The Choosing

"Why is it," asked Stiles, "that werewolves decide to howl at exactly nine o' clock every night?"

"How should I know?" asked Scott. "Maybe they've got really good internal clocks."

"You keep track of when werewolves howl?" said Allison.

Stiles shrugged. "It's not like I can see the clock over the square all the time. But I know that when the wolves howl, I'm probably in trouble for breaking curfew."

Scott and Allison nodded. Stiles wandered often, his curiosity drawing him to seek out new things constantly. He had read nearly every book in the lending library, had walked nearly every path around the village and had a catalogue of nearly every plant in the forest and their properties. Of course, he didn't need the book. He remembered all sorts of little facts that other people just didn't. As a result of his curiosity, Stiles was often out past the curfew that Allison's father imposed on the village.

And Chris wasn't above dragging him home, mid-research, and then lecturing him in front of as many people as possible. Not that lectures ever stopped Stiles.

"Are you ready for tonight?" asked Allison.

"Not really," said Scott. "I mean, who could be ready to be sniffed by supernatural dogs?"

"They're human too, Scott," said Stiles. "I get that you're not fond of supernatural creatures. I even get why. But treating them like animals isn't endearing."

"Why do you care?" asked Scott. "Are you hoping to get chosen?"

"I want what my parents had," said Stiles. "And if I'm offered that? Yeah, I'll take it."

"I know what you mean, Stiles," said Allison. "I want a forever romance too. But I also know that werewolves don't choose members of my family. Ever."

"I guess that it would be nice to be loved forever," said Scott. "I'm just a little nervous, I guess."

"It'll be fine, Scotty," said Stiles. "I've gotta go. Ritual baths take forever."

"Ritual baths?" said Scott, horrified. "Oh no, Mom's going to be mad if I'm late for that."

"Mine too," said Allison. "I'll see you at the Choosing!"

The three of them parted ways, and Stiles headed back to the house he shared with his dad at the edge of the village. John was waiting for him at the front door of their house, with a sad little smile on his face. Stiles hugged his dad tightly before heading to their bathing room and getting into the steaming bath.

Then he was done, Stiles put on the white shirt and pants that Offerings traditionally wore and tucked his favourite necklace, one his mother had made for him, into his pocket. In the glass of the window, he looked paler than usual. The features he'd inherited from his mother seemed to stand out. He ducked back into the main room, where John was waiting with the traditional red cloak in his hands.

"You ready?" asked John.

"Ready as I'll ever be," said Stiles. "I just have to stand there and let them sniff me, right?"

"That's all it is," confirmed John. "There'll be at least one mated pair to make sure everything stays civilized."

"Civilized," said Stiles. "Right. Dad?"

"Yes Stiles?"

"Will you be upset if I get chosen?"

John looked fondly at his son. "I'll know that there's someone who can take care of you. Someone who will devote themselves to you as much as you will to them. And you will. Your mom and I were like that too."

John draped the red cloak over Stiles' shoulders. After a moment, he hugged Stiles tightly. "No matter what happens tonight, I love you and am proud of you."

"I love you too, Dad," said Stiles, choking up a little. They stood in silence for a few moments before John clapped Stiles on the shoulder and said, "Do you have your token?"

"Yeah," said Stiles, pressing his hand against his pocket. "We should go, or we'll be late."

They exited the house, pausing to lock the door, and walked down their lane to the main square. A few other families with red-cloaked figures crossed the square with them. Stiles recognized Lydia, the medicine woman's daughter, walking with her mother. He had once hoped that she would be the one for him, but Lydia had made it embarrassingly clear that Stiles was not the one for her.

Stiles also saw Scott, looking odd in his red cloak, with his mother Melissa. Melissa spun and wove cloth with a few other women of the village, and in exchange for goods kept the whole village clothed and warm. Her husband had been a kelpie from a neighbouring village. His disappointment with his human son led him to lash out at Melissa. She had come to Beacon Hills with baby Scott and had been accepted into the village.

Eventually they made it to a large clearing just outside of the village. Deaton, the go-between for the village and the werewolves, stood serenely in the middle with a cluster of red-cloaked figures near him. Stiles stepped away from John with a wave and joined the other offerings. John joined the knot of anxious parents to one side of the clearing. Slowly, the rest of the village filed in.

When everyone was present, Deaton held up his hands for silence. People quieted, waiting to hear the annual, traditional speech that Deaton gave before every Choosing. "People of Beacon Hills, tonight under the Wolf Moon we gather to thank our supernatural protectors. We offer with our gratitude our love, and the hope for our future. The Choosing serves two purposes: first, to anchor the werewolves to humanity; second, to tie our village to the forest that surrounds and provides for us."

A large black wolf slunk into the clearing, its blue eyes flashing. Deaton gasped at the wolf, but said nothing. Stiles knew why: blue eyes in a werewolf's wolf form meant a killer. Unease bubbled in his stomach as the wolf prowled through the assembled teens. It herded Scott off to one side of the clearing with well-placed snaps of its jaws. Allison joined Scott a few minutes later. The wolf circled around them three times, then went back to patrolling the offerings.

"The first pair has been selected," said Deaton with a soft smile. "Scott and Allison, you have been chosen for each other. Use this coming week to come to know one another and decide if you are right for each other."

All of a sudden, the wolf stopped in front of Stiles. It sniffed carefully, shook its head, sniffed again and then moved on. Stiles was offended; he didn't deserve to be dismissed like that, especially in front of the entire town. The wolf, however, had reached Deaton. It sat, nodded, and then rose and trotted into the forest.

"Now the wolves will come," said Deaton. "Do not be afraid. They are not permitted, on pain of punishment by their Alpha, to harm you or do anything to you that might make you uncomfortable."

There was a cracking of a twig, and suddenly the clearing was full of wolves. A black wolf, smaller than the first, was the first to make a choice, stopping in front of Isaac. She nudged his hand with her nose and looked at Deaton.

"Isaac, you have been chosen by Cora Hale," said Deaton. "Use this week to come to know her, and let her know you."

"There must be some mistake," protested Isaac. Cora growled.

"No mistake," said Deaton. "She has chosen you."

A massive russet wolf selected Erika next. The tiny, ill girl looked frightened, but her wolf, Vernon Boyd, leaned lightly against her until she calmed. A light grey wolf sat in front of Lydia, and was identified as Jackson Whitmore. Most of the wolves circled around the offerings a few times before sitting at the edge of the clearing opposite to the townsfolk. Stiles watched with interest as they seemed to chat and gossip amongst themselves as they waited.

A black wolf and a russet wolf were nudging the large black wolf from before towards the offerings. The blue-eyed wolf had its hackles up and ears pinned back, clearly not happy. With a few nips from the other black wolf, it walked towards the teens and walked down the line again, stopping again at Stiles. It then sat down and stared into Stiles' face, worry in its eyes.

"Well, well," said Deaton. "Stiles, you have been chosen by Derek Hale. I'm afraid that though this is unusual, he has made his choice. Take this coming week to know him, and let him know you."

"Why is it unusual?" asked Stiles before he could stop himself.

"Partly because it was his duty to select those who were not eligible for the other werewolves to choose from," said Deaton. "But also because he has chosen before."

"What happened to his other choice?" asked John.

"She killed herself rather than accept him," said Chris blithely. "Or at least, that's how the tale goes."

Stiles looked into the worried blue eyes. He reached out a hand and laid it alongside Derek's muzzle. The self-blame he must feel, thought Stiles, to have those blue eyes.

"I'll try," said Stiles. "And maybe, if you're ever ready, we can talk about it."

"It seems that the pairs have all been chosen," said Deaton. "Those of you who were not chosen, do not fret. This means that you still have a choice in your futures. It may mean that you are intended for someone outside of this valley. In such a case, we wish you good fortune.

"For those of you who have been chosen, the courtship period begins now. Please give your partner your token. Tomorrow, the wolf half of the pair will come and introduce themselves to you so you will know what they look like in both their forms. From there, they will explain the ritual courtship you will undertake. Humans, you reserve the right to say no, or to ask for modifications to your courtship. Wolves, you will be further instructed by Alpha Hale when you return to the dens."

Shyly, Stiles removed the stone pendant necklace that had been his mother's last gift to him from his pocket. He tied the necklace loosely around Derek's neck and bit his lip. He'd carried it with him for so long that it felt strange to not have it with him. Derek nodded at him and licked his hand before trotting off into the dark forest with the rest of his pack.

Stiles stared into the forest until he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. He looked to see his dad standing next to him, looking back at him worriedly. Stiles offered him a smile and a shrug. "I promise I'm not feeling suicidal, and that I'll tell you if that changes."

"That's not what I'm worried about," said John. "What worries me is the personality that would drive someone to want to die in the first place."

"There is nothing wrong with Derek," said Deaton, approaching Stiles and John. "You will have to get the story from Derek himself, but I have known him since birth. He's a touch unstable emotionally - you saw his eyes - but is in essence a good man."

"I wonder what happened, then," said Stiles.

"We should go home," said John. "The courtship traditionally starts at dawn, and you'll need to sleep."

Dawn came and went, and Stiles slept through it. He woke around mid-morning to a knocking at the front door. He rolled out of bed, dragged on a shirt and pants and went to the door. Opening it, he took in the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. The man was tall and muscular, with short brown - almost black - hair and soulful grey-green eyes. The man quirked an eyebrow and Stiles realized that he was gaping.

"Uh, hi," said Stiles.

"Hello, Stiles," said the man. "I'm Derek Hale. I think we met last night?"

"Yes," said Stiles, finally noticing his mother's pendant around Derek's neck. "Wow. Okay. Uh, why don't you come in and we can talk a little bit?"

"I'd like that," said Derek, smiling with just a hint of teeth. Stiles stepped out of the way and Derek stepped over the threshold, ducking slightly under the doorway. John entered the main room from his room and blinked at the sight of Derek. He looked over the other man appraisingly.

"Good morning," said John. "Derek, I presume?"

"Yes," said Derek. "I thought I would come by a little later than is traditional to let you both, Stiles especially, sleep a little bit. Choosing night tends to be a late one."

"That it does," said John shrewdly. "It let you sleep a bit more as well."

Derek shook his head. "It gave me more time to find an appropriate return gift for Stiles."

"You got me a return gift?" said Stiles, a little bewildered.

Derek backtracked. "Part of the courtship is that I prove myself to you as human and wolf. If you accept me, you have to accept all of me, not just my human face. I can't promise that you'll never have to deal with my more animalistic instincts, because they're always there and they're a part of me. The wolf part of me demands that you receive specific kinds of gifts."

"Like what?" asked Stiles.

"Food, mostly," said Derek, hefting a large bag onto the table. "This morning I caught a deer as a wolf. When I shifted back, I prepared it for you. All you need to do is decide how you want to handle it."

"Like cook it, you mean?" said Stiles, opening the bag. A large amount of meat sat there. "Hm. If we smoke a good chunk of this, you'd have healthy snack foods to eat while you're out in the forest, Dad. And we'll be able to have a roast and several different kinds of stew."

"We can trade it as well," suggested John.

"For what?" asked Stiles. "We get our clothing from Melissa in exchange for work done in her garden and on her house. We grow our own vegetables and herbs. This is a wonderful gift, one that means I don't risk losing you to a hunt gone wrong."

John smiled ruefully at his son. "I thought you'd say that. I'll be out in the vegetable patch if you need me."

John left the house, and Stiles turned back to Derek. Something akin to fascination played across his face. Stiles lifted his eyebrows and Derek said, "You two really love each other. Care for each other. It's nice."

"Nice like that's a good thing?" said Stiles. "Or nice like you're just being polite?"

"A very good thing," said Derek firmly. "Within the Beacon Hills pack, my family is odd in that we care for each other and don't in-fight. I understand that not every family is like that. I'm glad to see that yours is."

"Why?"

"Shared values make for stronger partnerships. I'm happy that we both value our families."

"My dad's been everything to me for nine years," said Stiles. "Since my mom died. She'd want us to care for each other, so we supported each other through the grief as best we could and then just kept doing it as the pain let up a little bit. Both of us still miss her, but we can talk about her now, and that keeps her here with us. As part of our family."

"That's beautiful," said Derek softly. He paused for a moment and then said, "Do you want to discuss the courtship more?"

"Sure," said Stiles. "Can we discuss it while I start getting this meat ready for smoking and salting? I don't want to leave the meat where the flies will start to get to it."

"May I help?" asked Derek. "I'll understand if you have your own rhythm and don't want anyone to interfere with it."

"Honestly, I could use the help," admitted Stiles. "You caught a good one."

A smile tugged at the corners of Derek's mouth and he stepped up to the table next to Stiles. Stiles handed him a knife and a chunk of meat. They carved in silence for a few moments before Stiles said, "So what are the courtship rules and traditions?"

"The first rule is that you can say no at any point," said Derek, "and I have to respect that." He gave Stiles a significant look. "That's always been a rule. Always."

"Okay," said Stiles. "That's good to know. What else?"

"The second rule is that we have to be honest with each other," said Derek. "We're allowed to say that we aren't ready to talk about something, but it can't be something essential to who we are. Like right now? I'm not ready to talk about Paige. But I hope that by the end of the week I will be."

"I will admit to being curious about what happened," said Stiles. "But I'm not going to ask for a few days."

"The third rule," said Derek, "is that I introduce you to my family and you introduce me to yours. That means that Cora - my little sister - and I will have to pick days to meet each other's partner. Unless you and Isaac are willing to do a group outing with us."

"That's a good idea," said Stiles. "I get along pretty well with Isaac. You should probably know, and so should Cora, that there's something wrong in that house. Isaac disappears for days and then when he reappears, he has a healing injury of some kind."

Derek frowned. "You've seen it?"

"On multiple occasions."

"I'll let Cora know. She'll be furious, but if something's hurting her partner then she needs to know."

"I've wanted to help him for a while," said Stiles, "but I don't know how."

"Cora will be able to handle it," said Derek. "Mom will help guide her if she needs it."

"Great," said Stiles. "So any other rules?"

"Just get to know each other," said Derek. "Decide whether or not we can live the rest of our lives together. Where we want to live, how we want to live, things like that."

"I thought that the Chosen had to move to the dens," said Stiles.

"It's preferred, but not a rule," said Derek. "I have a feeling you want to stay with your dad. Whatever that might mean for us."

"Would your family be okay with you living down here?" asked Stiles.

"I think so," said Derek. "Mom would be okay with it for sure, and it's her opinion that matters."

"Why?"

"She's the Beacon Hills Alpha. What she says, goes."

"Oh."

Stiles looked across the table to find it covered in long, even strips of meat, the perfect size for jerky snacks. He gathered them up and put them in a large fired clay bowl. Derek watched him as he took out two more chunks of meat and continued the process of cutting it into strips. His gaze would have been unsettling had it not been for the warmth and caution in his eyes.

"So, uh, can we live down here?" asked Stiles.

"Sure," said Derek. "I would need to visit the dens once in a while, but yes, we can live down here." He paused. "Your father would be welcome in the dens as well, if you wanted to live there."

"Are you in line to be the next Alpha?" asked Stiles.

"Oh, no," said Derek. "That's my older sister Laura. She'll be the Alpha one day. I just need to go back because it calms the wolf to be part of a pack. I don't want accidents to happen."

"Accidents?" said Stiles. "What kind of accidents?"

"Wolves have gone mad from loneliness," said Derek, "or have lost either their ability to be human or wolf. That drives them mad too. So does losing their partner."

"How does that happen?"

"I don't know. I don't want to find out."

By the time John came back in from the garden, the venison had been carved up and taken out to the smokehouse, or cut up and put in the stewpot. A large cauldron of stew was bubbling happily on the fire and Derek and Stiles were playing checkers with the old set that had been Claudia's. There was an ease between them that hadn't been there before.

"Can I eat any of whatever smells so good?" asked John, half joking.

"Give it ten minutes and dinner will be ready," said Stiles. "And Derek's staying."