[ Honestly, the hospital would never have worked. It's a knee-jerk option thrown pointlessly into the air between them because Derek doesn't know how to fucking help Tate through something like this. A part of him knows he needs help, knows he's not a good enough Alpha to fix this incredibly, incredibly human problem on his own - and he's scared. Scared that he'll fuck up and send Tate crawling back on his hands and knees through glass to Kavinsky to apologize when he's done nothing wrong.
But Derek doesn't trust the people who run this place. Doesn't trust that each falsely sympathetic doctor and nurse wouldn't unanimously agree to cart Tate straight back to Kavinsky after fixing him up, out of respect for his contract, even as Derek begged them to let him stay with him in the Den. Derek wants to call Stiles, but - Christ, human problem or not, this is still a pack thing, and if a Beta comes to their Alpha alone, that has to be respected. Derek thinks he's going to throw up.
Fuck, fuck, okay. The most important thing is keeping Tate safe and warm. Derek can provide him that, and he has enough options to tackle everything else as time goes on - for now, he just. Needs to get Tate to calm down. Derek drops his hand away from Tate when he presses in, resting his head against his chest. He holds him there, but - not for long.
Derek, without warning, tugs Tate away from the bonfire. He grabs his arm and marches straight straight to the water lapping choppily against the sand, grey and thick and dull. He walks until foamy waves are crashing against his shins, bringing Tate down into the water with him, and he turns his back to the sea, facing Tate. ]
Here. Look at this. All of this.
[ Derek pushes one arm out towards the ocean, holding eye contact. It's getting windy, and Derek has to raise his voice to be heard. Tate doesn't want blood to save him - but the ocean, what it represents, that's always mattered to him. If Derek can just remind him of that, maybe that'll help. Derek's nails bite into Tate's wrist from how hard he's holding on, but he doesn't seem to realize he might be hurting him, his fingers kissing little crescent moons into his skin. ]
This is your fucking home. This beach, the woods, even the den, eventually - this is your home. This view? This horizon? This sea? That's yours. Come July, you'll be able to sit on the sand and just-- watch the tide come in. You'll be able to write, you'll be able to read, and you'll...
[ Derek swallows, feeling his throat itch. This isn't-- helping, this isn't stopping Kavinsky, this is just-- asking Tate to stay strong until July, but he's just trying, desperately, to give him something good to think of. Another anchor. The ocean. Him. Anything that doesn't hurt. ]
You'll be able to know that this is the life you've been waiting for. Every night you spent looking out over the ocean back home, thinking of a better life - this is the other side you wanted to reach. I can be that for you.
[Tate doesn't protest to being pulled along, showing no signs of resistance until his heels are sinking into the wet sand and water's washing up and threatening to lick at his shoes. But after that beat of hesitation he continues forward, letting the cool water soak into his jeans and wrap around his feet in a way that makes him feel solid again. He looks up to Derek while this goes on, following his gesture with his eyes and staring off at the darkening waters.
That beautiful, limitless expanse. He swallows hard - staring in silence. His hand shakes but it's not from the pain or the cold, he's jittery for a thousand other reasons but his fingers relax and his shoulders slowly slump. He looks out at the horizon line, the divider of the water and sky and then he closes his eyes. Just listens to Derek, while tilting up his chin.
It's what he wants, to be taken care of. To be given this gift of freedom and while it may not scratch the same itches Kavinsky can... Derek's promises make him want all the same. He blinks open his eyes and then wipes at them hastily with his free hand, wiping away tears that fell loose all on their own.
It's never going to work. But he smiles, just weakly, for the thought.]
I should've asked you first. I'm sorry. If... you get frustrated with that still, I'm sorry.
[ Derek won't take his eyes off of Tate. He's watching him in silence, absorbing every minute shift of his expression, shallow waves crashing against his legs and drenching his jeans all the way through. There's a part of him - a small, unrealistic part of him - that just wants Tate to say something magic and easy that'll fix everything, make it all better.
But he won't. He can't. Can't break his contract, can't turn back time. Derek learned, after the fire, that hoping for easy outs is just - cowardly. Tate looks at him like he doesn't believe him, and that breaks Derek's heart, but - again - he knows there's no easy way to convince him that this could work. That this will work.
He doesn't push it. ]
I don't get frustrated. I get scared.
[ But it's - fine. This is a dead horse. Derek shakes his head, stepping forward, treading water as he walks. Again, this is such a human fucking problem, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to help Tate the way he wants to, but if trying is all he has, then - trying is all he has. Derek reaches his hands out, tugging lightly on Tate's wrists. ]
[Tate turns his wrist around so their palms brush, and then extends his other hand as requested to match. He's still not sure standing out here in the water's what he wants to do but it'd be a lie to say it isn't somehow distracting him from the bigger picture, clearing his head. Hard to stay focused on bitter black tar in your chest when water's licking at your legs, and the thrumming urge in your chest wishes to just completely submerge you in that refreshing rock of the waves.
Derek says he's scared not frustrated, and Tate frowns but keeps nodding.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But Derek doesn't trust the people who run this place. Doesn't trust that each falsely sympathetic doctor and nurse wouldn't unanimously agree to cart Tate straight back to Kavinsky after fixing him up, out of respect for his contract, even as Derek begged them to let him stay with him in the Den. Derek wants to call Stiles, but - Christ, human problem or not, this is still a pack thing, and if a Beta comes to their Alpha alone, that has to be respected. Derek thinks he's going to throw up.
Fuck, fuck, okay. The most important thing is keeping Tate safe and warm. Derek can provide him that, and he has enough options to tackle everything else as time goes on - for now, he just. Needs to get Tate to calm down. Derek drops his hand away from Tate when he presses in, resting his head against his chest. He holds him there, but - not for long.
Derek, without warning, tugs Tate away from the bonfire. He grabs his arm and marches straight straight to the water lapping choppily against the sand, grey and thick and dull. He walks until foamy waves are crashing against his shins, bringing Tate down into the water with him, and he turns his back to the sea, facing Tate. ]
Here. Look at this. All of this.
[ Derek pushes one arm out towards the ocean, holding eye contact. It's getting windy, and Derek has to raise his voice to be heard. Tate doesn't want blood to save him - but the ocean, what it represents, that's always mattered to him. If Derek can just remind him of that, maybe that'll help. Derek's nails bite into Tate's wrist from how hard he's holding on, but he doesn't seem to realize he might be hurting him, his fingers kissing little crescent moons into his skin. ]
This is your fucking home. This beach, the woods, even the den, eventually - this is your home. This view? This horizon? This sea? That's yours. Come July, you'll be able to sit on the sand and just-- watch the tide come in. You'll be able to write, you'll be able to read, and you'll...
[ Derek swallows, feeling his throat itch. This isn't-- helping, this isn't stopping Kavinsky, this is just-- asking Tate to stay strong until July, but he's just trying, desperately, to give him something good to think of. Another anchor. The ocean. Him. Anything that doesn't hurt. ]
You'll be able to know that this is the life you've been waiting for. Every night you spent looking out over the ocean back home, thinking of a better life - this is the other side you wanted to reach. I can be that for you.
no subject
That beautiful, limitless expanse. He swallows hard - staring in silence. His hand shakes but it's not from the pain or the cold, he's jittery for a thousand other reasons but his fingers relax and his shoulders slowly slump. He looks out at the horizon line, the divider of the water and sky and then he closes his eyes. Just listens to Derek, while tilting up his chin.
It's what he wants, to be taken care of. To be given this gift of freedom and while it may not scratch the same itches Kavinsky can... Derek's promises make him want all the same. He blinks open his eyes and then wipes at them hastily with his free hand, wiping away tears that fell loose all on their own.
It's never going to work. But he smiles, just weakly, for the thought.]
I should've asked you first. I'm sorry. If... you get frustrated with that still, I'm sorry.
no subject
But he won't. He can't. Can't break his contract, can't turn back time. Derek learned, after the fire, that hoping for easy outs is just - cowardly. Tate looks at him like he doesn't believe him, and that breaks Derek's heart, but - again - he knows there's no easy way to convince him that this could work. That this will work.
He doesn't push it. ]
I don't get frustrated. I get scared.
[ But it's - fine. This is a dead horse. Derek shakes his head, stepping forward, treading water as he walks. Again, this is such a human fucking problem, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to help Tate the way he wants to, but if trying is all he has, then - trying is all he has. Derek reaches his hands out, tugging lightly on Tate's wrists. ]
Give me your hands.
no subject
Derek says he's scared not frustrated, and Tate frowns but keeps nodding.]
I don't want to make you scared.