[ There's something kind of affectionate in Stiles's voice and Derek isn't sure what to make of it. It's hard to imagine having a positive relationship with anyone in Scott's little gang, but he can't say it's... a problem, necessarily. There's less ground to cover on the road to having Stiles depend on him, there's less behaviour to apologize for or hold grudges over. It'll be a lot easier to have Stiles's back if the nerdlinger is actually decently happy to see him, but it's going to take some time to get used to.

He silently slides over a fistful of napkins rather than comment on Stiles's messy eating. ]

I don't know who Isaac is. [ Whoops. Hasn't started sniffing out betas yet. ] How do your parents feel about... everything?

[ He doesn't bother hiding the suspicion in his voice, the way he's - guarded. Derek's been in Beacon Hills long enough to know that humans and werewolves generally don't make a habit of going out and grabbing a meal together all in the name of bonding, present company excluded. He takes a drink from his milkshake and folds his hands together, inching forward and hunching over the table, eyeing Stiles. ]

Your dad's the Sheriff. He could have the Argents up for murder, now that he knows what he knows.