[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.
[Tate doesn't like that just as much as he doesn't like being considered shallow - he looks like Derek's deflated something in him with that reminder, and he sets his beer can down. He wants to go slam a door and climb into bed, but he doesn't. He just tugs down his sleeves and moves to the balcony edge, in the opposite direction of Derek, and leans against it staring off at the trees as well.]
[ Maybe Derek's being too callous. Maybe he should be offering something better than your now ex-boyfriend's probably stuck in a freezer somewhere. Derek wets his lips, looking back to stare at the back of Tate's head, then sighs through his nose, getting off the safety rail, landing on the balcony again with a thud. ]
Can't get stuck on people leaving, Tate.
[ There's more sympathy in his voice now, but - that's all he's really offering. Derek walks to Tate's bedroom, slipping through the window, talking to him from inside. ]
[Tate watches Derek go, moving away from their moment of refuge on the balcony and he looks to the bottles, the bat, but follows suit... after snagging the rest of the six pack by the plastic ring. He carries it in, shadowing Derek and straggling back a few steps. He's still a bit quiet, but still successfully defused.]
[ He doesn't know how much Tate can get away with - or how much Tate wants to get away with - so leaving this decision in his hands and hoping Tate would rather be with him than with Kavinsky tonight is all he can really do. Derek doesn't look back at Tate as he walks - he scales down the ladder to his loft and heads down the front steps of the tree house itself, dodging cats as he goes.
He leads Tate out of the woods and up to the den, but when he gets there - the ward's still in place. Derek has no idea that Tate was never allowed past the barrier, so he doesn't bother inviting him in, effectively locking him outside. He just opens the front door, heads inside, and expects Tate to be able to follow him. ]
[Tate has the intention to stay overnight, but doesn't know what Derek considers to be those decisions he has to make so he stays silent. He snags a book off the coffee table as they leave the treehouse, slinging on a backpack full of beer and shadowing Derek after a pause in which he strokes Cobain's ears and makes her purr. Then he trots on behind Derek, followed by said cat, who watches from the treeline as Tate approaches the den.
Derek goes inside and it feels like a weird twist of fate that he stays outside. He thought he told him he couldn't go in - did he not get how literal Tate was being? Paused on the doorstep, Tate's expression is a sharp one - he furrows his brow and looks down to his hands, like he's a dog waiting on the outside of a sliding door. Only Derek doesn't seem to notice he needs in.]
[ It takes a second or two for Derek to figure out what Tate needs. He turns, looks at Tate from over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed - and it clicks, then, what he means by couldn't. Derek had kind of assumed it was an emotional thing, or... that the doors were fucking locked, or something, even though that wouldn't have stopped him from ghosting his way across the premises. Derek's... gonna have to find that ledger, but. He wonders, briefly, why his name isn't already in it. ]
Come in.
[ It's a temporary measure - until he leaves or Derek retracts his invitation, he'll be welcome here. Derek's gotta sign his name to that book so he doesn't need an invite every time he wants to come inside, but... for now, it's... fine.
The Den still doesn't officially belong to him again, but it's his house, his territory, same as it always was. The bedroom door is closed, and Derek hasn't been in there very much at all, scared of disturbing Stiles' scent more than he has to - but the rest of the place is getting better. Still dust on a lot of surfaces, still a couple of bags of trash to take out, but it's cleaner than it has been over these past few months. Once Tate's inside, Derek'll close the doors behind him, walking to the kitchen.
He doesn't have any real food here yet either, but... Derek's still gonna make Tate something to eat. When he gets angry and upset, Tate never eats, so. ]
[And just like that, an invisible wall is lifted - Tate almost feels it evaporate in front of him. He looks - a few mixed emotions all at once, breathing in deep before pressing inward to test the newly invite by sliding into the den. How many times had he stood by the door, trying to get by and failing before now? And it's so simple, Derek just invites him in. Of course, he does so now that he's back - so Tate can't poke and pry around. Figures.
Tate stands sullenly inside once Derek closes the door, like he's still a bit bitter he had to ask for that. Wondering, absently, if he should address it. Why wasn't he allowed in? Was it just... everyone? He thought they talked about this. Thought he'd be... part of this. He scratches his cheek and for the moment, tries to ignore the budding feeling in his chest.]
[ Honest answer. Derek'll talk about this if it's something Tate wants to talk about, but he's curt with it - he told Tate to sit down, and he doesn't want to repeat himself. He arches his eyebrows, points to the sofa in the living room, then disappear into the kitchen. Whether Tate does as he's told or just follows Derek instead, he'll focus on finding a decent meal. He mostly just has... canned fruit and moldy cereal, but there's some slightly stale pasta that'll come good with some boiling, so... spaghetti for lunch.
He'll start getting to work on that, rinsing the dust from a pot he barely even used when he actively lived here, and then he'll get to work, talking to Tate as he goes. ]
There's a ledger - if your name's in the book, the barrier doesn't affect you. Stiles was in charge of it. I don't know why he didn't put you on the list.
[Tate's - annoyed. Stiles is no longer here so it's not the insidious feeling it could be, but still. He doesn't like that it wasn't just his intuition telling him Stiles was feeling a certain way about him. He didn't trust him? Did he think, rightfully so, that Tate would look to snoop into his life the way he had before - staring down the foot of the bed like he had to so many people, countless times in the past? Stiles didn't want him here. It feels like a sick sense of satisfaction that hey, he's here now, isn't he Stiles?
He looks hurt, just a bit, sulking in the living room and contemplating sitting on the couch like he's told - but ultimately he follows Derek to watch him rinse a pot. He puts the beer down on the table, fishing it out of his bag and detaching another one - he forgot his at his place - and puts the rest inside Derek's fridge to busy his hands.]
[ Takes a while, before Derek responds. He focuses on Tate's food, bringing water to boil and searching out sauce that isnt past its expiration date. When he answers him, he's got his back turned. ]
Think I've gotta get over you running back to Kavinsky before that happens.
[ He looks up at Tate, just briefly, watching him put his beer away. He quickly drops his eyes back now. ]
Things are fucked up between us. We're talking, right now, but somehow there's still this hole in my chest because of how badly I miss you. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you? Die for you, kill for you. That kind of devotion, that's... that's what you're supposed to have for someone, when there's... love, there. When you're pack.
[ Or - love between you and your home. Derek did the same for Beacon Hills. Killed for it. Tried to die for it, more than once, though that was less because of a grand sacrifice and more because he was tired. Tate's food is getting prepared and all it has to do now is cook, so Derek doesn't have a reason to keep his back to Tate anymore. Reluctantly, he turns back around. ]
But I'm scared that that's all one sided. I don't believe some of the things you've said to me, I don't... know if you even think of me, when we're not in the same room together. I'm really, really confused about us, and I just... I mean, how am I supposed to give you all my loyalty if I can't even give you a spare magical house key? It's insane. This all feels insane.
[It's - more slaps to the face for Tate, even if he's heard the words already and knows where Derek's coming from. Why should he trust Tate? Tate can't come up with an answer, not easily, but he still looks stretched in response to being told he's not believed. It hurts, it's evident, because his eyes shutter and glean with a wet show of tears and his lips turn to a very thin line. He crosses his arms defensively, looking away, nostrils flaring as he tries hard not to lose his cool.
Then he scoffs, humorlessly, wetness coming from his eyes being rubbed off on his knuckles. He's turned from the first response of being startled at the confrontation to now just being offended. One sided? One sided? Tate looks at Derek, eyes narrowed.]
I don't know what you want from me. I promised you no lies. I've told you how much... how much I missed you. I come to you first with my problems and - isn't that being pack? And you still... you're telling me you don't trust me. You don't want me around. You want so much from me but you're telling me it's not enough at the same time. How am I supposed to trust you'll ever really want me? How am I supposed to feel like you - like this place is safety if I...
[He sniffs, rubbing at his eyes again. He shakes his head.]
Nevermind. It's fine. I don't give a shit. And I'm not hungry, so.
[Fuck you and your pasta. He cracks open the beer can instead, taking a long swig.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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I'm tired of throwing bottles now.
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Can't get stuck on people leaving, Tate.
[ There's more sympathy in his voice now, but - that's all he's really offering. Derek walks to Tate's bedroom, slipping through the window, talking to him from inside. ]
C'mon. Let's go back to the den.
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Are we gonna stay there tonight?
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[ He doesn't know how much Tate can get away with - or how much Tate wants to get away with - so leaving this decision in his hands and hoping Tate would rather be with him than with Kavinsky tonight is all he can really do. Derek doesn't look back at Tate as he walks - he scales down the ladder to his loft and heads down the front steps of the tree house itself, dodging cats as he goes.
He leads Tate out of the woods and up to the den, but when he gets there - the ward's still in place. Derek has no idea that Tate was never allowed past the barrier, so he doesn't bother inviting him in, effectively locking him outside. He just opens the front door, heads inside, and expects Tate to be able to follow him. ]
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Derek goes inside and it feels like a weird twist of fate that he stays outside. He thought he told him he couldn't go in - did he not get how literal Tate was being? Paused on the doorstep, Tate's expression is a sharp one - he furrows his brow and looks down to his hands, like he's a dog waiting on the outside of a sliding door. Only Derek doesn't seem to notice he needs in.]
Uh...
[He hates this feeling? His face heats up.]
Derek?
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Come in.
[ It's a temporary measure - until he leaves or Derek retracts his invitation, he'll be welcome here. Derek's gotta sign his name to that book so he doesn't need an invite every time he wants to come inside, but... for now, it's... fine.
The Den still doesn't officially belong to him again, but it's his house, his territory, same as it always was. The bedroom door is closed, and Derek hasn't been in there very much at all, scared of disturbing Stiles' scent more than he has to - but the rest of the place is getting better. Still dust on a lot of surfaces, still a couple of bags of trash to take out, but it's cleaner than it has been over these past few months. Once Tate's inside, Derek'll close the doors behind him, walking to the kitchen.
He doesn't have any real food here yet either, but... Derek's still gonna make Tate something to eat. When he gets angry and upset, Tate never eats, so. ]
Sit down. Anywhere.
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Tate stands sullenly inside once Derek closes the door, like he's still a bit bitter he had to ask for that. Wondering, absently, if he should address it. Why wasn't he allowed in? Was it just... everyone? He thought they talked about this. Thought he'd be... part of this. He scratches his cheek and for the moment, tries to ignore the budding feeling in his chest.]
Why aren't I allowed to come in?
[So much for waiting.]
Without an invite.
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[ Honest answer. Derek'll talk about this if it's something Tate wants to talk about, but he's curt with it - he told Tate to sit down, and he doesn't want to repeat himself. He arches his eyebrows, points to the sofa in the living room, then disappear into the kitchen. Whether Tate does as he's told or just follows Derek instead, he'll focus on finding a decent meal. He mostly just has... canned fruit and moldy cereal, but there's some slightly stale pasta that'll come good with some boiling, so... spaghetti for lunch.
He'll start getting to work on that, rinsing the dust from a pot he barely even used when he actively lived here, and then he'll get to work, talking to Tate as he goes. ]
There's a ledger - if your name's in the book, the barrier doesn't affect you. Stiles was in charge of it. I don't know why he didn't put you on the list.
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[Tate's - annoyed. Stiles is no longer here so it's not the insidious feeling it could be, but still. He doesn't like that it wasn't just his intuition telling him Stiles was feeling a certain way about him. He didn't trust him? Did he think, rightfully so, that Tate would look to snoop into his life the way he had before - staring down the foot of the bed like he had to so many people, countless times in the past? Stiles didn't want him here. It feels like a sick sense of satisfaction that hey, he's here now, isn't he Stiles?
He looks hurt, just a bit, sulking in the living room and contemplating sitting on the couch like he's told - but ultimately he follows Derek to watch him rinse a pot. He puts the beer down on the table, fishing it out of his bag and detaching another one - he forgot his at his place - and puts the rest inside Derek's fridge to busy his hands.]
You'll put me down though, right?
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Think I've gotta get over you running back to Kavinsky before that happens.
[ He looks up at Tate, just briefly, watching him put his beer away. He quickly drops his eyes back now. ]
Things are fucked up between us. We're talking, right now, but somehow there's still this hole in my chest because of how badly I miss you. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you? Die for you, kill for you. That kind of devotion, that's... that's what you're supposed to have for someone, when there's... love, there. When you're pack.
[ Or - love between you and your home. Derek did the same for Beacon Hills. Killed for it. Tried to die for it, more than once, though that was less because of a grand sacrifice and more because he was tired. Tate's food is getting prepared and all it has to do now is cook, so Derek doesn't have a reason to keep his back to Tate anymore. Reluctantly, he turns back around. ]
But I'm scared that that's all one sided. I don't believe some of the things you've said to me, I don't... know if you even think of me, when we're not in the same room together. I'm really, really confused about us, and I just... I mean, how am I supposed to give you all my loyalty if I can't even give you a spare magical house key? It's insane. This all feels insane.
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Then he scoffs, humorlessly, wetness coming from his eyes being rubbed off on his knuckles. He's turned from the first response of being startled at the confrontation to now just being offended. One sided? One sided? Tate looks at Derek, eyes narrowed.]
I don't know what you want from me. I promised you no lies. I've told you how much... how much I missed you. I come to you first with my problems and - isn't that being pack? And you still... you're telling me you don't trust me. You don't want me around. You want so much from me but you're telling me it's not enough at the same time. How am I supposed to trust you'll ever really want me? How am I supposed to feel like you - like this place is safety if I...
[He sniffs, rubbing at his eyes again. He shakes his head.]
Nevermind. It's fine. I don't give a shit. And I'm not hungry, so.
[Fuck you and your pasta. He cracks open the beer can instead, taking a long swig.]
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