[ tate hides away, ducking behind his arm, disappearing in the shadow of it. derek watches tate, quiet and unseen, a tension headache rolling through the base of his neck and shooting sharp streaks of pain across his skull. he grabs his shoulder with his opposite hand and rolls it in its joint, trying to ease some of the taut pulls of muscle and bone. ]
You should've just... talked to me.
[ he drops his arms back to his side and heads over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. there's guilt in him, again. he doesn't feel guilty about wanting to give tate the bite - he genuinely believes he can help him, he genuinely believes he can make things better - but he shouldn't be lying to make it happen. dishonesty has only screwed him over, since his arrival in duplicity. he can't start a second pack based on a lie.
derek breathes out, feels the mattress sink beneath him. he knew tate was going through a lot, but - it's heartbreaking, to connect the dots and realize that part of why tate was so angry in the fort was because derek and stiles knew each other, and they had each other, and tate's just - alone. away from home. away from his family who loves him, his friends who he must miss. if he were pack, he'd - have that again. he'd have that connection. derek runs his fingers through his hair, scratching his nails against his skull. fuck. ]
Crash here for the night. Sleep this off. Tomorrow, I'm going to start fixing this.
[ derek looks over his shoulder, watching tate breathe. he's always had a problem with projecting. he sees himself in other people, time and time again. here and now, with tate - it's no different. tate's angry and he's scared and he's alone, just like derek after... so many deaths. his father's, his mother's. laura's. peter's. derek listens to tate's heart, and his own feels like it could break.
he lowers his voice, keeps it soft. he moves up the bed a little and sits on it more evenly, cross-legged on the sheets. he's in socks, and he picks at a loose thread, looking down. he makes a promise, and it's a promise he's going to keep. ]
I'm gonna take care of you from here on out. You won't be lonely, and you won't be sad. Not while you're with me.
no subject
You should've just... talked to me.
[ he drops his arms back to his side and heads over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. there's guilt in him, again. he doesn't feel guilty about wanting to give tate the bite - he genuinely believes he can help him, he genuinely believes he can make things better - but he shouldn't be lying to make it happen. dishonesty has only screwed him over, since his arrival in duplicity. he can't start a second pack based on a lie.
derek breathes out, feels the mattress sink beneath him. he knew tate was going through a lot, but - it's heartbreaking, to connect the dots and realize that part of why tate was so angry in the fort was because derek and stiles knew each other, and they had each other, and tate's just - alone. away from home. away from his family who loves him, his friends who he must miss. if he were pack, he'd - have that again. he'd have that connection. derek runs his fingers through his hair, scratching his nails against his skull. fuck. ]
Crash here for the night. Sleep this off. Tomorrow, I'm going to start fixing this.
[ derek looks over his shoulder, watching tate breathe. he's always had a problem with projecting. he sees himself in other people, time and time again. here and now, with tate - it's no different. tate's angry and he's scared and he's alone, just like derek after... so many deaths. his father's, his mother's. laura's. peter's. derek listens to tate's heart, and his own feels like it could break.
he lowers his voice, keeps it soft. he moves up the bed a little and sits on it more evenly, cross-legged on the sheets. he's in socks, and he picks at a loose thread, looking down. he makes a promise, and it's a promise he's going to keep. ]
I'm gonna take care of you from here on out. You won't be lonely, and you won't be sad. Not while you're with me.