[ Next time, maybe. Derek takes another drink. Throws another bottle. This is still something he kind of needs. His departure, losing Stiles, this shit with Tate, meeting someone from home, pushing things with Reggie - there's a lot going on that he hasn't been able to process. He's just... rushing. Always moving from one thing to the next. ]

I just... find other outlets. I break things, I run. If that fails, I just - rationalize it out. Hurting other people isn't going to make my own hurt go away - it's just going to bring more hurt into the world. I don't want to be responsible for making anyone suffer.

[ Derek looks at Tate, his arm starting to ache. The crate's only half empty. Derek takes another drink. Takes another bottle. ]

Guess I don't have to tell you about anchors.

[ Derek already did that. Taught Tate about anchors. He thought his was blood - and he pushed that and he pushed that until Tate told him that he didn't want to be the kind of person who needed to think of blood to stay calm. Derek never really apologized for how he treated Tate back then, when he would flash his eyes at him to keep him calm and controlled and focused. Derek sighs through his nose. It... took a while for him to learn how to treat Tate very well, didn't it. ]