Derek dreamed. In the blending of wakeful awareness and dream imagery that occurs when we float on the very borders of true sleep, his nearly closed eyes registered the fact that he was in bed, with his arms wrapped around his lover.

This thought brought with it terrific warmth, and a sense of peace and relaxation. He snuggled closer, and tightened his grip. Sleeps hold on him tightened harder than it had in many months.

"Love you, Jackson." He whispered aloud.

Unable to resist, he kissed the back of his mate's neck, and enjoying the salty/sweet taste of it, ran his tongue up the neck and around the side to behind the delicate ear. He was aware that he was becoming aroused, and he ground his body still more tightly against his partner, struggling to find that perfect puzzle piece fit. It occurred to him that the proportions were slightly unusual, but he merely made adjustments so as not to lose hold of the pleasant fantasy. His hand drifted up where it lay wrapped around the taut stomach, and brushed lightly against the firm chest. His fingers found their way to their usual favorite spot and squeezed lightly, enjoying the feeling of the flesh hardening between his fingers. A moan escaped Jackson then (why did his voice sound so different? Nevermind.).

Suddenly, the scene around them shifted. No longer was he lying in their enormous bed, now they were in the dank cell. It was dark. Not because the makeshift lights were off, but because the place had been abandoned, and a prisoner left to die. Jackson was no longer smoothly muscled, taut as a bedspring. Now his naked form was wasted, and bruises and cuts covered nearly every inch of his skin. He was shivering, and Derek noticed that it was freezing cold in the cell. Jackson was turning blue. He didn't have that much time left. Deprived of food, his body was unable to repair itself. His organs were failing, dehydration left it impossible for him to form a coherent thought. Derek called out to him, but his voice made no sound, as if he were a spectator here. Looking to the side, he saw Stiles standing with him, the two as bare as when they had retired to bed.

"Where's Lydia?" asked Stiles, becoming angry.

"Where are we?" returned Derek. He gestured at the prison cell door. They walked toward it, and through it as if it were a beaded curtain. Down a damp stone corridor, through a room that had served duty as a guard room, and then up a flight of stairs and through a metal grate. Outside, a rocky path led down to a lake on one side, and up toward a steep cliff on the other.

A shock of recognition hit Derek as he realized where they were. They were right on his property, not 300 feet from where he and Stiles had stood far above searching fruitlessly for their mates. This was yet another extension of the tunnel system that ran underneath the old Hale house. Derek had sealed the outer entrances with gates, and bricked up the internal entrances when the new house was built. He didn't think anyone else knew about them.

Stiles eyes began to glow red, the spirit of the Alpha within him arousing himself, though it had little ability to transform this dream self. Derek took his hand.

"Let's go back. Jackson may have answers for us."

Without knowing quite how they did it, they faded from that place (or the place faded away from them) and the two men found themselves entwined in a lover's embrace on the tiny bed.

Stiles screamed, and hurled Derek from him, holding himself, trying to erase the feeling that would haunt his memory forever. Derek was no less horrified, and sat on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Derek! What the hell! You said no sex!" screeched Stiles.

"And I meant it. I was half dreaming. I thought you were him."

"That's no excuse!"

"You didn't seem to mind the attention."

"I was dreaming you were Lydia!"

"If Lydia could do what I was doing, then this really shouldn't have been a problem for you. But enough talk. I'm going after Jackson. Get Scott on the phone, and have him get here with a medical bag. I don't want to bring him to a regular hospital if I could help it."

Stiles looked like he had more to say, but realized the more he talked, the more he would think about it and so gave in to Derek's demands…for the second time that evening.

Derek did not bother to dress as he ran down the stairs and out the front door. He shifted instantly, racing to the cliff and the hidden path that led down to the old tunnel.

When he reached the gate, one yank from the mutated paw pulled it off it's hinges. Derek entered, knowing the place was empty but smelling all of the delicious scents of those he would soon be killing. Gods! If the wind had been right that day, they would have both caught the odor. They could have been reunited already.

Derek slammed that thought aside and proceeded to the locked cell door. Once again, Alpha strength twisted the door into a rusted pretzel, and the odor of Jackson filled his awareness, as well as the sound of his heartbeat. Very faint, very unsteady.

Derek reached down and picked him up. The tattoo, nearly invisible under the blood and grime nearly broke Derek right there, but he shoved it out of his mind. He walked quickly, trying as hard as possible to avoid jarring Jackson, Derek rushed up the stairs and began the trek back to the house. It took a long time. Scott's car was there when he arrived, and when Derek entered the house, both Scott and Allison were putting the finishing touches on a makeshift hospital bed in the living room. Allison took in their nakedness without comment, though Scott averted his eyes. Stiles, nearby, was fully dressed.

Scott checked Jackson's vitals, having become an expert on werewolf biology as a matter of course. His former employer had taught him everything he knew over the years.

Scott waved an ampoule of smelling salts under Jackson's nose, causing him to cough and weakly wave it away.

Immediately, Scott gave him some water through a straw and commanded Jackson to drink, just a little.

Jackson did so, coughing only at the very end.

Scott pulled out another bottle. This one was filled with a thick and dark red fluid.

He gave this to Jackson as well, and surprisingly Jackson came more awake and pulled the liquid through the large straw as fast as possible. When it was empty, color started to return, and they watched as some of the less severe bruises began to fade.

"More." Jackson demanded, his eyes golden yellow.

Allison turned away. "Guess you were right about needing the second rabbit."

Scott gave him a second bottle, emptied a little more slowly this time. After, he collapsed back into sleep and they knew better than to awaken him. Derek waved off Scott's attempt to clean and dress the wounds, stating he wanted to do it himself.

"Um…did you say something about a second rabbit? What does that mean?" asked Stiles.

"Werewolves need bloody meat to survive. I breed rabbits on the off chance a situation like this occurs. When needed, I humanely kill them, butcher them, and run the pieces though a blender until they are liquefied. Allison only thought we would need one."

Stiles was so horrified, he turned and left the room. Scott shook his head at Derek.

"This is the first time I ever needed to do it. I think Allison got attached to them."

"Thank you, Scott. I owe you one."

Scott waved this off.

"Where's Lydia?" he asked, looking around.

"We didn't find her. They took her and left Jackson to die like he was nothing…like he was meaningless."

"You get the scents?"

"Yeah. One of them seemed so familiar…but I couldn't place it. They were somewhat faded though. Jackson had been there a while. Stiles and I were almost on top of them. If we only knew, we could have saved them both."

"You will find her. I have two more rabbits that I was saving for her in case you found her, just give them to Jackson when he wakes up. He should be recovered enough to speak in the morning. Allison and I will take one of the guest bedrooms. Call us if you need us. And man…put on some clothes!"

They left, and soon Stiles came back in. He looked at Jackson, and the empty bed that had been prepared for her in case she was found. He paced around and around in circles.

"We have to find her!" he shouted.

"We will. If they wanted her dead, they would have left her with Jackson. I bet she is in much better condition than he is now. When he wakes, we will know that much more about what on earth is going on here. Right now, Jackson needs to recover. The sooner we let him rest, the sooner that will happen. Sleep wherever you want, I'll stay here with him."

The night dragged on slowly for both men for different reasons. When the sun came up, Jackson opened his eyes and received the second helping of 'food' after a brief run through the microwave. Stiles, Allison and Scott joined them.

Jackson looked at them, his lips slightly bloody from his meal, his body looking ten times better than yesterday.

"You found me. I thought I would never see you again." Derek stroked his lover's cheek.

"I'm here. Please, it's been a year. Tell us what happened."

"I was walking around the woods, thinking about stuff. A dart hit me from nowhere and I blacked out. When I woke up, I was with Lydia in that cell. She had been taken on her way back from work. So as not to spread her scent around, they rowed her across from the far side of the lake. They… were pretty clear about what they wanted. The things they did to us…oh God, please, I had no choice! You have to forgive me! They would have hurt her worse than me if I refused!" Jackson broke down into hysterics.

Stiles and Derek, their faces grave, waited for Jackson to go on.

"Jacks…tell us what happened." Said Derek quietly.

"Derek…you'll hate me. Both of you will. Oh my God, you should have left me to die…Derek, please don't leave me…please…if I tell you…please stay with me…"

Derek cradled Jackson's head.

"That will never happen. I swear it. No matter what you are about to tell me."

"Stiles?" called Jackson.

Stiles faced away from them. A terrible and black suspicion began to grow in his mind. He felt he knew what Jackson was about to confess. And he was not wrong.

"It's okay Jackson. Tell us. Whatever it is…I know it wasn't your fault."

Jackson shuddered some more before taking a deep breath.

"They made us…they forced us to…mate."

Derek inhaled suddenly, whatever he was expecting, it was not this.

"What? Why?"

"They wanted something. And they got it. When they took Lydia out of there…she was pregnant...she had a baby."

Both men stared at Jackson, and felt their hearts crumbling in their chests.

Stiles, at actually hearing the terrible suspicion confirmed, went berserk.

"They made you father a child! WITH MY WIFE!" He screamed aloud, and the Alpha within him burst through. He fled the house, howling.

Derek and Jackson looked after him, Jackson had never looked as miserable in his entire life.

"Derek…do you hate me? Do…you want me to leave?" Jackson was unmanned, the multiple shocks too much for his mind to process.

Derek fell to his knees, and planted his lips firmly on Jackson's mouth. Then he pointed to the tattoos.

"Derek & Jackson FOREVER. And forever it is. You think I would have gotten the tattoo if I didn't mean it?"

Jackson cried then, great shaking sobs as he clutched Derek in a crushing embrace. Derek let him get it all out of him. Jackson would recover from this ordeal, and be stronger than ever before.

Derek took Jackson up to their room, and for the first time in a year, they slept in the great bed. They did no more than hold each other close while Jackson told Derek the whole story, leaving out no detail, and afterward both slept more deeply and peacefully than in the previous twelve months together.

Stiles had returned when Derek got up the next morning, leaving Jackson to finish recuperating. Stiles was pale and quiet. He wore only boxers, and his body was covered in blood. He had hunted last night, but instead of eating had merely torn the stag into hundreds of pieces while he vented his fury.

"The boy was born three months ago. I understand they were going to try for another one, when the ringleader decided to close up shop. Lydia and child were removed by helicopter, and Jackson left to die."

"Who is this ringleader?" asked Stiles in a dead voice.

"My cousin, Timothy Hale. Peter's son."

Stiles took this in without comment.

"Nothing to say?" asked Derek.

"No, now that I have the name of the one to kill. I don't care about anything else.

"You and Jackson threw those bombs at Peter, allowing me to kill him. Lydia was his last victim. He had us targeted for revenge. Jackson said that at first he thought this meant revenge for Peter's death. Apparently it goes deeper."

"Deeper? Than revenge?"

"Peter went insane during the six years of his recovery. He blamed the Argents for the fire, and then he blamed me for my involvement with Kate. The trauma shattered any bonds he felt he had with anyone in his family, including his own son. Although Peter rescued Tim from the fire, it was shortly after that he became brutal and sadistic, letting Tim know in no uncertain terms, that he was a failure that should never have been born. So Tim's real revenge is…to make those bonds that he lost, those things that connect us to each other…be destroyed. In one move, he breaks up both of our relationships, turns all of us into enemies, and has a trophy child to show for it. He hopes that we will separate, perhaps to pick us off one by one. He also wants to kill me to obtain my Alpha rights. He would settle for yours, however."

"You know, our lives were nearly destroyed the last two times someone came after us for revenge. First Peter Hale, then Mark Argent. And now it's happening again."

Stiles looked up at Derek, an expression he had never worn before on his face.

"Now, I want revenge. I am going to teach that prick the true meaning of the word. It is going to be so painful, that any who hear about it will think twice before messing with me again. I don't care how many long lost brothers, uncles or whatever that he has. He is going down, and it is going to be fucking legendary."

"You have all the help I can give you. I feel the same way. I had no idea Tim survived after all these years. There was no reason for this…" Derek couldn't finish.

"Today, I'm going to call Danny. He is going to use those computer skills of his to help us track these guys down."

Derek nodded; that was definitely a start.

Jackson came down the stairs then, looking nearly recovered. Derek smiled at him, while Stiles got up and left the room.

Jackson looked after him, extremely upset.

"He hates me. I knew it. Doesn't he know they would have tortured her if I hadn't agreed? And even then I waited for her to…let me."

"He doesn't hate you, Jackson, but right now you are a like a symbol of failure to him as both Lydia's husband and protector. He can't bear to look at you because it reminds him of her pain. When she is back with us…he will get over it. None of this was your fault."

"I keep thinking about that baby. They let us raise him in the cell. Feed him, change him. In a bizarre way, it was like we were a family. It made those last three months a little more bearable. But all I could think about was you…and the pain you must be going through. To not know for so long, to suspect the worst…"

"Jackson, I have a confession. About how we found you. Allison came up with the idea that two Alphas being close together can sometimes display new abilities…like how we found you in our dreams."

Jackson listened to the whole story, amazed that such an ability existed, and that Stiles had agreed to the procedure. He looked down on hearing about the compromising position the two men were in when they awoke. Derek looked away, wondering how he would take the news.

"You did it for me. Let's just…put all that behind us. I'll completely forgive you if you manage to get some part of Timothy away from Stiles so that I can rip it to pieces."

Derek smiled at that.

"I'll try, but I can't promise anything. I never heard him sound like that before. I keep remembering that ADHD kid I used to know, that naïve and funny and irritating boy who became so much more than that. I regret that it's come to this. Hopefully when Lydia gets back…" He left the thought unfinished.

And because it had been too long, Jackson led Derek back up the stairs and pulled him into the great bed.

"I am sooo going to make you forget that night with Stiles." He breathed huskily.

"I don't know…" Derek teased. "He was a little ball of fire when he got started. You are going to have to really impress me."

Jackson succeeded, with flying colors.