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Stiles is slipping into his boots when his dad stops at his door, leaning against the doorjamb and it’s the most relaxed he’s seen his dad in weeks, the preparations taking a lot out of everyone.
“You ready?” he asks, and Stiles glances up from his kneeling position, lacing up to mid-calf and tying off the shoelace, sniffing. He gets up, grabs the knife that’s hanging on his wall, tucks it into his boot. Then it’s the bigger one, hanging next to it, into the sheath that’s already in place around his hips.
“Ready,” he affirms, and his dad nods, pushes off the doorway and leads him out the house – the largest one in the complex, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms and an entirely separate kitchen. That’s what they got in exchange for his dad being the leader, making all the hard decisions, throwing himself into whatever needed to be done to protect the rest of the place.
And Stiles doesn’t know anything of what life was like before the Great War, because he’d been born into the life he lived now, but his dad talked about it like life was…easier, certainly. He’d been a deputy, back then, and when it had all gone to shit and people bonded together for community and the sects had been developed, the sheriff of the town where they lived had once been naturally led into the leadership position – trusted, with lots of experience. His dad had been his right-hand man before Rick had died, had taken up the mantle then even when it had been so close after the death of his wife, even with Stiles at home, ten years old and lost.
And Stiles doesn’t know what his dad would be like, now, if the Great War hadn’t happened, if he would’ve been a leader like he is now or what he’d look like, but he knows that his dad’s aged progressively faster since Rick had died. The lines that mar his face grow deeper every day, and Stiles doesn’t mean to contribute to it, but –
“Ready as I’ll ever be to be pawned like this,” he mutters under his breath, unable to keep it in. His dad hears it, of course, just a foot away from him and with hearing like a hawk, Stiles swears. He’s never been able to get away with anything.
“Stiles.” There’s a sharpness to the tone, but also a bit of guilt, and Stiles sighs as they make their way towards the harborage. It’s still quite early in the morning, the sky grey as the sun rises, and most of the complex’s population haven’t risen yet, or are just starting their days. Stiles nods to Bobby, who’s sitting just outside his house, sipping on something from a mug – probably coffee. They each get an allowance per week of luxuries like that, and instead of rationing it like a normal human Bobby likes to wait until Sunday and drink it all.
“Sorry, I know, just,” Stiles continues after they’ve passed Bobby, and his dad is looking at him, eyebrows drawn, mouth a straight line, “Hard to believe we’re doing this with the sect that killed mom, is all.”
“Stiles,” his dad says again, and Stiles feels bad, he does because it’s not fair and he’s twenty-one years old and is being primed to be the next leader and he needs to be better than this, but all he can think about is being ten years old again and seeing his mother’s dead body, bloody and disfigured at the gate to the complex after she’d gone out for a routine trading route. And it’s rough, knowing that this sect their making the agreement with is the same one who did that, even if –
“You know it was different leadership, back then,” his dad continues. They’re just a few more minutes away from the harborage, and Stiles sees the spires sticking up into the sky in the distance. It’d once been a church, his mom had told him when he was much younger; had been fancy and pretty. It now served as the command center for the sect and complex, a meeting place for the community and occasionally a storage place when they had a particularly good year and had overflow from the tankards.
“And you certainly seemed to like Derek okay, anyway,” his dad finishes, sending a sly glance his way and Stiles – he’s not easily embarrassed, has been a hell of a weird kid from the beginning of time, but he can feel his face redden at the comment. There’s no way his dad knows about anything, but Stiles can still feel the scrape of Derek’s trimmed beard against his neck, the teeth biting into his shoulder, the hot breath –
“He’s alright,” Stiles agrees, careful not to let anything else through and succeeds, if his dad’s expression is anything to go by, “He’s fine. It’s – the rest of them. The ones who were there. When it happened.”
His dad nods, and there’s a moment that goes by with just the sound of scraping boots against the gravel road before he sighs, reaches out and pats Stiles on the back a couple of times.
“I know, kid, I know. But I trust Laura, and they follow her well from all we’ve seen. And I wouldn’t – you know we could always do the alliance without this, but – ”
“I already agreed, Dad,” Stiles says, “I know. I do. Makes the alliance stronger.”
Because the sect – the one that Laura’s now the leader of, with her right-hand man who’s her younger brother, not much older than Stiles at twenty-six and born just a year after the Great War started – this sect was nomadic, has been for twenty-seven years. Now under their new leadership and with plenty of the old guard died out or killed from various entanglements, Laura’s decided it’s a good idea for them to settle down. Except there’s no real resources, they’ve never built them up, and had heard through the trade routes that their sect was looking for some reinforcements after half their guard had been killed in a skirmish near two years ago.
They’ve barely been holding on, everyone working double shifts and even those who’ve no training in guard spending time at the wall. But with Laura’s sect – all built up from years of living on the grind, all trained in weaponry – in exchange for time on the guard, would be welcome into their complex with open arms. A simple open-and-shut alliance, not unheard of but not terribly common, either.
The catch – because there often is one, even with good people like Stiles’ dad and Laura – is that to help strengthen that alliance, they’d decided that Stiles and Derek would marry, if they were both agreeable to it.
And apparently they’re both loyal enough to their leaders and to their sects to do so, because it hadn’t been so much as one hesitation from either of them. The fact being that Derek’s hotter than hell, obviously physically into him if their past few trysts are anything to go by, and also smart as a whip, dependable, and relatively charming, is more an addition than anything else.
“I do want you to be happy, too,” his dad is saying, now, stopping by the door to the harborage and turning to look at him, full on.
“I know,” Stiles replies, because he does; his dad has been nothing if not supportive of him his entire life, and they’d talked at length about this decision before announcing it as a sure thing. He might be feeling a little unsure now, he might be a little resentful of the sect as a whole, but he also knows more than anything that his dad is doing this for the good of the entire complex, and so is he.
“You’re never gonna be happy if you don’t let yourself.”
Stiles blinks, startled by the words that come out of his dad’s mouth. Never expecting something like that from him, from the man of few words, who’s affection always showed through his actions rather than his words; this is his mom coming through. Stiles swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, nods. His dad scrutinizes him one last time, eyes squinted as they make their way over Stiles’ face.
“You sure you’re ready?”
And he’s still feeling off, knowing this is happening now, but also –
“I am.”
His dad nods, slowly, before turning and opening the door to the harborage. A laugh echoes from the other side of the room, and Stiles walks in, sees Derek standing with Laura, Scott and Allison there too, a few of the community members from either side and when Stiles and his dad walk in Derek flicks his eyes over.
Smiles, genuine and big, and –
You’re never gonna be happy if you don’t let yourself.
It’s not an end, but a beginning, and Stiles lets himself smile back.
Ready, for now.