When Rome's in Ruins (We are the Lions)

Part 4

A humanoid game piece shall be defined

as any class of supernatural creature

which shares at least 75%

of its base form with humans

Stiles poked his head around Derek's open door when his soft knock produced no answer at all. It was later than usual for Derek to be sleeping, which was not surprising considering their long night watching movies together, but Stiles had hoped to find him before he left for the barn to help his handlers clean and tend the supers. They didn't need his help, but he enjoyed spending time with the creatures while the others cleaned. He thought that regularly having gentle contact with humans made the wilder supers a little easier to handle.

At first glance, Derek's room seemed empty. The bed was made, though the comforter was rumpled just enough to look like someone had been laying on top of it. Stiles was about to turn and leave when he caught sight of a foot sticking out from beneath the bed. Brow knitting, he moved into the room, head tipping as he tried to make sense of it.

"Derek?" he called.

A solid thunk resounded from beneath the bed and the foot disappeared. Stiles choked on a laugh trying to keep quiet, covering his mouth with one hand as he listened to Derek mumble to himself, rooting around beneath the bed. After a moment, Derek stilled and silence descended.

"Stiles?"

"What on Earth are you doing under the bed?" Stiles gasped, unable to keep himself under control.

Derek peeked over the edge of the bed on the far side, hair standing up at weird angles. "Sleeping," he said, squinting at the brightness of the sunlight and rubbing his head where he'd bumped it.

"Under the bed?" Stiles asked, hiding a smile.

Derek looked down, as if determining that was indeed what he'd been doing, before he looked back up to Stiles. "Yes."

"Okay." Stiles glanced between Derek and the bed, trying to remember if he had actually told Derek how to use a bed. He had figured it was obvious, that Derek had understood because he had seen Derek sitting on the bed before, and because he remembered Derek having a mat at the Argent's estate. If he was sleeping beneath it, however, perhaps it wasn't. "You do know you're supposed to sleep on top of it, right?"

"I know," Derek said, skin flushing as he looked away, shoulders hunching a little. "It's high- I feel like I'll fall. I'm not used to sleeping on something so open... or soft."

Stiles blinked, taking that in, touching back upon his memories of Derek's kennel at the Argent's. The mat in the corner hadn't been too thin to provide any amount of relief from the cement floor, but it hadn't exactly been thick. Guilt needled at him for not considering how that might have affected Derek's sleeping habits and he took a deep breath, trying to sort out what to do to fix it.

"Okay," he said finally, nodding and moving toward the bed.

Derek stared at him as he approached and when Stiles laid his hands on the mattress, Derek scrambled out from beneath the bed and onto his feet. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing it," Stiles said simply.

He gave a solid push to the mattress, watching it slide along the box spring underneath. It was heavier than he expected, and he remembered that the guest bedrooms had older mattresses because they weren't slept on as often as the main rooms. For a moment, as he shoved at the mattress, he considered ordering in a new mattress, a better one, until he remembered what Derek had said about even this one being too soft.

He didn't miss the confused look on Derek's face as the mattress fell with a whump to the ground at his feet. Stiles could pinpoint the second it dawned on Derek what was happening, that Stiles had just solved one of Derek's issues with the bed; he could now sleep on the ground, without feeling like he would fall.

"It'll go faster if you help," Stiles pointed out as he skirted around the bottom of the bed frame.

Derek backed out of his way as he walked to the far edge of the mattress, bending down to tug at it until it began to scoot across the floor. Stiles very nearly toppled over when Derek finally decided to join in, pushing with supernatural strength against the opposite side. Together they managed to transport the mattress across the room and into one of the corners.

"There," Stiles declared. "Closer to the ground, and a bit more enclosed. I can have a privacy wall brought up tonight as well, so you can close this off even more if you want."

When there was no response from Derek, Stiles turned to find him just staring at the bed as if it had come to life. Stiles wondered, not for the first time, if anyone had ever done anything nice for Derek before he arrived. He wondered whether anyone, even once, had considered Derek's comfort; he wondered if Derek had ever considered his own comfort. Sometimes Stiles didn't think so, not with the way Derek seemed to marvel at each simple moment like this.

"Thank you," Derek said quietly, glancing sidelong at Stiles.

A smile twitched at one corner of Stiles' mouth. "You're welcome, Derek," he said. "I wish you had told me about this sooner, though. We could have made something a little less... haphazard." With a chuckle, he motioned to the pile of bed and bedding they had created.

"You want me to tell you when something is wrong," Derek said slowly, as if it were just now dawning on him, or maybe that he needed to make sure that was what Stiles was saying. He was harder to read some days than others.

"Yeah," Stiles said. "I want things to be easy for you here."

Derek's nose wrinkled a little, the tips of his ears flushing pink. "You're going to ask me to kill people to gain some measure of human freedom, so that others can have the opportunity to do the same. I don't think where I sleep really matters."

There was no anger in the words, no sort of accusation, but it still cut deep. Stiles clenched his jaw shut for a moment. There was nothing to say to that; Derek was right. There was nothing about their situation that was going to be easy for either of them, but Stiles had no doubts that Derek had it much worse. Even if Stiles did everything in his power to give Derek the best odds possible, there was still a good chance he would end up as just another carcass carried out of the arena building in a flame-red box.

Whether his mattress was on or off the bed, whether he slept on it or under it or someplace else entirely, Stiles knew it wouldn't make a different once the gates opened.

"Maybe," he breathed out at last. "But that doesn't mean you don't try to make things better where you can."

Derek nodded once, watching Stiles in that quiet, calculating way that made Stiles feel like Derek, for all his inexperience in the world, knew far more about people than Stiles did. In particular, more about Stiles, and the idea made him fidget uncomfortably. Then he took a breath, and rolled one shoulder in a shrug.

"It's hard not having control of things in your life," Derek said. Guilt prickled at Stiles' skin at the subtle reminder that until Derek had come here, he'd had no control over anything in his life. "Right?"

Sighing, Stiles dragged his gaze up. "Yes," he admitted. "I don't have any control over what happens to you once the gates open. I don't get to say whether you fight or go free; that decision is higher up on the food chain than I am. But I want to give you as much freedom, as much control, as I can."

"Like last night?" Derek asked. It didn't have the heat Stiles expected, but there was a underlying hurt to the tone, the sort of chronic hurt that had just become a part of life. Stiles hated hearing it in Derek's voice.

"Last night-" Stiles began, then caught himself. "I'm sorry about last night. You aren't here for that- you were never here for that."

Derek's jaw clenched and he nodded once. "I'm not angry," he said, looking away. "You let me say no."

"Of course I did," Stiles said, brows knitting as his gaze narrowed, not sure what that was supposed to mean.

"I mean, you gave me control," Derek told him, and Stiles thought that seeing it in that light made it easier to understand why Derek wasn't blaming him. Derek sighed. "I know you're trying, but I just don't know any of this out here. I know the pit. I know fighting, and I know waiting, and I know obedience. And you... you confuse me. You've been rattling my cage since we met."

"I'm sorry," Stiles said, though it felt exasperated. He wanted to say it a thousand more times, but he wasn't sure that it would help. What had been done to Derek, if it was half what Stiles suspected had been done to him over the years, was so far beyond being healed by an apology. "I can leave you alone, if you'd prefer."

It wasn't something that he wanted to offer. He enjoyed Derek's company, loved watching him light up when he discovered something he liked. He liked finding ways to get him to talk, though he still spoke in clipped sentences more often than not. He was a puzzle, one that Stiles desperately wanted to piece together to see the whole picture. However, he knew that pushing into Derek's space, physical or mental, was not going to go well for either of them. If leaving Derek alone helped him to cope with everything the world could be outside of the arena, then Stiles would leave him alone.

"No," Derek said. "I think I've had enough being alone to last a lifetime."

Stiles smiled. "Okay." Taking a deep breath, he looked over to the odd mattress nest, and then back to Derek. "Do you want to come help me fetch the privacy wall for your bed?"

"Den," Derek said quietly. "We would call it a den."

"Your den, then," Stiles echoed, expression softening.

"Yes," Derek admitted, a smile twitching at his lips. "I would like that."

The victorious warden of a Division 3 match

shall receive from the house their entrance fee plus 3%

of the house division earnings for the match date

Derek's foot slipped in the sand, sending him sprawling onto all fours as the harpy lashed out at him from above, an unholy scream echoing around the pit. It missed by a hair's breadth as he rolled, and then he was on his feet again, claws out and ready. The creature was already back in the air, climbing for another strike. He hated flight-capable fighters.

"Head left," came Stiles' voice in his ear. "Bring her around to the wall, she can't get close enough to you along it."

He risked a quick glance up and then dropped to all fours to sprint. She followed, whipping around on him. "I can't get much distance," he grated out.

The arena was specific to Division 3 fighting and thus was smaller than other, cross-Division arenas because it only had to host humanoid battles. The harpy barely had any room to maneuver, limited mainly to rise-and-dives. Derek found himself thankful she couldn't pull anything like Negira's moves here. At the same time, having the space to get away from a flier was almost essential to a win.

"You can get enough," Stiles told him. "Dodge left flank!"

Derek reacted without question, throwing himself to the right as the harpy flung herself down at him, talons snapping forward and closing on air where he had just been. "Thanks," he said as he veered to the right to stay running along the wall. Stiles was right; against the wall there wasn't enough space for her to maintain flight; she would have to land if she wanted a fight. If she dove, she would have to use the wall to get airborne again.

"She's diving," Stiles said, and Derek threw himself down into the sand. Claws scrabbled at stone above him, the furious flapping of her wings filling the air as she tried to recover from the botched stoop and launch herself back into the air. He rolled over in time to see her launch herself from the wall, screaming at him, but his own lashing claws missed her ankle by a fraction of an inch.

"How am I supposed to get first blood if she won't land?" Derek snarled, scrambling to his feet to turn and face her. He could see her golden eyes tracking him, see by the quick, bird-like tilts of her sharp, angular head that she was calculating another dive already. Flattening himself to the floor wouldn't work a second time. Like Negira, she would factor the move into a second dive toward the wall.

"The gates," Stiles suggested. "They have texture."

"What, like climb them?" He glanced dubiously to the gates lining the walls of the arena as he ran. Behind them lay the pens of the other supers waiting to fight. The hairs on his arms and neck stood up at the thought of going to them before the end of a fight. He remembered too well how that had ended the first and only time he'd done so, and the electrical burns that went so deep they hadn't healed for days.

"It sounds worse when you say it aloud. Incoming," Stiles warned.

Derek tensed and, without looking up, dashed for the center of the arena. He heard her claws shred at the wall as she pushed away again. He wondered if her claws would dull if she did that enough times. There wasn't going to be time to find out.

His hands hit the dry sand at the center of the arena, sending it spraying up around him. This time he didn't lose his footing, but he did hesitate. The sand was almost never dry like that. They sprayed the pits down early every day, keeping the sand moist so fighters wouldn't sink or slide in it as Derek had done earlier.

An angry screech echoed above the roar of the crowd and he didn't need Stiles' she's coming, Derek in his ear to know. Without answering, he hunkered down, head tipped to catch the sound of her passing, the click of her talons as she readied them. He buried his hands in the sand, waiting.

As soon as she was close enough, Derek whipped around and threw both handfuls of sand at her face. It was bad form, and he knew it, and she knew it. Even the crowd knew it, as the cheering dipped down into a low noise of disapproval. He flung himself out of the way as she crashed into the ground where he had been, wings and talons flailing to right herself.

For a moment, just a couple of heartbeats, Derek watched her panic, waited for a pattern of movement to emerge, until she had found her footing enough to fall still but not enough to rise, and then he struck.

His claws came away bloody, and he held them up, light glittering off the sticky blue liquid.

A tone sounded, signaling the end of the match.

"Match to Warden Stilinski via Ashborn," a flat voice announced into the quiet.

The crowd burst into cheers as Derek turned around, seeking Stiles' white suit. "Nicely done," murmured Stiles into his ear. Derek flushed warm at the note of pride. "Derek!"

He heard the rustle behind him the moment before he felt talons sinking viciously into his back. He heard more than felt the ribs she snapped as she clamped down, wings coming to mantle over him like a hawk on a kill. Sound hollowed out, but he was sure he screamed when she released him, intending to shred at him again. He was quicker, bringing his feet up and raking down her chest with his claws in an attempt to dislodge him.

She snapped at him, her screech a distant noise, and the last thing he saw was one of her talons, curled into a ball.

He felt it hit his temple, and then there was only blackness.

Arenas shall be required to provide

and maintain an on-site veterinary clinic

for the treatment of injured game pieces

The muffled sound of voices filtered through the darkness. Derek's head was pounding and he didn't want to open his eyes but he needed information. He wasn't where he last remembered being; he was laying on something cold and hard instead of damp arena sand. He could feel the skin of his back knitting together, slowly but surely, beneath the scratch of rough clinic bandages.

He had survived.

The harpy had been too angry at his dirty fighting to yield the floor after he drew blood, he remembered that much. They were trained, from the second they set foot into the world of caged fighting, that once the bell signals the end of the match, that's it. In the lower divisions, fighters were taught to break apart regardless of anything that had happened during the match; doing anything else brought immediate and harsh punishment. Any super that didn't learn this quickly enough stopped coming back to the pens and no one ever spoke about where they went. He wondered what would happen to his opponent. He wondered what Stiles would have to say about it.

Stiles.

Blinking his eyes open, Derek tried to sit up, but found himself restrained by cuffs and strap s and the scent of wolfsbane hit him hard as they were jostled. He hissed, kicking as hard as he could and only managing to rattle the table. The voices raised to his left, and then Erica came into view, laying her hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," she said as Boyd appeared beside her. Derek looked wildly between the two of them for a moment before his brain kicked into gear. If they were here, Stiles was here. He let his head clunk back onto the exam table.

"Stiles," Boyd said, one finger to his ear like Stiles did when he used the ear device. "He's up."

The cotton-stuffed sensation in Derek's ear cleared. "Don't speak, the vet is still there," he said quickly.

For a moment, sound muffled again and then Boyd said "Sure thing," and turned to the vet. Derek followed the motion, tipping his head until he could see the young woman writing on a grey clipboard. "Mr. Stilinski is asking after you, ma'am," Boyd told her. "We can watch Ashborn now that he's awake, if you want to go get the paperwork taken care of."

She glanced between Boyd and Derek, lips pursed, and then nodded curtly. "Thank you," she said, and disappeared out the door.

Stiles' voice was back as soon as Boyd gave the all clear. "I'm just filling out paperwork." He spat the last word like it had a bad taste. "You gave us quite a scare; how're you feeling?"

"Like a harpy just tried to have me for dinner," he rasped. He could feel Erica undoing the bindings on his left side, while Boyd worked opposite of her.

A soft chuckle vibrated in his ear. "That's a pretty accurate assessment," he said. "When she dropped her wings around you, I lost sight of you." The last words trembled more than Derek thought Stiles intended.

"She was trying to shred me," Derek admitted.

"No trying about it, she was going to kill you," Stiles told him seriously. "She attacked the handlers that went in to stop her from killing you."

"She's dead, then," Derek concluded. He could imagine her surviving one transgression or the other, but not both- not failure to yield and injuring handlers.

"Yeah," Stiles confirmed softly.

"I'm sorry," he began. "I shouldn't have-"

"Done anything other than what you did," Stiles interrupted. "What happened to her is not your fault- you know that, right? Her warden was new, but he assured me they were ready to give it a trial run. He was wrong, and that puts this on him; it's our responsibility as wardens to know what you can and cannot handle before you ever set foot inside an arena."

There was nothing he could say to that; as much as Stiles probably wanted to believe neither of them were at fault, Derek knew the truth. If this had been the harpy's first fight, there was a good chance she was scared of losing. There was an even better chance that her warden had a lot riding on her premiere fight, and that he would have taken the loss out on her. It wouldn't have been bad, because he wouldn't be allowed to get away with leaving marks; unlike shifters, harpies didn't heal quickly or without scars and the ARC didn't look kindly upon evidence of game piece abuse.

The last bond over his chest slid free and he groaned as he sat up, finally free. Erica stepped back, but Boyd reached out to steady him. He laid one hand over the top of Boyd's for a second, long enough that they both understood Derek was okay to sit on his own. His ribs felt like they were on fire as they healed underneath the lacerations on his back.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked, concern flooding his tone.

"I'll be fine," Derek wheezed, drawing in a deep breath that pressed against his healing ribs. It had been a long time since he'd been hurt that badly.

"They told me I was lucky," Stiles said softly. There was an odd note in his tone, one Derek couldn't quite place. If it hadn't been Stiles, Derek might have named it fear. "That you must've turned over so she didn't get your spine. They said you wouldn't have made it if she had."

"I'm okay," he responded to Stiles' unvoiced worry. He sat a little straighter, flexing the muscles of his back. The lacerations were closed but the skin was still tender. "Give it a few days and I'll be good as new."

Stiles gave no immediate response to that, just the couple of slow breaths Derek heard him take. He could hear papers rustling and figured Stiles was putting together everything he needed to hand over to get them out of there. Then he sighed, and Derek caught the tiny, distressed noise. "I don't- I don't like you getting hurt."

It was fierce but quiet, the sort of declaration that caught Derek's breath in his chest. "It's not new," he said, because it wasn't. He'd been injured before, though rarely, when another super lashed out after the bell, in anger or fear.

"Let's not make it a habit, okay?" Stiles breathed out with a puff of nervy laughter. "I'm heading down to pick you up, are you good to go?"

He looked to Erica and Boyd. "Ready?" It felt strange, still, casually talking to handlers, especially at an arena. At the manor it was easier to believe that they were just a natural part of every day life, just more people Stiles knew. Here, in uniform, with zap-sticks on their tool belts, Derek still had to convince himself it was okay to open his mouth or look them in the eye.

"You bet," Erica told him with a quick nod. She snatched up her jacket from the small wooden chair by the entrance, and motioned Boyd to follow her to the hallway. "Stiles will be down in a minute," she said as she drew open the door, letting Boyd through first. "Your collar's by the sink."

The door clicked closed as he glanced over to the sink. The thick, leather collar he wore in the pit sat on the sink-side, still wet with blood. Though the edges were frayed, ruining it, the collar was intact. He reached up, tracing the soft, new skin along his collarbones. He looked away, disgusted at the thought that the collar might have saved him from having his throat torn out.

"I'm coming in," Stiles said a few moment later, rather than knock on the door. Derek glanced up when Stiles entered, catching sight of Erica and Boyd standing guard before it closed. "Hey."

"Hey," Derek echoed, dropping his gaze to his hands resting on his thighs, fingers curled under his palms. He could hear Stiles' heartbeat thrumming beneath his skin.

"May I see?" Stiles asked, coming to a stop in front of Derek, far enough not to be in his personal space.

Habit saw Derek raise his chin, exposing his throat in submission. He could feel Stiles' eyes upon him and he knew the debate; he could tell by the bitter scent that Stiles didn't like to see him do it. But he remained completely still until he felt the feather soft touch of Stiles' fingers on his bandages. They were useless now, the wounds they had bound almost totally gone.

Still, Stiles sucked in a breath when he saw the pink lines of new flesh criss-crossed over his chest. Derek swallowed, knowing in his head that everything was fine, that he would heal completely, that Stiles had no reason to let his injuries retire him to a red box, but he couldn't help the little zing of fear that shot through him at the noise. It was written into every line of Stiles' body that he could have died.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathed, fingertips ghosting over the lines and leaving only heat in their wake. "She said it was bad, but…" His eyes flicked up, caught Derek's and held them. "I'm glad you're alive."

"She went for my spine," Derek murmured, finally saying it out loud. An icy feeling swept through him at the thought. If it had been a Division 2 fight, he would be dead now.

"I know." Stiles' voice cracked, just a little. "That was the last thing I saw before her wings dropped."

Slowly, Derek straightened the fingers of one hand and then reached up, curling them over Stiles' forearm. When Stiles didn't resist or withdraw, Derek pressed down, insistent but not rough, until Stiles' elbow bent and he had to shuffle closer. He closed his eyes, soaking up the heat and presence of another living creature, taking in the reminder that he was alive, too.

A few heartbeats later, Stiles leaned forward, just barely resting his forehead against Derek's. "You're okay, Derek," he whispered. Derek wasn't sure which one of them he'd said it for, but he decided it didn't matter; maybe both of them needed the reassurance.

"Can we-" He swallowed, tried again. "Can we just go home, please?"

Stiles let out a relieved chuckle, and Derek let him pull away again. "Yeah." He reached down to his wrist, slid off the twisted silver bands still clinging there, and passed the collar to Derek. In silence, Derek clipped it on and watched Stiles toss the bulky leather one into a trash bin full of blood-soaked cloth. "Let's get out of here."

He held out one hand, and Derek took it willingly.

Arena handlers shall not

handle any game piece alone

Derek shoved his feet into the sandals by the door of the bathroom, running a hand through his damp hair. The scent of soap and shampoo wreathed around him at the movement and he wrinkled his nose. At least he was clean, he thought, tracing one finger over the silver band around his neck. He'd traded the flexible collar for his actual one because the weight was different.

The knock on the door was not as insistent as Derek expected, and he called for Stiles to enter rather than cross the room. The human's head poked around the open door and he took everything in with one sweeping gaze. His eyes lingered on the veritable nest of pillows and blankets Derek had made out of the corner of the room, but he didn't comment.

"Coming?" Stiles asked, brows raising.

Derek still didn't know where they were going, and the only answer Stiles had given him was it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you. "Yes," he said as he crossed the room. "Thank you for waiting."

"Thank you for showering," Stiles said with a grin. "I think we can both agree the arena is not the best stink in the world."

Though Derek wasn't sure all the artificial scents in the cleaning supplies he'd been given were any better, he didn't object. They hurried through the halls, down the stairs, to the outdoors, until Stiles pointed out the Jeep waiting in the driveway. Derek circled around and got into the passenger seat, fiddling with the seat belt while Stiles turned everything on. He wanted to ask where they were going, why Stiles' heartbeat was so peppy, but he kept his mouth shut as they drove toward town.

"You're gonna have to take your collar off," Stiles said, pulling to a stop in front of a red sign. "We're going to a human place."

Derek raised an eyebrow at that, but reached up and undid the latch on his collar. "Where should I put it?" he asked, and Stiles twisted enough to be able to lift the lid of the center console. Derek carefully placed it within, and closed it.

"We probably won't stay long," Stiles said as he crossed the street in front of them, heading for the cluster of buildings in the distance. "But since your fight was so early, I thought maybe we could sneak out before dinner."

"Are we sneaking?" Derek asked, because it certainly wasn't like any sneaking he'd ever done and he didn't think Stiles had to answer to anyone about his dinner. If he wanted to skip it entirely, Derek didn't think there would be consequences for Stiles, no vet visits to determine what was wrong with him. However, if Stiles wanted to sneak somewhere, Derek didn't want to ruin it.

"We're- It's an expression," Stiles told him, exasperated. Derek caught the smile, however, so he knew it wasn't a reprimand. "Usually people go to this place after dinner, because it's not… good for you."

"Then why are we going?" Derek asked as Stiles turned into a small parking lot beside a squat, red-roofed building. There was a picture of a young human standing beside a very large column of something he assumed was food. The child on the sign looked very happy about it. Derek could see two real children looking similarly happy, standing beside a woman that must have been their mother. They each held miniature versions of the food on the sign. They both seemed to be enjoying it.

"Because it- oh my god, because it tastes good it's just bad for you, get it?" Stiles parked the Jeep between two smaller cars and turned in his seat. "Like, you're supposed to eat your vegetables and meat and healthy stuff first."

"So we're... eating food before we eat our food?" Derek asked, brows scrunching. Stiles looked simultaneously relieved that Derek grasped the concept and even more exasperated at his summary of their adventure. Derek unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed the handle to get out. "Humans are weird."

Behind him, Stiles gave a resigned sigh and opened his own door. Derek stuck close to him as they walked over to the building, keeping his eyes off of the other humans. There was little chance that anyone was going to call him on being a super, not as long as he kept his claws in, his barcode covered, and his eyes down, but the fear still itched under his skin.

The woman at the counter gave them both big smiles from behind a glass wall and asked for their order. Stiles glanced to him, but Derek wasn't even sure what they were ordering, much less if he had a preference. He heard Stiles' heartbeat rachet up for a split second, and then he smiled, and reached out to take Derek's hand. For a second, Derek nearly recoiled, but then he caught on; Stiles was only doing as some of the other humans around them were doing.

"I'd like a butterscotch sundae and he'll have a medium vanilla cone," Stiles said, ordering for both of them. He shot a shy smile to Derek, completely out of character, and the woman behind the window cooed at them and told them she'd have it ready in a jiffy. Derek wasn't sure what a jiffy was, but he assumed it was either some kind of dish or a short period of time.

They moved off to the side and allowed the humans behind them to approach the window. Derek didn't notice Stiles was still holding his hand until he released it a few moments later to accept their two items from a different human. He passed one to Derek, and then nodded toward one of the recently vacated stone tables. They were warm from bathing in the summer sun, and Derek splayed one hand over the surface of the table, taking in the contrast between it and the cold food in his other hand.

"Ice cream," Stiles said, holding up his sundae. He had a spoon in his free hand and he was scooping up a bunch of the thick, yellow-brown sauce smothering the top of the concoction. "It's very sweet, and cold."

It sounded like a warning, so Derek brought it to his lips and touched the tip of his tongue to his ice cream. It was very sweet, but in a thoroughly enjoyable way, and so he opened his mouth and took a giant bite. Stiles' noise of warning came a moment too late.

Cold, tight pain pinched at the roof of his mouth, shooting up through his sinuses and behind his eyes. His throat burned as he swallowed the ice cream, panting in warm air to try and cure the pain, gaze flicking to Stiles to silently ask why humans would ever put themselves through this. Stiles had said that this food was bad for them, but there was no way Derek could have guessed it would hurt so much.

When the pain began to subside, the warmth of summertime healing the wash of cold, he realized Stiles was laughing at him, his own treat resting on the table, his shoulders shaking. Derek glared at him, trading the cone to his other hand because the ice cream had begun to turn into liquid, dripping down over his fingers.

"You can't-" Stiles gasped between bursts of laughter. "Oh my god, you can't just- you have to eat it slow!" He dissolved into peals of laughter at the sour face Derek made. "It's called a brain freeze," he said at last, tapping the bridge of his nose with one finger, a smile still playing on the curve of his lips. "If you eat ice cream - or any very cold thing, really - in large bites, it does that. So, you know, little bites. Licks."

He demonstrated by licking the sticky sauce from his spoon, and Derek swallowed thickly, turning his attention to his own cone. Trails of melted ice cream were trickling over his fingers, the heat from his hand not helping. Tentatively, he began to clean his fingers, aware of Stiles watching him. It didn't seem to matter how efficiently he licked his skin clean, more ice cream was melting, and so he traded off licks instead. One for his fingers, one for the edge of the ice cream to slow the dripping.

It was tedious but very tasty, his tongue pleasantly numb from cold. Stiles seemed to remember that his own ice cream was melting in its little plastic cup, but only after watching Derek long enough to be absolutely certain he was getting it right.

"Good?" Stiles asked, when Derek was down to the hard part of the ice cream. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to eat it or not, as it smelled a little like food and a little like plastic at the same time.

"Good," Derek said, holding up the last of the treat and lowering his voice. "Do I eat this?"

Stiles wrinkled his nose, but shrugged. "You can. Most people do. I should have gotten you a waffle cone."

Derek squinted at him and then at the cone. He'd had waffles for breakfast a couple of times since he'd arrived, but he couldn't fathom how much messier it would be to try to eat ice cream from one. He watched Stiles scrape the bottom of his cup with his spoon and tried to decide if humans topped the waffles with ice cream or rolled it into them or did something else entirely.

"They close these sort of shops in the fall," Stiles said, licking the sauce from his spoon and then dropping it into the cup, clearly finished. "They don't open again until spring, so you've got to visit them while they're open."

"Are there shops for warm things in the winter?" Derek asked, tipping his head. He crunched into the cone and then made a face he was sure mirrored Stiles' earlier one.

"Hunh…" Stiles said with a slow shake of his head. "You know, that's a good question, and I don't think there are, I mean, not like this. You can go to a coffee shop and get tea or hot cocoa, but there's no outdoor ones."

"Because it's cold," Derek guessed. Humans were not well equipped to deal with cold, he knew that much. He wasn't sure what coffee was, but Harvelle had made him several types of tea to try to help him sleep, and Cora had insisted he drink a glass of hot cocoa with her while she read to him.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. He fiddled with the edge of his used cup, pointedly not looking at Derek. "We could go to one, if you like, before we go home," he suggested.

"A coffee shop?" Derek asked, head tipping. "More food before our food?"

Stiles chuckled. "Another joke?" he teased. "You'll be a regular comedian before we know it. But no, coffee is a drink. We could get something else there, they usually have lots of different drinks."

Derek considered it, but he wasn't very thirsty and Stiles more seemed like he was looking for something to do. He gathered up every scrap of courage he had and asked: "Could we- is there a shop for books?"

Blinking, Stiles sat back a little. "You want to go to a bookstore?" he said, surprised. "I mean sure, yeah, we can go to a bookstore."

He felt the blush creep up his neck at the instantaneous consent. It almost seemed like Stiles was excited to go as well. "I can't read much, but Cora can. She likes to read to me in the evenings, and I thought, maybe…" He trailed off, realizing that he had begun to volunteer Stiles to purchase books for him, as he had no way to do so on his own. "Sorry, never mind."

Stiles reached out, touching a knuckle to Derek's forearm so that he looked up at him. "Do you think," he said softly. "That if we brought her home an armful of good books, Cora would let me sit with you while she reads to us?"

Something warm and pleasant rushed through Derek at the thought of sitting in his room, curled up with Stiles and Cora in the den he had made for himself, and listening to his sister read them a story Derek was responsible for bringing to her.

"Yes," he breathed out, chest so full up with the sensation there was hardly room for the words to escape, and he thought maybe this was what humans meant when they said the word happiness.

All Arena staff and wardens on Arena grounds

are expected to do everything in their power

to ensure the safety of all game pieces

outside of the matches

The night was rich and full and raw around the edges as he ran, muscles burning, chest heaving with every long stride. He'd begun at a lope, like last time, but Cora was having none of his hesitation this time. When her paws hit the ground, she'd bolted, streaking away from him in a dark blur. He'd chased her scent trail until he caught up, and now they ran shoulder to shoulder through the forest.

It felt good; better than good, if he was honest.

He could feel the pull of the moon down to his very bones, feel her light on his pitch fur, feel the instincts of the wolf saturating all of his senses. When he closed his eyes and listened, he could hear the alphas in the distance, could hear them pause to send up a long, hearty howl that spoke of things Derek had never known. In their mournful tones, Derek heard the open tundra and the deep feel of a thousand year old forest. He could feel the thrill of a hunt, the pride of a kill, the sense of belonging that came with being surrounded by a whole, loving pack of werewolves. He could feel the loss of their families, the blood they'd had to spill, the pain they had endured.

He howled along with them, trotting to a stop and throwing his head back, long jaws raised to the sparkling moon so that she might hear him, too. Cora halted beside him, threading her higher, beautiful voice with his, and everything within him that hurt clung to the soothing sound. She was here with him; he had family.

The distant beat of wings drew him out of the howling stupor and he touched upon the faint mental sensation of Negira, guarding the edges of their domain. She was not hunting him, he knew. She was watchful for them, not of them, making sure that they did not stray so far as to be noticed. As much as the forest belonged to the wolves on the full moon, it was her home as well, and Derek found he had nothing but respect for her when they ran. She belonged to them every bit as much as the forest, and he didn't mind belonging to her in return.

After all, they all belonged to Stiles in the end; the forest, the wolves, the dragon.

Maybe the moon, too, Derek thought as he flicked Cora's wet nose with his tail and took off at a sprint.

He should have been able to lose himself completely to the night, out here away from everything, but he found his thoughts strayed continuously to the human who had taken them in, who had sent them off into the night like they were truly free. When Derek ran, he thought he would be able to focus on the ground beneath his paws, or the scent of trees and animals permeating everything around him, or even just the call of the moon.

Instead, it was Stiles that consumed his thoughts.

It was the way he spoke so easily to Derek, the way he teased while Derek was in the pit, the way he gave himself up to laughter so freely. It was the warmth of his skin, the softness of his fingertips whenever he touched Derek. It was the way his eyes lit up when he learned something new and the way he held very still when Derek had to adjust to something new.

It was the way he sat, so relaxed and comfortable, his shoulder pressed to Derek's, in the nest of a bed Derek had created. Ever since they'd come home with all those books for his sister, it had felt like Stiles belonged there, like maybe he was a part of Derek's pack, too. They listened to Cora read stories to them almost nightly, and Derek could almost forget he where he was and what they were all doing together.

He remembered there was a time he couldn't have fathomed falling asleep in the presence of a human and yet just the night before, he'd done so. Cora's voice had been so steady, so soothing, the scent of her and of Stiles mingling with his own all around him, and his eyes had just slipped closed. Stiles had nudged him awake a while later and told him he'd get a crick in his neck if he slept like that, even though they both knew he wouldn't. Cora had watched them closely, an odd little smile on her lips and Derek couldn't shake the feeling that she approved of their shiftless pack mate.

Pack mate.

The fur all over Derek's body raised at the thought, but he was swiftly running out of ways to deceive himself that Stiles had become anything else.

Cora shoved her entire body at him, drawing him back to the present. He stretched his senses, feeling the touch of Negira's mind. In the distance he could hear the alphas changing course, heading back for the barn now that barest hint of light edged the horizon beyond their sight. It didn't matter if they could see it or not; they could all feel the coming dawn. The pull of the moon was already receding, releasing them, the longing to surrender to the shift fading.

They didn't sprint back. Cora trotted along at his side, warm and reassuring, her heartbeat matching his own, the tips of her fur brushing his. It felt good, fearless, free. He wondered, briefly, if that was how wild wolves felt all the time, or if they always felt they needed to watch their backs for the hunters that would drag them into Derek's world. He wondered if Deucalion and Kali and Ennis would tell him what it had been like, if he asked.

The forest ended abruptly, unnaturally so, a stark reminder that all of this was cultivated, tended for by people Stiles had hired. They trimmed back the trees, kept the wilds from encroaching too far upon the cleared manor grounds. Wing beats above them drew Derek's attention up, and he watched Negira land gracefully on the roof of the barn. She spread her wings wide, the moon framed between their edges as she watched them return. His eyes dropped down to the tiny human form emerging from the belly of the barn.

Stiles smiled, soft and warm. "Welcome home," he said, the words settling into Derek's skin. "I'm going to get Negira inside and head to bed."

Derek barked once to show he'd heard, then turned to head for the house. Cora watched him for a second, and then bounded over to Stiles' side. She was huge beside him, her shoulder blades above his waistline. Pressing her snout into his hands, she leaned up against him quickly, long enough for him to laugh and run a hand down her flank, patting her. It was as clear a thank you as Derek had ever seen.

Then she was running back to his side, licking his face like she was a puppy again. Derek nipped at her before they took off across the grounds together. It was the fastest part of the night, only a few moments to cover all the distance with long, ground-eating strides. He had thought, the first time, that approaching the manor after the full moon would feel like returning to a cage, but it didn't.

Isaac, eyes sticky with sleep, was waiting at the back door for them. He held it open, letting them pass inside without changing forms. Cora stopped for him as well, putting her huge paws up on his shoulders and licking his cheeks until he was laughing, voice rough and heavy. He gave her a hug, burying his nose in the thick ruff of fur at her neck, and then nudged her off and kicked teasingly at her rump.

"Go on, you big softie," he told her, pulling the door shut behind himself.

They trotted away from him, and Derek made sure they stopped off first at her room. She nuzzled at his jaw for a moment, then licked his cheek and disappeared into her room to shift and sleep. They wouldn't be up until after noon, and they would be starving. He would do his best to come by before she woke, so that they could eat together. A post-moon gorge was always less desperate with another wolf nearby.

He listened to Cora collapse into her bed, and then trotted down the hall toward his room. He ducked into the room just long enough to rinse off the heady scent of woodland from his skin and put on soft sleeping clothes, before heading down the hall to Stiles' room instead. When he arrived, he listened for the sound of Stiles' heart and, not finding it, took a seat outside the door to wait.

It wasn't long before Stiles arrived, eyebrows hiking up when he saw Derek curled up half asleep, his back to the wall. "You lost, puppy?" he asked, and Derek made a face at him. No one had called him puppy since his mother.

Then he remembered why he had come, and he straightened considerably, nerves lighting up in apprehension. "I know it's- it's really early for you, or really late, but I-" He halted, not really sure how to start. "You said that you... needed to know what happened with Kate."

Stiles straightened like someone had thrust a rod into his spine, but he nodded and then opened the door to his room. "Come on in."

Clambering to his feet, Derek followed Stiles into the room and watched as he tossed a set of keys onto the desk and shucked his shoes near the door, trading them for slippers. Derek stood awkwardly by the open entryway, shifting from foot to foot, until Stiles turned his attention to him.

"Do you want to sit?" Stiles asked, voice level, careful in a way that said he thought Derek might bolt if he made any sudden movements.

"No," Derek said, but he took a seat on Stiles' desk chair, bringing his heels up to rest on the edge.

Stiles looked at him for a second, and then sat on the edge of his bed and waited.

All of this had seemed much clearer when Derek had made the decision yesterday. Now that he was here, sequestered in Stiles' room despite the open door, he couldn't seem to find the right words. There was so much to say, about everything she had said and done, and he wasn't sure where he could start that didn't seem like a jumble of too much.

"You don't have to do this right now," Stiles told him, obviously cottoning on to Derek's anxiety. "If you-"

"She hurt me," Derek interrupted, unable to listen to Stiles give him a way out, not when it was so tempting to keep his mouth shut and pretend it wouldn't come back for them both later. Stiles clamped his mouth shut so fast it was a wonder he didn't actually bite his tongue. "Sometimes she would bring in a zap stick and just- touch me. She'd turn it high enough to burn, but it would never leave marks for the next day, and she knew it. She wanted to hear me howl, and sometimes she wouldn't stop until I lost my voice."

Stiles' hands had come up, covering his mouth. Derek closed his eyes, not wanting to see the disgust. He was a werewolf; he shouldn't have put up with a human torturing him. He should have been stronger, should have been able to shift and rip her throat out. He should have been able to defend himself.

"She... taunted me," he said quietly. "She'd ask about my family, or talk about the fire. Remind me there was nothing else for me but being right there with her, the best I'd ever have." The words tasted like ash, his blood burning with all of the one-sided conversations they'd had, clawed up from where he'd buried them the moment she walked away from his pen the last time. "At least you're alive, she'd say, don't make me change that."

"Derek," Stiles breathed.

"It wasn't all... words and zap-sticks," Derek ground out, still not meeting Stiles' eyes.

He'd asked to know what happened with Kate and Derek knew it was important; he knew how ruthless she was, how conniving. If Stiles didn't know what he was up against, he would be worse than a crippled fighter in the pit. Derek couldn't leave him open like that, not after all of the work Stiles was doing. Stiles deserved better.

"Gerard took a group to away fights. Half a dozen fighters, usually the same group, and Chris and Allison went with him so it was just Kate who stayed, I think. That's what she'd tell me, anyway," he said. He shook his head a little. "We're all alone, Derek, she'd tell me. No one left to hear you scream." Derek made a face. "She'd drug me," he spat out, disgusted.

He remembered the aerosol wolfsbane, the sticky feeling of it in his lungs, the drag of it against his muscles. He could hear her laughter and the sickening way she cooed at him not to fight it, how they were going to have such a good time together.

"So you couldn't struggle?" Stiles asked, and Derek nodded.

"There weren't any handlers, so she drugged me," he repeated, gingerly touching the sluggish memories. She always waited until he was too slow to dodge the stick, and that was the only time she would touch him without it. Her hands were always so cold when she gripped his arm, hauling him to his feet and telling him if he so much as set one toe out of line she would have him redboxed off the grounds.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to anchor himself in the present. She couldn't get him here. Stiles wouldn't let her, which is why Derek was here telling him all of this, he reminded himself. He was safe here.

"She used to- to say nice things, but it was never anything nice that she did," he choked out. "Tell me I was beautiful, that I had good skin and-"

Glancing up, he caught the scowl on Stiles' lips, the anger in his amber-brown eyes. Fear pooled in Derek's belly for what that look might mean, but Stiles only said: "She didn't just... hurt you."

He shook his head, eyes not leaving Stiles'. "No," he said, voice scratchy. "She'd tell me what a waste it would be to send me to the breeding pens untested." He finally dragged his gaze to the ceiling, unsure exactly how much he could dredge to the surface for Stiles without breaking. His throat was already closing up around his next words. "She'd take me to another room, bind me, and-"

"Hey," Stiles said, holding up both hands to stop him. Derek realized his hands were shaking, voice trembling, and he clamped his mouth shut. His heart was beating so fast it was making him dizzy and his eyes were so blurry he could hardly see. "You don't have to tell me anything else, Derek. I think that's enough to guess how much trouble she's going to be."

Relief coursed through Derek like a balm and he sagged a bit in the chair, dropping his gaze to look at Stiles. None of the anger was evident any longer, only concern.

"Thank you," Stiles said softly. Derek could practically smell the guilt rolling off of him. "And I am so sorry, Derek, that any of that happened to you. It will never happen here."

Derek nodded. "I know." He made a noise that sounded far more like a huff than the chuckle it was supposed to be, and shrugged. "And I know I could tell you if someone hurt me. Before... what could I do? There wasn't anywhere to go, no one to tell, no matter what she did."

Stiles made a little distressed noise, barely given voice, and Derek saw him twitch like he'd intended to rise. Instead, he stayed where he was, and Derek's head went light again from his too-fast heartbeat. He could tell Stiles was holding back, keeping a distance between them, but he couldn't tell why.

"There should have been," Stiles said firmly, almost a snarl. The anger hadn't gone; it was just hiding where it didn't show on Stiles' face anymore. He hadn't chased it from his tone yet, and Derek wondered if it was what kept Stiles rooted to the bed. "There should have been someone you could go to, someone that could have helped you. I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner, and I'm sorry about..."

As Derek scrubbed his eyes clear with the heel of one hand, he tried to follow his thoughts, but came up empty handed. "About...?" he prompted with a slight head tip.

Sighing, Stiles shifted uncomfortably on his bed. "When I-" he started slowly. "When I asked if you wanted to do something more than sleeping-"

"I know," Derek interrupted. "Stiles, I don't blame you for that. You let it drop when I said no. She never did that, not once. It didn't matter to her what I wanted, and you're not... that's not you. I know that."

Stiles visibly relaxed, though not completely. "Okay," he breathed, shoulders dropping. "It- it matters, to me. What you want," he clarified. "Your safety, your health, your happiness... everything. It matters. "

Derek smiled. "I know." He clambered to his feet and pushed in the chair with hands that still trembled slightly. "Good night, Stiles."

"Good night, Derek," Stiles said as he moved for the door. "And thank you for telling me. Really."

Derek glanced back, taking in Stiles still sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap to keep them from straying. For a moment, Derek was struck by how different everything was here, how different Stiles was. It frightened him, just a little bit, how willing he felt to give Stiles anything he wanted. Instead of dwelling on it, he just gave a small smile, and closed the door behind himself.

Humanoid game pieces must be older

than relative age eighteen (18)

to participate in Division 3 matches

Derek groggily opened his eyes to the scent of food. Bacon, fluffy eggs, toasted bread, and orange juice all mingled together in his room, and he struggled to sit upright. Lifting his nose, he took a deep breath and caught Cora's scent as well. "You're up early," he groused, glancing to the window. The sun hadn't crossed into view yet. "You didn't wake me."

"I thought about checking to see if you were dead," Cora said from the other side of the collapsible wall.

"But?" Derek prompted, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"But I decided that if you were dead, you wouldn't miss your bacon, and if you were alive, it serves you right for sleeping so late."

He groaned, flopping back onto the nest of pillows and blankets. "It was a full moon!" he protested. "Even the Argents left us alone after a full moon."

A biscuit - a real biscuit, the sort that was flaky and buttery and a little salty - arced over the wall and hit him on the side of his head. He plucked it from the covers and shoved half of it in his mouth in one bite. He mumbled a thank you around the bite, and she told him not to talk with his mouth full. He rolled his eyes, but finished the biscuit in silence.

Tossing off the covers, he crawled off the edge of the mattress and padded over to where Cora sat with her feet propped up on the desk. She tossed another biscuit to him and made a face when he pushed her feet off the desk and took the last piece of bacon. It was salty and just undercooked enough to appeal to him.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, tipping her head, chewing on a piece of fruit. "Stiles told me to leave you alone because you stayed up late with him."

He caught the lewd note in her voice and shot her a bland look. "He wanted to talk," he said, tone making it as clear as possible that it was not her business.

"Mhmm," she drawled, popping another piece of fruit into her mouth. "Talking. Is that what it's called?"

Scowling, he took the bowl of fruit from her and crossed over to the empty bed frame. "Aren't you not supposed to talk with your mouth full?" he quipped.

"Depends on what kind of talking, I think," she said, making a face back at him. "Oh, lighten up." She leaned forward and grabbed a white container from the big tray she must have carried in. Without warning, she tossed it to him.

He caught it neatly, prying it open carefully. Inside was another huge serving of bacon, cooked perfectly how they liked it. He smiled. "Thanks, Cora."

She took a deep breath and smiled softly. "You're welcome." She selected one of the bowls of scrambled eggs and then got up to plop down beside him on the bed frame. When she leaned into his side, he pressed back, glad for the comfort of another wolf so close.

"I'm glad you're here," Derek told her, temple resting against hers as they ate their breakfast. They would go downstairs and eat properly in a little while, but he was glad she'd come early to take the edge off of the hunger gnawing at his gut.

"It was lonely without you," she admitted partway through their bowls. He hated the pain in her voice. "I ran with the alpha pack for a few full moons, but it wasn't the same. They aren't really pack, Derek. They're just... other wolves. It's so much better running with you."

Derek hummed agreement instead of answering around a mouthful bacon. He thought he would have taken being able to at all, no matter the company, rather than the smooth-walled, sound-proofed pens the Argents kept them in for the full moon. A part of him wanted to ask Cora if the humans had ever put her through anything remotely similar, but the rest of him didn't want to know. He wanted only to know of her here, safe and happy, and he thought maybe she wanted the same; she had never asked about his past, either.

"You like him, don't you?" she asked quietly a few moments later.

"Yes," he said, glancing askew at her. He didn't have to ask who she meant. "He took me away from a bad place and away from bad people. Gave me a new home. Gave me you." He nudged his leg against hers and relished the smile she gave in return.

"You know what I mean, Derek," she said, not letting him get away with side stepping. "You like him. Different from how you like Erica and Boyd and Isaac and the others."

He sighed, fishing the last piece of bacon from his bowl and depositing it into the remains of her scrambled eggs, paying back the piece he'd stolen from her earlier. It wasn't so much that he didn't recognize how he'd begun to feel about Stiles as that he didn't want to face what any of it might mean. He couldn't bring himself to touch on any of his feelings without remembering why he was there. Starting anything while knowing in the back of his mind that he stood a good chance of dying horribly in the pit just didn't seem right.

"Maybe," he said, instead of lying. She scowled anyway.

"Don't you maybe me," she quipped, grabbing his bowl and getting to her feet. She set it back on the tray and tossed him another lidded container that he assumed was the rest of the eggs. "You reek of contentedness whenever he sits in for reading and don't think I didn't notice that you've got bits of his clothing buried in your bed for the scent. You hardly take your eyes off of him when he's around. You-"

"Okay, okay, smartass," he interrupted. "Yes, all right? But it can't... go anywhere."

"Why?" she asked, like a reflex. A slight flush dusted her cheeks for a second. "I mean, he likes you too, right? You can smell it all over him as well as I can."

"I don't really want to talk about it," he croaked, fingers tight on the bowl of eggs in his hands. He had known Stiles liked him, known Stiles wanted him like that, but he'd done so well keeping it abstract. Just an idea, something he could put aside.

"You're not human," she said softly. "Their rules don't have to be your rules."

"Rules?" he echoed.

She sighed like he was being stubborn. "They're not supposed to mate with us - or with any super. But that doesn't mean you can't, I mean I-"

Her jaw clacked shut and the flush that had spread across her skin earlier was nothing in comparison to the one coloring her face now. Derek straightened as he stared, eyebrows raising. "You, what?"

"It's none of your business," she said shortly, becoming enraptured by the biscuit in her hands so that she didn't have to look at him.

"I think it's all of my business," he replied. He wasn't her alpha, they didn't have an alpha here, but he was older, higher in their little two-wolf hierarchy than she was. If any of the humans had touched her, he didn't care how nicely they'd been treated here; there would be blood.

The sentiment leaked through into his tone enough that she looked up. "It's not," she repeated, teeth bared a little. "I can do what I want here, Derek. You're not my warden or my alpha, so you don't get to pick who I mate with."

"That's not- who you mate with?" he hissed incredulously. He'd never caught any scent of it on her, had not considered that she would look for that sort of closeness after surviving the breeding pens. His eyes narrowed.

"Yes," she said, glaring at him now. Her voice caught on the word, and then her face scrunched and she dropped her gaze back to the biscuit. "It's my choice, not yours."

He let out a heavy breath and closed his eyes, counting silently to himself. It was her choice, she was right. Popping a gob of scrambled eggs into his mouth, he gave himself another minute to think, to listen to the way her heart fluttered in her chest and the way her breathing kept going shallow with nerves. She hadn't wanted to tell him, he realized. He may not have been her alpha but he was her family- the only family she had.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "You're right."

She twitched, glancing up at him and swallowing whatever she had been about to say. Derek took a few slow breaths, letting his admission sit between them while he picked at the food, not feeling hungry anymore. He just wanted her to be happy, and now he was responsible for that hint of sourness in her scent, for the knit of her brow.

"You just... caught me off guard," he told her, closing up the container of eggs. "I don't want to see you get hurt."

She rolled her eyes. "He won't hurt me, Derek."

"They're humans," Derek said, more sharply than he'd intended, and he saw the coldness return to her eyes. "These ones seem very nice, they've treated us very well, but they're still humans, Cora. No matter how I feel about Stiles, he's going to put me back in the pit, and he's going to ask me to kill our own kind. It's only a matter of time before he'll take you there, too, and no matter how you feel about any of them, no one here is going to stop him."

She clamped her jaw shut and gave a little shake of her head. "I know." He could read in every line of her body how often she had thought about those facts, and how often she'd told herself it would be different. It wasn't. It couldn't be.

"That's why it can't go anywhere," Derek reasoned, barely any volume to the admission. Admitting it aloud burned in ways he hadn't expected. He wanted Stiles to be different, wanted everything to be different, but he was only one person. "It's not the rules, Cora. It's them, and it's us, and it's the whole world being wrong for it."

Her lips pulled back from her teeth, but she wasn't baring them at him this time. She was angry, her heart thudding slow but hard, her fingers crumbling the biscuit into nothing. The breath she let out at last was rough, snagging on her throat, nearly a growl as she got to her feet and held out her hand for his container. He gave it over and she tucked it into a corner of the tray, closing it up more forcefully than was necessary.

"Then maybe," she said when she lifted the tray, raking her gaze over him with a tight frown. "We need a new world."

He watched her leave and tried not to think about just how right she was.

Division-specific arenas may not

host games outside of their Division

Stiles looked up from his dinner when Derek entered the dining area, stepping so softly Stiles thought perhaps he hadn't wanted to be caught. He reached out and pushed on the edge of a bowl of noodles, sending it skidding over the table to come to rest at the edge. Derek leaned over the table and grabbed a fork as Stiles shoved gently at the pasta sauce next.

"What's up, Stranger?" he asked as Derek poured sauce over the entire bowl. "Have a seat."

Derek's eyes flicked up to him and then he pulled out one of the chairs and sat down in it heavily. "Couldn't sleep," he said, stabbing his fork into the bowl and twirling.

"Mm. Good fight tonight. Not surprised you're still amped up," Stiles told him with a chuckle.

"I very nearly took a hit," Derek said before he shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth. They both knew that taking a hit at this point meant starting over, another 50 fights, another two years before they would have the opportunity to move to Division 2 again. The close call had rattled both their cages.

"But you didn't," Stiles reminded him, much more delicately twisting a bite of pasta onto his fork. He didn't know how Derek ate pasta without parmesan on it. He practically drowned his in it. "One more fight after this."

Derek winced, swallowing quickly. "That's... sort of why I couldn't sleep." He met Stiles' gaze, hesitating. "I haven't had any training for Division 2. Are you just going to throw me into it?"

"No!" Stiles rushed to assure him. "Oh, of course not." He wasn't about to say he hadn't given it much thought, hadn't wanted to think much about it. Every time he imagined putting Derek into an arena where he could die, Stiles had begun to feel ill. Putting Derek through training for it felt like a knife in his gut. "We can- would you like to start tomorrow? I can have the other wolves teach you what they know."

Sagging a little in his seat, Derek lifted another forkful of food. "Thank you. That... that would help. Will they be okay with it?"

Stiles forced a smile. It didn't matter much to him if Deucalion was okay with it; he needed this done. It was just training. "I'll go down before bed and see what time would be good for them," he said instead.

The smile Derek gave him was measured at best, and once again Stiles acutely felt the distance that had been gaping between them since Derek had come to him about Kate. He hated it, but on some level he knew it was best. It had started to become too difficult to separate his business life from his personal life where it concerned Derek. The wolf was a game piece, brought here to help Scott's cause. There was a good chance he would end up becoming a smear of blood on the arena floor if he messed up, and Stiles didn't want to be close enough to be destroyed by the loss.

At least, that's what he told himself when he saw the thinly masked pain in Derek's eyes every time they were in the same room.

That's what he told himself at night when he stretched out alone on his bed and wondered if Derek even noticed he'd stopped dropping by when Cora came to read.

That's what he told himself every time it hurt to think he'd lost something they'd never even had.

He shoved a forkful of noodles into his mouth and then got to his feet, leaving the utensil in the bowl on the table. "I should go do that before it gets much later," he said dully. "I don't want to wake any of the wolves."

A part of him thought maybe Derek would stop him, or at least say something, but he just sat silent as Stiles left. Thinking Derek might change his mind, Stiles even paused around the corner to wait. When there was no noise, no motion, he sighed and headed down to the back entrance of the manor.

Though it was dark outside, he could see the lights on the barn in the distance and he knew the path well enough he didn't bother finding a flashlight before he left. He was glad for the deep summer nights, with a warm breeze rolling over the open land surrounding his estate and the clear sky above dotted with millions of stars shining brightly enough the absence of the moon didn't make much difference.

The barn was quiet when he reached it, the low hum of electricity in the doors the only noise. He pulled the door shut behind him, listening in satisfaction to the hydraulic locks hissing shut. In the three years since he'd purchased the estate and built the containment facility, the locks had never failed him.

He trailed to a stop in front of Deucalion's pen, throwing a glance down to the others, but all of the other alphas were sequestered beyond the false house fronts. For a moment he considered just coming back in the morning, but then the door in front of him opened and Deucalion was stepping out to greet him, his long, silver staff in hand. Stiles steeled himself; he didn't particularly enjoy talking to this one.

"How considerate of our warden to come say goodnight," Deucalion greeted, closing the door behind him. "To what do I owe the honor? There's no death matches for another week."

"Nice to see you too, Duke," Stiles grated. "Unfortunately I'm not here for a social visit."

"Pity," Deucalion said, and he took a seat on the steps, stretching out his legs alongside his cane. "I'll still hold out hope that there's a first time for everything."

Stiles smiled wanly at him. "If I didn't think you'd cut my throat and take off for the hills, I'd let you out."

"Don't be like that," Deucalion scoffed, a sly smile spreading over his lips. "You know I wouldn't take off for the hills."

"You're hilarious," Stiles deadpanned.

"I doubt you've come to visit for my jokes," Deucalion replied. He tipped his head and, for just a split second, Stiles swore that he could see him.

"I need you and the others to help me train Derek for Division 2," Stiles told him, going straight for the heart of it. "He's never done it and-"

"No."

Stiles straightened. "Excuse me?"

"I said no," Deucalion repeated. "I've seen this dance, and I know how it ends for your new chew toy- the same way it ended for his mother. I won't have a hand in it."

Eyes narrowing, Stiles wrapped his fingers around the bars of the pen. "You said you didn't know anything about his family."

"I lied," Deucalion said, enunciating each word mockingly clear.

"His mother died in a building fire," Stiles said slowly, watching Deucalion for any reaction. "If you know otherwise, you should tell me now."

"Or what?" Deucalion chuckled, a raspy, mirthless noise. "You'll send me to fight to the death?"

"No," Stiles said, low and dangerous. "So help me, if you don't cooperate, I will personally gift wrap and hand deliver you to Warden Blake instead. Do you understand?"

"You're bluffing," Deucalion said, but the edges of the words trembled just so. They both knew Stiles was telling the truth.

"Try me." Stiles watched the rigid line of Deucalion's body and relaxed only when the wolf sat up and curled long fingers around the top of his cane. "Answer the question, Duke. What do you know about Derek's mother?"

"I know no building fire would have taken Talia Hale," Deucalion told him bitterly. "Pull her last fights. Ask about her warden." He was on his feet and across the pen before Stiles had registered he'd moved, cane pressed over Stiles' knuckles on the bars, trapping him there. Stiles clamped his jaw shut against a shout of pain. "You're not the first bleeding-heart whelp to attempt to get a fighter out, Warden, and you won't be the last after your new toy's been redboxed."

Stiles jerked his hand back when Deucalion released him, pulling his injured digits close to his chest as he searched Deucalion's sightless eyes for any sign of trickery. There was none, and a pit of cold dread settled in his gut at the implication that any of this had happened previously- or that Talia had been a part of it. He was going to have a lot of phone calls to make, a lot of digging to do to be able to prove anything, if he even could.

"I'd be very careful who I call friend, if I were you," Deucalion said quietly, letting the end of his cane tap against the ground. "Your arena has far more dangerous opponents than mine."

Taking a deep breath, Stiles swallowed down the ill feeling creeping over him. "Tomorrow morning," he said, voice a little more shaky than he liked. "You're going to help me train him."

The smile that graced Deucalion's face was anything but comforting. However, this time he acquiesced with a nod. "As you wish."

The victorious warden of a Division 3 match

shall receive from the ARC a sum of $500

Derek's back hit the ground for the seventeenth time, knocking the wind from his chest a moment before a sharp prickle at his throat told him he was dead. Snarling, he batted at Kali, but she was already yards away, smirking at him. He rolled over as the tiny wounds on his neck closed up, leaving behind only smears of blood in the grime accumulating on his skin. He was grudgingly impressed with how much control they had; a wrong move on their part would leave him injured for a long time.

"Too slow," Deucalion drawled from across the mini arena. "And she's nicer than I'd be."

"Don't try to get distance to turn," added one of the twins. Derek couldn't tell which by voice alone. "You'll never outpace an alpha, or most of the other things you'll fight."

"You've got to spin," the other twin said, and when Derek looked, he thought it might have been Ethan. "Spin and strike at the same time."

"I can't see behind me," Derek said as he readied himself to face Kali again. "How am I supposed to strike without-" He bit off the rest of his sentence, gaze flicking to Deucalion.

"Without being able to see?" Deucalion asked with a knowing smile. "My dear boy, you have senses beyond your sight. You'll need all of them if you want to stay alive."

Derek let out a heavy breath and nodded. Across the floor, Kali crouched low and Derek let his claws slide out again, ready for another attack. The false arena in the barn loft was a lot smaller than real arenas, even the Division 5 ones used for juvenile fighters. Like the twin had said, there was no way he was going to get distance on her, not enough to turn to face her in a surprise attack. She was just too fast. If he wanted to win, he was going to have to fight, and fight hard.

This time when she came at him, he lifted his shoulders like he was going to stand to meet her, and he watched her adjust to the new angle. Realization dawned a second too late as she leapt at him and he dropped low, turning just enough to put a shoulder into her ribs and shove her off. She twisted in midair to land on her feet, and suddenly the fight was on his terms.

He hit her dead on with hands and feet forward, raking blunt fingertips over the skin of her back, flexing to press against her spine as he vaulted away from her. She snapped at him as she toppled from his momentum, but her claws barely grazed his calf before he was out of range. When he looked back, she was standing with tolerant smile on her face.

"You don't have to pull your claws for me, boy," she shot at him as he straightened.

"He'd have had your spine out," Ennis leered from one of the railings, grinning. Kali snarled at him, but he just laughed and looked at Derek. "You learn that from the dragon?"

Derek tipped his head. "Negira?" He'd only seen her one fight.

"She does that same thing," Ennis told him. "Leaves herself open so she can switch the attack around. Did it to Duke the first moon we ran here. Problem is, it only works once, so if you miss the kill you're out of luck."

"Good thing he got the kill," Aiden interjected. "Can we switch? Kali's getting to have all the fun."

"Be my guest," Kali said, waving an arm in welcome and stepping off to Ennis' side. Derek didn't like how easy that was.

The twins hopped down from the railing where they were perched, both glancing to Stiles, who stood off to the side with Isaac sitting in a chair beside him. The other handlers, Erica and Boyd, leaned against the wall by the only entrance or exit, watching everyone carefully.

He couldn't see how the four of them would be able to control all five alphas if they decided to cause a problem, which made Derek wonder what they knew that he didn't. He assumed that it had something to do with the locks on the doorway out, or the fact that the barn beneath would still be closed up if they got out of the arena. It couldn't be the zap sticks; not one of the alphas even looked twice at the small sticks at the handlers' sides.

Stiles nodded agreement, and the twins turned back to face Derek. One of them knelt in the sand and the other reached out, pressing a hand onto his back, over his spine. Derek's eyes widened as he watched them crinkle and meld and become one, but no one else seemed to find it unusual. The creature that rose in their place was a huge, a partially shifted alpha werewolf juggernaut. Heart pounding, Derek flicked out his claws and waited.

They were easier to fight than Kali had been, slower on their feet, wider swings with their fists and claws. Derek was smaller than their combined forces, and personally thought they would be worse to face if they fought while separated. Like this, he was able to treat them like the two giants he'd faced before in the arena. He scrambled around their legs on all fours, striking out every time he was behind them, sending them turning in circles trying to keep sight of him. They caught on much quicker than he did, however, and he ended up running face first into their fist on one go round.

That was how most of the day went. The alphas took turns sparring with him, each of them bringing something different to the table. They showed him various moves in slow motion until he could get the pattern of them down, and the twins were exceptionally handsy when it came to touching soft spots. At one point Deucalion suggested to Stiles that Derek be blindfolded, to learn to use his other senses better in tight quarters, and Derek spent an hour in the dark trying to find Ennis to land a blow.

The handlers joined in toward the evening, after they had taken a break to eat what Cora and Harvelle walked out to them. They told Derek about nerves and pressure points, places where the zap stick - they called it a taser - was more effective. Erica showed him how to twist out of a few holds and Boyd showed him how best to balance his weight to receive a tackle. They demonstrated how to move to deflect a strike so that it rolled off harmlessly, or at least with much less damage.

He knew he wasn't going to remember some of it, but Stiles assured him that he could set aside time daily if he wanted, to practice and go over anything he wanted. The alphas didn't seem bothered by it, especially the twins, who actually seemed eager to get out of the pens for something more interesting. Derek couldn't blame them; he didn't see a reason for them to be locked up.

"I think we can call it a day," Stiles called at last, nudging himself away from the back railing. Isaac glanced up and then got to his feet as well. "I've got to be up early tomorrow for Kismet's match."

Derek ran through the list of non-humanoid supers in the barn and recalled the small gryphon in the pen across from the chimera. She was beautiful, all in greys and blues, with sharp yellow eyes and sharper claws. While she wasn't quite as cuddly as Negira, she was friendly enough to touch. He'd sat outside her cage once for over an hour, mimicking her little bird-like noises, much to her amusement. He hoped she fared well in her match.

"What time are we leaving?" Boyd asked as he watched Erica descend the steps at the exit. Deucalion was right behind her, cane tapping each step down before he took it. Derek missed how it had opened.

"Match is at ten, so we should be out of here by seven to be safe," Stiles called, grabbing the water bottle he'd been using. Everyone else left theirs on the shelves near the faucet. "We'll be back by around four, if you want to come back up and keep working on this, Derek?"

As much as it sounded like a question, Derek knew it wasn't, but he also knew that he needed all of the practice he could get before being tossed into his first to-the-death match. "Fine," he said, leaning back against the railing as Stiles moved past him. "I'm going to stay a little longer."

Stiles shot him a strange look, but didn't argue with the declaration. He just let the alphas and handlers precede him down the steps, Isaac bringing up the rear. The young handler hesitated a couple of steps down, looking at the key card in his hands, and then hopped back up to the arena. He held out the card to Derek.

"When you're finished, just flip the door shut and swipe this to lock it," Isaac said as Derek plucked the key from his open palm. "I can get the ID from you later. I'm sure if you asked, Stiles would make you one with your own code, to open the door."

When Isaac made to pull his hand back, Derek reached out and latched onto his wrist. He saw Isaac stiffen, but the boy made no move to struggle or fight back, and Derek kept his claws in as he drew Isaac in close enough that his voice wouldn't be heard below.

"I know about you and my sister," he hissed, looking sidelong to meet Isaac's eyes.

"What about us?" Isaac asked levelly, not moving.

Derek didn't know exactly what was going on between them, but he was the only human Cora spent enough time around that Derek wouldn't notice if she smelled like him. "She trusts you," Derek said because he couldn't bring himself to voice her affection to Isaac. "I won't see her hurt."

"I would never hurt her on purpose," Isaac told him. Derek listened to the steady beat of his heart, and Isaac covered Derek's hand with his own. "She means a lot to me, too."

"She's the only family I have," Derek murmured, loosening his grip until Isaac could slip his hand free.

Isaac gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "I know what it's like to be alone," he said quietly. "And to lose people. My mom disappeared, and my dad and brother were both killed when I was younger."

Derek's heart twisted up. He could feel pain against his palm, where Isaac's skin touched his, but he left it where it was, didn't try to leech any of it away. "Then you know why I won't let her be hurt."

"Yes," Isaac replied, releasing Derek. They both looked when Erica called Isaac's name from below, and Derek nodded for him to go. For a moment, Isaac searched his eyes, and then turned and disappeared down the stairs, calling back to Erica.

Derek sagged back against the railing with a sigh.

All game pieces must wear appropriate protective gear

at all times outside of the game arena pen

Stiles splayed one hand over the array of papers spread over the library tables, taking in the myriad black lines through information he just knew was essential. He'd pulled online records first and when those yielded nothing of use, he'd taken a trip to the hard-copy records building outside of Atlanta and copied everything he could get his hands on concerning Talia Hale. He'd spent three days at the building and come home with a suitcase full of photocopies and none of it said anything.

He had been frustrated, at first, when he coated his library in papers and started scanning for information about her fights. The early records, the ones from her Division 3 fights, even a few of her first Division 2 fights, were open books. The forms listed her opponents, their wardens, which arenas, fight times and durations. Every fight record had a play-by-play transcript of the fight from gate's open to gate's close. The handlers were all listed with names and contact information, copies of their certifications stapled behind the warden and game piece registrations. Health records.

Everything was there, up until halfway through Division 2, when the black marks began to appear.

At first it was just the species of the opponents. It was a weird thing to black out, but something Stiles could ignore because sometimes exceptions were made for certain species, and those exceptions didn't go on record so no one could cite them later. It wasn't exactly the best practice, but most of those fights were one-time only death matches, where a random, wild-caught creature was released into an arena to be killed. Stiles had never attended a snuff-fight like that, but he knew they existed and assumed Talia had been pitted against something that was otherwise illegal.

It wasn't until he began sorting through the late Division 2 fights and moved into the Division 1 records that things got fishy. Wardens were blacked out and the two that weren't, Stiles was unable to find record of anywhere. Their registrations were not listed for any Division. He sent the information along to his father, hoping to find some kind of death records for either of them, but hadn't heard anything back yet.

His cell phone lay face-up on the desk beside him, the soft murmur of voices barely audible from the speaker. He was waiting for them to find Scott, who had shut off his phone for some reason. Calling the facility where he worked was low on Stiles' want-to-do list, but he didn't have a choice; he needed more than he had on the tables in front of him. Something was wrong.

"Stiles?" Scott's voice filtered through the phone and Stiles fumbled to pick it up and turn it off speaker. "Is everything okay?"

"I need to see you in person, Scott," Stiles said, hushed. He wanted to tell Scott everything, but not over his work line. Not even over their cell line. "I found some... stuff."

"Stuff? Stiles, I can't just drop everything here to- what stuff?" Scott asked. Stiles could picture the crinkles in his brow as he processed Stiles' tone of voice.

"Stuff," Stiles stressed. "Look, remember how I said I was going to Atlanta? I took a trip to the National Arena Records Archive, and I pulled all the information I could about Talia Hale."

"Hale?" Scott echoed, the his voice dropped and Stiles could hear him covering the phone. "Like your fighter?"

"Like my fighter's mom," Stiles replied. "And dude, this is some seriously messed up stuff."

On the other end, Scott sighed. Stiles let him think, piece together everything he knew with what Stiles was telling him. "I can't- Can it wait until this weekend?"

It could, even though Stiles didn't want it to, so he just tamped down on his sigh. "I guess? Derek's last Div 3 fight is tomorrow afternoon. You know that means I'll have to go in soon to take care of Div 2 contracts."

"Delay it," Scott said. "You can buy a week just holding on registration, right?"

Stiles groaned and rubbed at his temple with the heel of his hand. "Yeah. I can- I'll figure that out. But I need- I'm trying to get my hands on video records of her fights. I've got all of her Div 3 fights and a couple from Div 2 but I haven't found the rest."

"Did you call Danny?" Scott asked. When Stiles was very guiltily silent, Scott let out a sharp laugh. "Okay, call Danny. I'll see what I can do from here, and I'll be out Saturday."

"I'll send you a ticket," Stiles said quickly. "And keep looking though this... mess."

"Keep your head down, Stiles," Scott said quietly. "I've heard that tone before and it's never not gotten you in trouble."

Stiles grinned. "I'll be careful. You're the first one I came to. Get your fuzzy ass out here safely."

Scott snorted. "See you in a couple days."

"Hey, Scott?" Stiles said softly, waiting to hear the click that never came. He could hear Scott put the receiver back to his ear. "Thanks, man."

"We're best friends, Stiles," Scott said. "It's what we do. Go get some sleep."

Stiles hummed agreement as the phone clicked dead in his hands. He set it aside slowly, feeling the weight of the phone, feeling the heavier weight of being alone again in the room, and let out a long breath. It was too late to call Danny or his father. He knuckled tiredly at one eye and rested his head on his palm as he stared blearily at the papers.

Scott was right, he needed sleep. He needed to deal with Derek's last fight tomorrow before anything else. He would buy some time dawdling, see what he could get Danny to bring him, call his dad for updates, and maybe see if any of his handlers could find new information in the train wreck of papers scattered all over the library tables.

And maybe, just maybe, together they could all figure out what the hell was going on.

Arenas may host up to three (3)

Division 3 matches per day

unless they are a Division 3 specific arena

Derek ducked under the shifter's swing and felt the air move from her claws passing near his skin. He dropped one shoulder to the sand and rolled with it, lashing out with both feet to kick her away from him. She was a bear shifter, more solid than he was expecting, and the shove did little to give him distance.

A moment later she was back upon him, snarling. The back of one large paw caught Derek around the knee, sending him sprawling into the damp sand. He flipped over in time to block her next strike and grab her other wrist to keep her from taking out his eyes. She snapped forward with thick jaws, unable to fully shift into bear form, and he turned his head to avoid being bit. Her free paw landed heavy on his chest, claws drawn in.

He slid his claws down her arm from where he held her wrist, and his claws came away bloody.

She realized it the same instant, letting out a hot puff of air into his face before she eased her weight off of him. "You're a quick little wolf," she murmured, offering him a hand up. "Good fight."

He held up his claws for the announcer to see as he took her offer of help up. From somewhere above they could hear the officials declare the win to Stiles, and he gave her a quick, wary smile. "They're moving me to Division 2," he said quietly.

She laughed and clapped him on the shoulder before pointing toward his still-open pen gate. "Then you should have lost, pup. Good luck out there."

"You too," Derek said, dropping to all fours to lope toward the holding pen. This was how fights were supposed to end, how they normally ended, and he liked it a lot better than waking up in the vet's office.

The sand changed to cement as he stepped off the arena floor and into his pen. To his right he could hear the quiet congratulations of the naga that had gone out before him, and he muttered thanks before curling up against the back door of the pen. The arena gate began to close, dropping slowing into its slots in the ground and hissing as it bolted near the ceiling.

There was a crackle of noise in his ear, the sound of the crowd in the background, and then Stiles was in his ear. "Good job, Derek."

"Two more seconds and it wouldn't have been," he replied. It shouldn't have been his win, and he was sure Stiles knew it too.

"She had her paw on your chest," Stiles pointed out. "She could have flexed her claws and taken the win."

"I know," Derek said quietly. He'd already had the thought. Stiles was curiously silent, long enough for Derek to add: "She let me have it, Stiles."

"Yeah," he agreed. Derek could practically hear him thinking the same thing before he said it. "Something's going on."

"Something bad?" Derek asked.

"Don't know," Stiles told him. The sound cut out for a moment and when it returned, Stiles sounded much more hassled. "I'm going to get the paperwork cleared up here so we can go home, try to figure some of this out before you get started in Division 2. But hey... you're going to Division 2. You made it."

Derek blew out a breath, not sure how comforting that particular thought was supposed to be.