[ Overprotective's all he's got, really. No personality other than being a hardass, very little revenue in the way of stable friendships. He still wants to pick a fight, but. Gets why he can't. ]
When do you know when to tell people... the important stuff? Like, you trusted me with your secret. I guess I just don't know when I should start trusting people back. Like, me dying's kinda... a bummer for a conversation. I don't even really like bringing it up but, is that okay? To not tell - someone? If it just... makes it easier for everyone?
[Some things you should tell and it's not like he's against explaining himself, but it's such a... small thing in the grand scheme. Yeah, he's dead. Only not. But someone like Peter is going to take it a hell of a lot different than Derek. Derek understands the supernatural, he knows what hard choices are. Peter's - well, he's Peter? Tate has no reason to believe he's anything more than a sweet hearted teenage nerd.]
I guess I don't want it getting around, either. That I'm Casper the freakin' ghost.
[ Wow, he's not the person to ask about this. Derek listens, feels a shot of fear and guilt over Tate not wanting his death getting around, and he ultimately struggles to come up with some decent and fulfilling advice. ]
I don't... trust people, Tate. You're a pretty fucking big exception for me.
[ But - if he can't give advice, he can at least tell Tate his experience with him? Feels kind of shallow, though. Derek's visibly insecure, pressing his lips together, swinging one leg in the air beneath him. ]
I told you about... being a werewolf, about my sisters, and about the fire, because I want to be as close to you as possible. It's - scary, and it's hard, every time, but I want...
Doesn't matter. I've talked enough about... you. Like that. [ He rubs the back of his neck, shoots Tate a sidelong glance. ] Just - if you want someone to like you for you, they need to actually know you, right? Hiding everything important is only going to get you half a relationship.
I get it. I just... I guess I'm afraid of people leaving.
[He admits this, and it feels like this much has been obvious for a while. Has he spoken to Derek about it? Probably, in bits and pieces spread out over his time here. Maybe he needs to explain it a bit because he's sure he's not the only one who remembers his epic break down when Derek tried to leave; how Tate crumbled into distressed tears in any attempt to keep him from going.
Tate tugs down his sleeves, covering his hands. Whatever he's covered already he doesn't mind glossing over again, for a more complete story. He'll still narrate with some pieces removed, just because he's still not sure he can be as completely honest with Derek as he was once so naive enough to believe.]
My dad left when I was a kid and he left me with my mother. You - You know how I feel about her. What she's done and how it's messed me up. My therapist says I have a fear of rejection, or he - said - whatever. Before I came here, I was seeing him to try and sort everything out. Thought I'd get better.
[He shrugs quietly.]
My mom was never pleased with me, she was the type who always wanted more. Better. More in line with how she thought I should be, versus who I really was. She held me and my siblings to... standards we couldn't compete with. Even though I hate her, I guess - I still want to be what I can't. And I got scared here that maybe I couldn't be what you wanted, too. But I'm trying. Not because you want it, but because I want to be that way too.
[ It's not a revelation, that Tate's afraid. Derek doesn't think it'll be a revelation when he says the same thing back, - ]
Me too.
[ - but maybe it will be. His voice is quiet and sounds like it hasn't been used for days, like he's exhausted and forcing the words out when they'd rather just sleep. It's not an excuse, but-- but they were both scared in the same direction, when Tate signed with somebody else. Tate scared Derek, and Derek scared Tate back. It was... bad.
Unhealthy, maybe. Derek bites the inside of his cheek while Tate talks, listening intently, not blinking in case he misses something. A skip in Tate's heartbeat that says he needs comfort, a twitch in his hand to show he's getting too nervous to talk. Anything. He listens. ]
You know that I don't... want you to change, right? There's no standard to meet here, like... like with your mom. I want to help you get better, but that's just because I want you to feel... happier. And I know that it's what you want, too.
[ And he doesn't want to sound like he's... enabling Tate not betting himself, but carefully, he adds - ]
I just like talking to you. Being around you. I like you as you are. Your dad would have, too, if he'd stayed to watch you grow up.
[ Every single one of Tate's episodes have been his fault, so. He can't sit here telling Tate he needs to change when he was the one who made him choke him in orientation, he was the one who made him feel left out at the fort, he was the one threatening to keep Tate against his will at the hotel. ]
[Tate smiles a sad little smile at that - like he gets the sentiment and appreciates it, but knows it's far too fucking long gone to keep dwelling over it. And yet he does, time after time, keep coming back to the people in his life who did him wrong. Maybe it was because he used to be stuck in time, dwelling on his issues forever. Here he gets to change it - maybe he really needs to try harder and move on.]
Thanks. I... I'm not used to people supporting me. So if I - I bite, it's just 'cause I'm scared, okay? You get that. I know you do.
[He hopes he does.]
Can I ask another stupid question? Less relevant but... my ass is falling asleep. How exactly are we gonna get down from here?
Yeah. I'm-- all that shit I said after you told me you had a contract, that was just-- fear. I didn't...
[ ... mean it. He's already apologized for this. Harping on the same shit, apologizing again and again, all that does is bring up old wounds to poke around in. He's gotta be a fucking adult. Bottle his feelings. That's what he's used to, by now. Just -
It'd be easier if he could rely on his anger, like he used to. Sometimes. Months of being with Stiles has really started to soften him up.
Tate asks how they're going to get down, and Derek... shrugs. He takes this as a dismissal and figures their time here's nearly up - unless Derek can figure out how to guilt him into staying by talking about the tree house, or something. He stands, a little rickety, hooking one arm around the trunk and offering Tate the other. ]
[Tate's talking when he's trying to also stand, getting his foot on the branch while reaching for Derek's hand. It's a rocky way to get back up, and he wasn't lying about his ass being asleep. So is part of his leg, which is why his sneaker slides a bit on the bark and he slips forward, grabbing at Derek's shirt before looking down to the distance below them. He shuffles closer toward Derek and doesn't let go. Does whisper a soft fuck under his breath, though.
He blinks, then looks back up to Derek sheepishly.]
I should've talked to you before I signed. It was selfish. I'm sorry - again, ah. I'll do better. I want to do better. I really do.
[ There's a lot that Derek wants to say - of course there is, he might not ever really be over what happened - but he's not going to get into it all again, least of all when Tate's precariously trying to find his balance this high up in the fucking sky. Derek doesn't say anything until he has a firm grip on Tate, moving back to stand on the very, very edge of the branch so Tate can walk ahead of him and climb down first. ]
Not... trying to make you feel bad.
[ Just trying to say he was afraid. More afraid then than he is of falling, right now. Derek's grip around the trunk slips a little, but he holds on tight, his other hand firm on Tate's forearm. ]
I just - I want you to know, okay? I'm doing... what I can to be better. You inspire me.
[But enough sucking up - Tate's precariously moving along, working to grab on to the tree trunk and start descending. It's way harder than he figured, and his stupid ghost body's not exactly equipped for strenuous activity. His arms ache and he realizes how close he is to slipping a few times. At least, he figures, if he falls - it's not like it'll stick.]
Wh-Why exactly was it smart for me to go down first?
[Lightly sarcastic. He's getting there, bit by bit. He stops about six feet up, and sits back down on that branch as if waiting for Derek to move on ahead. Because he is. Also because his arms are fucking killing him. Since when did climbing make your goddamn armpits sore?]
[ Man, that's stupid. Tate hits Derek where he lives, making his heart feel three times as big, but at the same time, he just feels kind of sick. "You inspire me," he says to the guy wallowing in his pity over what a fucking asshole move it was to yell at Tate and threaten to lock him away in a hotel suite in the middle of the fucking full moon. Derek wonders what Tate would say, if he knew how close he came to being mauled. Literally, presumably, though Stiles lived to tell a different tale, so. Jesus, wow, okay, he thinks about something else.
Probably not something he's going to bring up, either way. Ever. Tate starts moving and Derek joins him soon enough, climbing down the side of the tree with an obnoxious amount of ease that Tate just doesn't have. He's going slow, keeping it leisurely. Just in case he needs to move fast to catch Tate when his stupid ghost ass loses grip.
Tate sits on a branch and Derek just - keeps going, climbing down until he hits the ground, and then he just... collapses. He's not tired, but he doesn't want to go home just yet, so he falls flat onto the ground, laying on his back and stretching out in the grass and the dirt. It's not the softest bed he's ever been on, but. Least he can look up at Tate without craning his neck. ]
[Tate says cheerfully from up on his branch, waving the middle finger at Derek. He contemplates climbing down but hesitates a little bit longer, letting his legs swing as he looks around. He's going to have to come and practice climbing, maybe that's another thing he can do when not at the beach. Things to occupy his time - he's getting quite a few.
Finally, he carefully slips off the branch, hangs from it from a second, albeit awkwardly - and drops to his feet. Kinda hurts his ankle but he's fine, so he collapses down next to Derek to join him in staring up at the sky.]
Face it, you like me. I'm gonna be all over these woods. Forever.
[ Tate doesn't have the energy to flip Tate off in return. He just looks at him kind of blearily, sun filtering through the leaves and lighting him up. He's so - excited, to get this all done. The tree house, the contract. The life he's going to build for the people that matter most. ]
I do. I like you very much. More than you like me, which is - you know. Heartbreaking, but understandable.
[ Given, you know, all this. Derek references his face with one hand, as if he's ugly and plain and not this fucking bullshit, unfair depiction of chiseled masculinity. Tate's just joking when he says he'll be all over these woods forever, but - shit, Derek takes him too seriously. It goes straight to his chest, making it hard to breathe, and he doesn't say much until Tate's safely sprawled out alongside him. He keeps looking at the sky, rather than at him.
He's getting anxious, and it's the kind of anxious he needs Stiles around to help him with, and - he's not here, so. It's just there, now. Anxiety. ]
Don't make promises like that unless you mean them.
[Tate is still feeling a thrumming in his chest at 'I like you very much. More than you like me-' which he doesn't really get. Is it a joke? Reads like one but Tate almost felt compelled to defend himself, say he's the one who probably likes Derek a bit too much. But he bit his tongue before he did, because part of him acknowledges that as... too much. Too much for this moment.
It's not exactly comfortable laying on the dirt, so Tate wiggles a bit and breathes out hard, like he's a dog who just can't get comfortable. He bends his knee, laying it flat with his calf beneath his other leg and picks up a twig off the ground, twirling it between his fingers while looking sidelong at Derek.]
Wanna pinky swear on it? I will. And that shit's sacred.
[ It's not a joke, it's just - self-deprecating. During that fight in the hotel, Derek had a moment, just for a second, where he saw Tate in such a low fucking light. Started second guessing the things they shared, the things Tate said. Tate threw the lie at the Fort back in his face like he never got over it, like that made Derek worse, and Derek's stomach feels like sand whenever he thinks back on that and wonders if Tate has all this resentment for him built up that he just - doesn't mention.
So he doesn't let himself think about it. Won't let himself think about it now, either. Tate asks why Derek doesn't think he means his promises, and Derek shrugs, not really answering, even when he talks. ]
Scared.
[ Scared of people leaving, same as Tate. Scared of not having Tate anymore. Scared of all this effort he's put into trusting him, letting him in, showing him all these things that matter so fucking much to him, liking him, pretty fucking close to loving him, all going nowhere. Derek doesn't want this to be like Kate again. Doesn't want to hurt like that anymore. Doesn't want to be in a position where he'd let someone bad in when he's sworn to protect Stiles from the reach of this fucking place.
He just - raises his hand, elbow in the ground, pinky limp but out. Surprisingly serious. About pinky swears. ]
[Tate smiles when he sees Derek take him up on this, and he shifts over close enough that his foot brushes Derek's leg and he can link their pinkies together. He squeezes, holds on longer than he has to and in fact doesn't break it off. Prolonged periods of hand to hand contact seem to be their thing these days.]
I always want to keep my promises. I only stop if it'd - hurt someone. And even then, I think... I'd still want to do it if it was for you. You're important. More than most people. That's... I know that's messed up to say. But... it's true.
[As evident by the pinky-swear; you can't lie when you're doing this, right?]
[ Derek listens. Derek listens, and it-- helps, maybe, in gradual increments. Tate says it's messed up to say the things he says, but fuck, if that's true, how messed up is Derek for wanting more? For Tate to say he's-- more important than anyone, more important than his ex-girlfriend who didn't get him, more important than his fucking family. It's not official in any of the ways it could be, but Tate's his pack. They're supposed to live at each other's side, eat together, fight together, do everything together. Derek's supposed to be able to say he'd die for him, if it came down to it, not just fucking - build him treehouses and give him second-rate advice.
The pinky promise gets him. He doesn't feel like it's enough, so when Tate doesn't let go, Derek takes the opportunity to hold on tighter. He nudges his leg, shifts a little closer, just to have a better, more reassuring fill of what little inner warmth Tate has, as a ghost. Derek - breathes. ]
I'd...
[ Stuck with him. Derek tilts his head, looking at Tate. He's really fucking close, but it still feels like there's a wall here, invisible and hard to describe. It's a wall that Tate's chipping away at, brick by brick, every time he makes Derek believe that things are good between them. Every time he makes Derek believe that they're in this together. ]
I'd - yeah. Me too. I'd do anything, if you needed it. If it would make you happy.
[ If it meant Tate wouldn't leave. He gets a sense of deja vu, but can't really place why. ]
[Tate likes the sound of that, as fucked up as it is. Someone swearing this kind of loyalty to him - it fans this fire in his gut that makes him smile, dark eyes wide and warm when they look at Derek from behind a veil of disheveled blond bangs. He'd do anything for him too, but it's hard to admit just how far he'd go for Derek. How far he'd gone for Nora, for Violet. He smiles sweetly and turns onto his side after letting go of Derek's hand.
He props up his head on his hand after rubbing dirt off on his sleeve.]
[ Tate lets go, and Derek just lets his hand stay suspended for a second or two longer, before quietly thudding down onto an easily broken twig. He doesn't sense anything behind Tate's question, really. Nothing sinister, at least. Just figures he's going to make him do something only a dom can do, like buy him another stash of pretzels to hide out in the treehouse once it's built. ]
[Tate's brow furrows - he doesn't understand that reference but he sits up properly, facing Derek with his legs crossing under him. He dusts more dirt off his shirt and just laces his fingers, stretching out his arms and cracking his knuckles. He's comfortable, cozy, and treating this with a bit of fun.]
Lend me your leather jacket for a week. The one you wear all the time.
[ Derek wasn't expecting much. Maybe he fucking should have been. ]
That's-- what? No. Are you--
[ Derek sits up, propped up on his elbows. His jaw drops, largely offended, and he stares at Tate with-- well, not with malicious intent, exactly, but certainly with some kind of malice. Stand-alone malice. Malice, but on a solo mission. Jesus, he'd honestly have preferred Tate to ask him to pony up on all the semi-ironic blowjob jokes. Absolutely would have followed through on one of those, if giving up his jacket was the alternative. Eat shit, exclusivity to the love of his life, that's his fucking jacket.
But.
A promise is a promise. Tate's just teasing, probably doesn't even intend to follow through on a literal fucking hostage negotiation, but. Derek's gonna commit to this, just in case he is. That's where they're at. ]
You can't fuck in it. I'll know. I've got a really, really good nose.
[Tate's smile cracks wide and bright at the taste of victory, and he laughs soon after that. He wasn't even sure Derek would agree but that was half the fun, twisting his arm to really see if he would. This doesn't really change anything, not really. He still would trust Derek either way. But this makes him like him a hell of a lot more. He slaps the side of his fist against Derek's thigh.]
[ Tate's smile might be worth it. That's the kind of smile that'll keep Derek going for a week. Seven full days of just - remembering Tate like this, every time he starts to doubt their relationship or see a hairline fracture in the foundation of a promise. Seven full days of bought trust.
Derek sighs. Claps his hand against Tate's. His handshake is strong and firm and maybe a little too rough, but it suits him. It'd suit him even if he wasn't this angry. ]
You're gonna have to break the news to Stiles about this. He loves that jacket.
[ Derek assumes. He's never said he loves that jacket, but. Why the fuck wouldn't he. ]
[Playfully said, of course. Tate's fucking smitten with what he just rigged up for himself, and he can't wait to wear that goddamn thing. Not that he'll wear it all the time - he knows he can't around Kavinsky. So, well, he'll have to be careful with it. But it'll be a good fucking week - mostly just because he knows he'll have something Derek wants. Something tangibly so.]
[ That's a dirty lie, but he's a werewolf, so who's gonna doubt him? Werewolves be hairy. He's just nipping this shit in the bud before Tate gets a chance to ask him to shave next time.
Still. Fine. Derek sits up a little further and starts tugging on the sleeves of his jacket, pulling them down over his hands and feeling a little vulnerable about taking it off for good. He hesitates, like he doesn't want to do this, but. Deal's a deal. He slides it off, his henley riding up his stomach as he pulls it off. Mourningly, he sets the jacket in Tate's arms. ]
I don't think you understand the massive levels of responsibility you've taken on by stealing this from me. You're literally babysitting my child. If you hurt her, we're gonna square up.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Shoot.
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[Some things you should tell and it's not like he's against explaining himself, but it's such a... small thing in the grand scheme. Yeah, he's dead. Only not. But someone like Peter is going to take it a hell of a lot different than Derek. Derek understands the supernatural, he knows what hard choices are. Peter's - well, he's Peter? Tate has no reason to believe he's anything more than a sweet hearted teenage nerd.]
I guess I don't want it getting around, either. That I'm Casper the freakin' ghost.
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I don't... trust people, Tate. You're a pretty fucking big exception for me.
[ But - if he can't give advice, he can at least tell Tate his experience with him? Feels kind of shallow, though. Derek's visibly insecure, pressing his lips together, swinging one leg in the air beneath him. ]
I told you about... being a werewolf, about my sisters, and about the fire, because I want to be as close to you as possible. It's - scary, and it's hard, every time, but I want...
[ You. Them. Something unbreakable. Derek shakes his head, trailing off. ]
Doesn't matter. I've talked enough about... you. Like that. [ He rubs the back of his neck, shoots Tate a sidelong glance. ] Just - if you want someone to like you for you, they need to actually know you, right? Hiding everything important is only going to get you half a relationship.
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[He admits this, and it feels like this much has been obvious for a while. Has he spoken to Derek about it? Probably, in bits and pieces spread out over his time here. Maybe he needs to explain it a bit because he's sure he's not the only one who remembers his epic break down when Derek tried to leave; how Tate crumbled into distressed tears in any attempt to keep him from going.
Tate tugs down his sleeves, covering his hands. Whatever he's covered already he doesn't mind glossing over again, for a more complete story. He'll still narrate with some pieces removed, just because he's still not sure he can be as completely honest with Derek as he was once so naive enough to believe.]
My dad left when I was a kid and he left me with my mother. You - You know how I feel about her. What she's done and how it's messed me up. My therapist says I have a fear of rejection, or he - said - whatever. Before I came here, I was seeing him to try and sort everything out. Thought I'd get better.
[He shrugs quietly.]
My mom was never pleased with me, she was the type who always wanted more. Better. More in line with how she thought I should be, versus who I really was. She held me and my siblings to... standards we couldn't compete with. Even though I hate her, I guess - I still want to be what I can't. And I got scared here that maybe I couldn't be what you wanted, too. But I'm trying. Not because you want it, but because I want to be that way too.
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Me too.
[ - but maybe it will be. His voice is quiet and sounds like it hasn't been used for days, like he's exhausted and forcing the words out when they'd rather just sleep. It's not an excuse, but-- but they were both scared in the same direction, when Tate signed with somebody else. Tate scared Derek, and Derek scared Tate back. It was... bad.
Unhealthy, maybe. Derek bites the inside of his cheek while Tate talks, listening intently, not blinking in case he misses something. A skip in Tate's heartbeat that says he needs comfort, a twitch in his hand to show he's getting too nervous to talk. Anything. He listens. ]
You know that I don't... want you to change, right? There's no standard to meet here, like... like with your mom. I want to help you get better, but that's just because I want you to feel... happier. And I know that it's what you want, too.
[ And he doesn't want to sound like he's... enabling Tate not betting himself, but carefully, he adds - ]
I just like talking to you. Being around you. I like you as you are. Your dad would have, too, if he'd stayed to watch you grow up.
[ Every single one of Tate's episodes have been his fault, so. He can't sit here telling Tate he needs to change when he was the one who made him choke him in orientation, he was the one who made him feel left out at the fort, he was the one threatening to keep Tate against his will at the hotel. ]
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Thanks. I... I'm not used to people supporting me. So if I - I bite, it's just 'cause I'm scared, okay? You get that. I know you do.
[He hopes he does.]
Can I ask another stupid question? Less relevant but... my ass is falling asleep. How exactly are we gonna get down from here?
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[ ... mean it. He's already apologized for this. Harping on the same shit, apologizing again and again, all that does is bring up old wounds to poke around in. He's gotta be a fucking adult. Bottle his feelings. That's what he's used to, by now. Just -
It'd be easier if he could rely on his anger, like he used to. Sometimes. Months of being with Stiles has really started to soften him up.
Tate asks how they're going to get down, and Derek... shrugs. He takes this as a dismissal and figures their time here's nearly up - unless Derek can figure out how to guilt him into staying by talking about the tree house, or something. He stands, a little rickety, hooking one arm around the trunk and offering Tate the other. ]
C'mon. I'll help you up.
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[Tate's talking when he's trying to also stand, getting his foot on the branch while reaching for Derek's hand. It's a rocky way to get back up, and he wasn't lying about his ass being asleep. So is part of his leg, which is why his sneaker slides a bit on the bark and he slips forward, grabbing at Derek's shirt before looking down to the distance below them. He shuffles closer toward Derek and doesn't let go. Does whisper a soft fuck under his breath, though.
He blinks, then looks back up to Derek sheepishly.]
I should've talked to you before I signed. It was selfish. I'm sorry - again, ah. I'll do better. I want to do better. I really do.
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Not... trying to make you feel bad.
[ Just trying to say he was afraid. More afraid then than he is of falling, right now. Derek's grip around the trunk slips a little, but he holds on tight, his other hand firm on Tate's forearm. ]
C'mon. You go first. I'll follow.
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[But enough sucking up - Tate's precariously moving along, working to grab on to the tree trunk and start descending. It's way harder than he figured, and his stupid ghost body's not exactly equipped for strenuous activity. His arms ache and he realizes how close he is to slipping a few times. At least, he figures, if he falls - it's not like it'll stick.]
Wh-Why exactly was it smart for me to go down first?
[Lightly sarcastic. He's getting there, bit by bit. He stops about six feet up, and sits back down on that branch as if waiting for Derek to move on ahead. Because he is. Also because his arms are fucking killing him. Since when did climbing make your goddamn armpits sore?]
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Probably not something he's going to bring up, either way. Ever. Tate starts moving and Derek joins him soon enough, climbing down the side of the tree with an obnoxious amount of ease that Tate just doesn't have. He's going slow, keeping it leisurely. Just in case he needs to move fast to catch Tate when his stupid ghost ass loses grip.
Tate sits on a branch and Derek just - keeps going, climbing down until he hits the ground, and then he just... collapses. He's not tired, but he doesn't want to go home just yet, so he falls flat onto the ground, laying on his back and stretching out in the grass and the dirt. It's not the softest bed he's ever been on, but. Least he can look up at Tate without craning his neck. ]
I'm never bringing you to the woods again.
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[Tate says cheerfully from up on his branch, waving the middle finger at Derek. He contemplates climbing down but hesitates a little bit longer, letting his legs swing as he looks around. He's going to have to come and practice climbing, maybe that's another thing he can do when not at the beach. Things to occupy his time - he's getting quite a few.
Finally, he carefully slips off the branch, hangs from it from a second, albeit awkwardly - and drops to his feet. Kinda hurts his ankle but he's fine, so he collapses down next to Derek to join him in staring up at the sky.]
Face it, you like me. I'm gonna be all over these woods. Forever.
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I do. I like you very much. More than you like me, which is - you know. Heartbreaking, but understandable.
[ Given, you know, all this. Derek references his face with one hand, as if he's ugly and plain and not this fucking bullshit, unfair depiction of chiseled masculinity. Tate's just joking when he says he'll be all over these woods forever, but - shit, Derek takes him too seriously. It goes straight to his chest, making it hard to breathe, and he doesn't say much until Tate's safely sprawled out alongside him. He keeps looking at the sky, rather than at him.
He's getting anxious, and it's the kind of anxious he needs Stiles around to help him with, and - he's not here, so. It's just there, now. Anxiety. ]
Don't make promises like that unless you mean them.
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[Tate is still feeling a thrumming in his chest at 'I like you very much. More than you like me-' which he doesn't really get. Is it a joke? Reads like one but Tate almost felt compelled to defend himself, say he's the one who probably likes Derek a bit too much. But he bit his tongue before he did, because part of him acknowledges that as... too much. Too much for this moment.
It's not exactly comfortable laying on the dirt, so Tate wiggles a bit and breathes out hard, like he's a dog who just can't get comfortable. He bends his knee, laying it flat with his calf beneath his other leg and picks up a twig off the ground, twirling it between his fingers while looking sidelong at Derek.]
Wanna pinky swear on it? I will. And that shit's sacred.
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So he doesn't let himself think about it. Won't let himself think about it now, either. Tate asks why Derek doesn't think he means his promises, and Derek shrugs, not really answering, even when he talks. ]
Scared.
[ Scared of people leaving, same as Tate. Scared of not having Tate anymore. Scared of all this effort he's put into trusting him, letting him in, showing him all these things that matter so fucking much to him, liking him, pretty fucking close to loving him, all going nowhere. Derek doesn't want this to be like Kate again. Doesn't want to hurt like that anymore. Doesn't want to be in a position where he'd let someone bad in when he's sworn to protect Stiles from the reach of this fucking place.
He just - raises his hand, elbow in the ground, pinky limp but out. Surprisingly serious. About pinky swears. ]
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I always want to keep my promises. I only stop if it'd - hurt someone. And even then, I think... I'd still want to do it if it was for you. You're important. More than most people. That's... I know that's messed up to say. But... it's true.
[As evident by the pinky-swear; you can't lie when you're doing this, right?]
You're stuck with me now.
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The pinky promise gets him. He doesn't feel like it's enough, so when Tate doesn't let go, Derek takes the opportunity to hold on tighter. He nudges his leg, shifts a little closer, just to have a better, more reassuring fill of what little inner warmth Tate has, as a ghost. Derek - breathes. ]
I'd...
[ Stuck with him. Derek tilts his head, looking at Tate. He's really fucking close, but it still feels like there's a wall here, invisible and hard to describe. It's a wall that Tate's chipping away at, brick by brick, every time he makes Derek believe that things are good between them. Every time he makes Derek believe that they're in this together. ]
I'd - yeah. Me too. I'd do anything, if you needed it. If it would make you happy.
[ If it meant Tate wouldn't leave. He gets a sense of deja vu, but can't really place why. ]
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He props up his head on his hand after rubbing dirt off on his sleeve.]
Can I put you to the test?
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Go nuts, Jigsaw.
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Lend me your leather jacket for a week. The one you wear all the time.
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That's-- what? No. Are you--
[ Derek sits up, propped up on his elbows. His jaw drops, largely offended, and he stares at Tate with-- well, not with malicious intent, exactly, but certainly with some kind of malice. Stand-alone malice. Malice, but on a solo mission. Jesus, he'd honestly have preferred Tate to ask him to pony up on all the semi-ironic blowjob jokes. Absolutely would have followed through on one of those, if giving up his jacket was the alternative. Eat shit, exclusivity to the love of his life, that's his fucking jacket.
But.
A promise is a promise. Tate's just teasing, probably doesn't even intend to follow through on a literal fucking hostage negotiation, but. Derek's gonna commit to this, just in case he is. That's where they're at. ]
You can't fuck in it. I'll know. I've got a really, really good nose.
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Deal. Shake on it?
[He offers his hand to Derek.]
One whoooole week. It's mine.
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Derek sighs. Claps his hand against Tate's. His handshake is strong and firm and maybe a little too rough, but it suits him. It'd suit him even if he wasn't this angry. ]
You're gonna have to break the news to Stiles about this. He loves that jacket.
[ Derek assumes. He's never said he loves that jacket, but. Why the fuck wouldn't he. ]
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[Playfully said, of course. Tate's fucking smitten with what he just rigged up for himself, and he can't wait to wear that goddamn thing. Not that he'll wear it all the time - he knows he can't around Kavinsky. So, well, he'll have to be careful with it. But it'll be a good fucking week - mostly just because he knows he'll have something Derek wants. Something tangibly so.]
Glad I picked that. Was gonna dare you to shave.
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[ That's a dirty lie, but he's a werewolf, so who's gonna doubt him? Werewolves be hairy. He's just nipping this shit in the bud before Tate gets a chance to ask him to shave next time.
Still. Fine. Derek sits up a little further and starts tugging on the sleeves of his jacket, pulling them down over his hands and feeling a little vulnerable about taking it off for good. He hesitates, like he doesn't want to do this, but. Deal's a deal. He slides it off, his henley riding up his stomach as he pulls it off. Mourningly, he sets the jacket in Tate's arms. ]
I don't think you understand the massive levels of responsibility you've taken on by stealing this from me. You're literally babysitting my child. If you hurt her, we're gonna square up.
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