Stiles groaned, sipping his coffee from Google's cafe. Last night was unexpectedly epic and easily one of the most fun nights of his life. He was thrilled that their app won, but now the sun was too bright and the people were too loud. He made himself scarce from his room because his roommate's girlfriend apparently wanted to tour Google. So far, they've explored the room—the shared room. The rest of his team could, and have, escaped to their designated rooms which prompted Stiles' decision to drink coffee and sulk in the middle of the bright light and loud people. It was not his smartest idea, he would admit.
"Is this seat taken?"
Why were people a thing? Stiles' head was pounding and idle chitchat sounded revolting. He mumbled, which the ass apparently decided meant 'no' and sat across the table, the chair screeching unpleasantly. His mumble distinctly meant 'go away before I slice you with werewolf kung fu.' He needed to lecture the guy about the different types of mumbles.
"Rough night?"
Why was the voice so amused? Fucking voice and fucking guy who does not understand the language of mumbles. Stiles had to make him go away. Talking seemed tedious and he just wanted to sulk. He had not drunk that much in a very long time because he usually shied away from excessive drinking. But back to the problem at hand: making the dipshit disappear. Maybe a glare. A glare would work to rid him of this ungodly parasite and had the added bonus of no talking or mumbling, which the guy already proved inept at understanding. A fierce glare was needed. A glare that would put even Derek's to shame. It was Stiles' best option.
"You probably get this a lot," the intruder continued, "but you're very attractive to gay guys."
Stiles froze in his muddled state before finally looking up. A grinning Danny greeted him. "You're an ass."
"Sorry," Danny laughed, which only added to his sincerity. "I just saw you across the room and was like damn and decided I definitely needed to talk to the nice hunk of meat sitting by his lonesome. Imagine my surprise when the hottie was you."
Stiles glared suspiciously at Danny. "Really?"
Danny just smirked. Ass. "Not even going to ask why I'm here?"
"Why are you at Google, Danny?"
"Look at you still being social in your hungover state! I'm proud of you."
"Are you touring and looking for a job?"
"Well, I'm making connections," Danny said, "but mostly I came because I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by for a visit."
"If you told me, I would have attempted to be in better shape."
"What did happen?" Danny asked. "I didn't picture Google as a party place during an internship."
"Yeah, me neither," Stiles said. He quickly told Danny about last night's miscommunication that led to the dance club that was not a dance club. It did lead to a winning app so Stiles claimed the dance club was preemptive planning.
"An app that doesn't allow you to send drunk texts or calls?" Danny asked. "That's actually brilliant. I'll definitely download it."
"Thanks, man," Stiles said. "Sorry, I'm so out of it. But I can fake it and introduce you to some Googlers if you want. The Head of Tech Support actually really likes me."
"Really? That'd be great."
"Just a FYI, the dude is Coach's cousin."
"Wow. Small world."
"Right? Coach actually came up a couple weeks ago. It scared the shit out of me."
"That would scare the shit out of anybody," Danny said, "and just a warning: Jackson is with me."
Stiles blinked. "I didn't know you guys kept in contact."
Danny's answering stare correctly convened 'well, obviously.' Stiles knows he would do the same if someone questioned him and Scott keeping in touch, but he was hesitant to compare his and Scott's relationship to Danny and Jackson's.
"When did he get back?" Stiles asked, somewhat less pleased that he had to deal with the original douchebag.
"At the beginning of the summer," Danny said. "I visited him last winter break, so it was his turn to travel. Another warning: Despite my advice, Jackson visited Lydia. It did not go well. Our visit to Stanford is why we were so close to you."
"He visited Lydia? Did he at least tell her he was visiting?" Stiles groaned at Danny's shaking head. "How bad?"
"Well, their reunion started out civil," Danny said, "but Lydia never quite forgave him for leaving so suddenly, as you know. So when Jackson was being a dick…Things got out of hand very quickly."
"Jackson is always a dick," Stiles said. "What was he bitching about?"
Danny took a sip of his smoothie. Stiles' eyes twitched in annoyance at Danny's obvious ploy to buy time. He better not hold anything back. Stiles would hate to evoke a Lydia rant when he tried to talk to her. He needed to get some idea of how pissed she was before he tried to defused her anger—a rant only helped about a third of the time. "He started to complain about Scott's pack—you and Scott specifically—a lot. Then he mentioned something else about trying to stay in touch and she exploded at him. I've never seen him so scared and he used to get Lydia tirades every day."
"That was years ago," Stiles said dismissively. "He lost his immunity. How angry was she when you last saw her?"
"We left right after that so she was still raging," Danny said.
"Where is the douchebag?"
"The douchebag is right here," Jackson practically growled, sliding into the seat next to Danny.
"I'm glad I finally trained you to respond to your true nature. Or are you still having that whole lizard identity crisis?"
Jackson's eyes widened and flashed towards Danny. He promptly kicked Stiles. "Don't know what you're talking about, Stilinski."
"On last name bases now, Whittemore?"
"I don't want to be on any bases with you."
"Alright, pretty boy," Stiles said indifferently. He glanced at Danny. "So does Jackson really not…"
"Nope," Danny said, smugly leaning back in his chair.
"You sly dog," Stiles grinned. "I'm now very happy that you were the first person to proposition me."
"Dude, you have standards," Jackson said, sounding very much like a disappointed father. Stiles flipped him off. "What are you two going on about?"
"Don't like being left out of the loop?" Stiles asked. "I can't empathize."
"Neither can I," Danny agreed. "Jackson, do try to explain how it feels."
"Don't act so paralyzed," Stiles scolded at Jackson' silence. "Cat got your tongue?"
Jackson growled.
"So rageful," Stiles sighed. "Not like cats? How about wolves?"
"More like a lone wolf, really," Danny mused.
Jackson leveled a glare at Danny, realization dawning in his expression as he critically analyzed his friend. "How long have you known?"
"What?" Danny asked. "I was gay? I'm hurt you asked. You were the first friend I told."
"You know what I'm talking about."
Danny waited, expectantly staring at his best friend.
"I believe Danny is a little lost, Jackson," Stiles said.
"You told him, didn't you?" Jackson hissed, directing the full heat of his glower towards Stiles. As a person well experienced with supernatural displeasure, Stiles found Jackson's attempt adorable.
"Jackson, you're as subtle as a train wreck on a boat," Danny snapped. "Even if I hadn't seen the video of your transformation, I still would have known because everyone at Beacon Hills sucks at being stealthy."
"I'm stealthy!" Stiles protested.
"You're better than Scott," Danny allowed.
"Rude."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Jackson interrupted.
"I'm a grudge holder," Danny said, shrugging. "I thought you knew that."
"I explained why I left," Jackson said, "and we skyped at least once a week."
"How adorable." Stiles' snark was immediately rewarded Jackson's middle finger.
"A-are you mad I didn't tell you I was a werewolf?" Jackson asked hesitantly, after checking to ensure no one was eavesdropping.
"No, I'm perfectly peachy with that." The amount of sarcasm in Danny's voice impressed even Stiles.
"It was a secret," Jackson hissed, "and I didn't want to scare you!"
"Scott told Stiles," Danny argued.
Even Stiles' uneasiness with comparing him and Scott to Jackson and Danny couldn't stop his slight correction. "Actually, I told Scott. He didn't think he was a werewolf until that full moon."
"Wow, he is reliant on you," Jackson said.
"Please, that's common knowledge."
"Danny," Jackson began. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, even though now your insistence on always making plans with me on full moons makes sense. I couldn't find the right time to do it, but I was going to tell you."
"I'm driving the Porsche back," Danny said after a moment, "and we're going to my boyfriend's concert where you will be charming."
"Alright."
"I'm still annoyed at you," Danny reminded.
"Yeah…I know," Jackson said. "I can tell you some embarrassing supernatural stories."
"Please," Danny said, "you think blackmail will help return you to my good graces?"
"Yep."
Danny smirked. "Well, it certainly doesn't hurt."
"Excuse me," Jackson asked to someone who most definitely was not help. Stiles smothered a grin. "Can you get me a bagel?"
British Jackson drew himself up to his full height and glared down indignantly. "No, even if I did work here, which I don't, you unobservant twat, I wouldn't serve the likes of you."
Jackson sneered, not even blinking at the immediate, harsh retort. "It is obvious you don't work here, isn't it? You would be fired if you did, for one. You also obviously don't have a steady source of income. It's such a shame you can't afford decent clothes."
"I actually don't rely on my looks," British Jackson bristled. Stiles knew for a fact British Jackson loved his wardrobe. "Unlike some people."
"If you want my fashion advice just say it," Jackson said unimpressed.
"Why would I ever listen to you?"
"You really have no place to go but up. You seriously have nothing to lose in this situation."
British Jackson sputtered. Stiles was delighted.
"I'm sorry," Jackson said. "I didn't know your fashion, or lack thereof, would be such a shock to you. Should I have insulted your mom or intelligence?"
"Who the hell do you—"
"I love this so much," Stiles whispered to Danny. Danny smiled slightly, as he took a sip of his smoothie.
"Who's the other guy?"
"British Jackson?"
Danny frowned, as the sharp retorts continued around them. "'British Jackson'? You do realize that Jackson is living in London currently."
"Well, which guy is the one with the accent? It's—wait. Jackson doesn't have an accent, does he?"
"Yeah actually," Danny laughed. "Whenever I visit him or pick him up from the airport. He had one for three days at the beginning of the summer."
"How pretentious."
"Isn't it?"
"British Jackson is Graham, by the way."
"Oh, Stuart," British Jackson said, turning to his new target since Jackson was apparently winning the douche-off. Tiredly, Stiles shifted his attention towards British Jackson. "I hear your team finally won. I hope you don't think this is a shift, or something mundane like that, in this internship. My team is perfection. You'll have to appreciate that from afar since you refused to join the first day."
"Wow," Stiles drawled, "you rambled that long to bitch about me not wanting to be on your team? I'm kind of sad that I'll never get those fifteen seconds back. I could have cured cancer or impregnated a girl or something."
"Like a girl wants to be with you," Jackson scoffed.
"I'm sure Lydia wouldn't mind my company."
Danny quickly stood to push the rising Jackson back into his chair. He raised an eyebrow at Stiles that seemed to question his intelligence. "Fuck off, dude," Danny directed at British Jackson. "You were leaving like ten minutes ago. Do you really have nothing better to do with your time?"
British Jackson leered at them, but left with no parting comment.
Jackson kicked Stiles hard underneath the tabled. Stiles yelped.
"You think you're funny, Stilinski?"
"Yeah, generally."
"Jackson, Stiles, please stop," Danny said, wearily sitting back into his chair. "I don't want to deal with this."
Jackson made an attempt to look less murderous, but still glared daggers at Stiles. Stiles smiled innocently at Danny, which immediately earned him another raised eyebrow. Well, some people are never pleased…
"So how long has Greenburg been here?" Jackson asked, obviously attempting to make somewhat civil conversation.
"He's here?"
Jackson snorted. "And you call yourself observant."
"No, I call myself the sheriff's kid."
"You're an embarrassment to Beacon Hills."
"Have you not seen—"
Danny cleared his throat, shooting them both annoyed looks.
Stiles sighed. Jackson made being civil so difficult. "So, why attack his clothes? With the guy earlier."
"Are you kidding me?" Jackson said. "He had carefully rolled up sleeves, his hair was immaculate, and he was color-coordinated. He obviously cares about his appearance."
"Oh my god," Stiles said in sudden realization. "You plan out your insults in a somewhat clever manner?"
Jackson rolled his eyes. "Obviously, Stilinski. Why bother wasting an insult that won't cause actual pain?"
"Huh…"
"I'm sad I'm associated with you."
"Yeah well I don't like to babysit supernatural assholes who don't know how to handle their emotions. Yet here we are."
"What about Derek?"
Stiles flushed. He mentally cursed at Jackson's smirk. Smug bastard. "I will lead you to one of Google's backrooms and leave you to die."
"Now, now girls, you're both pretty," Danny said. "How about that tour?"
Stiles glanced at his watch. "Yeah, sure. Follow me."
Danny got up and led a hostile Jackson, who bumped Stiles with his shoulder, toward the café exit. Dick. He, unsurprisingly, still strongly disliked Jackson—shame London didn't mature him. Besides his obnoxious personality, Jackson caused Lydia pain. Even if the pain was fleeting, Stiles doesn't let people get away with that. His feelings towards Jackson are forever going to be influenced by Lydia and Stiles found that perfectly okay, especially when he took Danny and Jackson by the pervy janitor. Jackson was delightfully mortified.