Derek looked up as Peter entered the kitchen, the sun rising steadily filling the room through the window over the sink. And after some rest and a shower, he could tell they both appeared much more human.

Or as human as two werewolves could appear.

"I made coffee," Derek announced softly, holding up his mug.

Peter groaned happily in return. "Bless you, nephew," he teased.

Derek rolled his eyes and Peter winked, giving a low chuckle, as he shuffled toward the coffee maker. He gathered the sugar and pulled the creamer from the fridge, triggering a deep sigh from Derek. He'd explained to his uncle he didn't need both, but like most things they disagreed on, which wasn't a lot thankfully, they just ignored the opposing side as long as it didn't hurt anyone.

"Oven's heating up if you want some pizza," Derek offered in an attempt to distract himself. "Takes a little longer, but it gets pretty crispy."

"Yes, and I love that you think that somehow makes it less weird that you're eating pizza for breakfast," Peter scolded jokingly.

"Whatever," Derek grunted.

With his back to Derek, Peter went about making his coffee, and he found his palms were getting sweaty just thinking about the conversation he would need to have with his uncle next. The one he'd been overthinking since last night after Stiles and Scott had gone home. Sure, yesterday had been wildly unpleasant, but today wasn't shaping up to be much better in that regard.

When he came to sit down across from Derek finally, moving his barstool until their knees were touching because half of the tile had been demolished, he took note of the loaded silence between them. He could tell that Derek wanted to talk, but as was their custom, Peter didn't push him to discuss a single thing before he was ready.

Derek sighed deeply again. "Listen, I'm sorry about Scott, okay?" he blurted out. "How'd it go after you, uh... went after him?"

"He's all right for now," Peter assured him. "He seemed to get that he can't prioritize his relationship with Allison over everything else by the time we were done talking." Derek nodded but Peter continued, not waiting for him to inject another word. "But I do think you need to understand that he can't give up everything for the pack either. Not yet, at least," he tacked on. "He might want to one day, but that's up to him. Not us."

"I think a little focus would do him some good, though," Derek insisted.

"Yeah, I'm with you. But you do know he's a teenager, right?" Peter quipped. "Do you remember being a teenager? Not exactly the smartest bunch."

Derek smirked, an eyebrow raised high. "Nope. Childhood, then adulthood. I have no memory of that teenage place."

Peter snorted. "Lucky you, asshole. Because I sure as shit remember you as a teenager. And you, sir, were a fucking butthole."

"Didn't you once tell me all teenagers were buttholes?" Derek wondered out loud, remembering a specific talk they'd had after he'd revealed he wanted to work at the high school. "And don't say butthole. We're both adults now. Say assholes."

"Butthole drives my point home more precisely because I could say something more traditional, like asshole, and I'm obviously choosing a different direction," Peter countered. "Butthole, Derek. Super. Mega. Butthole." Derek pursed his lips and took another sip of his coffee, struggling not to roll his eyes again. "My point is that teenagers are rebellious. If we tell Scott he can't see Allison, he'll just do it anyway, except it'll be behind our backs and then we won't be able to protect him."

"I guess," Derek admitted begrudgingly, hating it when Peter used logic and reason to tear apart all his well-crafted arguments. "But Stiles doesn't act that way."

"Stiles is different, Derek. He lost his mother. He was forced to grow up. If we're going by sheer maturity, he's probably older than you."

And even without Peter actually saying it out loud, Derek knew they were both instantly transported back to the dreaded situation that meant he knew exactly how Stiles felt most of the time. And to how he'd acted when he'd dated Kate Argent. Because clearly his mutinous nature had overridden any mature rationale that might have come on as a result like it had for Stiles, resulting in the pain and hurt they'd both suffered.

"Your benevolence is inspired, Derek," Peter retorted sarcastically. "I get where you're coming from, though, but we have to break him in carefully." Derek nodded curtly, much like he had last night before he'd run off to the grocery store. "I already set up a time with him and Stiles to go over the politics and stuff. The things they were asking about."

"Fine," Derek relented.

Peter watched him carefully for a few seconds before he stood and put several pieces of pizza in the oven, and Derek found the nervousness had settled back into the pit of his stomach.

This time for an entirely new reason. And when Peter sat back down next to him he realized no amount of time was going to make him fully prepared for the question he had to ask his uncle next.

He just had to do it. Get it over with and, hopefully, move on.

"Since we're just getting all the hard shit out of the way, I have something to ask," Derek confessed, unable to meet Peter's eyes.

But as he reached into his pocket, retrieving the rabbit's foot, he found he could look back up. It just took forever. Far too long for Peter not to realize something ominous was brewing under Derek's otherwise composed tone.

As he put it on the island between them, Peter just tilted his head curiously as he stared at it, picking it up and rubbing it between his forefinger and his thumb. Like he'd done a million times over the years when the thing had been his.

"It's, uh, why Gerard came to see me yesterday before I left the vet, umm, clinic," Derek stuttered nervously. "You heard that the principal at the high school was murdered. Right?"

"Yeah, Stiles told me when I was out there with them," Peter confirmed.

"Well, Gerard found that on the body. He took it off before the police saw it. Said since he knew it was yours, he didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea," Derek disclosed, muddling his way through the discussion at a sluggish pace. "But, of course, it made him think you were involved."

"Scott was the last person to have it."

"I know," Derek readily acknowledged. "I didn't tell him that, though. By that point I'd already accidentally blurted out that Scott was a werewolf too, and I, uh, didn't think it was a good idea to add that on the pile when he's dating Allison, you know?"

Peter's eyebrows went up imperceptibly at Derek's conclusion on the matter, and he was happy for what was basically a non-response. It was certainly better than the alternative. But he was sure Peter didn't understand where this was heading, or he imagined his uncle would have had much more to say.

"But, uh, Gerard knows that you were alone last night, looking for the person who shot me, and you don't have an alibi," Derek rushed to spit out, leaving himself slightly breathless.

"Are... are you asking me if I did this, Derek?"

"Of course not," he nearly shrieked, his voice going up several octaves. "But I promised Gerard I'd ask. I didn't want him ambushing you or trying to insinuate some shit that would end up driving a wedge between us. I just didn't want..."

"Calm down, Derek," Peter commanded, holding up a hand to stop Derek's rambling. "Now he won't be able to do that. You and I both know that Scott had the rabbit's foot. And while I'm a little irked he lost it and didn't tell me, I'm sure it just fell out of his backpack or pocket or something. We'll figure it out eventually," he pledged firmly. "But that's not what we should be devoting our time to right now."

"Tell me about it," Derek mumbled. "I told Deaton, by the way. That Scott had the foot. He heard everything I said to Gerard, anyway."

"Deaton's on our side. Now that he knows, he'll be able to help," Peter declared, leaning forward on his forearms and wrapping his hands tighter around his own mug. "Honestly, right now I'm more concerned about us as a pack. We've obviously made a mistake by choosing not to rebuild our numbers. We are way too vulnerable like this, Derek. I don't like our odds right now. It's you, me, a baby werewolf, and his undeniably hilarious albeit ultimately useless human bestie."

"Yeah, I get it, but what are we supposed to do? We don't have any other family we can call on, and recruiting is a little hard. Most wolves are already connected to another pack by blood or some other ties."

Peter stayed quiet as Derek worked everything out, waiting patiently while his nephew came to what he deemed the correct conclusion. A well-worn tactic used by Peter on Derek, and one he recognized with very little effort.

"Which means...," Peter coaxed.

Derek blinked rapidly, getting up to remove the pizza he could smell from the oven. And he took his time arranging each piece on a platter for both of them to share as he brought it back.

When he placed it next to Peter's elbow, everything clicked into place and he understood what it was that he'd had been hinting at. "No. Absolutely not, Peter. We cannot make more wolves."

"Derek, listen, I..."

"No."

"Why not?" Peter challenged. "It's always been an option, but we've never used it."

"It's wrong, Peter. The only right way to do it would be to present it as a choice, but then, if they say no, we have a whole new problem. And we don't need any more goddamn problems."

"All I'm saying is we should consider it," Peter argued. "And I'm not suggesting we go out and start biting people indiscriminately," he clarified. "We need to do our research. Find people who are more likely to accept the gift we're presenting here. And then do it in a way that doesn't reveal our secret too."

Derek scoffed. "Oh, is that all, Your Majesty?"

"Have you ever heard of hypotheticals, Derek?" he hissed.

"We can't leave this up to hypotheticals, Peter."

"We can't keep this up. That I do know. We don't have the strength to protect Beacon Hills, even if we wanted to right now," Peter expressed sternly. "If we'd been where we needed to be, Scott might not have even gotten bitten in the first place. Did you ever think about that?"

"Many, many times, but..."

"No. No buts this time, Derek. When you finish healing, we'll talk about it some more, all right?" Peter interjected. "For now, eat and rest up."

But even though he was starving, the minute Peter dismissed him, Derek found it intolerable to reach forward and grab the slice in front of him, eventually causing Peter to pick it up for him.

Maybe Peter was right. Maybe he wasn't equipped to really handle this in a mild-mannered way.

"Are you gonna make me do the airplane?" Peter questioned, waving the piece through the air before poking Derek's lips with the folded slice.

Derek squeezed them together tighter, battling laughter as it bubbled up in his chest.

"Come on, Der Der," Peter cooed. "It's good. You'll like it."

Peter poked his mouth again, then again, and again, until finally Derek grabbed the slice and took a huge bite, laughing low as he swallowed.

"I'm eating, all right," he grumbled, his mouth still full. "Quit being weird."

"Never," Peter vowed.

They both lapsed into a much more companionable silence as they continued to eat, polishing off the rest of the pizza. But Derek could tell they were both worried, and there was no use denying that either.

Peter stared out the window over Derek's shoulder and into the woods, currently brightly lit and somehow still ominous. And as the two men searched for explanations on their current predicament in the day stretching out ahead of them, they hoped beyond all reason the answers might just fall into their laps.