laography | everybody wants to rule the world

[ Stiles is running, and it feels like he's been running for hours. His lungs feel constricted and thick and his head is swimming, but he has to get to Derek, because he knows, remembers the fire on the news, and can only imagine how badly this is going to end for him.

But his foosteps stop just in time, because maybe something registers in the back of Stiles' mind and he drops to the ground and rolls just as the biggest werewolf Stiles has ever seen, period, slices at him with his claws from the air. He rights himself quickly, bright blue eyes flashing almost immediately as he gets a hold on his glaive, and looks him up and down. It's Ennis, one of the alphas. Of course.

He says something about Little Red. It's probably cliche. Stiles snaps back at him that maybe he just needs a pair of red eyes to complete the look, and that pisses Ennis off, because he roars and charges at Stiles. At some point, maybe Stiles'll realize that pissing off the enemy really isn't the way to go about things, and he mentally winces to himself about his big mouth and tumbles out of the way again, throwing himself at Ennis's back. He whirls around and slams Stiles into a tree in response, and he chokes when his hand wraps around his throat, claws pricking dangerously at the thin skin of his neck, until there are tears in his eyes and he's heaving for breath. Ennis is still saying something, but he's stopped listening, as Stiles stops scrambling in the air and moves his hands feebly to his pockets, until they close around the powdered wolfsbane from before.

By the time he's this close to blacking out, all he has to do is get the handful and slam it in Ennis's face. The wolf howls in displeasure as his eyes start to hiss and Stiles moves the second he gets released, the pain forgotten as he grabs his glaive from the ground again, coughing to try and force the air back into his lungs, and by the time Ennis spins around to try and apprehend him again, with another angry roar, Stiles has a good enough grip on his glaive that the sickled end slices through his throat, until the blood gushes and his head comes clean off, hissing with steam from the wolfsbane on the blade.

He doesn't even have time to freak out about it, the fact that he killed an alpha. That Ennis is literally dead at his feet, that Stiles is legitimately coated in blood. Rather, the new surge of power hits him like a freakin mushroom in a Mario game, and Stiles jerks his blade away from the body, turns, and runs, keeps running, his eyes bright red, as the crowds of people in the central district go absolutely berserk.

By the time he's into the smoke cloud, he's got his mask on again, pushing his way through crackling brush and flames, and that's when he spots a familiar figure, broad of shoulders, slim hips, trembling just a little, and Stiles' heart leaps in his throat, because he throws himself forward until he hits into Derek, until he's got an arm more or less around him and repeats, we gotta go, c'mon, big guy, we gotta get out of here--over and over like a mantra, until they push past the barriers of the smoke and Stiles throws the two of them onto the beach, hurling himself, blood and ash and soot and all downwards until he stumbles down to his knees on the sand in front of him, bringing Derek down with him and giving his shoulders a shake as things become lucid again, and Derek looks like he's drowning for someone standing in the clear air. ] Derek--Derek, please, come on, please, please--

[ The gamemakers knew exactly what they were doing when they put Derek in the dome. They knew exactly what they were doing when they put him clear across the island, left him no choice but to bolt through the trees in search of Stiles. They knew his history, knew what damaged him in the games and what had crushed the rest of him outside of them. So it's no real surprise that the part of the forest he's in is currently ablaze, and is getting worse and worse. He's certain that there's probably gas in the air, some sort of accelerant being filtered in to fuel the fire.

Or, well. He will be certain of it, when his mind is fully functional again.

All he can think of is everything that he's lost to fire, how it was his fault, how there had been wolfsbane charred into the wood of his home, how there were no caskets at the funeral because there were no remains to bury. Anyone that could be even remotely identified was cremated, anyways, finishing the job that Kate Argent had started. They burned because he had been damaged and a woman with honey waves and sharp, blue eyes had taken advantage of it after Paige's death. Had known that he was still softhearted, still an easy target.

There's a while where he does run, where he forces his legs to move, pistons on autopilot for as long as he can go before the smoke is all he can breathe in. It starts even before the fire really overtakes the area he's in, the guilt swarming him and making the clear air that slowly burns away to feed the flames taste like soot, heavy in his lungs. It's why he stops, his sudden inability to just breathe, and for a time the audience is split in twain: David and Goliath on one side, and hellfire on the other.

But then Stiles comes, and it barely even registers at first. Suddenly Derek is moving again, being forced into movement, and he hears the voice ringing in his ears just under the roar of the fire. But he doesn't resist the pull, because beneath it all he can hear the thundering of a jackrabbit heart, thumpthumpthumpthump, and he just follows that gravitational pull that it has on him until suddenly the blaze is gone. Even on his knees, he can't seem to pull in air, though the quake of his body slowly starts to dwindle as everything slowly becomes sand beneath him, the smell of blood, and Stiles' voice. ]

Stiles. [ It's a little hoarse, probably from a combination of the smoke and heat and rush of emotions. His shoulders sag underneath Stiles' hands, as clarity hits him like a freight train, and he brings his own hands up to touch Stiles' shoulders, his neck, his face. He doesn't care that there's blood everywhere, just cares that it doesn't smell like Stiles', that he doesn't have any injuries that would even result in this much blood. ] Stiles, Jesus Christ--

[ You're safe, you're okay, the fire didn't take you, they didn't take you. ]

[ The light that comes back into Derek's eyes, the way he suddenly touches him again--it makes whatever was so tense in Stiles' chest just break, and he can't helpe the relieved laugh that comes out of his mouth as he jerks forward in the space between them and throws his arm around his shoulder, tucking his face tight into the junction of his neck and his collar and breathes him in. Derek smells overpoweringly like smoke, but he can smell the rest of him underneath, worn leather and the chill of autumn just before a frost, his heartbeat erratic and crazy and probably still panicked but it's Derek, and he's still alive. There's still blood on Stiles' face and he's smearing it everywhere and he can't even bring himself to care as he just buries his face there and breathes in, trying to relax again.

They're okay.

There were a thousand scenarios that passed through his head when they first flashed Derek's picture up on the screen. Honestly, he did the math in his head--if they managed to meet up without being interrupted, they had a good shot at winning, as a team. But that hour or so where they were separated was terrifying, and the fire made it even more so.

They're not out of the frying pan yet, but it's a start. One down, five to go. When he lifts his head again, still looking a little incredulously at his face, big hands cupping his cheeks, Stiles shakes his head and leans in to put their foreheads together, closing his eyes. ] It's okay, it's--it's gone, the fire's gone, jesus christ, you scared the hell out of me.

[ Taking the sudden weight that hits him, Derek returns the embrace instantly, fingers curling tight in the short hairs at the base of Stiles' skull as the other hand comes around to curl tight into his hip. There's so much blood on Stiles, everywhere, but it doesn't stop him from burying his face into the soft meat of his shoulder, nose tucked close to the exposed expanse of his throat over the high collar of his suit. As he smells like smoke, his candidate smells like blood, but he can still smell spice, summer into autumn, even with the rush of bile-bitter anxiety underneath it. His heart is all he really hears, and he just-- he breathes him in, heavy breaths like a drowning man who finally gets his head above water.

Stiles is okay. Stiles is safe, has managed to get through the three hours since Derek had last seen him on the screens. And now that they're together again, he has absolutely no intention of letting him go again. Not after that fire, not after every image that it put into his head. Losing Stiles would wreck him, push him over that line. Losing him to the fire would destroy him.

His fingers ease in his hair, the slightest bit, as he lifts his head, curling at the back of his neck as he looks at him. There's no attempts to pull away as he holds his face, and instead he leans into his touch, tips upwards to meet him. A full-body shudder courses through him at the reminder of the fire, but he just brings his hands around, slowly, to mirror Stiles. ] The last I saw, you-- you'd been clear across the dome. But the fire, I thought--

[ Three hours is a lot of time to cover the terrain of the island. It's enough time to get caught in a blaze. His eyes squeeze shut, trying to push the images out. ]

[ Something in his chest just aches, and Stiles strokes his cheek with his thumb, trying to do anything to get him to calm down. He's been in this position before, when panic latches around you so tight it's hard to move, let alone escape your death, and a part of him is graceful for their proximity to the sudden fire--as it dies out, controlled carefully by the gamemakers, it means no one'll be close by for at least a few minutes. His guard never goes down but his attention focuses on Derek, who looks freaked the hell out. ]

I wasn't even close to it. [ He tries to grin a little, keeps thumbing at his cheek, tries to be soothing. It's what he always liked, to hear reassurances. That whatever he'd been panicking about wasn't real. Solid proof. ] It was a trap--they knew I was going to try and find you, so Ennis was there to cut me off at the path. He's, uh. He's pretty dead now.

[ His gaze flickers back up as he pulls away a little, just enough to look at him, the panic in those golden-green-hazel-brown eyes of his, tinged almost amber by the flicker of the flames behind them. It's getting dark now, which means they need to find shelter, at least for a couple of hours, because as the city sleeps, chances are that the city will ease off any attacks for the sake of television. It's a little blessing. ] It's okay, big guy. Just a bunch of assholes with a flamethrower. We're gonna be okay, okay? You and me.

[ Scanning Stiles' face as he listens to him, Derek takes a steadier breath before closing his eyes. This is not weakness. This is just old scars being ripped open, exposed and used against him, and a blatant fear that something could happen to Stiles. The gamemakers had been hoping for it, wanting to manipulate it to eliminate the both of them. He's not stupid, just a little delirious and infinitely exhausted after an already harrowing hour back in the dome.

They get a little more sadistic every year. ]

I heard the cannon. It didn't really register. [ If it had, he probably would've snapped, the smoke from the fire making it difficult to see the ceiling of the barrier to clarify who had lost their lives. Even if he believes in Stiles, this place is terrifying, especially after already having lost one person here.

Eyes opening again, he looks at him, soot and blood smeared across them both. They need to clean off somehow, because their scents are in such contrast to much of the surrounding area they're currently in. But instead of moving, his thumbs sweep across Stiles' cheeks, tracing out the patterns of his moles as he looks at him. It's obvious he's still a little shaken, but the panic is dying away, slowly but steadily. ] Two alphas at the end.

Yeah. [ And for the first time proper, Stiles's mouth quirks into a little grin and he tests it out, the familiar bleed of color into his irises. But this one is different, even it feels the same--it's the first time his have ever been red. His smile grows a little and he covers Derek's hand with his, smacking it against it in a gesture of solidarity, or a sudden burst of hope, or something. ] I don't think they realized bringing you in here just gave us an advantage.

[ At least he hopes so. Training with Derek, spending time with him--Stiles had a hunch about him that he'd had from day one, something deep in his gut that practically purred with satisfaction every time they were together, but he had yet to push it. In this situation of life or death, it'd come up soon, anyway.

Slowly, he starts to separate himself from Derek, his hand lingering as he hurries towards the salty water and goes to wash himself off. The last thing he needs to do is piss off Aiden and Ethan even more when they hear he just killed one of their alphas. Not to mention, Jennifer's still lurking around somewhere, and he's not thrilled about the rest of the competitors, either. ] It's gonna get dark soon, we gotta get up in the trees.

[ But not before he takes some water and splashes it at Derek, grinning at him just a little as some of the soot melts off of him. ]

[ Almost in answer, red enters his eyes, a smooth transition in a single blink. Derek doesn't even think before it happens, and it's not a sign of aggression or challenge. It's just that same spark, shared between the two of them, burning to life as the forest's fire slowly dies out under the control of the gamemakers. ] I'm pretty sure they were hoping we'd be dead before we had the chance to prove just how bad an idea this was.

[ He shifts, almost nuzzling their foreheads together before Stiles starts to move. There's a part of him, deep in the pit of his chest, that doesn't want to pull away from him. It's the same part he knows would have been broken into pieces if anything happened to Stiles, the part of him that had been broken for eight years, only to feel new again. And he knows exactly what it means, but that moment will come later.

Watching Stiles head for the water, he shakes himself out a little, bringing a hand up to smooth through his hair as he exhales shakily and looks at the remains of the blaze. The twins are still out there, prowling and waiting. The remaining betas are hunting for the last three alphas, though he knows at least two of them will be down for the count even before they find shelter. Jennifer will not be one of them, but he's prepared for that encounter.

Though, he's not exactly prepared for the sudden splash. He jolts a little out of his thoughts, turning towards him and raising his eyebrows. Mouth curling down in a small, but still affectionate smile, he rolls up from his knees and to his feet, coming over next to him and using his knee to knock into Stiles' shoulder before he joins him. He just bows forward at the water, washing off soot and blood as best he can. ]

That means we have to move, fast. The trees here are too sparse, we'd be spotted instantly.

[ There's no weird surge of power when Derek looks at him, no necessity to challenge or to cower. He feels--equal, on his level. It's weird, but nice. Like it was supposed to be this way. A part of him, something tiny and fierce and strong just settles at the thought, and he can't help the glance he affords Derek out of the corner of his eye as he runs the water over his face, until he's mostly debloodied and smells like the sea.

They don't have a lot of time left, and Derek practically takes the words right out of his mouth. He nods, a little tersely, and swallows. Back to business. ] Yeah. There's a really good spot down the other way, about a mile into the trees. It's where I set--yeah. The trap. [ The wolfsbane one, the one that had netted him his second technical kill. ]

The leaves are so thick you can't see worth crap. I just kinda kept climbing and I could see the top of the dome once I got up there. I worked out a system for sleeping, too--since I'm not exactly, y'know, swimming in allies.

[ Scrubbing his hands a little, he keeps his focus on the task at hand, methodical and mindless. It helps his mind come back into order, returning back to the task at hand: surviving. He rolls his neck to crack it, impulse and a small tick built into him over the past eight years all in one movement. Their scent is a little better now, but he has something in mind to rectify that. They just need to get moving. ]

I saw that one-- not on the screens, I mean. [ Derek looks at him, bringing a hand up to hook his thumb in the strap of his scavenged backpack. ] We were both active in that area. It should act as a good, confusing deterrent to keep them away long enough for us to get some rest.

[ He shifts up, drying his hands off on his stomach, before he offers one down to Stiles to pull him back up to his own feet. ] Most of them are all dead now. And besides, we don't need allies. Not when we're in this together.

Edited 2013-11-27 02:10 (UTC)

[ Stiles nods, flinging his own bag over his shoulder. Aside from the slash marks it has from Jennifer's claws at the beginning, it's still in really good shape, and holding, most importantly, the blanket and the cables from his makeshift sleeping position from the night before. It'd served him well for three days, and clasps his hand firmly in Derek's, using the leverage to pull him up and not even an ounce afraid of what he could do.

Now that Stiles was an alpha, he had a double target on his head, and frankly, he'd like to make it to the end of this alive. As the sun sets a pretty orange over the dome, and the chaos from the fire settles just a little, it's the perfect time to escape towards the forest where they'd been before. ] You're my ally, dude. That's the best I can ask for at this point. Frankly, I'm pretty sure you're not gonna stab me in the back when I turn around and I'm calling that a win.

Did you catch where Jennifer happened to end up? Like, comparatively. [ Maybe, just maybe, Derek being out of the arena could be a twinge of hope. Stiles adjusts the bag on his shoulder, finds his glaive, and with a solid look backwards to make sure nothing's going to go horribly wrong, he moves towards it. ]

[ Fingers curling securely around Stiles' hand to pull as he does, Derek briefly runs his thumb over his knuckles before he draws away and looks around at their surroundings. There's a brief moment where he looks up at the ceiling of the barrier, their faces peering down at them and dimmed for the night, almost as if gauging what it must look like from a higher vantage point. ]

And you're not going to turn around and slit my throat. [ He's still assessing their position, but then he looks at Stiles, eyes gold in the dying light of the fire and reflected by the setting sun. For a second, he simply looks at him, determination in the set of his jaw but his expression overall calm. They found each other, it's going to be all right. ]

She could be anywhere now. [ Head tilting a little, he moves alongside Stiles, drawing the dirk from its sheath at his hip. ] But last I saw her she was up towards the northern section of the dome, around the rocky terrain.

I dunno, dude, you're looking pretty slittable. [ That is the absolutely most sarcastic statement that has ever come out of Stiles' mouth, and he even shoots him a grin afterwards, disappearing into the line of the bushes and pausing just enough to offer his hand through, to show that he's not too far away.

Chewing that thought over, Stiles nods. They've got maybe thirty minutes of darkness left, meaning they need to move, and fast. ] I've got a rabbit in my bag if you're still hungry--uh, the leftovers of one, I guess, once we get up there. The game is way easier to kill than like an actual wolf.

[ Which he did do. What a weird feeling. He can still feel it, in every motion he makes, in the wounds Ennis had inflicted on him before his death healing up quicker than they would have had he still been a beta. Stiles isn't really to accept the whole alpha thing quite yet, even if it's kind of a reality at this point.

He walks in silence for a little while, companionable if not still on his guard, ears alert for any sounds. It's quiet so far, and the only thing he can really zoom in on is what must be Aiden and Ethan trampling through the forest--but it's far enough away that Stiles thinks it might be on the other side of the island. He reaches the tree and immediately puts two hands on it, starting to pull his way up, and grins down at Derek. ] Put those muscles to use, big guy.

[ Chin jutting up a little in a sarcastic response of his own, Derek rolls his eyes but follows after, reaching so that their fingers brush. He's right behind him, and doesn't plan on going anywhere anytime soon. Just like when he was outside the dome, he's got Stiles' back.

He listens to their surroundings, his heart finally easing out of the drumming beat it'd been pressing against his ribs, falling into a familiar mindset. It's easier, now, than it was eight years ago. He's got experience under his belt, and he's already gotten blood on his hands. Facing the betas, the alpha twins, is nothing compared to everything he's already been through.

So long as Stiles stays safe. ] The game's only easier to kill until they decide to release the rabid ones on steroids. Better hold onto those leftovers for now, we don't know what'll happen in the next 24 hours.

[ There's no need to address Stiles' status as alpha, not until they've settled in a safe(-ish) location for a couple hours. It simply is, and he's not concerned about whether Stiles is suddenly going to turn on him like many of the alphas that surround him on a regular basis. His beta is now his alpha, and that's all there is to it.

Honestly, the only traces of movement are probably the twins, conjoined in their motions. Derek thinks maybe he picks up one of the betas, but he can't be too sure, given the distance. But he stops straining to catch what it is, when Stiles speaks. Turning to look at him, he raises his eyebrows before looking up at the tree. A small huff of amusement leaves him, and he slips the blade back into its sheath before moving around to the side a little so that he can jump up. It lets him grab the lowest branch, and he pulls himself up with just his upper body strength. ]

Show off. [ Stiles mutters as he scrambles up the tree himself. Newly acquired alpha powers or not, they don't just come with automatic manly muscles like Derek's, and it takes him a little longer to pull himself up, using all four of his limbs like a spider monkey. Up and up they go, away from the traps down at the bottom, from any game coming to try and hunt them, from whatever betas are in their little section of the forest. Stiles can't imagine it'll take Jennifer long to find them in the morning, so they'll have to keep an eye on the light, possibly even take sleeping shifts.

But when they show the pictures of those who died, that's the end of the day. They get a six hour reprieve, Stiles figured out pretty quickly--just long enough for someone to fall into a completely deep sleep, so they wouldn't rouse as easily when the next "event" came. This on his mind as he pulls up to a branch near the top, Stiles leans against the tree trunk and drops his head back, taking in a deep gulp of air and shifting his backpack around, starting to pull out the cabling.

How are they going to do this. ]

[ Rather than be offended, Derek just smirks down at Stiles as he continues to hoist himself up. It means that there's only one distinguishable scent moving directly up the tree, which could be excused for Stiles scoping out the area earlier when he was putting up the snare trap. As they get higher, though, he feels the strain of it and starts to boost himself a little more with his feet and legs. He'll recover from it before too long, but he's still a little on edge-- will be, the entire night-- and would rather be poised for trouble.

Letting Stiles settle first, he looks up through the leaves at the pictures that the gamemakers bring up, as if it's some sort of tribute to those that have died. He takes stock of who is listed, considering them and working his jaw a little as they get around to Ennis. He doesn't doubt that if Stiles wasn't fast, if he wasn't determined, wasn't Stiles, his face would be up there instead.

He moves to pull himself up onto the branch with him, essentially straddling it and watching as he starts to pull out the cabling. ] This'll be interesting.

[ Ennis had gone in and gone immediately back out again. No one was expecting that, Stiles figured--he could only imagine how the commentators were frothing over the mouth over everything that happened. His throat goes dry when he looks at the picture, recalls how quickly he was planning on murdering Stiles, the feeling of his glaive slicing through his throat and watching his head literally roll to his feet.

He'd been so in the zone he'd barely thought about it; it must have been shock.

Shacking his head as his mouth goes dry, Stiles turns away from the display and returns to Derek instead, using him as an anchor. Focus on that. He tries a little half smile, pulling the rest of the cabling out and carefully setting the backpack down where it won't fall. ]

I, uh. [ And he sucks in a breath through his teeth. Awkward. ] Typically tie myself down so I don't go rolling off the branch in my sleep since it's not that big. [ Except there are now two of them. ]

[ After having sat in for six (and a half) games as an alpha, Derek can easily imagine what the commentators were saying. What the alphas were saying. He had spent the first two days listening to them froth at the mouth over Stiles, still vying for his death. They had been absolutely disappointed when Jennifer had failed to slash his throat out at the cornucopia, and Kali had even flashed her eyes at him when he'd jumped up to his feet, bristled and concerned.

But Stiles had outwitted everyone, up until he had to fight Ennis. He watches Stiles as he pulls out the cable, feeling like he should be reaching out for him. For now, though, he waits. Even as his fingers flex against the bark he rests his hands on. ]

Except that was when you were by yourself. [ He doesn't comment that he and Paige had tucked away underground during their run, and instead moves so he can carefully swing out of his own backpack, jerryrigging it to the branch a bit away so that it doesn't get kicked. ] Stand up.

Right, really wasn't planning for an ally. [ Stiles nods, and carefully pushes himself up to his feet. The last thing he can really afford is to fall and break his neck, because seriously, werewolf healing or not, he'd be screwed and that would be the lamest way to die in the games ever. So, hugging the branch a little, he stands up, digging his claws into the bark to keep a solid footing on where he's standing.

And watching Derek, not even trying to hide his curiosity. ] Whaaat are you doing.

Surprise, they decided that things were a little too boring for their liking. [ If they're still listening, Derek doesn't even care. He slanders them on the regular, anyways. Why not for the entire nation to hear? But there's more important things to be doing, or at least he should be multitasking, so he shifts where he's seated, swinging a leg up so that he's no longer straddling the branch. Stiles gets no immediate answer, as he adjusts and gauges, and then moves again.

It lets him settle on his back, eventually, and he looks up at Stiles before holding his hands up for him and gesturing a little. ] Making our lives easier. Come here.

Oh. [ He says that kind of stupidly out loud--he probably should have guessed that. Stiles wasn't planning on getting this up close and personal but survival begets a lot of things, apparently, and that same tightly satisfied feeling in his chest practically roars with delight.

Great.

Feeling suddenly more nervous about this than he was about practically killing his fair share of werewolves, Stiles jitters forward and slides into the space of his lap, cheek able to tuck under his chin as it gets closer to sleep. He gets what's going on and starts to help Derek tie the cables around them both, pulling the heat blanket over them both as the temperature in the dome starts to fall, slowly but surely. And as he clips the cables securely down around the tree trunk, he comes down and ends up face to face with Derek, just a couple inches away from him.

Any camera focusing on the other tributes swung around to them in a matter of seconds.

Stiles smiles a little awkwardly, flushing pink high in his cheeks, and pillows his arms against his chest, comfortable. ] Deeeefinitely warmer than roughing it alone. Uh, hi.

[ Ever since the games had started, since Stiles was sent into the fray, Derek has been on edge. He's a walking line of tension, rough on all edges and bristled constantly. But the moment that Stiles comes forward, settles his weight in his lap and draws closer, it seems to melt slowly out of his body. Something twists in his chest, before it loosens, and he finally lets it go instead of ignoring it.

He at least focuses on the task at hand, first, before he indulges it in any way. It takes a lot of maneuvering to get the cabling set up, but at least it's done and they won't be falling out of the tree any time soon. And Stiles, who has been sleeping in trees for two nights already, doesn't have to have that discomfort for a night. To him, that's worth the inevitable kink in his neck and the soreness in his back that comes from this position.

Eyebrows twitching upwards as Stiles settles down against his chest, Derek looks up at him, actually feeling rather content despite everything around them. Though he waits a second, his hands do come up so that he can slide his arms around Stiles' waist under the heat blanket, corner of his mouth quirking a little lopsidedly. ] Glad to be of service. [ Sarcasm, first, but then it softens. ] Hi.

[ It's a moment of happiness in what's been two days of darkness, a small spot of joy in the warmth of the other body suddenly under his. It's the first time he's felt like he could let his guard down since his arrival in the capital, let alone since the game started, and while there's no way he's going to just let go, it's a comforting thought--that he's going to be safe for the night. Just to be safe, he'd cut down a few branches on their way up; Stiles had planned a separate escape route for the morning, leaving them okay just in case someone tried to make things interesting in the dead of night.

For now--at least for this very moment--all he had to worry about was Derek. And that, as his instincts were happy to remind him, was absolutely nothing to worry about.

Stiles rests his chin on his hands as he gets settled, returning Derek's (stupidly attractive) lopsided grin with one of his own, shifting a little under the arms around his waist. ] It's gonna be a real personal six hours.

[ Anything could happen, in the middle of the night. Just because the gamemakers step back a little for a couple hours doesn't mean that the betas and alphas that remain will. Derek knows better than the think otherwise. But here, dozens of feet in the air and tied to a tree, things are going to be all right. They have an escape route, they can bolt at a moment's notice-- barring being jarred from what little rest they can get-- and they're together in this mess.

And he's perfectly all right with that last part. His guard remains up, but Derek's focus begins to close in on just Stiles, on the way that he's truly relaxed for the first time since they met. A quiet rumble vibrates his chest, almost soundless in the quiet of the night. ]

Things are obviously going so well, why not indulge and make it eight? [ The grin spreads a little, as he shifts his hands so that he can brush his thumb up and down along the shape of Stiles' spine through the material of his suit. ]

I guess if we're gonna die this is probably a good way to go. [ He snorts, because those last two hours would probably end in them getting murdered, if not by the gamemakers than by a beta who found their little perch. Stiles is kind of enjoying not being dead at the moment, and his advantage is precious and tender and he's not going to let it go anytime soon.

(Not to mention, his advantage is also probably his greatest weakness--Stiles has a very small list of people he'd take a wolfsbane bullet for, and Derek Hale is near the top of it. So their only option to both come out of this alive is to keep working together.)

The rumble is relaxing against his chest, and he drops his cheek down to his shoulder and shuts his eyes, trying to focus on that. But every time he closes them, he sees nothing but Ennis' head, the wide, empty eyes, and he jerks them open again, curling his hand in the top of Derek's suit. ] Sorry you've gotta rough it out here instead of enjoying life in the lap of luxury again.

[ The way he says that is joking--he can't really imagine Derek living in the lap of luxury, at least not by choice.]

everybody wants to rule the world

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)