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The Evils of Camping

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Stiles sighs and rolls over in his sleeping bag onto yet another rock apparently lying in wait for him. Ugh, the person that came up with the idea of camping for pack bonding should be shot. He sighs again knowing that it isn’t an option because Scott’s face when he’d suggested camping had been impossible to say no to. (Okay maybe not impossible, because Stiles had campaigned pretty hard for them to do literally anything else, but he wouldn’t shoot him over camping).

Ugh, he’s probably off Disney princessing it up with Kira right now sleeping on a bed of flowers the local wildlife made for him while Stiles is stuck tossing and turning on every twig and rock within a mile radius that magically appeared under the tent after they cleared off the ground.

This is the worst. Not only is he stuck camping for an entire week, but he’s stuck sharing a tent with Jackson for an entire week. While the years he spent in England have apparently mellowed him out somewhat from the douchelord he was in high school, Stiles highly doubts Jackson will ever reach the zen-like levels of calm required to spend a week in close proximity with him.

He’s going to end up murdered by the end of the second day. Jackson probably won’t even need to try that hard, just leave something on the ground and Stiles will trip and topple face first into the fire and die and Jackson won’t even get in trouble. Ha! Well the joke’s on Jackson now because Stiles is going to be watching the floor constantly for potential tripping hazards.

Rolling onto his back, Stiles squirms a little, fixing the dent in his pillow to be perfect for back sleeping from side sleeping.

Okay, he can work with this. His pillow is perfect and he can only faintly feel the outline of a rock under his butt.

Alright, scratch that, there isn’t a rock under his butt, there is a whole colony of boulders underneath him and they are clearly sentient because wherever he goes they are always there lying in wait in the most uncomfortable positions possible.

Stupid asshole rocks.

He gives up on finding a comfortable position for his body and decides to go with a mind over matter route and starts plumping his pillow up again.

“Stilinski,” Jackson’s voice interrupts his rearranging of the pillow making him freeze in place, “If you do not stop moving I will cheerfully murder you.”

“Good luck,” Stiles mutters darkly, “I’m onto you, buddy. Constant vigilance right here. My face isn’t going to melt off to death on my watch.”

“What.” Jackson asks in that horribly flat way Derek always asks questions.

“Ugh,” Stiles groans, “You are not allowed to spend any more time with Derek.”

“No seriously,” Jackson says, “What.”


“I give up,” Jackson mutters and Stiles can hear him shifting around to his right. When he’s been still for around a minute Stiles figures he’s safe to move again and starts to move but hears Jackson start moving as well so he freezes, awkwardly frozen, his torso turned to the side with his legs still lying flat and focuses on breathing super quietly, not wanting to piss Jackson off unnecessarily, because constant vigilance will only get him so far if he goes out of his way to tempt fate.

“What now?” Jackson huffs.

“What? Nothing!” Stiles squawks, as he had been legitimately trying not to annoy Jackson then. “I’m honestly not trying to do anything annoying.”

“Yeah, numbnuts, I can see that,” Jackson says snottily, “I meant what is stopping you from sleeping now?”

“I can’t get comfortable,” Stiles sighs, “I feel like I’m lying on a bed of rocks.”

“And people say I’m high maintenance,” Jackson sighs. “Will it keep you quiet if we double the foam mattresses?”

“What?” Stiles sputters, “We have spare mattress?”


“Then how am I supposed to double up? I’m not sleeping on half a mattress Jackson, that’s just weird,” Stiles states firmly.

“Honestly, the way your mind works is ridiculous,” Jackson says. “If you’d let me finish, you would know I was offering to put our mattresses on top of each other then sleep on the same one. Feel free to fold yours in half though.”

“What?” Stiles sputters, because that was not an offer he expected from Jackson. “I just mean, you aren’t Scott-”

“Trust me,” Jackson interrupts drily, “I am well aware of that. He’s off getting his Brave on, and I’m stuck here with the Princess and the Pea. My point is; I can’t sleep if you’re tossing and turning and apparently you can’t sleep if you don’t have twelve layers of cushions. Anyway we’re both in sleeping bags so we’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees absently, “They can be our ‘No Homo’ barriers. You aren’t going to, like, sleep eat me or anything are you?”

“That depends; if you keep me up for much longer I might start getting hungry,” Jackson says lightly before laughing most likely at Stiles’ freaked out expression. “No you weirdo, I don’t have cannibalistic tendencies in my sleep. Now did you want to see how you go with two mattresses?”

“Well yeah,” Stiles huffs, “But if I see a hint of fang I’m gonna throw a skunk at you.”

“Duly noted, I’ll be sure to run when I smell you coming,” Jackson snarks as he gets up and moves his pillow and sleeping bag to the end of the tent. “Get up lazybones, I’m not moving you and your mattress.”

“You’re killing all my Aladdin dreams right now,” Stiles pouts and stands still in his sleeping bag and shuffles to the end of the tent as well.

“I’m sure Scott will drag you around on your mattress while he sings A Whole New World tomorrow,” Jackson answers shortly as he rearranges Stiles mattress on top of his.

“But the lighting won’t be right,” Stiles mutters. “Hey, why are we sleeping on your side and not mine?”

“Because your side is apparently covered in rocks and I was perfectly comfortable before.”

“Fair point, carry on,” Stiles concedes.

“Carrying is done,” Jackson retorts, nodding to the mattresses, “Just lie down and this is the important part; go the fuck to sleep.”

“Ooh, you gonna read me a story?” Stiles teases.

“Sorry, I left my copy at home,” Jackson replies faux-sadly.

“Darn,” Stiles jokes before shuffling onto the mattress and setting up his pillow. He wriggles a little to feel for rocks but is happy to note that the doubled up mattresses seem to have vanquished them and rolls onto his side facing away from Jackson so that they won’t end up breathing on each other all night.

So maybe camping isn’t completely terrible. It’s kind of nice now that he isn’t being stabbed by rocks, and it’s kind of soothing to listen to the crickets chirping outside.

Actually, now that he’s noticed them, the crickets are ridiculously loud. Honestly, the noise seems deafening to Stiles, how the others are coping with it is beyond him. Oh god, what if they aren’t coping with it? What if they’re all just one particularly loud cricket chirp away from the murder of the entire pack?

“Hey, Jackson,” Stiles asks deciding to scope out Jackson’s mental state regarding the crickets because with his current location he is sure to be the first casualty to any cricket induced violent outbursts. “How loud are the crickets to you? Like are they drive-you-insane levels of loud?”

“’Bout the same as your breathing,” Jackson answers drowsily.

“Oh,” Stiles squirms for a second, wondering how he’s supposed to respond to that before settling on a quiet, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jackson waves off, “’S soothing or whatever. Like it’s there and I can hear it, but I’m not focused on it, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers and rolls onto his stomach and buries his head into his pillow to cover his ears a little to block out the crickets. Since Jackson was talking about breathing now he’s aware of that and listening to Jackson is kinda soothing. Now his only issue is that his sleeping bag hasn’t moved around with him and is now twisted from the waist down. He stretches his legs out and wriggles a little, trying to untwist his sleeping bag without having to get up again but quickly gives up because all he accomplishes is pushing the zipper into hip bone. Stiles sighs as he rubs at his hip. He’s probably going to end up with some weird zippered bruise monstrosity.

“What are you doing now?” Jackson asks.

“Apparently giving myself zipper burn,” Stiles answers absently.

“You’re wearing pajamas,” Jackson says slowly.

“Yeah, and they’re not defending me at all against my sleeping bag,” Stiles says defensively, “My sleeping bag got all twisted and the zipper rubbed along my hip and it hurts.”

“Only you Stiles,” Jackson snorts. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but do you want to join both our sleeping bags together so you can’t hurt yourself? I don’t move around like you seem to so I’ll anchor one side down so even when you do, you won’t be able to move the bag around with you.”

“Hope you were serious,” Stiles says as he starts to unzip his bag, “Because that sounds perfect! Also, I hope you realise how creepily your comments could be taken. Y’know with the whole, ‘come sleep next to me’, ‘I like listening to you breathe’ and now the ‘come sleep with me’ thing, I’m just saying it’d be easy to think you like me.”

“Well, distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that,” Jackson deadpans with a shrug as he unzips his bag, “So I must like you by now.”

“Har har,” Stiles mutters.

“I also really like sleeping and this seems like the easiest way to get it,” Jackson continues as if Stiles hadn’t interrupted him. “Now give me your bag.”

After zipping both bags together, Jackson looks at Stiles consideringly then at their mattress and steps into the bag. “Alright, get in then we’ll lie down otherwise you’ll be wriggling for hours and give yourselfzipper burn.”

“Hey,” Stiles says indignantly, “That was really uncomfortable okay?”

“I’m sure it was,” Jackson laughs, because he’s an asshole and doesn’t care about Stiles’ pain. “C’mere.”

“Fine,” Stiles huffs and steps into the sleeping bag, startling when Jackson grabs him around the waist and pulls him in close.

“Ready?” Jackson asks.

“For?” Stiles asks, and for the record, he isn’t breathless, he’s just trying to be considerate and not breathe heavily straight into Jackson’s face, okay?

“One, two,” Jackson counts and falls back onto the mattress with Stiles on top of him on “three.”

“So uh,” Stiles begins nervously, “Since me being on top of you is kind of your fault, it’d be kinda rude if you killed me for it.”

Other than rolling his eyes (which look kind of huge and nice now that he’s so close to them), Jackson ignores his comment and gently (gently!) rolls him to the side before rolling back over onto his stomach, his face towards the tent wall. Stiles watches him for a long moment before catching himself and decisively away rolling onto his side.

After a minute or so of listening to Jackson breathing evenly Stiles is shivering lightly and curled up tight in a ball, because now that the sleeping bag is doubled up it’s not snug up against him and he’s kinda cold.

“Hey, c’mere,” Jackson says sleepily and paws at his shoulder tugging him backwards and cuddling up close to him, sneaking one arm under his pillow with the other resting around Stiles’ waist, his chest a delicious warmth at Stiles’ back, and Stiles is decidedly not thinking about the warmth of Jackson’s hips where they’re pressed up against his ass.

“What?” Stiles asks dumbly when Jackson has finished manhandling him, apparently happy with their positions.

“You were cold,” Jackson answers, rubbing his face a little into Stiles’ shoulder.


“We’re sharing body heat,” Jackson answers simply.

“Yeah, no,” Stiles retorts, “We’re cuddling.”

“You’re right,” Jackson agrees, “It works best if you’re naked, take your pants off.”

“Don’t tempt me buddy,” Stiles teases before he freezes. Is he flirting with Jackson? Wait, more confusingly, had Jackson started it? He’s self aware enough to know that his particular style of flirting hasn’t progressed much from the pigtail pulling stage-

 “Hey princess pea,” Jackson says, cutting off his train of thought, “Not even you can’t feel anything through the foam, just relax and go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Stiles says meekly, relaxing in Jackson’s arms before a thought occurs to him. “Hey, Jackson?”

“Hey, Stiles,” Jackson answers deadpan, but Stiles can feel him smiling against his shoulder.

“Are you going to kill me if I say this is a little homo?”

“Stiles,” Jackson sighs, and Stiles heart drops a little thinking he’s about to be let down less than gently by Jackson. “You literally climbed under my no homo barrier. I told you I like you. We’re spooning and right now my dick is against your ass. If you honestly thought this was anything other than ‘homo’ I’m going to have to seriously question your friendship with Scott.”

“No questioning necessary,” Stiles says meekly, “Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”

“We are,” Jackson answers, “Now let’s try to get on the same dream and go to sleep.”

And despite all the thoughts that should be racing through his head, Stiles finds himself relaxing into Jackson’s arms and falling asleep easily.




 “We are never camping again,” Scott announces grumpily the next morning when Stiles and Jackson emerge from their tent. Stiles looks around for him and eventually finds him on the opposite side of the creek maybe fifty metres away from their campsite. “I should have listened to you Stiles; camping is horrible and inhumane and we have evolved past the need to commune with nature.”

“Wait, what’s that smell?” Jackson asks, nose crinkled.

“Why we are never camping again,” Scott answers firmly at the same time Derek says “He stumbled into a skunks’ territory last night.”

“Does this mean we can go home now and have a proper shower and breakfast?” Stiles asks hopefully.

“As long as I’m not driving Scott,” Derek agrees.

“Dibs not!” Stiles yells and is quickly followed by a cacophony of yells from the pack.

“But I’m the alpha,” Scott says with a hurt look which Stiles pointedly ignores because if Scott hadn’t used that on him in the first place they wouldn’t be in this position right now.




Once they’ve packed everything up and eventually picked who had to drive Scott back home (Mason and Liam; because unluckily for them they both really sucks at scissors, paper, rock) Stiles is in the Jeep again with the majority of the gear but this time, also with a Jackson.

“Hey, Jackson...” Stiles trails off.

“Hey, Stiles,” Jackson says flatly.

“When you said you like me...”

“I meant that I like you Stiles.”

“Like you would like a muffin, or...”

“Like I would a Stiles.”

“How many Stiles do you like, like you like me?”

“If you start asking me how much style a Stiles can style I’m going to tree you,” Jackson mutters before continuing slightly louder. “You’re the only Stiles I like, and the only person I like, like I like you.”

“And that is not like a muffin,” Stiles asks just to clarify.

“I don’t know,” Jackson says musingly, “You could probably be a pretty good afternoon snack.”