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DAY 1 - rivals/frenemies
“You’re a douche. You know that, right?” Jackson glares at Stiles’ words but doesn’t make a move to actually rip out his throat or shove his venomous little claws into Stiles’ soft belly. Which he’ll count as a win since Jackson is still a little unpredictable these days.
“At least I don’t smell like cheap store brand Axe and teenage desperation,” Jackson snaps back and okay. That was a little mean. “All that time alone in your house and you still can’t get any more action than your right hand. Is there something, like, wrong with you? No one ever wants to be around you?”
Jackson raises his smug eyebrows when Stiles sputters. That was more than a little mean. That was a little too close for comfort and, judging by the challenging look in Jackson’s eyes, Jackson knows that.
But that’s okay. Because two of them can play at that game.
“I may smell like teenage desperation but that’s a step up from the childish, ‘mommy and daddy don’t love me’ desperation you have oozing from your pores. Tell me, Jackson, is there, like, something wrong with you?” Stiles meets Jackson’s angry gaze and grins wickedly. “No one ever wants to keep you around?”
When his dad questions him later he’ll admit that he deserved being shoved into the lockers and punched in the face. He won’t tell his dad why he deserved it. Or even who did it to him. He may have trouble shutting up but that doesn’t mean he’s going to run off and tattle to his dad.
He may not like Jackson but that doesn’t mean he wants to actually get him into trouble these days.
-
Jackson stares at Stiles and blinks a few times but he still can’t make sense of the words that had just tumbled out of Stiles’ mouth.
“You wanna run that by me again?”
“Not really,” Stiles grumbles, cheeks flushing as he meets Jackson’s gaze for a second before focusing on something past his shoulder.
“Well maybe do it anyway.”
Stiles sighs and then steels himself. Jackson can actually see the way Stiles' spine straightens and his shoulders fall into a strong line and he makes more of himself, takes up more space than usual and if Stiles wasn’t so much of a self-conscious spazz of a human he could potentially be intimidating.
Jackson files that away for future reference.
“I asked if you had nightmares too. Because of the whole, you know.”
“Know what?”
Stiles looks around the lunchroom, glares at Jackson, and then leans a little closer to him.
“You know.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. You do.”
Jackson shrugs. “I don’t think I do.”
He smirks when Stiles shoves away from the table and stomps out of the lunchroom, ignoring the curious glances he gets from people as they look to see what’s gotten Stiles so riled up.
He does know what Stiles is talking about.
He does have nightmares.
He’s not about to hand that weakness over to one of the few people in his life that hasn’t betrayed him in some way yet. Stiles may not like him but at least he’s always been consistent in that. He’s never pretended to feel something for Jackson he doesn’t actually feel.
-
“Well. That counts me out,” Jackson announces to the pack as they argue over the plan to combat the latest monster of the week.
“Why? You too good to tromp through the Preserve with the rest of us all of a sudden?”
Jackson smirks at Stiles. “Glad to see you finally figured out I’m too good to be seen with you. But no.”
For a moment Stiles swears he sees something like longing or regret flash through Jackson’s eyes as he glances around the room. Then it’s gone and that familiar smarmy glint is back.
“Then what are you talking about?” Derek demands.
“The Whittemores are relocating to London. We leave tomorrow afternoon.” Jackson huffs out a breath as everyone starts talking and if he wasn’t stuck standing next to Jackson as they all crowded around the table in Derek’s loft he wouldn’t have heard Jackson mutter, “Not that I was given a choice in the matter.”
Stiles meets Peter’s eyes from his spot on the other side of Jackson. Peter shakes his head and Stiles sighs before launching into a detailed description of why they won’t miss Jackson’s scaly ass — purely to draw Jackson into a heated debate of just how awesome said ass is — that manages to derail everyone else’s questions and nagging.
He may not like Jackson all that much but he doesn’t deserve to be scolded like that for something he has no control over. Stiles gets it. The others, if they’d take a moment to remember that they are all in fact just teenagers with parents who make the final call most of the time, know it too.
It’s just easier to take it out on someone else. Especially when they’ll be leaving soon.
-
Jackson has no idea why he tells Stiles to keep in touch when he leaves. They barely keep in touch now.
But Stiles gives him a look like he’s actually considering Jackson’s words before he snorts.
“If I get the plague or something you’ll be the first one I call.”
Jackson rolls his eyes. “You promise?” he asks teasingly.
“For you, Jax? Of course. The minute I think I have the plague I’m calling you so I can spread it to you and we can die a horrible zombie death together.”
He really should call Stiles out on the nickname. But, well, Stiles has never said something to Jackson he didn’t mean. Never pretended to be something they’re not to each other.
So he lets it slide. Not like they’ll probably ever see each other again anyway.
——
DAY 2 - college - ‘they’re ruining it all’
“So,” Stiles’ roommate says as he sidles up to Stiles. “Do you two know each other or something? Date gone wrong? Hookup gone wrong?”
“No,” Stiles says.
It’s true. Stiles doesn’t know this Jackson. He only ran into this Jackson a few minutes ago. The Jackson he knows wouldn’t be caught dead poking around the discount section of the bookstore just off campus. The Jackson he knows should still be halfway across the globe being all posh or whatever the fuck Jackson has been up to since he left. The Jackson he knows doesn’t talk to Stiles like they’re friends and invite him out for coffee. Jackson glances over at Stiles and grins.
“No? Seriously?”
“I just met him.”
“You just met him and talked to him for two minutes and had him ask you out and yet you already hate him?”
Stiles shrugs. “What can I say? He has a very hate-able face.”
Stiles’ roommate laughs. “I would have said he has a very fuck-able face. But that’s just me.”
Jackson tilts his head and grins even wider at that and Stiles glares back at him, knowing that Jackson can hear every word they’re saying.
“Personally I think he looks like a fuckwit douche frat boy,” Stiles replies, holding Jackson’s gaze. His roommate snickers. “All brawn and no brain in that head I’m sure.”
“You say that like you haven’t blown over half the fuckwit douche frat boys who ask you to. That’s kind of your type for fast fun.”
“That’s not the point.” Jackson finally looks away from Stiles and starts laughing at something someone next to him says and Stiles takes the chance to turn around and head for the door.
“Don’t you still need to get-“
“I’ll pick it up later.”
Stiles isn’t sure why seeing Jackson is throwing him off so badly. Maybe because it’s been three years since he saw Jackson. Maybe because he hasn’t seen anyone from Beacon Hills except Dad and Peter since he left for college.
Maybe it’s because he can’t remember ever seeing Jackson so relaxed and happy looking without it seeming like an act.
-
Jackson watches Stiles move through the crowded house with an ease that it feels strange to see him with. Oh sure he knows Stiles can disappear into a crowd, that was kinda one of his specialties even back in high school. But the way he can slip into a group of people and then slide right back out the other side without so much as touching a single one of them? The grace and ease in which he steps out of the way of an outstretched arm without making it look like he was avoiding them? The way he turns and smoothly laughs off a drunken attempt to get him to go upstairs for some fun?
None of that is anything he would have associated with Stiles. Not the Stiles he knew in high school anyway.
Not the Stiles he left behind in Beacon Hills.
Yet he’s seen Stiles do it at party after party since the school year started.
His roommate, a shifter he had been put in contact with when he told the London pack he had been under the protection of that he wanted to come to college here, leans against the wall beside Jackson and nudges his shoulder.
“I’ve seen you eying Stilinski,” he says when Jackson glances at him. “Good luck if you’re trying to get anywhere with him though.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s worked his way through most of the frats and despite the reputation he seems to have he’s actually pretty picky when it comes to who he spends the night with.”
“Oh he wouldn’t spend just one night with me,” Jackson murmurs, mind already planning things out.
“Fifty bucks says he won’t even spend an hour with you, let alone a night. Forget whatever you think you’d get from him.”
Jackson grins and holds out his hand. “A hundred bucks says he comes home with me tonight and is still there when you get back in the morning.”
“Deal.”
Jackson slips through the crowd and stops a few steps to Stiles’ left, waiting for Stiles to notice him. When Stiles finally turns to him, eyes bright and playful, Jackson takes a step closer.
“Hey, Stiles.”
“Hey, Jackson.”
Another step closer and they’re only a few inches apart.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Stiles snickers and drags his gaze up and down Jackson’s form a couple times before tilting his head curiously.
“Do tell.”
“My roommate bet me fifty bucks I couldn’t get you to spend an hour with me. I bet him a hundred I could get you to go home with me and be there in the morning. Either way, do you wanna prove him wrong? Split the profit with me?”
“I’m not gonna sleep with you, Jax.”
“I never said you would. I just said you’d go home with me.” Jackson wiggles his eyebrows and then takes that final step into Stiles’ space, happiness flooding him when Stiles does nothing more than lean just a little bit into Jackson’s space as well. “For all I care we can go play Xbox and you can steal my roommate’s Cheetos.”
“That actually sounds like a pretty good idea to me.” Stiles calls over his shoulder to someone and then slips his arm around Jackson’s waist. “Lead the way.”
Jackson throws his arm over Stiles’ shoulder and gives his roommate a thumbs up.
It’s the easiest fifty bucks he’s ever made. Even if his roommate chews him out for letting Stiles eat all his Cheetos in a supposed post-sex snack binge.
“Next time you proposition me add some curly fries to the pot to sweeten the deal,” Stiles says as he pulls his shoes on. Jackson’s roommate chokes on his own breath or something when Stiles winks and adds, “You were an animal last night.”
Jackson rolls his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He meets Stiles’ gaze. “Keep in touch.”
Stiles stares at him for a long few seconds and then smiles softer than Jackson can ever remember seeing.
“If I get the plague or something you’ll be the first one I call.” Stiles winks at him again as he saunters out of Jackson’s room.
“Promise, Zombie?” Jackson calls out with a laugh.
“We’ll die horribly together, fuckwit frat boy. I promise.”
-
“How is it,” Stiles grumbles, “that you were always so horrible in class in high school yet you are good enough to be fucking tutoring me in something now?”
Jackson leans back in his chair and huffs a soft laugh at Stiles.
“Because I was too busy in high school trying to hold on to my popularity and reputation that I could care less about grades. Also did you forget I was in, like, half of your AP classes with you?”
The thing was. Stiles did forget that. He had forgotten that while Jackson may not have been top of the class he was still in the class. Jackson had sat behind him in AP Chemistry and two seats to the left in AP English and had done a short stint with Stiles as his partner in three different advanced math classes in middle and high school.
It was easier to think of Jackson as some dumb jock. Easier to shove him into the corner and forget all about the brain that was hidden beyond the smirking and muscles and athletics.
“You’re still just a fuckwit douche,” Stiles whispers in irritation. There’s a soft gasp and he glances over his shoulder to see two of the girls in his Mythology class giving him reproachful glares.
“It’s okay, Stiles. You can admit that you missed me.”
Jackson flutters his eyes at Stiles and the girls let out a soft sigh before they start giggling when Jackson lets his gaze drift to them for a moment. Stiles shakes his head and digs out his notes. Some things really never do change and Jackson flirting with anyone who so much as looks at him twice is one of them.
“Jax, are you going to help me with this or what?”
“Are you gonna make it worth my time, babe?”
The girls giggle again before they hurry away and Stiles buries his head in his hands.
By this time tomorrow half the campus will be under the impression that he and Jackson are A Thing.
“I hate you so much,” Stiles mutters.
-
It takes every ounce of courage Jackson has — and a few ounces he doesn’t have but grabs anyway — to knock on the door in front of him. He knows there’s only one person inside, knows exactly who it is, and yet he still almost bolts down the hallway before the door opens and Stiles gives him a sleepy glare.
“It’s two in the morning,” Stiles slurs. “The fuck you want?”
“Nightmare,” Jackson says softly.
He hates this weakness. He thought he had mostly gotten over it thanks to the pack that had taken him in back in London and worked with him. He thought that he’d be okay here, far enough away from Beacon Hills that it doesn’t haunt his every step.
He was wrong and he hates that too.
Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just turns around and leaves the door open and Jackson takes a shallow breath of the stale hallway air before he slips into Stiles’ room. It’s set up just like Jackson’s own room on the other side of the dorms and is just as messy as Jackson’s is. But Stiles’ scent isn’t as stifling as Jackson’s roommate’s is right now and Stiles’ roommate isn’t here, hasn’t been here for a couple days from the smell of the room.
“C’mon,” Stiles yawns. “I can’t promise to stay awake but I’ll be here.”
Jackson crawls into Stiles’ bed, nose pressing against Stiles’ collarbone when Stiles turns and wraps his arms around Jackson to pull him close.
Jackson hates this weakness, hates showing it to anyone. But Stiles hasn’t betrayed Jackson yet.
He just has to hope that Stiles sticks with that pattern.
—
DAY 3 - teaming up
Stiles is prepared. This time. For the first time in what feels like forever he is starting a situation against slash for slash with Jackson and having the upper hand from the start. He did his research before he signed the lease for his PI office. So he knows exactly what kind of neighborhood his office is going to be in. Knows who occupies the other four offices in the building: Bruce Sanderson has an office for his web design business on the second floor along with Gladys Ambrose who is running some kind of artsy office supply thing, half of the third floor is occupied by a tarot card slash palm reader cleverly disguised as a personal consultant named Bay, and then down on the entire first floor there’s Jackson Whittemore, financial advisor.
He also knows the kind of magic that is already coursing through the building’s walls and plans on chatting with Bay as soon as possible to see if the two of them can do something to amp that protection up a little.
He knows who owns the building, even if it isn’t who he is renting it out from.
Jackson hadn’t tried too hard to cover up his tracks after all. It had literally taken Stiles like twenty minutes and a handful of web searches to find out who owned the building. He had wanted to be in this building to begin with and had been pleasantly surprised to see the familiar name on his screen.
He also knows there is no way that Jackson knows that Stiles is the newest tenant, filling out the rest of the third floor. For one thing Jackson has been out of town for the last two weeks while Stiles has been setting up shop. For the other the landlord had flat out told Stiles that he was just a middleman who got paid well to make sure everyone paid rent on time and take care of any minor maintenance requests.
So when he strolls into the building with four cups of coffee in his hands and bags of donuts from the cafe down the block he’s prepared to face Jackson Whittemore for the first time in about six years.
He is prepared for the shock that crosses Jackson’s face when he sees Stiles hand off a coffee to Bruce and Gladys and shoos them off with one of the donut bags. He is not prepared for the way that shock bleeds into a genuine smile when Stiles turns and hands one of the coffee cups to Jackson.
Damn Jackson for always throwing him off balance.
“Stiles.” Jackson takes the cup and starts laughing. “I should be more surprised but with a name like Eye See You for a private investigator I almost had a feeling it was you.”
Stiles stares at Jackson for a moment and then sighs. “Bay told you, didn't he?”
“Yep. My half a month free rent and three bagels from the cafe made a pretty compelling bribe.”
“You’re such a douche,” Stiles grumbles. He digs his donut out and then tosses the bag on Jackson’s desk.
“At least I’m back to being just a douche and not a fuckwit frat boy,” Jackson replies just as Bay pushes open the door to Jackson’s office.
“Fuckwit frat boy just rolls off the tongue though,” Bay says after he stares at them for a few seconds.
There’s a dick joke in there and Stiles so badly wants to make it and judging by the look Jackson gives him he knows it. Instead of giving in, Stiles hands Bay the last cup of coffee and gestures towards the donut bag on Jackson’s desk.
“You two fight over the donuts. If it devolves into shirtless wrestling, call me down. Otherwise the both of you can fuck right off and leave me alone.” Stiles pauses at the door. “And don’t expect coffee from me every morning, Jackson. I only do that for people I like.”
“And I thank my lucky stars every single day that I am not someone you like,” Jackson replies with a wink. “Hey, Zombie. Shoot me a text if you get the plague though, okay? My number hasn’t changed.”
“Plague,” Stiles manages to say before he slips out the door. “Got it.”
When he gets back to his office Stiles buries his head in his arms with a groan: he was an idiot to ever think he was prepared to see Jackson again.
-
The worst thing about Stiles renting one of the offices in Jackson’s building isn’t that Stiles is around all the time — even though Jackson swears Stiles spends more time wandering around than in his own office — or that Stiles gets some of the strangest people into his office — and seriously why does Greenburg of all people need to be stopping by to talk to Stiles at least once a week — or even that Stiles is clearly trying to fatten Jackson up by bringing him his favorite coffee and donut every few days — though Jackson isn’t even all that sure it’s possible to fatten him up at this point in his life thanks to the supernatural metabolism and healing shit he has going on.
No. The worst thing about Stiles renting one of the offices in his building is the fact that Jackson can’t even be an ass to Stiles the way he wants to. Because everyone else likes Stiles and thinks Stiles is nice and sweet and kind and even if Stiles doesn’t care in the slightest that Jackson calls him a dick and a nuisance and a pain in the ass every one else does.
Stiles, apparently, finds this hilarious and teases Jackson to no end about the fact that his tenants like Stiles better than him.
Which would be fine. Except in their eyes Stiles can do no wrong. So he gets to pick at Jackson and call him names and rearrange Jackson’s office so all his bookcases are in front of his bathroom door and they all just coo over how cute it is.
It’s like Stiles is the golden child who can do no wrong and Jackson is as off balance as ever, not that anyone knows it.
He’s never tried to compare himself to Stiles. There has never really been enough overlap in their lives to give him anything to compare.
(Except for all the ways they are alike, all the similar situations they endured, all the anger and confusion and self-reliance and need to prove that they can handle this, that they are more than what people think they are, that there is more to them than their well crafted masks.)
None whatsoever.
So he doesn’t quite understand why his chest aches when Bay laughs at some joke that Stiles makes while they hurry in from the rain in the morning or why his jaw clenches when Gladys calls Stiles sweet for ordering her some flowers or why he nearly snaps an ink pen in half when Bruce holds the door open for Stiles when they go grab lunch for the building.
(Except he does.)
-
Dad sighs and shakes his head. “Son.”
“Dad.”
“Why do you insist on antagonizing him so much?”
Stiles drags his gaze away from where Peter is perched on Jackson’s desk deep in some kind of discussion and follows Dad outside.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Stiles,” Dad warns.
“I dunno. It’s fun?”
“Really?”
“Really.” Stiles leads the way towards the cafe that had become his favorite place practically the day he moved into the building almost a year ago. “I am what you raised me to be.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“A little shit who doesn’t get caught.”
Dad runs his hand down his face. “I am going to pretend I never heard that.”
“Just like I am going to pretend that I never saw you making out with Peter against my desk like a couple of horny teenagers when I left you alone in my office for ten minutes while I talked to Bay.”
Dad pauses with his hand on the cafe door and then nods. “That sounds fair enough to me. Though I can make out with my own boyfriend if I want to.”
“Not on my desk.”
Stiles heads for the counter and places their order and then nearly trips over his own feet when Dad leans towards him and says, “We’ll use your chair next time. More comfortable that way.”
“Dad!” Stiles yells. “No! I don’t. No. N- Ew no.”
Dad waits until they’re on the way back to the building and then nearly makes Stiles trip again when he says, “You’re just jealous that you don’t have a boyfriend to make out in your office with.”
While Dad isn’t wrong Stiles doesn’t think that was a very nice thing to say. Though it sounds almost exactly like something Stiles would say and he really is his father’s son isn’t he?
-
Jackson ends his call and it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to throw his phone across the room just to watch it shatter against the wall. It takes even more when Stiles opens the door to Jackson’s office a few seconds later.
“Hey Gladys and I were going to do an early dinner. You want to come with?”
Jackson glares at Stiles and takes one deep breath. Then another. Then a third when the first two don’t seem to do much for him. Stiles leans out of the door and then Jackson is watching numbly as Stiles steps inside, locks the door and draws the shutters closed, then makes his way to Jackson’s desk.
“Jackson?”
He lets Stiles carefully pull his phone out of his hand and he’s almost surprised to see his claws at the tips of his fingers. It’s been a long time since he’s lost any control over himself.
“Hey. Jackson.” Stiles leans back against Jackson’s desk and nudges Jackson’s chair with his knee. “Talk to me.”
“They’re talking about rezoning this entire section of town.” Jackson hisses angrily and wills his claws back under his skin. “I barely managed to get this building bought in the first place. Barely managed to get them to let me rent it out to all the different businesses.”
“Well that fucking sucks,” Stiles states and Jackson snorts because yeah, it really does fucking suck.
“If they do that, if they go through with it. I’m screwed Stiles. And not in the fun fuckwit frat boy way,” he tries to joke and Stiles gives him a smile for his effort. “We’re pretty much all screwed. I know Gladys can’t afford the rent at a different place, she barely affords it now even with the discounts I give her. Bruce can’t go much further without having to move or pay out the ass for bus fares. Bay would manage just fine but he’d have to start all over again with his clients and he’s just finally starting to get a steady string in. And you, well you’d be okay I’m sure. You always seem to manage to be okay in the end.”
“Jax.”
He shouldn’t let the nickname slide. He really, really shouldn’t. Because it means something. Stiles makes it mean something even when he doesn’t try to.
He sighs. “Stiles.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Stiles nudges his chair again. “You always seem to manage to be okay in the end too.”
“I’m tired of managing to be okay,” Jackson admits.
“Me too,” Stiles replies softly. “Me too.”
—
DAY 4 - pining - meant to be but they don’t like it
Stiles stares down at the invitation on his desk and really wishes that the Nogitsune had left him something really fucking cool like the ability to set shit on fire with his mind. Because he’d really like to set this thing on fire with his mind.
He picks up his phone and scrolls through his contacts.
“Can I just not show up?” he asks as soon as the call connects.
“I mean it is well within your rights to not come to the wedding,” Peter replies somewhat distractedly. Stiles leans back in his desk chair to glance at the clock and winces. He hadn’t checked the time and Peter is most likely in the middle of finishing up his latest project. Something about translating something into Greek and then English and Stiles hadn’t fully listened when he had been at dinner last week. “Though Noah might be a smidge unhappy if that were your choice.”
“It’s not the wedding,” Stiles whines. “It’s the fact that you included explicit instructions that I am required and expected to have a plus one.”
“And?”
“Peter. I’m single.”
Peter sighs and mutters something that sounds like ‘only because you’re an idiot’ but Stiles chooses to ignore it and huffs right back at Peter.
“Ask Jackson.”
Stiles nearly topples his chair over at Peter’s words and then lets out a pained noise when he overcompensates and smacks the edge of his desk into his stomach.
“Why?” he gasps out.
“Because he is coming too and I know that he doesn’t have a date yet.”
“And that means I should ask him why?”
Peter sighs again. “You two, I swear.” His voice quiets and Stiles assumes he’s talking to Dad or maybe Derek for a moment and then he’s back again. “Look, it saves you both the hassle of finding a date to the wedding that is one: someone you can tolerate, two: someone who knows about the supernatural, and for you three: someone you trust enough to bring around your dad. Especially for something this important.”
“And that makes Jackson your suggestion? Did you forget the restraining order? The attempted murder? The other attempted murder? The seven almost expulsions before he left for London? That one night Dad refused to bail me out because Jackson and I got in that fight at college?”
“Have you forgotten the late night phone calls to London your dad and I helped you pay for your senior year? The tutoring in college? That one time you called your dad at one in the morning because Jackson had a nightmare and panic attack you couldn’t talk him through and needed advice? The road trip before you graduated? That time you called me in a panic because Jackson was so worried about losing that office building and you needed my help looking over things?” Peter sighs once again but this one is softer and Stiles can’t quite figure out what it means coming from Peter. “That is why Jackson is my suggestion.”
“But.” Stiles groans. “It’s Jackson.”
“You two,” Peter growls out between no doubt clenched teeth. “You two deserve each other.”
Peter ends the call and Stiles goes back to glaring at the invitation on his desk.
-
Jackson generally likes any occasion he can dress up and show himself off a little. Especially in a situation where he doesn’t have to hold so tightly to himself because the people around him know what he is, what is lurking under his skin. He definitely likes it when those situations are an event that Peter is hosting in any way because Peter likes fancy things and even if he’s not as showy about it as he used to be before he started dating Sheriff Stilinski it’s still there if you know what to look for.
Jackson grew up knowing what to look for and it is an odd sort of comfort to see those sorts of small details during the wedding and the reception.
Derek drops into the empty chair next to Jackson and gives him a look.
“Don’t,” Jackson groans. “Don’t ruin what little happy buzz I’ve managed to gain.”
Derek slides him over a glass that he sniffs at a couple times before taking a taste.
“Peter said you’d appreciate it.” Derek nods to the glass and Jackson takes another sip. It’s good. Warm and soothing and he swears he can already feel the lethargy setting in.
“I’ll have to thank him later.”
“Stiles’ date—”
Jackson groans again. He’s heard some version of this sentence a dozen times since the reception started an hour ago.
“Bruce is a good guy. He’s totally human but he grew up in a pack out in Colorado. Really polite. Not great at making friends. Be nice to him.” Jackson gives Derek a pointed look and adds, “Stiles is a good judge of character and if he didn’t trust Bruce to be here he wouldn’t be here.”
Derek holds his hands up in defeat and they sit together quietly and watch the people mingling. Jackson has just finished catching up with Kira and Malia, shooing them off towards the dance floor with a laugh, when Derek puts his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. Jackson glances over and follows Derek’s line of sight to where Bruce and Stiles are sitting at a table with Peter and Sheriff Stilinski.
“Stiles is a good judge of character,” Derek says softly. “If he didn’t trust you to be here you wouldn’t be here either.”
Jackson knows this.
He just doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do with this information.
-
Stiles pushes up from his desk and slowly opens his eyes, disoriented by the way the sun is shining on his face. His desk doesn’t face any windows and it’s in the very center of his office space so that the sun never fully slants across it. His chair is also way more comfortable than he remembers it being the last time he flopped into it and he is about to slump back over his desk when he hears a muffled snort that is far too familiar.
“What do you want, Jackson?”
“Me? You’re the one who showed up out of the blue after being gone for almost two weeks, sat down at my desk, and then promptly passed out for nearly three hours before you could tell me whatever was so urgent that you barged in here without knocking.”
“I did?”
“Yeah. Look around. This isn’t your office, Stiles.”
Stiles blinks a few times and the room comes fully into focus. There’s Jackson’s degrees on the wall. Jackson’s favorite painting between the windows. Jackson’s bookcases filled with Jackson’s books and files.
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Jackson agrees. “Oh.”
When Stiles doesn’t respond Jackson sighs and pushes himself up from the small loveseat near the door that his clients usually use when they’re waiting for him and rolls his shoulders. The loveseat is comfortable but not comfortable enough to stretch out on for three hours with a laptop while trying to work and now Stiles feels kinda shitty for taking over Jackson’s desk in the middle of the day.
“You could have just woken me up, you know.”
Jackson just shrugs and pulls out the chair on the other side of his desk, the one his clients usually use, instead of making Stiles get up.
“Maybe I was afraid you had the plague or something.”
There’s something in Jackson’s voice, some hint that Stiles doesn’t want to look at too closely. Because looking at it would mean acknowledging it which would mean having to deal with it and yeah no thank you. Stiles just. He can’t do that right now.
He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to do that.
So he just gives Jackson a lazy smile and says, “I did say you would be the first to know if I got the plague, Jax. Maybe this was my way of letting you know and trying to infect you with it so we can die horribly together.”
Jackson rolls his eyes and pulls out a stack of papers from under Stiles’ arms.
“Go back to sleep if you want, Zombie. I still have a couple hours of work to do.”
Stiles yawns and drops his head back onto the desk.
“Wake me up when you’re done and we can get food. There’s a new Italian place that just opened up that I think you’ll like if you wanna go with me.”
Stiles doesn’t hear Jackson’s response before he falls asleep again. But it doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer.
-
“You are just…” Stiles growls and stomps away from the building. “I thought I knew you. I thought you grew up a little,” he says over his shoulder. “But you’re really just the same pain in the ass frat boy fuckwit douche you’ve always been.” He spins and meets Jackson’s gaze, furious and deadly. “Tell me, Jackson,” he hisses when Jackson starts after him. “Is there something wrong with you?”
Jackson freezes. Then actually takes a step back at the venom in Stiles’ voice. He’s the scaly lizard. He should be the one dripping poison from his lips and ripping open chests to display still beating hearts for the world to see and crush. Not Stiles.
“I dunno, Stiles. You tell me,” he says coldly and he hates the sickening thrill that races down his spine at the way Stiles tenses and braces himself. “It takes a monster to know one after all.”
Stiles is the one with shadows lingering in his eyes and in his heart. Jackson shouldn’t be the one digging under people’s skin, shoving darkness into them and goading them into lashing out. Jackson shouldn’t be the one with inky blackness oozing through his veins, churning sluggishly through him as he bites out words meant to dig in deep and tear people apart from the inside.
But in the end it doesn’t matter that much which of them is spitting venom and which of them oozing darkness when they’re both aiming to hurt the other does it?
Jackson turns and leaves Stiles standing on the sidewalk staring after him.
—
DAY 5 - magical mishap/hanahaki
“Don’t be mad, okay?”
Stiles has never felt more like his own father than he does when he hears those words and looks over into Bay’s wide eyes. He wonders if Dad got this same swooping sensation of worry in his gut every single time Stiles uttered those words over the years. He sends up a silent prayer of forgiveness and as much apology as he can muster before he takes a deep breath and fully turns his chair towards Bay.
“I make no promises, Bay. But what happened?”
“So, uh. I was doing some readings. Checking out the lay of things ya know. And Bruce might have been hanging out in my office with me and we got to talking and then Gladys came in too and she brought over this cool new book she’s been testing out and we may have maybe put a little too much oomph into things and I’m sorry.”
Stiles rubs his temples. He needs to send Dad a thank you card for putting up with him and having seemingly unending patience because he’s only been in the building with Bay for three years and some days he wants to throw the other man out the window.
“Why are you sorry?”
Bay blurts out a string of words that make Stiles’ brain hurt as he tries to figure them all out.
“You did what to Jackson and me?”
“We might have put some kind of spell on you that we don’t know what it does but we just wanted you two to make up and stop being so angry with each other? It’s been like six months already. Can you two just, I dunno, stop fighting?”
“Pretty sure fighting with each other is just part of who we are,” Stiles mutters.
Bay gives him a look that he’s too tired to interpret.
“Don’t you guys like each other? I mean you’ve known each other since you were kids and went to college together and help each other out all the time even when you have no reason to. Like when you helped with the zoning shit and when he helped you with getting your house.”
“Tolerating each other for most of our lives does not mean we like each other.”
Bay hums, clearly not believing him. “Well. Whatever. If you feel anything weird or if you start growing extra limbs or something let us know, yeah? Then we can figure out for sure what happened.”
Stiles agrees and waves Bay out of his office. He’s pretty sure that anything they might have accidentally done to him probably won’t stick thanks to the bits and pieces the Nogitsune left behind. But he’ll keep an eye out anyway.
He takes a drink out of the water bottle on his desk and starts coughing when it goes down wrong. He smacks his own chest and clears his throat a few times and then feels something on the back of his tongue.
He spits out a flower petal into his palm and his stomach sinks.
A fucking hanahaki curse. Great. Just great.
-
There are rose petals in his bathroom sink. Lilacs strewn across his kitchen counter. Daisies scattered on his freaking pillows.
There are dozens of flowers he doesn’t know and hasn’t yet bothered learning the identity of filling up his apartment. Jackson loves and hates the sight of every single one of them.
Gladys had shuffled into his office a few weeks ago and nervously told him what the rest of them had accidentally done, had explained how it happened and what they had been trying to do. But it wasn’t until the next day when Jackson coughed up a rose petal after watching Stiles leave without talking to him yet again that he realized what was going on.
Or at least it had given him enough of a clue to ask Lydia and Allison to look into it for him.
While not as permanently deadly as fiction has made it out to be, being hit by a hanahaki curse isn’t exactly pleasant. Especially not when the person he’s got buried in his heart spends most of the week only two floors away from him and walks past the door to Jackson’s office multiple times a day.
He had read what Lydia sent him countless times and even did a little research of his own but it all told him the same things. He won’t die from this but he will be coughing up petals and buds and full grown flowers for the rest of his life unless he manages to let go of his feelings on his own or confesses and releases them that way.
Because the flowers aren’t meant to choke him. They are meant to dig their roots in and drag the feelings deep inside him to the surface. Invasive weeds with pretty colors ruining his life.
If he had half the guts he has always boasted about having he’d just go and talk to Stiles, apologize for his part in that last argument of theirs, and tell him about the petals crawling along his lungs and trying to break through into his heart.
But his bouts of courage are few and far between and he’s already shown far more of himself to Stiles than he probably should have over the years.
-
Stiles takes a deep breath, coughs out a few more daisy petals, and hits the call button on his phone.
“Stiles?” Jackson asks warily.
“Hey, uh. Hi, Jackson.”
“Hi, Stiles.”
Stiles stares at the petals on his kitchen table and makes little piles out of them as he listens to Jackson breathing on the other end of the call. He picks up a handful of forget-me-nots and sighs.
“So. I, uh. I think I caught the plague. And I’m hoping that maybe. Maybe you already caught it too?”
Jackson laughs roughly and then coughs a couple times, clearing his throat as Stiles grips his phone tight enough that he can hear the plastic creaking.
“I never thought the plague would look like asters and camellias covering my couch cushions.” Stiles’ heart leaps and he spits out another couple of petals. “But, yeah. I think maybe I already caught it too.”
“Wanna come to my place and compare plagues? Maybe we can get really lucky and double our exposure.”
Jackson snickers. “You sure you wanna invite a fuckwit frat boy to your place, Zombie?” he asks softly.
“You forgot douche,” Stiles replies instantly. Then he sighs. “Do you wanna come over for dinner? We’ll see what happens from there?”
“Stiles Stilinski, are you asking me on a date?”
“Yeah I am. Come over and if you play your cards right I might even let you sleep on the bed instead of the couch.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, Jax. I promise.”
-
The floral arrangement on Jackson’s desk is gorgeous.
He glares at the three people on the other side of his office and then glares even harder when all they do is grin at him.
“Keep this shit up and I’m raising all your rents,” he growls. “Get out.”
Bay laughs at him and hooks his arm around Gladys’ elbow and tugs her out of Jackson’s office. Jackson and Bruce watch as they hurry out of the building, heads tilted together as they laugh. When the door shuts he turns his attention to Bruce and raises his eyebrows in question when he finds Bruce watching him.
“I’ve been renting my office space since the day you opened this building.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“You were proud then. Happy about what you’ve done and how far you had come.”
“I was,” Jackson agrees.
Bruce smiles at Jackson, warm and fond and Jackson feels bonds in his chest twisting and growing like ivy reaching for the sun.
“You’re more than that now. You’re not just happy. You’re content.” Bruce glances at the flowers and then up towards the ceiling. “Stiles makes you content. He gives you peace.”
Jackson takes a shaky breath in and lets it out slowly.
“He does,” he agrees.
There’s not a lot in his life he’s sure of. But now that he’s let the roots break into him and uncover the tangled knots of his soul and shown it to Stiles, let Stiles brush away the loose soil of his buried heart? Now he knows.
Stiles is one of the few things he’s always been able to be sure of. One of the few constants in Jackson’s life.
That alone is enough to bring him some measure of peace. That’s something he’s sure of.
—
DAY 6 - ‘they’re going to make it everyone else’s problem’
“Hey, douche. We’re back.”
Jackson looks over as the door shuts, winks, and then goes back to his conversation with Jordan.
Stiles watches with a fond smile no doubt plastered on his face as Jackson leans against the table in Derek’s loft and laughs at whatever story Jordan is telling him. By the way Derek is frowning and turning the slightest bit red on the ears it has something to do with him. Isaac gasps, spins around on the couch where he’s been playing a racing game, and launches himself across the loft towards Jordan.
Oh. So it’s that story.
“I liked it better when you two hated each other,” Derek grumbles.
Stiles glances at him and then follows his gaze to where Isaac and Jordan are chasing each other around the small island that separates Derek’s kitchen from his living space. He’s grumbling but there’s a smile on his face that Stiles knows matches his own when Jackson sticks out his foot to trip Jordan and then “accidentally” gets in the way so he can’t get up before Isaac jumps on top of him and starts tickling Jordan.
“Aw,” Stiles coos. “Why so grumpy, Creeperwolf? You wanna get in on the tickle action?”
“Hey, Zombie,” Jackson says as he slings an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and presses a kiss to his temple.
“Hey, Jax.”
“I regret not killing you both when I had the chance. So, so much.”
Stiles meets Jackson’s gaze for a moment. Then they both turn to Derek.
“No you don’t,” they say in unison before they throw themselves at Derek and knock him to the ground.
When Dad and Peter walk in a few minutes later they’re all still rolling around and trying to tickle each other within an inch of their lives and Peter sighs as if the entire world is out to get him.
“This,” Peter states, “is why I never wanted to have children with you, Noah.” He steps over Stiles and Isaac rolling towards his feet and heads for the kitchen.
“Why? Because between the two of us we already have about a dozen?”
“Don’t lump me in with you and this lot,” Peter sniffs haughtily.
Dad dodges Derek and Jackson’s roll and eyes Jordan warningly as he sidesteps him and follows Peter into the kitchen to wrap his arms around Peter’s waist and pull him into a kiss.
“Gross,” Stiles gags. “There are children present.”
“Yeah,” Jackson manages to add as he slips out of Derek’s grasp and twists so he can slap his hands over Jordan’s eyes. “Parrish is just an easily impressionable Deputy. You shouldn’t do that stuff in front of him.”
Jordan growls and smacks Jackson’s side. Stiles drags himself out of the fray so he can hop onto the island next to Dad and Peter.
“Still think we deserve each other?” Stiles asks softly.
Peter turns in Dad’s arms and leans against his chest with a smile as he looks out at the others and then meets Stiles’ eyes.
“I have for years, Stiles,” Peter replies.
Stiles nods. He has too.
Jackson has always pushed him, always challenged him, always taken that first step and dared Stiles to keep up with him. He’s just glad he finally let himself go for it. Finally let himself see what Jackson was doing, the future Jackson was teasing him with. Finally took a breath and just jumped.
Jackson has always caught him, after all. One way or another. Stiles has no idea why he thought this time would be any different.
-
“I don’t wanna pick sides,” Bay complains even as he helps Jackson haul the bags up onto the third floor. “Plus I have to share this floor with him.”
“You should have thought of that before you conveniently forgot to tell me that Stiles booby-trapped my office bathroom.” Jackson rolls his shoulders and gives Bay an unimpressed look. “My hair was purple for a week. You owe me.”
“Can’t I just buy you an extra coffee or something?”
“I was leaving for a week of meeting clients in New York, Bay. I had to meet potential clients with purple hair. Rich, stuffy, old school, serious clients.”
“I, for one, thought you looked good with purple hair,” Bruce says as they push open Stiles’ door.
“That dick,” Jackson hisses.
“Sorry.” Bruce shrugs. “He got to me first.”
“Can I buy either your help or your silence?” Jackson asks. He has to try. He’s come this far after all.
Bruce shakes his head. “Not this time.”
Jackson sighs and then crosses the hallway to throw his bag into Bay’s office.
“Hey!” Bay shouts as the bag pops open and charmed clouds of glitter fly into the air before attaching themselves to every available surface. “What the hell?”
“Consider your debt paid off, Bay,” Jackson says as he heads for the stairs. Bruce laughs and then there’s a muffled noise of protest as Bay no doubt smacks Bruce with his own bag of charmed glitter. “None of that winds up in my office,” he warns. “Or Gladys’ place.”
-
Stiles leans against Jackson’s side with a soft groan and goes boneless when Jackson turns and wraps his arms around him.
“I am so freaking tired,” Stiles mutters. “How the hell did you fit that much stuff in your apartment?”
Jackson runs his hands along Stiles’ shoulders and kneads out a few tense spots from Stiles’ back.
“I told you I could get most of it.”
“I know. But I wanted to help. Just because I’m a squishy human doesn’t mean—”
“I never said it did. I told you I could get most of it because you’re still exhausted from helping Gladys repaint her office and helping Peter with his anniversary gift to your dad and helping Isaac with whatever it is you guys did that, honestly, I don’t want to know about because then I have plausible deniability when Derek asks me about it later.” Jackson wraps Stiles in a tight hug and bumps his head against Stiles’ shoulder. “I don’t think you’re weak. I never really have. No matter what I might have said to you in high school.”
Sometimes Jackson hates the way that Stiles seems to be able to see right through him. But he can’t complain too much. Because for the most part he can see right through Stiles as well.
He rubs Stiles’ back and massages his shoulders and wraps the blankets around them when they fall into Stiles’ — no it’s theirs now and doesn’t that just make his heartbeat trip over itself a little — bed that night. Stiles twists them around until Jackson’s nose is pressed against Stiles’ collarbone and then he finally falls asleep.
It’s funny, Jackson thinks as he drifts towards sleep himself, everyone keeps implying that Stiles is his anchor, that the reason they argued so much back then — and still do now — is because of that. That they are so passionate about each other because of it. But the thing is…
Stiles has never been his anchor.
What he’s been, what he’s always been, is a constant in Jackson’s life. One of the only people he can depend on to be there, better or worse. Even when he’s pissed at Jackson and can barely stand to look at him. He’s still there.
Stiles isn’t his anchor.
Stiles isn’t what keeps Jackson human. No. Jackson does that all on his own, has ever since he went to London.
Stiles just makes the effort worth it.