[ 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. ]
[ When another person comes in the door, it's not Deucalion, or any of the workers in the Colosseum. It's Stiles, who comes bursting through like an absolute whirlwind, clutching a couple of pieces of papyri tight to his chest. He gets a look at Erica, blonde haired and pale and chokes, and then he's running over and sliding on his knees and blurting out about ten thousand things at once. ]
Is she well--?! I got the papers, it's not too late, is it?! [ Color him a little frantic, but. He looks between Erica and Derek for a moment, watches his sure hands working with sinew and needle, then promptly winces and turns away, making a noise that can only be described as lurching. ] Ugh, gods, ew, ew, why didn't you warn me you were doing that!
[ The hammering of Stiles' jackrabbit heart is the only saving grace for him in that moment, where Derek's senses are honed for unfamiliarity that he has to protect an injured packmate from. But since coming into Stiles' possession, he's learned the identifiers-- his heart, the weight of his steps, every quirk he can take note of-- and he doesn't even look up from his task. Whoever killed Boyd, hurt Erica, was definitely a wolf. The claw marks are obvious, though he's sure they had some sort of weapon that could has taken the credit should questions arise.
Bowing in to where he's stitched up one of the gashes, he bites the thread close to Erica's body without care of whether he brushes blood in the process or not. ] You were talking too fast-- papers?
[ Brushing the back of his arm across his mouth, just in case, he goes about mending another injury. He doesn't answer his question of whether she'll live or not, given the fact that her injuries could become infected and the blood loss could have been too great. But he's going to fight for her every step, not even the gods could stop him. ]
[ Turning his gaze up to the ceiling, Stiles is only snapped back from his avoidance of the bloody mess in front of him by Derek's question. He refocuses, looking from the girl on the table, who's slowly getting fixed up, to the man fixing her.
Stiles crouches down and clutches the papers a little tighter, looking at Erica's face instead of the work being done. She's beautiful, and unfortunate--probably given the choice between prostitution and the ring. The seller at the head of the market had warned Stiles of her disease, but he was unconcerned, and had slapped down a frankly alarming amount of money to get the seller A) off his back and B) to just agree with him already. ] Erica Reyes has been sold to a buyer by the name of Lord Stilinski.
[ He reads it off the paper, then sets it down beside them, turning his gaze to the side to look at Derek out of the corner of his eye. ] She will be coming home with us, when she survives.
[ Hardly bothered by the blood, himself, Derek continues his work with a steady hand. It's almost methodical, and, given how often he's done this in lieu of an actual medical practitioner, it should be no surprise. Before he was thrown into the ring, though, he had no need for the skills that he's since honed-- not when he could heal, himself, and most of the people around him could as well. There were, of course, members of his pack that were human that needed medical attention, but it was never his job as the alpha's son.
Hell, his main responsibilities were helping take care of the children in the pack and training so that he may better defend his family.
It's only when he processes what Stiles says that he stops, bringing his head up to look at him. Stiles bought Erica. He bought someone that had been intended as simple bait for the lions, someone that people wanted to see die. The underdog wasn't meant to win against their great heroes.
He swallows a little thickly, before turning back to his task. ] Thank you.
It's nothing to be thanked for. [ Reaching over, he brushes a little of the blonde's curly hair out of her face, even if the side of his attention seems to mostly be on Derek. He proves himself as something different every day, whether it's a fierce warrior or quiet brilliance or a tender, caring figure like this. It makes Stiles think about the files he has in his office back at the complex, two women under assumed names who he thinks may be Derek's sisters. He has yet to track them down completely--it makes sense, he can't imagine why they'd want to be here, with the Argents already out for Derek's throat--but soon.
Tucking that thought away from now, he smiles a little and jostles Derek's side with his elbow. ] Maybe I did it all for myself. I must have gotten tired of looking at your sour face.
[ Which could actually not be further from the truth. ]
It is. [ After all this time in Stiles' estate, Derek knows he's not stupid. He knows he's incredibly intelligent, bright and sharp and observant. Stiles knows what it means for the people in the rings to be taken away from them, given another chance. He's not of the opinion that he deserves one, but Erica? Erica did not ask for her lot in life, did not create a line of dominoes that led to her fate as Derek had. She had simply been born and Fortuna had not favored her.
Steady despite the jostling, he chuffs something soft while continuing to work. He's close to being done, at least with the major injuries that require immediate stitching. He wants to get into better light, a cleaner workspace, to assess what else might need done. ] Maybe you did.
[ That's a skeptical tone, and he sets aside the needle and thread he'd been supplied with to rest his hand over Erica's arm again. The darkness of the cell reassures him, but at the same time he doesn't care if Stiles sees the darkness that fills his veins as he takes residual pain from the unconscious girl. ]
[ Time passes in silence for a little longer, as Stiles watches Derek work. It's typical for slaves to learn medical trades, and it's not the kind of thing he's surprised by, but Derek has skilled hands, and it makes a part of him feel a little safer. If anything ever happened to him--happened to his dad--they had capable hands in the complex, which was the difference between life and death. As he finishes, Stiles pushes up to his feet and brushes off the cloth over his knees, and that's when he looks at Derek's arm. He can see the black lines now, tracing up Derek's veins as the moonlight falls on them, and while his mouth opens, just a little, his eyes squint and he shuts it again, softly.
He's not planning on asking Derek's secrets; he's known there's something strange about him for a long time now. And it's not completely unheard of, for the trueborn sons of Romulus to wander the streets of Rome, although Stiles can't fathom why they'd put one in the ring of all places. Derek deserved to be more than just a day to day survivor--he deserved to be a champion, to fight for himself and for the people he chose.
He was Stiles' champion, and something about that warms in his chest. ] We have a cart waiting outside. It is not the most glamorous method of travel, considering it most often holds olives and oils from the estate, but it will be of more comfort than, say, a chariot. Is she ready?
[ Working his jaw a little against the pain as it settles in his muscles, sore and aching and lingering with the severity of her injuries, Derek breathes a little shakily through his nose before he draws his hand away. If she's jostled, now, she hopefully won't wake up. While he fears her not waking up at all, she needs rest to recover-- something that would be true even if he could give her the bite-- and he doesn't want her to wake until she's at least been cleaned up and taken far from this place.
Slowly easing his way up to his feet, he doesn't bother dusting himself off. He's bloody and his knees are covered in cell grime, something he had grown used to in his years spent in these very cells. Briefly, he flicks his eyes over to Stiles, before back down to Erica as he moves to collect her.
His touch is just as careful as it was when he was mending her wounds, arms hooking under her head and her knees carefully. Lifting her as if she weighs nothing, even when she's undoubtedly settled in his hold as dead weight, he carefully arranges her so that his arm is around her shoulders and her head rests against one of his own. ] A cart is safer for her than a chariot would be. By your leave.
[ Nodding, the young lord gets up and brushes himself off, looking back at Erica again--she simply shifts a little and sleeps on, wrapped in Derek's arms. It's easier for sleep to come when her pain's been taken, and, at least for the moment, it seems like the danger's passed. Stiles is relieved, to say the least, even if a part of him is concerned for the look on Derek's face, like he's the one in pain.
Still, he swallows it down and leads the way outside where the cart is waiting for them both. He'd at least put some cloth down on the bottom, but the majority of it was cushioned with vines cut down from the field, making this an interesting ride indeed. Getting into the front of the cart, he pats the horse's butt and grabs the reins. ] Is she settled? We can go as slow as we need to.
[ Tipping his head the slightest bit to rest his cheek against the bright gold of Erica's hair, Derek moves to follow after Stiles wordlessly. His body aches with the borrowed pain, but it fades far faster in his veins than it would in hers. It's easy enough to excuse it like that, because his discomfort is minor when he's already gone through so much. Erica has a human body that's unaccustomed to so much pain, even with her illness. This will pass, as gently as the wolf can make it.
He decides whether he should lay her down on the cart or continue to hold her, but decides that being curled up won't be good for her injuries. So he settles her as carefully as he can amongst the vines, before joining her so that he can pillow her head gently and keep her from hitting it should they meet bumpy grounds. ] She's settled. So long as you don't go speeding I think we'll be secure.
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♥
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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Is she well--?! I got the papers, it's not too late, is it?! [ Color him a little frantic, but. He looks between Erica and Derek for a moment, watches his sure hands working with sinew and needle, then promptly winces and turns away, making a noise that can only be described as lurching. ] Ugh, gods, ew, ew, why didn't you warn me you were doing that!
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Bowing in to where he's stitched up one of the gashes, he bites the thread close to Erica's body without care of whether he brushes blood in the process or not. ] You were talking too fast-- papers?
[ Brushing the back of his arm across his mouth, just in case, he goes about mending another injury. He doesn't answer his question of whether she'll live or not, given the fact that her injuries could become infected and the blood loss could have been too great. But he's going to fight for her every step, not even the gods could stop him. ]
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Stiles crouches down and clutches the papers a little tighter, looking at Erica's face instead of the work being done. She's beautiful, and unfortunate--probably given the choice between prostitution and the ring. The seller at the head of the market had warned Stiles of her disease, but he was unconcerned, and had slapped down a frankly alarming amount of money to get the seller A) off his back and B) to just agree with him already. ] Erica Reyes has been sold to a buyer by the name of Lord Stilinski.
[ He reads it off the paper, then sets it down beside them, turning his gaze to the side to look at Derek out of the corner of his eye. ] She will be coming home with us, when she survives.
[ It was the least he could do. ]
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Hell, his main responsibilities were helping take care of the children in the pack and training so that he may better defend his family.
It's only when he processes what Stiles says that he stops, bringing his head up to look at him. Stiles bought Erica. He bought someone that had been intended as simple bait for the lions, someone that people wanted to see die. The underdog wasn't meant to win against their great heroes.
He swallows a little thickly, before turning back to his task. ] Thank you.
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Tucking that thought away from now, he smiles a little and jostles Derek's side with his elbow. ] Maybe I did it all for myself. I must have gotten tired of looking at your sour face.
[ Which could actually not be further from the truth. ]
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Steady despite the jostling, he chuffs something soft while continuing to work. He's close to being done, at least with the major injuries that require immediate stitching. He wants to get into better light, a cleaner workspace, to assess what else might need done. ] Maybe you did.
[ That's a skeptical tone, and he sets aside the needle and thread he'd been supplied with to rest his hand over Erica's arm again. The darkness of the cell reassures him, but at the same time he doesn't care if Stiles sees the darkness that fills his veins as he takes residual pain from the unconscious girl. ]
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He's not planning on asking Derek's secrets; he's known there's something strange about him for a long time now. And it's not completely unheard of, for the trueborn sons of Romulus to wander the streets of Rome, although Stiles can't fathom why they'd put one in the ring of all places. Derek deserved to be more than just a day to day survivor--he deserved to be a champion, to fight for himself and for the people he chose.
He was Stiles' champion, and something about that warms in his chest. ] We have a cart waiting outside. It is not the most glamorous method of travel, considering it most often holds olives and oils from the estate, but it will be of more comfort than, say, a chariot. Is she ready?
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Slowly easing his way up to his feet, he doesn't bother dusting himself off. He's bloody and his knees are covered in cell grime, something he had grown used to in his years spent in these very cells. Briefly, he flicks his eyes over to Stiles, before back down to Erica as he moves to collect her.
His touch is just as careful as it was when he was mending her wounds, arms hooking under her head and her knees carefully. Lifting her as if she weighs nothing, even when she's undoubtedly settled in his hold as dead weight, he carefully arranges her so that his arm is around her shoulders and her head rests against one of his own. ] A cart is safer for her than a chariot would be. By your leave.
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Still, he swallows it down and leads the way outside where the cart is waiting for them both. He'd at least put some cloth down on the bottom, but the majority of it was cushioned with vines cut down from the field, making this an interesting ride indeed. Getting into the front of the cart, he pats the horse's butt and grabs the reins. ] Is she settled? We can go as slow as we need to.
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He decides whether he should lay her down on the cart or continue to hold her, but decides that being curled up won't be good for her injuries. So he settles her as carefully as he can amongst the vines, before joining her so that he can pillow her head gently and keep her from hitting it should they meet bumpy grounds. ] She's settled. So long as you don't go speeding I think we'll be secure.