[ derek's been getting a better grasp on his anger, the more time goes on here. there've been roadbumps - anything tate tells him about kavinsky, for instance, or any sidelong glance people give stiles when they think that he's alone, only to nod, relieved, when they notice derek standing next to him - that shit always sets him off, makes him bare his teeth, makes him feel like he's still a beta who needs anger to keep himself steady.
ultimately, he's been doing good. keeping his calm, using stiles as his anchor. now, though? stiles is snapping, and logically, derek knows that it's not his fault, but it feels like it is. his shoulders tense and the garage suddenly feels very fucking claustrophobic, so he rolls up the door and heads outside, face set in stone. his boss asks if there's trouble in paradise, to which derek replies fuck off, stanley.
i don't get why you're being like this, he almost writes. i'm the only person in this fucking city that'll help you.
it's fear, more than empathy, that keeps his mouth shut. stiles is charging head first into another six hour reprobation, and derek needs to cut him off at the heels before he says something worse. ]
You're right.
[ he walks until he's at the edge of the lot. even the fucking chain link fence surrounding the gravel that leads up to the main office building is all chrome and silver and polished. the up is a joke. derek hasn't been to the down in a while, but he's never forgotten how stark the difference between both levels are. ]
You're my sub. It's my job as your dom to find you a position with dignity. Keep your head down. I'll look around. We can talk about options tonight, after your punishment.
[ he very purposefully says punishment instead of citation - it's the kind of word a dom would use, and he's hoping it's a noticeable enough difference for stiles to realize he's being told to shut the fuck up. ]
Look - if I'm not coming home, I need to get back to work. I'll see you in a few hours, okay? Try to keep your spirits up.
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ultimately, he's been doing good. keeping his calm, using stiles as his anchor. now, though? stiles is snapping, and logically, derek knows that it's not his fault, but it feels like it is. his shoulders tense and the garage suddenly feels very fucking claustrophobic, so he rolls up the door and heads outside, face set in stone. his boss asks if there's trouble in paradise, to which derek replies fuck off, stanley.
i don't get why you're being like this, he almost writes. i'm the only person in this fucking city that'll help you.
it's fear, more than empathy, that keeps his mouth shut. stiles is charging head first into another six hour reprobation, and derek needs to cut him off at the heels before he says something worse. ]
You're right.
[ he walks until he's at the edge of the lot. even the fucking chain link fence surrounding the gravel that leads up to the main office building is all chrome and silver and polished. the up is a joke. derek hasn't been to the down in a while, but he's never forgotten how stark the difference between both levels are. ]
You're my sub. It's my job as your dom to find you a position with dignity.
Keep your head down. I'll look around. We can talk about options tonight, after your punishment.
[ he very purposefully says punishment instead of citation - it's the kind of word a dom would use, and he's hoping it's a noticeable enough difference for stiles to realize he's being told to shut the fuck up. ]
Look - if I'm not coming home, I need to get back to work.
I'll see you in a few hours, okay?
Try to keep your spirits up.