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“I need you to put a ring of mountain ash around my old property,” Derek says without preamble, after accosting Stiles on his way to the school parking lot.
“Guaaah!” Stiles does the quick involuntary jump-and-spin that still happens every time Derek just pops out of the shadows. “What, why? How much of your property?”
“All of it,” Derek says—completely ignoring Stiles’ first question, of course. “I know it’s a lot.”
Stiles groans. “It’s a ten-mile loop!”
“Eleven and a quarter, actually.”
“Whatever. That’ll take me half a day. I had plans tomorrow.”
“No problem.” Derek follows Stiles to his Jeep and climbs into the passenger seat uninvited. “You need to do it now, anyway. Let’s go.”
♥
To Derek’s credit, he walks alongside Stiles until the last of the ash is down—which is good, because it starts to get dark after the first hour and Stiles knows how dangerous the woods can get.
“You gonna tell me what this is about,” Stiles tries, partly to distract himself from the fact that he should have run out of ash twenty minutes ago, “or is this just another one of your Trust Me While My Plan Gets Everyone Killed things?”
Derek winces. “It’s not about you. Don’t worry. No one else’s safety is on the line, here.”
“But… yours is,” Stiles guesses, looking sidelong at Derek’s tensed-up profile. “Right? That’s why the ash? Are you just planning on squatting in your brand-new wolf-free zone until it blows over, because that actually seems uncharacteristically responsible of you.”
“Something like that,” Derek says, which Stiles takes to mean nope, nothing like that at all, Stiles, I’m definitely going to die.
“You should let us—”
“Humans shouldn’t get involved,” Derek insists, and then heaves a sigh. “I mean. After this, of course. I… appreciate this.”
“Wow, don’t strain something,” Stiles says, feeling kind of warm and fluffy over the fact that he and Derek have finally reached the stage where they can communicate cordially. It’s nice. “Okay, just for that, I promise I won’t pry into your secret werewolf business.”
♥
Stiles immediately decides to pry into Derek’s secret werewolf business.
He enlists Scott, because Isaac is off on some scouting mission with Peter, and Stiles wants the last remaining beta in Beacon Hills with him on this. (Even though Scott and Derek still aren’t on the greatest terms, Stiles convinces him that it’ll be better to know for sure what kind of mess Derek’s getting into than to find out later once everything’s gone to hell. As it inevitably will).
Lydia ends up tagging along too, because she flatly refuses to be left out of anything anymore if she can help it. Plus, she offers to bring snacks.
“Surprise!” Stiles says, when they show up unannounced at Derek’s old house the next morning (Stiles had to break the ash line to get Scott through, but it turns out he can close it again just by thinking at it really hard, so that works out okay.) “We’re here to give you muffins, and for no other reason.”
“Smooth,” Lydia says, offering the muffin basket and looking at Stiles like she pities him deeply.
Derek looks frazzled. “Go away.”
“But they’re carrot!” Stiles says, and Derek actually looks enticed for a split second before he remembers himself, score.
“You and Lydia can’t be here. Scott can stay if he wants.”
“Scott doesn’t want to stay,” Scott announces. “Scott just wants to make sure you’re not hiding something terrible from us, like Bigfoot or a leprechaun uprising.”
“To be fair, both of those things sound awesome,” Stiles says. “But that’s not the point.”
“Derek?” a voice calls from inside the house. A lady’s voice. “Do you have guests?”
“Jehovah’s witness,” Derek says, trying to shut the door in their faces.
“Hello, hi!” Stiles grabs the muffin basket out of Lydia’s hands and blocks the door with his shoulder, taking the risk that Derek will be unwilling to hurt both him and the muffins. “Who’s that? I’m Stiles, Derek’s friend.”
“Acquaintance, at best,” Derek mutters, grabbing a muffin and biting into it resignedly.
Once they force their way into the foyer, Stiles can see that Derek’s actually got two people holed up in here with him. It’s a man and a woman, both twenty-something, sitting side by side on the bottom stair. He’s got long limbs, brown curls and boyish dimples; she’s curvy and dark-skinned, and her dreadlocks are tied up loosely on top of her head.
“I thought you said Hale was, and I quote, ‘an imposing figure of authority,’” says the man, nudging the woman with his shoulder and looking close to laughter.
“Well, I might have exaggerated to make you feel safer,” the woman says, examining her nails. “Actually, he’s kind of a creampuff.”
“Liv,” Derek growls, and the man and the woman both burst out laughing.
“I smell two humans, Derek. Two,” Liv says, cackling. “I remember when you wouldn’t even go near a human outside your own family long enough to sign for a UPS package, and now you’re adopting them.”
“I didn’t adopt anyone. They won’t leave.”
“Wait. You’re a wolf,” Scott says suddenly, pointing at Liv. “But he’s human. And you two are… together?”
“Good nose,” Liv says, raising an eyebrow at him. “Who’s the puppy dog, Hale? He’s not very well-trained.”
“Work in progress,” Derek sighs, ignoring Scott’s indignant sputtering. “All right, thanks for the muffins, get out of my house.”
“They should stay,” Liv says, rising. “We can put the pretty girl in my bridal party; it’ll be classy.”
“I’m sorry, in your what?” Stiles yelps, and he drops the whole basket of muffins.
♥
It turns out that Derek and Liv are wolf-buddies from elementary school. Stiles is intrigued.
“Describe six-year-old Derek to me,” he begs, settling down cross-legged in front of her and offering her a muffin. “Use a lot of adjectives.”
“No,” Derek says.
“Later,” Liv mouths at him, and Stiles decides that she’s his favorite.
“So, let me see if I’ve got this right.” Lydia is lounging primly on Stiles’ hoodie, because she refuses to sit on the dank floor of Derek’s burnt-out house and because Stiles is a gentleman, thank you. “Werewolf culture is actually more antiquated and backward than most human religions.”
“We prefer the term ‘traditional,’” Liv says drily. “But yes, that’s about right.”
“Liv and I are already married by human law,” says the guy. (He introduced himself as Gabe before complimenting Stiles’ XKCD t-shirt; Stiles has decided he likes him too.) “But since Liv was born a werewolf, the old traditions are really important to her.”
“A judge and a signature,” Liv grumbles peevishly. “It’s like buying a car, it’s ridiculous.”
“So you need to be married by an alpha,” Lydia continues. “Except, the oppressively-conservative Werewolf Regime doesn’t recognize marriage between a wolf and a human, and now you’re in trouble with your own Alpha.”
“It’s not a regime,” Derek protests. “It’s just a group of really old and really inflexible Alphas who live in a hut together somewhere in Russia and probably shouldn’t be in charge of anything anymore.”
“Wow, fight the power,” Stiles says, grinning. “I gotta say, dude, I like this side of you. Derek the punk-rock rebel.”
“Shut up,” Derek says, rubbing a hand over his cheek and turning dully red.
“Can’t Derek just bite Gabe?” Scott offers. “I mean, then you’d both be—”
“He shouldn’t have to,” Liv says hotly, her eyes flashing gold. “I fell in love with him this way. He’s happy this way. And I can protect him.”
“So can I,” Derek says. “You can stay here until you’re sure no one’s coming after you. And I can perform the ceremony for you this afternoon, Liv, if you’ll permit me.
“Holy shit this is the greatest werewolf emergency of all time,” Stiles whispers reverently.
♥
It’s a good thing they brought Lydia; otherwise Stiles doubts they’d have been able to get an entire wedding together in a matter of hours.
Liv insists that she doesn’t want a fuss, but Stiles can tell that she’s privately pleased with the pink and yellow flower garlands that Lydia organized from a florist in town. (She used one of Jackson’s credit cards and promised a massive tip, which expedited the delivery process considerably.) Scott finds a sunny, pleasant little clearing a little ways into the forest, and Lydia and Stiles drape the garlands artistically over the branches.
Turns out there’s no aisle-walking in werewolf weddings, but Stiles, Scott and Lydia do get to stand as witnesses. Lydia makes them both run home first and change into slacks and white button-down shirts, while she puts on a beautiful pale-pink sheath dress to match the color scheme that she ‘just had hanging in the back of her closet.’ Scott and Stiles put yellow blossoms in their button-holes; Lydia weaves a spray of pink flowers into her hair.
Meanwhile, the bride and groom are both dirty and sweaty, because apparently the preliminary part of a werewolf ceremony is proving you can provide for each other by catching prey with your bare hands. Gabe has clearly been practicing, as he wanders out of the woods holding a fat gray rabbit with its neck neatly snapped.
Liv shows up a few minutes later hefting a deer with one hand and holding up the skirt of her long yellow dress with the other one. She’s grinning smugly, blood smudged across one bare shoulder, and Gabe gazes at her in pure adoration.
Stiles used to think he was the craziest human he’s ever met, but he thinks he might have to rethink that assessment.
“I offer this meat as a token of my lifelong support, love and protection,” Liv intones, dumping the deer carcass on the ground. “May it nourish and strengthen you.”
Gabe repeats the words, looking a little sheepish about placing his meager offering next to the massive deer; Liv just gives him a sly smile and pushes his sweaty bangs back from his forehead.
“Join hands, please,” Derek says, standing straight-shouldered and focused in front of them. “Um. I saw Laura do this once. But I might mess up.”
“Your confidence is swoon-worthy as always,” says Liv, rolling her eyes as Lydia passes her a tiny bouquet of pink roses. “So glad I came to you with this.”
“You are here today to embark on a journey,” Derek says through clenched teeth. “It will not be easy, or smooth, or simple. It will not always be beautiful and it will seldom be painless. You will get tired, and you will want to give up. But you won’t. Tell me why not. Uh… you first, Gabe.”
“Because,” Gabe says, turning toward Liv and holding her hand to his heart. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world—don’t make that face, it’s true. I’ve already survived your cooking and your obnoxious 5am workouts and your scary family, because none of those things mean anything when I get to have you, in my bed and in my life and… in my heart. Oh my god, do not laugh at me. Stop it.”
“You are so cheesy,” Liv says, but her eyes are suspiciously bright.
“And in my heart,” Gabe says firmly. “I want to be with you forever, because my life is better with you in it.”
“Because nobody infuriates me like you do,” Liv says, pulling their hands over to her chest. “Nobody else challenges me, or makes me laugh, or surprises me every day. This is hard, you know I don’t—” She takes a shuddering breath, looking annoyed at herself, and Gabe takes a comforting step closer. “I want to be with you forever. Because my life is better with you in it.”
“Olivia Williams. Gabriel Barnes.” Derek puts a hand on each of their shoulders and lets his eyes glow red. “Tradition is comforting. It represents the way things have always been done; the way life has worked for generations of wolves, long before we were even born. It’s a way to feel safe, and grounded, like our paths are well-worn before us.
“But,” he continues, quirking a tiny smile. “fuck tradition. Your paths are your own. Your lives are your own. Your hearts are your own. I want you to live, and love each other, and start a pack together, and throw all of that freedom and love and happiness back in the Alpha Elders’ faces because those are the only things in this world worth a damn—and anyone who says different is an irredeemable moron. By the power given to me by my… my uncle, Peter Hale, and my sister Laura Hale before him, and with the blessings of the Moon, I pronounce you partners for life.”
“I’m almost positive you made most of that up,” Gabe says, and Liv is smothering giggles behind her bouquet.
“You can kiss now,” Derek grumbles, letting go of them and stepping back with awkwardly-hunched shoulders. Stiles, Scott and Lydia cheer as Gabe dips Liv in a Hollywood embrace and gives her a kiss that would definitely be inappropriate for a church wedding.
“Oh my god,” Scott whispers in Stiles’ ear. “Derek has feelings.”
“I’m as shocked as you are, dude,” Stiles whispers back—even though he’s not, actually.
When the couple is done kissing, Lydia makes Liv toss the bouquet. She aims it squarely at Derek’s chest, and he catches it as a reflex. Stiles whoops happily and takes a picture on his phone.
♥
“You’re next, Dereka,” Stiles needles, waving the bouquet around while Derek cooks rabbit and venison on the grill they borrowed from Scott’s mom. “Someday your prince will come!”
“I saw you crying at the ceremony,” Derek says, flipping one of the steaks. “Copiously.”
“I’m allergic to the stupid flower garlands,” Stiles says, sniffing illustratively.
Scott’s got his iPod hooked up to Lydia’s awesome speakers, and Liv and Gabe are swaying together in Derek’s backyard to Norah Jones. Scott’s dancing with Lydia, who’s enduring his two-left-footedness with a surprising level of indulgence.
“Do you wanna maybe…” Stiles shifts from foot to foot and grabs at the back of his neck. “After you’re done with the sacred wedding steaks, or whatever, do you think you might want to… dance?”
“If this is a plot to videotape me doing the Macarena,” Derek warns, “then absolutely not.”
“That’s a shame, because I bet your hips don’t lie,” Stiles says, blushing through his false bravado. “But I actually meant with me. Something classy, like Sinatra.”
“I know how to foxtrot, if you think you can keep up,” Derek says, and that’s probably the sexiest reference to ballroom dancing that Stiles has ever heard.
“You’re kind of great,” Stiles blurts, and then looks down at the bouquet and starts plucking petals to ease his nervousness. “I mean. You didn’t have to do this for them. You must be in pretty big trouble with the Alpha of Santa Fe, now.”
“It’s a stupid rule,” Derek says, poking viciously at the venison with his barbecue fork. “If you’re able to find… Liv’s a good person. She deserves to be happy.”
“So do you,” Stiles says. He leans in, cups the side of Derek’s neck, and kisses his cheek. “I’ll save you a foxtrot,” he breathes, exhilarated.
“I’ll save you… some rabbit,” Derek promises, staring at him bewildered and cross-eyed, and Stiles grins. Absolutely the best werewolf emergency of all time.
♥