Request: “Hey could you please write a one shot with Post Death Tate were the reader has been having nightmares so she’s stopped sleeping and one day she’s hanging out with Tate in the murder house basement and faints from exhaustion and he comforts and confront her about it? Maybe helping her get some sleep? Thank you so much!!” - Anon
Word Count: 679
A/N: I’ve never actually fainted before so I’m not 100% sure how accurate this is. I mean, I was stuck in a snow hole for like 5hrs and sort of blacked out but I don’t think that counts because that was due to my older brother, not sleep deprivation.
I was listening to the Rihanna song and yep
A small shout wakes you up in a cold sweat, forcing your body off of the pillow. Sighing, you reach for the bottle of now-warm water on the night stand. Tate standing at the edge of your bed catches your attention, a worried look etched onto his tired face.
“I’m fine, Tate. Go back to bed.” You groan, unscrewing the cap and temporarily forgetting that ghosts couldn’t sleep. Well, they could, but just didn’t need it to function. And from what he had previously told you, it wasn’t very enjoyable. He just sat there in silence, usually, which prompted all sorts of thoughts that he wouldn’t tell you about. Tate liked laying in bed with you most times, though. It took the bad thoughts away, and replaced them with brand new ones. But recently, you had blocked him from sleeping with you because of the nightmares. It was rare you got more than three or four hours of sleep per night, and you mainly stayed up reading or playing games on your phone. On the nights you did get some sleep, it wasn’t very nice, and left you in a state of shock and made you reflect on everything you’d ever done. At least it was good thinking time.
He stalks forward, resting at the side of your bed. Rolling your eyes at his puppy-like nature, you nod, and he lays down. That was the first night in a while that you got a semi-enjoyable night of sleep. It was a while later that you realized that he had been present each night you had a decent rest. It was like he was your lucky charm.
Fast forward to now. It’s a week or so later, maybe even two. You were hanging out by the basement steps with Tate, talking about school, music, cats… Really, whatever kept him from noticing that you were two blinks away from falling asleep. You knew he’d take it on himself if you did happen to fall asleep while he was talking, and that probably wouldn’t end well for either of you.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, finishing his story. “It’s just weird.”
“Y-yeah, it’s weird.” You shrug, your head spinning. Your eyes slowly shut to help the pain, but you feel Tate’s words get louder and louder until they’re not there at all. Taking a breath, attempting to open your eyes, you feel yourself float away.
That’s the last thing you remember before waking up. Tate hovered above you, his eyes stained pink and worried.
“I’m fine,” You say, trying to sit up. His hand blocks you, stopping you while you rest on your elbows on the messy bed sheets beneath you. “I’m fine. Let me up.”
“You’re not fine!” He shouts, standing. “You passed out! I thought you-”
Raising your hand to your forehead, you sigh. “How long?” He shrugs, sitting back down next to you.
“A long time. It’s dark out.” Tate says quietly. With his words, you’re running to the window to confirm his words. Much to your pleasure, it was only just getting dark, somewhere around five o’clock (you hoped, at least). “Why did you black out?” You shrug, leaning on your stomach. You assumed that the nausea was some side effect of the whole fainting thing.
That’s when you see it click in his eyes. He knew exactly why you had fainted. “It’s the dreams, isn’t it? That’s why you haven’t been sleeping. That’s why you-”
“I don’t know, Tate! Just shut up and come here.” You groan, standing up, still clutching your stomach. He sits on the bed, the mix of anger and confusion in his eyes slowly fading away. The bed dips awkwardly as you sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I don’t know.”
His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer into his chest comfortably. The boy strokes your hair softly and hums some random tune, and for the first time in however long, you actually might’ve been falling asleep to something nice. Maybe Tate really was your magic charm.