Barry heaves in a breath and Derek lifts his head to watch him, struggling to understand how this man can feel so much empathy for him. A part of it scares Derek, makes him want to turn and flee, but a bigger part is so fucking grateful that he can barely process it.

“And I told you, going back would probably be a death sentence. All I have at home is crumbling ruins and a pack of wolves that want me dead,” Derek tells him, shrugging helplessly as he stares at up Barry’s face. “I chose to come here. I knew what was going to be expected of me, and I’ll handle it.”

He stares at Barry’s face, at his red mouth and nimble fingers, and for a moment he wonders what it might be like to be one of those lucky people that Barry wants to make feel good. He’s sure that he’ll never find out, not after spilling his secrets until he was a trembling mess, but hopefully those people know how lucky they are.