"My house, my rules," Stiles told Derek that same Tuesday night. Derek had some pack business to attend to—checking on his wolves, which Stiles opted out of due to high levels of creepiness involved—but then he returned later to mooch from his fridge and get his furry werewolf germs all over Stiles' bed. He was all sprawled out like he had a right to now that Stiles basically gave him the green light to come over whenever. The bastard was worse than a kitten.

Derek just raised a brow, challenging the rules before he even knew what the rules were. Stiles narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his desk chair. Yeah, he didn't know what all the rules were yet, but that wasn't going to stop him from making shit up as he goes.

"First, no maiming, murder, threatening, or threatening adjacent acts, which also includes throwing Stiles against walls or other hard surfaces. I've got fucking tender-ass skin—don't laugh you asshole—and it's also susceptible to very ugly bruising—seriously you could at least pretend not to shake your shoulders." Derek was just sitting there snorting and chest heaving with his contained silent laughter. Stiles huffed and ruffled a hand through his hair, which had grown out at least an inch from his lack of discipline. "Second, if my dad shows up you either gotta haul ass or hide in the closet. Third, clean up after yourself. I'm not hosting cavemen and I'm not your housekeeper. You wanna sandwich? Go downstairs and make it yourself. Fourth, don't you fucking dare stumble through this window bleeding to death from a wolfsbane bullet and ask me to saw off your arm. In fact, don't get shot. And if you do—and it's not a wolfsbane bullet—call first."

"And what if it is a wolfsbane bullet?"

"Call first so I can lock my window."

Derek raised his eyebrows.

"Damn straight," Stiles said, reading the expression immediately, "I totally would."

Derek eyed him for a few seconds before nodding really slowly with narrowed eyes. "Any more rules?" Derek asked just as slow.

"Yeah, Stiles reserves the right to add rules as things come up and/or change existing rules. Like, if I find out you roll in dirt while running through the forest like the Neanderthal you are, then I will require you to shower before arriving at chez Stiles."

"And Stiles refers to himself in the third person?"

"Stiles doesn't know what you are talking about." Stiles swiveled around and clicked the Internet browser at the bottom of his Macbook.

Derek sat up and scooted to the end of the bed. He propped his chin over his arm on the end of the desk and watched as Stiles clicked onto an unfamiliar blue site. Stiles glanced warily at Derek as the first posts loaded up. Scrolling with someone over his shoulder was like playing Internet Russian Roulette—the bullet being porn.

"What?"

Derek shrugged.

Stiles opened another tab to Google and then opened his word processer.

"I thought you had some sort of project?"

Stiles glanced at the upper right corner of his screen. "I do. I worked on it a few hours ago before it got too dark." He hit the dashboard button. "Rain tomorrow."

"Then what are you doing now?"

Stiles glared at Derek who had an unnaturally innocent look in his hazel eyes. It took Stiles a second to realize that Derek was bored and wanted Stiles to entertain him. The bastard. But then he cleared his expression, realizing the utter power of the situation. Oh yes, Stiles could entertain Derek.

"Hey, Derek," Stiles said with a seriously creepy smile, leaning forward a bit too close for comfort.

Derek's brows twitched. "What?" he asked, not exactly flinching from Stiles' sudden weirdness.

"What was the last…" Stiles murmured, closing in on Derek, and Stiles could swear for a second there was a brief moment of panic in his eyes. "…Movies you saw?" he finished quickly with a smirk.

Derek jerked away. "What?"

"Movies, Derek. What was the last actual modern movie you saw? You don't seem like the type to frequent movie theatres. So what was the last one?"

Derek blanched. "I go to movies…sometimes."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "But not lately?"

Derek pursed his lips. "…No…not lately."

"Too busy puppy-sitting?"

Derek gave him a look. "I guess," he gritted out.

"And on the run?"

Derek glared. "Maybe."

"And being suspected of murder?"

Derek growled.

Stiles flashed a smile. "That's what I thought. Go on, last movie you saw."

Derek didn't stop his glare, but he thought back. "…The Dark Knight. I think."

"Wow. You have missed a lot. Have you at least seen Iron Man? That came out around the same time, I think."

Derek shook his head.

Stiles sighed. "Well I guess we have a lot to catch up on. Wait—please tell me you've seen Captain America? No. Hm. Well. Disappointing to put it mildly."

Derek huffed and glanced at the wall behind Stiles, glaring at the huge Captain America poster. "Laura and I didn't usually have the time to go see movies. We were mostly busy doing more important things." He didn't glance at Stiles, he just glared at the poster.

Stiles hesitated. Did Derek really just bring up his dead sister? Slowly, he nodded, keeping his eyes steady on Derek. The guy didn't let on very much, there was a careful solidarity to the way Derek was staring at the poster—a solidarity that was simultaneously already built and being built as he spoke. But Stiles felt deep in his gut that this admission was just a small sample of what was really eating at Derek. Maybe it was the slight twitch in his neck or the irregular tapping of his fingertips on Stiles' desk that pointed to this. Or maybe it was the solidarity itself that Stiles recognized as though seeing an old friend. Because he did in fact know this solidarity. It came up whenever his mother was brought up in conversation, whenever he saw extended family, whenever his father drifted into that quiet state of reflection after three glasses too many of scotch, or whenever Stiles accidently let his eyes linger on that photo in the hall that neither he nor his father had the heart to take down.

And as Stiles had this realization, he quickly switched gears. "Well you gonna learn today, bro."

Derek, startled, straightened and gave Stiles his most confused look. "What?"

Stiles was already typing away. In a few moments he had linkage to a not-so-honest viewing of Iron Man and was waving at Derek to scoot. "My house my rules," he shot. "Now move your ass—thank." Stiles settled in next to Derek, squishing their shoulders because there wasn't that much space, and pulled his laptop between them. Derek grimaced next to him, but didn't say anything.

"First, you're gonna see this movie—and then we'll watch the second one and then we'll watch—is that your phone?"

Derek muttered something, and awkwardly pried his phone from his pocket. "It's Isaac…" Derek shuffled off the bed. "What?" He was silent, brows pulled together over his eyes in concentration. Slowly, his face turned dark. "We'll be right there." He hung up. "Cops found another body by the river."

Stiles pushed his laptop to his side. "Same as the other dude?"

Derek nodded.

"Two is still a coincidence," Stiles said.

Derek raised a brow.

Stiles bit his lip. "I'm still not going with you. It's a crime scene. My dad—"

"I seem to recall a very specific incident where that didn't stop you."

His breath hitched in his throat as Derek stared at him, a faint taunting look in his hazel eyes. Stiles swallowed and tapped his fingers against his jeans nervously. "Well it's…stopping me now."

"Is it?"

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop…giving me that look!"

"This is my face."

"And it's giving me a look. Goddammit. I can't go out there and you know it."

Derek nodded really slowly, like he wasn't buying a word from that boy's mouth. "Are you scared of a dead person?"

"Oh fuck you," Stiles sniped. He shuffled down and started pulling on his Converse.

Derek flashed a smirk. "So you're coming?"

"Yes—shit." Stiles glared at Derek. "I totally walked in to that one." Stiles shook his head at Derek's silent laughter. "Just so we're clear, I'm only going because you already told Isaac that you were bringing someone else."

"And we can't disappoint Isaac."

"I'm also just going to stay in the car. I'm not convinced this is something supernatural." Stiles tightened his laces and stood up. "And even if it were, I wouldn't be getting involved. Like how I'm not involved right now."

Derek nodded again.

Stiles raised a brow and looked Derek in the eyes. "You hear me? Stiles is not involved. Under no circumstances will my delicate—yet toned—body be involved."

Derek snorted.

"Just along for the ride. Not. Involved," Stiles said as they exited through the front door. "I hope it's perfectly clear—"

"That you are not involved, yes."

Stiles was automatically swerving to his jeep but Derek grabbed his arm and pulled him to the sidewalk where Derek's black Camaro was located a few houses down. It took a few tries but Stiles finally pried his arm from Derek's viper grip. He rubbed on the spot with a tight grimace.

"At least buy me dinner before you manhandle me," he said because he had absolutely no shamelessness at this point. Or maybe he did because he could feel heat rising on his neck. Was that too obvious? Why am I worried about being obvious? There's nothing to be obvious about. Obviously.

Derek just rolled his eyes. "You like it."

"No, you like it," Stiles said before he even process what just happened.

They stopped in front of his car. Derek let a slow grin crawl on his face. "Maybe." And before Stiles could react, Derek opened the passenger door and shoved Stiles inside. "Not your house anymore."

"You asshole."

Derek slid in. "You're too easy, Stiles."

"Am not."

He started the engine and pulled away from the sidewalk. "What are you, five?"

"12.9 actually."

Derek snorted. "That explains a lot."

"You know one of these days Derek I'm gonna give you a taste of your own medicine."

Derek glanced at him as he sped down the street, turning right sharply.

"You could get a speeding ticket, Derek."

"I don't think the cops are looking for traffic violators right now. And how exactly are you going to give me a taste of my own medicine?"

"I don't know… But one day, Derek, one day you will know my pain." Stiles made a dramatic look and Derek just snorted again.

"I'm going to make a pass through the woods here—then we'll go around so the police don't see us," Derek said after they'd settled back and drove for a few more streets until they'd reached the road on the edge of the woods.

Stiles glanced at the time. "When did Isaac say they discovered the body?"

"He didn't. Isaac just said that he and Scott were driving back from some place and saw a line of cop cars and an ambulance heading for the forest. Isaac said it looked like they were heading for the river, since the road they were taking goes that way, so they followed and well…"

Stiles nodded.

They turned onto another road and started bumping through the dirt. It took Stiles several seconds to realize they were going toward the Hale house—and several more seconds to remember that the Hale house was just uphill of the river.

Derek pulled up and killed the engine. They weren't alone.