[ Derek feels mildly anxious about Tate going off on his own, which is - stupid, because it's a fucking hardware store. The kid's not going to get in trouble for being away from a Dom when a Dom is three feet away. Once Tate turns his back on Derek, Derek watches him go, seeing him turn a corner and then just - focusing on the pine he's screwing with, keeping an ear out for Tate's heartbeat, just in case.
His ears are pricked up and focused on every tiny, miniature sound, so the clatter of wood to the floor is loud and violent and sounds far more explosive than it really is. Derek smells blood and panics, bolting to his feet and running to the end of the hallway, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to find Tate.
He's blocked off by a heavy-looking panel of wood, tall enough and thick enough that Derek can't see much more than a couple of golden curls while Tate's collapsed on the ground. He panics, yells - ]
Tate!
[ - and then rushes over, heart jackhammering in his chest. He realizes with a start that this is-- that this is mountain ash, and that Tate might be seriously, seriously hurt, and that he won't be able to help him without going the long way around. He swears, turns on his heel, fucking runs, and by the time he's heading up the hallway from the opposite end of it, he's sweaty and pale and clearly been spiralling. Derek looks fucking scared. He zeroes in on the blood, grabbing Tate's wrist, holding him with almost violently trembling hands. ]
Fuck. Fuck, jesus, what--
[ He takes Tate's pain. It's instant and pointless because Tate's not all that hurt, but Derek grips onto him and siphons the sting of his scratches into his own body through sharp, black ropes twirling through his veins. He looks up, meets Tate's eyes, jaw set tight. ]
no subject
His ears are pricked up and focused on every tiny, miniature sound, so the clatter of wood to the floor is loud and violent and sounds far more explosive than it really is. Derek smells blood and panics, bolting to his feet and running to the end of the hallway, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to find Tate.
He's blocked off by a heavy-looking panel of wood, tall enough and thick enough that Derek can't see much more than a couple of golden curls while Tate's collapsed on the ground. He panics, yells - ]
Tate!
[ - and then rushes over, heart jackhammering in his chest. He realizes with a start that this is-- that this is mountain ash, and that Tate might be seriously, seriously hurt, and that he won't be able to help him without going the long way around. He swears, turns on his heel, fucking runs, and by the time he's heading up the hallway from the opposite end of it, he's sweaty and pale and clearly been spiralling. Derek looks fucking scared. He zeroes in on the blood, grabbing Tate's wrist, holding him with almost violently trembling hands. ]
Fuck. Fuck, jesus, what--
[ He takes Tate's pain. It's instant and pointless because Tate's not all that hurt, but Derek grips onto him and siphons the sting of his scratches into his own body through sharp, black ropes twirling through his veins. He looks up, meets Tate's eyes, jaw set tight. ]
What happened?