[ 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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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. ]
no subject
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!
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.