Stiles fell asleep, or passed out, relatively quickly after Lydia had done her mediocre first aid on him, but the sleep was patchy and dreamless. He would wake feeling like someone had shoved his arms into a fire, and when that faded, he would fall back asleep, only to wake up to throbbing, burning pain in his lower thigh.

These were the times when Stiles wished he had been turned into a werewolf as well, because not only would he be able to heal, but he would also tear out Heather and Raynes' throat with his teeth.

The werewolves only came back to give them bathroom breaks or food or water, and if it wasn't that, then they came down to...ask questions, which was a euphemism for threaten or torture. They hadn't done that last one in a while, which he was grateful for, though he knew it was the calm before the storm.

Despite all the pain that wracked his body, Stiles was happy that Lydia was safe...for now. He would let them tear him piece by piece before he would let them torture her, and that thought surprised even him - but he stood by it with all his heart. Lydia hardly noticed him since third grade, but somehow, he could never get over her intelligence and her smile and her awesome hair and he truly, sincerely loved everything about her, unrequited or not.

Currently, Lydia was sitting on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest, staring at the cement wall across from her. Her eyes weren't wide or teary or crazed. In fact, if Stiles hadn't known any better, he would have thought that she was just sorting out some kind of mathematical equation in her head.

He sighed. "Damn, I've never wanted a burger so bad in my life."

Lydia snapped out of her daze, as if noticing him for the first time. When her eyes landed on him, her face immediately went darker. Stiles saw something in her eyes.

Was that...?

"Oh come on, Lydia, don't tell me you're going into that whole survivor's guilt trance thing."

Lydia flushed a little, but she didn't look away. "It's not survivor's guilt until somebody dies."

"Yeah, well, don't feel guilty at all, alright? I've seen that look before, and I don't need it right now," Stiles said, a little harsher than he had intended.

Heather mentioning his mother had really twisted something inside of Stiles that was worse than the physical pain. He had always thought to himself that his mother was a precious memory stored in the back of his mind, like that one special song that you don't want to play too many times in case it becomes just any other song.

In his mind, she was still alive and vibrant.

When somebody else mentioned her, she was the thin, pale creature dying in a hospital bed.

Stiles had thought that he had seen the same look in Lydia's eyes that his Dad had worn after his mother died, but then he realized that it was his own guilt. His look reflected right back at him.

Lydia licked her lips and looked about to reply, but their hearts plummeted when the door to their room was opened once again. Lydia uncurled her legs from herself quickly, as if that would put her in a less vulnerable position.

Jaymie walked through the door and two fully transformed wolves flanked her, teeth and eyes gleaming. One of them was Raynes, but the other was some kind of body builder. Jaymie was holding a candle that she brought in when it started to get dark outside and they needed another light source. She was also smoking a cigarette as she sat down in the wheelchair and placed the candle on the floor by her feet. The wolves made no movement, and they all just sat there for a while until Jaymie's gaze gave Stiles' the creeps more than the low growls of the wolves.

And then the wolves advanced - one towards Stiles and the other towards Lydia. Raynes pulled Lydia to her feet and pushed her against the wall beside Stiles.

Lydia didn't make a sound besides a grunt when she hit the wall. The wolf held her by the throat, but not tightly.

The other wolf that advanced towards Stiles pulled him up too until he was forced to wobble on one leg and feel burning waves of pain through his back.

Jaymie stood up, and walked towards them, the cigarette still in her hand. "We've decided to speed things up a bit. Got some stuff going on upstairs and we don't have time to waste, so let's get to it, shall we?"

And then Jaymie put out the cigarette by jamming it into the skin right beneath Lydia's collarbone. Lydia tried to scream but it was cut off by the tightening of the wolf's hand. Stiles struggled too, but there's not much to do when you're pinned against the wall.

Jaymie got to work, chaining the two teenagers' arms to the rings that stuck out of the walls. Stiles had never noticed them there before, but if his throat was free, he would groan. Being chained up sucked, but being chained up with wrists burnt to a crisp was a whole other ball game.

For the first time after discovering that he was locked in this asylum, Stiles was genuinely scared and hopeless.

"We can do a whole bunch of things without killing you two," Jaymie explained."And so, save us the work and tell us where Derek Hale and Scott McCall are located."

Stiles heart jolted in his chest. They had never mentioned Scott until now and now he knew it was imperative that neither he nor Lydia give anything away. He'd rather die than give his best friend away.

They didn't answer. Jaymie clucked her tongue. "Kill the boy first, the girl might crack from fear. Kill the girl first, the boy will be angry and won't crack at all. Threaten the girl, the boy might crack. So many options..."

Jaymie was having way too much fun with this and it pissed Stiles off severely, but he didn't want to aggravate the situation so he still kept quiet, and he really hoped Lydia would do the same. Despite their arms being chained to the wall, Stiles' arm brushed against Lydia's and he could feel her shaking.

"What do you think, Stiles?" Jaymie spat.

As if she was expecting an answer, Jaymie glared at Stiles when he stayed quiet. "Alright, we'll start with you, because frankly, I'd just like to be rid of you no matter what my sister says, so-"

Jaymie slowly pulled something from her back pocket. A small vial and a needle. She caught Stiles staring at it and grinned. "Crazy concoction, this. Made it myself. There's a whole bunch of stuff in here that will hit every part of the brain that's important enough. Let's just say, you'll be going crazy in no time, kid."

And so, slowly and menacingly, Jaymie stuck the needle in to Stiles' neck with only a minor struggle, and he felt a warm liquid run through his veins, fear taking hold of every muscle.

The wolves had been surprisingly professional when they left. They placed a cell phone on the bed, let Lydia know that they had reprogrammed it to only be able to call one number, and that when Stiles and Lydia were ready to talk, they just needed to press pound.

They had unchained Lydia in order to allow her to complete those actions, but they left Stiles chained up with some kind of poison running through him.

The fact that they had left a cell phone like Lydia would most definitely end up calling them sent worry through her.

What had they injected in Stiles that left them so confident he would talk?

She sat on the bed, greasy hair hanging in her face as she looked down at the crappy phone, abortively pressing buttons. She was smart, but she didn't know much about technology. Just the basics. Whatever the wolves had done to the small flip phone was not going to be undone - at least not by her hands.

She looked up at Stiles. Nothing seemed to be happening to him yet, just a thin sheen of sweat starting to appear on his pale face. He wasn't looking at her. In fact, his eyes were shut tightly, his head resting against the wall, probably because he had metal cuffs irritating the blistered skin on his arms and he was being forced to stand gingerly on his injured leg.

Lydia didn't want to look at him or talk to him or have to recognize his presence in any way, because it was true what he said. There was a cold stone of guilt weighing heavily in her stomach, because besides a bit of bruising on her neck and a small burn on her collarbone, she was fine. Stiles was taking everything from these bastards, and if she was completely honest with herself, she didn't know how to deal with that. What was she supposed to say to him? How could he want her to just sit there and watch it happen? She felt like she was going to explode, what with Jackson and the trauma she went through with Peter Hale and now being kidnapped by these werewolves?

Why? Why me?

"Lydia," Stiles said, his voice hoarse. "Lydia, did you try to restart the phone?"

Lydia looked up at him again hesitantly. "You really think that will work?"

Stiles shook his head slightly. "Well, what exactly did they say they did to it? I was kind of...distracted."

Lydia swallowed. "They...um, they said that they reprogrammed it so that we can only call one number. And that if we're ready to talk, we just have to press the pound button."

"And you've tried calling Scott? Or Allison? Just in case?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and stood up, crossing her arms. "This is 2013, Stiles. You really think I've memorized anyone's number? I've got a couple thousand numbers in my phone."

Stiles smiled a little bit, despite being chained to a wall. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Give it to me, I'll try my Dad."

Lydia made her way over to him, walking with her usual bounce and flawless posture. She looked him up and down for a moment, because she had absolutely no idea how Stiles was going to hold a phone without hurting himself. And then she paused and looked him in the eye. "I thought your Dad didn't know about all the weird stuff happening around here?"

Stiles looked like he was considering this for a moment, but then he flinched suddenly, balling his hands into fists. He spoke, strained but determined. "I can feel this poison crap starting to do its thing, so I think I'll take my chances explaining to him that my best friend's a werewolf. I am not dying today."

Stiles flexed one of his hands and Lydia reluctantly placed the phone in it. He managed to open the phone and start pressing in numbers with one hand, but he was gritting his teeth as his burnt wrist rubbed against the metal cuff. The weak bandages wrapped around his arms must have been doing nothing to keep the pain at bay, and the blood still managed to soak through as well.

Lydia swallowed, trying to keep her rising anxiety away.

When he had typed in the number, he nodded his head towards Lydia insistently, as the chains wouldn't allow him to press the phone to his ear. Lydia quickly took the phone and pressed it to her ear, but it didn't even ring. A robotic woman spoke in her ear, pretty much telling her that this option wasn't allowed.

Stiles was staring at her with wide, hopeful eyes, but she just shook her head ruefully and shut the phone. She watched the hope drain from Stiles' face and then he groaned and rested his head against the wall again. He couldn't sit down unless he wanted his shoulders in a very uncomfortable position, but Lydia guessed that the wound on his leg must be killing him. He probably wouldn't last standing up much longer.

"How does that feel?" Stiles asked when he raised his head again, nodding towards the small circular burn mark under her collarbone.

Lydia's mouth fell open a little bit, and she felt the corner of her mouth twitching like she wanted to smile. "Seriously?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Humor me."

"It's fine, Stiles."

"That's good," Stiles replied. Lydia could swear that his speech was starting to slur.

She found that she didn't really want to move from her spot, standing only a foot or two away from him. She watched as Stiles struggled with whatever was going through his mind. What had Jaymie said? There's a whole bunch of stuff in here that will hit every part of the brain that's important enough.

Stiles' face was turning paper white. He opened his eyes, but squeezed them shut again, over and over again like he was seeing something he didn't want to see. And then he let out some weird giggling sound, and Lydia's heart sped up faster because that didn't sound normal at all. Almost hysterical.

"Lydia."

It took awhile for Lydia to respond, as the pallor in Stiles' face was becoming frightening, but she shook herself out of her stupor and looked him in the eye.

It was as if he was looking through her, and from her experience with Stiles Stilinski, Lydia figured that Stiles would never choose not to look at her. It looked as if he was seeing something that wasn't there, floating behind Lydia. His eyes came in and out of focus.

"Stiles?"

"Lydia, get these fucking chains off me."

His voice shook with some deep rooted fear that Lydia had never seen in Stiles before. Lydia knew that she couldn't get the chains off, that she would have to stand here and watch this...this thing inside Stiles take its toll. She was useless.

But she moved to the ring in the wall that Stiles' right hand chain was attached to, and she pulled. Grunting and trying to gather every sliver of strength she possessed, she pulled. But her strength wasn't enough.

Stiles was pulling now too, ramming his bloody wrists against the cuffs in the hopes that the chains would rip free from the wall.

"Stiles! Stop it!" Lydia yelled in alarm and she stopped pulling and ran to face Stiles again. He was still struggling against the chains, not caring about the fresh blood that he was creating on his arms, sweating profusely. His eyes were wild and glassy, and Lydia had the awful feeling that his mind wasn't here in the cell with her anymore.

She was no longer thinking clearly. Her mind wandered to a different place, and she wasn't crying or screaming or panicking. She couldn't let him destroy his wrists until he bled out and so she pushed him against the wall by the shoulders, determined and pushing back the fear that was crawling up her throat.

"Stiles, stop it! You'll hurt yourself!" Lydia screamed. It was a stupid thing to say, because Stiles wasn't just hurting already, he was suffering.

And then suddenly, Stiles was seeing her again. His eyes were wide and fearful but they were looking straight into hers as she leaned all her weight against his shoulders.

"Get off," he said, and his voice sent chills down her spine because it was so calm and cold and empty and it didn't match his eyes. She had no choice but to back off from him because now she was scared.

She backed away slowly, but they never broke eye contact. Stiles stared at her and, amazingly, his gaze looked apologetic. And then he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold concrete floor, arms chained above him now.

"Stiles?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

But he didn't answer. He just stared as something she couldn't see tore him apart from the inside.