Even if he's gone - it's not the end of the world. You know what this place is like. People come, people go. Arrivals aren't permanent, but. Neither are departures. Don't lose your shit over this. Don't do anything stupid.
If you want to check his place out, fine, just. Stay on the line with me.
Other people leave, too. People you don't know. I came back. If I can, everyone else can.
[ he also - really doesn't wanna talk about stiles and vaguely resents his name being brought up, even though he gets what tate's going through. he's still processing his own feelings, so. he doesn't want to talk about them, and it feels like they're heading in that direction. either that or shitty platitudes. ]
Look - talking about this never helps us. Hasn't helped before, won't help now. I don't mind listening. But if you want to come over after you check out Peter's place, we can work this out another way. Got a lot of things here that need breaking.
[ tate called the tree house home - derek's still not sure how real that is, still not sure how real anything is, but he's playing the cards he's got. trying to keep tate out of trouble. ]
I'll meet you there. Okay? Just come home. Don't think about anything else.
[ okay, then. that's that - cleaning out the den gets delayed another day, which is... for the best, really, because it's still kind of hard to get through. since tate's been out, derek's managed to get power back on, even if this house still technically doesn't belong to him again - which means tate's loft is gonna be a little less unbearable at night.
it's still afternoon, though, when derek climbs up and waits for tate in his bedroom, legs over the edge. he'll keep his phone near him, in case tate chooses to do something else rather than head back. ]
[Tate thinks of all the things he could be doing - that he would be, if Derek wasn't there to curb him. It's just that still raw promise he made, to not lie to Derek and to try and make him proud that has Tate by the metaphorical collar and is pulling him along. He doesn't feel secure enough yet to test Derek, to defy him or try to hide anything from him. He's too selfish to risk it, but just selfish enough to be put into a bad mood because of it.
He comes out into the woods soon enough, pale in tattered jeans and an oversized sweater - every movement he makes energized with anger, focused inward and ready to explode. Bean approaches him and while he doesn't outright kick her, he freezes for a moment - tensing with anger before walking around her rather than let her or her siblings brush up against him. Pissy teen behavior. He just climbs up to the treehouse, heartbeat absent. The charm no longer works as he remembered it to.]
[ Honestly, there's a part of Derek - a pretty big part of him, honestly - who didn't expect Tate to come. All he'd need is one distraction to ghost him, and until Derek hears the slightly stomping footfalls of an angsting teenage boy walking through the woods, he's not convinced that that distraction won't find him.
Tate climbs into the tree house and Derek doesn't comment on the lack of a heartbeat. He... expected it wouldn't be there. He's still up in the loft, looking down at the entrance, and he gets to his feet without saying hello, nodding upwards. ]
[Tate says that in the typical way a broody teen would, emphasis on the fact he's already doing that, thanks even if his anger toward Derek is misguided. He's pissy. He's a pissy, shitty teen. And after shucking down his bag he's heading up the stairs to the loft - eyes dark and hair in his face. When he gets to the landing, he sort of hesitates there, eyeing Derek with a soft curiosity he tries not to let show because, yeah, still pissy.]
[ Derek's not offended by Tate's tone of voice, really. The kid's angry, justifiably so. He let Stiles lash out on him back home when he was worried about his dad, and he'll let Tate lash out on him now that he's worried about Peter. It's not a big deal. He doesn't mind being the sponge for people's anger, typically, it's just - hard, with Tate, who is so often limitless and quick to hurt himself when he's feeling too much. That's the only thing Derek's worried about right now.
He leads Tate through the window at the back of the loft, hopping onto the balcony outside, overlooking the long drop through the woods that snakes towards the beach. He's got a crate of empty bottles he cleaned out from the den sitting close to the wall, and he's propped up a new, wooden baseball bat beside it. His own - not Stiles'. He couldn't bring himself to touch Stiles'. That's still under his bed. ]
[When out on the balcony, Tate's still skeptical - but Derek does a good job in leading him into curiosity that he doesn't do more than fidget once they're there. He looks at the bottles and the bat, not quite putting it together yet but - does as instructed. He faces where the beach is beyond the trees, facing out with his arm crossed over his chest, tugging on his other sleeve.]
[ Derek picks up the bat by the tip of it, holding it handle-first towards Tate. When he takes it, Derek will stand behind him, manipulating his hands with his own and showing him how to hold a bat the right way. ]
Take this. One hand here - the other here. No gaps between your fingers or your fists. Hold on tight.
[ He'll take a few steps back, fish around in the crate for an empty beer bottle, and without any real warning, he'll just - toss it softly in front of Tate, falling towards the edge of the balcony. ]
[Tate takes direction well, his initial grip just being instinctive and clumsy. Derek corrects him and Tate holds the bat up, getting flashbacks toward little league - decades in the past. It's not enough to dissuade him from feeling shitty but it does make things feel weirdly distracting. Derek chucks a bottle and Tate almost hesitates too long, but he swings - clipping the bottle off center, with a distinct clunk against the glass. It flies off, but doesn't smash from impact - at least not until it lands.
He looks to Derek, clearly puzzled but - a keen eye sees that his plan is working. Tate's focusing on what Derek wants him to do, hands still tight on the bat and his shoulders squared but overly tense. As if to explain that lousy hit:]
Really? Could've fooled me. Pretty nice hit for your first try - I thought you were going to miss.
[ That's not a lie. Besides, there's plenty of bottles here - all those months of keeping them in the kitchen because he didn't know the proper way to recycle them seems to have worked out well. He's gonna have to spend days cleaning the woods of little shards of broken glass, but the cats don't tend to go back this way, as far as he can smell. Only one getting inconvenienced here is him.
Derek takes another bottle, tossing it from one hand to the other, then throws it Tate's way. A little higher, this time, like he's trying to compensate for Tate's aim. ]
[Tate cuts himself off because he sees the way the bottle flips between Derek's hands, and his stomach tightens the second that he sees it get tossed his way. It's higher this time and Tate's more aware of it coming, so when he hits it - it cracks immediately, splintering off into the woods. Glass rains down and Tate's messy with the follow through on his swing, because he's not into this a hundred percent.
That hit, however, was satisfying. He just doesn't want to admit it yet.]
[ It's like Derek doesn't even hear Tate talking, at first. The bat makes contact with the bottle with a resounding, high pitched shatter, and the glass sprinkles like brilliant green rain over the woods, catching the light as it goes. Derek talks over Tate's I don't want to do this right now with a happy, proud noise, this heyyyy as he shields his eyes from the sun. ]
Did you see how hard you hit that? That was awesome, dude.
[ He seems - proud, when he claps his hand on Tate's shoulder, looking at him with a genuine, honest smile. He heads back to the crate, grabs another bottle, and when he holds it up, he makes his expression a little more sympathetic. Just a little. ]
C'mon. Indulge me. One more, then we can stop, okay?
[ Here we go - he throws the bottle to Tate again, another perfect, high arc to give him time to see it coming. ]
[Tate sighs. The sigh of a kid when their parent doesn't give in the way they want - when they're forced to slick down their hair for church or told hey, no Mc D's for lunch today get in the car. Tate looks annoyed, but he drags the bat over the balcony floor board and picks it up again. Waves it as if to say fine, and gets ready. This time, out of all three attempts - he's more focused. Expectant and anticipating what's to come.]
C'mon, then.
[Derek throws it, Tate tracks it - and then he swings. It's not as angrily raw as earlier hits, it's more focused and honed. It connects, hitting the bottle higher into the treeline so that it rains down glass with the most satisfying of cracks so far. Tate, who was ready to call it quits, stares silently in the wake of it, watching as what looks like diamond dust rains down from the pine trees.
He swallows hard, and is silent for a long beat. If his heartbeat was present, it'd be thrumming in his chest - every other sign on his body points to something being thrilling instead of jaw-tensingly irksome. He exhales hard, then looks to Derek.]
[ There was almost a spin to that one - fragments of glass pinwheeled out from Tate's bat, full and satisfying, and Derek watches it go, genuinely impressed. He's got his hands in his pockets, giving Tate a second or two to breathe, and when he leans into this just a little, just enough to say that one went pretty far, Derek feels himself smiling again. This is - going okay. As good as it can. ]
Hell yeah, it did. Would've loved to play with you in high school. Probably would've kicked my ass at baseball, but... still would've had you beat on the court.
[ For a second or two, he just... watches Tate, takes in the sight of him, lit by the sun and starting to sweat. Derek still doesn't really know what to make of him. Still doesn't really know how much of a future they have together - still doesn't know if he's making a fucking fool of himself, taking care of someone who, deep down, maybe wouldn't take care of him the same way. Still - the mood is good. He's not going to let his doubts ruin what they have.
Derek heads back to the crate, taking out another bottle by the neck. He taps his fingernails against it, makes light, soft noises against the side. ]
You wanna go back inside? Still got a full case here. Thirty bottles, maybe more.
[Derek's giving him an out, and Tate's a little bit thrown off by the praise to take it like he would've only a few minutes ago. Derek's praising him and Tate doesn't know what to do with that, and it shows on his face. He likes it, he questions it, he wants more of it and he wants Derek to shut the fuck up about it - it can't be sincere. Derek's got another bottle in his hand and Tate's eyes look to it, before dropping away. Thinking.]
You want to break the whole case? I don't have the arm for that.
[ He's not getting Stiles', so - only one bat. If Tate's offering, though, Derek doesn't mind swapping out for a while. He throws the bottle in the air, just so he can catch the bottom of it, holding it out neck-first towards Tate. He'll hold his other hand out for the bat, but - only half way. This is all for Tate, after all, and he just wants to follow his lead. He'll do as he's guided. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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A few days doesn't mean much.
Don't panic.
Where are you?
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this isn't like him
i was going to go look at his place
is that weird?
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You know what this place is like. People come, people go.
Arrivals aren't permanent, but. Neither are departures.
Don't lose your shit over this. Don't do anything stupid.
If you want to check his place out, fine, just.
Stay on the line with me.
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Only way to avoid it is by not caring about anyone at all.
[ which - spoilers - kind of sucks to try and force, in his experience. ]
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i want violet back
i want stiles back
i want abigail back
why is it always people i care about? take the other fucking people
they took you too
it's not fair.
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I came back. If I can, everyone else can.
[ he also - really doesn't wanna talk about stiles and vaguely resents his name being brought up, even though he gets what tate's going through. he's still processing his own feelings, so. he doesn't want to talk about them, and it feels like they're heading in that direction. either that or shitty platitudes. ]
Look - talking about this never helps us. Hasn't helped before, won't help now.
I don't mind listening.
But if you want to come over after you check out Peter's place, we can work this out another way.
Got a lot of things here that need breaking.
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sin guards are lurking around everywhere
and what if he really isnt there
i dont
i dont know
i dont know what to do
no subject
Come home.
[ tate called the tree house home - derek's still not sure how real that is, still not sure how real anything is, but he's playing the cards he's got. trying to keep tate out of trouble. ]
I'll meet you there. Okay?
Just come home. Don't think about anything else.
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okay
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it's still afternoon, though, when derek climbs up and waits for tate in his bedroom, legs over the edge. he'll keep his phone near him, in case tate chooses to do something else rather than head back. ]
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He comes out into the woods soon enough, pale in tattered jeans and an oversized sweater - every movement he makes energized with anger, focused inward and ready to explode. Bean approaches him and while he doesn't outright kick her, he freezes for a moment - tensing with anger before walking around her rather than let her or her siblings brush up against him. Pissy teen behavior. He just climbs up to the treehouse, heartbeat absent. The charm no longer works as he remembered it to.]
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Tate climbs into the tree house and Derek doesn't comment on the lack of a heartbeat. He... expected it wouldn't be there. He's still up in the loft, looking down at the entrance, and he gets to his feet without saying hello, nodding upwards. ]
... C'mon. Up here. I've got something for you.
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[Tate says that in the typical way a broody teen would, emphasis on the fact he's already doing that, thanks even if his anger toward Derek is misguided. He's pissy. He's a pissy, shitty teen. And after shucking down his bag he's heading up the stairs to the loft - eyes dark and hair in his face. When he gets to the landing, he sort of hesitates there, eyeing Derek with a soft curiosity he tries not to let show because, yeah, still pissy.]
What is it?
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He leads Tate through the window at the back of the loft, hopping onto the balcony outside, overlooking the long drop through the woods that snakes towards the beach. He's got a crate of empty bottles he cleaned out from the den sitting close to the wall, and he's propped up a new, wooden baseball bat beside it. His own - not Stiles'. He couldn't bring himself to touch Stiles'. That's still under his bed. ]
C'mere. Stand in front of me. Face the water.
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And?
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Take this. One hand here - the other here. No gaps between your fingers or your fists. Hold on tight.
[ He'll take a few steps back, fish around in the crate for an empty beer bottle, and without any real warning, he'll just - toss it softly in front of Tate, falling towards the edge of the balcony. ]
Swing.
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He looks to Derek, clearly puzzled but - a keen eye sees that his plan is working. Tate's focusing on what Derek wants him to do, hands still tight on the bat and his shoulders squared but overly tense. As if to explain that lousy hit:]
I wasn't prepared for that.
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[ That's not a lie. Besides, there's plenty of bottles here - all those months of keeping them in the kitchen because he didn't know the proper way to recycle them seems to have worked out well. He's gonna have to spend days cleaning the woods of little shards of broken glass, but the cats don't tend to go back this way, as far as he can smell. Only one getting inconvenienced here is him.
Derek takes another bottle, tossing it from one hand to the other, then throws it Tate's way. A little higher, this time, like he's trying to compensate for Tate's aim. ]
Again.
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[Tate cuts himself off because he sees the way the bottle flips between Derek's hands, and his stomach tightens the second that he sees it get tossed his way. It's higher this time and Tate's more aware of it coming, so when he hits it - it cracks immediately, splintering off into the woods. Glass rains down and Tate's messy with the follow through on his swing, because he's not into this a hundred percent.
That hit, however, was satisfying. He just doesn't want to admit it yet.]
Happy? C'mon, I don't want to do this right now.
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Did you see how hard you hit that? That was awesome, dude.
[ He seems - proud, when he claps his hand on Tate's shoulder, looking at him with a genuine, honest smile. He heads back to the crate, grabs another bottle, and when he holds it up, he makes his expression a little more sympathetic. Just a little. ]
C'mon. Indulge me. One more, then we can stop, okay?
[ Here we go - he throws the bottle to Tate again, another perfect, high arc to give him time to see it coming. ]
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C'mon, then.
[Derek throws it, Tate tracks it - and then he swings. It's not as angrily raw as earlier hits, it's more focused and honed. It connects, hitting the bottle higher into the treeline so that it rains down glass with the most satisfying of cracks so far. Tate, who was ready to call it quits, stares silently in the wake of it, watching as what looks like diamond dust rains down from the pine trees.
He swallows hard, and is silent for a long beat. If his heartbeat was present, it'd be thrumming in his chest - every other sign on his body points to something being thrilling instead of jaw-tensingly irksome. He exhales hard, then looks to Derek.]
... That one went pretty far.
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Hell yeah, it did. Would've loved to play with you in high school. Probably would've kicked my ass at baseball, but... still would've had you beat on the court.
[ For a second or two, he just... watches Tate, takes in the sight of him, lit by the sun and starting to sweat. Derek still doesn't really know what to make of him. Still doesn't really know how much of a future they have together - still doesn't know if he's making a fucking fool of himself, taking care of someone who, deep down, maybe wouldn't take care of him the same way. Still - the mood is good. He's not going to let his doubts ruin what they have.
Derek heads back to the crate, taking out another bottle by the neck. He taps his fingernails against it, makes light, soft noises against the side. ]
You wanna go back inside? Still got a full case here. Thirty bottles, maybe more.
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You want to break the whole case? I don't have the arm for that.
[He looks back to Derek, slowly.]
Do you have another bat?
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[ He's not getting Stiles', so - only one bat. If Tate's offering, though, Derek doesn't mind swapping out for a while. He throws the bottle in the air, just so he can catch the bottom of it, holding it out neck-first towards Tate. He'll hold his other hand out for the bat, but - only half way. This is all for Tate, after all, and he just wants to follow his lead. He'll do as he's guided. ]
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