[ There's a lot to unpack, with a question like that. "Tell me more about you". His thoughts drift back to Stiles, again, who would answer a question like that by making jokes, being stupid, highlighting the better parts of Derek's lycanthropy instead of what Derek instinctively wants to say - that he's designed to kill, to hunt, and that he's supposed to be primal and fierce and cruel. That he could be monstrous, like Peter, if given the right stimulus and circumstance.
Derek just - focuses on answering the direct question. What can he tell from a heartbeat. ]
A lot of things. I'll know if you're lying to me. I'll know if you're sick. Scared. Aroused. Anything that gets your heartbeat up.
[ It feels, again, like he's showing Tate the cards he could play, which, again, makes him feel wired off and defensive and worried about what this could mean for him in the future - but he's really, really hoping Tate's a good guy, and he's not mentioning the chemosignals, he's not mentioning all the other signs he can see in a person. Derek takes another long, low breath. ]
I thought... you would panic, once I started telling you about what I am. I wanted to know when it started, so I could stop, and maybe prevent some of that.
[ But it never started. Unless the drugs were slowing him down, Tate wasn't scared. ]
[Tate's response is muted, but - ironically, his heart jumps. He raises his brows as if to process that, letting them disappear behind his blond curls as his gaze skirts away. He's thinking of their encounters, trying to pick apart not the times he was lying but all the little slips of arousal Derek must've been painfully aware of. Yesterday, for example, rings clear and true.
He laughs lightly, just a soft shake of his shoulders as he looks back at Derek's hand. Wonders what he's picking up now, now that Tate's keenly aware maybe he should've acted surprised? But wouldn't he have been able to tell? He might as well try to explain himself.]
I'm not... like most people. I know what it's like to be different, to... be seen as different. Not a lot of stuff scares me, or bothers me. But I haven't ever really had anyone who's... who understands that, and doesn't think it's weird.
[He frowns.]
It feels like you and Stiles thought I was weird. Do you think... that?
[ Derek - isn't really afforded the time to tear that open and figure out what Tate means. "Not like most people" could be harmless, or it could be heavy, but it doesn't matter how sharply or attentively Derek listens; Tate asks a question that takes all of Derek's focus, and he needs to be... he needs to be honest, but he needs to be kind. Derek doesn't take too long to answer. ]
No. I think... you're angry. Anger can be good, if it's polished. You... haven't polished your anger.
[ He's been aimlessly angry before. Quick to lash out, quick to hurt, either himself or others. He's been more refined, too - cold and calculating, using his anger as an anchor, something to bind him to what he wants and how to execute those wants. The murder of his uncle. Jackson's bite. He's been cruel.
He's somewhere in the middle, now. Has been ever since coming to Duplicity. He doesn't know if he's mellowed out since signing a contract, but having someone to protect in Stiles has made him less willing to dive headfirst into stupid decisions based solely off of wounded pride and baseless fury. Maybe that's part of why he wants Tate as pack, too. Another reason to stay focused.
He lets go of Tate's wrist. ]
Which makes you dangerous. Dangerous is also good. The world is a horrible place to people who aren't a little dangerous.
[ He just doesn't know who Tate is a danger to. Stiles. Derek. Himself. ]
[Derek releases Tate's wrist and he tentatively takes it back, curling his fingers around it as if to rub it although it wasn't squeezed. Then he just rests it in his lap, sitting cross legged with a soft, quiet shift. His eyes fall downcast as the words ring in his head, like the hit of a gong each time. He doesn't like being told he's not polished, even if it's in regards to his anger. He feels defensive, especially when he's called dangerous. It's then he looks back up, quick and sharp.]
I don't want to be dangerous.
[His voice stings and the honesty is there, even if it comes with a dull realization that some things about him may never change. He's not going to be the sweet, kind and friendly kid his mother wanted him to be. He's always going to have this leeching darkness in him and the sooner he embraces that fact, the sooner he can at least work on dealing with it. But he doesn't want to. He wants to be better.]
I don't want to hurt people. I'm not - don't call me that, okay? I just...
[ Tate shuts him down. Tate shuts him down, and Derek doesn't think he even realizes he's doing it. He's responding to Derek's quiet offer of acceptance in danger by being disgusted and pulling away, openly declaring that he doesn't want that. That he doesn't want to be like Derek. Tate wants to stay with his own kind. He wants the universal potential and understated complacency of humanity, not the coarse and predatory life of a wolf.
Derek needs a second to process Tate's repulsion and filter it through layer after layer of reasoning, just so he doesn't dwell on this as a personal rejection. It takes him a few false starts before he can figure out what he wants to say, and he keeps his voice quiet and measured and simple to avoid breaking the ice he feels he's standing on. ]
You can be dangerous and still belong. There isn't anything wrong with being able to protect yourself or the people you love. Sometimes you have to hurt other people, or - or do bad things, if it means keeping the people you love happy and safe.
[ Derek's eyebrows pinch together, and his hands feel vacant, now that he's not holding Tate's wrist. He rubs his biceps like he's cold, folds his arms over his chest, stares down at Tate's feet. ]
Good people can be dangerous. Good people can do bad things. You can still fit in, even if you haven't... mastered self-control. That's what I think.
[Tate doesn't see it as a rejection - he doesn't see it as anything but an honest feeling. He wants to be able to say he's someone who belongs, who would be able to live an honest life without someone giving him a side eye. Without feeling like he's going to boil over at the slightest provocation. Without the bloody walls and staggered whispers in his head. He wishes he was what people hoped he'd be - even if he resents the notion of thinking that way solely because of the insurmountable void inside him from knowing he'll never be.
He's breathing hard when Derek speaks, looking down at his hands before quickly glancing back up. Tate's hopeful, for a breath, hinging on what Derek's saying with a furrowed brow and a small lean in his direction. He may not be perfect but Derek claims he's not necessarily broken in contrast.]
I... I know that. I - I just.
[His eyes are wet and he rubs at them with the back of his hand, feeling heat flourish in his cheeks from the embarrassment of crying so easily. Paired with the tiredness that still leeches from his bones, he just wants to curl up and sleep while he still feels protected in some capacity.]
Why's it have to be so hard? It never works out for me.
[ It's hard for Derek to give an honest response to that - like he said before, the world can be cruel. It chews people up, breaks their bones, drinks their blood, spits out the mess that's left behind. If things don't work out for Tate - maybe he's a victim to that. Like Cora, like Paige. Like so many people who deserved better than what life - what Derek - gave them.
Tate cries, and Derek isn't put off by it at all. He makes eye contact, expression a mix of... steady neutrality, with concern bleeding in around the edges. He's trying to be stone, but that's never been who he is. ]
I think... it's hard... because you're spiralling. You're still new here, relatively speaking - you haven't had time to adjust, and you've been alone. Without someone to take care of you, without a pack, it's just been - you. Suffering. That's... why I want to be someone you can lean on. I want to make things work out for you.
[ He rubs his eye with the heel of his palm. He hopes he sounds... reassuring. Kind. He's never been good at that, he thinks, but Tate's the idiot who called him kind in the first place, so. Maybe it's coming across okay. ]
Life'd probably be easier if you didn't get white boy wasted quite so hard, though.
[Tate listens and yearns to believe Derek, wiping at his eyes a time or two more before sniffing and seeming to conquer stemming the flow of tears down his cheeks. Derek's offering to be something for him, someone, and he wants to believe that too. To trust in that, even though he feels shaky about it since the Fort. But he's winning him over. Which honestly isn't difficult when you appeal to the needy, egotistical center of Tate's brain.]
I had to... you - you won't get it. Because it wouldn't work for you.
[Blotting out his problems with unhealthy drug abuse.]
I just wanted to feel okay. That's all. It was worth it, even if it didn't last.
[ Not all the way - of course not all the way - drugs just die in his system, his cells regenerate too quickly to feel the effects of them. He understands the need, though. The yawning, aching void in your stomach and your chest and your head that just gets bigger and darker and sharper. The horrible noise you can't keep quiet, so you drown it out with louder, bigger things. ]
After - the fire, it was just me and my sister. I don't remember the first couple of years very well. I slept a lot, worked out a lot. Got in fights. Fucked. Things I didn't want to do, but did, because they were the only outs I had.
[ He still feels like that, sometimes. A need to run through the woods until his legs give out and he collapses, near-dead, maybe for good. He's felt it less, since Stiles. Tate's too young to grapple with something like that. He's too young to need an out. ]
I know - the draw. I just... don't... think it'll help you.
[Tate doesn't know what to say, so he stays quiet for little bit; he tugs down the sleeves of his shirt, and rubs his thumb over his nail beds one by one as if to inspect them. It gives him something to look at that isn't Derek, while he tries to think of what to reply with. Defending his habits won't fly well. Explaining the need for them? Probably not, either.]
I just want to feel balanced. I don't think I ever have.
[He always expected to, or hinged his belief he could be on someone. But was he ever?]
Maybe with my girlfriend. But I only have so many options here, y'know.
[ And he could repeat himself - make it clear, again, that he wants to be a balancing force for Tate - but he's done it enough, and anymore will feel empty and cheap. He needs to show Tate that he wants to balance him, that he wants to be there for him. Tate doesn't carve power and hope, the way that Boyd, Erica and Isaac did. He just wants to be normal.
He needs to figure out how to sway him to the bite. It would fix all his problems. Save him. Derek wants to save him.
Derek takes a breath, looks up at the ceiling, shifting his weight. Everything feels distant, suddenly. Beacon Hills, his family. He's realizing with this fine, precise awareness that everything he's ever known is - kind of in the past. This isn't the first time he's realized he's the only Hale left alive, but it might hit him harder now than it has before. There's a long stretch of silence before he finds his voice again. ]
I wish I could do more than just promise to be here.
[Tate's voice is soft and low, and he's chewing on his nails again. He's used to promises. Kept or otherwise, the majority of them let him down. People let him down. But if Derek wants to actually make vows and promises? Keeping them is going to be what has Tate trust him indefinitely. The way he wants to.]
I'm trusting you so... that's all you need to do for now.
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Derek just - focuses on answering the direct question. What can he tell from a heartbeat. ]
A lot of things. I'll know if you're lying to me. I'll know if you're sick. Scared. Aroused. Anything that gets your heartbeat up.
[ It feels, again, like he's showing Tate the cards he could play, which, again, makes him feel wired off and defensive and worried about what this could mean for him in the future - but he's really, really hoping Tate's a good guy, and he's not mentioning the chemosignals, he's not mentioning all the other signs he can see in a person. Derek takes another long, low breath. ]
I thought... you would panic, once I started telling you about what I am. I wanted to know when it started, so I could stop, and maybe prevent some of that.
[ But it never started. Unless the drugs were slowing him down, Tate wasn't scared. ]
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[Tate's response is muted, but - ironically, his heart jumps. He raises his brows as if to process that, letting them disappear behind his blond curls as his gaze skirts away. He's thinking of their encounters, trying to pick apart not the times he was lying but all the little slips of arousal Derek must've been painfully aware of. Yesterday, for example, rings clear and true.
He laughs lightly, just a soft shake of his shoulders as he looks back at Derek's hand. Wonders what he's picking up now, now that Tate's keenly aware maybe he should've acted surprised? But wouldn't he have been able to tell? He might as well try to explain himself.]
I'm not... like most people. I know what it's like to be different, to... be seen as different. Not a lot of stuff scares me, or bothers me. But I haven't ever really had anyone who's... who understands that, and doesn't think it's weird.
[He frowns.]
It feels like you and Stiles thought I was weird. Do you think... that?
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No. I think... you're angry. Anger can be good, if it's polished. You... haven't polished your anger.
[ He's been aimlessly angry before. Quick to lash out, quick to hurt, either himself or others. He's been more refined, too - cold and calculating, using his anger as an anchor, something to bind him to what he wants and how to execute those wants. The murder of his uncle. Jackson's bite. He's been cruel.
He's somewhere in the middle, now. Has been ever since coming to Duplicity. He doesn't know if he's mellowed out since signing a contract, but having someone to protect in Stiles has made him less willing to dive headfirst into stupid decisions based solely off of wounded pride and baseless fury. Maybe that's part of why he wants Tate as pack, too. Another reason to stay focused.
He lets go of Tate's wrist. ]
Which makes you dangerous. Dangerous is also good. The world is a horrible place to people who aren't a little dangerous.
[ He just doesn't know who Tate is a danger to. Stiles. Derek. Himself. ]
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I don't want to be dangerous.
[His voice stings and the honesty is there, even if it comes with a dull realization that some things about him may never change. He's not going to be the sweet, kind and friendly kid his mother wanted him to be. He's always going to have this leeching darkness in him and the sooner he embraces that fact, the sooner he can at least work on dealing with it. But he doesn't want to. He wants to be better.]
I don't want to hurt people. I'm not - don't call me that, okay? I just...
[His voice hitches.]
I just want to belong.
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Derek needs a second to process Tate's repulsion and filter it through layer after layer of reasoning, just so he doesn't dwell on this as a personal rejection. It takes him a few false starts before he can figure out what he wants to say, and he keeps his voice quiet and measured and simple to avoid breaking the ice he feels he's standing on. ]
You can be dangerous and still belong. There isn't anything wrong with being able to protect yourself or the people you love. Sometimes you have to hurt other people, or - or do bad things, if it means keeping the people you love happy and safe.
[ Derek's eyebrows pinch together, and his hands feel vacant, now that he's not holding Tate's wrist. He rubs his biceps like he's cold, folds his arms over his chest, stares down at Tate's feet. ]
Good people can be dangerous. Good people can do bad things. You can still fit in, even if you haven't... mastered self-control. That's what I think.
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He's breathing hard when Derek speaks, looking down at his hands before quickly glancing back up. Tate's hopeful, for a breath, hinging on what Derek's saying with a furrowed brow and a small lean in his direction. He may not be perfect but Derek claims he's not necessarily broken in contrast.]
I... I know that. I - I just.
[His eyes are wet and he rubs at them with the back of his hand, feeling heat flourish in his cheeks from the embarrassment of crying so easily. Paired with the tiredness that still leeches from his bones, he just wants to curl up and sleep while he still feels protected in some capacity.]
Why's it have to be so hard? It never works out for me.
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Tate cries, and Derek isn't put off by it at all. He makes eye contact, expression a mix of... steady neutrality, with concern bleeding in around the edges. He's trying to be stone, but that's never been who he is. ]
I think... it's hard... because you're spiralling. You're still new here, relatively speaking - you haven't had time to adjust, and you've been alone. Without someone to take care of you, without a pack, it's just been - you. Suffering. That's... why I want to be someone you can lean on. I want to make things work out for you.
[ He rubs his eye with the heel of his palm. He hopes he sounds... reassuring. Kind. He's never been good at that, he thinks, but Tate's the idiot who called him kind in the first place, so. Maybe it's coming across okay. ]
Life'd probably be easier if you didn't get white boy wasted quite so hard, though.
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I had to... you - you won't get it. Because it wouldn't work for you.
[Blotting out his problems with unhealthy drug abuse.]
I just wanted to feel okay. That's all. It was worth it, even if it didn't last.
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[ Not all the way - of course not all the way - drugs just die in his system, his cells regenerate too quickly to feel the effects of them. He understands the need, though. The yawning, aching void in your stomach and your chest and your head that just gets bigger and darker and sharper. The horrible noise you can't keep quiet, so you drown it out with louder, bigger things. ]
After - the fire, it was just me and my sister. I don't remember the first couple of years very well. I slept a lot, worked out a lot. Got in fights. Fucked. Things I didn't want to do, but did, because they were the only outs I had.
[ He still feels like that, sometimes. A need to run through the woods until his legs give out and he collapses, near-dead, maybe for good. He's felt it less, since Stiles. Tate's too young to grapple with something like that. He's too young to need an out. ]
I know - the draw. I just... don't... think it'll help you.
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I just want to feel balanced. I don't think I ever have.
[He always expected to, or hinged his belief he could be on someone. But was he ever?]
Maybe with my girlfriend. But I only have so many options here, y'know.
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[ And he could repeat himself - make it clear, again, that he wants to be a balancing force for Tate - but he's done it enough, and anymore will feel empty and cheap. He needs to show Tate that he wants to balance him, that he wants to be there for him. Tate doesn't carve power and hope, the way that Boyd, Erica and Isaac did. He just wants to be normal.
He needs to figure out how to sway him to the bite. It would fix all his problems. Save him. Derek wants to save him.
Derek takes a breath, looks up at the ceiling, shifting his weight. Everything feels distant, suddenly. Beacon Hills, his family. He's realizing with this fine, precise awareness that everything he's ever known is - kind of in the past. This isn't the first time he's realized he's the only Hale left alive, but it might hit him harder now than it has before. There's a long stretch of silence before he finds his voice again. ]
I wish I could do more than just promise to be here.
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[Tate's voice is soft and low, and he's chewing on his nails again. He's used to promises. Kept or otherwise, the majority of them let him down. People let him down. But if Derek wants to actually make vows and promises? Keeping them is going to be what has Tate trust him indefinitely. The way he wants to.]
I'm trusting you so... that's all you need to do for now.