Chapter Text
Chapter One
Stiles walked through the front door of his house feeling numb. Well, that hadn’t gone quite how he had imagined it would, except for the part where he was still alone and unwanted. Today had been the first Claiming Ceremony that Stiles had been allowed to attend, and it had been a revelation of sorts. California law stated that only peoples over the age of sixteen years old could attend a Claiming Ceremony, and only people who had passed the high school class on understanding dynamics were allowed to enter the Claiming. Claiming was all about Dominants announcing their intention to date, or court, a Submissive. The Submissive could then say yes or no, and if they said yes it was then referred to their parents if they were under the age of twenty-one. No collars were presented during or after the ceremony since this was more like asking someone to go steady than asking them to marry you, and by law no Submissive could be collared without a six month courtship, and they had to be over eighteen. It was complicated, but in the past Submissives had been abused under the 1925 Collaring laws that had been replaced by the 1978 Courtship law, much to many old fashioned people’s disgust. Stiles, who identified as Submissive, was grateful for these laws, however he still thought it sucked to stand up in front of the whole town and have to say ‘hi, I’m Stiles and I’m a Submissive, anyone want me?’, or words to that effect, and watch while no one, not a single person, even considered him. It was humiliating and Stiles was considering writing a letter of protest to the governor of California begging to be let out of the Bonding Ceremony in six months time which was when successful couples over the age of eighteen would be allowed to take a collar or the unsuccessful unclaimed Submissives of the Claiming Ceremony would be forced to step up once again and invite humiliation.
“How’d it go, son?” His dad was home, sat at the kitchen table with a police report out in front of him and a glass with a finger of scotch.
“Well, apparently Lydia has decided she’s just a really pushy Submissive because she was in the same line up as me, and Scott tried to Claim Allison but Jackson put a Claim on her too and now her parents have to choose between Scott and Jackson. Danny got his guy though, he put a Claim in on a blond senior I’ve never even seen before and they rode of happily into the sunset,” Stiles filled his dad in, still stunned remembering the shock and outrage which had crossed Scott’s face when Jackson stepped up to make a Claim, and how hurt Lydia had been when her boyfriend hadn’t wanted her. She’d been Claimed by three different other guys, one was a senior who’s dad owned half the town in property, another was a freshman who wanted to be the next Jackson Whittemore, and the last had been a Junior who’d grades were going to get him into the best college in the country on scholarship and his good looks had his parents turning down offers to model. While she hadn’t been humiliated like Stiles had, he was sure she was hurt.
“No bracelet I see,” the Sheriff commented and Stiles looked at his bare wrists. It wasn’t necessary but most Claimed submissives went home with bracelets given to them by their Dominant as a gift and a sign of possession since collaring was out for teenagers.
“Yeah well it’s not like I was expecting one,” Stiles replied, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets. His dad looked away, probably feeling guilty that he hadn’t been able to make it to the ceremony. Stiles wanted to tell his dad it was fine, no hard feelings because it wasn’t like he’d even had a chance at being claimed but he wasn’t sure he could choke the words out past the hurt and humiliation. Like most emotion in their house it lingered unspoken and unexpressed.
“What are you working on? Someone break into the mall again for a prank?” Stiles asked, sitting down next to his dad and peering at the file.
The Sheriff closed the folder and stared at his son over the rim of his spectacles, unfortunately it was too late. “Stiles, how many times have I told you that-”
“Is that a dead body?” Stiles asked, paler now. In all his life he had only heard of two incidents where a dead body had been found. One was his mom, and two was the fire at the Hale house on the edge of the woods. He considered Beacon Hills a disgustingly safe place to live, sheltered, where the only crime was petty vandalism and pranks gone wrong. No one locked their doors at night and the only reason people owned guns was because of frequent wild animal sightings.
His father sighed. “Yes, we’re investigating the death of Laura Hale. In fact, I’ve got to call her brother up now and inform him that we identified her body,” he took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, this was the part of his job that he hated.
“Laura Hale? Her house was the one that got burned down, right? Her brother is Derek Hale? Why was she even in town I though they moved away to live with family in New York after the fire? How long has she been back? Was she murdered? Was there another fire?” Stiles asked rapidly.
“Stiles!” His dad yelled through the incessant babble of questions. Stiles stilled and met his father’s weary eyes. “No more questions. And stop looking through my files, there is no way you could know that she lived in New York unless you’d been in my work files and that is illegal,” his father reminded him sternly.
“Arrest me then,” Stiles replied. He didn’t even have the grace to blush at being caught out. He was naturally curious about crime and particularly the Hale fire because it was one of only two violent crimes that had resulted in death in Beacon Hills. Personally Stiles believed the cops were wrong to dismiss it as a tragic accident, he believed there had been an arsonist behind the death of over half the Hale family. But he was a kid so who’d listen to him?
“Just go to bed,” his father bit out exasperated after only ten minutes of his son.
“Going to bed!” Stiles announced with a mock salute. “Night dad,” he added more kindly before disappearing around the corner. He waited until his dad sighed and picked up the telephone receiver, dialling a number and waiting for the call to connect.
“Is this Derek Hale?” He heard his dad asking in his best ‘Sheriff’ voice. “This is Sheriff Stilinski of Beacon Hills, California. I’m sorry to tell you that we found your sister’s body in the woods a this morning. I’m so sorry. We’d like you to come and claim the body. Of course. We’ll be seeing you soon. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr Hale. Good night.”
It looked like Derek Hale would be coming back to Beacon Hills for the first time in six years.