"Oh God. I'm about to get married at the age of seventeen."

Seventeen and married, he thinks. As opposed to Sixteen and pregnant.

I don't know if I can do this. He thinks.

Stiles is sweating so much that he's pretty sure that his clothes are reeking of his salt and nerves, tangible to all the werewolves out there in the nastiest way possible.

He's sure even Allison can smell it.

"Man, you can back out any time you want to, y'know?" Says Scott, fidgetting in place, looking anxious and worried, like it's taking everything he's got to not break down in pitiful whimpers. "We'll manage."

That's a lie and they both know it. They both know that this needs to be done, that the pack needs it. They need the stability that only a true mating will bring.

They both know the pack needs the bond, need the emotional connection to help them bounce back after the shit hits the fan, every time; to get their energy from. Lydia needs the security; Jackson, the warmth; Scott, the calm. Erica and Isaac, a true family.

They all need the strength.

Wolves are stronger in packs. But packs are lead in pairs. The Alpha needs a mate, they all know this. Derek did, and when he approached Stiles, finally kissed him deep and filthy and frightening, he made sure that Stiles knew too.

Derek made sure that Stiles knew what he wanted from him, then; made sure to show him what he needed from him. Made sure that Stiles knew this wasn't like wedding bells and churches and promises based on religious faith; that Stiles knew that this was going to be forever, trully forever, if he said 'yes'.

Took his time kissing the knowledge of what this meant onto Stiles' skin. Fucked it into him, whispered 'If you say yes, I'm your and you are mine until we both die, Stiles, no turning back. ', as his dick breached Stiles open.

Derek also took the time to make sure that Stiles knew he could say no, with eyes absent, dark and heavy, as if the possibility, alone, made something inside him explode in inconceivable pain.

Stiles swallows, dries his clammy hands in his pants, tries to reign over his body's reactions.

"No, no man, that's fine. I want this."

And the weird thing is, he does.

He wants to bind his soul to Derek's in a werewolf mating ritual, wants to bicker with him, challenge him, save him, be saved by him for the rest of his life.

That's maybe the only scary thing about this. How adamantly sure he is of that. How insanely sure he is that he'll still want this in five years; still need it in ten; still crave it in fifteen; still be glad he fucking chose it in thirty, or forty, or beyond even that.

"I want it." He repeats.

Scott smiles in a way that makes Stiles think that if he were a dog he'd be wagging his tail.

He laughs, and Scott laughs with him, for a few seconds.

Then they both sober up, and Stiles nods at Scott. Scott goes for the door, understanding the non-verbal cue.

He is ready.

(Ready for the rest of his life, he thinks, corny in the extreme.

Then again, he's getting married, so it's the perfect moment to be a shameless and total sap.

No matter what Lydia says.)