The ride back was arguably less comfortable than the ride there. Stiles couldn't lean back and it was rather obvious that Jackson couldn't either. Eventually Stiles settled his elbows on his knees and leaned his chin into his hands.
"You gonna be in trouble for pulling a vanishing act on your parents?" Stiles questioned.
"I can handle it," Jackson said evasively, leaning on the window. "What about you?" Stiles grimaced. His father certainly wouldn't be happy about him skipping school. He'd probably try to ground him again. Not that that had ever gone so well in the past.
"Don't know."
"Well at least this mating frenzy is figured out so we can go to school tomorrow."
"Yay," Stiles muttered dryly. It was actually a relief, but school meant Scott.
"We'll stick close together," Jackson offered, as if reading his thoughts. Stiles smiled softly. Maybe he was worried about trying to return to normal life too.
"You and me hanging out…that'll send everyone into a tizzy."
"So?" Jackson demanded, a cocky smirk framing his lips. Stiles let out a quiet laugh.
"Just saying." Stiles could see Peter smiling from where he sat and it made him smile too.
"I'm glad you two are getting along." Whether or not it was a reference to before Stiles couldn't be sure.
"I think we've got it figured out," Jackson said, turning to Stiles enough to see him smirking.
"Good." Stiles flushed with pleasure. After a simple two minute conversation everything was working together again. A well oiled machine. And he'd made Peter happy. Jackson too. But more importantly Stiles did. His back hardly bothered him the rest of the ride.

Stiles climbed out slowly, Jackson moving his seat out of the way.
"You can probably park in the garage," he offered, "my dad hardly ever goes in there." Jackson nodded. Peter rounded the back of the car and dangled the keys.
"So?" Jackson questioned as he took them.
"You two stick close together. I've got to see about getting some of my affairs in order."
"Ooh a slumber party," Stiles slurred, offering a goofy smile. Peter's eyes crinkled as his lips curled in a patient expression.
"Jackson shouldn't be at home right now. Just in case. The leashes will help but there may still be some…issues. Keep him away from your father." Jackson and Stiles grimaced in sync.
"Will do."
"I'm not attracted to older men," Jackson cut in. Stiles stepped on his foot. Peter's expression didn't change in the slightest.
"I'm really not interested in your sexual preferences Jackson." Stiles' eyes widened and he couldn't help a slight snort.
"The feeling is mutual," Jackson said, teeth flashing.
"Glad that's cleared up," Stiles cut in, taking Jackson by the shoulders, "we gotta go, Jackson's going to teach me to chug raw eggs and exfoliate my skin."
"Play nice boys," Peter called after them.
"Yes sir," Jackson muttered, laughing as Stiles pulled him along somewhat desperately.

They stopped in the kitchen and raided the fridge before moving to Stiles' room. Stiles hadn't managed to find a comfortable position before his phone buzzed angrily on the nightstand. Part of him couldn't believe he'd left it. He answered before checking the screen, which was always a mistake.
"Where the hell are you?" his father demanded, voice bursting through the phone so hard Stiles had to yank it away from his face. He groaned, which luckily he didn't have to fake.
"I'm at home," he dropped down to his bed, "in bed."
"Are you dead?" Stiles sighed, trying to think quickly.
"No I just woke up puking half digested food. I didn't think to call I'm sorry." He forced himself to sound upset, as if he actually had a right to be.
"You'd better not be jerking me around Son."
"Well I didn't save any evidence," he replied petulantly, "if that's what you mean." A voice sounded in the background and Sheriff Stilinski sighed.
"We'll talk when I get home."
"Great." Stiles disconnected the call and dropped his phone to the bed beside him.
"Okay?" Jackson asked, rubbing at an eyebrow. Stiles lifted one shoulder.
"Tired." He kicked off his shoes and flopped onto his stomach, groaning as the movement spread through his back. He could hear Jackson's fingers sliding over the screen of his phone but didn't question it. He slid his arm under his pillow and shoved his face into it. After a few minutes Jackson dropped down next to him, sighing.
"Game's in three days. Coach wants to turn it into a road trip…leaving tomorrow."
"That sounds like a horribly idea," Stiles mumbled. Jackson was silent for a moment.
"I think I know what you mean," he said softly.
"M I still first line?"
"Guess we'll know by the end of the night." Stiles sighed. "Go to sleep. Dream about Peter."
"Just cause you said that maybe I will," Stiles said, sticking out his tongue.
"Alright but if I wake up with you grinding on me I'm going to kick your scrawny ass."
"I'm slender and svelte. Not scrawny," Stiles argued, cracking his eyes open. Jackson just smiled.
"I thought you were tired." Stiles closed his eyes again and snuggled back into the pillow.
"Maybe I am." A few moments passed and Jackson realized he was tired as well. He shifted onto his stomach and let his eyes slide closed. "Wouldn't be my fault if I did hump you," Stiles said. "Mating frenzy."
"It doesn't work on members of your own pack." Stiles sighed again.
"Yeah I guess not."

Stiles wasn't sure what time it was when he woke up. He was used to his father's cruiser pulling in though. He shook Jackson's arm frantically.
"The Porsche," he hissed.
"Yeah," Jackson said, rubbing his eye. "I put it in the garage while you were sleeping. Didn't know you kayaked," he added before closing his eyes again. He relaxed briefly, until he heard his father coming up the stairs. He kicked Jackson out of bed just in time. The jock's reflexes kicked in and he rolled to the wall, hardly making a sound. Stiles' bedroom door opened, light from the hall streaming in.
"Hey," his father murmured, crossing to the bed. Stiles sat up slowly, wincing.
"Hey." His voice was sleep rough and he didn't bother trying to correct it. His father felt his forehead for a moment, frowning.
"You're burning up."
"I'll be fine," Stiles replied. His father's hand dropped away and he crossed his arms before settling his hands on his hips.
"You uh…want some soup or something?"
"I'm just tired." Stiles shook his head slightly, running one hand over his hair.
"I'll check on you in the morning."
"Okay." His father smiled slightly for a short moment. "Good night Dad."
"Good night Stiles." Jackson popped up as the door closed, eyes narrowed.
"You could have been a bit gentler," he whispered.
"Yeah cause I want to explain why the captain of the lacrosse team is in my bed at-" he glanced to his alarm clock, "two in the morning."
"You would be so lucky," Jackson muttered, sliding back into bed.
"I hate to wound your ego but I wouldn't exactly jump into your pants Whittemore."
"Mutual Stilinski."
"Good," Stiles said, laying back down and putting a hand over Jackson's mouth briefly. "Now shut up so I can sleep."

When Stiles woke again Peter was in bed next to him, sitting up and leaning against the wall. He flicked through a book, eyes scanning the pages quickly.
"What time is it?" Stiles croaked, desperately not wanting to move.
"Nearly noon," Peter answered, pausing and looking down to him. His forehead creased. "How are you feeling?" Stiles thought about it instead of answering immediately. The back of his throat was dry and burning.
"Not great," he finally muttered, tongue dragging painfully across his lips. Peter only looked more upset by the revelation. "Where's Jackson?" Stiles questioned, trying to distract him.
"He went to school. Something about a lacrosse trip he couldn't miss. He doesn't seem to be having so much trouble with it." Stiles grimaced.
"Of course not."
"He was in slightly better physical condition when he was turned," Peter said gently. Stiles pulled a face.
"I'm svelte damn it." Peter nearly looked amused then.
"I never said you weren't." Stiles shifted, trying to push himself up and crying out as his spine curved. "Okay," he huffed out, "not a good idea."
"No," Peter said tightly, knuckles white on the edge of the book. There was a tense silence. "Did you need something?"
"My throat hurts," Stiles explained, embarrassed. Peter set the book on the mattress and left the room without another word. He came back quickly with three different glasses and a can of Red Bull balanced on a plate.
"I wasn't sure what you wanted," he explained, seeming almost…embarrassed. In the glasses there was water, milk, and a dark soda, Stiles guessed Dr. Pepper.
"Milk," he said, reaching out his hand. Peter handed it to him, sitting on the edge of the bed gently. Stiles drained the glass and left it on the mattress. "This is temporary right?"
"Most likely."
"My dad?"
"Jackson said you were passed out cold when he came in. He couldn't wake you. I told Jackson to let you sleep it off when he called."
"Well I certainly hope Jackson's day is going better."

A/N: NOT MAJOR FORSHADOWING. NOT AT ALLLL.. *de caps lock*

Buckle in kids. It's gonna be a bumpy ride for Jacks.

Still planning on fluff. After the angst. I think. Maybe fluff first. Hmm. Maybe I'll flip a coin or something.

Anyways. I'm also still planning on replying. I know I say it all the time. But I really am. Once I'm not the pathetic lump of existence I currently am. Is it sad that I write when I'm sick?

I really need to stop writing these long winded notes. I'll stop now.

Thanks. *hugs and digital cookies*