"It's not your fault," Derek says quickly, swallowing hard and feeling his chest constrict at the look on Barry's face. A noise escapes him at what Barry says next, something angry and horrified and sad, and he lets out a shaky breath. "I'll get you cleaned up."

He slides his arms under Barry once more, lifting him easily. He feels feather light, even to Derek's strength, and he carries him into the bathroom. What he smells most is the blood, and the fear, and he wants so badly to wash those away.

There's a bench seat in Derek's shower and he shoulders the door open before setting Barry down onto it. His clothes are ruined so Derek extends a claw and carefully cuts them away, tossing them aside before getting up and stripping out of his own clothes. He steps into the shower and turns it on, testing the temperature before taking the shower head off and turning to face Barry. There's no pity in his expression, not a single trace of revulsion. There's just care and concern as he cups Barry's cheek to gently tip his head back and let the spray wet his hair. "This okay?"