Derek throws the men out of his house. He does it rudely, unceremoniously, in a way his mother would have been angry at him over.
She would have found a way to talk to them, to smile at them in her way, lean in, and somehow, somehow they would have left convinced that the condos were a bad idea and that the hale farm had to be preserved forever.
Derek doesn’t do that though, doesn’t even hear them out. He tells them to leave his goddamn house, and he shakes for an hour after, shakes knowing how much he’d disappointed his family, how he’s going to lose the last thing he has of them.
He goes back out to the fields, eventually, because daylight isn’t to be wasted, and there’s still the whole back plot to seed. He’s planting the crops his family planted, and his grandparents before him, and their grandparents before them. He lays down the seeds of the werewolf plants, plants to control the change, plants to heal, plants for traditions. He cups soil over them in a neat pile, just to protect the fragile little seedlings, and then moves on. There is always more to do.
You know what isn’t fun? A hangover on set - because even when you think napping in your trailer in the early morning won’t cause anyone to come look for you, they do and they aren’t happy about it. It was worth it though, but i nearly fell on stage last night because they kept filling me up with tequila, probably “knowing” in advance i had to get up there; i was totally onto the person who kept coming over and telling me someone “tweeted me a drink” - I’m still probably a little drunk so i have no idea where i’m going with this other then the burning question of when will hangovers go extinct?