
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/557220.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison_Argent/Scott_McCall, Peter_Hale/
      Lydia_Martin, Danny_Mahealani/Jackson_Whittemore
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Laura_Hale, Alpha_Hale, Sheriff_Stilinski,
      Allison_Argent, Lydia_Martin, Danny_Mahealani, Jackson_Whittemore, Bobby
      Finstock
  Additional Tags:
      Mildly_Dubious_Consent, Mating_Run, Bride_Hunting, Allusion_to_Mpreg
  Series:
      Part 1 of red
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-08 Words: 11592
****** Festival of Red ******
by hoars
Summary
     “See? I need my daisy crown or I won’t get Chased.” Stiles frowned.
     “And then I’ll have to do it again next year. I really don’t want to
     do it twice.”
     The good and the bad of getting Caught this year included not having
     to do it again and the bad was he’d have a werewolf mate for the rest
     of his life. Stiles is seventeen. He has a lot of life to live.
     Unless his wolfy mate has no sense of humor or a temper. Those with
     no sense of humor and tempers tended to hate Stiles the most and
     wouldn’t that suck? Being tied to someone for the rest of his life
     who hates him. That actually sounds like his type of luck.
     “You’ll be fine.” Allison beams because she’s a sweet person and can
     obviously read Stiles like a picture book aimed at toddlers.
Notes
     I started this with the sole desire to have Stiles wear a daisy
     crown...it kinda snowballed from there. I somehow ended up with this
     cracky monster where logic doesn't reign and bride hunting is normal.
     And I got tired of looking at this, so I'm sorry if there's problems
     in it. I've had it on my computer since July. That's two months.
     Eugh.
February 28th in Beacon Hills was no ordinary day, nor the beginning or an
ordinary week for that matter.
In Pine Cove, the day was spent like any other. Certainly school wasn’t
cancelled for the rest of week and family owned businesses weren’t closed for
the week. The week wasn’t spent in half a drunken haze, dancing and laughing
with family and friends. Then again, Pine Cove wasn’t home to one of the
largest werewolf pack on the West Coast.
The 28th was a werewolf holiday that all humans under a werewolf pack’s
protection observed. Namely, the Festival of Red.
The Festival of Red started with thousands of red blooms in all assortments.
There was roses, carnations, sunflowers, tulips, bleeding hearts, daises,
cacti, cardinals, firecrackers, bee balm, hummingbird trumpet, chrysanthemums,
clematis, peonies, hibiscus, dahlias, cosmos and many no one could name with
any certainty.
The town was blanketed in the perfume of so many blooms for the entirety of the
festival, and for some delicate noses the smell lingered until the end of
March. Hundreds of fairy lights were hung around town, predominantly on Main
Street. The lights varied between soft gold and orange-red. From independently
owned shops, red blinds or curtains hung, blocking out the store to make a wall
of red from store window to store window.
Main Street on this day was void of cars and other obstacles and instead small
fair like booths took residence in the streets. The booths were only large
enough to sell trinkets, good luck charms, fortunes and, of course, food. It
was during this week werewolves splurged on food and alcohol as the vendors
knew exactly to which perfection to make the meats without overpowering
enhanced senses and how high the alcohol content should be to give a werewolf a
long lasting buzz.
Despite many of the family owned shops being closed for the week and national
chains working with the bare necessities, there were still plenty of community
members that planned to work through the Festival of Red.
The sheriff’s department with the help of three neighboring counties' law
enforcement planned on working double time, night and day during the festival.
There were safety concerns with so many people concentrated in one place and
scuffles and the like were bound to occur as they did every year without fail.
The hospital also planned on retaining as many doctors, nurses, interns and
paramedics as possible. With more werewolves than human beings located in
Beacon Hills during this time, humans being injured was common. Accidents were
bound to happen and BHH had every intention of being prepared for anything,
including an outright pack war.
Then there were the volunteer fire fighters composed of two or three veterans
but mostly young men that were eager to test their mettle against a “real”
fire. Every year like clockwork, something was set on fire. Last year it had
been Mrs. Preston’s backyard when her husband tried his damndest to grill
steaks for his son-in-law’s parents. This week was always a good time to test
out the newest firefighters.
Lastly, there were the Hales. The werewolves already mated were stationed in
groups of four throughout the town. They kept conflicts between humans and
nonlocal werewolves to a minimum, restrained overly rowdy werewolves, answered
questions and concerns and generally assisted the law enforcement and hospital.
The Hale werewolves did their best to protect their territory. At a hundred-
fifty strong, the Hale pack grew every year with the additions of mates, cubs
and stray omegas. The actual number of werewolves in the pack’s ranks was known
only Alpha Cynthia Hale.
The female alpha was a cool and collected wifwolf with a strategic mind that
allowed her to defend her territory and keep her large pack under control.
Every year, alpha after alpha petitioned her to attend Beacon Hills’ Festival
of Red and every year, she judged and evaluated the alphas and their packs,
weighing their worth. It was well known throughout the United States Alpha Hale
only allowed packs with outstanding history within her lands. Her pack’s
protective attitude towards humans only rivaled by her own desire to keep her
human friends and family safe.
Which led into what the Festival of Red entailed.
Four times a year, different parts of the country held a get together (none as
large as The Festival of Red, although Alpha Lupa Garcia of New York was a
close second with her Beltane Festival) in order for werewolves to find their
mates.
The events were organized so all potential mates (the humans with the distinct
undertones of werewolf buried in their scents and the werewolves deemed as
omegas or submissive betas) were gathered together. The potential mates, also
nicknamed as the Chosen, Potentials, and for the more crude, the Fucked, were
gathered not as lambs to slaughter but as means for the best wolves to get the
best mates and vice versa. With hundreds of potential mates gathered in one
area, it became harder to discern scents from each other and more of a
challenge for werewolves to find a mate. It became even harder when the
potential mates were encouraged to run and hide and fight the werewolves. It
was a tough courtship for those on the inside and entertaining for those on the
outside.
The Festival of Red began with the Chosen being revealed.
The Chosen in previous weeks received red envelope invitations requesting their
presence at the festival along with a slew of consent forms and waivers. As per
tradition rather than law, the Chosen stayed silent on their status until the
28th and they wore a red item that declared their status for all to see,
otherwise, yellow and green were the favored festival colors.
This year, red hair and head ornaments were considered fashionable as the many
beanies, hats, headbands, bandannas, barrettes, flower pins, chopsticks,
feathers, beads and hair gel could attest to. Not that red dresses, shirts,
skirts, hoodies, sweaters, tights, leggings, high socks or shoe laces couldn’t
be seen and occasionally there was even the extremely traditional red cloaks.
The second day was the day everyone waited for with no small amount of nerves
and impatience. The second day, the 29th or 1st depending on the year, was the
day of the Chase. The Chosen were released into the preserve and did their best
in the six hour head start to evade their aggressive werewolf counterparts. At
noon, the werewolves were set loose to begin hunting for the mate. Later that
night, a ceremony would be held for all the new “marriages.” Each couple would
go before Alpha Hale, Justice of the Peace Hyacinth and Sherriff Stilinski to
make the marriage legal in eyes of the pack and the law witnessed by an
upstanding member of the community.
The third day was devoted to family get togethers, parties, and the town
settling all bets. This was the day most babies were conceived the head of the
maternity ward swore and as every November there were more babies than there
was room, it couldn’t be denied. This was also the day the newly mated got to
interact with each other in ways that did not include violence or sex. 
The fourth day was the party day. It was celebrated by feasting during the day
and well wishes for cubs by traditionalists. All werewolves, the newly mated
and not, howled and howled as their human counterparts (in werewolf families
and not) would dance and dance until the sun came up, feeling the magic build
and bless all the participants.
The fifth day was made for friends. The new couples would leave their families
for the day and show off to their friends their new mates. The purpose to get
werewolves acquainted to their friends’ mates and for human friends to see
which werewolf they’d need to find when their friend went missing. The day was
sometimes fraught with tension as personalities clashed and jealousies arouse.
Other times, most times, friends made concessions and welcomed the mates with
open arms.
The sixth day was generally devoted to the logistics of a mating bond. Where
the couple would live, talks about the future, the sort of thing no one really
considers in the heat of the moment or when such joy is present in the air.
Luckily, these conversations were rarely held alone as parents always tried
helping their children decided what would be best for each.
And the last day was devoted completely to goodbye as the visiting packs left.
As one of the most highly anticipated events of the year, Alpha Hale, Justice
of the Peace Hyacinth and Sheriff Stilinski were busy.
The three could be found alongside the mayor trying to make accommodations for
all the werewolves visiting Beacon Hills for the festival, the matter of the
Enforcers’ daughter being invited to the run and the shit storm that started,
some werewolves falling into a pseudo-heat, civilians acting out due to
discrimination or hurt over not being Chosen and those were all only the
professional issues.
Professional issues could and would be solved.
Granting permits, calling in favors to open hotels and beds and breakfasts,
motels, cabins and residences willing to house werewolves answered their first
problem. Grouping all three of Beacon Hills' jailed offenders solved where to
put early spring heats with a clang of jail bars. The Argents were more
difficult, but since their daughter was eighteen, it was her decision as it was
the right of everyone at seventeen, and she agreed with a bright smile Alpha
Hale knew the girl had her eyes on a werewolf with her quick consent. Issuing
tickets that helped pay for the festival dissuaded most of the troublemakers
and encounters with some betas helped the rest change their minds.
The personal issues that plagued the three officials:
Alpha Hale’s eldest children Alpha-Heir Laura and her Beta Derek had yet to
find a mate in all the years they’ve been participating in the festival. It was
frustrating, especially as she expected to have grandchildren at this point and
her eldest children obtaining mates would secure the Hale pack’s line of
succession. It was a political headache, but most importantly she wanted her
children to be happy. Damn them for making it so difficult.
Justice of the Peace Hyacinth could hardly concentrate on ordering all the
marriage licenses and filling out all the correct paperwork he needed
beforehand primarily due to an alpha female from Monterey Bay attempting to
court him despite the fact he was married. The woman flustered him at every
turn, simply by existing and he didn’t know how to reject her advances without
being rude. All his attempts to ask Alpha Hale had the woman laughing at him.
And Sherriff Stilinski tried his damnedest not to think about how his seventeen
year old son would be participating in the Chase tomorrow. His wife had always
promised him their little Genim would be mischief reincarnated in their lives,
but he never knew she meant he’d cause the Sherriff’s heart to go into
overtime. It was like it was yesterday Sherriff was teaching his son how to tie
his shoes and now the man was helping Stiles pick out a red hoodie to wear that
wouldn’t make any werewolves think prey and try and eat him. Nevermind that his
baby was most likely getting married tomorrow. Oh God.
Like all personal issues, they were harder to resolve and the festival began
before anyone could figure their issues out.
Alas.
000
As before mentioned, only the Chosen were allowed to wear red during this week.
It was to honor the memory of Rotkäppchen.
She was the first human mate that did not simply bare her belly in fear to her
werewolf suitor. Oh no. This young woman demanded her werewolf suitor prove his
worth to her, even as the werewolf threatened her and her family. The woman was
quick to retort she’d only bear a strong, clever werewolf’s cubs and would
rather drown a weak pup than let it live. Stunned by her words, the werewolf
agreed to prove his worth to the woman. She set three challenges for him. The
first was to find her in the Black Forest before the sun went down (as was
honored today by the Chase). The second was to navigate conversation with her
wily grandmother without revealing himself as a werewolf (and this challenge is
often jokingly called the Meet the Parents portion of the festival). The third
task was meant to prove his devotion to the young woman and she demanded a
brilliant red cloak that would make any queen envious (the last task kept
solely between mates today). From this day on, human mates were handled with
more respect, respect that inspired Alpha Moon Hale to create the Festival of
Red.
Gossip followed those that wore red. The juicy facts about the Chosen were
shared about the near two hundred Chosen like they were celebrities. Bets were
placed between nonparticipants and the next day was waited with baited breath.
Such gossip tormented Allison Argent.
She could catch snippets of it and she wished she had worn red earmuffs instead
of jeweled butterflies Mrs. McCall gifted her with.
“An Enforcer’s daughter,” they whispered and she hated it.
Her father insured werewolves didn’t harm humans and Beacon Hills treated them
with caution as if they were killers that could massacre dozens for being in
the wrong place. Not everywhere was as blessed as Beacon Hills. Allison knew
for a fact Redwood Grove had been terrorized by two packs due to a territory
dispute. It didn’t make the Argents bad people, but the town gossip still
whispered how she’s more likely to kill her werewolf lover than allow him to
Catch her.
She wants to snarl at them all she loves Scott and would never allow anyone to
harm him if she could prevent it.
She’d never been more grateful to Stiles, because the hurtful things about her
stopped when he walked with her. If Stiles heard the cruel things Beacon Hills
said about him, his playful smile gave no indication and Allison could barely
contain the love she had for Scott’s pack-brother.
His red hoodie dwarfed his face and hands, too big because there was never any
indication, until he received the red invitation that he would be a Chosen.
Convinced it was a prank or a mistake, he had reluctantly picked the cheapest
clothing of red he could find that so happened to be a large pull over hoodie
that did nothing to make him look less like a waif. A waif. Stiles was no waif.
He was the opposite of a waif, damn it.
For Stiles’ part, he heard each whisper, tightened his grip on Allison’s hand
and mostly agreed with the general census. He was a no good, troublesome,
attention deficient, drug addict begging to be punched in the mouth. He’d been
just as surprised as everyone else when the invitation arrived. He wasn’t
Allison and Scott, and his tiny social circle could attest to the fact he had
no secret werewolf admirer and hadn’t been secretly waiting for the day to
blindside Beacon Hills with his secret romance.
Just no.
Knowing Scott and Allison was bad enough.
He didn’t know what he had to offer a werewolf unless his werewolve(-an?) mate
wanted constant entertainment and irritation because being honest, Stiles is so
awesome because of his epic fail. It’s the Stilinski charm. Ask anyone who went
to school with dad.
“I want a crown of flowers.” Did he just say that? He hadn’t meant to. It was a
flip who was more surprised, Allison or Stiles, but the vacant expression was
off her face so fuck it. “For the Chase tomorrow. So my wolfy knows my awesome
on sight.”
It worked like a charm. Allison smiled, slow but she ended up clutching a
bouquet of red daises in one hand, Stiles’ hand in the other and with every
step away from the crowds, her smile grew. Stiles knew Beacon Hills’ general
opinion of him, hello, social outcast, and he doubted wearing a flower crown
was going to damage his rep any.
“You don’t have to do this.” Allison said still smiling so yeah, he kind of has
to.
“Of course I do! Hair ornaments are very in this season. I mean, look!” A
Chosen in front of them had red beads clinking in her hair and two other Chosen
buying effigies to throw in the bonfire tomorrow night for good luck wore red
feathers and red hair gel. “Not to mention your glossy locks.” He eyed the red
butterflies.
“Mrs. McCall lent them to me. For luck.” She blushed lightly.
“See? I need my daisy crown or I won’t get Chased.” Stiles frowned. “And then
I’ll have to do it again next year. I really don’t want to do it twice.”
The good and the bad of getting Caught this year included not having to do it
again and the bad was he’d have a werewolf mate for the rest of his life.
Stiles is seventeen. He has a lot of life to live. Unless his wolfy mate has no
sense of humor or a temper. Those with no sense of humor and tempers tended to
hate Stiles the most and wouldn’t that suck? Being tied to someone for the rest
of his life who hates him. That actually sounds like his type of luck.
“You’ll be fine.” Allison beams because she’s a sweet person and can obviously
read Stiles like a picture book aimed at toddlers. Scott was lucky, and
together the two would create cubs who would only hurt others with excess
kindness and sweetness.
It would be like Cinderella meets Winnie the Pooh.  
“And Scott will hone in on your scent, you’ll run and then you two will have
sex in the dirt and pine needles.” It was only fair he reassure her too.
“I hope I can watch when you get Caught.” Her levels of snippy are totally
uncalled for. Stiles is being comforting.
“Kinky. Is Scott aware of this side of your personality?”
Laughing, she forced him to sit under a tree Stiles is positive hadn’t been
there yesterday. The red blossoms further supported his theory. Allison was
using her mystic girl magic to make the daises into a crown, while he told her
about previous Festivals of Red.
Apparently, Enforcers didn’t really go in depths about the lighthearted aspects
of the Chase and only told Allison about the occasions where actual rape and
not just highly dubious consent and death occurred instead.
“Well, last year there was Daniel and Betty. Betty tried climbing up a tree and
got stuck and when her mate went after her, he got stuck too.” Stiles laughs.
“Apparently, that didn’t stop them from consummating their relationship any and
Daniel fell out like three times. The Hales still snicker about it.” He hums
for a moment, debating whether or not to tell her what the Hales had said after
they stopped laughing. “They called it things like “memorable” and Daniel
“lucky.” I think werewolves like it when the Chase is difficult.” Personally,
Stiles thought it was mortifying and embarrassing.
Half way between explaining how the werewolf mating instinct worked (or as much
as they let humans not mated to a werewolf know), Lydia Martin in an honest to
God velvet red cloak gracefully (she’s Lydia Martin, everything she does is
graceful) sits next to them. Stiles may or may not flinch because she looks
pissed as if she received a 98% because of the math teacher’s inability to read
her own answer key.
 “Hi, Lydia.” Allison greets, simultaneously trying to express her opinion of
Lydia’s attitude to Stiles via her eyebrows. Stiles mostly tries to sit still
and not breathe because Lydia had gotten the teacher to leave the school in
tears and predators only killed what moves, right? Right.
“Jackson is a Chosen.” Her tone of voice heavily implied she knew Stiles was
there because she planned on using him as a virgin sacrifice to change
Jackson’s status as a submissive beta. Jackson belonged to Lydia and not some
werewolf. She put a lot of effort into her boy-toy and someone had to pay and
that someone was Stiles.
At least that’s what Stiles heard. Allison must not of because what she asks is
clearly because she wants Stiles dead. And here he’d been thinking they were
bros. “Did you guys break up?”
Festival of Red, the end of thousands of teenage romances since 1982.
The rules of girl must be different.
Lydia doesn’t snap Allison’s head off, just sighs like she’s physically pained
by the thought of someone else making Jackson miserable. Stiles may worship the
redhead for her intelligence, but he’s never been struck blind, deaf and dumb
to her faults, even if in his book making Jackson Whittemore miserable was
another reason to worship at the altar of Lydia Martin. “Yes, and now I have to
start from scratch with whoever Catches me.”
“Admit it,” Allison is fearless. “You were getting tired of Jackson. You had
him watching The Notebook willingly twice a week.”
Ooo, blackmail material. Please, keep discussing. Sadly neither girl heard his
mental encouragement but then again it was safe to breathe again. The topic
changes instead to which weak willed beta Lydia will bring to heel.
“It’s highly unlikely anyone but a potential alpha will Chase you with the
vibes you put off.” He froze, unwilling to believe his mouth. Deflect! “Who
said that? Damn you, Greenburg!”
Lydia’s scary eyes have never been so focused so intently on him before and he
kind of wishes she’d look away now. Please, oh please for the love God, look
away!
000
This year it was March 1st the Chase was on and the day began with the rising
sun.
The sheriff’s department and human mates who volunteered gathered all the
Chosen by the Beacon Hills Preserve entrance. They went over the guidelines,
safety measures, gave advice, and words of encouragement before releasing a sea
of red to spread as many trails as possible to make the Chase worthwhile.
Across town, Alpha Hale was going over a similar procedure over breakfast.
Traditionally, the werewolves weren’t released until noon and over the course
of six hours the four hundred werewolves gathered to participate would only get
more restless. Keeping them distracted with tactics and anecdotes helped ease
the air, and the feeling of community the mated Hale pack members broadcasted
soothed the worst case of nerves.
“Follow your senses. Allow a scent to enthrall you. Follow the most attractive
red you see. Listen for the heartbeat or voice that calls to you. Touch and
taste your potential before mating them. A mate is for life.” Cynthia said to
all the listening ears. “Don’t pick a Chosen just because you’re afraid. There
will be more festivals and more Chosen.” The dark beauty smirked. “After all,
my kids are in their twenties and still haven’t found a mate.”
Soft chuckles came from the crowd and only grew into laughter at Derek Hale’s
hiss, “You promised not to bring it up this year,” and Laura Hale’s huff.
“Sweethearts, being picky is a good thing. I would just like to see cubs soon.”
Neither younger Hale appreciated their mother voicing her desire.
Derek grimaced. After his third festival, his mother had been dropping hints
the size of anvils about pack expansion via a mate and cubs. It wasn’t like he
was going out of his way not to find a mate. He was actual desperate to Catch
one if only to get his mother off his back. The past five festivals he entered
the woods only to leave an hour later, disgusted at the idea of mating to any
of the Chosen, a problem he shared with his sister.
The fault laid at Aunt Selene’s feet.
Every year on the day of the Chase, she’d gather all the cubs, humans and
werewolf alike, seventeen and under to keep them out of the way and told the
story of Rotkäppchen, of course, but it was the other stories she would tell
them that interested Derek the most. The stories of Atlanta and Melanion,
Tristan and Isolde, Remus and Sirius, Lucian and Sophia, and Belle and Ella.
All the stories had one common theme: the mates had been soul mates.
Atlanta refused anyone who couldn’t beat her in a foot race, waiting for a
mate, a mate clever enough to defeat her and until the day Melanion showed up,
none proved to be enough to best the beta wifwolf.
Tristan fighting beta after beta and challenging his Alpha at the first sniff
of the human princess Isolde’s scent. Tearing apart friendships and a kingdom
for their love.
Remus and Sirius, brothers-in-arms in ancient Rome until they turned of age and
mated and lead a slave rebellion. Partners in everything, even death as they
were executed.
Lucian Chasing Sophia for days because he’d been drawn to her heartbeat after
hearing it pass him when a carriage containing her passed his home in the
country.
Belle seducing Ella away from her lordly, human husband even at the cost of
Belle being banished after winning her mate over and the lord’s ire.
They were mostly sad stories, but Derek liked to hope one day he could have
something like it. Someone who changed his life completely simply by breathing
in Derek’s orbit.
Maybe if Aunt Selene had left off the true love stories, Derek would have an
easier time of finding a compatible mate. As it was, he only wanted to mate to
the being that drove him out of his mind, called to his wolf, completed Derek.
It wasn’t an impossibility or rare. Just not common. But Derek was nothing if
not stubborn. As long as Peter didn’t have a mate, the oldest werewolf in pack
at thirty-five without, no one would say anything to Derek’s or his mother’s
face. Laura’s, maybe, but she was just as likely to shove those same words down
the stupid bastard’s throat because she’s twenty-eight not fifty.
“I will abdicate my position if she doesn’t stop it.” Laura says for her
brother’s ears alone. “Fuck, I need to find my mate this year.”
Derek rests his head on her shoulder in agreement.
Together, they watched the younger members of the pack show off, listen to
boasts from werewolves confident of their mates’ identity, nomads discussing
the common hiding spots with the Hales, visiting packs sharing stories about
pack life. Once in awhile Laura would pet Derek like the cub she still
considered him and the sun moved across the sky.
At noon, every werewolf participating in the Chase was gathered at the edges of
the preserve. Some were partially transformed; primarily the youngest in
attendance while the other werewolves like Peter complete in wolf form. Derek,
like Laura, stayed human, not seeing the point of transforming completely for a
likely bust.
Their mother’s howl broke the dam and a flood of werewolves soaked the forest.
“Smile, maybe you’ll Catch someone.” Laura smirks before setting off into the
woods at a jog.
“Hide your face and maybe the Chosen won’t run away.” He shoots back, going in
the opposite direction. In the unlikely event Laura found a mate today, he
didn’t want to sense it in any way.
He’s mentally debating between rabbit stew and elk jerky when a scent has him
on all fours, shifting into the black wolf he considered himself to really be
most days. Anyone from his pack could attest to Derek shifting only when forced
due to his inability to control the shift completely– “Some things come with
time, dear” -- and for the man to willing shift without great incentive from
the pack would cause many eyebrows to climb.
The scent that piques his interest is difficult to distinguish, muddled with
another scent, flowers (how Derek hated those fucking flowers) another
werewolf’s scent and woods.
He’s pleased.
His mate, trusting his instincts and there was no doubt to the wolf, his mate,
was so clever trying to cover up his scent. The perfume of flowers deliberately
clinging to the scent that had Derek’s tail wagging. The Chase was all about
the best wolf finding the best mate and clearly Derek was the best werewolf for
his mate. Now if only he could pick out his mate’s scent.
He follows the scent as best as he can, growing pleased with every false trail
the scent puts him on. So clever but the wolf is clever too. The other scent
alongside his mate’s was sisterpack, the werewolf scent linking the two making
his mate the other werewolf’s packbrother. Packsister’s scent was more forward,
wanting to be Caught by her werewolf. The wolf began hunting packsister
instead. She’d lead him to his mate.
The wolf chases her smell deeper into the woods, trees blurring past him. A
growl a mile and a half behind him makes the wolf chuff. Packsister’s mate
finally found the right trail. Must not be as clever as he. Her trail had been
easy. The wolf speeds up. Increases the distance between him and little
brother. He has no intention of fighting his mate’s packbrother for breeding
rights like the younger wolf likely believed.
Packsister, when he finds her, is sitting on rocks in the stream. He can’t help
staring at the red in her hair, the color dazing the wolf enough to let Derek
shift back to a mouth suitable for human speech.
“Go away! I’m waiting for someone else!” Packsister shouts, obviously panicked.
Behind Derek, the young beta howls, drawing closer.
“Packsister,” He assures her and ignores her confused words for deep breaths of
her scent. Her scent consists of feathers, wood, the beta behind him and
crunchy leaves. Pleased, Derek turns his nose to the faint traces of his mate.
Medicine, those damn flowers, tree sap and best of all the tease of Derek’s
scent combining all the smells together to make his mate’s scent. Got you.
He takes off, down the stream, clever mate, as packsister’s mate crashes into
view. Derek hopes the beta mounts his mate instead of chasing Derek.
He has a mate to Catch.
000
Stiles’ yesterday never ended since he was still awake, hit by panic and no he
didn’t want to be married and spent the night researching evasion techniques.
His day started when he pops more of his speed than he should have as a pick me
up and his dad knocking on his door, so they can head to the preserve together.
Neither Stilinski said anything, one out of uncertainty of what to say and the
other out of panic his dad would notice Stiles’ extra pills this morning, even
as his humming and twitching fingers gave him away.
His dad kissed his forehead and went to give his speeches, leaving Stiles to
find Allison and begin to tell her his theories on Iron Man’s intimacy issues.
From there all he remembers is walking, sometimes back and forth, in zig zags,
rubbing against trees, pouring his water out behind him until Allison mentioned
she wanted Scott to find her, prompting Stiles to drop her off on some rocks so
he could march his way up the stream, getting out to spread his scent more when
he got cold, jumping from bank to bank when he warmed up. Deeming himself safe,
he climbed a tree, falling only once before freaking out because his red hoodie
could be seen by anyone with eyes much less super eyes and dove for some bushes
a little further upstream.
Red traditional his ass. Red was probably traditional to make it easier for
werewolves to find and molest hapless humans.
The bushes were kind and hid him awesomely in their dense leafiness and then he
passed out.
Crashes were a bitch like that.
If he’d known the extra Adderall would be his downfall, Stiles would have
flushed the entire bottle down the toilet and actually attempted to sleep.
He jumps awake when jaws clamp on his hood and pull him from the bushes. Terror
doesn’t even begin to describe waking up to a massive black wolf dragging him
from his hiding spot and sleep with fangs. Stiles has studied the difference
between male and female werewolves so he knows the wolf is a male and fuck,
he’s going to be someone’s bitch, wasn’t he?
The answer to that was hell no if anyone was wondering. Stiles read about
Arthur and Guinevere and how she out ran the alpha wolf until sunset and he had
to respect her chose of Lancelot. Stiles is totally okay with taking
inspiration from a badass human princess. Scrambling out of the red hoodie the
wolf’s teeth are still buried in, Stiles runs as fast as he can, only looking
back once to see the wolf drop the hoodie and begin chasing Stiles.
He only has to outsmart the werewolf until sunset. Stiles could do that. In the
face of pro human consent laws, the Festival of Red allowed the Chosen the
chance of not being mated if they could hide until sunset. Never mind the
werewolf behind him is closing the distance between them with every thud of his
paws and the sun is still high.
If Stiles hadn’t been so concentrated on protecting his innocence and single
status, he would have noticed the howls of satisfied werewolves, human moaning
and no less than four couples in the middle of sexual intercourse. As it was,
Stiles only noticed brown = tree, green = bush, red = other obstacle, jump
fool!
He doesn’t know how long he’s ran for, just that his legs ache and his lungs
are on fire. He’s getting into territory he’s so unfamiliar with Stiles
wouldn’t be at surprised if he had ran all the way to Oregon. He’s tiring so he
makes sure to obey the one rule of running for your life there is: he doesn’t
look back. He’s seen enough horror movies to know better than to look back, so
he doesn’t and damn it. Not fair! He didn’t look! But he’s still tackled down a
wannabe hill, the body pining him decidedly not furry or really wolfy in any
way but the crystal blue eyes Stiles maybe read about.
Shut up.
He has a lot of information in his head okay, and to be honest more pressing
things to think about than the relevance of bright blue eyes on a werewolf.
“You win, Wolf-man.” Stiles pants out. He lets his limbs fall where they want.
He’s tired damn it. Boneless. He’s a meat suit and bones are not included. “I
feel I should warn you, Wolfy, I’m Trouble. Capital T. Ask anyone. That Stiles
needs his voice box ripped out.” Wolf-man turned his head with a non-clawed
hand thankfully and Stiles let him. Refer to boneless for why, besides he can
still warn the werewolf off like a poison dart frog. “And ADHD problem to go
hand in hand with my Adderall problem. Really. I drive people nuts – are you
licking me?! Dude, I’m gross. Don’t do that.” Never had his words expressed
what he doesn’t mean so he’s quick to amend the incorrect statement. “Never
mind. Keep doing it.” The tongue chasing the sweat down his neck resumes and
wow, he kind of wishes he could move his arms so he could hold the guy’s head
to the spot that makes embarrassing sounds escape his mouth. “Fuck it. If you
still want to fuck me, you’re doing all the work.”
He means it as a last ditch attempt to prove he’s bad mate material, hello,
lazy in bed, but Wolfy took it as consent. Sure, he hears that part of his ‘why
Stiles Stilinski will make a very bad mate’ speech. Already Stiles can sense
the miscommunication problems they will have.
He hadn’t liked his shirt anyways. And he could probably find his shoes again.
Maybe. Who needed pants? Stiles always wanted to live in a pantless utopia. A
quick stop at Wal-Mart would fix his boxer situation, no problem. Being naked
in the woods was freeing. People should do it more often. Maybe Stiles would
after all this.
Or was it the feel of Wolfy’s mouth and hands stroking his body that was nice?
Ooo, another experiment idea. Naked in the woods by self, sex with Wolfy
elsewhere. Maybe more variables, especially the sex with Wolfy part.
“Sorry. My arms are traitors.” He attempts communicating because communicating
was important shit that they will improve on, but Wolfy is sucking a hickey on
Stiles’ chest and there’s frottaging going on so it sounds more slurred like,
“Sree. Arms. Tra-ah. Ors.”
It takes a brief nap, Wolfy curled around him, still knotted in him for Stiles
to regain proper control over his mouth and use of his body and he’s already
Wolfy’s mate, the mine and yours vows exchanged before teeth buried themselves
deep in Stiles, blood flooding the werewolf’s mouth, making Stiles swear loudly
as he came. There’s no taking back mutually awesome orgasms.
So fuck it.
The second Wolfy’s knot recedes, Stiles is riding him, going to mark Wolfy’s
skin so hard his super healing won’t keep up. For the most part, his plan is a
success, except the part where Stiles loses his god damn mind and pins Wolfy’s
hands down with his own, getting high off that fucking beautiful sight and
gasping “Be mine” over and over until Wolfy rumbles, “Yours, mine yours,
yours.” And yeah, Stiles bites hard, tasting blood, loving the taste like some
sort of freak. Whatever. Wolfy must’ve liked it because there’s more knotting
and if Stiles had known he’d feel this awesome, he probably would have been
chasing Wolfy or y’know set himself up by the entrance ass in the air.
Yeah. He has problems. Don’t judge.
Those problems in no way impeded Stiles from learning Wolfy’s name is in fact
Derek between lingering kisses and come being rubbed into his skin after the
third time. Leading into the fourth time for Derek, and wow, Stiles wasn’t sure
who liked when he moaned it more, him or Derek because fuck those syllables
sounded awesome.
He learns the werewolf has a triskelion tattoo Stiles likes licking and biting
as much Derek likes Stiles doing it. Derek’s age and his dad was going to freak
his werewolfan (-en? Whoever the hell is in charge of this shirt dropped the
ball on that one, seriously) mate/husband is six years older than his seventeen
year old son, but his mom and dad had a ten year difference so like his dad
could talk.
 Stiles also learns his new lifemate (mate-mate? Wolf-mate? Bond-mate?
Seriously, werewolfian to human guidebook is required)  didn’t care when Stiles
mumbled lines to poems he memorized for the fuck of it when insomnia held him
hostage, instead Derek panted the titles and poets into Stiles’ mouth and gah,
Stiles’ brain was melting out his ears. Hot and smart, Stiles’ favorite type.
Derek discovered Stiles’ off button shortly after, putting the teen to sleep
with his heartbeat. Their nap only lasting until the woods grew colder, almost
dark enough to be considered twilight rather than sunset and since they were
both already naked, more sex couldn’t hurt.
Even if Stiles felt like boneless jelly again.
This time sex involved a level of tenderness and gasped out compliments. Stiles
could stand to be called clever, delicious smelling and fuckable for the rest
of his life, while all Stiles could jabber about was “Eyes. Seriously. And
brain. Awesome and your dick. Irk.” Before his words plain didn’t make sense,
not that he didn’t try.
Stiles is always going for the A in effort. His executions have always been
shaky.
“Sun’s down.” Stiles says. Derek’s hair is so soft around his fingers; he’d be
lying if he said he wasn’t a little awed. Someone like Derek was letting Stiles
pet him. “Think anyone will look for us?”
“The pack will.” Derek rumbles, rubbing his face into Stiles’ stomach. “All new
mating bonds must be approved by the alpha and be legally sanctioned by the
justice of the peace with the sheriff as witness.”
The two don’t move, still basking in each other and the peace they emanated
together. Stiles doubts he would have moved if Derek didn’t hear the pack’s
warning howls to all the stragglers and Stiles has heard about the embarrassing
situations stragglers got caught in.
He votes clothes.
No way in hell is he ending up like Erica Reyes and her mate Say-My-First-Name-
And-I’ll-Make-You-Cry Boyd.
Stiles agreed. It was a rather long first name as first names go. At least Boyd
wasn’t saddled with Genim. Really? Why not like Zeno or Grimaheld?
In the end, Derek finds Stiles’ shoes, socks are in shoes awesome!, jeans and
his red hoodie to wear. The rest are considered fallen comrades. At least he
was mostly clothed. Humans were delicate flowers like that; although, Stiles
seriously did not mind cataloging his mate’s naked body like he’d be quizzed
later.
It could be a new thing. You never know.
When they find the main trail, Derek shifts into his wolf form so as not to
offend delicate human sensibilities with his glorious nakedness despite Stiles’
many arguments (how far away from town did Stiles fucking run?) no one would
mind and would probably get a lot of free stuff and pads out of the woods with
Stiles stumbling behind him, hands deep in fur because it is dark.
Not because he’s clumsy.
Nope.
Shut up. No one asked you.
000
During the Chase, the town square completed the transformation it started the
day before. A large bonfire was constructed. Lanterns glowed from trees,
buildings and even some cars, lending more light to the scene for human eyes.
Families of the Chosen sat on blankets or fold out chairs like they were
waiting for Independence Day fireworks. A stage had been added so everyone
could see Alpha Hale, Justice of the Peace Hyacinth and Sheriff Stilinski as
they formally recognized the bond between mates in the eyes of the pack and
human law.
Not to say the night ended successfully for everyone. An odd two dozen Chosen
weren’t Caught and an even higher amount of werewolves returned disappointed
and mateless.
The Argents had sat outside the preserve for hours before acknowledging their
daughter had been Caught. Their disappointment could be spotted yards away and
humans and werewolves alike gave the family a wide berth. To most people, being
Caught was an honor. Not something to be horrified about.
The Justice of The Peace’s werewolf problem didn’t go away like he hoped; the
female had spent the entire day sleeping outside every door he was behind or
following him, her laughing eyes on his wife. To be honest, he was rather
intimidated as much as he was flattered by her attention.
With dismay, Alpha Hale greeted her daughter an hour after the Chase began.
Hope of Laura finding a mate locally dissipating. She’d been in the middle of
setting up Laura and Derek to go to the Beltane Festival in New York when she
realized Derek never returned. Her glee could not be contained and many packs
laughed when she shouted the good news to her mate.
As his people rounded up the unmated Chosen, Sheriff Stilinski quickly accepted
the fact his son was mated. If by quickly one meant locking himself in his
office for an hour and accepted they meant stopped going through the list of
werewolves that didn’t come back and rating them from bad to worst.
Vehicles began dropping off new couples, others walking from where they parked
and the town’s anticipation grew. Faces were often hid, or the werewolves were
unrecognizable to humans due to partial transformations or complete wolf forms.
Many werewolves came furry, went to a tent and returned to their mates human
looking and clothed.
The sun completely down, the ceremony began.
000
They arrive half way through the ceremony if the line was any indicator. It
looks a lot like his high school graduation all over again. And exactly like
his graduation, clothes were mandatory.
Derek leads his mate to the tent that’ll have something for him to wear, since
it’s hard for Stiles to claim Derek back if no one but the pack can recognize
Derek. Human faces were necessary. And his clothes had been torn and
unsalvageable from when he shifted earlier in the day.
He finds sweats easily enough, a shirt proving too elusive, so shrugging he
leads his mate to the end of the line. Stiles’ bite mark still red on his
shoulder’s junction.
Derek’s mate.
He rumbles softly enough only Stiles can feel or hear it, pressed tightly as
they are back to chest. The boy smells strongly of their couplings, semen
flaking off their skin, making Derek smug. His pack will know Stiles
immediately as his. There will be no doubts in anyone’s mind to whom claimed
Stiles, or whom Stiles claimed in return. And Derek had plenty to be smug
about.
His mate tricked him and eluded him for hours, clearly sneaky smart. Then his
mate ran from Derek, challenging his right to claim him like a good mate
should. His mate was fearless. He’d heard from his cousins rarely did a human
mate feel comfortable claiming a werewolf back in a wolfish manner. Some humans
taking years to feel brave enough to bite hard enough to claim. His mate was
intelligent. Derek never met anyone who could recite Pablo Neruda in English
much less Spanish whilst meeting Derek’s thrusts. Lastly, his mate was his.
That alone made him perfect to Derek.
Sure, his mate seemed full of energy at all times (even when worn out and
trembling slightly in exhaustion) and with the smell of medication Derek was
guessing ADHD was the culprit (vaguely he can recall Stiles mentioning it but
the wolf hadn’t cared so neither had Derek) and his mate liked, no, loved to
ramble but Derek felt these qualities could only help his mate battle Derek’s
more worrisome personality traits. Something like aggressive personality with
the social skills of a maximum security convict. He hadn’t paid much attention
to Nathan’s words, too busy imagining the silence he’d have if he punched Nate
in the throat.
Which probably proved the point Nate had been trying to make. Huh.
“Did you know the Festival of Red was first celebrated in Germany after the
mating of Rotkäppchen and Woolf? Putting her village under Woolf’s protection?”
Derek could smell the nerves rolling off his boy. Was the babbling a nervous
tic? “The festival began in Beacon Hills in 1982 by Alpha Moon Hale due to the
Hale pack’s dwindling numbers at the price of putting Beacon Hills under their
protection against all supernatural enemies like the troop of spirit foxes that
had been kidnapping babies to eat, which ew and so sad.”
“Did you know Alpha Moon renamed herself after the moon during the 60s? She
even went to Woodstock.” Derek whispered in his mate’s ear and that was an
interesting way to quiet the boy, new information.
The line shortens considerably by the time Stiles asks, “How did you know
that?”
Derek catches his mother looking at him, pride and happiness rolling off her as
if Derek did something spectacular. Between pairs, she wasn’t very subtle about
trying to sniff out his mate’s identity. Stiles’ hood covering most of his
face, Derek’s arms and dry semen hiding his normal scent. Derek smirks at her.
“Family secret.” Derek whispers during the applause for Lyra and William’s bond
being sanctioned.
Then it was their turn, Derek’s arms still around Stiles’ waist, rumbling
slightly because his nerves sky rocket only to lessen to just high.
“The Pack recognizes the mate of Derek Hale,” his mother began, pointedly
looking at the red hood. Smirking at her obviousness, he tugs the hood down
with his teeth. His mother’s eyebrows shoot up. “Genim Stilinski.”
Stilinski? Why did that sound familiar?
“Your last name is Hale?” His mate whispers.
“Your name is Genim?” Derek whispers back just to see his mate blush.
 “The State of California recognizes the lawful union between Derek Hale and
Genim Stilinski.” The Justice of the Peace officiates next.
“Shhh, never call me that if you want to sleep soundly. I know how to use a
fork.” And Derek lets out a whoosh of breath when his mate jabs an elbow into
his stomach that is quickly chased by amusement.
Feisty.
One more to go, then Derek could get his mate off the stage before his heart
exploded.
“Oh look, it’s my dad, hey dad.” His mate whispers, shy, pushing into Derek’s
for chest for comfort.
Ah. Sheriff Stilinski. Tomorrow Derek is properly going to freak out about the
ramifications of mating with the sheriff’s son. The same sheriff that arrested
Derek and Jon for public intoxication when he was fifteen. Not the best
impression Derek could have made on the man. Derek’s hoping the Sheriff has
forgotten that. Right now though, he’s going to wait patiently for the last bit
to make everything nice and legal.
“I, John Stilinski, so swear by my office this union is consenting and
recognized by the Hale Pack and State of California.”
Cheers erupted from the crowd. The last pair of the night and because Derek’s
family loved to embarrass themselves.
Come on, Derek was going to mate at some point. No need to make it seem like a
thing. Assholes.
000
The bonfire is blazing. The flames shadowing and warming bodies as the
celebration of essentially two hundredish weddings began. Laughter and
conversation flowing freely between families. Only the families of the Chosen
were in attendance, the actual presentation of the Chosen to the general public
not occurring until the next day. Tonight was reserved for introductions
between families and meeting the parents.
Stiles is floating. His feet are only on the ground because Derek is holding on
to him. Stiles is a balloon.
“Do you want to find your family first?” Derek asks.
Stiles is positive his dad is currently mediating the Argent family and McCall
family introductions. Unless that guy dressed as the sheriff standing between a
pissed off Ms. McCall and stony Mr. Argent just happened to look like his dad.
Stranger things have happened. Oh, look, Ms. McCall’s flashing fang.
“Let’s find your family first.” Maybe then Stiles’ family won’t be a few snappy
words from a showdown to put the WWE to shame.
(When Ms. McCall was pregnant with Scott, she had been attacked by an alpha
trying to show the Hales up. Ms. McCall and Scott obviously lived, but the bite
changed them both into werewolves. When Scott was five, his dad decided he
couldn’t handle the collective werewolf awesome that was his wife and son and
bailed. Ms. McCall was now understandably touchy whenever anyone even hinted
that Scott wasn’t good enough due to his wolfy powers.
What Stiles is saying. The Argents are going to need a flashlight to find their
teeth if they keep it up.)
Derek’s mouth, his very talented mouth, twitches into what Stiles feels is a
pleased smile. He doesn’t know how he deciphered it, maybe some mystic bond
bullshit, but he’s pleased. Gooey warm in the center pleased with himself and
he’s smiling, no, beaming but whatever. He can be a dork. He’s certain his mate
is the hottest werewolf/humanoid in attendance at this shindig.
Okay, at the very least in the state of California.
‘Though Stiles might be a tiny bit biased.
Derek leads him to a large group – werewolves = big family – that was doing a
good impression of the lacrosse team when they won their regional title.
Champagne is being opened and sprayed everywhere. People are jumping up and
down, some hollering and singing about victory and cubs and God knows what else
because all of their words are jumbling around in Stiles’ head.
“This is our year!” A man resembling Derek via check bones cheers.
“About god damn time, Hale!”
“You took your sweet time, Derek!” Another man shouts.
“Take that you Garcia bitches!” Another voice hollers, but the group was too
tangled for Stiles to see who.
“If you all would rather get drunk off moonshine than meet my mate, we can go.”
Derek says dryly. Dry. Stiles feels parched, another thing to lov— appreciate
about the werewolf. Stiles is sure he can only benefit if he starts making a
list.
“Derek!” Various members of Derek’s family roar.
They are instantly mobbed, rather, Stiles is while Derek preens and is smacked
on the shoulder a lot without anyone actually getting all up in his space.
Stiles is feeling a little envious if he’s honest. He’s pretty sure his
shoulder is going to be jerked out of its socket – his hand being shook so
enthusiastically. He’s using all his concentration to ignore the obvious
sniffing. If he thinks about what their wolfy senses are picking up from him,
Stiles will never be able to look Derek’s family around the facial vicinity
again.
“Move it,” the werewolf sniffing Stiles’ hand in disguise of shaking it is
pushed out of the way and Stiles has hair in his mouth and an arm hugging him
and edging into choking territory. So delicious, hair. And air. He prefers air
over hair, in case there was any confusion. The she with long hair removes
herself to beam at him. “He’s cute.” Derek agrees, which does not send pleasure
down his spine. At all. “I’m Laura. Derek’s sister.”
Laura? Funny. Stiles always thought there was only one Laura Hale. That Laura
was Alpha-heir because her mother was Alpha Hale. What a coincidence, the
Alpha-heir also had a brother named Derek. Feeling like he’s on the edge of
solving this mystery, Stiles looks at the large group celebrating, then back to
Laura to Derek.
Oh.
“Your Alpha Hale’s son?! Not just a Hale?”
Laura’s eyes go round. “You ass! You didn’t tell him?” She punches Derek, who
deserves it because being a Hale was whateves, being the Alpha’s son, not
whateves. It didn’t stop Stiles from wanting to kiss the spot better though.
“I’m not Alpha-heir.” Derek says like that makes sense. “You are.”
“Your mom is the alpha.” Stiles may be flapping. Derek’s family may be
laughing. May bes were hard to concentrate on right now. “Alpha Hale is
badass.”
Not two weeks ago, the alpha had ripped chunks out of a disgruntled alpha she
rejected for attendance to the festival and had decided it would be a smart
move to invade Hale territory. Hint: it wasn’t. Fur flew. Meat flew. The end.
No more alpha. Alpha Hale had roared in triumph naked, except for the other
alpha’s blood running down her chin.
Stiles maybe idolizes her.
He likes strong women, okay?!
Derek, the bastard, shrugs. “She’s my mom.”
“At least one of my sons” One of her sons? Stiles may be feeling a little weak
in the knees. He’s never been accepted by anyone so quickly. “Appreciates me.”
Well, positively.
Jackson accepted the fact Stiles and Scott were put on this Earth solely to
irritate the shit out of him, but Stiles always got the feeling it was one of
those negative things and not like a thing to be proud of. Even if Stiles
totally was.
Derek huffs, hoist air landing on the back of his neck and the breath sending a
shudder through Stiles.
Alpha Hale, Derek’s mother, was the Hollywood image of a dark, sexy pirate, and
Stiles is ignoring the fact he applied the word sexy to someone who called him
son for his own sanity. The woman was beautiful, including the scar across her
mouth in the way only a female Jack Sparrow could be and he should ask Derek if
that was the secret to the Hale’s sexy gene – common genetic material with
Johnny Depp.
“Call me Cynthia,” and kisses him on the cheek. “This is my mate, Remy.” And
hello carrier of Derek’s greenish eyes. Remy Hale wasn’t striking like his
mate. The man was soft and unassuming but his eyes were pretty enough to steal
any show from his dynamic mate.
“’M Stiles.” He says before anyone can get any ideas about this Genim business.
If his face is red, it’s clearly because of the bonfire. Never mind the only
heat Stiles can feel is from Derek’s body. “Pleased to meet you.” His father
did train manners into him after all.
“Welcome to our family, Stiles.” Remy says. Sounding like he meant it.
Seriously. Stiles is going to faint if people kept treating him like this. Like
Stiles is a good thing to be happening to their son and not y’know, a burden or
hellspawn that needs to be exorcised with some archaic Latin.
“Thank you.” He squeaks. “Your son Chased me to Cedar Copse to make me part of
your family so all credit does to him.”
Derek is oozing smug and pride and all conversation froze and Stiles is getting
a little uncomfortable with the intense starting everyone is doing. He’s
starting to get the feeling Derek and him achieved something great when Alpha
Hale laughs sounding a little drunk and Laura’s eyebrow tries crawling into her
hairline and Remy smiles with fatherly pride.
“He’s too good for you.” Laura tells her brother.
“You have to tell us how that happened.” Cynthia declares. “Right now. Every
gritty bit of it.”
She leads them into the thicket of the Hale pack, inviting Stiles to talk off
her ear.
Clearly, the best family ever.
000
On March 2nd the new marriages were posted on the doors of Town Hall and the
post office.
This was the day dedicated to the union of two families.
The McCalls and Argents decided on spending the day in the park, along with a
dozen or so other families. It was decided by everyone involved, the more
public, the better. It was also decided by the Sheriff that one of his deputies
would sit in on the family activities. The Sheriff, if he was honest, didn’t
trust the two families not to maim each other unless they were watched closely.
Not that the arguing and barely veiled threats did anything to dampen the amor
of Scott and Allison. The two rarely came up for air, and were giddy newlyweds
that made many elderly mated pairs coo.
“Sir, please.” Deputy Patton pleads with Chris Argent.
The man had been making blunt threats to Ms. McCall about his daughter
achieving her full potential as not only an Enforcer but also as a daughter if
something were to happen to Scott while the man’s wife, Victoria Argent made a
tasteless joke (god, he hoped it was a joke) about wolfsbane and the McCall
home’s pipes.
“As a mother and woman, I think Alpha Hale will be lenient if I were to rip out
the throats of those that dare threaten my family.” Ms. McCall and her smile
was entirely human but only made the woman more vicious in  Deputy Patton’s
eyes. “What do you think?”
“Awe, aren’t they cute?” an elderly woman sighs to her husband and the deputy
is reminded of the two teenagers who were sucking face like they didn’t have a
tomorrow. It only made the situation he was in more awkward, especially as Mr.
Argent’s threats seemed to be in direct correlation between where hands were
and how much tongue was being used.
“Just like how we were.” The woman’s husband agrees with his wife. “We wish you
two a happy life together!”
The two teens break apart long enough to beam. “Thanks!” and “We plan to!”
“Oh my, you two were certainly be hearing the pitter patter of tiny feet in no
time.” A woman old enough to know better commented as she passed the two
devouring each other again.
Deputy Patton was sure he saw Argent’s eye twitch and Mrs. Argent looked faint,
even Ms. McCall appeared slightly green.
Finally, common ground!
“Not any time soon.” Allison broke away to say. “But thank you!”
“Hopefully, never.” Mrs. Argent says under her breath and really? Ms. McCall
was a wifwolf.
For fuck’s sake.
“Be sure to give me as many grandchildren as possible the moment you two are
ready.” Ms. McCall encourages in retaliation.
The Mahealani and Whittemore families were overjoyed to discover their sons’
mating.
They invited all their close and extended family members, much to Danny’s and
Jackson’s embarrassment.
For so long, the two families had been friends and to discover they would in
fact be related through their sons was cause for celebration for the two
families, in particular Mrs. Mahealani and Mr. Whittemore as the two were
business partners. Their family get together, or perhaps family reunion was a
more apt description, was the thing made of werewolf happy endings. Even if Mr.
Mahealani and Mr. Whittemore began ribbing the boys about cubs.
“When should we be expecting the first cub?” Mr. Mahealani began to tease
Jackson.
Vaguely horrorified by his father, Danny looks to the sky. “Why? I’m a nice
guy. What did I do to deserve this?”
“Don’t be so dramatic baby.” Mrs. Mahealani dismisses. “It’s a fair enough
question.”
“That I don’t want Jackson to answer because we haven’t talked about it.” Danny
says.
“Jackson’s his own man! He’s been making decisions years before you two mated.”
His father was quick to point out to a cherry red Jackson. “So how about it?”
“Soon?” Jackson tries to appease his mate’s and best friend’s family.
“Oh! We should have you boys tested!” Mrs. Whittemore exclaims. “You never know
if you’re pregnant this second if we don’t!”
“Mom,” Jackson says and his eyes are huge.
Danny can relate.
“Now boys, you shouldn’t wait too long. Your mother and I waited,” Mr.
Whittemore began to explain to Danny. “to start our families so we could focus
on our practice and we could only have one child each. Waited to long, we did.
A strong family and pack should have at least two cubs and you two should have
even more since you’re financially stable.”
Danny squeezes Jackson’s hand as tightly as possible, feeling his mate’s
stress. They would escape as soon as his mom’s sister and her brood mobbed
them. Maybe they’d talk about cubs or maybe they’ll bury this particular topic
of discussion until they’re thirty. Jackson squeezes back.
The mating of Peter Hale and Lydia Martin was shocking enough, and humans could
hear the yelling of Mr. Martin from down the street. Of course, the former Mrs.
Martin had retaliated by expressing her utter joy at her daughter marrying
(mating was so crude) such a distinguished man. Peter Hale was after all a
professor in Shifter Magic and Alpha Hale’s brother. In the former Mrs.
Martin’s opinion, her daughter couldn’t have done much better, an opinion she
expressed by flirting with Peter in front of her daughter and ex-husband.
 Peter prayed for his alpha’s interference soon, but she was busy with her
son’s new family, and their sisters and brother were no help in taming the
situation. Mary was laughing with Sam about his mate’s unfortunate parents
while Rose was at least trying to bond with his rather young mate. Shit.
Nineteen year difference. Somewhere, the divine were laughing at him.
“Our daughter is seventeen!” Mr. Martin shouts. “There has to be laws about
this!”
“There really isn’t.” Sam disagrees with a smirk. “Especially if your daughter
is willing.”
“Like hell my daughter is willing. He’s nineteen years older than her!” Mr.
Martins says, doing a remarkable impression of a werewolf. “We’ll go to the
courts to dissolve this mating and marriage if we have to, won’t we Lyds?”
Peter’s eyes haven’t left his mate, even with his mate’s mother pawing at him
and he could see the intrigue in her eyes, the curiosity and he can remember
her telling him her dreams about mathematical formulas to explain the universe
and a Field’s Medal and he knows his mate will deny her father. She wants to be
with Peter, not out of love or loyalty, not yet at least, but because Peter is
her gateway to a new life. A life away from her parents that clearly don’t see
her as their daughter but as a pawn in their games when she’s clearly a queen.
“Dad, its fine.” She rolls her eyes.
“I knew I never should have let her live with you.” Mr. Martin hisses to his
ex-wife. “She’s obviously adopted your deluded definition of “fine.””
“Mr. Martin,” Rose disapproves and this is why Peter brought his sisters and
brother.
They could alienate his mate’s family for him while keeping him in their
relative good graces. Now if he could get Sam to be a good brother and let the
former Mrs. Martin stick her hand in his pants, his brother’s mate Angela would
understand it was for a good cause.
Really.
The Stilinski family had been invited over to the Hale house in order for the
two families to get to know each other, and both men were promptly lost in the
sea that was Derek’s cousins, sisters, aunts, and uncles. Everyone wanted to
meet their newest additions to the pack, especially since this was the family
Derek and his wolf saw worthy to bring into the fold.
Derek, to his credit and he was positive Laura had something to do with it,
rescued the sheriff as soon as he spotted the man with his spinster aunts and
kept him close while Derek sniffed out Stiles so he could introduce their
parents and then get on with the games his sisters had insisted on.
 There were many jokes and stories told at Derek’s expense in exchange for
stories about Stiles, the Sheriff found and he was enjoying himself even in the
middle of a puppy pile for scent exchanging. The embarrassed whines and
grumbles of Stiles and Derek only made the man happier.
“I call Stiles!” Natalie, Derek’s youngest sister, calls.
“I call his other side!” Payton, the second youngest, is quick to follow.
“Oh, really.” Derek eyes his sisters.
The girls were seven and ten and he was pretty confident he could take them
alone. If Madeline and Morgan and Laura joined forces with Natalie and Payton
however, he had no chance in hell. Laura had taught their sisters to fight
dirty and Madeline had no problems kneeing him in the balls while Morgan would
cry he was hurting her only to wiggle from his grasp and elbow him in the nose.
Sisters were evil.
“Yes, this is pack bonding.” Natalie huffs. “And you had him all to yourself
yesterday.”
“I call the Sheriff!” Madeline shouts and kindly adds. “Derek you can be on his
other side. It’s important your mate’s dad knows your scent so he doesn't kill
you on accident.”
“Derek doesn't need to worry about the Sheriff accidentally shooting him.”
Laura smirks. “The Sheriff is an excellent shot.”
“Baby, human noses aren't as strong.” Their mom joins the conversation as the
Sheriff and Stiles watch the proceedings with curiosity. “We’re scenting them,
so other packs know they are under our direct protection. Like we did with
Uncle Ross.”
Derek is bodies away from Stiles and in agony. His mom was having fun speaking
to the Sheriff.
“When Derek was eleven he got chased by a moose.” Alpha Hale laughs and the
Sheriff one ups her story with a grin. “When Stiles was eleven he got stuck in
a tree trying to rescue a cat.”
There were of course more matings, after all, it was nearly two hundred
“marriages” that were officiated, but those families were less interesting.
Then of course there were the bets that had to be squared away and everyone
called foul when Coach Finstock won the most from the betting pool.
Two grand richer, Coach Finstock smugly told everyone it would take someone
blind and deaf to not notice the obvious attraction between McCall and Argent
(and the fact he’s over heard a dozen conversations about the girl between
McCall and Stilinski had nothing to do with it) or romantic tension between
Mahealani and Whittemore (and Coach Finstock had noticed since the two were his
best players and he’d noticed the second their dynamic was thrown off).
It wasn't his fault he paid attention to his boys unlike the swim coach or
Harris who had all four in his chem. class and should have definitely seen all
this coming so he could stop whining like a little bitch anytime now.
He’d be honest though, he honestly had not expected Stilinksi to mate to
anyone. He thought the kid was too wily to be caught, but apparently his best
midfielder in a decade was more than capable of catching the teen. Coach
Finstock still felt the insane urge to giggle and check his retirement plans
because no way in hell did he want to still be coaching when the offspring of
Derek Hale and Stilinksi entered high school. He’d rather deal with another
Lydia-Jackson blowout.
“Life is good.” He toasts himself and downs the glass of whiskey.
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