[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.
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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.