To say that all of the terrorism in this place is getting old would be a gross understatement. Derek might not have his wolf, but he has his rage. He may not have the werewolf strength, but he's still a strong guy, and a big one at that. Not as big as Alcide, but big enough. So when the demonstration against Specials starts, Derek doesn't flee. He stands his ground. Derek has just as much a right to be in this Complex, in this Commissary as anyone else does. He didn't choose to be here or to be a Special; that was chosen for him and he's not going to sit idly by or run away because someone else says he should. Fuck. that.
It's Lydia's scream — he'd know it anywhere, even without his werewolf hearing; it's hard to forget the scream that (correctly) predicted your death — that sets Derek into action. He's never gotten along with her and he probably never will, but her warning prepared him for evolution rather than death and he owes her at least trying to keep her safe.
Except, Derek doesn't get there because his path is cut off by charging Alphas, chanting and swinging pipes. Derek grabs the nearest metal chair and closes it, swinging it with a force that actually almost feels like his normal strength — that's got to be in his head — and delighting not-so-secretly in the satisfying way the chair connects with the face of a charging A.S.S. member, not only knocking her off her feet but taking down two others beside her like dominoes. No, he isn't sorry that he's hit a girl. Derek is an equal opportunity destroyer: you come after him and his and he will take you down. He hasn't cared; doesn't care what gender you are and he never will.
The problem is that it's so loud in the Commissary right now and there's so many scents and smells that Derek can't hear someone coming up on his left when he's focusing on swinging the chair again at someone on his right. The impact of steel against his side surprises a roar out of him, one he hadn't realized he could bellow out. He can't see himself, but his eyes have gone an icy, glowing blue, and his fangs have descended. It's the second pipe that cracks him on the side of the head that sends him to the ground and the worst part is that he can't catch himself when he tries, because the floor is covered in...ice? What the—
For a second, he feels a surge of strength and he roars again, face shifting into something more grotesque as he swings clawed hands on either side of himself, trying to catch the legs of the people passing by; slow them down. He's stronger like he should be, at least for right now, but that doesn't change how much pain he's in or the fact that his body won't cooperate when he tries to get back to his feet.
Derek can feel his face shift back to normal and the claws slipping away. Like a teaser that his wolf is still within, but unable to do any real damage. GET UP, he tells himself vehemently and even though it feels like he's been hit by a bus and he's bleeding, he can feel it hot and sticky on the side of his face and his ear feels so hot that it somehow also feels freezing cold.
When he sees the blonde girl, he recognizes her from the news on the PDC and he knows her a little. He's met her on the network, but never in person. His eyes settle on the gun in her hand and he realizes she's the one putting the ice on the floor. "Shoot them!" he barks. "Shoot them!" What good is shooting the goddamn floor?
Derek finally pushes himself to his feet. He's never had a problem letting a woman protect him; in his experience, women are much better at it. There's never been any love lost between himself and the Argent family, but he's at least willing to concede that Allison went down swinging and protecting the people she loved, including Derek's beta. Gracie is small and she's shooting the floor instead of the protesters, which tells Derek she's either never used a gun or she's afraid of actually making an impact with it, but all the same, she does have a weapon and Derek needs a better one than the chair he's lost in the shuffle. If she can cover him to get out of here until he can find something better before joining the fray again, he's not going to begrudge the fact that she's a girl, that's for sure.
"Can you cover me? Can you cover me to get out of here so I can go to my room and get my laser gun?" he pants as he tries to catch his breath, hovering beside her and standing defensively because, well, technically, he's defenseless. She is his defense right now.
evening
It's Lydia's scream — he'd know it anywhere, even without his werewolf hearing; it's hard to forget the scream that (correctly) predicted your death — that sets Derek into action. He's never gotten along with her and he probably never will, but her warning prepared him for evolution rather than death and he owes her at least trying to keep her safe.
Except, Derek doesn't get there because his path is cut off by charging Alphas, chanting and swinging pipes. Derek grabs the nearest metal chair and closes it, swinging it with a force that actually almost feels like his normal strength — that's got to be in his head — and delighting not-so-secretly in the satisfying way the chair connects with the face of a charging A.S.S. member, not only knocking her off her feet but taking down two others beside her like dominoes. No, he isn't sorry that he's hit a girl. Derek is an equal opportunity destroyer: you come after him and his and he will take you down. He hasn't cared; doesn't care what gender you are and he never will.
The problem is that it's so loud in the Commissary right now and there's so many scents and smells that Derek can't hear someone coming up on his left when he's focusing on swinging the chair again at someone on his right. The impact of steel against his side surprises a roar out of him, one he hadn't realized he could bellow out. He can't see himself, but his eyes have gone an icy, glowing blue, and his fangs have descended. It's the second pipe that cracks him on the side of the head that sends him to the ground and the worst part is that he can't catch himself when he tries, because the floor is covered in...ice? What the—
For a second, he feels a surge of strength and he roars again, face shifting into something more grotesque as he swings clawed hands on either side of himself, trying to catch the legs of the people passing by; slow them down. He's stronger like he should be, at least for right now, but that doesn't change how much pain he's in or the fact that his body won't cooperate when he tries to get back to his feet.
Derek can feel his face shift back to normal and the claws slipping away. Like a teaser that his wolf is still within, but unable to do any real damage. GET UP, he tells himself vehemently and even though it feels like he's been hit by a bus and he's bleeding, he can feel it hot and sticky on the side of his face and his ear feels so hot that it somehow also feels freezing cold.
When he sees the blonde girl, he recognizes her from the news on the PDC and he knows her a little. He's met her on the network, but never in person. His eyes settle on the gun in her hand and he realizes she's the one putting the ice on the floor. "Shoot them!" he barks. "Shoot them!" What good is shooting the goddamn floor?
Derek finally pushes himself to his feet. He's never had a problem letting a woman protect him; in his experience, women are much better at it. There's never been any love lost between himself and the Argent family, but he's at least willing to concede that Allison went down swinging and protecting the people she loved, including Derek's beta. Gracie is small and she's shooting the floor instead of the protesters, which tells Derek she's either never used a gun or she's afraid of actually making an impact with it, but all the same, she does have a weapon and Derek needs a better one than the chair he's lost in the shuffle. If she can cover him to get out of here until he can find something better before joining the fray again, he's not going to begrudge the fact that she's a girl, that's for sure.
"Can you cover me? Can you cover me to get out of here so I can go to my room and get my laser gun?" he pants as he tries to catch his breath, hovering beside her and standing defensively because, well, technically, he's defenseless. She is his defense right now.