laography | everybody wants to rule the world

[ After the day of respite, where Stiles phoned his dad and cried for several hours where no cameras or people could see him, he had to be ready. So he'd gotten out of bed that morning in the complex, got dressed in the suit they gave him--tight and form fitting, designed for what looked like a trek through the forest, high up around his collar but exposing his jugular anyway. They all matched, and Stiles didn't flinch when they put the tracker in him, just sat and traced the BH on his shoulder with his fingers and thought about his mom. (It's a sign for how much he's in his own world--Stiles hates needles, probably more than anything in the world.)

By the time he reaches the lift, with Jennifer nearby, Stiles is jittering almost to the point that his teeth are rattling in his mouth. There's no eerie calm, this is 100%-about-to-have-a-balls-to-the-wall-panic-attack Stiles Stilinski right now, and he jams his hands against the side of his suit, kneading his knuckles against the watertight material to try and find something else to focus on, jumping up and down. But when Derek enters the room, he stops, meeting his gaze almost immediately and calming down a little. Whether it's trying to put on a good show for the poor guy or something else entirely, even Stiles isn't sure, and he swallows down the lump in his throat, managing a crooked smile. ] Dude, can't you tell? I'm totally ready to go out and run to my inevitable death.

[ Beside them, even if quietly, Jennifer scoffs. ]

[ Fingers twitching a little, at first he ignores the impulse to reach out and touch Stiles. It's been rather prevalent, over the past couple of days, but Derek's done well to push it aside because there's more important things to worry about than the pull he's felt around Stiles. Still, he enters his space as he examines him in his suit, brows quirking in response to the strained sarcasm. (He continues to disregard Jennifer's presence, or at least seems so trained on Stiles that he might as well have tunnel vision, where it's just the two of them in the room.) ]

You're not going to die. [ He meant for that to come out sternly, but it's something softer, and he caves, bringing a hand up to trace his fingers along the BH on his shoulder. It was something that he'd done plenty of times when they first suited him up, too, so feeling that it's already been smoothed over a little doesn't surprise him. But even as he touches it, touches Stiles, he keeps his eyes on his. ] You're going to survive.

[ No one wins the alpha games. ]

You keep saying that. [ Something else in him relaxes noticeably as Derek's fingers brush against his shoulders. He obviously doesn't mind the contact, and even leans into it a little, his brown eyes searching his face for something, some kind of answer.

He wants to believe Derek so badly. A part of him does. Stiles isn't intent on dying anytime soon, but none of these people are either. No one goes into the games just to die, after all, and Stiles' stomach churns as he imagines Scott, Allison, his dad watching him die on screen at home. Whatever determination he has is lit by the fire that his family brings, that his dad won't have to bury him next to his mother in the family plot.

Sixty seconds, the voice drones overhead.

Jennifer turns cool eyes on them both, watching from the corner of her gaze. All she wanted was Derek to sponsor her. ]

I don't get much of a choice at this point, right? [ His smile goes soft at the edges, a crooked, lopsided thing, and he fixes Derek with what can only really be described as a Look. ] If--if I do, tell my dad I love him, okay?

[ Curling his fingers against his shoulders as Stiles leans into it, Derek looks back at him, wishing he could actually give him some kind of answer. Give him something more than what little he feels he has. But it's the best he could do, in three days, and maybe it'll get Stiles to the end of this madness.

He doesn't want to see someone else that he's gotten attached to die, and, Jesus, has he gotten attached to this candidate. To Stiles, himself, as a person and not as someone he's sponsoring from home. They clicked on the first meeting, and it's just grown over the past couple of days, try as he might to stay detached. He thinks, maybe, that it's that spark that lives in Stiles.

His expression twitches a little at the edges, though it's not obvious if it's into more of a frown or a smile at first. A minute until they're loaded into the lifts, let loose in the dome and on one another. ]

No one does. [ Something clenches in his chest at the smile Stiles gives him, and he slips his hands higher, frames either side of Stiles' neck, fingers brushing his jawline. ] You'll get to tell him yourself.

[ Sudden as it is, it feels natural to bow his head forward, touching their foreheads together. It's not a direct promise, but it's still something like one. ]

Promise me anyway. [ Stiles is definitely nothing if not stubborn, but he willfully follows him when he moves his head, leaning in that little bit to close the distance. It's an affectionate gesture and that's not lost on Stiles at all, and he shuts his eyes for a second, breathing him in. This part's secret--the cameras don't get to see them until they surface at the top of the arena again, and Stiles swallows his nerves, tries to focus.

Whatever happens--he's not ready to die here. People say he signed himself up for it, that little red's about to get eaten by probably several big bad wolves, and he rubs his thumb against the inside of his sleeve for a second, where Lydia had tied a strip of red fabric, "a token for good luck."

Thirty seconds. ] See you on the other side.

[ When he opens his eyes to meet his again, they're a brilliant ocean blue, but it's gone as soon as it's come, and he hesitantly shifts away from him to step onto the pad. ]

[ Derek lets out a soft chuff, pushing on humorless, but closes his own eyes for a moment as he works his way through what the promise would mean, because he needs Stiles to be able to see his father again to tell him himself. ] Promise.

[ Still, he says it anyways as he opens his eyes again, scanning his face and keeping his palms over his pulse. If he can will it to ease away from the panicked thrum, then he'll give it his damnedest. Stiles is going to be working overtime already, the last minute before he heads out doesn't need to set him up to shut down.

Drawing his hands away, slowly, as the voice gives them the final warning, he stares back in the face of the bright blue, familiar and twisting in his heart. But he doesn't ask, doesn't try to delve into the history behind them, and instead just reaches a hand to squeeze his wrist, briefly, before it's slipped out of his reach. ]

I'll be watching. [ I've got your back. ]

[ As Stiles steps into the launchpad to wait out the last ten seconds or so, Jennifer is watching him, her golden eyes flashed, claws tickling the edges of her sleeves. It wasn't an irrational feeling of jealousy so much as that she'd just known, the moment she saw Derek win the games, that Derek was destined to be her mate. It made perfect sense--the girl he'd been defending looked so much like her, it was nearly a perfect match. He was powerful. She was powerful. They had connections--they'd be a dream team.

She'd even loved him after the Argent killed his whole family, when she'd heard it was his fault, because that was the kind of selfless love she could give.

The look on her face is nothing but a scowl as she eyes Stiles, then turns back to stare at Derek. Even as the pad goes up, she never drops her eye contact, and her first mission is as obvious as anything in the back of her head: kill Stiles. ]

Edited 2013-11-25 21:00 (UTC)

everybody wants to rule the world

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