Chapter Text
Peter Hale died on a Tuesday.
Again.
Derek felt the sudden snap of the family pack bond breaking and staggered, falling to his knees in the muddy leaf litter, hand clutched to his chest. He barely had time for his brain to catch up to the shock before his phone rang, a picture of Scott and Malia with their faces smooshed together in a selfie flashing on his phone.
He answered. He exchanged words with Scott, with his Alpha , and clearly heard Malia’s voice in the background, high-pitched with shock. Yes, of course, he had felt it. No, he did not know what happened. Yes, he would call if he could find out anything.
Eventually, he stumbled to his feet. There was a drop-off of a wolfdog rescue at noon, and he always tried to be around for them since it’s not like they’ll hurt him. Plus, he liked having his scent be one of the first that they associated with their new homes.
He raised a hand to Floyd, who grunted at him and went to mix the feed. Floyd spoke even less than Derek did, which was kind of hilarious. But he was good with the wolves, and that’s all Derek cared about.
Derek rubbed his chest. He’d had too many pack bonds break, and it never got easier. It took him five minutes to realize that his eyes were wet and fifteen minutes after that to try to figure out whether or not he cared.
He got the notification in person from an impeccably dressed man whose shoes squeaked in the mud on the forest floor. The man reeked of some sort of expensive cologne and wore a bespoke suit that, when he drove through the gate in a BMW, was almost as hilariously out of place at the H&H Wolfdog Sanctuary as a Hunter at a werewolf family dinner.
He, Derek Hale, was required to attend the reading of Peter Michael Hale’s Last Will and Testament at 3:00 pm on Friday. Plane tickets were included to bring him from Colorado back to Beacon Hills.
Derek sat until the sun rose, staring at the address on the embossed sheet of paper.
At 2:56 pm, the receptionist smiled perfunctorily at him and told him he could go through. Derek stood and walked past the woman with what passed as a polite nod of his head. He smelled Cora and Malia, and the scents were comforting enough that something in his shoulders relaxed when he realized he wouldn’t be alone. Cora had texted that she was flying in. The conference room reeked of expensive cigars and a familiar expensive cologne, which made Derek want to sneeze. He wrinkled his nose and sat down.
Cora immediately leaned into him, and Derek kissed the side of her head, scenting her. He relaxed further at the familiarity, and she took a long, heavy breath. Malia had a look on her face that looked equally like she wanted to rip someone’s head off and burst into tears, and Derek was a little afraid of whichever one she’d ultimately choose. He was surprised that Scott wasn’t here, although there was another chair, so maybe he was coming later.
The same man from before walked in precisely at three o’clock, and all three Hales sat up straight in their chairs, turning to face him. Derek realized for the first time that there was a flatscreen television behind him, and a remote and a leather-bound legal pad on the table beside the lawyer’s soft, pale hand.
“Greetings, Mr. Hale. Miss Hale. Mrs. McCall. My condolences for your loss. Thank you for joining me. ” The man flicked his cold, blue gaze to the fourth chair. “I’ve been assured that the fourth recipient will join us in ten minutes. They were waylaid by traffic.” The man smiled coldly, and Derek looked down at the table, frowning, not missing Malia’s roll of her eyes at the formal title.
“The fourth?” Cora’s voice was both measured and even; in the intervening years, she’d come into her own, maturing in a way that Derek couldn’t help but admire. Most days, he still felt like he barely had his shit together.
“Indeed. As you were no doubt aware, the late Mr. Hale’s passing was sudden and unexpected. He did, however, have a plan for the inevitability of his death and--”
“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!”
Stiles’ sweet, summer scent hit him before the words did, and Derek tensed as he whipped his head towards the doorway. He hadn’t seen Stiles in over six months, but he smelled exactly the same as he always did.
The words tumbled out of Derek’s mouth before he could stop them. “What the hell is he doing here?”
“Ah. Well, that’s what we are here to discuss. Mr. Stilinski, please feel free to seat yourself to Mr. Hale’s left, and we’ll begin.”
“Look-- uh. . .Derek’s right. I don’t think. . . I shouldn’t be. . .”
The man held up his hand and stared over his glasses until Stiles sank awkwardly into the chair, pale skin flushed red in embarrassment. “Please. The late Mr. Hale wished for the four of you to hear his Will at the same time, and has paid me well to ensure his wishes.” The man attempted a smile with a small twist of his too-thin lips.
Derek could feel Stiles looking at him from under his lashes. Derek stared at the legal pad as though it held all of the answers to all of the questions in the universe. The man waited for a few moments for any other objections before nodding, rising, and walking over to the door to shut it so that they had privacy. He dimmed the lights and hit a button on the remote.
Derek flinched when he saw Peter’s face, grinning at the camera. Cora inhaled sharply, and Malia made a sound deep in her throat that sounded like a whimper. Stiles just sighed.
“Greetings!” Peter grinned, looking delighted with the world. “I hate to be such a cliche, but if you’re watching this, I have died.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as though he, too, thought that idea was absolutely ridiculous. “Talbot, kindly pause this and inform my family and Stiles how I died and any last words.”
The man, Talbot, cleared his throat awkwardly as he paused Peter’s video. “Peter Hale died of natural causes in the arms of three. . . erm. . . female acquaintances. His last words were apparently ‘Oh fu--’”
“Bullshit!” Stiles looked mortified as he slammed both hands over his mouth, slouching in his chair.
Talbot looked affronted. He stared down at his notes. “I assure you that the four women involved were indeed quite shocked. The coroner’s report showed that aside from trace amounts of what appears to be aconite in his bloodstream, Mr. Hale was otherwise quite healthy. His heart, however, simply gave out from his--- er. Strenuous. Ah, activity.”
Derek blinked. He knew that Stiles’ response was more to do with the idea of a werewolf in the prime of his life dying, but if anyone was going to go out in a fucking orgy, it would be his uncle.
Stiles looked over at him again, and Derek shook his head once.
Derek knew exactly what Peter had done with ‘trace amounts of aconite.’ He’d done his share after the fire when he and Laura were stumbling around New York, desperate to feel anything. Humans had heroin. Weres had strands of wolfsbane that they could add to alcohol for a buzz. If they added enough, a were’s body was human-slow while it was essentially poisoned. It gave the user tunnel vision, and already hyper-focused senses sharpened even more. Derek had been told by Isaac once that it was a lot like being high. There was a reason that it was so dangerous, a reason that Derek could have explained with excruciating detail given what had happened six months ago; a reason which Peter obviously cheerfully ignored. Hell. For all Derek knew, that was where he’d gotten the idea.
Talbot hit the remote again.
“I won’t drag this out. You four are the only people in the world that I care about.” Peter’s face sobered, and all at once, he looked more like Derek’s favorite uncle than he had in years. “As you know, the Hales were quite wealthy. Effective immediately, all Hale holdings, assets, and investments will be turned over in equal amounts to the four of you after a few settlements for some employees.” His smile stretched as he leaned forward to stare into the camera. “With one or two small caveats, of course.”
“Malia. My sister ensured that we would never have the father-daughter relationship that either of us desired. She had her reasons, and while I did not and do not agree with them, I understand her reasoning. The small friendship we have cultivated has-- oh, what am I saying. You’re a terrible bitch, and I adore you for it. You fight me on everything. You are fierce and unapologetic, and I am proud to call you my family.”
Derek smelled the saline scent of tears and heard his cousin swallow. Of course, with Malia, they could be tears of anger instead of sadness. It was a bit of a crapshoot when it came to Peter and her.
“Cora. I know that you’ve wanted nothing but to have the wherewithal to travel the world, photographing that world from your unique vision. I know that we are not close, but that is absolutely my fault. I thank you for being here today and hope that the rest of today’s activities will amuse you.”
Cora cocked her head. She looked indifferent, which made sense. Peter hadn’t really been involved in any part of her life. She preferred it that way, and Peter, surprisingly, had respected her wishes.
On-screen, Peter sat back in the chair and rested his elbows on the arms. He steepled his pointer fingers and smiled. The lighting actually changed to highlight the planes of his face.
He heard Stiles’ scoff at the same time Derek rolled his eyes. Peter looked like a second-rate made-for-TV villain. But the look in his eyes was deadly serious. Derek knew both Cora and Malia could hear each frantic beat of his heart in his chest and shifted a little uncomfortably. He had a terrible feeling that what was about to come out of his uncle’s mouth was going to be a lot less warm and fuzzy than it had been for his sister and his cousin.
“There is one teeny weeny condition, however.”
Derek raised his eyebrows. Under the table, his hand curled into a fist.
“In order for any of you to receive this money, Stiles and Derek will live together for a set period of time.” Peter shrugged one shoulder. “Since Derek can’t leave his--” Peter rolled his eyes. “-- children , Stiles will move into his cabin in Colorado, to assist with whatever feeding and care your. . . spawn. . . require.” He smirked, and Derek felt like this was similar to getting shot; the words were bullets that exploded on contact, purple poison leaching through him, killing him on a cellular level. Stiles and him live together? Alone?? After everything that...? No, Peter couldn't possibly be serious.
Peter waited, enjoying the drama, even from the grave.
Again.
He sat back in his chair and raised an eyebrow.
Derek could feel Stiles staring at him. Even after all these months, his too-wide eyes had the same effect on him, namely, to protect. To fix it.
“I can’t--” Stiles shook his head. “I can’t leave my dad right now.” Stiles turned to Talbot with wide eyes. “He knows I can’t leave my dad for that long!”
Peter continued with impeccable timing. “Stiles, I am certain you are worrying about the good Sheriff. Rest assured, I have made arrangements for a nurse to stay with him during his convalescence. Talbot, pause.”
Derek had a moment to spare in confusion-- the Sheriff had been hurt?- before the realization of just exactly what his Uncle had done clicked.
Talbot fumbled to hit the pause on the video, the sour stink of nerves wafting unpleasantly from his pores. Derek turned to Talbot, his growl a little more than what was completely human. “That money was from our parents . He can’t just---” Cora’s hand clamped onto his wrist, and Derek used the sudden pain from her claws to push down his change.
Talbot straightened his shoulders, attempting to exert some sort of control over the rapidly disintegrating situation. He stacked papers that didn’t need stacking, obviously stalling.
Derek became aware of a tap tap tap and realized Stiles was nervously jiggling his knee.
“Bullshit,” Stiles repeated. His eyes were narrowed as he glared at Peter’s smarmy grin, frozen on the screen. Stiles turned to Talbot. “What caveats? Cuz, no offense, I know Peter Hale pretty fucking well. There is no way. . . no way . . . that is everything.”
Stiles knew Peter ‘pretty fucking well?’ Since when?
“That is correct, Mr. Stillinski. The terms of this Will and Testament; indeed, the entire arrangement are quite specific. If you break the conditions specified in this contract- essentially, leaving the property before the 30 days--” He raised one finger, and for a moment, he looked bizarrely like Derek’s old chemistry teacher, Mr. Harris, “--then the late Mr. Hale has specified that all of his inheritance will be donated to the Calaveras.”
Derek sucked in a sharp breath. He could hear Stiles’ heartbeat increase, and smell how his scent slowly started to sour with nervousness and worry.
“But. . . my dad .”
Derek tried not to react to the small, broken whisper, but it was difficult.
“Ah. As Mr. Hale mentioned, your father will have round-the-clock care from a Mrs.---” Talbot checked his notes, although Derek had the feeling that it was more for a chance to break eye contact with Stiles’ too-wide gaze than because he had forgotten anything. “Mrs. McCall. A family friend, yes? She will also be provided with a generous stipend to move into the Stilinski household. There are notes here to pay off her mortgage and provide her with a grocery budget for the aforementioned month. Mr. Stilinski’s medicines are, of course, compensated for the time of the contract, and his hospital bills paid in full.”
Stiles’ mouth fell open. Derek couldn’t blame him. Peter had orchestrated everything so that Stiles would be able to live with Derek for thirty fucking days. But making him the lynchpin to the surviving Hales receiving their inheritance? It wasn’t in Stiles’ DNA to say no if he saw a way to possibly help. Peter knew that and was clearly exploiting it.
Talbot cleared his throat. “In the unfortunate event of Mr. Stilinski’s condition worsening, Mr. My zeck-- uh. . .” Talbot sounded like someone vomiting a full Scrabble board.
“Mieczysław,” Derek blurted. He pronounced it correctly as Stiles had taught him: Mey-eh-chess-waff , only to immediately duck his head when four pairs of eyes snapped to him. He felt the tips of his ears burn. He swallowed, feeling awkward.
“As I was saying, should Mr. Mee-- uh. Mr. Stilinski needs to leave due to the elder Mr. Stilinski’s medical condition; the terms will be paused until such time as the elder Mr. Stilinski either dies or recovers sufficiently. Now. Are there any questions?”
Derek registered raised voices as everyone talked over themselves in order to be heard but tuned them out. He couldn’t look away from his uncle’s face, frozen as it was on the screen. Derek felt his heartbeat slow. He heard each echo as it thudded in his ears.
Peter knew that Derek had never moved back to Beacon Hills, of course, but until ten minutes ago, Derek had been fairly certain that Peter had never known why. Now though, now it was clear that Peter knew a lot more than he had ever let on. Derek watched, numb, as Stiles and Malia argued. He watched as Cora grew more and more furious. Almost in a daze, Derek leaned over the table and hit the play button on the remote.
“Now. I’m not a monster.” Peter smirked. “I know that this will take a little getting used to. Stiles, you have three days to pack and get everything situated. Tick tock, pup. Don’t be late.” Peter’s grin twisted into a smirk as he leaned forward. “Derek, this is going to be so much fun. I just wish I were alive to see it!”
The screen went blank.