[ There was almost a spin to that one - fragments of glass pinwheeled out from Tate's bat, full and satisfying, and Derek watches it go, genuinely impressed. He's got his hands in his pockets, giving Tate a second or two to breathe, and when he leans into this just a little, just enough to say that one went pretty far, Derek feels himself smiling again. This is - going okay. As good as it can. ]
Hell yeah, it did. Would've loved to play with you in high school. Probably would've kicked my ass at baseball, but... still would've had you beat on the court.
[ For a second or two, he just... watches Tate, takes in the sight of him, lit by the sun and starting to sweat. Derek still doesn't really know what to make of him. Still doesn't really know how much of a future they have together - still doesn't know if he's making a fucking fool of himself, taking care of someone who, deep down, maybe wouldn't take care of him the same way. Still - the mood is good. He's not going to let his doubts ruin what they have.
Derek heads back to the crate, taking out another bottle by the neck. He taps his fingernails against it, makes light, soft noises against the side. ]
You wanna go back inside? Still got a full case here. Thirty bottles, maybe more.
[Derek's giving him an out, and Tate's a little bit thrown off by the praise to take it like he would've only a few minutes ago. Derek's praising him and Tate doesn't know what to do with that, and it shows on his face. He likes it, he questions it, he wants more of it and he wants Derek to shut the fuck up about it - it can't be sincere. Derek's got another bottle in his hand and Tate's eyes look to it, before dropping away. Thinking.]
You want to break the whole case? I don't have the arm for that.
[ He's not getting Stiles', so - only one bat. If Tate's offering, though, Derek doesn't mind swapping out for a while. He throws the bottle in the air, just so he can catch the bottom of it, holding it out neck-first towards Tate. He'll hold his other hand out for the bat, but - only half way. This is all for Tate, after all, and he just wants to follow his lead. He'll do as he's guided. ]
[Tate'll hand Derek the bat, exchanging it for the bottle - looking more and more on board with this idea. In fact, he's actually kind of stoked to see how hard Derek could hit a bottle? Is it going to shatter more violently than the rest? There's something clearly behind Tate's eyes that's enamored, slowly being peeled away from previous frustration. He steps away, putting himself out of the line of being hit and readying the bottle.]
Heads up.
[He tosses the bottle in an upward arc toward Derek.]
[ Derek only has a split second to decide if he wants to go full throttle on this, or if he wants to miss on purpose so as to not... lessen the compliments he's been giving Tate. The last thing he wants to do is make him doubt the authenticity of all those shoulder touches and good job, mans, but at the same time - he doesn't want to look patronizing, either? Sport was Derek's thing, in high school. Tate already knows that.
Besides - no more lies. That's a two way street. Derek's kept things from Tate, once or twice, in the near year they've known each other. He can't ask for honesty if he's not going to give it back, even for something like this.
When Derek swings at the bottle, he throws all his werewolf strength into the swing - the glass doesn't just shatter, it explodes. Glass barely manages to miss the two of them, as the sprinkling of green dust and tiny, imperceptible fragments are jettisoned out towards the beach, the reverberating noise of bottle meeting bat echoing incredibly loudly through the trees. The bat's got a bit of a crack in the middle, after that - Derek's pretty proud of himself. He's kinda smug, kinda boyish, when he leans on the bat and raises his eyebrows at Tate. ]
[Tate wasn't expecting that. He was expecting a brilliant swing, sure, but that was something else. Derek obliterated that bottle - and sent it off in sparkling dust, tiny shards raining away and glittering the whole way down. Tate's pretty sure the fucking trees rustled, and a bird took flight. He's turned to watch, raising an arm protectively - lest anything go in his eyes - but then he lowers it to stare off into the distance.
Lips parted, for a second he's silent, wide eyed and in awe. Then, suddenly, he laughs.]
[ He lifts the bat and pokes Tate in the chest with it, a fond little nudge to the ribs. He didn't think he'd get Tate to laugh today. A part of him wants to take advantage of his good mood to bring up Peter again - ask him to talk out his feelings now that he's less likely to overwhelm himself with grief and anger - but it's Tate. Derek's seen how quickly his moods can change, and maybe it's just... better to keep doing this for a while, drag out the good feelings as much as possible. Tate'll bring up Peter when he's ready. For now, they have this. ]
You wanna have another swing? I can show you how to put more power into your arms, really knock this shit out of the park. You're a pretty skinny guy, so I'm not promising to make you a pro fucking athlete, or anything, but.
[ Derek shrugs, dusting off some of the excess glass still stuck to the bat, decently mindful about hurting himself, but. Not worrying all that much. ]
Could be a fun way to spend the day together.
[ Because - Derek, for good or bad, is still here. ]
[Tate turns, looking to the trees and the woods - and it's like he's seeing them again with a film taken off his eyes. Crisper, greener, easier to enjoy now that he's not simmering with this rage that usually boils over. Derek turned down the heat, and Tate's just adjusting to that. He leans to pick up another bottle, holding it by the neck and just simply throwing it overhand out into the woods. It cracks on landing, a muted noise he listens for. He doesn't feel like swinging anymore, but he instead gives a shrug to Derek.]
This is fine. Do you... have any bottles that still have beer in them? I see you got the power running.
[ Okay. They don't have to keep doing this. Derek shrugs one shoulder, trying to wear the expression of... a friend who was indulged, so that Tate doesn't have to feel like Derek did all of this for him. The bottles in the crate are all empty, but if Tate wants to drink, there's power in the tree house, now, too - whatever he had in the kitchen's minifridge is probably pretty cold by now, instead of miserably room temperature like it usually is, and Derek's fine with giving Tate a second or two alone to go see what he's got in stock.
He leaves the bat in the corner of the balcony, ducking back through the window to the loft and heading down to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he's back with a six pack, one of the cans already missing. He holds it out to Tate, lets him take the first beer. Ice cold, just like Derek thought it would be. ]
[While Derek was fetching beer, Tate had thrown another bottle off into the woods - it's not quite as satisfying, but there are a lot of bottles and nothing to keep him from not doing this with them. He turns back to Derek when he's back, taking the beer and lifting his brows - cold, that's nice. He cracks it open while leaning back against the railing, looking at Derek.]
I figured you'd be against littering in the woods.
[ The tone of Derek's voice is probably enough to give away that yeah, he's not entirely psyched about all the broken glass he's going to scour the woods for and clean up over the next few weeks - but he's obviously not annoyed enough by this whole ordeal to care. As far as he's concerned, this was a good idea.
He takes a drink of his own beer, just to be social, despite the fact that it tastes like piss. Ugh. Beer. ]
Wanted to help you. Like I said before, you're...
[ ... all that he really has, here in Duplicity. Derek gestures vaguely, not finishing the thought. Point is - despite how complicated things might be between them right now, Derek wasn't willing to let Tate suffer. Trust issues, feelings of doubt, feelings of betrayal, they're all there - but though this bridge might be catching a few sparks, it hasn't burned down just yet. Derek's still got a lot of good will for Tate. ]
[Tate takes a hearty swig of beer, which does taste like piss, and moves to set down his can - before taking a second swig first. He balances it on the balcony away from where they are, going back to the crate of bottles; he picks two up by the neck and just boredly clinks them together a few times - while staring off into the woods. He was going to throw them, but now he's not so sure.]
I was really angry, coming here. I feel... better now.
[ That's all he's got to give. Tate might not feel like throwing bottles, but Derek still kind of does. While he clinks two of them together, Derek picks up a third, grabbing it by the neck - he reels back, he throws, and it doesn't make it all the way down to the beach before it breaks, but it gets close. Derek narrows his eyes, vaguely annoyed, then picks up another. ]
It was either this or taking you to the den and putting you in front of my punching bag. Figured this was more your speed.
I like this. Would've liked to go to the den, too, though.
[Derek throws a bottle and Tate watches, before he mimics and does the same. He realizes after he throws one bottle, that it's a lot akin to the idea of skipping stones - at least for a second or two. He chucks the second bottle soon after, but it's rapidly losing it's appeal to him now that his anger's mostly subsided. What he doesn't like, however, is this sudden lack of a barrier between what he feels inside and how it can ebb outward.
His throat feels thick, and he swallows hard.]
I don't like this feeling. How do I... how do you keep it from making you just want to... to hurt somebody. The way it hurts to feel?
[ 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. ]
[This is probably where they differ - Tate, in theory, wants to be someone who thinks about others and who doesn't want other people to suffer by wishing them pain. However, he doesn't really care about other people unless they mean something to him. So he does want to push his pain on other people because of that - because he doesn't want to feel it himself.
But he wants to be better. He wants to, so badly.]
It just grows in me. And grows, and grows. I feel like I get swallowed up in my own feelings sometimes. I don't know how to stop that. But...
[Right, anchors. He looks back at Derek.]
Anchors can be people, right? Can you be my anchor still?
[ That feels like kind of a hollow question - Derek's not sure if Tate's genuinely trying to rely on him, or... if he knows that Derek likes being relied on, and sees this as a way to circumvent all the I'm going to follow you and never lie to me again bullshit by worming his way back into the good books. Derek doesn't let his doubt show on his face, really, but he... stares at Tate for a second or two, like he's mulling it over. ]
I... would like to be there for you when you need me. I don't want to see you suffer, Tate. If thinking of me or coming to me can stop you from being swallowed up like that, then - I want to be that for you.
[ Another pause. Derek walks to the safety railing and hoists himself onto it, sitting on the edge of the balcony. He doesn't know how to stop that, either. The swallowing. ]
And - if you ever really need to hurt someone, come hurt me. I can handle it.
[Tate says, instinctively. He knows that's - wrong, not what you're supposed to do. He's lived his life so aware of what's allegedly right and wrong - unable to see it for himself most of the time - that it's hard to bend the rules. But after a brief crease of his brow, he thinks he can rationalize it? He looks at Derek for a long few beats of his silenced heart.]
It has to be mutual. Not just hurting - or fighting... something else? I don't know. You can teach me how to do something.
[ Tate wants to be taught something, huh. They've been down this road before, to a couple of different, varying degrees, and it's never really gone all that well. Derek gets too pushy, Tate gets too resistant... it's hard to run full force into this.
Derek leans back, dangling his feet, legs not long enough to hit the ground. If Tate wants something mutual to help curb some of his bullshit, Derek has to let him keep some control here. ]
[Tate - doesn't know what he wants. But he wants something - something they can both do, that isn't just... what he imagines the first suggestion to be: throwing himself at Derek in a futile attempt to fight him. Derek can flip him one-handedly, it's... a waste. Tate gives a little shrug, balancing two bottles by holding one by the neck and sitting the other upright on its end.]
I used to run track, so running's okay. Maybe we could make a course in the woods? Just... a trail, or something. With stuff to do. Hurdles or obstacles, that kind of thing.
[ Okay. Okay, he can work with this. He'll teach Tate something without getting too intense about it - he won't treat teaching Tate something as just another task he has to cross off his list as quickly and as correctly as possible. Tate's asking for help, and Derek's not gonna turn him away. ]
... Yeah. Okay. I mean, if you're too tired to run, you're too tired to feel, so. I'll make a trail. Long and exhausting. Really make you throw up at the end of each work out session.
[ He's kidding. Sorta. He does think there's merit in doing something that'll leave Tate too tired to want anything other than water and sleep. Derek looks away. ]
Self defense isn't a bad idea, either. Real self defense - the kind with rules.
[He - wants to learn? He might not have the absurd strength that Derek does, but he has his own brand of healing. He's scrawny but put together in a way that could build to something better with a little effort. Broad shoulders and height only betrayed by the way he slumps - Tate's lithe like a runner but there's still room for physical improvement.]
... Do you really think he might come back? There's a chance, right?
[Sorry, still - hung up. But muted, more in control of his emotions despite circling the drain again and again. He's gotten the anger out of the way, so he's dealing with the other pieces. He reaches for his beer, knocking one balanced bottle off the other with a little shove - letting it go over the railing in an arc.]
I might never see him again. Like, ever. That feels weird.
Violet was here for a while. You saw her again, when you thought you were never going to. I was gone - I came back. You might never see him again, no - but you might see him tomorrow. A week from now. A year. That's how this place works.
[ It's not like Derek doesn't have any sympathy for Tate, here - but he's been running the same answers over and over again in his head since he realized Stiles was gone, so maybe he sounds kind of tired and disconnected when he says all of this out loud.
Besides - there's someone new in Tate's life, right? Derek's still not sure how he feels about that, but tentatively, he's going to try and bring her up. ]
I... kind of assumed you were moving on from him. Right?
[Again, defensive, but - spent, a little, from the energy he had before. His voice lifts but then it relaxes. He doesn't like the idea of someone thinking that about him, regardless of the fact it was more or less true. Sabrina waltzed into his life a lot more in line with who he was than Peter'd ever be. Aware of and alright with death, unique herself in a dark and twisted way. Tate's really enamored by her, but still. He doesn't want it to seem that... well, he's shallow.
He looks away, pale brows twisted before he huffs a breath.]
It's not like we were - it was open, and...
[He couldn't have all of Peter, ergo - he sees no shame in liking Sabrina simultaneously.]
[ Derek didn't think Tate was shallow. He understands that sometimes people just - drift, or change, and that kids Tate's age can become different fucking people at the drop of a hat. For someone who's been dead for as long as Tate has, for someone who seems to struggle against the stagnation of their own growth, he feels like it wouldn't be too much of a surprise, if he and Peter had gone in different directions and grown apart. Tate moving on to Sabrina is no different to Scott moving on to Kira.
But - well - his opinion does get a little colored when Tate gets defensive. It's kind of a childish reaction, which makes him look shallow in a way that he hadn't before - like he's mad at Derek for suggesting there's something wrong with forward momentum, because he was in love and Derek just couldn't understand, or something. He adjusts his approach to this conversation, a little, looking out over the woods rather than at Tate directly. ]
... Well, who knows. You said something about how - people never really go home, right? Maybe he's just stuck in a freezer somewhere and we'll be able to get him out one day.
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Hell yeah, it did. Would've loved to play with you in high school. Probably would've kicked my ass at baseball, but... still would've had you beat on the court.
[ For a second or two, he just... watches Tate, takes in the sight of him, lit by the sun and starting to sweat. Derek still doesn't really know what to make of him. Still doesn't really know how much of a future they have together - still doesn't know if he's making a fucking fool of himself, taking care of someone who, deep down, maybe wouldn't take care of him the same way. Still - the mood is good. He's not going to let his doubts ruin what they have.
Derek heads back to the crate, taking out another bottle by the neck. He taps his fingernails against it, makes light, soft noises against the side. ]
You wanna go back inside? Still got a full case here. Thirty bottles, maybe more.
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You want to break the whole case? I don't have the arm for that.
[He looks back to Derek, slowly.]
Do you have another bat?
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[ He's not getting Stiles', so - only one bat. If Tate's offering, though, Derek doesn't mind swapping out for a while. He throws the bottle in the air, just so he can catch the bottom of it, holding it out neck-first towards Tate. He'll hold his other hand out for the bat, but - only half way. This is all for Tate, after all, and he just wants to follow his lead. He'll do as he's guided. ]
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[Tate'll hand Derek the bat, exchanging it for the bottle - looking more and more on board with this idea. In fact, he's actually kind of stoked to see how hard Derek could hit a bottle? Is it going to shatter more violently than the rest? There's something clearly behind Tate's eyes that's enamored, slowly being peeled away from previous frustration. He steps away, putting himself out of the line of being hit and readying the bottle.]
Heads up.
[He tosses the bottle in an upward arc toward Derek.]
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Besides - no more lies. That's a two way street. Derek's kept things from Tate, once or twice, in the near year they've known each other. He can't ask for honesty if he's not going to give it back, even for something like this.
When Derek swings at the bottle, he throws all his werewolf strength into the swing - the glass doesn't just shatter, it explodes. Glass barely manages to miss the two of them, as the sprinkling of green dust and tiny, imperceptible fragments are jettisoned out towards the beach, the reverberating noise of bottle meeting bat echoing incredibly loudly through the trees. The bat's got a bit of a crack in the middle, after that - Derek's pretty proud of himself. He's kinda smug, kinda boyish, when he leans on the bat and raises his eyebrows at Tate. ]
Feel free to compliment me however you like.
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Lips parted, for a second he's silent, wide eyed and in awe. Then, suddenly, he laughs.]
Jesus Christ, that was kinda cool.
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[ He lifts the bat and pokes Tate in the chest with it, a fond little nudge to the ribs. He didn't think he'd get Tate to laugh today. A part of him wants to take advantage of his good mood to bring up Peter again - ask him to talk out his feelings now that he's less likely to overwhelm himself with grief and anger - but it's Tate. Derek's seen how quickly his moods can change, and maybe it's just... better to keep doing this for a while, drag out the good feelings as much as possible. Tate'll bring up Peter when he's ready. For now, they have this. ]
You wanna have another swing? I can show you how to put more power into your arms, really knock this shit out of the park. You're a pretty skinny guy, so I'm not promising to make you a pro fucking athlete, or anything, but.
[ Derek shrugs, dusting off some of the excess glass still stuck to the bat, decently mindful about hurting himself, but. Not worrying all that much. ]
Could be a fun way to spend the day together.
[ Because - Derek, for good or bad, is still here. ]
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[Tate turns, looking to the trees and the woods - and it's like he's seeing them again with a film taken off his eyes. Crisper, greener, easier to enjoy now that he's not simmering with this rage that usually boils over. Derek turned down the heat, and Tate's just adjusting to that. He leans to pick up another bottle, holding it by the neck and just simply throwing it overhand out into the woods. It cracks on landing, a muted noise he listens for. He doesn't feel like swinging anymore, but he instead gives a shrug to Derek.]
This is fine. Do you... have any bottles that still have beer in them? I see you got the power running.
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He leaves the bat in the corner of the balcony, ducking back through the window to the loft and heading down to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he's back with a six pack, one of the cans already missing. He holds it out to Tate, lets him take the first beer. Ice cold, just like Derek thought it would be. ]
... You wanna stay out here or head back inside?
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[While Derek was fetching beer, Tate had thrown another bottle off into the woods - it's not quite as satisfying, but there are a lot of bottles and nothing to keep him from not doing this with them. He turns back to Derek when he's back, taking the beer and lifting his brows - cold, that's nice. He cracks it open while leaning back against the railing, looking at Derek.]
I figured you'd be against littering in the woods.
[A joke; just something to talk about.]
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[ The tone of Derek's voice is probably enough to give away that yeah, he's not entirely psyched about all the broken glass he's going to scour the woods for and clean up over the next few weeks - but he's obviously not annoyed enough by this whole ordeal to care. As far as he's concerned, this was a good idea.
He takes a drink of his own beer, just to be social, despite the fact that it tastes like piss. Ugh. Beer. ]
Wanted to help you. Like I said before, you're...
[ ... all that he really has, here in Duplicity. Derek gestures vaguely, not finishing the thought. Point is - despite how complicated things might be between them right now, Derek wasn't willing to let Tate suffer. Trust issues, feelings of doubt, feelings of betrayal, they're all there - but though this bridge might be catching a few sparks, it hasn't burned down just yet. Derek's still got a lot of good will for Tate. ]
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[Tate takes a hearty swig of beer, which does taste like piss, and moves to set down his can - before taking a second swig first. He balances it on the balcony away from where they are, going back to the crate of bottles; he picks two up by the neck and just boredly clinks them together a few times - while staring off into the woods. He was going to throw them, but now he's not so sure.]
I was really angry, coming here. I feel... better now.
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[ That's all he's got to give. Tate might not feel like throwing bottles, but Derek still kind of does. While he clinks two of them together, Derek picks up a third, grabbing it by the neck - he reels back, he throws, and it doesn't make it all the way down to the beach before it breaks, but it gets close. Derek narrows his eyes, vaguely annoyed, then picks up another. ]
It was either this or taking you to the den and putting you in front of my punching bag. Figured this was more your speed.
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[Derek throws a bottle and Tate watches, before he mimics and does the same. He realizes after he throws one bottle, that it's a lot akin to the idea of skipping stones - at least for a second or two. He chucks the second bottle soon after, but it's rapidly losing it's appeal to him now that his anger's mostly subsided. What he doesn't like, however, is this sudden lack of a barrier between what he feels inside and how it can ebb outward.
His throat feels thick, and he swallows hard.]
I don't like this feeling. How do I... how do you keep it from making you just want to... to hurt somebody. The way it hurts to feel?
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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. ]
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But he wants to be better. He wants to, so badly.]
It just grows in me. And grows, and grows. I feel like I get swallowed up in my own feelings sometimes. I don't know how to stop that. But...
[Right, anchors. He looks back at Derek.]
Anchors can be people, right? Can you be my anchor still?
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I... would like to be there for you when you need me. I don't want to see you suffer, Tate. If thinking of me or coming to me can stop you from being swallowed up like that, then - I want to be that for you.
[ Another pause. Derek walks to the safety railing and hoists himself onto it, sitting on the edge of the balcony. He doesn't know how to stop that, either. The swallowing. ]
And - if you ever really need to hurt someone, come hurt me. I can handle it.
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[Tate says, instinctively. He knows that's - wrong, not what you're supposed to do. He's lived his life so aware of what's allegedly right and wrong - unable to see it for himself most of the time - that it's hard to bend the rules. But after a brief crease of his brow, he thinks he can rationalize it? He looks at Derek for a long few beats of his silenced heart.]
It has to be mutual. Not just hurting - or fighting... something else? I don't know. You can teach me how to do something.
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Derek leans back, dangling his feet, legs not long enough to hit the ground. If Tate wants something mutual to help curb some of his bullshit, Derek has to let him keep some control here. ]
Like what? How to break bottles with a bat?
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[Tate - doesn't know what he wants. But he wants something - something they can both do, that isn't just... what he imagines the first suggestion to be: throwing himself at Derek in a futile attempt to fight him. Derek can flip him one-handedly, it's... a waste. Tate gives a little shrug, balancing two bottles by holding one by the neck and sitting the other upright on its end.]
I used to run track, so running's okay. Maybe we could make a course in the woods? Just... a trail, or something. With stuff to do. Hurdles or obstacles, that kind of thing.
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... Yeah. Okay. I mean, if you're too tired to run, you're too tired to feel, so. I'll make a trail. Long and exhausting. Really make you throw up at the end of each work out session.
[ He's kidding. Sorta. He does think there's merit in doing something that'll leave Tate too tired to want anything other than water and sleep. Derek looks away. ]
Self defense isn't a bad idea, either. Real self defense - the kind with rules.
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[He - wants to learn? He might not have the absurd strength that Derek does, but he has his own brand of healing. He's scrawny but put together in a way that could build to something better with a little effort. Broad shoulders and height only betrayed by the way he slumps - Tate's lithe like a runner but there's still room for physical improvement.]
... Do you really think he might come back? There's a chance, right?
[Sorry, still - hung up. But muted, more in control of his emotions despite circling the drain again and again. He's gotten the anger out of the way, so he's dealing with the other pieces. He reaches for his beer, knocking one balanced bottle off the other with a little shove - letting it go over the railing in an arc.]
I might never see him again. Like, ever. That feels weird.
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[ It's not like Derek doesn't have any sympathy for Tate, here - but he's been running the same answers over and over again in his head since he realized Stiles was gone, so maybe he sounds kind of tired and disconnected when he says all of this out loud.
Besides - there's someone new in Tate's life, right? Derek's still not sure how he feels about that, but tentatively, he's going to try and bring her up. ]
I... kind of assumed you were moving on from him. Right?
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[Again, defensive, but - spent, a little, from the energy he had before. His voice lifts but then it relaxes. He doesn't like the idea of someone thinking that about him, regardless of the fact it was more or less true. Sabrina waltzed into his life a lot more in line with who he was than Peter'd ever be. Aware of and alright with death, unique herself in a dark and twisted way. Tate's really enamored by her, but still. He doesn't want it to seem that... well, he's shallow.
He looks away, pale brows twisted before he huffs a breath.]
It's not like we were - it was open, and...
[He couldn't have all of Peter, ergo - he sees no shame in liking Sabrina simultaneously.]
I really liked him. I did.
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But - well - his opinion does get a little colored when Tate gets defensive. It's kind of a childish reaction, which makes him look shallow in a way that he hadn't before - like he's mad at Derek for suggesting there's something wrong with forward momentum, because he was in love and Derek just couldn't understand, or something. He adjusts his approach to this conversation, a little, looking out over the woods rather than at Tate directly. ]
... Well, who knows. You said something about how - people never really go home, right? Maybe he's just stuck in a freezer somewhere and we'll be able to get him out one day.
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