[ It hadn't so much been that Stiles Stilinski, a senator's son, wanted playthings. No, he wasn't really that kind of guy--he wasn't Jackson Whittemore, and oh, could he write pages on him. He attended the gladiator matches like every other highborn lord of his standing, and often commented on them with Lydia. It was how they'd become friends, and it was one of these faithful days that he'd seen Derek Hale fight.
There were all kinds of rumors surrounding the Hales and their legacy, but in the end, Derek won his match with stunning aplomb, and Stiles could vaguely recall a story he'd heard from the soothsayer as a boy, that at seventeen a son of Romulus would lead him down a path to greatness. Stiles hadn't ever been one with big ambition, either, but when an opportunity fell into his lap, he wasn't planning on letting it go. So Stiles bought the slave at the market, fought with the Emperor's daughter (oops), over him, and nearly lost him all at once.
The token he'd thrown during the battle was still with him when he came to visit Derek in the infirmary, and Stiles' hand trailed a little over the lyre on the pendant as he stepped up beside where he was lying. His injuries should have been fatal, and yet... and yet, here was Derek, breathing, the rise of his chest steady and slow, the massive wound already starting to look like scars. ]
Incredible. [ He's mostly just talking to himself, unsure if his warrior's going to awaken--but it looks like he may, after all. ] I knew there was something special about you.
[ There are, perhaps, hundreds of stories that follow on the tail of every Hale. Their matriarch was a great warrior who birthed warriors, strong of both mind and body. But what prevailed above all else was the way the family fought like wolves, regardless of their numbers. Even when the family fell to ruin, a scant few remaining compared to what they once were, there was one that many came to watch fight on the regular.
Wolves are protectors as much as they are predators, but everything in the last son's fights are made of survival. After everything that he'd been put through on the way to the matches in the arena, shuttled to and fro at the whim of the highborn that he once was found among, there wasn't any honor to defend anymore. What remained of his family was outside of those walls that surrounded him day in and day out, and all that was left was his own life in the hands of people seeking entertainment.
It wasn't uncommon for him to find tokens being offered to him, try as he might to ignore them. This one, for some reason, stood out to him most of all though. The fact he fought Kate Argent on his purchase probably had a lot to do with it, all things considered. Because if there was anyone he wanted to be as far away from as possible, it was the Emperor's favored daughter and the blue eyes that burned cold, calculating and cruel where one knew to look.
Derek responds on instinct, reaching up with quick reflexes to take hold of the teen's wrist to keep him from exploring beyond the pendent. But while his grip is firm, there's no intent to injure behind it, and he opens pale eyes to look up at him. His injuries are making steady progress, far quicker than most combatants, and he can feel the sting of poison ebbing away in the process. That sharpness that it causes on his senses starts to dull back to normal, making Stiles' words grate less. ]
Oh gods-- [ Stiles chokes when Derek's hand shoots up to grab him, and he blinks, startled, and stares down at his face. He's alive. There's just a moment where there's something in his eyes that makes it look like Derek's made of gold or something, before he twitches his hand out of his grip, never once breaking eye contact. ]
You--lived. Through being stabbed. [ He sounds surprised, and really, he has every right to be. No mere warrior just got up and walked away from being stabbed in the chest. The look on his face isn't frightened, though--he's not an abomination, at all.
No, he's kind of a wonder. Taking a step back from the table, he offers his hand to help him get up. ] Someone out there must have big plans for you, Derek Hale.
[ Fingers loosening as he feels Stiles start to pull away, Derek stares back at him as clarity starts to settle in on him. There's a dull throb of pain where his injuries are more raw, where scar tissue hasn't started to build, but he mostly ignores it as he tries to figure out that look that was on his face. If anyone's ever looked at him like that with sincerity, it hasn't been in years.
Slowly easing his way up to his elbows, he lets out a soft grunt, a twitch showing in his cheek and at the corner of his eye as he assesses himself. That could've gone a lot more poorly, and here Stiles is in apparent awe of it. Then again, many people are when they don't know the truth. ] I did.
[ Cringe appearing on his face, he decides to take Stiles' hand so he can get up properly. His tone is dry and a little sardonic, almost bitter, when he replies again. ] They are never particularly benign plans.
[ His hand clutches against his wrist as he helps him up--he looks small, in comparison to Derek, but he's not weak, at all, and Stiles looks Derek over, checking the bandages around his chest. ] If it makes you feel any better, I don't have any plans that are particularly malignant.
[ To be completely honest, Stiles was worried, a little heartbroken, when he'd seen his gladiator go down. He'd put his belief and hopes into Derek, because there was something special about him, something Stiles wanted to reach out and grab, thumb between his pages and mark off the passages that mattered. ] I think we have yet to be properly introduced, and I guess a bloody, shirtless introduction is better than none.
[ His smile's tinged with a little of that sarcastic wit. ] Stiles Stilinski. I'd honestly rather you just called me Stiles, but whatever lord title drives your chariot's fine too.
[ Though he mostly uses Stiles as leverage to get up, he's quietly surprised by the strength behind his grip. But he doesn't comment, just lets Stiles help him up and shifts so he can move to stand. If there's anyone that pushes the limits of their body, it's Derek Hale. The gladiator moves with surprising ease, keeping himself stable by placing his hand where he previously laid. ] Really.
[ There's a touch of skepticism, but he's not cruel about it. Bringing his eyes back up to look at him, he straightens to stand at his full height and ignores the twinge of pain in his abdomen where a knife had been driven deepest into him. Honestly he wouldn't be surprised if he'd had an organ run through before it started to heal-- especially since his mouth tastes a little like oil-- but he's not concerned about it now.
A faint, wolfish chuff escapes him at the introduction, an even mixture of amused and bemused. He doesn't see a need to offer his name in exchange, not when Stiles knows it. Whether he uses it or not is his own prerogative. ] Well then, little lordling. What is it you have planned?
Right now? Dinner. [ And that's...not even close to it, really. The prophecy has to come up eventually, and there's that whole deflowering thing, and really, Stiles is just entirely content with dinner for now. Getting to know his warrior, his survivor. His eyebrows come up when he straightens--Derek's tall, but not that much taller than him. Overall, he's just kind of huge, as most gladiators are, but Stiles is starting things on equal footing. ] And showing you your quarters, I guess. You need to rest, whether you're apparently some sort of mage or not.
[ He does, however, bristle at the "little lordling", and his mouth drops open, only to shut it. Oh is that gonna be how it is. ] Can you walk, giant warrior, or do I need to support you?
[ Unable to hold back a briefly surprised, and somewhat wary, look, Derek examines Stiles for a moment. There's something he's keeping from him, but it's not a lie-- with no trace of one in his heart or scent, he can't pinpoint what it might be-- so he can't quite call him on anything. Not that he could, technically, considering Stiles is the one that purchased him. Inclining his head just slightly, he ignores the mage comment (not quite, lordling) and focuses more on the idea of having personal quarters again.
It's been a while. ] Eventually.
[ Seeing him bristle appeases his nerves a little, as does the exchange of banter. Strange as it is, it's... actually somewhat refreshing. He brings his hand up to touch the bandages around his torso, letting out a hum. ] I can walk. [ He inclines his head the slightest bit. ] By your leave.
[ Making a sweeping gesture that was supposed to look more cool than awkward (but naturally leaned towards the second), Stiles makes his way out of the room and holds the door open for him into the main hallway. They're still in the colosseum, albeit in the back, and the last thing Stiles wants to do is draw lots of attention to his new charge, so he starts to lead the way down a winding pathway, going for the back exit where their chariot was waiting. Here, he can really get a look at his warrior better--the cut of his jaw, the way his tunic fits him, the scruff on his face. He looks...well, like a warrior, like he's in desperate need of a trip to the public baths. Stiles makes a mental note to make that his first stop upon arrival to the estate.
However, he's not really great at dealing with silences, so Stiles fills the space between them by starting to chatter. ] You'll be outfitted with armor and things suiting our family's crest, and...it's up to you if you wish to keep fighting in the ring.
[ He says that as nonchalantly as possible, but it's...kind of a big deal. ] Make no mistake, I don't take slavery the way most of the other lords here do. If you wished to run from me, you very well could--I highly doubt I'm as fast as you are. But should you stay, you'll be offered a place training with my father's army. I have no intention of getting you killed, considering you seem to do a good enough job of that by yourself already.
[ That was a joke, though, and his mouth turns up in a grin. ]
[ The letter comes into the Stilinski estate in the middle of the night--an update from the Colosseum, requested specifically by the young lord himself. It's the dossiers on two particular gladiators in the arena; Vernon Boyd, and Erica Reyes. The report was grim, far grimmer than Stiles was ready to see, as Vernon Boyd had been defeated in a two on one match where they were there as bait, not so much as victors, against Ennis, one of the top competitors of the Colosseum. But he'd been severely injured when Boyd sacrificed his life, and Erica, his partner, the last gladiator left, had come at Ennis with such a strength that it startled him and much of the audience, leaving her barely the victor, and clinging to her life.
Erica didn't want to live anymore, to be blatantly honest. Lying on the stone bed in her cell, bleeding through her bandages and swimming in and out of consciousness, it became clear that no one was planning on coming to help her. She wasn't supposed to win, and as much as she wanted to get up and (rip that bitch's eyes out, because she put Boyd with her, because Boyd would have lived if he'd won alone, but he protected her) leave, get some water, she could feel the metallic tang of blood in her mouth and put her arm over her eyes, taking in a deep, heaving breath. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
But she'd been an easy target, sickly and weak and lion's bait. And if it wasn't for Boyd--for Derek, gone now too--she would have died eons ago, of her stupid seizure in the middle of battle that had nearly killed her. Erica hated them, hated being useless and weak, and whatever adrenaline she'd gotten in that battle seemed to be draining out of her system, now, even if there was something warm and soft in her stomach, as if she'd taken a sleeping draught for the pain. As if something in her was healing.
She didn't have much time to consider it--the door pushed open, and Erica's large brown eyes blink open under her arm, as she rolls her head and drops her arm to look at the source of the noise, other arm coming to grasp at the side of the stone, as if to push herself up for the act. If they were going to kill her? She was going to go down fighting.
(Luckily, the people through the door weren't who she was initially expecting.) ]
[ The one thing that Derek hated, the only thing about leaving the Colosseum, was that he left three people behind. Isaac and Boyd were capable fighters in their own right, and Erica knew how to get an advantage in battle, but he worried. They had become his pack, human as they were, and he wasn't keen on leaving them. The number of times they had been put in the ring together-- pitted against each other, the first time, but Derek refused to kill a group of kids and they instead managed to kill the beasts they'd thrown in when they didn't fight-- was absurd, as their captors realized the entertainment they'd stumbled upon. A centurion leading his men, they'd mockingly said.
An alpha leading his pack, Derek had thought bitterly, eyes searingly blue.
The fact that his lordling was keeping track of his human betas doesn't surprise him, but he has no way of showing his appreciation of this before he's following the report right back to the very place he had escaped. It doesn't matter that it's the middle of the night. Derek is in motion the moment that he reads the report, hears the confirmation from Stiles, from the messenger. He has to be there. Has to tend to the girl that he'd been trying to protect, as he tried not to mourn for the boy he'd failed to protect.
He's through the door before anyone else, pushing his way in without a moment's hesitation. Maybe he'd be a little more careful, if Erica could lash out in confusion, but he sees the state of her injuries and can smell the humanity in her. But instead, he's to her side in an instant, kneeling next to where she lays and reaching out to gently ease her back down.
Thankful for the dimness of night, of the cell, he curls his fingers against her arm with intent only she'll catch, jaw working in both emotion and pain as he feels black filling his veins. ] Do not move, you will only worsen them.
[ Whatever catch of fright was in her throat loosens when her gaze focuses, when the figure bursting into the room isn't Deucalion, with his horrible red eyes and benign smile. It's not Kali, that bitch, as much as she wanted to stab her herself, it's--it's Derek, and she makes a tiny, shocked noise, a little, wet gasp as he comes rushing to her side. It's Derek, who'd gotten out, who she was sure she'd never see again (and if she was a little bitter, she kept it to herself, because he was here now, wasn't he?) and her mouth closes as her arm falls away from the stone, small fingers reaching, like she's seeking out, like if she touches him he'll fade away into nothing. She'd had hallucinations before, starving or bleeding, but they catch against the bronze plate of his armor, different than the ones he'd left in, and it feels like the breath is stolen from her lungs. ]
Derek--? [ It's not hesitant, now, as everything comes back; Boyd's death, Derek being taken from the colosseum, the fight with Ennis, the pain, her seizures, and her fingers curl, tightly, as she feels the familiar warmth of Derek's magical touch against her arm. The true son of Romulus, they'd joked, fur included, and the memory's so strange and fond that she hiccups and takes in another wet breath. ] Why are you here, they will...
[ Have you killed, too. The minute they see him. ] She's going to kill me, they... [ The pain taking helps, helps to push the pain back, as she shifts forward towards him only to flinch back at the command and the pain, voice cracking when she lays back down, remembers Boyd's form in front of her, strong and taking every hit Ennis laid on him. ] --they killed Boyd.
[ Erica has so many questions, but it just gets summed up in one, as she leans back gently with his hand, eyes shiny with tears. ] How... did you know?
[ The stink of fear and remorse is everywhere, and Derek hates it. Hates it more than he hates the way they keep the cells, the way that they just leave the fighters and the bait. Because he knows what's caused it, read the report and heard the words come out of Stiles' mouth. His heart is still in his throat, body almost vibrating with contained anger and pain of his own, but his touch remains gentle and he takes her reaching fingers, curling them in his as he drains her pain away. He uses that contact instead of the one on her arm, now, and frees that hand so he can brush her hair away from her face.
It's instinctive, the need to touch and soothe. Pack takes care of pack when they're injured, when they're dying, trying to ease their suffering away so that they can rest easy. But he has no intentions of letting her die, not when he swore to take care of her from the moment they met. Not when he'd already failed to do anything for Boyd, though there was nothing he could do when he was outside the Colosseum walls. ]
Shh, it's all right. [ No, it isn't. Nothing is all right, save for the fact that he's in no danger here. He visibly swallows, voice a little tight in response to what he sees, what he knows. Erica is safe, he refuses to let anything happen to her, but at the same time-- ] I know. I know, I'm so sorry...
[ His hand rests at the crown of her head, thumb smoothing over her hair as he looks down at her. The blood is so strong in his senses, but he has to ease her pain before he begins to mend her. ] They sent word to the estate. I came as soon as the words left the messenger's mouth.
[ All that they were told was that Boyd was killed, that Erica was slated to die of her injuries. There was no proper information about who she went up against, who scheduled the fight, who requested the fighters. But Derek would find out, even if he had to fight for it. It wouldn't be anything new for him, after all. ]
I thought you would...never come back. [ If there's one thing Erica learned with Derek--learned besides some fighting techniques, how to defend herself, how to use her size--it was that she didn't have to be afraid of him, to say what she wanted to. Isaac, Boyd, and Derek had become her family in the arena, and the taunts, the boos, the "crippled bait" comments melted off her back with them. And it's true. She'd never known Derek for compassion--or at least not in the typical way--and as most slaves were, when they went out of the frying pan and into the fire, they didn't come back. This place was Hell, and they all knew it.
The apologies are the first sincere ones she's heard since this afternoon--she was booed on her way out of the Colosseum, with just a few appreciative claps. It was her job to lay down and let Ennis kill her, but Erica wouldn't--couldn't--let that happen. Not after what he did to Boyd. She was a fighter, and she wasn't weak anymore.
Her eyes flutter shut at the warmth, the wooziness from blood loss seeming to ease up just a little. They hadn't done the best job bandaging her--surely Deucalion was on his way to exterminate her next, so why bother? But with Derek here, Erica fought to cling onto that spark of life she'd been clutching since her arrival here, and her fingers, trembling against Derek's palm, tighten a little, squeeze. ] He died for me. [ I love you, she'd cried into his back, bleeding under her hands, and then she'd gotten angry-- ] They want me to die too.
[ You couldn't be soft, not in the Colosseum. Not in Hell. Softness got you killed, had you hobbled right at the start. Derek had learned that the hard way, even before he'd stepped into the ring, but this was different. Isaac, Erica, Boyd-- they were different. He taught them how to survive, how to use their strengths to their advantage and to cover up their weaknesses as best they could.
But as they licked their wounds, tucked away from view of the world, the quiet was theirs and it wasn't Hell anymore. Even if it was only for a few hours. Boyd could be soft again, Isaac could smile, and Erica would be safe. Safe from everything, curled amongst them and eased away from the tremors that seized her, the words that followed her out of the ring.
She became a fighter, despite everything that had happened to her in her humanity, and Derek is proud of her in the midst of his pain. Humans or not, pack is pack, and it feels as if someone has taken a blade down upon his arm. Losing pack is like losing a limb, and he looks at Erica now with a painful ache. He won't let Boyd's sacrifice end here, won't let that love die with Erica. ]
I will not let you die. [ The resolve is fierce, just as strong as his commands in the ring, and he squeezes her fingers in return. Something strong and anchoring, there. He turns his head away from her, looking back to the door, and makes a gesture with his free hand. It isn't the best place to patch her up, by any means, but to move her without mending would be to kill her. ]
[ She's quiet for a second, almost like she's lost consciousness--it's fuzzy, even with the way Derek's been taking her pain away since he arrived. She's not sure if she's going to wake up again after this, and brown eyes flutter shut as her grip on Derek's hand loosens, just a little.
But she does respond. A minute nod, and then, when she shuts her eyes again, she's trusting him. Trusting him to fix it. ] I know.
[ He took her in, when no one else would. When she was supposed to be bait for the lions. An easy kill. But Derek saw more than that; he saw her potential. He gave her a family again, when everything else had been taken away.
And now, he was the only thing left. So she had to trust him--had to trust that he'd keep her alive.
Like he always did.
When she slips out of consciousness, it's more of a sleep than a faint, and the blackness tugs at her eyes until everything feels warm. ]
[ Waiting until Erica slips off into sleep, though he knows the risk of her leaving him while unconscious, Derek looks down at her face before he tracks across her injuries. His heart still in his throat, his stomach twisted in knots, he takes the water he's given and the tools that are left at his disposal and begins the task of fixing his injured packmate.
If he could've turned her, turned Boyd and Isaac, he would've in a heartbeat. Would've offered them that solid bond, the safety of healing after such grieve wounds. But their joking aside about him being a true son of Romulus, he doesn't have that ability and highly doubts he ever will. He would've died in the ring before he ever could kill an alpha, and he doubts he'll fight one now.
His blood boils for revenge, though, and he doesn't care if he'd fight an alpha for it.
Pushing it down for the time being, he focuses on cleaning Erica's wounds. He doesn't have enough clean water to wash all of her skin, though he wishes he did, but he'll at the very least wash away the grime and blood that dirties her injuries before he begins to sew her up. ]
Things had gone downright upside down after a hunting trip with Allison and Scott. One minute, he'd been there, with Derek, the next--arrows were flying, of unknown origin, and something roared so fiercely and savagely in the forest that it couldn't have been any beast Stiles knew. No, it sounded like a monster, something out of the stories he'd gobbled up from Greece on his mother's lap, and Stiles dismounts his horse in the chaos the minute Derek disappears. Scott's body drops over Allison to protect her, and he's just able to flash Stiles another hurried look before the senator's son runs off into the woods.
There's a loud thud, another angry roar, what sounds like teeth gnashing and Stiles' stomach swoops into his toes as he imagines what could be happening to his soldier, to his bodyguard to his friend and he's running as fast as his feet can carry him, away from his horse and into the woods.
Stiles skids into a clearing, worry on his face and driving his feet, his heart hammering in his chest, and that's when he sees it--there's a monster. It has to be. It looks almost like a minotaur, and his breath catches in his chest at the sight, huge and muscled and with massive, bloodied horns. At the sight of Stiles, it lowers it's head, and Stiles' heart clenches in his chest, eyes dilating wide with fright as he reaches backwards for something, anything, a stick, something to hit it with as it charges--but when he gets his grip on a stick behind him and reaches it backwards, reay for the impact, teeth crunching maw snapping ready for his death, it never comes. Because something slams into the minotaur, and when Stiles scrambles backwards in shock, his knees giving out, he gets a look.
It's the biggest wolf he's ever seen in his life, huge and black with blood in its maw, and Stiles freezes, staring at it with wide eyes. ] Gods above.
[ But there's something familiar about it, and that's something he can't shake. The young lord stares at him for a moment, his head tilting just a little, a squint to his gaze, analyzing.
Stiles is alright. He's terrified for his warrior (for his survivor, his voice whispers in the back of his head), but there's nothing scared in the way he stares at the wolf. Slowly, he glances back from the body of the minotaur behind him, to the wolf in front of him, then offers his hand, slowly, surely, trustingly, because everything clicks all at once, and his voice comes out in a rush of air, barely a whisper. ] ...Derek?
[ Ever since they entered the trees, Derek knew something was wrong.
He could smell it, something off and foreign. It wasn't something he could really get a read for, mostly downwind and silent. But he stays near Stiles, trusts that Scott and Allison will be safe, and he keeps it to himself in the hopes that it's nothing. He's certain that's all it is, maybe some predator staying at the edges because a greater beast is in their territory.
But everything goes wrong, and horrifically so. An arrow rips into his shoulder, but he barely notices it. He rips it free of flesh and muscle, propelling himself forward with a snarl as he immediately launches towards where the arrows have the most concentration. He needs to eliminate the threat to his lord, to the people that he cares about most. And it's a simple matter of locating them, tearing into them and stopping them.
It's a lot easier said than done, and he realizes that a little too late. The humans are easy enough to deal with, though he takes a few more arrows in the process. Some of them burn, sizzling in his flesh with wolfsbane, but he ignores it in favor of chasing them away or injuring them to the point that they are no longer a viable threat. He doesn't even need to shift, just has to break a few bones and knock a few heads into the surrounding trees.
But then he hears the roar again, and fighting a minotaur is not a task he's exactly prepared for. Even partial shifting has him being sent into a tree, and he knows that his spine would have snapped if he weren't wolfborn. For a long moment, he stays on the ground at the foot of the tree, trying to get his wits about him. His injuries are slow healing, but they're at least healing.
Except, suddenly, he hears a familiar heart thundering nearby. Derek lifts his head up in a snap, as he realizes that Stiles is suddenly there, away from Scott and Allison and where it's safer, and the monster is there. Before he even realizes it, he can feel a full shift overtaking him, and he rips off his armor as cloth tears in two instead of fighting it. Stiles is in danger. He has to keep Stiles safe, he can't lose anyone else. Protecting him is worth whatever reaction he might have to suddenly seeing his bodyguard as a monster, himself.
His attack is so sudden, the minotaur so distracted by its human prey, that it doesn't expect it. The wolf practically roars, a flash of shocking blue and sharp teeth, and slamming into it and tearing into fur and flesh. He claws at it, struggling only until he can rip his fangs straight through its throat.
Red and wet with his own blood and the monster's, he stands there in front of Stiles, bristled and big and prepared for another threat. When one doesn't come, he swivels his head towards Stiles, looks closely at him to see if he's hurt. What he doesn't expect is the hand outstretched towards him, and his heart practically leaps into his throat as he looks at him, then to Stiles as his name comes out of him. Tentative, he steps towards him, bows his head forwards so that there's barely a brush of fur against his fingers. ]
[ It--it seems crazy, to just associate the wolf with Derek like that but those eyes. He's seen them before, only once or twice, in half a second blips, that stunning, bright blue, bluer than the oceans and the sky above, than anything natural in this world. Stiles had been curious, been studying the Hales since he first purchased Derek from the gladiators, since he met Laura and Cora, his sisters. The way he seemed to bounce back from injuries, his speed, his strength--it felt so unnatural, like his warrior was superhuman. Stiles had always had faith in him, and never tried to take him away or confront him. It had just been a suspicion, a thought boiling in the back of his mind. Something--something amazing.
And Derek confirmed it.
The squint to his eyes turns from shock to--awe, almost, relief, and where he's on the ground, he shifts forward on his knees, and catches his head in both of his hands. ] You are--you're alright. Gods, don't scare me like that, I thought I had lost you for sure.
[ And then, abruptly, he changes pace, grabbing his face a little more firmly and staring at him. ] Why did you never tell me?
[ A part of him wants to shy away from Stiles, away from the big brown eyes that stare at him like that. It's not the first time Derek's caught it, not the first time that Stiles has looked at him like he's made of gold instead of grit. And the fact that he's looking at him like that now, when most of the world would consider him a monster, strikes a heavy chord in him. But he doesn't move away, just looks back at him with blue eyes, still tentative.
A quiet, surprised noise leaves him as his fingers catch in his fur and hold his face. But he doesn't jerk away, and does, slowly, step closer to him. Though all he can really smell is blood, he sniffs at Stiles, looking for injuries.
With his question, he looks down from his gaze, then turns his head a little in his grasp towards where the minotaur lay. ]
[ Stiles stares at him for a second longer, processing, his gaze moving from Derek to the minotaur. He wants to examine it, needs to try and figure out where that thing came from, but learning that men who become wolves--sons of Romulus--are real and minotaurs are as well is a lot at once.
And his attention is mostly on Derek, who just looks...hurt, broken, when he looks at the minotaur, looks at the blood on his maw, in his teeth, and something in him just aches, enough that he takes his face away again, giving enough of a tug to take his attention directly, stare hardening a little. ] You have saved my life. Again. You have done nothing but do so since I brought you from the coliseum.
[ Thumbing a little at his cheek, he looks over at the minotaur again, then back to him, his face softening. ] I have yet to see you act as if you were something like that, whether you are on two legs... [ And there's a little, mischievous twinkle to his gaze. ] Or four.
Although I am angry you would not trust me with this. [ He doesn't really sound angry--like he's teasing him, just a little. ] Think of all the research I could have done!
[ Letting Stiles pull his gaze back, Derek's eyes search his, more than a little lost in them. But his lord has this way of bringing him out of dark places, showing him the light again. It's been such a long time since anyone ever tried to do that for him, and the feeling tangles itself in his chest, weaving between his ribs.
Slowly stepping closer to him, he bows his head forward and tips his muzzle down to keep the blood away from him, pressing their foreheads together and breathing out something like a sigh. Tension is still steeped in his shoulders, but the weight is more him bearing pain than it is worry for how Stiles might react to him.
He doesn't have the words to express it, but he hopes that Stiles knows that he will always protect him.
Something in his eyes flashes a little, flaring cobalt brighter, and he lets out a snort. It's one part amused, one part disdainful. There are many reasons for why he didn't say anything, but only one can be communicated when a true monster is within sight. ]
[ Derek smells like blood, and even he can feel it, the metallic tang in the air, but it's softened when he tilts his head forward and presses his forehead to his. It's obviously an important gesture, and Stiles leans into it a little, reaching forward and pressing a hand to his ruff, curling his fingers in the thick, black fur there.
When he pulls back, he looks at Derek, then the minotaur, then back at Derek. ] Can you--shift back? I imagine yes, as obviously it is not tied to the moons, and--I have so many questions for you.
Although maybe more for where that monster appeared from. I thought they were fables. [ He looks at Derek again, mutters, "then again, I thought the sons of Romulus were as well", and shifts up to his feet, slowly, using Derek as a support. ] Come.
[ Soothed that Stiles is safe, isn't hurt despite the attack, Derek breathes him in through the blood that soaks his muzzle. He tastes the blood, clear as anything, but it isn't human and doesn't lead to him retching with the taste. It's still thick on his tongue, and he wants to spit it out and wash it clean, but his focus is more on Stiles right now.
With his question, he lets out an affirmative noise in the back of his throat. But he doesn't make a move to, simply staying still to let Stiles help himself up to his feet again. He'd slouched forward for Stiles' benefit, but, well.
The moment he's off the ground, he straightens to his full height and looks to where the minotaur lay. It does not breathe, and its blood is spilt. It isn't getting up again. ]
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Stiles is p. entertained.
There were all kinds of rumors surrounding the Hales and their legacy, but in the end, Derek won his match with stunning aplomb, and Stiles could vaguely recall a story he'd heard from the soothsayer as a boy, that at seventeen a son of Romulus would lead him down a path to greatness. Stiles hadn't ever been one with big ambition, either, but when an opportunity fell into his lap, he wasn't planning on letting it go. So Stiles bought the slave at the market, fought with the Emperor's daughter (oops), over him, and nearly lost him all at once.
The token he'd thrown during the battle was still with him when he came to visit Derek in the infirmary, and Stiles' hand trailed a little over the lyre on the pendant as he stepped up beside where he was lying. His injuries should have been fatal, and yet... and yet, here was Derek, breathing, the rise of his chest steady and slow, the massive wound already starting to look like scars. ]
Incredible. [ He's mostly just talking to himself, unsure if his warrior's going to awaken--but it looks like he may, after all. ] I knew there was something special about you.
Of course he is.
Wolves are protectors as much as they are predators, but everything in the last son's fights are made of survival. After everything that he'd been put through on the way to the matches in the arena, shuttled to and fro at the whim of the highborn that he once was found among, there wasn't any honor to defend anymore. What remained of his family was outside of those walls that surrounded him day in and day out, and all that was left was his own life in the hands of people seeking entertainment.
It wasn't uncommon for him to find tokens being offered to him, try as he might to ignore them. This one, for some reason, stood out to him most of all though. The fact he fought Kate Argent on his purchase probably had a lot to do with it, all things considered. Because if there was anyone he wanted to be as far away from as possible, it was the Emperor's favored daughter and the blue eyes that burned cold, calculating and cruel where one knew to look.
Derek responds on instinct, reaching up with quick reflexes to take hold of the teen's wrist to keep him from exploring beyond the pendent. But while his grip is firm, there's no intent to injure behind it, and he opens pale eyes to look up at him. His injuries are making steady progress, far quicker than most combatants, and he can feel the sting of poison ebbing away in the process. That sharpness that it causes on his senses starts to dull back to normal, making Stiles' words grate less. ]
8D
You--lived. Through being stabbed. [ He sounds surprised, and really, he has every right to be. No mere warrior just got up and walked away from being stabbed in the chest. The look on his face isn't frightened, though--he's not an abomination, at all.
No, he's kind of a wonder. Taking a step back from the table, he offers his hand to help him get up. ] Someone out there must have big plans for you, Derek Hale.
B\
Slowly easing his way up to his elbows, he lets out a soft grunt, a twitch showing in his cheek and at the corner of his eye as he assesses himself. That could've gone a lot more poorly, and here Stiles is in apparent awe of it. Then again, many people are when they don't know the truth. ] I did.
[ Cringe appearing on his face, he decides to take Stiles' hand so he can get up properly. His tone is dry and a little sardonic, almost bitter, when he replies again. ] They are never particularly benign plans.
It's gon' be okay.
[ To be completely honest, Stiles was worried, a little heartbroken, when he'd seen his gladiator go down. He'd put his belief and hopes into Derek, because there was something special about him, something Stiles wanted to reach out and grab, thumb between his pages and mark off the passages that mattered. ] I think we have yet to be properly introduced, and I guess a bloody, shirtless introduction is better than none.
[ His smile's tinged with a little of that sarcastic wit. ] Stiles Stilinski. I'd honestly rather you just called me Stiles, but whatever lord title drives your chariot's fine too.
Is it.
[ There's a touch of skepticism, but he's not cruel about it. Bringing his eyes back up to look at him, he straightens to stand at his full height and ignores the twinge of pain in his abdomen where a knife had been driven deepest into him. Honestly he wouldn't be surprised if he'd had an organ run through before it started to heal-- especially since his mouth tastes a little like oil-- but he's not concerned about it now.
A faint, wolfish chuff escapes him at the introduction, an even mixture of amused and bemused. He doesn't see a need to offer his name in exchange, not when Stiles knows it. Whether he uses it or not is his own prerogative. ] Well then, little lordling. What is it you have planned?
Eventually.
[ He does, however, bristle at the "little lordling", and his mouth drops open, only to shut it. Oh is that gonna be how it is. ] Can you walk, giant warrior, or do I need to support you?
Uhhuh.
It's been a while. ] Eventually.
[ Seeing him bristle appeases his nerves a little, as does the exchange of banter. Strange as it is, it's... actually somewhat refreshing. He brings his hand up to touch the bandages around his torso, letting out a hum. ] I can walk. [ He inclines his head the slightest bit. ] By your leave.
He's not Kate ok.
However, he's not really great at dealing with silences, so Stiles fills the space between them by starting to chatter. ] You'll be outfitted with armor and things suiting our family's crest, and...it's up to you if you wish to keep fighting in the ring.
[ He says that as nonchalantly as possible, but it's...kind of a big deal. ] Make no mistake, I don't take slavery the way most of the other lords here do. If you wished to run from me, you very well could--I highly doubt I'm as fast as you are. But should you stay, you'll be offered a place training with my father's army. I have no intention of getting you killed, considering you seem to do a good enough job of that by yourself already.
[ That was a joke, though, and his mouth turns up in a grin. ]
Definitely not Kate.
Or Jennifer.
/Definitely/ not Jennifer.
8'D dubcon free since 1996
Bless him.
uwu
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bet you weren't expecting this huh
Erica didn't want to live anymore, to be blatantly honest. Lying on the stone bed in her cell, bleeding through her bandages and swimming in and out of consciousness, it became clear that no one was planning on coming to help her. She wasn't supposed to win, and as much as she wanted to get up and (rip that bitch's eyes out, because she put Boyd with her, because Boyd would have lived if he'd won alone, but he protected her) leave, get some water, she could feel the metallic tang of blood in her mouth and put her arm over her eyes, taking in a deep, heaving breath. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
But she'd been an easy target, sickly and weak and lion's bait. And if it wasn't for Boyd--for Derek, gone now too--she would have died eons ago, of her stupid seizure in the middle of battle that had nearly killed her. Erica hated them, hated being useless and weak, and whatever adrenaline she'd gotten in that battle seemed to be draining out of her system, now, even if there was something warm and soft in her stomach, as if she'd taken a sleeping draught for the pain. As if something in her was healing.
She didn't have much time to consider it--the door pushed open, and Erica's large brown eyes blink open under her arm, as she rolls her head and drops her arm to look at the source of the noise, other arm coming to grasp at the side of the stone, as if to push herself up for the act. If they were going to kill her? She was going to go down fighting.
(Luckily, the people through the door weren't who she was initially expecting.) ]
N O . . .
An alpha leading his pack, Derek had thought bitterly, eyes searingly blue.
The fact that his lordling was keeping track of his human betas doesn't surprise him, but he has no way of showing his appreciation of this before he's following the report right back to the very place he had escaped. It doesn't matter that it's the middle of the night. Derek is in motion the moment that he reads the report, hears the confirmation from Stiles, from the messenger. He has to be there. Has to tend to the girl that he'd been trying to protect, as he tried not to mourn for the boy he'd failed to protect.
He's through the door before anyone else, pushing his way in without a moment's hesitation. Maybe he'd be a little more careful, if Erica could lash out in confusion, but he sees the state of her injuries and can smell the humanity in her. But instead, he's to her side in an instant, kneeling next to where she lays and reaching out to gently ease her back down.
Thankful for the dimness of night, of the cell, he curls his fingers against her arm with intent only she'll catch, jaw working in both emotion and pain as he feels black filling his veins. ] Do not move, you will only worsen them.
♥
Derek--? [ It's not hesitant, now, as everything comes back; Boyd's death, Derek being taken from the colosseum, the fight with Ennis, the pain, her seizures, and her fingers curl, tightly, as she feels the familiar warmth of Derek's magical touch against her arm. The true son of Romulus, they'd joked, fur included, and the memory's so strange and fond that she hiccups and takes in another wet breath. ] Why are you here, they will...
[ Have you killed, too. The minute they see him. ] She's going to kill me, they... [ The pain taking helps, helps to push the pain back, as she shifts forward towards him only to flinch back at the command and the pain, voice cracking when she lays back down, remembers Boyd's form in front of her, strong and taking every hit Ennis laid on him. ] --they killed Boyd.
[ Erica has so many questions, but it just gets summed up in one, as she leans back gently with his hand, eyes shiny with tears. ] How... did you know?
ghhh
It's instinctive, the need to touch and soothe. Pack takes care of pack when they're injured, when they're dying, trying to ease their suffering away so that they can rest easy. But he has no intentions of letting her die, not when he swore to take care of her from the moment they met. Not when he'd already failed to do anything for Boyd, though there was nothing he could do when he was outside the Colosseum walls. ]
Shh, it's all right. [ No, it isn't. Nothing is all right, save for the fact that he's in no danger here. He visibly swallows, voice a little tight in response to what he sees, what he knows. Erica is safe, he refuses to let anything happen to her, but at the same time-- ] I know. I know, I'm so sorry...
[ His hand rests at the crown of her head, thumb smoothing over her hair as he looks down at her. The blood is so strong in his senses, but he has to ease her pain before he begins to mend her. ] They sent word to the estate. I came as soon as the words left the messenger's mouth.
[ All that they were told was that Boyd was killed, that Erica was slated to die of her injuries. There was no proper information about who she went up against, who scheduled the fight, who requested the fighters. But Derek would find out, even if he had to fight for it. It wouldn't be anything new for him, after all. ]
This is fun.
The apologies are the first sincere ones she's heard since this afternoon--she was booed on her way out of the Colosseum, with just a few appreciative claps. It was her job to lay down and let Ennis kill her, but Erica wouldn't--couldn't--let that happen. Not after what he did to Boyd. She was a fighter, and she wasn't weak anymore.
Her eyes flutter shut at the warmth, the wooziness from blood loss seeming to ease up just a little. They hadn't done the best job bandaging her--surely Deucalion was on his way to exterminate her next, so why bother? But with Derek here, Erica fought to cling onto that spark of life she'd been clutching since her arrival here, and her fingers, trembling against Derek's palm, tighten a little, squeeze. ] He died for me. [ I love you, she'd cried into his back, bleeding under her hands, and then she'd gotten angry-- ] They want me to die too.
[ She doesn't want to die. Not here. ]
THIS IS CRUEL.
But as they licked their wounds, tucked away from view of the world, the quiet was theirs and it wasn't Hell anymore. Even if it was only for a few hours. Boyd could be soft again, Isaac could smile, and Erica would be safe. Safe from everything, curled amongst them and eased away from the tremors that seized her, the words that followed her out of the ring.
She became a fighter, despite everything that had happened to her in her humanity, and Derek is proud of her in the midst of his pain. Humans or not, pack is pack, and it feels as if someone has taken a blade down upon his arm. Losing pack is like losing a limb, and he looks at Erica now with a painful ache. He won't let Boyd's sacrifice end here, won't let that love die with Erica. ]
I will not let you die. [ The resolve is fierce, just as strong as his commands in the ring, and he squeezes her fingers in return. Something strong and anchoring, there. He turns his head away from her, looking back to the door, and makes a gesture with his free hand. It isn't the best place to patch her up, by any means, but to move her without mending would be to kill her. ]
is it :>
But she does respond. A minute nod, and then, when she shuts her eyes again, she's trusting him. Trusting him to fix it. ] I know.
[ He took her in, when no one else would. When she was supposed to be bait for the lions. An easy kill. But Derek saw more than that; he saw her potential. He gave her a family again, when everything else had been taken away.
And now, he was the only thing left. So she had to trust him--had to trust that he'd keep her alive.
Like he always did.
When she slips out of consciousness, it's more of a sleep than a faint, and the blackness tugs at her eyes until everything feels warm. ]
Tiny bit.
If he could've turned her, turned Boyd and Isaac, he would've in a heartbeat. Would've offered them that solid bond, the safety of healing after such grieve wounds. But their joking aside about him being a true son of Romulus, he doesn't have that ability and highly doubts he ever will. He would've died in the ring before he ever could kill an alpha, and he doubts he'll fight one now.
His blood boils for revenge, though, and he doesn't care if he'd fight an alpha for it.
Pushing it down for the time being, he focuses on cleaning Erica's wounds. He doesn't have enough clean water to wash all of her skin, though he wishes he did, but he'll at the very least wash away the grime and blood that dirties her injuries before he begins to sew her up. ]
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arooooooooooooooooo
Things had gone downright upside down after a hunting trip with Allison and Scott. One minute, he'd been there, with Derek, the next--arrows were flying, of unknown origin, and something roared so fiercely and savagely in the forest that it couldn't have been any beast Stiles knew. No, it sounded like a monster, something out of the stories he'd gobbled up from Greece on his mother's lap, and Stiles dismounts his horse in the chaos the minute Derek disappears. Scott's body drops over Allison to protect her, and he's just able to flash Stiles another hurried look before the senator's son runs off into the woods.
There's a loud thud, another angry roar, what sounds like teeth gnashing and Stiles' stomach swoops into his toes as he imagines what could be happening to his soldier, to his bodyguard to his friend and he's running as fast as his feet can carry him, away from his horse and into the woods.
Stiles skids into a clearing, worry on his face and driving his feet, his heart hammering in his chest, and that's when he sees it--there's a monster. It has to be. It looks almost like a minotaur, and his breath catches in his chest at the sight, huge and muscled and with massive, bloodied horns. At the sight of Stiles, it lowers it's head, and Stiles' heart clenches in his chest, eyes dilating wide with fright as he reaches backwards for something, anything, a stick, something to hit it with as it charges--but when he gets his grip on a stick behind him and reaches it backwards, reay for the impact, teeth crunching maw snapping ready for his death, it never comes. Because something slams into the minotaur, and when Stiles scrambles backwards in shock, his knees giving out, he gets a look.
It's the biggest wolf he's ever seen in his life, huge and black with blood in its maw, and Stiles freezes, staring at it with wide eyes. ] Gods above.
[ But there's something familiar about it, and that's something he can't shake. The young lord stares at him for a moment, his head tilting just a little, a squint to his gaze, analyzing.
Stiles is alright. He's terrified for his warrior (for his survivor, his voice whispers in the back of his head), but there's nothing scared in the way he stares at the wolf. Slowly, he glances back from the body of the minotaur behind him, to the wolf in front of him, then offers his hand, slowly, surely, trustingly, because everything clicks all at once, and his voice comes out in a rush of air, barely a whisper. ] ...Derek?
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He could smell it, something off and foreign. It wasn't something he could really get a read for, mostly downwind and silent. But he stays near Stiles, trusts that Scott and Allison will be safe, and he keeps it to himself in the hopes that it's nothing. He's certain that's all it is, maybe some predator staying at the edges because a greater beast is in their territory.
But everything goes wrong, and horrifically so. An arrow rips into his shoulder, but he barely notices it. He rips it free of flesh and muscle, propelling himself forward with a snarl as he immediately launches towards where the arrows have the most concentration. He needs to eliminate the threat to his lord, to the people that he cares about most. And it's a simple matter of locating them, tearing into them and stopping them.
It's a lot easier said than done, and he realizes that a little too late. The humans are easy enough to deal with, though he takes a few more arrows in the process. Some of them burn, sizzling in his flesh with wolfsbane, but he ignores it in favor of chasing them away or injuring them to the point that they are no longer a viable threat. He doesn't even need to shift, just has to break a few bones and knock a few heads into the surrounding trees.
But then he hears the roar again, and fighting a minotaur is not a task he's exactly prepared for. Even partial shifting has him being sent into a tree, and he knows that his spine would have snapped if he weren't wolfborn. For a long moment, he stays on the ground at the foot of the tree, trying to get his wits about him. His injuries are slow healing, but they're at least healing.
Except, suddenly, he hears a familiar heart thundering nearby. Derek lifts his head up in a snap, as he realizes that Stiles is suddenly there, away from Scott and Allison and where it's safer, and the monster is there. Before he even realizes it, he can feel a full shift overtaking him, and he rips off his armor as cloth tears in two instead of fighting it. Stiles is in danger. He has to keep Stiles safe, he can't lose anyone else. Protecting him is worth whatever reaction he might have to suddenly seeing his bodyguard as a monster, himself.
His attack is so sudden, the minotaur so distracted by its human prey, that it doesn't expect it. The wolf practically roars, a flash of shocking blue and sharp teeth, and slamming into it and tearing into fur and flesh. He claws at it, struggling only until he can rip his fangs straight through its throat.
Red and wet with his own blood and the monster's, he stands there in front of Stiles, bristled and big and prepared for another threat. When one doesn't come, he swivels his head towards Stiles, looks closely at him to see if he's hurt. What he doesn't expect is the hand outstretched towards him, and his heart practically leaps into his throat as he looks at him, then to Stiles as his name comes out of him. Tentative, he steps towards him, bows his head forwards so that there's barely a brush of fur against his fingers. ]
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And Derek confirmed it.
The squint to his eyes turns from shock to--awe, almost, relief, and where he's on the ground, he shifts forward on his knees, and catches his head in both of his hands. ] You are--you're alright. Gods, don't scare me like that, I thought I had lost you for sure.
[ And then, abruptly, he changes pace, grabbing his face a little more firmly and staring at him. ] Why did you never tell me?
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A quiet, surprised noise leaves him as his fingers catch in his fur and hold his face. But he doesn't jerk away, and does, slowly, step closer to him. Though all he can really smell is blood, he sniffs at Stiles, looking for injuries.
With his question, he looks down from his gaze, then turns his head a little in his grasp towards where the minotaur lay. ]
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And his attention is mostly on Derek, who just looks...hurt, broken, when he looks at the minotaur, looks at the blood on his maw, in his teeth, and something in him just aches, enough that he takes his face away again, giving enough of a tug to take his attention directly, stare hardening a little. ] You have saved my life. Again. You have done nothing but do so since I brought you from the coliseum.
[ Thumbing a little at his cheek, he looks over at the minotaur again, then back to him, his face softening. ] I have yet to see you act as if you were something like that, whether you are on two legs... [ And there's a little, mischievous twinkle to his gaze. ] Or four.
Although I am angry you would not trust me with this. [ He doesn't really sound angry--like he's teasing him, just a little. ] Think of all the research I could have done!
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Slowly stepping closer to him, he bows his head forward and tips his muzzle down to keep the blood away from him, pressing their foreheads together and breathing out something like a sigh. Tension is still steeped in his shoulders, but the weight is more him bearing pain than it is worry for how Stiles might react to him.
He doesn't have the words to express it, but he hopes that Stiles knows that he will always protect him.
Something in his eyes flashes a little, flaring cobalt brighter, and he lets out a snort. It's one part amused, one part disdainful. There are many reasons for why he didn't say anything, but only one can be communicated when a true monster is within sight. ]
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When he pulls back, he looks at Derek, then the minotaur, then back at Derek. ] Can you--shift back? I imagine yes, as obviously it is not tied to the moons, and--I have so many questions for you.
Although maybe more for where that monster appeared from. I thought they were fables. [ He looks at Derek again, mutters, "then again, I thought the sons of Romulus were as well", and shifts up to his feet, slowly, using Derek as a support. ] Come.
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With his question, he lets out an affirmative noise in the back of his throat. But he doesn't make a move to, simply staying still to let Stiles help himself up to his feet again. He'd slouched forward for Stiles' benefit, but, well.
The moment he's off the ground, he straightens to his full height and looks to where the minotaur lay. It does not breathe, and its blood is spilt. It isn't getting up again. ]
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Flaws came on while I was writing this tag and now I'm sad.
nnnnoooooooo.
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my dad is watching gladiator |D
ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAAAAAAAINED.
it's not late enough for the all nighter porn tag show so this happens instead
I'm not complaining.
uwu
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