"Hey, I appreciate the classics, is all," Stiles protests. "Why's everyone always on my case? Do I have, like, a supernatural bullseye on the back of my head or something?" It would make sense. Really, it's not like his big mouth and ridiculously insatiable curiosity get him into trouble or anything. Nope. That couldn't be it.

A moment of thought, more incessant tapping of his fingers, and he looks sidelong at Derek. "I guess they could be a colony. Like bats. I mean, it works for werewolves. A Pack." That last word doesn't come out exactly how he intended. There's a certain sound to it, a weight to the word that neither one of them could possibly miss. But it's stupid of him to think...Scott is his pack. Scott and Alison and Lydia, even if none of them even thought about him in the last three months. Even if Derek is here almost every day. Even if Derek saved him. Even if Derek understands better than any of them. Derek still wouldn't think of him as Pack. Stiles isn't a wolf. He couldn't be. Right?