Chapter One, His Missing Father

It might not have been the smartest thing to do, Stiles realized as he wandered out in the dark, flashlight in hand. Correction; it definitely wasn't the smartest thing to do. But he didn't really have any other option, considering his father hadn't been seen in over two days. He gave him a day before he started looking. It was night and the third morning was going to be dawning and Stiles knew how important timelines were to missing people's cases. And no offense to the deputies back in the station, but they weren't exactly the most competent workers -especially without his father around. Stiles was a mess. He'd barely showered or eaten since his father hadn't reported in and Deputy Johnson stopped by to explain that they hadn't heard from his father in over six hours, during the windstorm but Stiles wasn't to panic because it was possible they'd just lost connection and Sheriff Stilinski would probably be back the next morning, grumbling about the weather.

And Stiles might have let himself believe in it, because it was easier. But he knew there was something going on that morning and he didn't care what the deputies had to say as he got into his jeep. His father had been missing for close to twenty-four hours and god knows what could have happened to him. Stiles was not okay with that, not okay at all. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled down the highway, keeping an eye out. There hadn't been a sign of him. Until tonight, when Stiles had started to go searching on foot around the preserve.

There had been a call, some report of a wild animal or something and his father had gone to investigate it. They hadn't heard from since. Stiles could care less if there was a six-foot grizzly bear behind him, he was going to find his father no matter what it took. He didn't linger on the alternatives because there were none; his father was going to be alive when Stiles found him. As Stiles hiked through the woods, the realization really began to creep into his skin about how helpless he would be out here if there were anything other than his father around these parts.

And it was possible, considering all the disappearances, that there was someone out here. Hunting people. In the last five years as many people had gone missing. The new girl who went to school for like half a day before vanishing on her walk home; the troubled loner kids -Erica and Boyd; Isaac Lahey who for all they knew could have run away from home, but was pretty unlikely for a ten-year old; and Lydia Martin, beautiful Lydia had disappeared three months ago. Just like with everyone else, the case was going cold. Stiles had been out in the preserve looking for them as a volunteer when he was old enough to, but no one had seen them. They had simply vanished. And there was no way in hell that Stiles was going to roll over and take it!

They had taken the girl of his dreams -they couldn't have his father too. He would do anything to get him back. With a yelp, Stiles was pitched forward as his foot tangled with an old cedar tree and lost the battle. He slammed his hands into the earth, hissing as they scraped across some loose gravel and dug deep into his skin. He jerked his foot back from the cedar tree's evil grasp, and sat up, glancing at his hands and then at the ground beneath him. He reached over for the flashlight, twisting it to the side and gasped.

Because after spending five hours in a forest, hiking, one thing Stiles had noticed was the distinct lack of even ground and gravel. Gravel. He frowned, balancing the light in the crook of his neck as he followed the winding trail. His wounds would be fine -he'd had worse even though they were stinging like mad. He pushed it from his thoughts as he cautiously followed the trail up to an impressive manor. He was tempted to call it a castle but the lack of stone walls and more open architecture had him reconsidering, although by the looks of it, the building could be older than some castles. At one time the house had probably been white, but it was hard to tell with the dust and dirt and wild ivy climbing the walls, and the way trees seemed to have grown over it.

This was weird. There were no houses out here, no record of them. He knew it as well as his father did. Aside from the old house -which, seriously, it looked like it was right out from the Gone with the Wind set or something. He walked up the old, worn brick steps to the double doors, glass arching around it. For just one second he thought he saw glowing eyes, as he raised his hand to the door and knocked. The doors creaked open for him, and Stiles walked into the unlit house with apprehension digging into his gut.

"Dad?" he called, soft and hesitant.

He hadn't taken more than three steps before there was someone ramming into him. Not that Stiles had any experience with it, but he was willing to bet it felt similar to having a car hit him as he was flung three feet aside and crashing into a hard, unforgiving wall as someone snarled, dangerously close. Only it sounded a lot less like a someone and a lot more like a monstrous, salivating something that was about to be breathing down his neck. However, concentrating on that fact was a little difficult due to the nasty ache that was spreading through his back.

And then there were two bright glowing eyes in front of him and he flailed, trying to put distance between him and the-the-the thing -whatever the hell it was with hair sprouting all over its face and the extremely pronounced nose. Not to mention the fangs. Stiles aborted his flailing attempt, standing perfectly straight as the thing walked closer to him. Maybe the guy had been born with a birth defect or something, which could explain his defined eyebrows -although, granted, it did nothing to explain the wildness of his beard/sideburns that had sort of grown together.

"Huh," the creature said, pulling back as he regarded him with bright blue eyes. "You smell like the one downstairs." And then he grinned, and it was a horrible, terrifying smile that exposed his unusual jaw and his canines.

"W-what the hell?!" Stiles yelped, jerking away from him as quickly as he could.

"Oh come on," he drawled, eyeing Stiles. "What did you think I was going to do?"

Stiles stared at him for a moment before fishing in his pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He quickly moved through the pictures until he found one of his father, and he hastily shoved it towards the guy. "Have you seen my father?" he demanded. "I'll get out of your hair if you haven't and I'm sorry -I just -he's missing."

The thing smiled again, eyeing Stiles in a way that had him feeling uncomfortable and a little violated by the thirty-some year old guy. "Yeah, I've seen him," he chuckled, turning Stiles' cell phone around.

"Where?" he asked, worriedly, watching as he played with his phone. "Hey, that's mine," Stiles protested, reaching to grab it only to have the guy try and bite his hand off. He stumbled back.

"He's downstairs. You give me this, I'll walk you down myself." He grinned ferally again and Stiles wasn't sure whether to take him up on his offer. And really, what was a cell phone in comparison to his father?

"There's no signal," he added, hesitant. "But okay."

The older man grinned, "Well you're reasonable. That's excellent." He started walking and Stiles had to take twice as many steps to keep up with the loping steps this guy took. "I like reasonable people," he added, smirking in Stiles' direction. He didn't even want to think about how many years this guy had been here, alone, in the wilderness.

He was going to be so glad to get out of here, he realized as they descended a curving flight of stairs to the basement. Except instead of being a basement it looked more like a dungeon. Like, an old school dungeon made of stone and with cells built-in. Which sent alarm bells off in Stiles' head, but he could see someone in one of the cells and he hurried over, unaware that the man who had led him here wasn't following, he rushed to his father. He was lying on the floor, clutching to his jacket desperately and shivering. Stiles froze when he saw the blood on the side of his head, panic ebbing up and attempting to suffocate him but he gave it a valiant shove aside.

"Dad!" he cried out, tugging the barred door and expecting it to open -but it didn't even budge. "Dad!" he cried again, dropping to his knees, straining to see if his father's chest was moving.

A moment later, he could see the steady rise and fall of each breath his father took. "What did you do to him?!" he shouted, turning to look towards the man -only to find he had disappeared. "Dad," he said quietly, softly, stretching to get his arm between the bars and straining to manage to drag his fingers across his father's boot. If the yelling hadn't woken him up…

He pulled back, unsure. He peered around the room, as though it held clues for him or something. There were six cells in the room and his father's was the only one containing a cot with pillows, blankets, a bucket and some straw. Why the hell were there so many cells? And why was it that his father's was the only one with human necessities placed there? Stiles glanced at his father and then walked towards the stairs he had just come down, unsurprisingly the door was shut. Upon testing it, because seriously? Stiles found it locked. He went back downstairs, his ADD getting the better of him as he restlessly walked around. He tried all the cells and found they were all locked. Every last one. Which was unusual, generally cells were to keep people inside but considering there was no one inside… were these meant to keep something out then? What the hell kind of a place was this? He exhaled roughly, turning his mind to latch onto the smaller details the room had. Like the chains hanging from the ceiling in each cell except for his father's. In two of them, Stiles could see some headgear with spikes.

Whoever the hell lived here… they were definitely into some kinky shit. But as far as he knew, sadomasochism dungeons were supposed to be a little more leathery and comfortable looking, and this was like something dredged up from the pit of a horror movie meets thriller torture scene. Stiles didn't want to give them any more thought than necessary as he circled back to his father's cell, desperate for a way out of this situation. Desperate to make sure he was okay. He heard him groaning and Stiles threw himself towards the door, watching worriedly.

"Dad!" he called, worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fi- Stiles?" he turned towards him, sitting up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. From this angle the wound didn't look so deep, more shallow and it appeared to have mostly healed already. Which was good. Aside from the dried blood glued to his father's face, the fact that they were in someone's kinky fantasy (and Stiles wouldn't have been surprised if this was what Mr. Glowy eyes upstairs dreamed about). Stiles suppressed a shudder. "Stiles what are you doing here?"

"Saving you?" Stiles laughed uncertainly. "You didn't come home. I got worried."

"Being here is worse!" he groused, getting to his feet. "This is dangerous, Stiles!"

"Were you kidnapped?" he blurted, staring at his father worriedly. "Is that-that guy behind all this?"

His father turned to him slowly, looking around. "Did you see him?"

"Yeah! Hard to miss." Stiles mimed the fangs and the hair for emphasis. His father appeared a little mollified and even if the time wasn't quite appropriate, there was a smile tugging on his lips. "I can't go dad. Both that I won't and that I can't," he added. "The door's locked. He locked me in here."

"There was just one? I thought… I thought I saw two." He looked around, testing the door from his side before sighing.

"Yeah, just one…" Stiles bit his lip. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do more, to reassure his dad that things were going to be okay or ask for reassurance. "I mean, at least there's no blood, right? That's gotta be a step in the right direction. Maybe they just think we're trespassers?"

"I don't think so," his father murmured quietly. "I really don't think so."

Stiles wasn't sure how much time had passed since his father regained consciousness, but Stiles spent his time walking around and checking out the room further. He described the chains and contraptions he saw in the cells beside him, how there was no cot and hypothesized the reason that could be behind it. He searched for keys but he couldn't find any. He even checked for anything that could be used as a lock pick, but there was nothing. Stiles spent the rest of the time talking, too anxious and freaked out to even try to get comfortable and attempt sleep. His father was either too rested or equally restless, because he didn't protest Stiles' energy and instead helped direct his energy and refocus him when his mind wandered too far. His father had manage to confirm his suspicions that this property was utterly unknown to the rest of Beacon Hills; the sheriff had never heard of this place before. They were in the middle of a very healthy debate about whether the owner(s) of this building were responsible for all the kidnappings in the years past, when the door creaked open eerily.

Stiles cut off mid conversation, scrabbling to his feet as he glanced towards the staircase. Peripherally he could see his father shaking his head, telling him not to do anything stupid. Whatever plan he had formed, to take on the older, smaller man faded from his mind when the six foot, broad-shouldered man shouldered his way into the room. The next thing Stiles registered was the fact that his eyes were glowing as well, however they were bright red. And at his side was the same man from before.

"Peter," growled the taller one, his voice sounding wild and like he was barely keeping himself in control.

Stiles would have argued about the control thing, but considering he could see the eerie similarities between both men, he was beginning to doubt his theory on birth defects. The next rational thought he grabbed onto was that maybe they had been exposed to high levels of radiation, which of course led him to panicking about whether they were in fact being exposed to radiation in this room. Maybe this was some secret, underground government cover-up of nuclear experiments or something. It was totally possible.

"What the hell are they doing here?"

The older man with blue eyes -Peter- shrugged. "The one was a drowned rat, I didn't want the cops to come snooping too close. And the other one, well, he just stumbled in here all by himself. Just look at him, adorable."

Stiles had to suppress the urge to shudder, looking from Peter to the other man uncertainly. "I came here looking for my father! Who just happens to be the sheriff," he snapped back without really thinking. He winced when he heard his father's heavy sigh.

"We have to kill him," the younger one commented, raising his head to pierce a glower right at Stiles' father, his eyes vibrantly red.

"No!" he shouted, throwing himself in front of the bars. "No way! No! You do not just go around killing people! Un-unless you're actually murderers and not just kidnappers or something."

"Stiles," his father growled, the worry obvious in his tone.

"Others will come if we don't," the younger one seemed to rationalize. "He has to go."

"And what about me, huh?!" Stiles shouted. "You're just going to let me go -I wont forget about this!"

"Which is why I'll make you." He emphasized with a loud snap of his jaws, and the dangerous gleam of his red eyes in the semi-lit room.

"If you can make me forget, then you can make him forget too!"

Peter set his hand on the younger man's shoulder as he stopped moving towards them. "He has a point Derek," he offered. "And if you get rid of the father…"

Derek turned towards them both, his red eyes flickering between father and son before he turned back to Peter and gave a resigned nod. "One condition," he said, his voice gruff as he pinned both of the Stilinskis with his gaze. "If I let the sheriff go, then you stay here with me. One year."

"No!" his father demanded.

At the same time Stiles was responding with: "I'll do it. One year. And my dad's safe?"

"We won't touch a hair on his head," Peter replied. Derek nodded.

At the sound of his name, Stiles turned to his father. "I promise I'll be back Dad, I'll home when this is over. And you'll be safe.. and it'll be good." He smiled weakly, knowing his father would never agree with it. But it wasn't something he could get out of, now that Stiles had agreed. "How is he supposed to forget all of this anyways?" Stiles asked, turning to Derek as the big man walked over and unlocked the cell.

"Magic," Peter cackled.

And then Stiles saw the claws and before his father could even move, Derek was digging his claws into his neck. Stiles went to run, the shout still dying on his lips even as Peter darted forward inhumanly fast and clutched Stiles to his chest. His father slumped forward, eyes shut and un-moving. Derek stepped back, claws retracting into more human nails.

"He'll wake up in an hour, in his cruiser on the side of the road where he was found," Derek was saying. It was hard to concentrate as Stiles had his eyes glued to his father's form, not taking a single breath until he saw his father breathing steadily. "He won't remember what happened here. He'll just think you went off on your own and he went after you, got lost and then he will go home. He'll believe you're staying at a relative's house, for one year while you catch up on some school stuff."

It wasn't completely impossible. It was just unlikely. They were estranged from their other relatives. But Stiles nodded anyways, helpless. Peter seemed to be quite comfortable holding him.

"What're you going to do to me?" he asked feebly. Maybe that was something he should have asked first…

Derek just shrugged. "Peter let him go. He needs to find his room, and Lydia will have to take the measurements. And since you brought that in, you're the one who can fix it." Derek shot Peter a dirty look. "I don't find your attempts at problem solving remotely funny."

Peter cackled. "Oh come on Derek, this affects me just as much as does you and everyone else here! You can't blame me for trying!"

And then, Derek put his hand on Stiles shoulder and forcibly guided him up the stairs. Maybe if he hadn't been up all night, if he had taken his Adderall that morning, he might have recognized her name. He might have realized a couple of things. Instead he was just dead weight on his feet as Derek led him down a long corridor. Sunlight was attempting to pour in through the grime covered windows and Stiles knew that this was going to be a very long year indeed.

I'm waiting back on my beta and I sincerely hope they don't mind that I'm publishing this first...

For those of you who follow me and are waiting for more The Kidnapping of Stiles Stilinski, there will be more once I decide on a direction to take it. In the mean time, I'm going to be working on this.