[ He doesn't care, no. Stiles isn't telling him anything useful, and even though Derek inherently realizes that's his own fault for not giving him a starting point to jump from, he's still annoyed enough to look at Stiles like he might break his neck if he keeps talking about hair spray. Derek goes back to pacing, head down, and there's a decently large amount of awkward silence while his boots crunch over concrete and he tries to sort everything out in his own head.

It's the realization that he's supposed to be out here for Stiles's sake that stops him from just asking a shit ton of interrogatory questions without giving the kid a chance to catch his breath. He remembers how hard he had it, those first few months here - constant paranoia that someone was after him, a fear of the dark he hadn't felt since he was a kid. Stiles isn't a werewolf, so he doesn't have that naturally ingrained jumpiness that comes from expecting hunters around every corner, but he still wants to make his transition into Retro America: Mars Is Trying To Kill Us Edition as smooth as it could be. The pacing stops. Again. ]

Peter had been terrorizing the whole town. I found out. We found out. I ripped out his throat. He died. I became Alpha. I woke up here.

[ Said with an unapologetic callousness, jumping over Peter's death with almost idle disinterest. He looks at Stiles again, anxious despite the dude's gel-wearing and Cora-knowing glory. Still wants to know about the future, but he needs to get his priorities right. Everything he's learned since being here has been a reminder that he has strength he needs to use to protect people. So. ]

They gave you a place to stay, right? You have a bed? A job?