Who: Derek and Open or can be used as a narrative What: Thoughts while walking around the yard When: Thursday afternoon Where: Prison yard Warnings: Derek's thoughts generally require a warning.
As much as Derek didn't want to let Kate's presence in Everett get to him, he couldn't help it. It was like an imminent storm cloud that he could feel looming in, but there was nothing he could do to change or fix it. She was a ghost, and it shouldn't matter, but at least if she was alive he could do something. He could hunt her down and kill her if necessary, but this, now? When she had explicitly told him she was going to go after his pack? Other than sigils, there were no real ways to stop her. Ever since waking up from that nightmare, it made a sense of adrenaline constantly kick in as his senses were even more alert than usual. Or maybe it was just plain paranoia, he wasn't sure, but it wasn't like it was unwarranted. Not with what Kate had already done once. Not while knowing what the sadistic psychotic bitch was capable of.
As he walked through the grounds of the prison, checking the perimeter, he could hear his mother's words. Whatever damage Kate had done in the past to the Hales, she had tried to convince him, it had been done by Kate herself. Talia insisted he shouldn't take on that guilt and responsibility, but now more than ever it was hard to really listen to those words. Knowing that the woman that he had let in, the one that he had ended up telling her information about his family that she wouldn't have found of gotten if it wasn't for him, and had used all that and him in order to burn his family alive... That wasn't something he could forget. Even now, years later and knowing that she was dead, it made him feel sick to his stomach as the ever familiar sense of disgust settled in. Disgust towards Kate, towards himself. It was still a tough pill to swallow, because he knew. He knew his life wouldn't be as fucked up as it had turned out to be if it hadn't been for that fire. Cora wouldn't have been off on her own for so long. Peter might still be insane, but Laura probably wouldn't be a ghost. Their mother wouldn't be a ghost.
The thoughts knocked the air right out of him, but he just kept walking. He had to keep moving. That had been his focus ever since realizing that she was back - keep moving. Keep busy. Keep doing something, because Derek felt like his grasp on whatever he had been able to find the last few months that was keeping him relatively same was beginning to slip. He could feel that old familiar darkness creeping in and starting to settle comfortably back in, but he was trying to outrun it. By working, by checking in on his pack and his friends, by spending time with Lydia, it was as if he was reminding himself what he had gained ever since losing everything.
Was it working? He wasn't sure. As he reached a corner of the yard, he had to clench his hands into fists as they rested in the pockets of his jacket to keep himself from destroying something. It was tempting to just punch away at anything he could just tear apart in an effort to feel better, but he didn't. It didn't matter how hard it felt to breathe or think clearly for a moment. He had to snap out of it. He had to...
His fingers dug into his jeans for a lighter and a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. Derek wouldn't consider himself a smoker, not really especially since nicotine rarely worked on him, but it didn't stop him from needing that momentary release. He could take a minute from his duties and just smoke, right? He would continue his perimeter check afterwards. He would meet up with Chloe later and listen to music. He would check on Cora later, and Lydia, and the rest of the pack before starting all over again. One day the lack of proper sleep would catch up to him but, considering his sleeping habits were terrible to begin with, it didn't concern him. Why would it, when he had Kate fucking Argent haunting his every thought even if she wasn't really there with him now?
"Fuck," he just growled under his breath after taking a drag of the cigarette. He let the smoke burn in his lungs, and he forced himself to just not think. For one moment, for one second, he just needed to not think.
Maybe if he kept telling himself that he would somehow force it to happen.