Pairing: Stackson
Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Jackson Whittemore, Donovan Donati, Vernon Boyd
Tags/warnings: hate speech/derogatory language, homophobia, homophobic language, Donovan just really sucks, mild violence (he got the back eye somehow)
Words: 2663
Prompt: BTHB square Black Eye
Ao3 link Masterlist
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You’d really think Stiles would’ve learned by now. Coming out of the closet is not easy. That much he can give Donovan credit for. And in no way, shape, or form will you catch Stiles forcing the matter. As nice as it would be to be public with Donovan and whatever you’d classify their relationship as. That’s something to be done when and how the other boy feels comfortable, not Stiles.
All he can do is remind Donovan that he will be there as support when he’s ready.
There’s just one tiny- okay major- problem.
Stiles is beginning to suspect that Donovan might be homophobic.
Even someone deep in the closet isn’t typically rude enough to shun someone in the halls. With something as simple as a hello or a small wave, Donati gives him this look. A nasty thing as if Stiles had spit in the boy’s face rather than offered pleasantries. And whenever he- politely- asks when they might put a label on them, even if in private, Donovan always has the same answer.
He’d rather be caught dead than with a guy.
But even with that, Stiles can’t bring himself to walk away. Call it codependency if you want, but he just doesn’t want to be alone. Granted, Stiles has his pack. Derek, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson. But that’s not the same kind of companionship he’s looking for.
So what’s a little heartache in exchange for the companionship he is looking for?
A small price.
At least that’s what Stiles usually tells himself. Because it’s not like he could just walk up to– no, he’s not going there. Stiles’ heart and brain are already damaged enough, there’s no need to add insult to injury here.
His phone dings in his pocket as he’s walking out of school.
>>Usual spot, 5 mins
A demand, not a request. Stiles would be lying if he said that shit wasn’t getting on his last nerve.
K<<
With a sigh, Stiles shoves his phone back in his pocket, knowing full and well he’s about to leave this situation feeling worse than better. Maybe being alone wouldn’t be such a bad thing. He probably wouldn’t feel sick every time he hears that text tone.
When he gets to the music room, he can already see Donovan inside waiting for him. The other boy hasn’t noticed him yet, so Stiles takes a moment to try and turn his heart off. Can’t be affected by what you can’t feel. Right?
The music room makes sense as a good spot to meet up because ever since the teacher was killed last year, the school has yet to find a replacement. It’s never used.
As much as Stiles doesn’t want to feel loneliness, he wishes he had the strength to end this. Whatever this is.
Maybe one day.
Stiles knocks twice, once, and then three times before opening the door. It’s a code Donovan made up to ensure they know who’s coming in. Especially since the boy’s locker room is only two doors over and lacrosse practice is going on right now.
But when their eyes meet, Stiles knows deep in his bones, if he’s ever getting out, he has to do it now. There’s so much anger in the other boy’s eyes. If they’re meeting up to make out, shouldn’t Donovan be at least a little happy? Not like he’s filled with resentment.
Screw worrying about being alone. He’s got his pack and they love him. For now, it’s going to have to be enough. Because their love doesn’t come with a toxicity clause. It’s warm and genuine.
“What took you so long?” Donovan snaps.
Not out of worry if Stiles is okay. But for making him wait. For prolonging the risk of being caught. That much is evident in the way the other boy keeps looking behind Stiles, checking the window on the door for people passing by.
No one suspects a goddamn thing between them. Well, Stiles is sure his pack has smelled Donovan on him after their encounters. But they’ve never said anything to anyone; not even Stiles.
“I had to go the long way,” he explains, “the main entrance was already locked.” That’s not what he’s concerned about so Stiles adds, “no one saw me.”
“Good,” Donovan nods, “let’s hope not. I can’t be seen with you.”
Charming.
How did Stiles not get sick of this sooner?
Donovan quickly closes the distance between them, hands reaching out and eyes half closed.
“No,” Stiles pushes against the other boy’s chest to keep distance.
“What do you mean no?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” Stiles takes a step back, not liking the dark glare from those nearly black eyes. “I’m out. It’s more than okay that you’re not. But I’m tired of hiding who I am.”
Suddenly Donovan’s hands are around his throat, showing Stiles against the wall and forcing his tongue in his mouth.
Stiles’ face contorts, not even remotely kissing back and trying to push Donovan off. Stiles is all for a hand around his throat. But this hurts and he can’t fucking breathe, blackness beginning to shadow the edges of his vision.
“You’re disgusting, you know that?” Donovan sneers, wiping his mouth clean as if he wasn’t the one to force the kiss.
Stiles should’ve bit the fucker.
“Disgusting and so fucking wrong. Who are you going to turn to, huh? No one is going to want to touch someone like you.”
Stiles’ newfound backbone settles into place. He scoffs, “I’m wrong? Me? The only thing wrong here is you. Treating me like garbage when I actually liked you.”
Donovan doesn’t take a moment to digest Stiles’ words or even have half of a thought. He just rears back and punches Stiles right in the face. Really fucking hard. The force makes Stiles stumble, lose his footing, and fall on the floor.
“Don’t be such a fag,” Donovan seethes before snatching his bag up and storming out of the room.
Stiles’ face is throbbing, one eye watering and stinging so badly he doesn’t even want to open it. Can’t. Collecting himself, he gets off the ground. Brushing his pants off, Stiles quietly leaves the room. Not once does he stop until he’s pulling his jeep into the driveway.
It’s not his first time taking a hit to the face, he used to play lacrosse for fuck’s sake. But it was the first in that setting. In that…way.
Silver lining?
He’s free of Donovan.
Luckily, his dad was working a double shift last night, so he didn’t see the mess that was his son. And thankfully, with one sacrificial bag of frozen peas later, the swelling of Stiles’ eye went down. The small cut on his cheekbone is nothing of consequence. Something easily explained away by his clumsy nature. The major problem?
The very obvious black eye.
Even Stiles isn’t graceless enough to give himself a shiner. Litter his arms, legs, and sides with them? For sure. But usually if he hits his face it was from doing something stupid like the one time he was trying to make a rubber band ball. He used too small of a band and when it snapped it got him right in the chin. A nice little cut that he wore for three days. But never a black eye.
He avoided his pack last night so as not to cause any problems. Although Jackson, his childhood best friend, showed up at his goddamn house after practice. Stiles lied his ass off that he was nauseous and should be left alone. Not because Jackson might get sick. No, don’t worry, the jock reminded Stiles numerous times that he’s immune because he’s a werewolf.
Stiles just kept pushing how gross it was and that his best friend didn’t need to see that.
Jackson responded in kind that nothing could be more gross than walking in on Stiles jerking himself off when they were going through puberty. Which, thanks. Great boost to his ego there, Jax, truly. In the end, the wolf backed off once Stiles promised he’d call if he needed anything.
But now Stiles has to go to school. Lydia is off on some college tour, so it’s not like he can call her for a quick cover up. She and her makeup are states away. No staying home either. His dad would get a call at work and that’s just not something he wants to deal with. A small fib to Jackson is one thing, but Stiles is sure his dad is desensitized to his lies, it just wouldn’t work.
Maybe he can get away with staying in the library or getting a note from the nurse.
That’s probably the best course of action. If he tells the nurse he’s throwing up, they won’t call his dad and just let him leave.
Stiles intends to do just that. He hides in the boy’s bathroom, waiting for the first bell to ring. He’s got his old, oversized lacrosse hoodie on to hide his face. But the fewer people in the halls, the better. It also runs less of a risk in seeing his pack right now. They would all collectively lose their minds.
Possibly their composure as well.
Jackson has proved since they were young that he won’t tolerate people bullying Stiles. Can’t threaten what you don’t know about though. Erica would burn the school down then ask what idiot hurt him. Boyd would just give them a Derek level death glare to ensure they never even looked at Stiles again. Isaac could go either way. It would depend on the situation. A black eye would probably constitute a broken bone or two.
Best to avoid them.
Or at least until tomorrow when Lydia and her makeup bag are back in Beacon Hills and can help Stiles cover this up.
The bell rings, startling Stiles in the quiet stall. He waits until the voices have mostly ceased to poke his head out. But when he does, he catches a glimpse of Donovan walking towards his locker. Almost choking on a breathy squeak, Stiles disappears back into the bathroom.
Not without hearing Jackson call, “Stiles?”
Fuck.
Stiles rushes back into the stall to hide. If anything, it’ll keep up the façade that he’s ill. Hell, he feels so nauseous after seeing Donovan that he might actually throw up from anxiety alone.
The bathroom door opens and two sets of footsteps come in.
This is just not Stiles’ week.
“Stiles, what’s going on?” Jackson asks, voice full of concern.
It warms Stiles’ heart that his best friend cares this much. If Jackson wasn’t painfully straight, maybe the whole Donovn situation could’ve been avoided.
Again, he’s not thinking about that.
“You can’t hide from me,” Jackson says, “even if I couldn’t smell you, I can hear your heartbeat anywhere. Come on out.”
That shouldn’t blanket Stiles’ heart the way that it does. Jax only means because they’re best friends. That’s it. Just friends.
“Stiles, we just want to make sure you’re alright,” Boyd adds, confirming the wonder of the second set of feet. “You know you can talk to us.”
They won’t leave without seeing him. Stiles knows they won’t. Time to face the music. Ever so slowly, he unlocks the door, stepping out hood up and chin tucked. “I don’t feel well, I’m just going to go home.”
“If you were sick, you could’ve just said so,” Boyd chuckles.
Jackson snorts, “Well at least this time it sounds like the truth.”
Without thinking, Stiles looks up to snap at the wolf, except doesn’t get a chance to speak. He immediately realizes his mistake.
Boyd mutters, “oh shit.”
Eyes flashing blue, Jackson snarls, “Who did it?” Despite his tone, he carefully grabs Stiles’ chin to get a better look.
“Just drop it, Jax,” Stiles jerks his head and shoves the wolf’s hand away. “It’s nothing,” he says, avoiding eye contact and keeping the black eye facing away from them.
“Fuck that,” Jackson grabs his chin again, forcing eye contact while somehow remaining gentle. “Who. Did. It?” Every word is growled.
He’s pissed. Stiles may now hate Donovan, but he doesn’t want to see the guy dead. He fiddles with his fingers, not looking at either wolf. What Stiles wouldn’t give to not have a conscience right now.
His best friend laughs humorlessly, “It was Donati, wasn’t it?”
Stiles says nothing. Not that it matters. He feels it the moment his heart betrays him with a skip. And the wolves definitely heard it too.
“What are we doing?” Boyd asks, muscles flexing in his arms as he crosses them tighter.
“Find him,” Jackson growls.
All it takes is a nod of his head towards Jackson and Boyd dutifully walks out.
“I knew I should’ve snapped his neck when the whole thing started.” Jackson snorts, “and Erica said I was just being jealous.”
There’s so much to unpack in those two simple sentences.
“How did you possibly know?” Stiles opts for the least confusing of the wolf’s statements. “We were so careful.”
Jackson’s face is as deadpan as his tone, “It’s like you forget I’m a werewolf or something. As if I couldn’t hear the two of you if practice got out early. Even then, we can all smell him on you.”
Right.
That’s totally a thing Stiles thought about, he’s just still confused right now.
His best friend laughs at the face Stiles pulls. “Come on, let's get you to Derek’s where you’ll be safe until Boyd finds Donati. Get you something for that cut too.”
The care from the wolf and the gentle way Jackson wraps his arm around Stiles’ shoulder almost has him forgetting the other comment.
“Hang on,” Stiles shrugs his arm off, facing the wolf. He simply cannot get the thought of Jackson being jealous out of his head. Stiles can feel it niggling away at his brain.
He has to ask before his mind actually combusts.
“Why did Erica say you were jealous? Did you think he was going to steal your best friend away or something?” It’s the most logical reason he can think of.
“I–” Jackson looks away, his eyes trailing back slowly, uttering a soft, “No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then–” Stiles’ heart slams in his ribcage, he can’t breathe. Does Jackson like Donovan? Had Stiles been wrong about the wolf’s sexual preferences all along? He clears his throat, doing his best not to stutter, asking “Then why?”
“Are you really going to make me spell it out?” Jackson asks with no heat. Not even the usual sarcasm in his tone that they share can be found.
Stiles flails his arms. Because obviously yes, he’s missing something here.
“That would be nice, yes.”
Jackson chews his lip, contemplating his words. Stiles can see the war raging in his best friend’s mind behind beautiful blue eyes. The wolf growls.
“Screw it,” he says, cupping Stiles’ cheeks and slamming their mouths together.
Holy shit.
Holy fucking shit!
Holy shit!
He could’ve had Jackson! Stiles didn’t have to be lonely? His gorgeous best friend has feelings for him and Stiles had no idea the wolf even liked guys. He would’ve tried something. Flirted at the very least. Can you blame him? Even someone blind would know Jackson is stunning. And he actually cares about Stiles too.
Stiles was a little frozen from shock that he didn’t kiss back right away. A very soft, small whine rumbles in the back of the wolf’s throat and he goes to pull away. Stiles curls his fists in Jackson’s expensive shirt, keeping their mouths firmly pressed together. He never wants to hear that sound again.
“I didn’t know,” Stiles whispers.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Jackson strokes his cheek. “Just say the word and I’ll snap his neck. I promise.”
“No, Stiles mutters, brushing their noses together. “I just need you.”
Jackson smiles, “You’ve got me,” leaning in to kiss him again.
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