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Jackson walked up onto the porch of the Stilinski home at 7:30am sharp, like he said he would the night before. After Stiles’ Nogitsune incident, Jackson came back home to Beacon Hills. The two instantly reconnected and kindled a romance. Every morning since he got back, he’s been driving Stiles to school.

A moment after knocking at the door, Stiles’ father Noah answered. “Hey, Jackson,” he said in a sleep tinged voice. “You want to come inside and wait?”

“Thank you,” Jackson replied, stepping inside the house. “He still not ready yet?”

“I don’t know what’s keeping him. He’s usually ready before I’m  even up.”

Jackson looked upstairs. His senses picking up something too faint to explain. “I’ll go see what’s going on,” he said, walking up the stairs.

Walking up to Stiles’ bedroom door, his wolf senses went into overdrive. He was overwhelmed by the scents of depression, anxiety, fear, and most concerning of all, blood and physical pain. “Stiles?” he called out, worried.

“Go away, Jackson,” Stiles yelled through the door, his voice raw from crying. “I’m not going to school today.”

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jackson tried the doorknob. Of course, it was locked. “Stiles, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to pull it off of the hinge,” Jackson said. “You’re in pain. I can smell it from here. Just let me in.”

A slow shuffle filled Jackson’s ear. Shortly after, Stiles opened the door. And to be frank, Stiles looked  like hell. His  hair was a crow’s nest of a mess, his eyes were read and puffy, and there was blood dripping from his right hand.

“Fuck, baby,” Jackson gasped, carefully taking Stiles’ bleeding hand in his. “What happened?”

“I had a nightmare,” Stiles said low. “I was possessed by the Nogitsune, and it was trying to kill you. I tried to stop it by grabbing the blade, and when I woke up, I was clutching the blade of a pair scissors.”

Jackson led him to the bathroom, and started running the water in the sink.  He slipped the injured hand under the stream. “Why were there scissors in your bed?” Jackson asked, softly.

“They were on the table beside me,” Stiles answered.  “I was wrapping a gift last night, and forgot to put them up.”

When Jackson was certain that the area around the wound was cleaned and not too deep, he reached in the medicine cabinet for a first aid cabinet.

“Do  you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Your nightmare,” Jackson said. “I still get them, too.”

Stiles looked up from his hand to Jackson. “You  do?”

“Yeah,” Jackson explained. “Remember the other day when I picked you up, and I held your hand the whole way to school? I dreamed the night before that I was back under Argent’s control. And you were the first one he made me hurt.” He used antibiotic ointment and spray on the wound, which thankfully wasn’t bleeding anymore. He then made quick work wrapping the hand. “But this is more than just a nightmare, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Stiles replied. “I finally heard back from George Washington University.”

“What did they say?” Jackson finished wrapping the hand in gauze, and taped it down.

Stiles led Jackson back to his room. There, they both sat down on Stiles’ bed, as he reached into a drawer beside his bed. He came up with a piece of paper. “They  accepted me,” Stiles revealed.

Jackson’s face lit up. “Babe, that’s great!” he shouted.

“But I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t qualify for financial aid,” Stiles was holding back tears. GWU had been his dream since he was 15, and just when he thought he’d had it, it was yanked away, because the sheriff’s salary was too high to qualify.

Jackson wrapped his arm around his boyfriend, and hugged tight. “You know you can always come to—“

“No,” Stiles interrupted. “I’m not about to be part of your poor friends outreach program,” he protested.

Jackson kicked off his shoes and moved the two of them around on the bed. “Well, no matter what, I’m not letting you go to school today,” he said. “You need sleep.”

“But what about—“

“If you have the dream, I’ll be here,” Jackson whispered. “This way, you can grab my hand, instead of those scissors.” He then looked on the mattress and found the blood stained metal object lying on the sheet. He grabbed the scissors and set them on the bedside table. He then stood up.

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked.

“To tell your dad about what we’re doing. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Stiles muttered, turning over and curling up.

After a few minutes, Jackson returned and lay down behind Stiles wrapping him in his arms. The two drifted off into a peaceful sleep for the rest of the day.

***

A month later, Stiles was back to normal for the most part. His hand had healed nicely and he hadn’t had  a Nogitsune related nightmare since the day Jackson helped him.

He had just come home from a long day at school and Lacrosse practice, when he noticed a large packet on the coffee table with his name on it.

“Dad?” he called out. “What’s this?”

Noah stepped in the living room and picked it up. “It came for you today,” he said. “It’s from some law firm in Sacramento.” He handed it to his son.

Stiles ripped the top of the envelope off and pulled out the papers. “Holy fuck,” he said, as he scanned over the top paper.

“What is it?” Noah asked.”

“’Dear Mr. Stilinski,’” Stiles read off. “’It pleases me to inform you that you have been granted the Kenneth Bryan Memorial Scholarship for 2018.’”

“WHAT?!” Noah shouted, and ran over to his son, reading over his shoulder. “’The recipient of this scholarship receives four years paid tuition at the university of their choice, as long as they have a major in the field of law or law enforcement.’ How did this happen?”

“I have no clue,” Stiles replied. “I didn’t even apply for a scholar—“ Then it hit him. “I um… I have to go. I’ll be back later,” he said as he stuffed the papers back into the envelope and grabbed his keys from beside the door.

“Just drive safe,” Noah called out.

Stiles ran outside and jumped into his jeep. He drove the 4 miles to his boyfriend’s house, and managed to get there at the same time Jackson’s car was pulling into the driveway.

“Did you do this?” Stiles asked, holding up the envelope. “Did you pull some kind of string to get me a full ride?”

Jackson blinked for a moment and he realized what the envelope was. “Holy shit, you figured that out fast.”

“I do want to be a detective when I grow up,” Stiles told him. “It helps to be observant.”

“Seriously, I told you not to do—“

“I didn’t do anything,” Jackson interrupted. “My parents may or may not know some people who may or may not help out a kid who otherwise wouldn’t be going to college.”

“What?”

Jackson sighed, and led him to the porch, where they sat down on the step. “Kenneth Bryan was the son of my dad’s law partner,” He said. “He wanted to be a lawyer, but died in a car accident the day he left home to go to Harvard.”

“And so his parents give out a full ride scholarship to someone in his honor,” Stiles finished, in awe of this generosity.

“Exactly,” Jackson explained. “The night after you told me, I asked my dad about it. That’s all I did. He may be an asshole who filed a restraining order on you once, but he knows when I ask him about something, it’s really important to me. He must have put in a good word for you.”

Tears flowed down Stiles’ cheeks as he smiled and hugged Jackson. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

“Like I said,” Jackson started. “It wasn’t me. But if you want, you can stay until dad gets home and you can thank him yourself.”

Stiles let go of Jackson and wiped his face. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.” He leaned in and lightly kissed Jackson. 

Jackson smiled into the kiss, then took Stiles’ hand in his. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s take this inside.”

The two stood up and walked into the house to wait.

The End