#thebeethatcouldhavebeen

Jackson’s announcer voice was almost as annoying as the buzzing of the carnival music being piped through the speakers on stage. Stiles took a loud slurp of his fresh squeezed lemonade and winced as the feedback from Jackson’s too-hot microphone reverberated through the crowd. Erica nearly fell off the fence.

“Fucking ow,” she grumbled, rubbing a hand over her ear and righting herself with fluid grace. “Who decided Jackson needed to be the announcer for this?”

“Well,” Stiles shrugged, searching for Scott as the auctionees filed onto the stage. “I couldn’t participate because my bio midterm was last night during the rehearsal time. Matt dropped out a couple of weeks back because Kelsey dumped him -”

“About fucking time,” Erica interrupted grumpily.

“Agreed. And the only other person with a lot of stage presence who wasn’t getting auctioned off himself was Jackson.” Stiles tore a piece of funnel cake off with two fingers and offered it to Erica, who didn’t even bother to grab it - she just ate it directly from his hand. He grimaced in the most overdramatic fashion he could.

“Sorry,” she said, obviously not sorry. “Didn’t want to get powdered sugar on my ring.”

She held her hand out in front of her, letting the sunlight catch on the little diamond, making it shine.

“You know it’s been almost a year, right?” Stiles asked, laughing. “Eventually you’re going to get tired of showing that off.”

“Nah,” she grinned. “I’m really not.”

Stiles bumped her with his shoulder before looking up toward the stage, eyes finding Scott immediately in the line-up. He was wearing a tight, warm red henley and skinny black jeans, all broad shoulders and narrow hips and bright smile as he squinted out into the crowd, searching Stiles out. A round white tag with a  number - 8 - was attached by a clip to his shirt. Boyd, just to Scott’s left, found Erica first - and no wonder, she was standing up on the fence, waving wildly at him. Boyd elbowed Scott, pointing toward them with a grin.

“Spotted,” Stiles laughed, giving Scott a little wave. Scott blew him a kiss, laughing, and Stiles mimed catching it and then placing it very squarely on his crotch. Erica smacked at his shoulder, but the effect was mostly ruined by her laughing. Scott just rolled his eyes.

Another bright squeal of feedback echoed over the growing crowd at the fairground, making both Scott and Boyd cringe backward. Then, from stage right, Jackson tripped forward like he’d been pushed, flailing awkwardly into the line-up with a hastily-scribbled number 12 written on a piece of paper in his hands.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a familiar voice came through the speakers, one Stiles hadn’t heard in too long. “Please give a warm welcome to your newest potential dance partner, as Mr. Whittemore will be joining you all this evening. For charity.”

Lydia stepped out onto the stage, waving regally, still wearing her Miss PFC - College of Maths and Sciences sash and her dainty pageant crown. “Please forgive my lateness - I had a title to win. Allison, if you would please -?”

Allison Argent took the stage with a bright smile and pulled Isaac forward, straightening the tag on his shirt marked with a big “1.”

“Thank you dear. Now, who’s ready to start the bidding? Number One is Mr. Isaac Lahey, who is a Romantic Languages major in his Junior year. Isaac spent two years studying French in France, plays tennis and lacrosse in his free time, and has a terrible singing voice and passable slow dance skills. Who’s going to make the first bid? We’re starting at $20, people.”

Hands holding little numbered poster board paddles shot up one after the other, pledging funds for Unicef and securing dates for the dance. He kept his own paddle at the ready, and when Danny jumped off stage to take the hand of a smug-smiling guy in a KA tee, Stiles abandoned his funnel cake and lemonade both so his hands would be free.

There was no way somebody else was taking Scott to this stupid dance.

“We have a real treat for you here tonight, folks,” Lydia said as Allison took Scott by the hand and tugged him to the front of the stage. “Number Eight is none other than Mr. Scott McCall, pre-vet major representing for the College of Maths and Sciences. When not saving small animals from certain doom, Scott enjoys listening to terrible music, eating food that has zero nutritional value, and being Actual Prince Charming to everyone he meets. Let’s start the bidding at $50, eh? He’s worth it.”

Stiles’ paddle went up immediately - but he wasn’t alone. Scattered throughout the crowd a few more jumped up too. He wasn’t surprised - Scott only decided to do the charity auction because he knew they could bring in a good bit of cash, and he wanted to do whatever he could for the charity. Scott wasn’t necessarily expecting Stiles to have a paddle of his own, though.

“Seventy - Seventy-five - Do I have eighty?” Lydia asked, voice falling into an auctioneer’s cadence. “I have eighty. Do I have eighty-five? Ninety? Ninety-five? Is someone going to give me a - there’s a hundred, for Scott McCall.”

Stiles grimaced and put his paddle down, keeping his eyes peeled. For a moment the rest of the fans stayed put, but then in a far corner, number 48 raised up high.

“A hundred and five,” Lydia said without missing a beat. Stiles raised his again, and again, until he and number 48 were both just keeping their paddles raised high in the air while Lydia continued to rattle off numbers.

“A hundred and fifty, one sixty, one seventy, one eighty -” she said. On stage, Allison played the part of Beautiful Assistant with grace and humor, pulling Scott’s arms up one at a time to show off his definition, gesturing broadly at the width of his shoulders, running one painted nail down the side of his face as if to highlight his bone structure. Scott flushed but did his part, rolling his eyes as Allison twirled her finger in the air, gesturing for him to spin.

“Two-hundred? Two twenty-five, two-fifty -”

“For fuck’s sake,” Stiles groaned, standing up on the fence. “Number 48, sorry, but that is my boyfriend.”

Number 48 stood up too, and it took Stiles a second to remember, but as soon as Erica started laughing, he did. Kadie, from last Fall’s Bonfire Night party at the Alpha Chi house.

“I’m aware, Stiles,” she laughed, keeping her paddle up high while Lydia’s voice boomed out over the crowd.

“Three-hundred, three twenty-five, three fifty…”

“Kadie, c’mon,” Stiles groaned loudly. “I have books to buy. Do you know how much he eats? Our grocery bill is outrageous.”

“I’ll feed him,” Kadie laughed, but her paddle sunk a bit in the air.

“Three seventy-five?” Lydia asked, and Stiles’ paddle stayed resolutely up.

“I know it’s for a good cause and all,” Stiles said, “but I’m going to be wiping out our savings for this. C’mon. Help a brother out.”

“Fine,” Kadie nodded, lowering her paddle. Stiles lowered his as well, taking a deep breath, and then -

“A thousand dollars, from the Alpha Chis, for Scott McCall.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped. Scott’s jaw dropped. Lydia’s jaw twitched at least a little before she slammed the little gavel on her podium and announced winningly, “A thousand dollars for Mr. McCall, awarded to the Alpha Chi sorority. Have fun, Scott, and drink plenty of fluids.”

Stiles sat back against the fence, a little dumbfounded, and watched Scott jog half-heartedly over to Kadie and her cadre of sorority sisters. Erica gripped his shoulder sympathetically.

“Did you know they were going to do that?” he asked, still a little shocked.

“Nah,” she said, and damn his lack of werewolf hearing, he couldn’t even tell if she was lying. “I don’t live at the house anymore, so I miss out on all the fun. You know I would have warned you otherwise.”

“Yeah,” he said dumbly, disappointment sitting heavy in his stomach. “It’s fine - better get ready, Boyd’s up next.”

“Keep your head up,” Erica patted him sweetly. “If nothing else, Kira will be at the dance tonight. You can hang out with her until Malia gets off work.”

“Sure,” Stiles agreed, looking through the crowd to Scott, surrounded by giggling girls. “Yeah, that’s… that’ll be great.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

“And you’re sure he’s out there?” Scott asked, nerves alight. He resisted the urge to peek through the little curtain they had set up behind the band, but it was a close one.

“He’s out there,” Malia promised, straightening Scott’s suspenders. “He’s with Kira. They’re making fun of the band.”

“I like the band,” Scott protested quietly, tipping his head up so Malia could straighten his collar, unbutton the top few buttons for the right effect.

“We know, honey,” Kadie said sadly, patting his arm before leaning in to straighten his hair a bit. “Alright. You’re ready. Get on out there and let’s do this.”

Scott followed the group of girls - Malia, Kadie, and a handful of their sisters - out from behind the stage, onto the big open air dance floor. He spotted the guys - Isaac, Danny, Jackson, and Boyd - all loitering around the entrances, making sure no one important could step out at an inopportune moment. The floor was ringed with twinkle lights just above all their heads, and the folksy cover band made it all feel like a county fair right out of a movie.

He patted his pockets, just to be sure, and then got into position, holding Kadie’s hand as she led him onto the floor. He made eye contact with Erica, Kira, Malia, and Allison just in case, even though they’d rehearsed in the space for over an hour that afternoon. He watched Kira lead Stiles out onto the dance floor just as the band struck up a fast tune, one that he’d practically memorized already. His feet found the steps easily enough, though he couldn’t look up - couldn’t watch to see if everyone else was doing their part. He moved with Kadie in the synchronized step-step-spin-step sort of pattern that they’d taught him over the last few weeks.

Step-step-step-spin-step-step-spin-hand-off.

He looked up just enough to smile at Erica, catch her wink and nod toward where he knew the girls would be dancing Stiles into place.

Step-step-step-spin-step-step-spin-hand-off.

Allison’s hand was strong on his shoulder as he slid in front of her right on the beat.

“I’m proud of you,” she said quietly, smiling, and he smiled back, so thankful they’d found their way to friends again, to the closeness they’d shared before. “And excited. Are you ready? This is it.”

He nodded, stomach churning.

Step. Step. Spin. Hand-off.

When he looked up, Stiles was grinning back at him, eyebrows high with disbelief.

“Scotty, where’d you - how’d -”

“Shhh,” Scott laughed. “I have to count.”

He gripped Stiles’ body tight to his own as they went through the simple steps, dancing alone in the middle of the room. He could hear, dimly, people clapping on the edges of his focus, but he didn’t look - it was much more important to watch Stiles’ face as it shifted from surprised and delighted to truly confused, eyebrows knitting in and mouth turning down.

Step-step-step-spin-step-step-spin- -

Kneel.

The song ended with a flourish as Stiles righted himself from that last spin, turning in place until he saw Scott kneeling on the hard-packed dirt.

“Scott…?” he asked slowly, eyes wide.

“You’re always teasing me,” Scott started, trying to remember the words he’d rehearsed. “About how I won’t be able to dance at Boyd and Erica’s wedding, because I’m such an awful dancer.”

“That you are,” Erica yelled from somewhere behind him, laughing. Scott laughed too.

“And I guess I am. So I - uh, I arranged to get some help, so I could learn.” On stage, the band began to play again, a soft tune he requested himself, one that reminded him of bonfires and theme parties and Stiles. The accordion came in, distracting Stiles for just a moment, long enough for him to reach into his pocket and pull out a little ring box.

“I probably won’t get it down in time for Erica and Boyd’s wedding,” he said, pulling the box open with his heart in his throat, palms sweating and stomach churning. “But I was thinking I could be ready in time for ours.”

“Scott, are you -” Stiles looked stunned, completely shocked, and for a moment Scott thought, I’ve fucked it up, Stiles was going to turn and run, tell him no and break his heart, change his mind about the forever they’d been promising each other every day for months. But then a smile broke out over his face and Stiles dragged him up, up, off the ground and into his arms for a sweetly searing kiss that nearly made him drop the ring. Around them the crowd cheered, whoops and hollers sounding out from all their friends, this extended family they made at home and away, but Scott couldn’t think about that. All he could think about was Stiles’ lips on his own, Stiles’ breath in his mouth, Stiles not saying no.

Kiss me out of the bearded barley

Nightly, beside the green, green grass

Swing, swing, swing the spinning step

You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress.

Slowly, other couples filtered in as the singer on stage crooned the words, filling in the blank space around them. The rest of them danced, but Scott and Stiles did nothing more than sway in one another's’ arms while the band played.

“So, you never did say…” Scott said quietly, but Stiles just laughed.

“Of course. Yeah. Yes. Marrying you, Scott McCall, whether you want me or not.”

“Pretty obvious that I do,” Scott laughed.

“You always think you’re obvious,” Stiles said with a grin, forehead pressed to Scott’s own. “You set all this up, just for me?”

“Well, last time I tried to let someone else set things up for us, we ended up playing terrible high school party games all night and then being too drunk to have sex,” Scott said reasonably, even though his stomach was full of butterflies and his heart was still pounding louder than the drum on stage.

“Still ended up alright,” Stiles shrugged, leaning in to kiss him again.

“I think we can do better than alright.”

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight

Lead me out on the moonlit floor

Lift your open hand

Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance

Silver moon’s sparkling