[ Derek understands. At first, at least, Derek understands. Again, he saw how Stiles lived when he first arrived; stripping someone of their power and position and safety as a punishment for not playing along was pretty fucking harsh, and if that's the punishment given to a Dom, he can't imagine how hard it could be for a sub.

But then Tate keeps talking. ]

The guy who-- wait, hold on.

[ Tate's tears don't actually mean much right now. Not when Derek's confused and trying to make sense of the situation. Derek holds up a hand like he's telling Tate to be quiet, eyebrows furrowed and eyes a little angry. He's not tired, not frustrated, not angry. Not disappointed. Not at first.

It builds slow. ]

Is that - are you serious?

[ Derek pauses, like he's waiting for Tate to say that this is just-- a joke, or something, and when that doesn't happen, he barks out a laugh, feeling this cold, angry heat run down his neck. He moves closer to the table, points at Tate with the hand he'd held up. ]

You were out of your fucking head because of the shit that went down at that guy's party. You nearly died. You probably did die. He was the host, he should have-- did he even know you were ODing? Did he get you that high in the first place?

[ Derek's voice is - getting a little louder. ]