#stydackson

It’s been three years since the human world discovered the supernatural one. It had started in Beacon Hills, because of course it had, and it’s now spread throughout the world. There’s one big war: hunters and scared humans on one side, the supernatural and its supporters on the other. The latter far outweigh the former, but that’s where the smaller battles and wars come into play. All over the world, small factions of anti-supernatural fighters attack and kill anyone they can, trying to claim minor victories in a war they’ll never win.

Beacon Hills is still the primary battleground, even after Monroe’s death last year. The hunters she rallied together when he first came back to Beacon Hills nearly five years ago have carried on her mission, and their numbers have grown as the normal world discovered what really goes bump in the night. There has been so much loss and devastation, more than he even really wants to remember, and it’s become a pipe dream to think about the possibility of ‘after the war’.

If Jackson was smart, he’d have left this Hellmouth after Ethan was killed three years ago. They’d decided to stay when it became obvious that Monroe wasn’t going to stop her little war against McCall, only for it to take Ethan’s life before the world found out about them all. He could have left then, could have hidden away somewhere paid for by his inheritance and never even bothered to become part of this larger war.

He’s not smart, though, so he stayed. He stayed and supported McCall’s pack, stayed and helped train new recruits, stayed and channeled his grief into reckless missions that nearly got him killed. His life had been expendable, or so he thought, and he hadn’t had anything to lose once Ethan was dead. It had been one of those close calls that changed everything for him, a time when he’d seriously thought he was about to die, only for Stiles to step in and save him.

That was the last time Jackson deliberately went looking for a fight, that he’d gone into a situation prepared to die, and hadn’t even cared if he’d made it back from the mission alive. That was a couple of years ago, and he’s now hyper-focused on staying alive, on keeping Stiles and Lydia alive. Their relationship isn’t traditional, but they live in turbulent times, so none of them particularly care what anyone else thinks about them being together.

Last night was a disaster. There had been an ambush, and two of the newest recruits hadn’t survived it. They’d been teenagers, not even sixteen, forced into a war because of crazy extremists who feared the unknown. Lydia is still sleeping, her throat raw from the screaming she had done. Screams for their fallen as well as for those lives that they had then taken in retribution. Stiles is beside her, his eyes closed, but his body tense and ready to spring into action if needed. Jackson can’t sleep, having woken an hour ago with too many thoughts in his mind.

Lydia sleeps peacefully, but Stiles is always moving. Even now, the tension doesn’t cause stillness. They’re all so vigilant, so ready to fight if someone happens to make it past their line of defenses, and Jackson hates it. He wonders how it would be for them if Monroe had never happened, if old man Argent had just been killed from the start instead of being allowed to keep living and recruiting, if they were able to be young and in love without any cares in the world other than college classes. That’s not their fate, so it’s pointless to dwell on it, but he can’t help himself, especially in the early hours of dawn when the world is quiet.

Stiles shifts in his sleep, a frown marring his face, and Jackson reaches over to stroke his bare back, gently reassuring him that he’s safe and protected. Lydia murmurs in her sleep, pushing closer to Stiles, a contented sigh escaping her parted lips. Jackson smiles at the sound, watching his lovers settle into their sleep. He wishes he could turn off his brain and sleep with them, but the chance for that has already passed. He’s too alert now, dwelling on the past and wishing they could think of the future.

“You watching us sleep is creepy,” a sleepy voice murmurs just before Stiles opens his eyes. “Why’re you up there?”

“Go back to sleep, Stiles,” he says softly, leaning down to press his lips against the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

“You, too,” Stiles insists, covering a yawn that ruins any type of authority he normally has.

“Both of you shut up and sleep,” Lydia mutters, her voice hoarse. She hasn’t opened her eyes, but she’s smiling slightly as she reaches across Stiles to take Jackson’s hand. “We’ve got a busy morning ahead of us, and we need our rest.”

“My dad took care of notifying Jeremy and Kara’s families.” Stiles sighs, pressing back against Jackson. “Scott’s handling their bodies. I need to find out how the hunters knew where we’d be, because my gut is telling me they had an inside source.”

“Yeah, it’s suspicious,” Jackson agrees, seeing Lydia’s smile turn into a frown. “But we can talk about that tomorrow. Right now, you need sleep, and you don’t need to worry about someone betraying our side.”

“You should sleep, too,” Lydia says firmly, finally opening her eyes and pinning Jackson with a knowing look. “We’re alive, and we aren’t going anywhere, Jax. Not with the spells that Stiles has learned and put on this house.”

“She’s right. The rest of the world can go to hell, well, it sort of is these days, but whatever.” Stiles yawns again. “Nothing is getting in here to get to us or our pack.”

Jackson knows this, knows that Stiles learned how to perform defensive magic when the war started solely to protect his pack, and he’s confident in their safety when they’re here. The rest of the supernatural forces aren’t as fortunate, but Stiles has always taken care of what he considers his without much care to anyone else. Used to, Jackson hated that loyalty, resented it, but now he admires it, and is selfishly glad he’s considered part of what Stiles wants to protect.

“Come on, get back down here and get some sleep,” Stiles demands, his bottom lip pouting when Jackson doesn’t immediately get beside him.

“Fine,” Jackson sighs, rolling his eyes even as he smiles. He gets on the bed and snuggles up behind Stiles, moving so that he’s holding Lydia’s hand. He can feel Stiles breathing, each exhale pressing him closer. Jackson kisses Stiles’ neck, resting his face there. In the darkness, he asks the question that’s been weighing on his mind more and more each day. “Do you think this war is ever going to be over?”

He listens carefully, using all his senses to hear their heartbeats. Lydia’s is steady as she whispers, “Yes, I think we’re closer to the end than we are the beginning now. There are talks of peace treaties in DC and Paris, and I’ve heard on the radio that there are forces gathering up the splintered hunter groups, like Monroe’s. They’re committing war crimes now, killing anyone they want, and it’s going to bite them hard when they’re caught.”

“Scott said that his dad called him last week and told him that there’s been a cease fire in Japan and India, and several hunter groups are turning themselves in around eastern Europe.” Stiles reaches down to put his hand on Jackson’s and Lydia’s joined hands. “It’s going to be over soon, I think. We just have to stay alive for a little bit longer.”

“For a lot longer,” Jackson corrects, running his thumb over Stiles’ knuckles. “When it’s all over, I want to take you out for a date. Dinner, dancing, the whole cliché first date.”

“We accept,” Lydia says, leaning up and kissing him tenderly. “Now, stop thinking so much, and get some sleep.”

“Yes, dear,” Stiles says, stealing a quick kiss from Lydia before he puts his head on the pillow. “Your turn, Jax.”

Jackson closes his eyes and cuddles closer. He learned a long time ago that it’s always best to listen to Lydia and to just do what she says. “Yes, dear. Sleeping now. Thinking later.”