Wednesday morning Stiles woke up in a tangle of sheets with half his body falling from the bed and his fingers scraping the blue carpet. He blinked and rolled down, unraveling his legs all the way.

"Jesus," he wheezed.

The cold brushed along his bare legs, starting with his numb toes and crawling to the hem of his boxer shorts. Stiles glared up at his bed where a shit ton of blankets were twisted and piled against the wall. It always ended up like that. He was a cold person in general and try as he might, he could never get the blankets to stay on.

Slowly, he sat up, mentally shaking the weight of sleep from his muscles. He glanced at his window. The curtains were open and the damp grey fog of morning lay heavy in the air. Also, there was a large black figure sitting just outside, glaring in Stiles' general direction. One slow blink later and he was crawling back into bed, throwing the blankets back over him until he was just a mound of fluff.

"No," he protested, "fugging shits too early for this motherfuggin creepy-ass shit," knowing full well that creepy fucker could hear him loud and clear.

"Stiles!"

"Fuck you and fuck your perfect eyebrows," Stiles groaned into his pillow.

"Stiles this is serious—open the window!"

Stiles curled up and pulled the blankets more tightly around him.

"Jackson is sick now."

His eyes flew open. He halfway decided to jump out of bed but then backtracked. "Douchenozzle deserves it." Derek growled. Stiles grinned and pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress his laughter.

"Open the window, Stiles."

Stiles took a breath. It was probably six—seven a.m. at the most. The guy had a real problem with coming over way too early. Stiles rolled over and peaked through the blankets. Six. It was six in the morning. Derek was still waiting expectantly behind the glass. Mouth twitching at the sight of that grumpy face, Stiles rolled out of bed.

Derek scooted up, eyes darting to the latch. "Yeah that's—"

Stiles zipped the blinds in his face and pull the curtains over. At last. Darkness. He breathed a sigh of relief, which was cut off by the banging. "Yer gonna break my window, asshole. Come back at a decent hour."

"Stiles! I need you to help me figure this out."

"Ask the Argents or Deaton or even Scott. Scott's smarter than he looks," Stiles replied crawling back under the warm covers.

"Stiles!"

"Don't be fooled by his poor GPA!"

There was a loud thump, a string of curses, and then a heavy crash—and more curses. Stiles vaguely wondered if he should check how the hedge broke his fall, but then decided werewolf healing would suffice. With a satisfied smirk, Stiles wrapped himself like a burrito and settled back into the weight of fatigue and sleep. He barely closed his eyes when there was a loud bang downstairs.

"Stiles!" Derek yelled. He trudged up the stairs.

"Aw shit," Stiles muffled into his pillow.

He grabbed the corner of his pillow just as Derek burst through the door, hair out-of-place with twigs and leaves sticking in odd places. He was furious—or at least it seemed that way to Stiles. Blazing red eyes and all. Derek took a second to bear down with his murderous glare and take a few heavy breaths, and it was just the second Stiles needed. He threw his pillow and, taking Derek by surprise, it smacked right into his face.

It flopped down and Derek was stunned. His eyes followed the flurry of blue fabric and just stared. All red gone from his eyes.

"…What?"

Stiles tried not to cringe. "What?"

"What," Derek asked with more conviction, "the hell?"

Stiles felt like scrambling out of there but forced himself to stay put. "Whatthehellwhat? Idon'tevenknowwhatyouaretalkingab out."

They stared at each other for the longest minute in the world.

"You…threw a pillow at me."

"You broke down my front door."

"No I didn't."

"Don't fucking lie."

"I didn't. There was a key under your mat!"

"Then what's with all the noise?"

"…I swung it open a little too hard."

Stiles' eye twitched. "Please tell me there isn't a door knob sized hole in the wall."

"There…isn't."

"Goddammit Derek." Stiles threw the covers off and stomped past Derek into the hall. He barreled down the stairs and flew straight to the open door, which was letting all the warm air out. A chilly breeze hovered around his ankles, and he shuffled anxiously while inspecting the damage one hand on the brass knob. "Goddammit Derek this is why we can't have nice things."

"I…"

Stiles whipped around, hand on his heart. "Jesus H. Christ. Don't sneak up."

"You knew I was there!"

"You need a bell collar."

Derek glared. "No dog jokes."

"I can make whatever jokes I want, asshat! You made a hole in my fucking wall." Stiles kicked the door shut, showing him the massive, crumbly black hole in the wall. He picked a blue painted piece off the ground and waved it in his face. "See this? I have to get paint now and friggin' Spackle. Although, I'm not even sure Spackle can fix this shit. And you are so lucky Dad is working on that murder because goddamn Derek this is not—" a way to impress him or get him to trust you or a very good second/third (?) impression. "—Okay. This is not okay. And you're lucky because we've got time to fix this before he sees it."

Derek gritted his teeth. "It's not my fault. You pissed me off." His eyes flashed red. He was trying to assert whatever feeble sense of authority he had left.

Stiles raised a brow. "You come here at the asscrack of dawn and expect me to just hop up and help you on your adventures because you say so—after a long night of trying to tell my father it was okay to go back to work and that Derek Hale wasn't going to murder me in my sleep—and you get mad at me when I say no? So mad that you blow a fucking hole in my wall trying to break down my door. I thought Jackson was a total tool, but you're like even worse at this point."

Derek had the absolute gall to look offended. He took an involuntary step back, eyes flickering between red and hazel. "Jackson is…"

"Sick? Catatonic like Erica and Boyd?" he demanded.

Derek nodded.

"Yeah, well, what do you expect me to do about it?"

It was rhetorical of course, but Derek lacked the ability to take social cues so he sputtered for a few moments before saying, "I don't know I thought you might come out to the crime scene with me to see if we could find anything."

Stiles glared. "And what about Scott and Isaac? They've got sniffers, too. Better eyesight probably. Take one of them." Or maybe you'd prefer to go by yourself? Why would you want a spastic teen anyway?

"Scott won't answer my calls. Isaac… I don't know. He's probably with him. I just need a second pair of eyes."

"And why this early?"

"The police finally left."

"And you couldn't wait?"

"I don't know when they'll come back."

Stiles continued to glare, but most of his anger was dissipated at this point. Derek just sort of stood there looking half-afraid of what was going to happen. After a moment, Stiles let out a puff of air. "Bacon." He glanced down. "And maybe some pants."

Derek followed his gaze. "Right." His face looked a little pink. Maybe it was the dispersing anger.

"And my dad shouldn't be back till dinner. So after we sneak into the crime scene we're going to the hardware store and you're going to buy some spackle and paint and then you're going to fix my wall. Got that?"

Derek nodded. "Fine."

"Good dog."

Derek growled.

Stiles winked and flew past Derek and into the kitchen. Half an hour later they were flying down an empty street, straight through the green lights and onto the road just at the edge of town to the Hale house.

"Seriously? This is the music you listen to?" Stiles shifted in the leather seat and shuffled through Derek's Ipod.

"…Yes."

Stiles raised his eyebrows as he scrolled through the endless house music with a few indie rock songs and bands dotted in between. "I don't know, man, I thought you were more like an 80's rock guy. Journey, Creedence Clearwater Revival, AC/DC. Maybe even some Beatles. But now that I see this, it all makes sense."

"I don't understand."

"Car, leather jackets, tight jeans that are super ass-entuating—you probably fit in at all the raves. And now I'm fairly certain you were probably a party animal back in New York. Come on, fess up, you could dance your way along a bar or two."

Derek's face flushed a light shade of pink. "No."

"Liar."

Derek glanced at his in the corner of his eyes. "I'm not."

Stiles grinned. "You're such a liar. I bet you went to all the clubs, got fucking wasted, and went home with all kinds of strangers. Maybe even…blowsies in the parking lot." Stiles wagged his eyebrows. He was probably going to regret this conversation later, but right now it was too much fun watching Derek squirm in his seat.

Derek swallowed and coughed. "No. We didn't go to any clubs." They bumped onto the dirt path of the forest. A few more minutes and they'd be at the Hale house.

"Oh so just blowsies in the parking lots then? Couldn't even make it in the club without having some dude or chick—whatever you're in to—throwing themselves at your feet and just—"

Derek nearly swerved off the path.

"Jesus, Derek!"

"Can we not talk about blow jobs when we're about to go to a crime scene?"

Stiles' face cracked into a loud laugh. "I was just teasing oh my God."

Derek glanced nervously at Stiles. They stopped in front of the house, and he killed the engine.

"You totally deserve it," Stiles said as he got out.

Derek followed after him, a dark look in his eyes. They started trudging across the crackling, frosty leaves to the back of the house.

"But seriously, did you get blowsies in the parking lot?"

"Stiles."

Stiles waved his arms. "What? I'm not allowed to ask? Come on, just tell me."

"Why do you want to know?"

"I don't know. I just find it hard to believe that all that is or has been going to waste because you refuse to put something resembling a smile on your face."

Derek stopped Stiles by the shoulder. "Once."

"What?" he asked turning around.

"Once. I was given a blow job in a parking lot once."

Stiles' mouth went dry and he was pretty sure his jaw was hanging around his ankles. Derek looked a little like he was going to combust the way his neck was flaming red. He let go and practically ran ahead of Stiles. It took Stiles a second to absorb what he just said before he shook himself and trotted after, the mental image sticking to the front of his brain.

"So—was it like a random hook-up or did you know the person?"

"Stiles."

"Just answer the question."

Derek sighed. "Random."

"Did you at least know their name?"

"Can we not talk about my sex life?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's personal."

"So?"

Derek rubbed a hand down his face, eyes glaring into the misty trees. "Yes, okay, I knew their name. I met them at a bar, got drunk, and then it just happened."

"And this happened in New York?"

"Yes."

"And did you ever talk to them after that?"

"No."

"So you're like a hook-up guy then? Prefer to keep your options open…?"

Derek growled. "It was just a one-time thing. I'd never done anything like that before."

"Okay but tell me that you at least dated. Flirted. Something."

Derek rolled his eyes. "No, not that I remember."

Stiles groaned. "You wasted all that. For years. Oh my God."

"What does it matter to you?"

"I just… I'm going to regret saying this but… I swear if I looked half as hot as you I wouldn't be sitting around moping, I'd be getting some action. Lots of action—in lots of different positions."

Derek snorted. "I'm not like that, okay. I…had one relationship in my life and it didn't turn out very well. I'd rather not get involved with anyone."

Stiles glanced behind him at the house that was barely visible through the mist and trees. "What if you liked someone, though?"

Derek eyed Stiles for what seemed like forever as they waded through the fallen leaves. "I don't usually like people right away."

"Okay then what if you met a person, didn't like them, got to know them, realized how awesome they were, and then realized you liked them? What then?"

Derek shrugged. "It'd be better if I didn't get involved. I'm not exactly safe. Can we talk about something else? Or maybe just not talk at all, that'd be great."

Stiles tried not to grin. "Big bad wolf scared by feelings conversation. Right. Gotta talk about manly things. Crime scenes! Sick wolves! Blood! Dead bodies! Yeah I'm feeling sufficiently manly now. I can feel the testosterone pulsing through my veins." He wiggled his arms and began dancing around Derek.

"Stop that."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"You're so weird."

"Maybe you'll think twice about waking me up this early because I can only get weirder."

Next thing he knew he was being pushed behind the nearest tree with a hand over his mouth. Derek put a finger to his lips. At Stiles' confused look Derek nudged his head to something beyond the tree.

"Something there," he mouthed.