Author's Note: Prompt fulfillment for stydia-fanfiction on tumblr! Enjoy!


Walking back into Beacon Hills High School as a recent grad of an English private school felt good. Like he won. Like he beat the system and the odds. From losing his biological parents to being estranged from his adopted family post-transformation, no one thought he stood a chance. But he did. And of course, he wouldn't pass on an opportunity to go back to his hometown and rub it in.

He headed towards his old locker, hoping someone worth enough would be using it now, but instead, the person he saw standing by it was Stilinski. Stilinski and Scott's group had changed drastically since he'd last seen it. No more Allison, no Isaac, Erica, or Boyd.

From what he could see, and smell, there were two sophomore boys (one human, one not), a kitsune (not unlike the one he'd met when his parents flew him to Hungary over Christmas break), and a were-coyote (quite different from the one he'd hooked up with over fall break his last year of private school). Stilinski was the closest one, but he couldn't greet him first. No way. He was Jackson Whittemore.

So he directed his attention to the short-haired brunette - the were-coyote - and swaggered up to them, the first words already coming out before the whole pack could process who was speaking. "I'm Jackson, and you are?"

The were-coyote's mouth curled into a scowl, her hands becoming fists, but the young kitsune placed her hand gently on her forearm, holding her back. "Y-you're back?"

The words didn't slip out from either of them, but instead, the gentle tug of the softness came from one familiar strawberry-blonde standing just out of his peripheral vision. He turned to get a good look at her. Lydia. Sure, when he moved to London with his parents, he broke off all ties with her to move on - so they could both move on - and he was currently dating someone else, but there was something about the mere sight of Lydia Martin that warmed his heart.

Lydia, whose hair had been so often sprayed, curled, and well-kept to perfection, but today was up in a simple, tight ponytail and the lightness of her make-up was something he'd never thought could exist. Not with Lydia. Not with his Lydia. But here she was, standing close to Stilinski, arms brushing here and there and he knew. She was his.

"For a bit," he replied, a gentleness in his voice that wasn't there when he'd turned on the smolder for the others. "Dad had to come back for a quick business trip and since spring break is different over there, thought I'd stop by. For free of course."

"Naturally, the wealthiest guy I know gets to travel overseas without spending a dime. Remind me, Scott, why is that fair?"

"Stilinski, McCall." He nodded at the boys, who were already in their lacrosse gear. "How's Coach?"

"Back from rehab. He feels pretty back to normal," Scott answered.

"Good, good. Some things never change, huh, Lyds? Going to practice to watch your guy?"

"I'm not dating Scott," she blurted.

Jackson squinted at her and glanced at Stilinski, who kept his eyes down. Carefully, he said, "I know that. Which I'm glad to see you're doing okay, after Allison."

"You know about that?"

"Lahey and Argent stopped by London after it happened before going off to France to find a suitable school for him to finish up at. A call from my dad didn't hurt either." He noticed Lydia had taken a visible step away from Stilinski. "But I'm glad to see all of you are doing somewhat okay. Keeping your lives moving. Making new friends, dating people."

Once his gaze hit the sophomores, the human excitedly said, "Wait, you are the Jackson Whittemore. Beacon Hills High lacrosse legend?"

"The two of you never got good enough to eclipse me?" Jackson quipped.

"Never."

He turned his attention back to the boys.

"I'm Mason, human. This is Liam, angry werewolf."

"Werepup," Stilinski corrected. With that, the pack walked to practice; Jackson lingered in the back, watching Lydia purposefully walk with the kitsune and were-coyote, even as Stilinski kept sneaking glances back at her.

Coming to a stop at the edge of the lacrosse field, just a touch away from a screaming Coach, he suddenly asked, "Why aren't the two of you dating?"

They all gave him blank stares and Scott was the first to ask, "What?"

"Lydia and Stilinski." The sophomores ran off immediately, eager to get away from the tension Jackson could feel settling in.

"W-what makes you say that?" Stilinski stammered, scratching the back of his neck.

"Well, when I asked about how Lydia was doing Lahey mentioned the two of you. And I'd be a liar if I say I never suspected a potential connection between you guys when I was in town."

"Jackson, you wouldn't understand…." Lydia replied, her eyes unable to focus on any one person in the pack.

"But I do," he argued. "You guys have always been compatible. Highly intelligent, clever, the banter, unafraid of calling the other out. Not to mention, he saved you from Peter because he somehow knew where to find you."

"W-what?"

"Jackson." The two of them awkwardly stared at him as the rest of the pack shifted their gazes away. "How do you know about that?"

"Peter said a lot of crazy shit around Derek when he was training me. But we both knew he was telling the truth about that."

"Lyds, I don't- you don't owe me anything for saving you. Never have."

"I-I know that. It's just, Jackson. You don't get it. Malia and Stiles dated and I'm over high school boys anyway and it just wouldn't work out."

The were-coyote, who he presumed to be Malia, said, "He has a point. Even when Stiles and I dated, I could hear your heartbeats. Even now, the two of you, together, the smells—"

"The pheromones, the nervousness, the anxiety. It's there. You like each other," Scott finished. Lydia looked at the Alpha werewolf, a sense of betrayal coming off her, before slinking away to the parking lot, without so much as a simple goodbye.

"Oops."

"Why'd you do that, man? All of you? We've had a good thing going, this pack."

"Because the two of you like each other. All of the non-humans here can tell. I'm gonna stay here and watch practice. But you need to go after her, Stilinski. Before you lose her to someone worse. Someone who will treat her like I did."

"But—"

"No. That is Lydia fucking Martin. Do something or you'll lose."

Without another word, he ran towards the parking lot. And Jackson smirked. Fuck yeah, he could do anything.

He was the Jackson Whittemore.