Chapter Text
“Can I just say? I am so glad I stayed for this.”
Derek shot Stiles a murderous glare from his place in the old armchair. The line of his shoulders was tense, his hands wrung together. Peter leaned against the wall behind him trying to emulate apathy, but a small, secretive smile betrayed his inappropriate level of interest in the topic of discussion. Beside Stiles, Scott and Allison sat on the couch wearing matching expressions of tremulous panic. When they’d announced their engagement and Derek had asked them to stay for a private chat they’d roped Stiles in as a third wheel citing “moral support”. He knew they desperately wanted him to provide an escape, but the thing was: he didn’t want to.
They’d just finished a wonderful knotting sex talk--apparently any kind of lifetime commitment counted in the eyes of Mother Moon to make them mates, and with that came yet more supernatural changes--during which Allison’s hand made not one but two furtive motions towards the bear mace on her lanyard. Before that there had been a quick but effective lecture on pack dynamics, and the decision they’d have to make about whether to break off and create their own pack for them and any future children. Now Derek was walking them through traditional werewolf courting, just in case they wanted to “honor Scott’s side of the marriage”.
“The first gift given to initiate courting should represent the moon in some way. Moonstone is good, as is a mirror. Or anything related to the ocean or nocturnal animals. My mother presented my father with a crab made of blown glass.”
“But we’ve already...we’ve been dating for six years,” Allison said, “We were just waiting for college to end for both of us, aren’t we past courting?”
“It’s the same as engagement for humans,” Derek shrugged, “A traditional period for the two of you to plan your bonding, have the hard conversations about kids and careers, and hopefully deepen the relationship.”
“Okay. So. First gift moon related. Then after that?” Scott had a grim expression on his face and if Stiles had to guess he’d put money that his best friend was trying to name every Disney character he could think of in his head, the same thing he did to help power through dentist appointments.
“After that, one of you needs to prove your worth through a couple different gestures. The alpha in the relationship is typically the one proving themselves, but you could both prove it to one another, that’s very modern.”
Peter snorted, and covered his smile with his hand.
“So what do they gotta do, there, Derek? Feats of strength? Should Scott kill a hydra for her? Or, no, wait, if anyone is killing a hydra it’s gonna be Allison.”
“Stiles!” Derek ground out.
“No, he’s right,” Scott offered.
Derek sighed towards the ceiling, and Stiles wondered if he was asking the moon for patience. Did wolves worship the moon? That was a good question for when everyone was a bit less irritated with him, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to surreptitiously add it to his notes app.
“There are a lot of different gestures out there, and it varies from pack to pack, but in my family it was a Proof, a Prize, and a Plate. A declaration of love before the entire pack, some sort of evidence of athletic achievement, and fresh prey.”
Allison’s hand settled fully on the bear mace at that.
“Prey?!” Scott’s voice cracked.
“Oh yes, Scott. I presented my wife with a five point buck during our courting. Tore the throat out, and we used the pelt on our bed for years. Nothing quite like real deerskin under your back,” Peter leered at everyone in turn, “But I’m sure Allison won’t mind if the best you can do is a squirrel.”
Allison leaned over and began whispering at Scott in increasingly tense tones, but Stiles wasn’t listening anymore. A five point buck, he’d never managed one of those. Granted, it had been a couple of years since his dad and him could make it up to the hunting cabin but even so they’d both been more than decent with the rifles his dad had gotten to teach him gun safety as a kid. He missed hunting, and now with the memories of long mornings in a deer stand watching the sun rise and leaning against his dad’s shoulder rolling around in his head he felt warm and comforted. He’d had to bring things to keep his hands and mind occupied, so he wouldn’t be tempted to talk and spook the wildlife away, and a black and white deck of cards saw the most use. He could probably get a decent job as a dealer in vegas if his major didn’t work out, after all that practice shuffling and doing tricks. Then, when they’d finally downed one, he could talk again and the long hike through the woods dragging the buck behind them on a tarp had always seemed to last a hundred years. They usually couldn’t justify the expense of a second deer tag, but one buck was more than enough to supplement their groceries for the year, once his dad has cleaned it and portioned it out into a million ziploc bags in the chest freezer on their back porch.
And, god, he missed venison. It was nostalgic, sure, but it was also delicious and heart healthy. The Sheriff could eat it every night without complaint and that had always made Stiles feel more secure. Less like his dad was going to bleed out on the altar of convenience foods and steak.
“Hey, Derek! Everyone shut up. Derek!”
The bickering cut off at Stiles’ shouting. Peter was away from the wall now, standing toe to toe with Allison who looked enraged, and Scott was still on the couch, although his head was turned away from the fight and he looked like he might be sick. Derek was staring at the ceiling again but he lowered his eyes and raised an eyebrow in question.
“Could you kill me a deer?”
Both eyebrows shot up now, and Peter turned fully away from Allison, the lecherous expression creeping back in to replace his anger.
“ Excuse me?”
“You know, Bambi. Could you kill a deer for me? Or, like, a couple of deer?”
When Derek blushed, he blushed with his whole body, or so it seemed. The rosy hue started at his hairline and swept down past his collarbone and under his shirt, and he shot a furtive glance at the others before settling back on Stiles.
“You’re not really meant to ask someone else to court you, Stiles.”
“What?”
“Not that you wouldn’t be worth a couple of deer, you would, it’s just that--”
“Oh my god, Sourwolf,” he held out a hand, “Just...stop. I’m so sorry, no, I just meant generally. Like, non-courting-based dead deer. I literally just want to eat deer, I’m not demanding any romance.”
“Oh,” Derek looked more uncomfortable if that was possible, “I guess so. I mean, we don’t usually kill to eat except ceremonially, but if you need the meat--”
“I don’t. Need it. I mean, we’re doing fine, money-wise, it’s just that I like it. And it’s good for my dad’s diet, but it’s been so long that I don’t even think we renewed our license this year even if I had time to go myself. And, like, rifle scopes are great and all but I bet they’ve got nothing on alpha vision. And--”
“Stiles! Okay. I’ll bring it on Saturday.’
Stiles looked up from where he’d been knitting his fingers together.
“Really?”
“Well!” Allison clapped her hands together, “This was fun! Let’s never do it again!”