at this old rundown bar when this drunk fuck decided to grab my ass. Before I could even say anything, Anthony was there and breaking the guy's nose in one go. He offered to buy me a drink as compensation for my trouble. And, yeah, maybe it was cliche and old-fashioned, but sweet Jesus, I swooned. Right when I thought he couldn't have gotten any better, he leaned in and whispered to me that my wolf eyes are just as pretty as my human ones. Apparently, I flashed them when I was grabbed and that was why he stepped in. We got married a year and a half later to that day. Had Chip another year later.
"He only started hurting me when Chip turned one." She choked on her own words, the sad smile now melting from her simmering grief. "It started small - grabbed me here and there, shoved me this way or that. Then came the smacking. The kicking. Then he would hit me. Hit me just like that guy from the bar. Like I was a drunk fool who just needed to learn a lesson." She frantically tries to wipe at her tears now. Jackson doesn't think when he reaches over to grab her hand. She does flinch at first, but when she realizes his grasp is soft and gentle, she lets him take it. He moves the appendage away from her face and just holds it on the stick shift. He doesn't want her to feel like she has to hold back her tears. She's earned them.
"The proof would disappear in minutes," she starts again after a couple minutes of more crying and deep breaths. She laughs a little as she continues. "I still don't have the slightest clue how Nessa figured out what was happening, but she sat me down and told me we were going to handle this. How my pack was going to help me raise Chip and bring this new baby into a life without fear creeping just outside the door. So when I said that Chip's father is no longer with us, I meant it. He's not. He's not pack, he's not my husband, and I'll be damned if I let him get a hold of my children."
They both stay silent after that. They could have gone to Nessa's or Kevin's house ten times over at this point, but Jackson thinks that she needs the silence just as bad as she needed to talk.
It's twenty minutes later, with Jackson still aimlessly driving. Gemma has rolled her window down in that time and now has her head tilted back, enjoying the cool breeze with her eyes closed. Her hand still in his. "You deserve better," he tells her finally. "I'm glad you have your pack to look out for you."
"Yeah," she says. She squeezes his hand. "I do."
"Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has been a sign that you are alive."
- Charlotte Bronte
He can't see anything. His eyes are open but they might as well not be because all that surrounds him is blank, black void that feels like it goes on for eternity.
"Now, now, Pet," a voice carries across the open nothingness. A voice that Jackson has ingrained into his mind, his body, permanently. Matt. "Don't be like that. Come back to me. Be good for me."
Jackson wants to open his mouth to scream that he's not that sick fucks plaything. Shout in outrage that he is not a weapon. Not anymore.
But he can't open his mouth. His jaws flexes and twitches violently in his attempts but he can't talk back. He brings his hands up to his mouth in panic. The panic only rises when something wet and tacky coats his hands; it clings his fingers, is stuck in between his fingernails, won't scrub off his skin no matter how much he rubs at it. He tries not to think about whatever it is.
"It's okay Pet." Matt says. "We'll get back into the swing of things soon. Nothing can stop us." Suddenly the bodiless voice starts to morph as it speaks, taunts. "Finish what we started. Don't worry your pretty little head, I'll handle your little human friends myself."
Gerard Argent.
There's this hissing sound somewhere in the shadows. Lurking, circling him. He tries to twist this way and that to never turn his back on the hissing creature. To not be prey.
Something warm touches him. Probing him. He lunged at it before it could rip into him, or pull him apart, or whatever it planned to do to him. He wasn't going to let it kill him.
"Jackson." The warm thing now trapped underneath him, at the tip of his claws, calls to him. He snarls back in response. "Jackson, you're you. You're okay now."
It says with a juxtaposition so great to the way he remembers his doctor plunging cold metal into his back or Derek sinking his fangs into his human neck that it makes Jackson blink. Blink until the warm thing takes form in his hazy eyes.
Takes the form of smooth mole dotted skin and warm eyes and Cupid bowed lips.
It's Stiles.
He has Stiles pinned to the ground. The tips of his claws dug into the skin of the vulnerable teen's neck.
"Fuck," he curses as he scrambles to get off the other boy. He looks around at his surroundings now that his mind and eyes are working together. He's in the Ford pack house. Nessa's home. They were watching The Little Mermaid for the night and Jackson decided to close his eyes for a while. "Fuck."
He hears Gemma trying to hush Chip's crying somewhere on the upper floor. He smells Nessa's, McKenzie's, and Cam's cocktails of concerned emotions. He sees Enrique, River, and Kevin in offensive stances, the glow of the paused TV spotlighting the readiness of their postures for a fight. He feels the droplets of Stiles' blood on his fingertips.
Stiles sits up and reaches out a hand for him. Jackson flinches away from it. "It's okay. It's okay. Do you want to go?"
"Or turn in for the night. We have extra rooms. Warded with some soundproofing runes." Nessa says, looking at Jackson with a kind of sympathy that doesn't make his skin crawl. It's not patronizing. "You can be alone without being isolated. We'll be here."
That sounds perfect. It's exactly what he wants. But he can't do that.
Jackson shakes his head. He doesn't trust that if he speaks that anything would come out. Doesn't guarantee the nightmare is over.
He gets to his feet, which thankfully doesn't fail him, then makes his way to the front door as fast as possible. He refuses to look at anyone, even when McKenzie tries to reach out for him the same way Stiles did.
Stiles drives them home. Neither of them say a word. That lasts until they are actually in the apartment.
"Am I . . . is it okay if I come with you?" Stiles asks. He can't look Jackson in the eye now. That makes his wolf whine. He's fucked up. He's hurt Stiles yet again. He thought those days were over.
And he feels so out of whack right now that he actually does whine, high in the back of his throat. It gains him the eye contact he was missing, but he quickly evades it.
"No." Jackson speaks for the first time since he awoke, and his voice sounds as broken as he feels. "No, sleep somewhere else. I don't need you." He can't trust himself with Stiles. Can't trust anyone with himself. He can't.
The brunet nods. He stops looking Jackson in the eye again, and Jackson just feels like he's lost at sea. Adrift in his own misery. His anchor pulling away from him. His wolf howls at the thought.
It's four days later before he goes back to the pack house. No one asks why they haven't seen him. No one talks about him having a nightmare in the middle of pack movie night. No one mentions how he's more irritable than most days or how looks worse for wear. And no one mentions how he sobbed into a cold pillow that night, wishing it was the warm comfort of Stiles instead, though they probably don't know about that one.
No one says anything out of the ordinary.
But Jackson can't stop thinking about the fear in Stiles' eyes with Jackson's razor sharp nails in his neck.
"My past is an armor I cannot take off, no matter how many times you tell me the war is over."
- Jessica Katoff
Stiles moves into the second bedroom after that.
Almost a full week of sleeping by himself has Jackson losing his mind. But in a casual way. He doesn't get out of bed unless he has to (like when he has to go to homeschooling or else Gemma will hunt him down) or really get dressed anymore. He still showers. Maybe be a little too much if anything, but sue him, he likes feeling clean. Like there's nothing still adhering to his skin or crawling underneath it.
His mom calls that Wednesday like she always does, a check-up to see if he's still alive. She wants to speak with him but never has anything to say. John Stilinski calls almost every day. Jackson doesn't know how Stiles doesn't snap about it.
Then again, Stiles isn't talking to Jackson right now so he can see why John might struggle with the newfound silence. He's having that same difficulty.
"We're here for you if you ever need us, honey. Whether that means moving back or moving away, we'll do it for you." His mother says Like she always does before he can finally hang up.
This is the first time Jackson actually considers the offer.
"Oh, let me put your father on. He always asks me how you're doing but refuses to ask you himself. Something about teenage freedom."
Teenage freedom has more than fucked up his life, he doesn't need more of it. He doesn't say anything about that though as there's fumbled noise when the phone is passed around.
"How is everything son?" His father says too loudly into the receiver.
"Fine," He answers. There's a long pause. Jackson guesses he should fill it. "I, uh, I might have pissed off Stiles."
"Oh? How so?"
"I, well um, I might have told him I don't need him after he woke me up from a nightmare."
"Oh, this is an easy one." His father says, sounding like he knows all the answers to Jackson's problems. "He's right, you're wrong. Apologize."
Jackson gaps. He pulls the phone away from his face to make sure he's still on a call and he's not just imagining this whole conversation. All his phone tells him is that he's been on a call with Home for twelve minutes. He brings it back to his face. "What?"
"Don't be like that. Stiles was probably just worried and you lashed out. Fear normally sparks other, more aggressive emotions because we don't like to feel helpless. You turned yours into anger and directed it at him even though he was trying to help. Therefore, you're in the wrong and should apologize."
"But -"
"No buts about it, Jax." Jax? JAX? "You want to be on good terms with your roommate again, right?"
That makes Jackson pause. Defining Stiles as his roommate feels like a downplay, but he doesn't know how to describe who Stiles is to him to his father. So instead he just says: "Yeah."
"Then apologize properly."
"Right, okay. Uh, look, I should get going. I'm meeting Cam to show him how to play lacrosse." Not a lie. It's not for another two hours, but he is meeting up with Cam.
"Oh, yes. Well, call your mother again soon. She worries. And let me know how things go."
"Okay. Bye."
That felt like a fever dream.
What felt even more like a fever dream was later that night while he hovers outside of the bedroom door. Stiles' bedroom door. Deep breaths. Breathe. He's right, you're wrong.
He opens the door. Stiles is already in bed, has been since he came back from Val's. Didn't even say good night or good morning or anything in between.
The blond doesn't make a sound as he enters the room, closing the door behind him. He stands at the foot of the bed for a moment, feeling like a total creep as he does so, and takes one more breath for himself.
He crawls up into the bed, laying right beside Stiles. The other boy doesn't move a hair, but Jackson knows he's awake because of the rhythm of his heart rate. "Please stay." Jackson whispers the darkness. He curls himself around Stiles. Wraps an arm around his waist and a leg over his thigh. "Stop leaving me."
He knows it's not an actual apology. Knows he owes Stiles more than this from even before the night of the nightmare, but this is all he can muster out of himself.
Stiles exhales, long and hard, through his nose. He smells like an odd combination of upset and relieved which Jackson doesn't know how to interpret.
"Whatever."
The single word sounds resigned like Stiles has just given up.
Jackson knows it's not really forgiveness, but he'll take what he can get.
"So how'd the apology?" His father asks the next time his mom calls and hands the phone over to his father once again.
"Kinda worked. We're talking again now at least. Thanks for the help."
"Of course, son," his father's tone drops off. Not in a threatening or authoritative way. Gentler. Softer at the edges. "I just want you to be better."
That makes Jackson tense. He almost forgot what he was talking to. David just wants Jackson to fix his mess. "Right, I'm sorry. I'll keep trying."
He hears the sigh of a Dejected Parent through the phone. He was hoping he escaped that but apparently it's made to haunt him, among other things. "Jackson," David Whittemore sounds exhausted now just from saying his adopted pet project's name. "I don't want you to do better. I want you to get better. Look, I know I'm not the easiest man to get along with and maybe I project some of my issues onto you. And I'm sorry for that."
Jackson can count on one hand how many times he's heard his father actually say the words "I'm sorry" to him.
"When I say I want you to be better. I mean, actually better. To find your peace. To grow into yourself. I want you to be happy son. I'm sorry if I ever implied or said differently."
"Okay."
"Okay."
They awkwardly hang up after that.
But Jackson calls again the next time he fucks up with Stiles. Then when he's pissed off River. Then when he wants to talk about climbing Mount Whiteface where he knows the man has been before.
Then it becomes a habit to call his mom and dad because he wants to.
“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape.
- Charles Dickens
"What’s wrong?” Stiles asks while Jackson continues to lay in bed twenty minutes after the alarm rang.
“Just wondering how different things would have been if you were the kanima’s master instead of Matt.”
“Don’t,” Stiles says with a logical sharpness that it scarily reminds him of Lydia.
“Why? You’re a gangly loser like him. It could have been you.” He wishes it was Stiles.
The bed dips with Stiles’ weight. He lays back down, fully clothed, next to Jackson. He faces him on his side but Jackson can’t bring himself to face him back. “But it wasn’t.” His tone is softer now. It matches the shift in his scent - light, gentle drizzle. “It was Matt. And that’s fucking awful but it’s what happened.”
“I know what fucking happened you asshole!” Jackson snaps. Who the fuck does Stilinski think he is? Jackson was the one who has to live with this fucking awful bullshit. It’s something he can never fucking forget.
“What If situations just hurt more. What If they found my mom’s disease faster. What if I went into the woods by myself that night I went looking for a body instead of bringing Scott? What If someone actually noticed that Gerard had me?” “But my mom was sick and she died. I made Scott come with me. I survived the basement. There are so many things that could have been different yet here we are. For better or worse. Here we are.”
“Whatever.” He huffs and turns his head away from Stiles again. He doesn’t need the other boy looking him in the eye. Afraid of what he might be able to find there.
“Don’t give yourself possibilities that don’t exist anymore. Don’t backpedal your own life for the thought of another one.”
Stiles moves closer, close enough that Jackson can feel little puffs of breath on his neck.
Stiles lays with him. A phone goes off somewhere but they both ignore it.
Stiles slowly, almost like he’s unsure of himself which Jackson is sure is an unfamiliar feeling for the other teen, he wraps his hand around Jackson’s own. They don’t have to go anywhere, neither of them have to drag the other away, but he takes his hand.
Stiles stays with him.
"Thank you for loving me when I still tasted of heartache and war."
- Nikita Gill
McKenzie comes crashing into the den, her heart rate soaring at an alarming rate. River and Enrique are at her side at once.
“What’s wrong?”
“What happened?”
McKenzie only has time to sign the letters S, T, I, and L before Jackson is rushing out the door the same way she came in.
It doesn’t take much to find him. The mini tornado by the edge of the lake is a pretty direct signal. The winds slap
“Stiles!” He shouts. He takes a couple more steps forward, shielding his eyes from the wind.
He stops abruptly when the wind lashes out harsher than before. When he’s able to open his eyes again without a chance of damaging them, someone is standing in front of him. “You really thought I would let you get away? We only just got started, Jackson.” Gerard smiles at him in that crazed slasher film way.
“Stiles!” He calls again, more urgently this time.
“You can’t ignore me Jackson. I’m in you. I’m more you than you are, in fact. Just give in and do as you’re told.”
This isn’t real, he keeps repeating to himself. This is just Stiles’ magic attempting to protect him. This isn’t real.
Then a far off, vague memory presents itself to him. It’s one of the first days of first grade and a woman comforts a small, upset child with large tear filled doe eyes. He doesn’t know why it's popped up now of all times, but maybe he does. He remembers her sweet voice and what she called him.
“Mischief!”
Gerard looks shocked right before his image gets carried away with the gust. The air, however, doesn’t settle, so Jackson has to march on half blind, continuously calling and hoping that his voice doesn’t get lost in the wind.
“Mischief, please! Please stop!” Gradually, so gradually that it scares Jackson that nothing is happening, the wind slows down too. He’s able to make his way forward one step at a time this way until he’s right in front of his Mischief. Once he’s finally close enough, he takes the other boy's hand. The change is almost immediate. Stiles’ eyes recede back to amber and the air goes stagnant.
Those large doe eyes are still tear filled.
Stiles gasps for air like he’s just resurfaced from the Lake. He takes one wobbly step towards Jackson, hands still linked together, before his legs give out. Jackson is at his side, holding onto him before he hits the ground, faster than he can take his next breath.
Jackson holds him to his chest as he carefully lowers them both to the ground, but makes sure that they constantly remain in contact.
“You gonna tell me what happened to cause all this or am I gonna have to play 20 questions with you.” Jackson whispers into Stiles’ hair. He places his hand on the back of Stiles’s neck and plays with the little wisps there.
“I haven’t taken my Adderall in two months. I ran out and meant to refill it but I just didn’t.” He replies in a small voice. Smaller than Jackson knows him to be. It makes him clutch the boy tighter.
“Are you in withdrawal?”
“No,” His voice cracks. “I’ve been fine without it. I’m not twitchy anymore. I think I have some habits now like drumming my fingers or pacing when I’m thinking, but I don’t need to do them. I think the bite changed me.”
“Oh.”
“I never wanted the bite. I never wanted to be anything other than what I was. I didn’t want to be this.”
Jackson doesn’t have anything to say back to this. It’s the truth. The awful fucking truth. So he doesn’t say anything. Just holds Stiles as close as he can.
Jackson mourns with Stiles.
Jackson stays with him.
“If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life.”
- Pablo Neruda
On December first Stiles decides he hates the snow. Again.
This comes after he decided he loved the snow the first time it appeared in late October. He then hated snow because of a storm in the middle of November that trapped them in the apartment with an advisory to stay inside. By day two of the shut-in, he loved snow again as he and Jackson sat by the window and watched it fall, quietly talking to not disturb the peacefulness of it all. Loved it more yesterday when he and Jackson played in it with Chip, McKenzie, and Cam for hours on end.
When that snowfall never stopped it became hated again. Jackson personally finds this love-hate relationship amusing to watch. Stiles always knew how to play up the drama.
They are spending their quality time together as a pack with a lazy night in because of the snow still piling onto the four feet already on the ground. The teenagers are gathered around the fireplace talking amongst themselves as the TV plays Cars in the background.
At some point, Lydia had caught McKenzie aptly watching her reapply her lipstick. That's what started it. Now here they are with Lydia sitting cross-legged on the carpet doing the young girls' makeup, Danny and Jackson painting their nails on the couch, and Cam and Stiles following River's instructions on how to apply their own makeup.
"This is stupid," Cam complains as he smudges his eyeliner for the third time. Stiles reaches over to wipe it away for the boy.
"Then don't do it," Jackson says. "No one is making you." He gets an elbow to the shin from Stiles, who is sitting on the floor between his legs.
"It just takes practice," Lydia informs. She tilts McKenzie's head this way and that before she smacks Stiles on the shoulder and snaps her fingers. Stiles grumbles bossy as he hands her the eyeliner.
"Why do girls even do this?" He continues to complain. "Is it really just to look shiny and pink and whatever?"
"It makes us feel good." River says.
"My mom used to put makeup on me to me down as a kid," Stiles says, closing his eyes as River helps him distribute the eyeshadow more evenly.
"Really?" Lydia asks. It's clear she's interested in this new information, but she still can't bring herself to look away from her work.
"Yeah. I was even more of a hyperactive little shit then. I had so much energy and so little focus that I worked myself up so easily. When it got bad enough she would just sit me down and start putting makeup on me. Calmed me right down. I think it had something to do with how the brushes feel; the eyeshadow was my favorite."
He opens his eyes to smile at River once she's done with touching up his eyelids.
Stiles tilts his head back to rest it against Jackson's thigh. The way the movement shows off the Spirit's long, pale neck makes something in his wolf rumble in his chest. "Am I pretty Jackson?"
Stiles bats his eyes. Not that he has to in order to be pretty. Those bambi eyes only pop further with the shimmering gold that blends into ruby red around them and the way his eyelashes curl. He has to look away and think about something else immediately.
He tries to think about his dad in a speedo, the world's wrinkliest grandma, Greensburg in a speedo, using gas station bathrooms, Finstock in a speedo.
He tries to cover up his obvious scent of arousal but it's too late.
Enrique pops his head into the room to make sure the scent isn't tied to anyone doing something unspeakable under his roof. Well, his mother's roof. He looks around the room, sighs, then leaves again.
River hits the floor laughing. McKenzie scrunches up her nose but grins through it.
"Predictable," he hears Lydia say under her breath, but she has those red lips curled in satisfaction.
"What?" Cam asks, looking around at the commotion, but not understanding what caused it. "What happened?"
"Oh, Jackson just likes Stiles' makeup," Danny says with a smirk. This must be payback for something. Jackson is tempted to growl at him. "He very much thinks it's pretty."
Before he can consider making a swipe at either River or Danny, Stiles turns his head again and presses his lips against the side of his knee. Jackson freezes. There are no thoughts in his head this time. Just pink cheeks staring at the place on his jeans that has been kissed.
River doesn't stop laughing for another five minutes.
"You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star."
- Friedrich Nietzsche
“Do you remember dying?” Stiles whispers to him from his side of the bed. Jackson had been running through his head what the fuck he did to piss off the Spirit when Stiles wasn’t pressed against him the minute they crawled into bed. Good to know that the moron is just having a life crisis.
“Kinda,” He sighs. This isn’t something he’s talked about before. Didn’t see a point. The point now is to shut Stiles and his overactive brain up so they can both sleep. “Having the Kanima in control was kinda like watching myself do things but it wasn’t really myself and I didn’t really watch. Fuck, I’ve never had to put this into words. I, uh, was watching it all happen like a dream? I guess. Then the dreams started to leak into reality and that shit was unhinged.”
“Like dissociation?” Jackson makes a face at the suggestion then shrugs. Stiles seems to accept this answer despite not being able to see Jackson’s face and not being close enough to feel him move his shoulders. “And dying? Was that part of the dream state?”
“No.” Why the fuck did Stiles want to talk about this? They left because of this shit, why is he trying to dig it back up? Why was Jackson still answering him? “The dream stopped. But it didn’t really feel like it did, just like it skipped a second. A flash of nothing then back to the Kanima like nothing happened.”
“Like having a blank screen replace a scene from a movie?”
“Yeah, I guess. It was weird and kinda . . . frightening.” Jackson winces at the omission. If Stiles uses this against him somehow, he swears that he’ll make sure no one hears from the Spirit again.
The sheets shifted as Stiles moved around. To Jackson’s annoyance, the movement was not to press himself into the wolf, but for the Spirit to lay on his side. Jackson rolled his eyes. All that stupid conversation and Stiles didn’t even do what he wanted. “I knew I was dying.” Jackson turns his head to look at Stiles. The boy is curled into himself, staring at Jackson’s collarbone instead of looking him in the eye. “The moon was just there, shining. I watched it as I died. I prayed to it as I died.”
Jackson turns on his side now, pushing closer to Stiles but still not touching. He remains quiet as he lets the boy across from him consider his words. “I prayed that my dad wouldn’t be the one to find my body. Then I just didn’t want anyone to find me. Someone from the pack would probably be the first to find my corpse. I couldn’t imagine Erica, Scott, or even you finding me. It hurt too much.” Stiles finally moves again so that his head is resting on Jackson’s naked shoulder, and the wolf instinctively wraps his arm around the other’s waist, slipping his hand under Stiles’ shirt. “I didn’t want my dad to bury another person he loves, I didn’t want the pack to know that it was an Alpha they could have warned me about. Scott would have blamed himself for the rest of his life. Doesn’t matter how pissed at him I am, I didn’t want to die knowing Scott would hate himself because of me. I prayed to Mother Moon to not let my death break my dad or my pack.”
One last shift closer has Stiles nuzzling the juncture of Jackson’s neck and collarbone with the wolf’s nose buried in the Spirit’s hair. Jackson’s hand slides further up Stiles’ skin, his palm pressing against the pale back to make their bodies more flush. He can feel the hills of scars scattered across the warm skin. “Of course you convinced the fucking Moon not to let you die.” That gets him a huffed laugh ghosting his skin.
“Do you think we go to the same place as humans?”
“I doubt it. I doubt even more that I’d make it to the pearly gates if they did exist, so maybe that’s for the best.”
“How the hell can I persuade the Moon into not letting me die but not convince a single damn person that you were and are not the Kanima? This is ridiculous. Fucking werewolves.” Jackson can feel the smirk pressed into his skin. “Don’t worry babe, I talked my way out of death. I can talk my way into heaven. With a plus one.”
“And if there is no heaven?”
“Then I’ll talk one into reality. My power is belief based, if that’s not a religious practice, I don’t know what is.”
“We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that death will tremble to take us.”
- Charles Bukowski
Christmas is loud and busy and Jackson has never felt more a part of something. He sits on the floor in front of their real tree with Stiles, Danny, McKenzie, and Cam. They joyfully watch as Chip makes his way through his gifts. Stiles and Jackson got him a kid car of Lighting McQueen that he can sit and "drive" in. Gemma loves them for it.
Jackson and Stiles exchanged gifts earlier that morning before they came over to the house and no, Danny, not that type of present. Stiles bought him ten different books and a star shaped necklace. It's an enchanted necklace, one that prevents the owner from falling under any spells that manipulate the mind. The books are just ones that Jackson has mentioned wanting to read and ones he's talked about liking.
It's morbid, he knows, but Jackson gave the brunet a stake of an oak tree blessed by a priest under a full moon. Val told them that it's one of the only things that can kill a Spirit. They don't die of natural causes, they must be killed in order to leave this world. Jackson asked the favor of Peter who was able to pull some strings no questions asked.
Stiles cried when he opened the box. Jackson understands wanting a way out, just in case. A kill switch if he can't be in control. Jackson gets it. But again, it's morbid, which is why neither of them has brought up what Jackson gave him.
Not for lack of trying on Danny and Gemma's part.
"Hot cocoa is ready, kids!" Nessa calls from the kitchen.
"Jack - "
Jackson is already up on his feet. "Yeah, yeah. You spoiled brat."
"Pot meet kettle," Stiles says but blows him a kiss.
Cam looks away from the adorableness of Chip playing with the wrapping paper rather than the toy car it was hiding. "Can you - "
"No." Jackson shuts him down. "Get it yourself." He pats McKenzie's head as he passes by her. "Not you. I'll get you one."
"Favoritism!" Danny yells at him as he continues walking by. He'll decide whether he brings Danny one or not because of that comment.
"How did I never get you this whipped?" Lydia asks the minute he steps into the kitchen. "It's honestly quite impressive."
Jackson normally would respond that he is most certainly not whipped. But Nessa is standing at the counter, ready to call him out on his lying heart rate at any second. So instead, he grunts as he makes his way over to her and retrieve the quested drinks. "At least we aren't trying to hide the fact that we're toeing around."
He sends a very not subtle glance over to John and Natalie. Both adults blush at the way they have their chairs pushed flushed together and leaned into each other's space. Jackson doesn't know who they're trying to fool at this point. Their kids figured them out months ago. Figured out and are now actively trying to speed up the process.
Enrique and Kevin laugh quietly amongst themselves.
"Doesn't stop Cam from having a crush on Stiles." Kevin comments. Jackson would choke on his own spit if he didn't have more dignity. "What? He looks at that boy like he's hung the moon. I think I should probably have the sex talk with him soon. One inclusive of all sexes."
Jackson works faster at gathering the hot chocolate. Lydia has mercy on him and helps, gathering another two cups presumably for herself and Danny. Cam can suffer like he's making the rest of them suffer.
"Speaking of, what is your sexuality son?" Jackson's dad asks. Just . . . asks. Like, so casually it gives Jackson whiplash. He is unable to do anything but stare at the man who just continues to sip at his hot chocolate.
Lydia looks expectantly at him. He doesn't know how exactly to answer that. He finds himself thinking about all the fantasies he's had over the years, faceless models at his beck and call. But only two people have ever captured his attention. Made him want something more than a rushed heated fantasy. Wanted something gentler without losing any of the heat.
"Bossy know-it-all's who have higher IQs than all of Beacon Hills combined and a distracting pair of lips."
All the men in the room snort while the women give him varying looks of amusement.
"I'll let Stiles know you find his lips distracting," Lydia says, taking her finished drinks and sashays out of the room. Jackson chases after her before she can get far.
They have a bit more toeing to do.
"Come on, dance with me. The earth is spinning. We can't just stand on it."
- Dino Ahmetovic
"Hey, Jackson?" Gemma calls from Enrique's office.
He huffs at the annoyance at having to get up, but hands the bundle of baby werewolf in his lap over to Cam. Chip whines at the movement as well. Jackson would slaughter anyone who would harm a hair on this boy's head.
He walks to the back of the house to the office that he and Stiles were brought to the first day. He's only been back there twice more since then and both times it was Enrique wanting to ask him a question. Knocking on the door, he waits to be invited into the Alpha's den by the Right Hand.
"Just get in here!" She hisses from the other side.
His brows scrunch together at her tone. Gemma isn't known to be hostile.
It all gets explained when he opens the door. Gemma leaning against the large desk, cradling her baby bump with one hand with the other propped on the desk to keep her upright. The wood panel floor beneath her is shiny.
"Shit, fuck, okay, okay, fuck," He has no control of his mouth as his brain catches up with the situation.
"Hey!" Gemma snaps at him. That gets him to shut his mouth. "No freaking out! Just help me get to the car then drive me to the hospital."
"I - yes, right. Okay." He rushes over to her. She's breathing heavy but otherwise, you might miss the fact that she's currently in labor.
"What - " Jackson doesn't have the nerves ready to even pretend to listen to Cam all the way.
"Call Enrique and Nessa and everyone else in the pack, and tell them to meet us at the hospital. Have someone come and get you and Chip too on their way there." He instructs as calmly as he possibly can.
Cam for once stops asking questions and just nods as he scrambles for his phone. Jackson doesn't wait up for him.
He gets Gemma into the back seat. She's breathing faster now and she's getting pretty sweaty.
"Okay, are you good? Do you need - "
"Jackson, I swear to God if you don't start driving right now!"
"Got it! Going!"
The ride there is filled with screaming and crying, most of it is Gemma. Most. But they get there in one piece. He helps her get out of the car and to the nurse station.
The woman behind the desk starts shouting at people to get things and be on hand to help Gemma. As another nurse comes to take Jackson's place and get Gemma into a room, the woman grips Jackson's hand with an intentional squeeze. "Thank you, Jackson."
He nods dumbly, apparently not having a voice anymore. He keeps nodding even when Gemma is down the hall and out of sight. The nurse from the desk has to point him to a seat for him to sit down.
Enrique shows up ten minutes later out of breath. If Jackson had to guess, he'd say the man ran here. "Is she - "
"She just got taken in. I don't know anything else." Jackson says.
The Alpha nods. He takes a minute to catch his breath and collect himself. "I'm going to go be with her." He instructs his Beta and once he receives a nod in response, he walks over to the desk. The man is taken in the same direction as Gemma was.
Kevin comes in not long after that with Cam and Chip. They all take seats with Jackson, who fills them all in on what he knows.
Nessa and the Jones sisters are next, all of which are humming with energy. The eldest Beta pats Jackson's head as she passes. River and McKenzie take their seats on either side of him.
Stiles comes charging into the hospital last, looking frantic. Fuck him, he's not the one who has to deliver a pregnant woman to the hospital.
To the pack's surprise, Val comes in after him but much more gracefully. Even so, there's a shimmer of uncertainty in her scent. She stands further away from them when Stiles comes over to be with Jackson. Kevin smiles at the Goddess and waves to the seat next to himself for her.
"I hope it's a boy!" Cam says excitedly. He takes a minute to pout though when Chip squirms in his arms upon seeing Stiles. The Spirit goes over to take the toddler who immediately relaxes into his arms.
"I don't need another male in my life." River says. Cam sticks his tongue out at her.
Having a boy and a girl would be nice for Gemma. McKenzie signs to them.
"You want a baby brother Chipmunk?" Stiles asks the boy in his arms. Chip thinks it over for a minute before he shakes his head. "No? Want a baby sister." He shakes his head again. "Well, I've got some tough news for you buddy."
Enrique enters the lobby again two hours later, a grin plastered on his face. "Gemma is fine and so is the baby. She's a beautiful baby girl."
That was the day Jackson Whittemore became Godfather to Honey Eliza Canton.
"Suddenly you're ripped into being alive. And life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror, but my god you're alive and it's spectacular."
- Joseph Campbell
“There are hunters in town, so I want the two of you to be careful.”
“Why?”
Enrique sighs. Jackson notices that Enrique does that a lot whenever talking to Stiles. Yet the Alpha still seeks them out. “Why are there hunters in town or why do I want you to be careful?”
“Both.”
“There’s a case of serial kidnappings of children not too far from here.”
“Everything is far from here,” Jackson grumbles. McKenzie bites her lip not to giggle. She’s sitting on the floor in front of him, slotted between his legs as he leans forward in concentration. He’s seen Lydia do her hair crown braid thing before, he knows the basics. Kind of. Maybe his efforts are quickly turning McKenzie’s curly hair knotted and looking more like she just got out of bed, but it’s a work in progress.
Enrique continues like he didn’t hear Jackson. “A couple of the bodies have just been found. We are under the assumption that these hunters think it’s us. We’ve counted six of them staying at the Inn, four of which are renowned werewolf hunters.”
Stiles stares off into space as he’s listening to the explanation. It’s his turn to sigh after. “And since we’re the newest people in town, we’re prime suspects.”
“I know it’s not you,” Enrique says. His voice leaves no room for arguments. His heartbeat proves that. “I have a meeting with a handful of them later tonight. We’ll sort this out and clear you boys, but I want you staying at the pack with protection.”
“Who else are you taking with you?” Jackson asks.
Enrique narrows his eyes at the Beta. “Not your concern seeing as I literally just told you that.”
“Let us come, we can talk it out,” Stiles states more than asks the authority figure.
“These are hunters. You don’t know what they’re playing at.”
Stiles snorts. “You’ve seen me without my shirt off, I know how hunters like to play. Besides, having a Moon Spirit with you would be beneficial plus Jackson is one of your strongest Betas. Let us come.”
“I really don’t have the option of sayin’ no to you, do I?”
“You understand me so well.”
It’s just Enrique, Kevin, and Gemma with them as they wait for the hunters at the agreed location. They’re earlier, but it still bothers Jackson that the hunters have yet to appear. Just as he’s about to complain to Enrique that they should just go hunt the hunters, three SUV’s pull up in the empty parking lot of the old Playhouse. Old, graying, all white men climb out of the cars. Jackson can hear River making a comment about it now.
“Jesus Christ,” Stiles groans and butts his head into Jackson’s shoulder. Once Jackson follows his gaze, he can’t help but agree, because standing right in front of the charge is Chris Argent.
Piercing blue eyes lose their heat as they land on the teenagers. Jackson instinctively pulls Stiles closer. Enrique steps forward and gains the hunter’s attention again, but Jackson catches his gaze shifting back to him and Stiles every few seconds as if making sure they are still there. Like they won’t disappear again.
“Why are you in our town?” Enrique asks, his voice hard and authoritative.
“We’ve been told that there’s been a series of bodies found in two towns from here. From here, an entire town full of things that go bump in the night.”
“Because no human could ever do anything so monstrous, right?” Stiles hisses. The brunet crosses his arms in a defensive position which has the wolf in Jackson rising. Stiles feels unsafe. Jackson pulls him closer again, making the Spirit press into his side. “How is daddy dearest Chris? Have you buried Kate yet or did she find a way to crawl out of her circle of hell?”
One of the hunters stalks forward at the mock and no doubt would have gotten into Stiles’ space if it weren’t for Chris holding him back. “How dare you! You little - ”
“Stiles, is the Ford Pack responsible for the missing kids?” Chris interrupts the insult.
Jackson makes a face because what the fuck? No, they are not. Where the hell is Argent getting his information from? “No,” Stiles replies flatly. “Maybe it’s just an old man chaining kids up in his basement.”
Chris doesn’t so much as twitch at the jab, but Jackson can smell the wave of guilt coming off the man. “Is there anyone in this town that it could be?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Alright.”
“Alright?” Another hunter exclaims. “That’s it? You’re gonna take the word of a dog lover who just insulted your family name?”
“I know the kid,” Chris informs his entourage without breaking eye contact with Stiles. “I know his boundaries and what he wouldn’t stand for. How far he’d go to protect and make things right. I trust him. Him and his wolf. I trust them both. I owe them that.”
“You owe us so much more than that.” Stiles bites.
Chris says nothing at first but gives one firm nod after a moment. He looks to be debating with himself before he speaks again. But he does speak. “I’m glad that you’re both alive, for all it’s worth. A little surprised that you’re together, but glad you’re okay.”
“We disappeared at the same time, what the fuck did you think happened?” Jackson asks, speaking for the first time since seeing the hunter.
Stiles finally lets his arms drop to his side. Jackson immediately feels better that his anchor no longer feels threatened. “That one of us noticed the other left and then took the chance to hightail it too while we had the opportunity,” Stiles deduces. “Which is a fair conclusion to be honest. Last big event we were all part of involved me hitting you with my car.”
Jackson hums in response because he guesses that makes sense. It does make the wolf wonder how many possibilities the Spirit had thought of when they left.
“Allie misses you both,” Chris tells them softly. And that just hurts Jackson. He misses her dimples and her violet smell, misses the way she talked to him like an actual person. He misses her. From the way Stiles’ scent sours with sadness, so does he. “Scott misses you too.”
“McCall does not miss me.” Jackson snarls. “And he should have thought about missing Stiles before he abandoned him. Or choosing to take the bite again from Laura. After all that bullshit we were put through.” That piece of news from Lydia led to a partially tough few days.
“He looked for you.”
“Yet you found me first. By accident.” Stiles scoffs. Chris looks slightly taken aback by Stiles’ bitterness. “It only took Peter two months to find us. If Scott really wanted to find me, he would.”
Chris takes another moment to consider his next words. “Should I tell - ”
“Everyone who we wanted to know already knows. Keep your mouth shut.” Jackson snarls.
Chris nods. “Give me your numbers.”
Stiles’s posture gets straighter. More rigid. “Why?”
“Because I owe you more than that,” Chris repeats, wearing a sad type of smile. Jackson hands over his phone. After he is done inputting his number into the device, he hands it back. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
Then he rounds up his colleagues, much to their dismay and vocal opposition but follows as ordered, and there is no longer a hunter problem in Polaris. Enrique, Gemma, and Kevin all look at them differently that night.
Jackson feels different that night.
Like a collision of himself.
“In a sense, I'm the one who ruined me: I did it myself.”
- Haruki Murakami
“Hale Pack,” Enrique states. Both Jackson and Stiles square their shoulders and stand a little straighter. Jackson doesn’t think either of them are ready for this conversation.
“Hale Pack,” Stiles agrees. “Well, Hale Pack 2.0.”
“Laura Hale was your Alpha?” Gemma asks.
“Derek.”
“But - ”
“Laura was murdered and Derek killed her murderer. He became Alpha but needed Betas. That’s where Jackson comes in.”
“He turned me and a couple other people from our school,” Jackson takes the lead. “Not everything went right, and that pissed Derek off.”
Stiles snorted. “You mean pissed Derek off even more. His anchor was literally anger.” Jackson is both validated and confused to see several of the wolves taken aback by this information. He obviously knew it was unhealthy but didn’t know it would be that scandalous.
“Well, it made him a pretty shit Alpha and he took it out on me and Stiles. So we left.”
“I made some changes with newly unlocked spirity powers before we left, brought Laura back and Alpha again, which is probably where your confusion is from,” Stiles explains his hand at the resurrection of the Hale Alpha. “Derek honestly wasn’t Alpha for that long in the grand scheme of things, only about seven months but, man, did it suck while it lasted. Anyway, you probably hear whispers about Hale Pack 3.0, which does not include us anymore.”
"Damn right it doesn't," Nessa says.
They don't discuss it again.
“Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed.”
- Homer
The cup falls out of Stiles’ hand and crashes onto the floor. It spills the coffee everywhere but doesn’t shatter dramatically. Jackson is still quick to yank Stiles’ arm and maneuver him away from the mess so he doesn’t get burned. “The fuck is your damage this morning.”
“Your eyes are just really pretty.”
It’s not like Stiles hasn’t complimented him before, but the wet, breathy tone of the voice and the mixture of happy/confused/relieved that is wafting off the Spirit has Jackson looking up at him in concern. The beautiful amber eyes have wetness in them as they stare unblinkingly at Jackson’s face and Jackson’s concern skyrockets. “What?”
Stiles stares at him for longer. A tear breaks away from his eyes and Jackson can’t help himself but bring a hand up and wipe away the offending thing. He also can’t help that his hand decides to stay resting on the other boy’s cheek afterward. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind as he mirrors the action, placing a warm hand on Jackson’s face. And he really can’t help but lean into the soft touch, especially when the thumb starts to stroke back and forth at the delicate skin under his eye. “Your eyes are so pretty. So, so pretty. You are - ” He lets out a wet huff and Jackson leans more into the hand. “You are good enough. You are good enough, Jackson. I promise you are good enough no matter who or what anyone says. And your eyes are so damn pretty.”
They both cried in the kitchen that morning and only broke apart when Val came in, placing a hand on the back of both of their necks and helped them calm down. Stiles wouldn’t tell him what he was talking about when he asked twice later on. It takes two weeks for him to figure it out. He’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth and growling playfully when Stiles yells outside the room that he’s gonna make Jackson sleep on the couch tonight if he doesn't play nice with Cam that day. His wolf bleeds through as he makes his chest rumble which stops abruptly after he catches his reflection. He almost cries again as he stares at his own golden eyes.
“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.”
- John Steinbeck
“Why don’t you and Jackson make it official?” Nessa asks one breezy, spring afternoon. It was still cold as balls outside, which is why Stiles and the older woman were playing chess at the kitchen table, but Jackson had opened the window in the living room where he, River, and Enrique were watching a movie. “Unless the entire town has misread the situation.”
River glances worriedly over at Jackson. He’s holding his breath and knows she can hear it. Nessa probably could too.
“There was this pair of werewolves from our old pack. Erica and Boyd.” Stiles begins. “Bitten wolves who were lonely and only finally feeling like they had a choice in their narratives after they were turned. Finally had the power to redirect their lives. The possibility to change their sadness. Erica was a massive flirt. She claimed to like me. Grinded on and made out a little with Jackson at one point. She felt like she had ownership of her body for the first time in probably her whole life, so I don’t think anyone can really blame her for using it how she wanted.”
“Hm.” Nessa made a noise of acknowledgment.
An explosion in the movie made him cringe, trying to focus on the quiet conversation happening a room away. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one because Enrique of all people lowered the volume a couple dials.
“But everyone who looked at how Boyd and Erica interacted knew that there was something there. An unspoken thing that was just collectively agreed upon. The soft looks that he gave her when she wasn’t looking, the way she would try to catch his reactions when she made a joke or stated her opinion on something. Everyone knew they would end up together, it was just a matter of time. But time was a fickle thing back home. No room to breathe before we had to be up and run and fight again.
“From the friends we still keep in contact with back home, life has apparently been quieter there ever since a new Alpha took charge. Erica and Boyd are coming up on their five month anniversary. It’s the happiest they’ve been since they were turned. Time doesn’t come free, and me and Jackson can’t undo the time we’ve spent up until now. We need to recover time. And I’m not in a rush.”
“Fuck,” Jackson mutters, letting his head fall onto the back of the couch. River shoots him a bemused look. Enrique has a somewhat pitying but kindly twinkle in his eyes. “I love him.”
“If it is right, it happens - the main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.”
- John Steinbeck
It's a cloudy Saturday afternoon and they needed to get out of their small town. Stiles brought them to Enrique first so that the Alpha knew that they needed to blow the joint for the weekend but would be back by Monday morning at the latest; any longer than that and Gemma would have their heads for missing homeschooling. She's subtly and quickly becoming someone to fear in the Ford pack.
McKenzie flew to Jackson's side the minute he mentioned leaving. River had no trouble with doing the same to Stiles.
Enrique grumbled something about stealing pack but waved them goodbye from the porch.
The clouds retaliated about two hours out of Polaris. Sheets of rain barreling down on Martin while the gusts of wind rocked them in a troubling rhythm. Jackson has to pull them to the side of the road to wait it out.
Another two hours has them all reading books for their separate English curriculums. The quietness of being together was their melody with the rain pinging on the car's exterior as a harmony.
"You're Jay Gatsby," Jackson announces to the car before turning his head to the back seat and looking at Stiles to indicate who he's talking about.
Stiles sits sideways on the backseat with McKenzie's back pressed to his chest, her body slotted between his legs. It's a familiar casual intimacy at this point, not unsimilar to how River is currently with her feet in Jackson's lap and Jackson has a hand wrapped around her ankle as they read. The blond kind of does hates him though because he's already finished reading The Great Gatsby and now just reads over McKenzie's shoulder, reading along with whatever she has assigned. "Elaborate," he says.
"Obsessed with a woman who is really just a stupid metaphor for a different, easier time. Don't actually love her, just what she represents."
"Alright, old sport, I'll concede your point, but that makes you Tom Buchanan."
Jackson gives him the best Fuck You face he has because honestly, fuck him. Tom is a full-blooded racist and despite being the Aryan ideal, Jackson would have no problem decking a few Nazis. Plus, you know, Jackson isn't the cheating type. If he didn't want you anymore, he'd have no trouble saying so. Tom is scum, Jackson is just an asshole.
He's about to say as much but something grabs his attention to the passenger seat. Both boys turn their attention to River who loudly shuts her book and makes a show of getting her phone out.
"What're you doing?" Jackson asks, giving her ankle a light squeeze.
"Looking up how much fanfiction there is of Tom and Gatsby."
One more hour of being in the car by the rain breaks Stiles.
River made Jackson turn the engine on so that they could listen to the radio. The god awful radio that can only get reception from a country station. A literal fucking banjo starts plays when Stiles declares: "Fuck it, I need to move."
Without giving anyone the chance to ask the fuck he's talking about, the back door opens.
He leaves the door open too like the damn hazard he is.
But his laugh is fucking infectious as they watch him run around in the rain, slipping and sliding around in the mud, getting his hair in his face.
McKenzie jumps out of her seat next, using the same route Stiles did. She runs straight for him and jumps in his arms. Jackson hears her giggle in between the raindrops. It's one of the greatest things he's ever heard.
River spins the radio dial to blare some song about getting drunk and falling in love. She opens the passenger door and is out of the car to play too.
Jackson shakes his head as he opens his door. The rain kind of hurts with how hard it's coming down but it's not an unpleasant experience. Stiles and River try to sing along to the radio despite the fact neither of them knows any of the songs that play. They play some form of tag but don't know or follow any rules to it.
It was fun.
They're lucky to have brought a pair of extra clothes. That does not free them from the judgment the Hotel clerk gives them as they walk soppingly wet into his lobby. He still gives them a room but he looks incredibly uncertain about whether he should or not. When Jackson takes out his credit card that no longer seems to be an issue.
There was an issue with the room. It only had one bed.
It's like a bad romance setup. Except there are four of them. And one of the four is only fourteen. But no one even talks about trying to go back and ask for another room.
After changing and getting dry, they all pile into the bed. It's apparently agreed upon by the girls that Stiles and Jackson will sleep on the outside, opposite sides of each other. Which is kind of insulting. Jackson wasn't going to try and get lucky while sharing a bed with their friends, but whatever, he lets them have their way. Especially when he gets to fall asleep with McKenzie tucked into his chest and River holding onto his arm where it reaches across her rib cage to hold Stiles' hand.
They sleep in the next morning because the bed is warm and the day can wait.
The nice part of upstate New York is that you can drive for miles and not really go anywhere. So that's what they do after they leave the hotel. They drive nowhere.
It's dark by seven o'clock which may have made other people complain, but Jackson loved it. Around nine, on their way back home, Jackson pulls over one final time for their trip. They wander through the empty grass lot, that was probably someone's property but who cares, until Jackson found them the perfect spot.
There they lay, watching the stars. The constant movement of the rays of light reminds Jackson of how the world goes on. That this huge, wide universe relentlessly marches forward. How much there is that he could see and miss and do and don't do in such a huge universe. How much potential there is to the world past the lacrosse field.
They get back home around midnight. Enrique chastises them for it bright and early the next morning.
Gemma pulls Jackson aside to ask him if they found what they were looking for that wasn't here.
"I don't think so. But it was a start."
“I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.”
- Agatha Christie
He storms into the house, ignoring anyone he passes or calls for him as he rushes up to the bathroom. He didn’t close the door so he shouldn’t be surprised when Stiles suddenly appears by his side, peering down at the barely breathing huddle of fur. “I didn’t see it. I didn’t see it running. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. I can’t . . . I can’t have done this too. Please. I didn’t mean to.”
Stiles tells him to go sit on the toilet lid and breathe. To count up to whatever number he can get up to without losing track, to focus and name all the things he can smell to himself, to listen to Stiles’ own breathing and heart rate and match his own to them.
Gemma, Enrique, River, and later on a stranger come and go from the room, rushing around the room only to disappear again for moments at a time. But McKenzie stays. She sits on the rim of the bathtub, making her knee touch his thigh. She doesn’t say anything, just watches as people talk and leave and come back. She watches him, studies his face for minutes at a time then goes back to watching everything else. At some point, Jackson realizes that Stiles is on the phone with Deaton. The vet seems to be talking with the stranger.
The air noticeably shifts after Stiles bids Deaton a farewell then hangs up. The stranger leaves not long after that. Enrique disappears out of the room next but doesn't reappear again. River calls for McKenzie. The younger girl stares at Jackson for a little longer - he stares back and just feels . . . seen which is both relieving and terrifying - before she joins her sister. Stiles kneels in front of Jackson then.
“Come to bed with me.”
Jackson would never argue against that.
He lets Stiles guide him out of the bathroom, staring at the floor the entire way, unwilling to chance a glance at anything that will weigh itself heavier on his shoulders. He curls into Stiles’s side, falling into an exhausted, dreamless sleep with the scent of blessed rains blanketing him.
The next morning he wakes up to a mewing sound coming from another room. He gets up without disturbing Stiles. The kitten is wiggling around among its pile of blankets and fuzzy stuffed friends. It purrs, readjusting itself in his lap so it is stretched out and comfortable.
Jackson doesn’t know how long he sits on the bathroom floor just stroking the kitten as it sleeps but it’s long enough that Stiles is now awake and coming to find him. The human sits on the floor next to Jackson and peers down at the kitten in his lap.
“She’s a survivor, just like us.”
They name her Angel.
“Most days I am a museum of things I want to forget.”
- E. E. Scott
They should have named her Gremlin because that’s what she fucking is.
Now that she has food in her belly and the security of shelter, she is a goddamn menace to society. Or at least the Whittemore-Stilinski apartment.
She steals their food. Jumps upright on the counter and even the table to swipe away whatever is cooking. She’s sent a roast chicken crashing to the floor once in retaliation for being swatted away, having the last laugh by gnawing at the breast as Stiles silently loses his mind staring at the mess. Jackson knew he was losing his mind because Stiles does nothing silently.
“What are you doing?”
Jackson grunts and rolls on his side to face the intruder. Her perfectly kept eyebrows judge him. “Shitbaby is sleeping on the bed, so I’m stuck with the unused bed. Find your own place to crash, you fucking squatter.”
“I just saw Stiles out with Val. Danny is still over at Nessa’s talking with River.”
“I would not call Stiles Shitbaby,” He growls. The asshole would probably either make fun of him if he did or pretend like it’s a term of endearment.
The eyebrows now knit together. The pair of exes stare at each other until he sees a light go off in her head. “Did you exile yourself from your bedroom because of a cat?”
He scowls at her delighted tone. “She gets hissy if you move too much while she sleeps. Bit Stiles once because of it.” He says it lightheartedly but leaves out how he growled at Angel because of it. He knows how Stiles feels about biting.
She straight-up laughs at him. He has half a mind to kick her out of the apartment. She can go sleepover at Nessa’s or Val’s if she’s gonna be a bitch.
Of course, he does none of this, and instead makes room for her on the bed when she smacks him to move over.
“She’s adorable,” He hears Danny say. Jackson doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. He hears purring and the minty-watermelon relaxed scent of his best friend. That tells him all he needs to know.
“Great, she’s yours.”
“Mom’s allergic.”
“Not up for debate.”
Danny climbs onto the bed beside Lydia, thankfully without an ungrateful feline in arms. The redhead falls asleep not long after that. He can tell from the way her heartbeat drifts into a leisurely rhythm. He focuses his thoughts on that. Keeps reminding himself that she’s alive and saved him from becoming something worse than what he once was.
Stiles enters the apartment only a couple minutes after Danny had fallen asleep as well. Jackson opens his eyes as the bedroom door opens. Stiles wears a mask of confusion, probably due to the fact that he had to go searching for all the occupants of the apartment in the one room least used, but that quickly falls away for one of amusement. “Puppy pile?”
“I can and will smother you in your sleep.” Jackson grunts, but shifts when he feels the familiar, reassuring weight of the Spirit when he drops onto the free space next to Jackson. He lets himself be pushed around until Stiles finds the position he wants then relaxes.
“Can I at least be sleeping in a puppy pile when I get smothered?”
He doesn’t honor Stiles’ last comment with a retort, just pulls the brunet closer so that they fit each other like they always should. His wolf curls in his chest, more than content with how their evening has played out - surrounded by pack, anchoring him back down.
A light, almost nothing of a kiss is pressed to his jaw. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice it was a bad day for you. I would have been home sooner if I knew.” Stiles’ warm breath ghosts his skin, making Jackson’s entire body tingle.
“Better now.” Jackson eventually responds, trying to bring the boy in his arms closer to him again but all he gets is a chuckle he feels vibrate in his own ribs and another phantom kiss to the jaw. And that was all he needed.
“We are in tune. Our hearts croon the same old song. The universe planned us. I know it.”
- Beau Taplin
Stiles is on his third glass of wine. He’s not a lightweight, but Jackson knows how careful the other boy is about his drinking habits - making note of when and why he’s drinking. The wolf can’t figure out what the occasion is that has him downing Merlot like coffee on research nights.
“We should get going,” He says to Jackson.
“We can just skip tonight if you want?” Jackson suggests. They’re supposed to be meeting up at Val’s place for a pack dinner. Stiles normally always wants to attend to show support towards the Goddess opening up her home to their pack. “We can just text River or Enrique that it’s not a good night and we can order in and lay in bed?”
The cuddling goes unsaid. The intimacy goes unsaid. The “I love you” goes unsaid.
He doubts it has to be.
“No,” Stiles says resolutely. There’s a feign rigidness to the normally spastic, evermoving boy’s movements and posture that rubs Jackson the wrong way.
The only thing uttered the entire ride there is a faint whisper from Stiles before he opens his door to get out of Martin, and Jackson has to take a minute to determine whether or not he was hearing things. “Don’t hate me.”
Everyone can tell that Stiles has been drinking the minute they enter the kitchen. Somehow even Lydia, who was not in Polaris earlier today. The only people in the complex are Lydia as mentioned, Val, Enrique, Nessa, Gemma, Peter, and River - all of which are seated at the kitchen table with serious demeanors.
“Stiles,” Peter’s voice sounds warning.
The older man arrived earlier that afternoon, via Val, looking for Stiles. He wouldn’t tell Jackson why and neither would Stiles after they had seemed to find each other. Whatever it was, was stressing Stiles out.
“I know, I know,” Stiles hisses back. “Just, you know, clear the kids out and then we can talk.”
Jackson is sufficiently lost now. He tries to catch the boy’s eye and succeeds after prolonged seconds. They maintain eye contact just long enough for Jackson to send him a questioning look before Stiles quickly averts his gaze. It does the opposite of reassuring the blond. His wolf wants to take the Spirit away and bring him to their den where there’s no one around to cause any more stress for either of them.
“Kevin took Chip, Honey, Cam, and McKenzie out to the woods to play for a while,” Enrique says from his seat at the head of the table. “We have about an hour.”
Stiles nods. He silently walks over to the table and Jackson is left to shadow him. He feels like a child tailing their mother in front of strangers. Stiles takes one of the empty seats and Jackson slides into the one to his right.
Stiles takes a couple of deep breaths, licking and biting at his lips in between. The room remains silent in the wake of it. Jackson is stuck between wanting to scream at someone to explain what the fuck is happening and wanting to just leave before he can find out. Ignorance might be bliss in this instance.
Stiles doesn’t look up from the table as he finally takes the initiative. “Our former Alpha told the rest of the pack - the pack that is still there at least - that he and I were in a relationship.”
Jackson can feel his blood freeze in his veins.
Derek and Stiles?
Fuck, why did that make sense?
Fuck.
FUCK.
Stiles props a hand across his forehead, shielding his eyes from having to look at everyone. “Lydia and Peter were present for the declaration.” He waves a hand at a grim-looking duo carefully watching him. “He told them all that we were together and the reason why he pushed me away was that he was scared of the deeper feelings he had for me. Apparently, still has for me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that Stiles,” Enrique says gently. He cautiously stretches a hand out across the table. He offers comfort for Stiles to take if he needs it. It’s more than Jackson can offer right now because all that is cycling through his head is the thought of DerekAndStiles. That DerekAndStiles were a thing. That DerekAndStiles could still be a thing according to Derek.
“It was quite the love confession, I might say,” Peter remarks. The words make something twist in Jackson’s gut despite the fact that they are uttered with a derision that only Peter could bring to life. “Spoke so wistfully about his romance with a minor. You’d think he’d have learned his lesson.”
“He meant it, Stiles,” Lydia picks up. Her beautiful features remain as completely neutral as since they walked in. “He really did have feelings for you. That’s why he kept pushing you away. It was too much for him to handle at the time. The way he spoke about you today; I doubt he’d let you go again.”
Nessa exchanges a worried glance with Gemma while Enrique maintains an air of professionalism that Jackson isn’t used to having directed at them at this point in their relationship. “Stiles,” the Alpha says too calmly, “this changes things. Harboring a former Beta of a pack is one thing, but keeping a mate away from the other is . . .”
“Especially a mate to an Alpha,” Nessa adds.
Lydia jumps in, more out of curiosity than helpfulness. “Derek is no longer an Alpha.”
“But the bond was made as one,” Nessa explains. “That matters. The bond is all the more stronger for it, even if statuses change.”
Stiles remains quiet as he continues to hide behind his hands, allowing all the conversation to just happen around him.
The pain in his gut makes him want to throw up. He can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this.
“Did you want to go back?” Jackson finds himself asking. He didn’t mean to ask, mostly because he doesn’t want the answer. He doesn’t want Stiles to look him in the eye and say that he would rather go be with Derek than stay with Jackson in their apartment, in their little nowhere town, in their lives together. Jackson has learned to live with little failures, but to lose Stiles like that will break him more than anything else.
Stiles flinches at Jackson's voice or at his question or both and, God, Jackson is gonna lose Stiles.
“It wasn’t a fucking relationship.” Stiles sounds on the verge of hysterics.
Jackson feels the same way. “What?”
“It wasn’t a relationship. It was sexual negotiation.” Even with the threat of losing Stiles looming, Jackson can’t help but touch the Spirit to calm him down. It’s amazingly pathetic how something as simple as a hand on a shoulder soothes his wolf. It seems to help Stiles as well though, as he wipes at his forehead and lowers the hand there before he continues. His eyes are red and glassy. “I was trying to convince him to let Scott in the pack for no other reason than he wouldn’t want a wild Omega in his territory so soon after just establishing a pack. He told me that he already knew how much I like to run my mouth so why not put that big mouth of mine to better use?” He laughs bitterly at that. “And I did. I blew him. He held me in place so I choked and I couldn’t fucking breathe then told me how bad I was at it. But a week later he let Scott in. That’s how it began.”
“How . . . far did it progress?” Gemma asks tentatively.
“He took my virginity if that’s what you’re asking. Bent me over his fucking Camero like a cheap whore that he was buying off. I guess I kind of was.” Tears now drip down his flushed cheeks and Jackson wants to wipe them away, to take the pain away from him. “I don’t care what he says, that was not a relationship.”
“How did no one - ” Lydia begins, her mask breaking due to the amount of distress she’s holding for Stiles.
“He never really touched me. Not more than he had to. And he always used a condom so after two showers and enough soap, no wolf was the wiser.” He wipes at his face making it reder in the process. His eyes flick back and forth between Peter and Lydia at that moment. “Did any of you even notice a difference in his moods? That sometimes he was more lenient at training or at least less ruthless. Was that all in my head? Did it even matter that I gave myself up to him?”
“He assaulted you,” Peter says, forgoing the question.
“No,” Stiles says. The objection feels a little too desperate to be fully convincing. “I felt used, yeah, but assault is kinda extreme.”
“You were sixteen. He was twenty-two. He was an Alpha werewolf. You were a human. There is an inherent power imbalance.” Peter growls.
Stiles doesn’t argue with the sentiment again. “It wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if he’d at least touch me like I was another person. Not just put me in the positions he wanted then be told to hold still or get tossed around for it. It made me feel like a doll.”
Then a wave of grief washes over the room as Stiles breaks the damn. The tears turn into sobs and he gasps for breath as he tries to speak. This forces Jackson into action, getting up out of his chair and kneeling at Stiles’ chair to wrap his arms around his midsection and bury his head in the crying boy’s chest. Stiles wraps his arms around Jackson in return - tremoring hands clinging onto Jackson’s shoulders as he leans down to bury his face in Jackson’s hair.
Jackson feels some of the others surround them as well to help comfort Stiles, but he doesn’t take his face away from the broad chest he’s nestled into. He feels Stiles’s heart thudding in his chest, so loud and clear.
One of the babbling utterances that Jackson has to hold on tighter, thigh enough for dear life.
“I’ve still never been kissed.”
When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.
-Franklin D. Roosevelt
They’re on their way to Long Island. It’s just the two of them going - River asked to come and they both said no without hesitation. They just needed time to themselves right now.
The car to the left of them is playing the song Life is a Highway by Rascal Flatts with the driver ignoring their passenger who is loudly singing along to the music. Jackson slaps Stiles’ hand away when he immediately starts messing with their car radio to find the station.
He finds the station.
He turns up the volume.
He starts singing.
The girl with sleeve tattoos of flowers hears her new companion and points past Jackson to Stiles. They start to sing at each other, both giving the best performance they can. Jackson and the girl with bright pink hair in the driver’s seat share a look of defeat.
Jackson laughs despite himself when he hears a car behind and a car diagonal from them switch on the same station and turn up their radios as well. Jackson also can’t help but watch fondly as Stiles passionately sings along, with the sunlight beating down on the car highlighting how alive and beautiful he is. Jackson really can’t help but say the first thing that pops into his head.
“You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now.”
Stiles stops singing.
They stare at each other.
“You have no idea how much I want you to.”
They both lean across the control to press their lips together. The back of Jackson’s shirt is damp with sweat from the early spring heat, there is honking in the distance that he can still hear over the music still loudly playing, the smell of smoke and gas and tar stinks up the bridge like it always does, and Stiles’ lips against his is so intimately soft that Jackson could cry. The wolf can hear hollering coming from out his window and feels how Stiles’ lips curl up a little while their lips still meet.
Stiles doesn’t bother pulling away when he speaks, his breath ghosting over Jackson’s lips. “You realize that we’re gonna have to play this song at our wedding now right?”
Instead of responding, Jackson leans in again to kiss him again.
“I think we deserve
A soft epilogue, my love.
We are good people
And we’ve suffered enough.”
- Nikka Ursula
“What?” Jackson asks. He knows his irritation bleeds through into the way he says the singular word, but he hopes that just makes Stiles reconsider getting up from his spot. They are both home for the weekend afternoon, relaxing together while they watch trashy TV. Jackson was more than content with how they’ve spent the day doing fuck-all so long as Stiles kept running his freakishly long fingers through the blond’s hair. The moment had just been ruined by the ding of Stiles’ phone which the Spirit had picked up and reacted to by trying to sit up, therefore, dislodging Jackson from him.
“We gotta go,” Stiles says. This is when Jackson notices the elevated heart rate and the quickly changing scent to a panicked spice.
“What’s wrong?” Jackson asks as he gets up, already rushing to get his shoes on.
Stiles takes his hand when they meet at the entryway to head out. “I forgot about Kit.”
Stiles drives like he’s not a cop’s kid in order to get to Val’s place. Or maybe he drives exactly like a cop’s kid. Either way, Jackson’s impressed. He should consider drag racing. As they race their way up the stairs - god he wishes Stiles would let him lead so that he could be the first line of defense - Jackson overhears the voices coming from Val’s apartment.
“I just want the Spark you stole away from me. I can feel his magic greatest here. A different flavor of magic, but his nonetheless.”
“We have no idea what you’re - ” Enrique starts but gets interrupted by Stiles dramatically throwing the front door open. All eyes are on them. Stiles at least looks sheepish about abusing the unsuspecting door. The Alpha looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm. Nessa and Val share the same type of sentiment. “What part of don’t come near Valerie’s did you interpret as come crashing through at mach speed?”
“The part where you mention a Fae looking for me,” Stiles replies smoothly. He turns to the said surrounded Fae that Jackson has definitely seen before. “Hey Kit. Sorry about the confusion.”
The Fae eyes him in a suspicious manner. “You were Spark last I saw.” They wave a hand at Stiles’ general body. “What happened?”
“Uh, death?” Stiles says. “Then undead, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” Val butts into the conversation. “What is happening here?”
“The moron signed up to be the Fae’s personal Support Dog during their time of the year. The Fae is here to collect.” Jackson explains, having just caught up on what’s happening himself.
“So you are just going to steal my apprentice?” Val thunders. Jackson’s never seen her this outraged before.
“And when do you plan on returning him?” Enrique joins the fray.
“For you, it will be days. For me, it will be months.” Kit says. They still talk as though they do not have a care in the world. It almost impresses Jackson how blase one person can be about any topic.
“You are going to have my Beta for months in a realm that I have no way of accessing?” Enrique fumes. There might actually be smoking coming out of his ears.
“Scarlet is the one who made me the deal. He must honor it now.”
Stiles waves a hand at the new wave of confusion about the name. “That’s me. I’m Scarlet. That’s what they call me.”
“Would I come with you?” Jackson asks. He ignores how the question for Stiles makes Enrique bristle further. “It’s a couple months for you right?”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to worry, I’ll remain faithful.” He kisses Jackson’s cheek to which the wolf responds by wiping his face like it’s now dirty. “But for real, we kinda need you here to sort out of shit.” Jackson nods because his human brain knows that what Stiles says has merit, but he has to stamp down his wolf protesting at having Stiles away from himself for so long. The mere fact that Stiles doubtlessly won’t smell like the two of them anymore is enough to make his wolf whine.
He reminds his wolf that making the Spirit smell like them again will be well worth it.
“Perfect,” Kit steps closer to Stiles. Enrique and Ness growl in warning.
“Why don’t you stay here, in Polaris?” Nessa, who has stayed out of the fight up until this point, suggests. “No one will cause you any problems here. And if you are a friend of Stiles’ then you are more than welcome to stay in one of my guest bedrooms.”
“Woah, woah,” Stiles stops the negotiations by flailing his arms around to gain the attention back to him. “That’s not gonna work.”
“Why?” Enrique asks. “A Fae in Polaris wouldn’t cause anyone to bat an eye, and you and Jackson can stay here with your pack. This is ideal.”
“Because I agreed to stay with Kit for their full Summer season. That’ll translate to about four months here.”
“And?” Enrique prompts.
“And,” Jackson exaggerates the word, “me and Stiles aren’t staying for that long of a time.”
“What?” Enrique and Nessa echo the same sentiment.
“The lease to our apartment is up in three months,” Stiles explains. “Val said that I can handle full moons on my own at this point and Jackson has received much better werewolfy training than when we got here. I think our time here is just generally up.”
“So you’re going back to Beacon?” Val asks. It sounds like an accusation.
Stiles looks over to Jackson. He licks his lips in a telltale sign of nervousness. Jackson knows that he should pay more attention to the meaning of the gesture, but he can’t help but watch that tongue swipe across pretty pink lips. “I don’t really want to, but we haven’t had that discussion yet,” Stiles admits.
The sentence has Jackson’s brain start up and come to life. He feels like a computer with several tabs open at once. He responds with the first tab that popped up. “My parents have an apartment in Paris. We can just go there and not tell them until we’re moved in.” He can already picture Stiles acting the part of obnoxious tourist so well but Jackson will follow wherever Stiles leads him anyway and take as many cheesy pictures as he wants.
“Wait! If you don’t want to go back to Beacon, why are you talking about leaving?” Enrique interjects back into the conversation.
“Because we’re temporary packmembers Alpha Ford,” Jackson says, calling back to how Enrique first introduced the two. That left like a lifetime ago.
“We will be back,” Enrique declares, motioning Val to follow him with a head tilt. “No one leaves until we are back. Mama, watch them please.”
Nessa waves an unbothered hand.
“Well, things are very lively here,” Kit remarks. They go and plop themselves down on the vacant couch obviously with the intent of waiting like instructed which kind of surprised Jackson. “But much more healthy than where I last found you. Congrats on the upgrade, Scarlet. Now tell me how we got here.”
Nessa goes over and calmly, casually takes a seat next to the Fae. They send the elder wolf a kind smile.
Jackson feels lost in everything that just happened. Stiles stands stock still with him for a few beats longer, then, with a put upon sigh, shrugs and joins the other two on the sofa.
Enrique and Val come back to the apartment an hour and a half later. Jackson is surprised that they all did as they were told. Though, Stiles did go and take a bag of Doritos from out of the kitchen, which he shares with Jackson. The wolf can’t really picture Val eating Doritos and chalks it up to being Stiles’ anyway.
“Alright,” Enrique announces as he strides back into the room. “You two are staying another year. At least until we are able to convince John and David to let you move here permanently.”
“Pardon?” Stiles asks.
“You and Jackson are allowed to stay in Polaris for another year, as approved by your parents.” Val answers.
“You are pack,” The Alpha states with all the confidence in the world. It makes something shift in Jackson.
Nessa smacks her son’s arm. Enrique rubs at the spot like it hurts, but Jackson is pretty sure it just hurt his pride. “As long as you want to be, that is. We, the Ford Pack of Porais New York, formally ask Beta wolf Jackson Whittemore and Moon Spirit Stiles Stilinski to join our pack. Our family.”
Jackson doesn’t need to look at Stiles. He can smell his lover’s joy and feel the way he breathes a little easier. The answer was clear. “Thought you’d never ask.”
"For what it's worth . . . it's never too late, or in my case too early, to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
Year two flies by.
Kevin and Nessa get attacked at one point by sirens one night over the summer, but everything turns out fine. The frightening efforts of Stiles and Val made sure of that.
Kit continuously stops by every so often and is slowly getting indoctrinated into the pack as Val had. There are mixed reviews on that development.
On her birthday, it is revealed that River is decidedly going to be their next Alpha.
By Christmas, Honey can waddle her way to places, Jackson's favorite of which being his arms.
McKenzie's eyes changed to gold sometime after Easter.
Jackson still is in love with a dorky nerd the whole year round.
“I can hear you thinking from across the yard.” Jackson plops down on the step next below the one Stiles sits on. The Spirit has been oddly out of the action during the pack's 4th of July BBQ, the one that he had the biggest hand in conducting. “What are you overthinking about?”
“Going back to Beacon Hills.” Stiles admits effortlessly, though that answer is anything besides easy to swallow. For either of them.
Jackson hums at the topic as though it was casual conversation, but honestly, part of him was expecting this. “This got anything to do with the massive magic spike Lydia told us about?”
Stiles shrugs. Neither of them says anything for a few passing moments - Jackson allowing the other teen time to collect his thoughts while he watches McKenize chase after Chip and Kyle who have stolen her latest sketches. “We still have people we love there; we can’t just let some magic unknown threaten them. Not when me and Val can literally overpower God at this point.” Jackson doesn’t bother pointing out that Val is technically a God, just leans further into Stiles’ side, gently rubbing the skin of his hand with a thumb.
“I love it here,” the Spirit goes on. “I really love it here, and truthfully I don’t want to leave, but it feels like I’m hiding. I mean, coming here was exactly what I needed, but now that I feel better - better than I’ve felt in so fucking long - it just makes me think I’m hiding in this comfort. There’s so many things that were left unsaid back there. So many loose strings. I want to go back so I can say I faced my demons fully and then come back here, come back home to the peace I deserve.”
“Hm.” Jackson makes a thoughtful noise and waits a couple more seconds to see if Stiles has anything else to say. “So, why are you overthinking? It sounds like this is something you want to do.”
“I don’t want to go without you.”
“I’d follow you anywhere.”
When he looked back to the Spirit, honey sweet eyes were staring back at him. And because they knew each other so damn well, knew what the other needed without so much as a word, they both leaned in and pressed their lips together.
“I have a condition.” Jackson adds as they break apart.
“You’re contradicting yourself.”
“No, I’ll go back to that hell hole with you either way, but I’m gonna bitch the entire time we’re there if you say no.”
“What would I say no to?”
“Marry me.”
He hadn’t planned this. But he kind of did. He has an engagement present for Stiles in the back of McKenzie’s closet, waiting for the right time to give it to his mate. It’s not a ring, but it’s a promise regardless. His grandfather's watch with an engravement on the back.
Only A Matter Of Time
Jackson didn’t plan on proposing right here, - in the middle of the Ford lawn - right now - during a conversation about returning to the place they once called home. But Jackson did plan to. Wanted to since that day on the GW. Probably longer than that.
And Stiles smiles at him, loose and goofy and so damn beautiful. “Yes.”
Jackson leans in to kiss that stupid grin again and he can’t help but be grateful that it was finally their time.
“You have to die a few times before you can really live.”
Charles Bukowski
Enrique corners them the next evening. Not like it was hard; Stiles and Jackson spend more time at Nessa’s than their apartment at this point. They even have their own assigned guest room. Which, now thinking about it, Jackson thinks the old bat might be tricking them into accidentally moving in. Not that he’s complaining. Their lease is almost up soon anyway.
“So you boys are leaving.” Their Alpha states.
“Oh, you heard that huh?” Stiles awkwardly laughs. If he wasn’t standing still Jackson is pretty sure he’d be tripping over his own feet right now. How was this the idiot he was in love with?
Then Stiles brings his hand up to rub at his neck in a nervous tic and the silver watch on his wrist shines from the sunlight coming in through the window, and Jackson’s heart does a stupid little stutter.
The idiot agreed to be his.
“Well, you did have the conversation during a barbeque at our house.” Enrique points out, which Stiles concedes to with a head nod.
It’s at this point that Stiles elbows Jackson. The wolf guesses it was becoming obvious that he’s not fully focusing on the discussion at hand. He’s just distracted by all the possible futures they can have.
“Yeah, we would just want to tie up some loose ends.” Jackson jumps in.
“Well, I suppose I can contact Deaton that part of my pack will be entering the Hale territory. I won’t put a time limit on this - I know this means a lot to you both - but I would prefer to have you both back before the next full moon by next Thursday.”
Stiles immediately perks up at that. “So you’ll let us come back when we’re done? Like, we’re allowed to come back to your pack?”
“If you, either of you, decided not to come back it would break our hearts more than you know.” Nessa speaks up from where she’s sipping her tea at the table she and Stiles play chess on. “You can leave, sort out whatever business you had left behind, but come home. Come back to us.”
“Always. We promise.”
“Isn’t it funny how day by day nothing changes but when you look back everything is different.”
-C.S. Lewis
“I’m coming with you.” River says as she busts into the apartment. It’s nine at night and both he and Stiles are in their PJ’s, which a younger version of himself definitely would have criticized him for but younger Jackson has never spent a Friday night cuddling his fiance as they lazily make out and get off together so what the fuck does he know.
River makes a face, clearly being able to identify what activities they had just been up to. Tough shit, she didn’t want to smell their arousal then she should have given them some warning before barging in.
“Excuse me?” Jackson asks, going back to her original statement,
“Me and Enrique. We’re going back to your town with you.” River explains. She plops herself down on the sofa. “Mic and Gemma also wanted to come, but we all agreed that we shouldn’t have too many pack members missing. But you’re gonna need backup, plus I need to know that my two out of my three favorite pack mates are gonna be okay. I’m not leaving you guys by yourselves for that shit show.”
“Pretty sure we can handle ourselves.” Jackson flashes his eyes, less intimidating now that they’re gold again but still a threat, and Stiles flashes his red ones to help his point.
“Nope!” River pops the ‘p.’ “Already talked about it with Val, and she agreed. It’d be easier to get into contact with the Alpha there with another Alpha anyway, so really, we’re helping you really. It’s gonna happen, just submit.” She looks at them expectantly.
“Okay.” Jackson sighs. He doesn’t see himself getting his time back with Stiles again tonight. He resigns himself into slumping on the cushion beside her.
Stiles looks between the two of them, observing, before he plops himself down her other side. She wraps an arm around each of their shoulders and presses them back into her. “Okay.”
“It was a kind love, a selfless love. I was an explorer and you were a traveller. We met at the crossroads.”
-Lang Leav
He’ll never admit it, especially not to Stiles, but Jackson can literally feel his old douchiness trying to reform from just being in the proximity of Beacon Hills high school. It only takes one look at Stiles or River and he can beat it back, but it’s an effort he hates that he has to make. He doesn’t want that regression. He likes himself better now. He likes himself, period.
Stiles slides closer to him at that moment, somehow able to tell that Jackson needs him. Then again, Jackson always kind of needs him, so maybe it’s not that hard to deduce. Either way, Stiles snakes his hand into Jackson’s, rubbing soothing circles into the skin with his thumb. The wolf brings their joined hands up to his mouth and places grateful kisses on the other boy’s knuckles.
River makes a barfing sound from where she’s perched on top of Martin's hood. Neither Stiles or Jackson even tried to talk her down. The same way they now choose to ignore her.
The whispers and chatter across the parking lot increase from the loving gestures that he and Stiles share. Girls that he used to flirt with gasping at the attention he gives Stiles, the guys that he used to complain about Stilinski with pinch themselves. All eyes are on them.
And okay, admittedly, Jackson might be an attention whore. So when he places another kiss on Stiles’ temple maybe it’s not just for Stiles. The eye-roll he receives from it tells him he’s caught for it too, but he plays it off like he’s always been one for PDA.
He’s considering going for a full on lip to lip kiss when Stiles suddenly perks up. The hand that holds his falls away which Jackson suppresses a whine for. Stiles cups his mouth with both hands and it processes too late that he should probably cover his poor advanced ears.
“MISS LYDIA MARTIN, I RESCIND MY LOVE DECLARATION.”
A flash of red is on the teen before Jackson can properly blink. The mentioned Miss Lydia Martin is wrapped around his fiancé like they haven’t seen each other in decades, rather than two weeks. Jackson rolls his eyes, pretending to be annoyed with the obvious closeness between the two.
“Siblingly love,” Danny says mockingly wistful as he approaches. Jackson immediately pulls him into a hug. The Hawaiian boy laughs at the gesture and pats his back a couple times to convey that he missed him as well.
“You better rescind that stupid love confession. Our soap opera plotline is convoluted enough.” She pulls Jackson into a hug next with a small peck on the cheek. “And I would lose my mind if you two don’t at least have a wedding at this point. A wedding that I will be Maid of Honor at.” The Banshee fixes a hard stare at River, making her point crystal clear.
“We’ll see,” River hums back but leans over to give the other girl a hug.
Danny has Stiles in a side hug which the taller teen leans into. The five of them create their own little circle in the middle of the school parking lot - a friendship closer to pack than anything else.
“I don’t know,” Stiles says resting his head on Danny’s shoulder. “I’m still thinking about making a last minute plot twist of leaving him at the altar and running away with the Best Man.”
Danny tilts his head slightly then gives a slight nod like he’s on board with the idea.
Jackson knows they’re just joking. Obviously. So when he pulls Stiles by the sleeve of his flannel - technically Jackson’s flannel actually but he’s more than fine with having Stiles wrapped in his scent - back over to occupy his space rather than Danny’s, it’s just because . . . Because. Stiles is his fiance, he doesn’t need an excuse and no one is currently asking for one so whatever.
“STILES?”
“Time to go,” Danny says in response to the sound of Scott McCall’s shout.
River slides off of Martin to get inside, but cranes her neck to try and see the person who caused the disturbance. “Riv, stare later, move before the fucker gets here.” Jackson tells her.
“Hey, I’m gonna be the Alpha buddy.”
“And as your Right Hand, I advise you to get the fuck moving.”
She huffs as if offended but does what she’s told. Why this involves her taking the driver’s seat Jackson doesn’t know. Well, yes he does, it’s to say Fuck-You-I’m-Still-In-Charge. Stiles tosses her the keys and she has them peeling out of the parking lot just in time for Scott to be in their dust.
“You’re gonna have to point out which one is the traitor friend and which one is the Bad Touch Alpha later on.” River says once they are safely on the road.
“Can I come?” Danny asks. “I just really wanna see their faces when they see you guys. That is the type of drama reality TV wishes it could have.”
“Sorry Danny boy, this is a formal thing so you gotta be part of either Pack Hale or Pack Ford,” Stiles says.
“Which you’re not,” River grins at the Hawaiian boy from the rearview mirror.
“Yet.” Danny and River both speak at the same time.
It occurs to Jackson somewhere around the third time they pass the main street bakery while they’re busy talking about nothing and everything that River really shouldn’t be the one driving since she is literally the only one in the car that has not lived in Beacon. Then again, they have time to kill before the pack meeting so getting lost won’t be that bad.
“It’s the sound of your voice that goes straight through me. Straight through the center of all I am.”
- Tyler Knott Gregson
They get to the loft ten minutes late.
In the grand scheme of things, that’s not terrible.
“You kids fucking kill me.” Enrique disagrees.
Stiles gasps. “Enrique said a No-No word! What type of example are you setting for poor, impressionable River?”
“How about I show poor, impressionable River how an Alpha deals with smartasses?” He glances at all the teens present. “Why is Danny here?”
“Please let me come?” Danny asks with the perfect amount of whine without being whiney.
Enrique visibly softens. “I can’t, I’m sorry.”
“Fine, I’ll wait in the car then.” He sits back in his seat and rummages through his school bag, probably for something to occupy himself with. “This better not last all night or I swear to god, I’m highjacking Martin.”
“We’ll roll the window down for you and everything,” Stiles says. Even he knows it’s a bad joke because he doesn’t protest when Danny chuffs him upside the head.
They give Lydia the head start, allowing her a grace period before they walk in together as a unit, a force, a pack. In the time it takes the redhead to get from the car to the top floor Val appears beside Enrique, causing all of them except for Stiles who for his part just smirks at their reactions, probably loving how she still gets the drop on the wolves.
All three teens take their positions behind Enrique while Val stands next to the Alpha. Normally Stiles and Jackson would be side by side, but given the hierarchy, they stand on either side of River, their future Alpha. With one final head nod from the Alpha, they enter into the loft.
Jackson is surprised to see the sea of unfamiliar faces, with only a few that he remembers being sprinkled in. He knows Lydia talks about the new people every so often, but he wasn’t prepared for how different of a pack he has to face. Everyone is serious and stone faced at first until the recognition sweeps through the Hale pack.
“Stiles!” Derek’s eyes go wide and unbelieving as he stares at the Spirit.
“And Jackson. You know, the two people who got the hell out of dodge.” Stiles waves his hands at Jackson as if putting him on display. Enrique turns to shoot him a look. “Right, sorry, shutting up now. Do your Alpha thing.”
“Alpha Hale,” Enrique starts, addressing a woman that Jackson doesn’t know. “We, the Ford Pack, wish to stay in your territory for the following few days if you would be kind enough to oblige. In exchange my pack and our allies may have a solution to your issue in the woods within the territory.”
The woman stares unblinking. She says nothing in response to Enrique’s words.
“Laura?” A girl that Jackson doesn’t know whispers to the women he doesn’t know. She seems worried by the lack of reaction. Even Derek takes a step out of place at the woman’s right side in worry.
She’s staring at Stiles with those hazy eyes.
Enrique steps in her way, shielding Stiles with his body, despite the fact that they all know the damage the Spirit can do if he wanted. Stiles places a firm hand on their Alpha’s shoulder and walks around him. She mirrors his actions by stepping forward as well but remaining just out of reach of each other.
She has tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” She says. “Thank you so fucking much.”
Stiles offers her a melancholic but genuine smile. “I was just un-fucking some fucked up shit that shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry that you were the only one I could bring back.”
“You’ve done more than enough.” She wipes at her eyes, then stands a little taller. She turns her attention back to Enrique. “And yes, you and your pack may stay here for however long you need. I do apologize for my unprofessionalism thus far, I was just unprepared to meet the person who raised me from the dead. We graciously thank you for your offer of aid.”
The room falls silent at the statement. Jackson greatly enjoys the look of pure confusion that crosses both Derek’s and Scott’s faces. As far as they think, Stiles has all his tattoos for decoration. The poor morons.
“You terrify me,” River whispers. It contradicts the aroma of bubble gum pride that engulfed her.
“Allow me to introduce myself and my pack,” Alpha Hale says. “I am Laura Hale, the Alpha of the Hale pack. This is my Right Hand, Beta Derek Hale.” Derek’s eyes flicker over to Enrique for passing seconds to nod his acknowledgment to the opposing Alpha, but he’s not over staring at Stiles and Jackson on occasion. “My Left, Beta Cora Hale.” Laura waves a hand at the girl who spoke before and looking at her now, Jackson should have been able to tell she was a Hale. It’s all in the eyebrows. “Beta Peter Hale, Beta Scott McCall, Beta and mate to my Left-hand Isaac Lahey.” She introduces each of the original Hale Pack 2.0. Scott looks a little pale and like he might faint, while Isaac just looks incredibly lost. Peter has a light in his eyes that just spells trouble. “Beta Liam Dunbar, Beta Hayden Romero, Human Mason Hewitt and mate to Beta Corey Bryant,” She lists off all the names of people Jackson has never seen before. “And, of course, Banshee Lydia Martin, ally to the Hale pack.”
Enrique nods once all the Hale pack is named. “I am Enrique Ford, Alpha of the Ford pack. This is Beta and Alpha in training, River Jones.” River glares down Scott, apparently able to recognize him from the group. He can tell from the way her lips are pressed together she’s trying her damnedest not to bare her teeth. “Jackson Whittemore, Beta and future Right Hand to the Ford Pack.” Jackson winks at the Hale pack at large, loving every second of this. “This is Valerie, she is a close ally to the Ford pack and is currently training our Left Hand-to-be; Stiles Stilinski.” Enrique gestures to both magic users as he introduces them.
“Left Hand seems a little below your pay grade,” Peter says, ever-present smirk on his face. He seems even smugger than usual today, which is quite the accomplishment if Jackson does say so himself. Everyone who knew Stiles before he left Beacon looks lost by Peter’s comment. It makes Jackson feel a little more smug too.
“Well, what can I say?” Stiles shrugs and smiles. “All I ever wanted was to be part of a pack.”
Jackson hears someone whine. He almost laughs.
“Good, now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way,” Lydia says, picking up her purse as she walks over to the Ford pack. “We have a restaurant reservation for six; a private room because there’s not a table big enough to fit all of us. Though, Enrique and Val, you may want to make yourselves scarce for a while. The lovely couple has yet to tell the parents about their new relationship status and you will surely be questioned about your knowledge.”
Jackson groans as their Alpha immediately whips around. “Your parents don’t know?” He hisses at them. Damn it, Lydia.
“It was on the to-do list!” Stiles defends. Jackson just shrugs. There’s really no point in trying to make excuses.
Lydia promptly ignores this new issue she has caused in favor of addressing Laura. “I’ll let Val and Stiles in on all we know about the preserve attacks thus far. We can reconvene tomorrow morning to discuss theories and solutions.”
“I appreciate that. It sounds like a plan.” The Alpha says back calmly.
With that Lydia turns on her heels and begins to walk towards the elevator. River follows after her, breaking from formation. Enrique takes a moment to stop yelling at them when Derek Hale enters their space. Their Alpha eyes him suspiciously then turns back to Stiles and Jackson, silently asking how to proceed. Stiles nods at him and apparently, that’s the sign for Enrique to lead Val over to where Lydia and River already wait for them.
It’s just the two former Beacon Hill residents and their former pack now.
“Stiles,” Derek takes another step forward and Jackson actually growls a little. The former Alpha looks to him in confusion for a moment but stops his direct path to Jackson’s anchor so the wolf beneath his skin settles a little. “Can we talk?”
“Wasn’t your forte last time I was here.”
“I just - I want to talk. In private.” Jackson can practically smell the longing in his sea-side scent. How it naturally rolls off him in waves. How desperately he wants Stiles.
Stiles just smells bitter. Anger and repulsion mixing into one horrid emotion.
Derek can want Stiles for the rest of his life for all Jackson cared because he knew time after time Stiles would never choose him. Not again.
“Oh, that’s not happening,” Stiles says curtly. “And you know what? I have dinner plans with my pack, so we’re not having this discussion now. Bye Derek.” Stiles reaches over and grabs Jackson’s hand then takes them to the elevator where their pack waits for them.
In the elevator, once out of view of the other pack, Stiles tries to breathe normally with Val mimicking the breathing exercises they all know for this reason. Jackson kisses his knuckles again.
“This is the house that built me and I'm gonna burn it down. This is the river I crawled from and I refuse to drown here.”
- Clementine Von Radics
The next morning comes too soon. Val and Enrique say they will meet the teens at the loft again, so they should go pick up Lydia. Because last night Lydia instructed that she was to be picked up and this time around she will be entering with them. They might also pick up another person.
Enrique sighs upon seeing who piles out of Martin but ultimately says nothing against it as they collectively walk into the Hale loft again.
“Dude, what is Danny - I mean, hey Danny, what’s up? Did you need something or . . . something?” Scott says smoothly. Jackson rolls his eyes. Good to see some things just don’t change.
“I know about werewolves Scott,” Danny says, way too amiable in Jackson’s opinion, but he didn’t really expect different from the other boy. Scott sputters in return.
“Alpha Hale, we have brought another ally with us today. Human Daniel Mahealani. We are in hopes that his skills with technology and knowledge of the supernatural will be an asset.” Enrique explains Danny’s presence.
Laura nods along with the sentiment. “Of course, any help offered we will take. As such, this is the Ito pack.” She waves to a handful of new people now in the loft as well. “They take residence in Beacon Hills and have asked to be part of today’s meeting.”
A middle-aged woman steps forward. “I am Alpha Ito, a Nine-Tailed Kitsune. This is my daughter Kitsune Kira Yukimura. And these are my Beta werewolves Brett Talbot, Vernon Boyd, and Erica Reyes.” The Alpha barely finishes speaking before Erica is across the room and latched onto Stiles. The Spirit full-body laughs as he clutches the blond like a sack of potatoes. Boyd walks more calmly over to the two but wraps his arms around both of them and lifts the giggling pair off the ground.
“Jackson,” Lydia says, taking his attention away from Stiles, where it usually is nowadays. “I want an iced latte with oat milk and caramel swirl.”
“You couldn’t have said this while we were in the car?”
“Like you actually want to be here for research. You’re just going to spend the majority of the time staring at Stiles. He’ll still be here for you to admire when you get back.”
Jackson does not turn pink at the comment. Absolutely not. Jackson does not blush because she’s calling him out on the truth. But he does decide that air would be nice, so he goes back to the elevator. River and Val both shout an order for him to get as he leaves.
It only takes him twenty minutes and an awkward exchange with a barista who he apparently went to school with and doesn’t remember. He comes back to the loft with six drinks and a couple of muffins.
Stiles grins at him the minute he enters the room again. It makes his body do cliché things like make warmth blossom in his chest and his stomach flutter with butterflies. Stiles Stilinski has absolutely ruined him.
“Dude, help, I have leeches.” Stiles bats his eyes at Jackson when he instinctively goes to stand at the brunet’s side. God, he’s pretty. And his wolf does kinda whine that another wolf, nonpack member wolf, has his Stiles in their lap. Even if that wolf is just Boyd.
But Jackson knows how to play it cool. Suave. He hands him a coffee. “Suffer.”
“I want a divorce.”
“Keep talking and I’ll make you sign a prenup.”
Stiles just squawks at that, looking beautifully offended. Jackson smirks back in triumph but still leans down to peck a kiss on Stiles’ pout.
Nearly the entire room goes quiet. Lydia and Val are still chatting away, something about Latin Jackson thinks he hears, but much of the former Hale Pack looks caught in headlights.
Stiles, his Mischief, looks up at Jackson with bright, chaos loving eyes. “Wanna give them something to really gape about?” He asks quietly as he kisses the back of Jackson’s hand when handed a muffin as well.
And really, how was Jackson gonna say no to that?
So instead of answering at all, he puts two fingers under Stiles’ chin and tilts the other’s head so their lips brush. The Spirit brings both his hands up to cup either side of the wolf’s face, who nuzzles into the right hand and places a quick kiss on the palm. The next kiss is to his lips which is just as soft and feather-light, but they hold it for longer. By the time they part, the room is dead silent.
“So that’s what two years does?” Boyd asks. He wears a kind smile that lights his eyes.
“It’s the Stockholm Syndrome,” Jackson says, righting himself again. He shoves at River so that she leaves him enough room to sit beside Boyd. “What’s our progress?” He asks her.
“They already have concluded that it’s a demon.” She says in a bored tone. She takes an unnecessarily large bite out of her chocolate chip muffin. “Lydia thinks they should call Kit to help translate some of the messages left, but Stiles and Val don't want to.”
“Why?”
“Val and Kit are Val and Kit. Stiles doesn’t wanna because Peter’s here.”
Jackson snorts. “Good reason.” Peter doesn’t even look up from his book to flip Jackson off. Very mature. “Can’t we just make this quick? I don’t really want to stay in this hellhole longer than we have to.”
Stiles takes one of his necklaces out from beneath his shirt, an ordinary looking amethyst on a chain, but when his eyes turn red the stone glows back blue. After a couple of seconds, his eyes fade back and they only need to wait a moment longer when Kit appears right in front of Stiles.
“Why, hello again Scarlet. I wasn’t aware we had plans so early.” Kit appears, eyeing the room they have been called to. Their lips form a predatory smile when they see Peter.
“We actually need your help,” Stiles interjects before that can progress any further.
“Oh? Asking a favor of a fae? Has your mother not taught you better?”
Peter stands up from his seat, book carelessly discarded as he meets Kit halfway. “However could someone say no to you though? Making deals must be easy with how ravishing you are.”
“Flatterer,” They say as they brush the back of their hand along Peter’s jaw. “I guess I can’t say no to you either. What is it you need, loves?”
The spicy cinnamon scent of pure HORNY erupts into the air. Jackson and River gag. Enrique and Stiles both groan.
“Please tell me that me and Stiles aren’t that bad,” Jackson whispers to River.
“Oh, no,” She says. “So much worse.”
“Much, much worse,” Enrique adds from across the room. Jackson gapes at the dig.
“Kit,” Stiles whines. “Please, be gross later. Help us now.”
The hand pulls away from Peter’s skin and the Fae gives their full attention back to Stiles, much to Peter’s evident disappointment. “Yes, yes. How may I be of assistance to my pack?”
“We need you to read this,” Lydia instructs, pointing at a photo of a series of carvings in a couple of trees. “We have a translation of our own but it makes no sense.”
Kit looks over the photo, then at Lydia’s notes. “That’s the word for ‘Suffer’ and this is supposed to be in the past tense. This also looks more like the word child than baby but I see where you got that from. I must say that I am impressed, little Banshee,” Kit praises.
Lydia holds her head up high. “Of course.”
“Well, I will say that this does make more sense as to why Lydia has been receiving Emissary training from Deaton. Call it hopeful thinking, but I thought that might have been her reconsidering my offer to join our pack. I know Cora would have liked that.”
“Laura!” Cora hisses at her older sister.
Jackson is sure that Lydia would be raising an eyebrow at the interaction but when he looks at her, she’s been put on pause.
“Emissary?” Stiles asks. “Oh my god. Oh my god. You got accepted into MIT, didn’t you? Holy shit! Lyds, why didn’t you say anything? This is fucking huge!” When Stiles takes the time he needs to remember to breathe, another realization crashes into him. “Oh my god, you want to be the Ford Emissary!”
“Oh, she’s going to be.” River said.
“You knew?” Jackson asks incredulously. Stiles whips around and has a distinct look of mock betrayal from the idea.
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Lydia says and rubs her forehead like she has a headache. “Yes, I got accepted into MIT. Yes, I’m going to be living on campus, but I will be coming up on light workload weekends and holidays. Yes, we have arranged for me to officially join the Ford pack.”
“Danny?” Jackson calls out to the technical genius who has been quietly talking among the Hale pack. Mostly Isaac but he talks to some of the newbies as well to see what their stories are. The boy stops his conversation with Liam to listen to Jackson. “Where did you get accepted?”
“Uh, MIT?”
“You bastards!” Jackson exclaims because this is utter fucking bullshit. “Stiles got into MIT! You all fucking suck! All you pricks are gonna be at the same place while I’m by myself at Colombia.” Jackson
“Danny, room with me.” Stiles doesn’t so much ask but states. Danny responds with a full body Yeah, Okay, Sure gesture. Stiles smirks at the easy win then walks back over to the couch. This time though, he sits in Jackson’s lap.
“If I hear either of you moan in the middle of the night, I swear to - ”
“Can we please get back to the Demon plaguing the area?” Isaac shuts down the rest of that conversation.
Kit takes the opening to tell them what the symbols mean and Jackson checks out again. At least Stiles is still in his lap now instead of a foreign wolf’s, which again Jackson has to tell himself was just Boyd.
“This is really the dude you’ve been pining after for the past two years?” Cora Hale whispers to Derek. Jackson glances over in that direction. Of course, Derek is brooding in a corner. He still has a distinct air of longing to him.
Jackson presses Stiles closer to his chest, wrapping his arms more securely around his waist, and leaves a small kiss behind his ear.
It makes Stiles shiver.
It makes Derek sulk.
It makes Jackson smirk.
“To love someone long-term is to attend a thousand funerals of the people they used to be.”
- Heidi Priebe
It’s somewhere around noon that they have a game plan.
Stiles, Val, and Kit are all going to enter the Preserve that following night. Jackson and River argued that they wanted to go with as well, but were shut down on nearly all fronts. The Demon, whom Val thought she might actually know, is ethereal and physical violence isn’t really going to deal him much damage therefore the werewolves were best to be left out of this one. Lydia and Stiles are going to draw up some wards surrounding the woods in the meantime so that any supernatural being trespassing in the land will be forced to pay a portion of their power as a tax. The three magic users will then ask politely for the drained Demon to leave the easy way. If not, well, the force of a Goddess, Moon Spirit, and Fae will handle any threat aptly. The Ford pack will stay for three more days then head back home once they’re sure the coast is clear.
It’s a pretty good plan.
Except . . .
“Stiles can’t go with you!” Scott protested for the fourth time in a row.
Stiles held his hands together like he was praying for strength. Jackson hopes he’s asking for enough for the both of them. After a long breath, he says one single word. “Why?”
“Because you’re human dude!” Scott says. To his credit, he does seem legitimately freaked out over the idea of a human Stiles going into the woods with a monster at play. Too bad he hadn’t cared about that sooner. “You could die! We can’t risk you like that. Just the actual magical people do this.”
There’s a pregnant pause. It festers.
Jackson can tell Val wants nothing more than to come and smack McCall upside the head, but she stays out of it. All of the Ford Pack does. They all know that this is the shit that Stiles and Jackson have to deal with. The loose ends they left behind.
“Holy shit,” Stiles finally whispers astoundedly into the silence. He puts his hands on either side of his face, pretending to make a shocked expression. “I didn’t realize I could die! Thank you for telling me Scott! You’ve saved me. Wow, what a disaster that would have been right?” He turns to Jackson, bright eyes burning with a malicious wit. “Jackson, did you know I could die?”
Jackson loves this little shit. “Hadn’t even considered it.”
“Wow, well this has really opened my eyes.” Stiles continues. It’s clear that he’s infuriating McCall with how unprofessionally Stiles is handling this.
“Stiles, you - ”
“Alright, enough.” Enrique to the professionalism rescue. “Stiles can more than handle himself, I can assure you of that, Beta McCall. You do not get to make the final call on what he does and does not participate in.”
Jackson knows the man didn’t have to add that last portion, but he knows more of the truth about what happened to them in Beacon Hills than the Beacon Hills pack does.
“He’s - ”
“Part of my pack.” Their Alpha ceases whatever dumb train of thought the Beta was about to let loose into the world. “And he is one of the most powerful beings that I have met in the Supernatural community. If anything, he is our protector more than we are his.”
“But . . . Stiles is . . . was,” Scott begins but whatever he was going to say crashes and burns. He looks at Stiles now with a quizzical expression. Stiles allows his eyes to be taken over by that blood-red hue that makes his irises and pupils disappear in the ruby sea. “What . . . are you now?” Scott whispers now.
Stiles is prepared to give his answer, though Jackson doubts it would have been an actual answer, but all the wolves present turn their attentions to the sped up heart rate in the corner of the room. Derek’s head gradually raises his head, a contradiction to his rapidly beating heart, realization written all over his face as he stares at Stiles. “You’re the Moon Spirit.”
“Bingo Bongo.” Stiles shoots finger guns at him.
“How?” Scott asks. And that makes something rage in Jackson’s gut because after all this time they don’t know how they fucked up. How bad they fucked up. The wolf in him wants to snap its teeth at them so badly. There are several gasps and it takes him a minute to realize it’s because he’s flashing his eyes while fighting to stay in control. Enrique comes over to rest a hand on the back of his neck. Jackson happily allows him to because he needs the grounding while his thoughts take him to dark places regarding what had happened to his mate.
“You’re not blue eyed anymore?” Isaac asks. He sounds in awe. Like it’s some stupid magic trick that he’s pulled off. And not the type of magic tricks Stiles and Val do; the ones where you have a card up your sleeve or a mirror in the box.
“Peter still has his blues doesn’t he?” Stiles retorts back. There’s boiling venom in the way that he speaks that Jackson’s surprised he doesn’t actually spit a little bit of acid. Stiles only has to take four steps to be back in Jackson’s arms and that’s exactly where he slots himself. Tucked under the wolf’s right arm and after a brief kiss, that still makes several of the Hale Pack cringe, continues defending Jackson. “Yet the solely innocent person he killed is alive and breathing. What color your eyes are is just a reflection of how you see yourself and what you have or haven’t committed. And as I had repeatedly told you, Jackson was not and is not the Kanima. I’m glad that at least someone listened to me.”
River comes to his left, grabbing his hand and not letting go. Her own blue eyes remain but so does their support for her. They have all been someone’s monster at some point. They’ll stay with her for as long as it takes her to realize that doesn’t make her one.
“Well, while all this drama is very exciting, Scarlet I recall you raving to me about the fries from here.” Kit stands up from where they were pressed into Peter’s side. “I say we go eat then you and the little Scream Queen can make the wards.”
“I believe that to be a good plan as well.” Laura declares. Derek and Scott both send her wounded looks. She ignores them. “I’ll send some of my pack to line the edge of the woods in case you are in need of backup. We can reconvene here again after the Demon is handled if you and your pack find this acceptable, Alpha Ford.”
“Yes, that is acceptable. Thank you for your understanding.” Enrique pulls Jackson in the direction of the door. Stiles hesitates only to look at Erica and Boyd who are sat by their own Alpha. Enrique takes notice of this as well. “Alpha Ito, would you and your Beta’s like to join us for our lunch?”
The woman takes a moment to consider it. She also seems to sense the longing from her Betas because with a tired sigh that definitely gives Enrique a run for his money she says: “Yes, we graciously accept your invitation.” As Erica and Boyd immediately jump to be by Stiles again, the Kitsune Alpha adds another thought. “Perhaps we can strike up some negotiations for an alliance while the kids talk.”
“I know my worth. I've paid dearly for every ounce of it.”
- Alfa
“The Demon is handled.” Kit announces as they appear out of the woodwork with Stiles and Val trailing them.
Jackson was half sitting, half hanging out of Martin’s driver seat while he waited for them to approach. Enrique and river leaned on the car’s side, talking only every so often. They were all worried, despite knowing that the trio could bring them all to their knees with a flick of a wrist, they’re worried about not having eyes on their pack.
Scott and Derek appeared in front of the building to absolutely no one’s surprise the minute Stiles came out from behind the tree lining. Not that the Spirit acknowledged either of them, making a straight path for Jackson instead.
The three powerhouses are covered in dirt and grime but not a single scratch to be seen on them so Jack guesses that the Demon chose the hard way. That certainly does make their lives easier since now they don’t have to wait and see if it comes back.
“Stiles!” Scott calls.
“Well, now that we’re done here, I’m going to Peter’s.” Kit says completely ignoring the Beta and disappears without a further goodbye which is to be expected for them. If anything, it's an improvement that they let the pack know where they’re going.
“Why don’t you look at me?” Scott asks with a sudden desperation.
This time he gets the attention he wants. Stiles nods towards Enrique, River, and Val to stay by the car while he handles this. Val whispers that she’s going to go speak with Alpha Hale about the situation. Stiles takes Jackson with him to greet Scott, but lets go of his hand a couple feet away from where he actually stops. He wants Jackson near but not in the middle. Jackson can do that.
“Why do you care?” Stiles retorts.
“Because I’m your best friend! I’m your best friend and you won’t even talk to me after abandoning me for two whole years!”
“You’re not my best friend. Not anymore. Haven't been for a while.”
And that?
That’s what breaks Scott.
“What happened to you, Stiles? What the actual fuck!” Scott shoves the dirty boy. Normally Jackson’s instincts would be screaming at him to protect mate, but something in him says that this is exactly why they came back here. This is the moment they’ve been building to. So he stays on the sidelines even when Scott gives Stiles another push.
“You left me!” Scott cries. “After my dad, after all that you saw me go through with him, you just fucking left me Stiles! How could you do that to me?”
“You didn’t want me around anymore, in case you forgot,” Stiles responds, sounding just as pissed off. “You threw me away because you had your new and improved werewolf life! No room for poor old human Stiles.”
“Because humans getting involved in this bullshit is how I ended up as a werewolf!”
“And leaving me out is how I ended up as a Spirit! I died Scott! I fucking died!” Stiles grips at his own shirt like a lifeline and a couple of his tattoos start to glow in an attempt to suppress his leaking magic. Jackson almost forgot that smell of wailing thunderstorms. Forgot what Stiles’ sadness was like. “It was just some random feral Alpha to you guys. From what Jackson and Lydia told me, you all thought it just ran to another territory. You probably don’t even remember it. But this was the point when you were all just to edge me out of the pack. No one told me there was an Alpha in the preserve.” Stiles brings a hand up to the left side of his throat and lets his fingers phantom over the skin. Even all these years later there’s a slight discoloration between the new part of his neck that grew back and the rest of his skin. It’s subtle and you’d probably miss it if you weren’t looking, but it’s there and Jackson hates that Stiles has to have the reminder.
“He bit me. Well, he kinda chewed me actually.” Stiles is the only one to laugh at his joke, but it’s through tears. “I killed him with a knife dipped in wolfsbane. My Spark took the Alpha Spark that I just technically inherited and it was trying to save me. My magic was trying so hard to keep me alive. But, well, having a gaping hole in the side of your neck isn’t exactly something you just walk off. That was when Mother Moon stepped in and saved me. And here I am.” He throws his arms out, putting himself on display. “Here I fucking am.”
“Stiles, I’m sorry. I didn’t - ”
“I don’t care. Whatever it is you didn’t, doesn’t matter. I had to leave Scott. I couldn’t find a life in the place that killed me. I’m sorry that I had to hurt you in return, I am, but I stand by what I did.”
It takes what feels like forever in the eerie silence of the night, but eventually, McCall nods. “Could we . . .” Scott hesitates with his words. “I know there’s no going back. Could we start over again though? Werewolf Scott McCall meeting and hitting it off with Moon Spirit Stiles Stilinski?”
“Let’s start with acquaintances and see where we get from there.”
“Yeah?” Scott asks. He sounds so goddamn hopeful.
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. He smiles at the werewolf. It’s a tired one, but still genuine.
A howl rings out through the air then. It’s Laura, beckoning her pack to come to her. Probably due to Val’s aid. A way to get Scott and Derek to leave without incident.
Scott nods happily to himself, thanking Stiles and promising that he’ll get in contact soon as he walks back into the preserve. He even shoots a dopey grin at Jackson before he goes. Jackson forgot what a puppy the guy is.
As much as a part of Jackson still blames Scott for neglecting Stiles, he’s glad that the Spirit gets to have the chance at having his brother back in his life.
On the other hand, that still leaves one Hale Pack member with them. Derek looks out into the preserve but doesn't go to join Scott to meet his Alpha.
“You wanna do this too, right?” Stiles asks. He shakes his head and licks his lips. “Let’s do this then. You used me, Derek.”
“I, no, I -” Derek stammers. He turns white as a sheet at the accusation Stiles throws at him. Or maybe it’s because of the heat burning behind Stiles’ eyes. Either way, Derek finally knows to be afraid of one Stiles Stilinski.
“Yes,” Stiles butts back in before Derek could fumble his way to a proper response. “You did. I was a toy that you used. No, actually, toy suggested that you enjoyed me. Tool. I was a tool for you to use to get off. You didn’t care about me. About whether or not I liked a position. Didn’t care about where it was happening, massive fuck you for making me get on my knees behind the police station by the way. You didn’t care about whatever emotions I know you had to have smelled coming from me. About how dirty I felt afterward. Like I was something so cheap and worn that I was basically valueless.”
“I was scared to love someone again, Stiles. And I know that’s not an excuse!” Derek pleads to be heard. “But I couldn't take the risk of caring about someone, a human, like that again. You were just so hard not to care about though. I’m sorry that I pushed you away. That I made you feel like that.”
“That’s the thing, though,” Stiles says. His voice is progressively more wet and shaky. “You still think any of that was justifiable. Or at least something that can just be fixed with an apology. That just because you cared means that it wasn’t assault. I’m scared of sex now. I’m lucky that Jackson doesn’t seem to give a shit about that now. He rather have my lips on his lips than on his dick, but do you know how bad I feel that I’m scared to go all the way with the man I love? Who I trust undoubtedly?” Jackson didn’t know how much that bothered Stiles. He knew about the sex aversion obviously, and of course, Jackson never cared about that, but he didn’t know that Stiles was mad at himself about it.
Jackson steps in now, pulling Stiles into his arms. The Spirit leans into him easily, like it’s only natural. He wipes the tears in the corners of Stiles’ eyes away with gentle thumbs. Stiles has one more comment to make before he allows Jackson to herd him back to their car. “It wasn’t rape, Derek, but it wasn’t sex either. It is, however, something that haunts me.”
“I’m sorry.” The wolf whispers.
“I hope so.”
Jackson gets Stiles back to the car but stops when he gets Stiles over to River and Enrique, who both go in to hug the brunet. The thought of now or never runs through Jackson’s head. Rubbing a hand on the back of Stiles' neck to comfort them both, Jackson turns around and walks back to Derek. The older man warily watches him approach but waits for him.
“I know you don’t care about what I have to say nearly as much, especially since I never got your dick wet,” Derek flinches like that physically hurt. “But I just wanted to say: Fuck you.”
“I deserve that. More than that.”
“Yeah, you fucking do.” Jackson agrees. “I was somebody's puppet. I had to kill innocent people while I had no control over my own actions. This wasn’t manipulation or someone giving me ultimatums. This was psychopaths crawling their way into my body and using it to get their hands dirty. I was an asshole, yeah, and I shouldn’t have made you give me the bite, but you could have said no! I was never given that option.” Derek shifts from foot to foot. He reeks of discomfort and guilt, and the discomfort aspect pisses Jackson off further. “I needed an Alpha! I needed a pack. I needed to know that I wasn’t broken beyond repair. But all you thought about was yourself.” He wipes at his stinging eyes. “Well, like I said: Fuck you. Because I have my Alpha, my pack, my mate; and maybe I am a little bit broken but I found people who have edges just as jagged as mine and love me all the more for it. Fuck you because I’m finally happy with myself and I’m never going to be that monster again.”
Derek nods. “I just,” the former Alpha shakes his head. “I just have excuses at this point. Trauma and more trauma and just so much fear and anger. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the proper pack you needed, Jackson. I’m glad you found one though.”
And that’s it. After two years, that was it. That’s all Derek has to say, so they stand there awkwardly until Jackson turns away to walk back over to his car where Stiles and the others are waiting.
Jackson gets into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him. He’ll apologize to Martin later. Three more doors shut before he put the pedal to the floor, getting the fuck away from the preserve. It’s staggering. Having been listened to. Being able to actually say it.
It doesn’t feel as good as he thought. It’s all out of him now but there’s just a hole where all that anger and pain had been. That emptiness is the most overwhelming part.
A hand finds its way to his knee as he drives. He relaxes the muscles under those long fingers and eases up on the gas. Stiles does the same breathing exercises that he had to do the night before. Jackson follows along.
After twenty minutes of driving aimlessly, Enrique whispers in the quiet of the car. “I’m proud of you both.” He leaves it at that and that’s all Jackson needs to start crying. Not sobbing, but the tears are heavy and are exhausting to hold in.
“I’m proud of us too,” Stiles says. Tears streak his own cheeks.
“Yeah.” Jackson agrees.
“But while we’re confessing things,” Stiles starts and Jackson tenses. “I have something that I’ve been meaning to tell you. And I would like to state how much I love and appreciate you before I say it.”
“Stiles . . .” Jackson doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what to prepare himself for.
“I named the car Martin because that’s the name of the Gecko from the Geico Insurance ads.”
River snorts from the back seat, immediately apologizing for it. Jackson just laughs. “God, I hate you,” Jackson says as he continues to laugh. He laughs because it’s funny. Because it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it would have before. He laughs because he’s allowed to.
“Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.”
- Jean-Paul Sartre
“Do you think we would have happened?”
Jackson’s not usually the one to ask these types of questions, he leaves that to Stiles, but this one has been in the back of his brain ever since they got home from Beacon a month ago. Everything has gone smoothly with the Demon and the Hale Pack now have order in their territory again. The Ford Pack is currently writing up a treaty that will make the Hale and Ito pack allies and last they heard, it was coming along great.
“What?” Stiles asks. He’s sitting on their apartment floor, organizing their vast book collection into an assortment of different boxes. Jackson gave up trying to understand what type of system the Spirit is using and just moves the books to wherever the brunet tells him to put them. They only started packing two days ago but they have time to get themselves in order.
Despite the fact they are both off to college soon, they decided not to lease their apartment again. The apartment’s new owners will be moving in, in about two weeks but Jackson doubts they’ll pressure Stiles and Jackson to have absolutely everything piled out. Mr. Stilinski and Ms. Martin are very understanding people after all.
Now, in the golden hour, Jackson sits with his mate pondering the question. “Do you think that we still would have ended up together if all this hadn’t happened the way it did?”
“Honestly? No.” Stiles raises his hands in a surrender type gesture probably due to the pout that the answer brings to Jackson’s face. Not that he’ll ever admit it’s a pout. “Hey, I’m just answering truthfully. What happened in Beacon shaped us. It changed us inside and out. I don’t know that we would have been the same exact people we are today any other way.”
Jackson hums as he thinks about this answer. “So this was our fate?”
Stiles wrinkles his nose cutely at that suggestion. He goes back to sorting through books as he talks. “Fate makes it sound so grand. I’m not letting something as cryptic as fate take all the credit for what I’ve been through. The good, the bad, all of it. It made us, but we had to make it first.” Stiles stops and puts the book in his hands in his lap. He runs his fingers over the cover, but his focus is elsewhere. “What I’ve endured to become who I am today. To survive like I did. To fight like I have. To love like I do. That was all me. We weren’t fate Jackson. We made what we have. Built it from the ground up. I think that’s so much better than fate.”
Jackson watches as the golden sunlight frames Stiles’ face, highlights his chestnut hair and makes his eyes glow with no supernatural magic involved. Those magic eyes look back at him and Jackson can’t resist it anymore.
Jackson kisses him. And kisses him again. And again. And again. They’re both smiling into the kisses which makes it incredibly less sexy, but this wasn’t about sex or passion or desire. It was about how utterly happy he was. How he could kiss this man who loves him with every inch of his body and be alright. How he can be alright, even if it’s just for today.
“What’s with the sneak attack?” Stiles asks, laughing as he tries to pull away from another kiss but Jackson just chases his movement to place another one on the corner of his mouth.
“Nothing, I’m just glad.”
Stiles kisses him back. “About?”
“That we lived. That we are living. I’m glad we got here.”
Because despite it all, Jackson is glad that he lived for this.
“No one can save you but yourself, and you’re worth saving. It’s a war not easily won, but if anything is worth winning, then this is it.”
- Charles Bukowski