Derek shuffled into the kitchen, dropping his keys on the island as he walked around the thing. In the privacy of his own home, all alone for the first time in forever, he didn't bother to try and hide the fact that he was in pain, his arm lying nearly limp at his side.

He moved slowly to the fridge, opening it and peering inside. He'd known what he was going to find, but was disappointed nonetheless. Since neither he nor Peter had made it to the grocery store, he wasn't shocked by its state. But it didn't really help matters, either. Derek was still starving, and healing on an empty stomach made it all suck so much worse.

He sighed, resigned to the fact that he was going to be forced to head back out and face the world on basically no sleep and the absence of anything resembling patience. But he jumped out of his skin as the sound of Stiles' Jeep roaring into his driveway interrupted his pouting.

He grumbled to himself as he waited for them to join him, and when they did make it into the kitchen, both of them stopped in their tracks. To Derek's surprise, Stiles simply blew out a harsh breath and walked toward him like he couldn't be happier to see him.

"Derek, you're here!" Scott exclaimed, wrinkling his nose as he started toward him too. "You smell funny."

Stiles smacked his best friend in the chest, though Derek knew he probably hadn't felt a thing.

"Dude," Stiles muttered.

"What?"

"You are so fucking rude sometimes," Stiles insisted. "Clearly he's been through something over there. I mean... look at him."

Stiles motioned to his whole body, and Derek looked down, confused as to what he could be referring to until he finally noticed his own general state of undress, complete with shredded shirt and muddied jeans.

"What happened, man?"

Derek sighed heavily, a common reaction he'd noticed around these two. "Shouldn't you guys be in school?"

"Well, you weren't there for two days in a row," Scott explained, "and I tried to call Peter, but he didn't answer either, so we got worried."

"I was worried," Stiles corrected, letting out a derisive snort.

And in that simple statement, Derek knew that was his way of saying that his best friend had, once again, been so wrapped up in his own problems that he couldn't be bothered to care about anyone else. And Derek smiled, never knowing quite what to make of the fact that it was Stiles, of all people, who could elicit such a response.

"There's no need to worry," Derek insisted. "I just got shot."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, hanging in the air, he knew he'd made a mistake, and when he looked up to see Stiles' wide eyes, he could tell he probably should've kept that particular piece of information to himself.

At least for a few more minutes.

"Those two phrases do not belong together, Derek," Stiles objected sternly. "Who shot you?"

"Werewolf hunters," Derek continued, seemingly unable to stop himself from blurting out everything when Stiles asked him directly. "You two need to be more careful. Obviously, Scott's a werewolf and that's bad, but you're always with him, Stiles, and a silver bullet is still a bullet."

As Derek went to open his mouth again and give more detailed instructions, his stomach growled loudly.

"When's the last time you ate?" Stiles questioned with an eye roll.

"Deaton gave me energy bars at the clinic," Derek muttered, feeling like he was being chastised. "But they kinda tasted like cardboard."

"Wait... who?" Scott nearly shouted, blinking rapidly in surprise. "Did you say..."

"Oh, right. You don't know. Ugh, Deaton is a Druid. He's been our Emissary for a real long time. His family has always done it for mine. Anyway, I'll explain later. Right now, all you need to know is that he knows about us. He's, like, uh, a supernatural vet, for lack of a better term. He was the one who got the bullet out and everything."

"When did this happen?" Stiles piped up again, his eyes narrowed to slits.

Suddenly, the white-hot shame that washed through him felt suffocating. He didn't like the idea of disappointing Stiles. But when he went to offer an apology, and what he hoped would be a satisfactory explanation, his stomach growled again.

"Ugh. Whatever," Stiles returned. "We're feeding your wolfy butt first. We can talk later. How about pizza?" he suggested. "We can catch them before the lunch rush and it shouldn't take too long."

Derek nodded quickly. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Without thinking, he grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket and held it out for Stiles to take. But he just stared at it with a grimace.

"Stiles, don't make that face," Derek commanded. "I'm loaded, remember? I can afford a pizza. It's fine."

Stiles shook his head and swallowed hard. "It's not that, man. It's, uh... there's some, umm..."

He gestured toward Derek's wallet and he finally glanced down to see a large blood spot in the corner where he'd need to grab. Derek shook his head at himself, it hitting him that he didn't respond at all normally to situations that he and Peter often found themselves in as of late.

Derek reached inside and took stock of the cash, making sure none of it had his blood on it too, happy to find most of it clean.

"Sorry," he mumbled, handing it to Stiles. "That should be enough. Get some for Peter too, though. I'm not sure when he's coming home or anything, but he can always heat it back up."

Stiles nodded, but didn't respond audibly again. And the silence, Derek found, wasn't nearly as enjoyable as he'd assumed it would be around Stiles. He'd clearly gotten used to him offering up unsolicited advice and bits of wisdom, and with his eyebrows furrowed like that, especially knowing it was probably his own doing, Derek found he wanted to smooth out the worry lines and remind him everything was okay.

"Topping requests?" Stiles called over his shoulder as he tapped away on his phone screen from the living room. "I don't want to hear any complaining if no one speaks up."

"Just no veggies, please," Scott answered.

"Veggies are good for you," Stiles teased. "They help you grow big and strong."

Derek chuckled as he moved around the island, not wanting to shout. "Margherita for me."

"A man after my own heart," Stiles replied with a wink. "What about Peter?"

Derek scoffed and shivered as he remembered the smell that always accompanied Peter's choice of pizza topping. "He'll want that weird one with the anchovies."

"Ew."

"Exactly, Stiles," Derek declared. "It's not going to be as bad for you as it will be for me and Scott, though."

"True, true."

A few more seconds of silence and Stiles rejoined them both in the kitchen as Derek traced invisible patterns on the tile.

"Should be here in thirty minutes. Think you'll survive that long, dude?"

Derek snickered, nodding to him. He wasn't sure what it was, but he didn't like it when Stiles called him dude. Like he was wanting to call Derek something else and forever holding back. It felt as if Stiles was keeping something from him, and since he knew all of Derek's secrets, it wasn't a feeling that he enjoyed.

Exposed. That's how he felt. Derek was exposed, laying everything bare for everyone else while Stiles got to hold onto something that was just his, locked up for safekeeping in his own mind. Though he had serious doubts that no matter what it was that Scott didn't know too.

Derek stood up suddenly, attempting to shake that train of thought loose before he went too far off the rails. His lack of sleep was really messing with his ability to keep himself focused, it seemed.

"Let me change my clothes," he announced, "then we can talk."

He didn't give either of them a chance to respond, but he could hear Stiles murmuring to himself as he walked off. "I mean... you don't have to change, if you don't want to," he commented. "You could just... take it off."

Derek stood stockstill in the hallway from where he'd been heading to his room, and hung his head as he put both his hands on his hips and chuckled to himself. "You remember I have super hearing, right?" Derek yelled back at them.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Totally," Stiles replied. "Yep."

"Smooth, dude," Scott retorted with a chuckle of his own. "Real smooth."

"Shut up," Stiles whined.

A grin on his face, once again thanks to Stiles, Derek opened his door and rifled around for a shirt that wasn't caked with blood, sweat, and dirt.