Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hale."

"3:30 in the morning. 3 freaking 30 in the morning." The alarm clock blinked softly in the lamp light from the nightstand, turned on when the call came through. Considering no one in town knew they were back, other than a select few, it wasn't a pissed off or irate family member calling because they hadn't been told. Derek couldn't help but smile softly at Stiles, even as he wiggled and mumbled as he fell back asleep. Stiles had starfished out across Derek and the bed, trying to burrow away from the light and into Derek's chest.

"Sorry about the late hour, Hale, but you're needed at the scene of a homicide," Sheriff Stilinski murmured. Although, Stilinski hadn't been a sheriff for years, Derek couldn't help, but call him that even as Derek's smiled slid and compressed into a line at his in-laws words. "Tell Stiles he's gonna be needed at the coroner's as well. It's bad, son. Real bad."

"Yes, sir," Derek rumbled out. His voice was rough and displeased, even if he wasn't, it was 3:30 in the morning. They had been asleep only a few hours, so he had every right to sound grumpy. Stiles and him had only been in town less than a week and had finished unpacking the night before. Not that they had much to unpack, most of it had been left behind or destroyed, thus their bedroom was sparsely decorated. The sound of the call being disconnected drew Derek out of his thought and to the young man who laid next to him.

“Stiles," Derek's voice had shifted from the gruff and displeased to soft and fond without a hitch. "We need to move."

"Whaaa...but we just finished," Stiles slurred still half asleep, "don't wanna." Derek couldn't resist the light chuckle that Stiles' words provoked, much less prevent the gentle kiss he brushed over his forehead and lips.

“Come on, it's time to get up. There's been a homicide," Derek coaxed, as he moved around the bed, pulling the covers down, as he went towards the master bath. All the while listening to the mumbling and shifting of the body behind him, "Couldn't call when our shifts actually started. No, that would be way too easy." To say Stiles wasn't a morning person was an understatement, as Derek knew only too well, as he stepped under the warm water of the full body shower. The one luxury that had been a spur of the moment decision, as Stiles had pointed out that they came home disgusting often and he wasn't settling for anything less than 360° of clean. Derek had caved when Stiles had pressed against him and rolled his hips to illustrate another reason to get a large show with plenty of wiggle room and hot water.

"Morning," Stiles murmured as he pressed a kiss to Derek's shoulder as he slid behind him in the shower.

"Hmm...did you sleep OK," Derek asked, as he twisted to capture Stiles' lips in a full kiss.

"For what it's worth, yes," Stiles gasped, pulling away to breathe before returning to the kiss; just a slow press of lips with the possibility of deepening.

Derek broke away from the kiss to press their foreheads together, breathing the same air, and slid his hands around Stiles' hips. His thumbs strokes the bony protrusions, still thin and so fragile even after years together it caused a moment of panic when he gripped them too hard, before moving up to cup the growing bump of his husband's stomach. Three months since he'd learned of their tiny miracle and knowing he could of lost it, made it even more precious to him.

"Hey, don't go down there. We're okay. This isn't New York. We're safe here," Stiles' voice broke Derek's dark mood and he nodded, almost to himself, as he pulled away to press a kiss to Stiles lips again and grab the soap.

Chapter Text

"Oh, hell no. No one gets to tell me to go and get some sleep and let some underrated nuppy into my morgue. Probably some pencil pusher. Never worked a hard day in their life, no good doer, who can't think for themselves. And then for the final act they'll get the cause of death wrong and cause a hell of a lot more issues than we need, but no let me sleep until the damage is done," Lydia fumed as she stormed down the hallway to the morgue. If it wasn't 4 in the morning and the building completely deserted, people would of been running down the hall to get away or freeze in fear. Of course, Lydia realized that the department needed more than one full time medical examiner besides herself, she just didn't approve of not being involved in the hiring process of said pencil pusher.

She was still grumbling when she pushed through the doors leading in to the M.E.'s office, only to narrow her eyes at the figures who stood in the middle of the wait room. There were three of them. One, which she fully intended to give a piece of her mind, and two others that looked vaguely familiar, lean and pale vs dark and brawny. "What the hell, Stilinski? Who gave you permission to go behind my back and hire another idiotic moron who can't tell the difference between their clavicle and hyoid?! I don't care if they shit rainbows and glitter, they aren't getting into my morgue without my clearance."

"Now, Ms. Martin I'm sure that Dr. Hawks' replacement is suitable. After all not all of the candidates could of been that bad," Chief Stilinski soothed. He even raised his hands to try and placate her, only to be interrupted by a snort from one of the men who had gone unnoticed until now.

"I'm pretty sure they were that bad," the leaner of the two mumbled, if the smirk going on the other man's face was anything to go by, he agreed with that assessment.

"Stiles, you aren't helping," Stilinski chastised when Lydia swung her gaze to glare at them. Lydia realized who was standing with the dear old chief. The prodigal sons of Beacon Hills, the newest detective and medical examiner.

"Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski, together in my morgue. My lucky day," Lydia mused, looking like she just got a brand new toy to chew through, "Oh this is precious, does Scott know your back? Although I suppose not, because I certainly didn't and one of you would of ended up on a cold slab, if he knew. Even with you being the replacement Stiles, you aren't going through an autopsy without me present. You've been gone for ten years after all, and who knows the conditions you've worked with," the red head sniffed without heat, before pulling Stiles and Derek into a hug. "You big idiots, at least call next time."

At that Stiles melted into the hug, relieved that at least one person was forgiving enough to ignore their absence.

"Sorry to interrupt, but there is a dead body waiting for us," Stilinski coughed lightly to break up the reunion. Derek pulled back pink and awkwardly shuffled in place. Lydia and Stiles only pulled away when it became obvious that she couldn't strangle John and Stiles at the same time. So she settled for punching Stiles' arm and glaring at John, as she stepped away from him.

"You owe me for this whole fiasco," Lydia snipes at John pissed for Hawks and for the overhanded handling of her department. "We'll see you later for brunch or breakfast, okay," Stiles said against Derek's chest after giving him peck for good luck and receiving a crushing hug in return. The overprotective idiot, Stiles thought fondly. "Nothing gets by Lyds." Lydia smirked at that, reminding them of a predator stalking prey. "Go."

Chapter Text

"Vic is presumed to be Jennifer Blake; 32, lives alone, no signs of forced entry. Her girlfriend Kali Brennis was the one who discovered her after coming home from work around 1. Said she didn't see anything out of the usual," the room was a mess. The glass from several windows was shattered across the floor as well as the wooden fragments from several coffee tables. If the blood pools didn’t stain the floor, the splatter would stain the walls.

“Any sign of items being taken” Chief Stilinski looked nauseated at the carnage, even while looking as professional as he could surrounded by officers, lab techs, red and blue flashes, and yellow tape.

“No, the initial look around didn’t reveal anything to be disturbed in any of the other rooms. It looks like the victim was the primary target,” Allison recited. Her expression, like everyone else's, was vacant and strained. "It looks like a were attack, to be honest. The slash marks, defensive wounds, blood splatter, and overall destruction of the room. Not many people would have the force to break windows and tables and walk away." Allison seemed hesitant to point out the facts everyone could put together, because of the shit storm that it would cause. No one wanted to take on a were's activist group. They had a reputation to make a national uproar and most groupies didn't take the phrase 'fuck off' too friendly. The force most used made police brutality look gentle in comparison.

"A team or small group could of done this," Derek pointed out, just as things has gotten too tense for a crime scene in the middle of being processed. "Any chance they had enemies or pissed off ex's for this to happen?"

"There might be a chance," the sigh that Allison let out was all relief, like a breath of fresh air in dust storm relief.

"Alright, Allison and Derek see of you can find anything that warrants an attack with this type of brutality to it. Question the girlfriend in depth if you have to. I'll try and quell the media shit storm before it can take off. Play nice," Stilinski walked away to face the bloodhounds masquerading as reporters outside the tape boundary. Derek nor Allison envied him the job. Beacon Hills news was run by a ruthless woman intent on getting every tidbit she could and some of her practices weren't kosher. After all they knew her and shared a pack with her. And Erica intimidated even the most hardened alphas, she'd try and eat the Chief alive or die trying.

"Thank god for that man and his willingness to take her on," Allison murmured from behind Derek's shoulder, forcing him to repress a shudder. His instincts screaming to maim and hurt to prevent the dominant threat from gaining the upper hand. Although he had to hand it to the former huntress, she still had it even when his instincts were so high strung to protect his pregnant mate from harm. "I haven't told Scott that you guys are back. John told me a week ago, so that I could prepare for the fall out, when he discovered it. Though I wish we had more time than this will allow."

"Thanks, it's helped for what's it worth. Given him, us, time to settle." For reasons only known to Stiles, Scott, Derek, and their respective parents there was tension between the packs of Beacon Hills. Derek suspected Allison knew enough to piece together the story behind it.

"Alright, let's go," she was way too chipper for 4 o'clock and at a murder scene to boot. "The primary crime scene is in the front room. The bathroom and bedrooms seem pretty much undisturbed. There no blood or signs of distress, but it's always nice to double check, right?"

"Hmm," Derek followed her down the hallway dodging torn furniture and lab techs snapping photos of the general chaos. Allison was correct in assuming that the bedroom looked undisturbed unlike the rest of the house. The bed and dresser was spotless and pristine. The closet was half full and coordinated into pants, dresses, shirts, and shoes. Nothing looked out of place. The second bedroom was in a similar state. There was no unnecessary blemishes or undue decorations adorning either room.

"Both closets have different style of clothing and the bedding has recently been changed. Either they lied about their relationship or they've hit a rough patch. Neither bed was slept in and Jennifer wasn't dressed to go to bed, something went down and it wasn't just her murder," Derek shrugged to ease the tingle between his shoulder that the desolate rooms caused.
“I say it’s time to talk to Kali and see what she has to say and see if Isaac has something for us at the lab yet. Something better than running down dead ends. That means we need coffee and something sweet to butter him up with. No wrath like a lab tech scorned out of food for a lead. Last time some copper came into bug up a lead before he was called, his pants got lit on fire and Isaac just laughed. And it’s 4:30 in the morning, and I know for a fact he wasn’t working last night. I like these pants.” Derek huffed a laugh at Ali’s cheeky smile.

Chapter Text

Getting food with Allison, what anything in particular? Stiles felt his heart melt and turn into a puddle of goo at Derek’s consideration. Back in New York, Derek would of come home to cook or just texted saying he’d grabbed food because he knew Stiles would eat anything. Ever since their little pipsqueak was discovered, Derek had become almost obsessive the need to provide good food (or food that he would eat) for his pregnant mate. And neither wanted another incident like the eggs or the fries. Projectile vomit everywhere.

Fruit? Crepes or Waffles? Juice, please.

Lydia, okay?

Deaton showed up, she found a new chew toy. :)

Stiles could practically feel the tension radiating from Derek at the mention of Scott's boss being in the same vicinity as him. Although he wasn't comfortable with the Hale's emissary hanging around, he didn't think anything would come from it.

He'd just finished several packets of Reese from a vending machine when Deaton had arrived. The emissary had shoved into the room where Lydia and him had been sitting.

"I really hope you have a good excuse to be here and it better not be poking around my dead body," the glare that Lydia sent him would of peeled paint and wilted flowers, it didn't even phase Deaton. Stiles suspected it was from all the time he spent handling dominant wolves and animals at the clinic. It'd made him into an emotionless robot that could care less about desecrating a corpse by examining it without familial consent. Heartless bastard, oh he said that out loud. Deaton's face was still expressionless.

"Oh, you're back. Didn't even sense you there, but I guess that's what happens when you're a nobody in a pack."

"Huh, growing some balls finally, Dee? Still jealous that I fit in better than you, you who happened to grow up training to be an emissary and then got shown up by a teenager? That's gotta hurt."

"At least I'm still pack, unlike you." The dig hurt, but his ego wasn't that fragile.

"I got a choice unlike you. I chose to walk away but you're stuck with conflicting responsibilities to two different packs. You can't be impartial to either one, like an emissary should be. You're tied down and stuck there. You broke your oaths to those packs, so you decided that you could take it out on me. Fuck you and Fuck Scott for making his choice. You don't get to judge mine." Stiles and Deaton were inches apart from each other. And seconds away from having an all out brawl.

“You need to leave. If any of your particular expertise is needed, you’ll get a call,” Lydia shoved in between the two, effectively shielding Stiles and pushing Deaton through the door at the same time. “Ass. You okay?”

“Yeah, just nauseous,” Stiles mumbled swallowing and swaying heavily. Promptly, Lydia shoved a plastic garbage can into his arms and all but pushed him into a chair. He slid back and rested his head against the wall, dropping the can away from him. Throwing up chocolate was nasty. And completely avoidable. “Sorry, if I had known…”

“Not your fault.” He waved off her concern, wishing he could fall asleep and forget everything.

“He consults on suspected werewolf cases, but he shouldn’t of been here this early. We haven’t even seen the body or processed it. He came to see if you and Derek were back because no one was told. I don’t care why. What I do care about is the body that’s slowly decomposing downstairs. Come on.” Stiles smiled wanly at the redhead as she walked passed. He would gladly follow her, if it meant that he didn’t have to say anything.

*

The morgue was like every other one he’d been in: stainless steel tables, freezing, portable x-ray machines, sinks, jars, tools laid in neat rows, and freezing. Stiles wished that he’d remembered to grab a jacket or even a thicker long sleeved shirt on his way out the door. Eventually, Lydia had gotten past the irritation of Deaton showing up and Stiles being hired without her knowledge, to give him the fastest orientation to a job in his life. His mind was a whirlwind of information and activity, as he walked into the freezing ass room and directed to a rolling stool at the counter. “Currently there are about 24 open cases in Beacon Hills, we are responsible for the 4 murder cases. Three of the cases are connected. All of them were teenagers ages 15 and 18. They were found beaten and mauled outside their campsite last week. The fourth is the newest and the body just arrived. She’s yours to deal with. Stiles, don’t screw up.” Stiles gave her a small smile and nodded. Lydia had the other autopsies to deal with. Stiles pulled the reports that would need to fill out as he did the autopsy, out before standing up. Thank god, the entire place was wired for videotaping, because voice recording an autopsy was a bitch.

Jennifer Blake's body and clothing were absolutely shredded; in places the cloth was hanging by threads and coated in blood. The blood had pooled around her back and in the hollow of her throat, causing run off patterns on her face and neck. He suspected her body under the clothing would show similar blood patterns where the clothing was loose. Her abdomen and chest were soaked through. Most of it wasn't dry.

Stiles shook his head, before snapping on his gloves to confirm the time of death and comb over the body for any evidence left behind. It was gonna be a long morning.