[ He's lying. He's lying, and he's not giving Tate a choice in this. Derek's going to be setting his fucking arm, and he's absolutely unwilling to let Tate feel the full scope of that pain all on his own. He's sweating in the dark and his entire body is rigid and tense, but he grips onto Tate's hand a little tighter, not letting him leave. He doesn't break the connection when he pulls his other arm from Tate's neck and sets it onto the same arm he's holding onto, feeling for any injury Tate might have.
The bone isn't broken, but that doesn't explain the steady rush of pain. Derek winces a little, moving his hand up, and it doesn't take long to realize Tate's shoulder is dislocated. Derek winces, knowing what's about to come next. ]
Okay. This... this is going to hurt, but just for a second. I promise.
[ Derek shifts forward and - without asking - tears Tate's shirt open with his claws, freeing his shoulder and the rest of his arm from his sleeve. He mumbles a quick apology that he doesn't really mean, then sets both hands on Tate's bicep, still gently siphoning away what pain he can. His hands are starting to sweat, and he grits his teeth. ]
Hold onto me.
[ And then - Derek twists, and with one hard, lurching, sickening snap, he pushes Tate's arm back into place. It connects with a sickening kind of accuracy, and Derek feels a sharp, gut-wrenching pain when he does it, but - Tate has to have felt it, too. Derek can dull pain, but he can't completely prevent it. Not when that pain comes along so suddenly. ]
[Liar fucking lying liar. Tate tries to stand steady when Derek's feeling his arm over, wincing through the pain that slips through the grates and back into him rather than Derek. It's a hot, knife-like pain and Tate's starting to break a sweat from suffering it, like threads wearing bare he can tell if it drags on he might start to lose it. He doesn't say anything when Derek shreds his shirt, looking down at it vaguely while his teeth click together.
He gets his hand onto Derek's chest - not sure where to put it to brace or hold but it doesn't matter because the second he twists his arm, Tate's got a vice like grip with a sudden shout. He's never felt that kind of pain before and it shows - even after it lessens with his arm back in place, Tate's dazed and still clinging to Derek's clothes. He sways, just slightly and closes his eyes, breathing heavy.]
Fuck.
[He should say thanks. He doesn't - he just looks back down at his arm, flexing his fingers and hissing when it still feels bad.]
[ Tate might not be able to hear him through the sharp, sick pops of pain blooming in his head, but Derek's whispering things beneath his breath as he helps him through the pain. Quiet, sweet little bursts of encouragement, telling him it's over, telling him he did so, so good, telling him he's brave. Derek is pained and sweating and terrified, but all that matters to him is seeing Tate through this.
He siphons most of his pain away, once he's sure his shoulder is set. Derek keeps one hand clasped over Tate's biceps and the other goes straight to the hand Tate set against his chest. He anchors him in, keeps him close, and takes away the raw, pinching agony through black, inky ichor bleeding through his veins. Even now, Derek pretends it doesn't hurt. ]
Do you...
[ Fuck, talking is hard. Derek touches Tate's knuckles for support and gets himself through this. He has to work hard to keep his breathing and his voice steady and level, but it's better to act tough than to let Tate deal with this pain on his own. He swallow like he's dehydrated and starts again. ]
[Tate's suddenly so, so tired. He'd been tired before all this started - standing up there on the platform looking up at the stars he could see through the trees, feeling serene and happy for a change. He was going to curl up and sleep, maybe read a bit by pocket light but then he fell. And the adrenaline kicked in, a burst of white hot alertness that's now slowly fading like the pain from his arm.
He starts to lean back again to pull away, touching his hand to Derek's before looking up at him - imploring him to let go. Tate'll heal fast enough - his head no longer rings, all the superficial cuts and bruises are ghosts of what they were. His arm hurts and maybe it'll take a bit longer, but he can work through that alone.]
I don't - I don't know? I wasn't stupid or fucking around, it doesn't make sense. Nobody was around, it was just me. And I'm - I haven't smoked or taken anything, I promise.
[ Derek needs another few minutes before he's willing to let Tate go. He doesn't answer him right away, and he pretends not to notice Tate willing him to stop taking away his pain; he brings as much of it into his own body as he can before it all gets to be too much for him, and only then does he gradually ease his hand away. He's sweaty and a little pale, but - Tate should feel better now, as long as he lets himself heal without aggravating his shoulder too much. ]
I believe you.
[ It's hard to believe that Tate could have just-- rolled out of bed when he's sure there are safety rails up there, but it's harder to believe someone would try to kill him and go undetected by both him and Derek. Derek smells the air for another scent and he doesn't find anything - just Tate's in the air, mixed with the overwhelming, residual energy of panicked chemosignals. Derek tilts his head back down to look at Tate and slowly, eyebrows meeting in the middle. He gingerly puts both hands on Tate's neck, just to hold him, reassuring him with gentle touches and firm eye contact. ]
Don't go home. Let me stay with you until morning. You can catch up on sleep, and I can watch over you.
[Tate closes his eyes for a beat, like a dog enjoying the feel of Derek's hands on his neck before blinking open his eyes to look up at him. He nods, casting a glance upward to the trees with wary tension in his face. Because, you know, he just fucking fell from there and he's not scared of going back up by any means however...]
All my shit's up there still. Can you... get it for me? We can stay down here, or whatever. But I just can't climb back up yet.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ He's lying. He's lying, and he's not giving Tate a choice in this. Derek's going to be setting his fucking arm, and he's absolutely unwilling to let Tate feel the full scope of that pain all on his own. He's sweating in the dark and his entire body is rigid and tense, but he grips onto Tate's hand a little tighter, not letting him leave. He doesn't break the connection when he pulls his other arm from Tate's neck and sets it onto the same arm he's holding onto, feeling for any injury Tate might have.
The bone isn't broken, but that doesn't explain the steady rush of pain. Derek winces a little, moving his hand up, and it doesn't take long to realize Tate's shoulder is dislocated. Derek winces, knowing what's about to come next. ]
Okay. This... this is going to hurt, but just for a second. I promise.
[ Derek shifts forward and - without asking - tears Tate's shirt open with his claws, freeing his shoulder and the rest of his arm from his sleeve. He mumbles a quick apology that he doesn't really mean, then sets both hands on Tate's bicep, still gently siphoning away what pain he can. His hands are starting to sweat, and he grits his teeth. ]
Hold onto me.
[ And then - Derek twists, and with one hard, lurching, sickening snap, he pushes Tate's arm back into place. It connects with a sickening kind of accuracy, and Derek feels a sharp, gut-wrenching pain when he does it, but - Tate has to have felt it, too. Derek can dull pain, but he can't completely prevent it. Not when that pain comes along so suddenly. ]
no subject
He gets his hand onto Derek's chest - not sure where to put it to brace or hold but it doesn't matter because the second he twists his arm, Tate's got a vice like grip with a sudden shout. He's never felt that kind of pain before and it shows - even after it lessens with his arm back in place, Tate's dazed and still clinging to Derek's clothes. He sways, just slightly and closes his eyes, breathing heavy.]
Fuck.
[He should say thanks. He doesn't - he just looks back down at his arm, flexing his fingers and hissing when it still feels bad.]
no subject
He siphons most of his pain away, once he's sure his shoulder is set. Derek keeps one hand clasped over Tate's biceps and the other goes straight to the hand Tate set against his chest. He anchors him in, keeps him close, and takes away the raw, pinching agony through black, inky ichor bleeding through his veins. Even now, Derek pretends it doesn't hurt. ]
Do you...
[ Fuck, talking is hard. Derek touches Tate's knuckles for support and gets himself through this. He has to work hard to keep his breathing and his voice steady and level, but it's better to act tough than to let Tate deal with this pain on his own. He swallow like he's dehydrated and starts again. ]
Do you remember what happened? You just... fell?
no subject
He starts to lean back again to pull away, touching his hand to Derek's before looking up at him - imploring him to let go. Tate'll heal fast enough - his head no longer rings, all the superficial cuts and bruises are ghosts of what they were. His arm hurts and maybe it'll take a bit longer, but he can work through that alone.]
I don't - I don't know? I wasn't stupid or fucking around, it doesn't make sense. Nobody was around, it was just me. And I'm - I haven't smoked or taken anything, I promise.
no subject
I believe you.
[ It's hard to believe that Tate could have just-- rolled out of bed when he's sure there are safety rails up there, but it's harder to believe someone would try to kill him and go undetected by both him and Derek. Derek smells the air for another scent and he doesn't find anything - just Tate's in the air, mixed with the overwhelming, residual energy of panicked chemosignals. Derek tilts his head back down to look at Tate and slowly, eyebrows meeting in the middle. He gingerly puts both hands on Tate's neck, just to hold him, reassuring him with gentle touches and firm eye contact. ]
Don't go home. Let me stay with you until morning. You can catch up on sleep, and I can watch over you.
no subject
All my shit's up there still. Can you... get it for me? We can stay down here, or whatever. But I just can't climb back up yet.
[And he's determined not to abandon the project.]
I'm okay.