Stiles hasn't seen Derek's wolf too many times, but he likes him. It's Derek and not Derek - more Derek? - all at the same time, and while he's sure that the wolf can be less than hospitable, he's never been anything but good to Stiles. He smiles at him as reassuringly as he can as he pads over, laughing softly at the way that Derek licks him. The sound fades, though, when Derek drops his head to look down at the dirt; he tilts his head so he can get a better look at what's being drawn with the dark paw, any cheer that's left replaced immediately by a hollow feeling in his chest. Stiles may not know loss the same way that Derek does, but he knows it.

He makes a soft, understanding sound and nods, reaching out to put his hand between Derek's ears and stroke the soft fur there. He doesn't want to say he understands, because he hated it when people said they did - even if it wasn't a lie. He never wanted people to understand; he wanted his mother back. It has to be twenty times worse for Derek - no family to go back to, even if they do ever leave this city. Laura was the last, and Stiles can't even begin to imagine. It's Christmastime, family time, and he knows how much more profound the loss can be this time of year.

He rubs at the soft fur between Derek's ears and just behind them, then squeezes his neck reassuringly.