They weren't friends, exactly, but Stiles considered Derek to be somewhat of an acquaintance plus. Allies definitely: over the past two years they had worked together too many times to be anything but a team. They tolerated each other with an easy, bickering shorthand that annoyed their fellow pack members but made sense to them. Derek drove Stiles crazy, and vice versa, but hey, their relationship worked. So, yeah, friends was too strong a word. They spent a normal amount of time together - researching, training, watching movies, going to dinner - okay, maybe they were friends. Maybe Stiles occasionally had impure thoughts about the prickly werewolf, too, but that was the extent of it.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to date humans," Derek told him one evening, apropos of absolutely nothing. Here they were, sharing a perfectly nice, perfectly non-supernatural-emergency-tinged dinner, and Derek drops that brilliant bombshell. Stiles tried (and failed) not to choke on his milkshake before answering him.

"What?" He managed, eyes tearing up as he forced down chocolate peanut butter goodness. "What are you talking about?" They were discussing the new Avengers movie, for the love of God.

"It's not safe," Derek said. He looked down at his burger instead of Stiles, perhaps shamed by the ridiculousness of the statement.

"I'm human, bozo," Stiles reminded him.

"Exactly!" Derek said, as though Stiles has seen the light. "You're human and a complete disaster. Stiles, you got kidnapped four times last year."

"One of those times was you!" Stiles protested, waving a fry for emphasis. "You kidnapped me!"

"That wasn't a kidnapping," Derek said for the twentieth time, as if it made it any truer. "That was a lesson in self-defense and increasing awareness of your surroundings. Which you failed, of course."

"Derek, you knocked me out with chloroform and locked me in your haunted mansion's catacombs for four hours." What the hell.

"I left you a bottle of water, and if I'd been a hunter or a rival werewolf, or some other kind of creature, you'd be dead. Lesson learned."

"Okay, we've had this argument too many times for me to revisit this right now. I get it, you are Mad-Eye Moody, constant vigilance. What does any of it have to do with me dating?" Stiles asked.

"You're getting well known in the local supernatural community," Derek said.

"Local supernatural community, oh my God, that sounds so stupid," Stiles interrupted.

"Your dad's not a target because he knows what's going on now," Derek went on, frowning at him. "He can protect himself and he knows how to be careful, but some random layperson could be used against you, Stiles. It's just not safe. You don't see me casually hooking up for that very reason." Derek sat back in his seat across from Stiles, arms crossed and with his "I Mean Business" face on. Stiles had way too much experience ignoring that face to be intimidated by it now. Honestly, it was almost adorable, how Derek still thought he could scare Stiles.

"I can't see you 'casually hooking up' for any reason," Stiles said, crossing his own arms in a mirror of Derek's stance. "You don't like feelings or joy. Or people."

"Look what happened to the last woman I dated, Stiles," Derek said, gritting his teeth. "She was used as Alpha bait! Before that, I was seeing a guy in New York who had himself committed to a mental institution when I shifted to save us from a mugger. Kate Argent is another shining example of what happens when werewolves date humans."

"Okay, you have rotten luck, I'll grant you that," Stiles said, sighing a little. Derek always won the Woe is Me Award, bless his tragic little heart. It was hard to stay mad at him when Stiles thought of the shitstorm the poor guy had lived through for eight years. Things were better now, but they weren't perfect. "I really don't think that has anything to do with me, though. Again, not a werewolf."

"Just think about it, Stiles. Do you want to be the reason some poor girl is creature chow, or some sad sack ends up in Arkham Asylum? He had himself committed."

"Don't use Batman references to try to disarm me, Derek. It's always the worst case scenario with you," Stiles sighed, figuring it was safe to attempt another sip of his shake. "I could be heading out the door for tacos and you would intercept them, brooding about poison. It's exhausting. I am really intrigued by your continued use of the word 'creature,' though. Is that your new word? Seems a bit speciest, coming from a werewolf."

Derek merely continued to scowl at him, eliciting another dramatic sigh from Stiles. "Look, I understand what you're saying, but I also think you're being melodramatic. What's your solution for me? Monkhood?" It wasn't like Stiles had some sort of bumping social life anyway; he'd only dated one girl, and it hadn't ended amazingly or anything. He'd made out with a couple of guys at Jungle, too, but nothing for awhile. He'd thought eighteen might be a turning point, for vague Derek-related reasons, but nothing had happened and he didn't appreciate Derek's attempt to boss him while simultaneously showing zero romantic interest in him.

"No, Stiles," Derek said in the infuriating voice he always used when he thought Stiles was being especially dense. Like Stiles was the stupid one here.

"What, then?" Stiles asked. "What about someone who knows the score? Would that be acceptable, oh Alpha, my Alpha?"

"Lydia's not interested."

"Well, thanks for the update, dickwad," Stiles said angrily. "I have actually gotten that memo. Jerk."

"Sorry," Derek said, sounding anything but. "I don't think you have a chance with Danny, either."

It was lucky Stiles wasn't in the middle of another drink or bite of his dinner, because he definitely would have choked to death on that one. "Okay, I am not interested in Danny and you are seriously pissing me off right now."

"Stiles-"

"Nope. You are not my boss or my keeper and my love life, or painful lack thereof, is none of your damn business." Another emphatic bite of fry.

"I'm just trying to keep people safe," Derek said.

"No, you are trying to control the last little bit of my life that doesn't concern you," Stiles said, still annoyed. He refused to be moved by the sincere look on Derek's face. "I can date who I want. I can date Peter for all it affects you."

"Stiles," Derek began, a look of horror on his face.

"I don't want to date Peter," he said quickly, his own disgust making him gag. "That was just a very gross, very inappropriate example."

"Good," Derek said, brow slightly unfurrowing. "You don't want to give him any ideas."

"I really don't," Stiles agreed. "The point remains the same. I can date who I want, Derek. Human, werewolf, creature or otherwise. You can't stop me."

X X X X

Derek should forbid him from dating more often, because three days after his ridiculous proclamation, Stiles got himself a date. Shelby Lamb was on the girls' cross country team, and she had thick, dark blonde hair, gray eyes and freckles and was as cute as the proverbial bug in a rug. She approached him after practice and asked him to dinner and a movie; she blushed through the whole conversation but seemed reasonably confident. Stiles stammered a yes, no doubt just as red as she was. He'd definitely noticed her before; she actually enjoyed running and the few conversations they'd shared had been fun and jokey and just the tiniest bit flirty.

"Vegetarian and a horror movie," Shelby said appreciatively as she sat down across from him. "You did your homework. Not too bad, considering I thought I would have to wine and dine you. I had a whole superhero theme worked out."

"Save it for next time," Stiles grinned at her. The date was going swimmingly, in his humble opinion, so he was pretty sure there would be a next time. "Besides, I didn't have to dig too deep. I saw you willingly eat tofu and overheard your thirty minute lecture on the superiority of Michael Myers over Leatherface."

"Leatherface needs to sweep up the chicken bones, it's disgusting," Shelby said, nodding. "I also feel Buffalo Bill should drain his murder tub and clean the fingernails out of the well. Being a killer shouldn't automatically make you a slob."

"I agree," Stiles said seriously. "You'd never catch Hannibal Lector leaving livers lying around."

"Absolutely my point," she said with a big smile. "This douchebag we just watched is another case in point. If you're going to kill people with a violin bow, you don't leave your bloody sheet music stuffed in the closet for any scantily clad undergrad to find. Its just sloppy."

Stiles wondered idly what she would think of the mess werewolves, kanimas and disgusting freaking toadmen left behind, but he was too charmed to let the "local supernatural community" infringe too deeply on his thoughts.

"This place is my favorite," Shelby said after they had spent another fifteen minutes discussing the terrible remakes of A Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th and were digging into their eggplant and artichoke quesadillas. "Its sometimes hard to find vegetarian food besides french fries and pizza in Beacon Hills."

"I drag my dad here a lot," Stiles said. "He grumbles, but if he plays nice I let him have frozen yogurt for dessert."

Shelby laughed. "Do you let him watch the big boy channels when he gets home, too?"

"Only on Fridays."

She laughed again and leaned over the table, reaching her hand out to -

"Is that Derek Hale?" she asked instead, sitting back in her chair and quickly moving her hand away from him.

Stiles groaned and turned around. Sure enough, there was Derek, glaring at them from a few tables away.

"Speaking of serial killers," she muttered in a voice she probably didn't think Stiles could hear. Judging from the way Derek's expression shuttered even more, he had definitely heard it, too. In a normal voice, she asked, "You guys are friends, right? I've seen you together."

"Sort of," Stiles admitted.

"He looks pissed," Shelby observed, as if it was a news flash. "Everything alright?"

"Derek's a bit socially awkward," Stiles replied. "That's his way of saying hi. Hold on for a minute."

"What the hell?" he seethed under his breath, stalking over to Derek's table. "Did you follow us here?"

"Yes," Derek answered as if that was totally acceptable behavior. "I sat through that stupid fucking movie, too. Your date has terrible taste, and once again, zero awareness of your surroundings! How did you not see me before now?"

"Oh my God, you creep!" Stiles bit out, slamming himself down in the chair across from Derek. "You cannot do that!"

"It's for your own good," Derek went on obnoxiously. Seriously, he needed new friends, Derek was a psycho.

"Fuck off, Derek!" Stiles pushed himself back away from the table and returned to Shelby; he slid into his chair, an apologetic smile on his face.

"I'm really sorry about that, Derek is -"

"I told my friend Jess we were going out tonight, and she was really surprised," Shelby said. "She told me you had a hot, scary older boyfriend and I must have misinterpreted your acceptance. That you must have thought I wanted to hang out as friends. I told her it was definitely a date." She looked sadly at Stiles.

"Shelby-"

"Ex-boyfriend, maybe?" Shelby relented. "You didn't look that pleased to see him. It shouldn't be too hard to get a restraining order, your dad being sheriff and all."

"That's not necessary," Stiles said quickly. "We're not dating, Shelby, Derek and I are definitely not dating. He's just -"

She waved her hand. "He followed you, Stiles. On your date. He's glaring at me now, and he's not being all that subtle about it."

"Exactly!" Stiles said. "If he were trying to be more sneaky about it, it would be a problem. It's really, really not what you think."

"Whatever," she said. "I don't think I'm up for the froyo now. I'm kind of tired."

"Shelby-"

"I'm going to call Jess, have her pick me up." She stood up, pushing her hair behind her ear and surveying him sadly. "I'll see you at practice Monday, Stiles."

"Shelby, wait -"

"Bye, Stiles."

He watched her walk out of the cafe, giving Derek a wide berth when she was forced to pass his table. For his part, Derek looked more smug and punchable than Stiles had ever seen him, and that was pretty damn impressive.

"You're a dick," he said as he carried his food back over to Derek's table and flopped down in the chair. "I liked her."

"It's for the best, Stiles."

Yeah, he was definitely getting punched.