“No, don’t you dare. Don’t fucking dare. Derek!”
Stiles slams into the door a second late, fists crashing into cool metal that refuses to give. Because Derek had locked it. Derek had locked him out.
And is turning back to face the herd of undead on his own.
“Fuck you, Derek! I swear to god, if you get yourself bitten I’m not even gonna shoot you!” He punches the door again and then forces himself to go quiet – Derek needs to concentrate right now if he wants to survive, Stiles screaming through a door at him isn’t going to do him any favors.
He pushes off the door and stalks a few steps backward, glancing over his shoulder to make sure his shouting hasn’t drawn in any ganks from this side of the wall before sizing up the building.
It’s a supermarket, one of those oversized superstores that’s basically a warehouse, windows about twelve feet in the air and running along the length of each side wall. Stiles knows from their time inside that part of the ceiling has caved in, but even if he could make his way to the roof, the drop would leave him totally incapable of actually helping Derek once he got inside.
He allows himself one breath, another, and then he’s moving. Hitching his bow up on his shoulder, dropping the backpack of scavenged supplies, and darting for the left side of the building.
He hears the sound of fighting - of impacts and rasping snarls and the occasional gunshot – as he grabs the abandoned shopping cart, shoves it up on top of the tall dumpster, and hoists himself up after it. He tries not to think about it, about how there’d been at least thirty of them in there, a whole nest hungry, relentless, mindless monsters. Instead he focuses on the motions – on flipping the cart wheel up and bracing it against the wall, on pulling himself on top of it and reaching up to push at the dirty glass of the window.
No latches. Of-fucking-course not. He hops back down to the top of the dumpster, pulling out his own gun and, wincing a little, shoots the glass twice before stripping his overshirt, climbing the shopping cart again, and punching the weakened glass with a flannel covered fist.
And then he’s pushing off the shattered remnants of glass, laying the flannel out against the bottom of the frame, and pulling himself up and inside.
102 YEARS AGO
THEY’RE ALL SKELETONS FIGHTING IN THE UNDERWATER SKELETON WAR NOW
I’m sure they are very chill right now.
You might even say they’re…
ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT ALRIGHT
This post is a train wreckare you sure its not aship wreck
I will kill all of you
the titanic already took care of that
iT GOT BETTER
What do you call the security guards outside Samsung shops?
Guardians of the Galaxy
doors open from both sides