When Stiles comes round again, he can feel that he's being watched. It's hard but he finally manages to lift his head enough to glance around and there he finds them – Ethan and Aiden are sat at a table a few feet away, playing a card game.

He knows that they know he's awake, they would have heard the second he stirred by a change in breathing and his heart beat would have increased. But that still doesn't stop Stiles from trying to act like he's actually invisible; hoping they forget him so that he won't get electrocuted, scratched or whatever else these nut-jobs can think up.

"Hello Stiles" one of them says, just loud enough to hear.

"Ethan, we don't have to be nice to him" Aiden scoffs and Ethan stands, walking over to Stiles and taking his face in a clawed hand; squishing his cheeks.

"He's still cute, how can you be mean to that face?"

Stiles jerks his head back "Don't touch me" he snaps and Ethan's face falls.

"Okay," he frowns "No more playing nice"

And the next think Stiles knows, there's a fist connecting with his jaw. He hisses through his teeth and lets the blood run out the corner of his mouth, down his chin and then it drips to the floor.

"Would you guys stop hitting me?" he growls "it's really rude. You know what else is rude? Kidnapping!"

"We didn't kidnap you" Aiden says, coming over to walk in a loose circle around his body while he draws his claws on Stiles' stomach as he goes, leaving behind five scratches that have just broke the surface of the skin, just enough to make him bleed. "We borrowed you without intent of return"

"You can't just borrow people" he sighs "seriously, that's not how shit goes"

"Clearly, we can just borrow people." Ethan rolls his eyes dramatically.

"Jesus, Derek is going to kill you guys," Stiles chuckles darkly.

A grin slides into place on Aiden's face and he comes to stand in front of Stiles, his fangs out and he laughs loudly. "Didn't anyone tell you?" he smirks.

And Stiles feels his stomach drop "Tell me what exactly?"

"He's dead" Aiden laughs again "Kali killed him when he ran after her,"

Stiles feels sick. Derek can't be dead – he just can't. He's grumpy, he frowns too much and sometimes he's a bit of a jerk but dammit, he's Stiles' grumpy, frown-y jerk. He pushes down the urge to vomit, the urge to cry. He can't do this now. He's got a lifetime to mourn the man that he hates but loves all at the same time but at this point in time – he's being held captive by a group of crazy people who want him dead. But he trusts in his pack. He knows that even is Derek is gone, they'll never stop looking. They'll never stop wanting him safe, because that's what their Alpha would have wanted too. So no, Stiles doesn't cry, he doesn't puke. Instead he looks blankly back at the twin and says;

"I don't believe you" Stiles is surprised at how strong his voice sounds "I know him, he would keep going until I was back safe. He's stubborn and he doesn't give up."

"Believe what you want" Aiden shrugs, turning to go back to the table where he kicks his feet up.

"I will, I know he's not dead" he's going to keep telling himself that until he's home again or dead because he can't. He needs something to hold onto – cling onto for dear-life. "I know that him and everyone else is coming for me"

Ethan snorts "What, are you expecting some big heroic rescue?" Stiles glares at him, eyes narrowing. "Sorry to say that there can't really be a rescue when there isn't anyone to find because sadly, you're going to be dead"

Before Stiles can reply again, he's being punched again. He can feel the blood start to pour from his nose, streaming down his chin making it difficult to breath.

"Ethan, Deucalion said we shouldn't hit him..." Aiden deadpans, examining his hands.

"Oh yeah"

A vicious smile came across Ethan's face; one that Stiles hadn't thought would ever be there. He walks away from Stiles' hanging body, leaving him to try and spit out the blood filling his mouth, but he's back almost instantly, carrying the cattle rod that Ennis had previously used.

"See, Deucalion says that hitting causes blood loss so he tells us to use electricity. Apparently, it takes longer to cause permanent damage... that means, we get to play longer" he presses the rod to Stiles' ribs; his body jerking and a whimper slipping through his lips. "Squeal little piggy"

"I'm too skinny to be a pig" he says through his teeth.

"I don't know... In a pack full of Werewolves; even by human standards, you're the runt of the litter" he replies "Really, what are you too them?"

"I've said this before–" he coughs and spits more blood to the floor "–I'm an Abominable fucking Snowman!"

Aiden snorts loudly and before Stiles can hear whatever snide remark comes after that; the rod is pressing into his neck. He releases a gurgle as his body convulses violently and his mind goes black.

He's not sure how many days have come and gone. His ears go deaf to the words spoken around him, body unfeeling from the sheer amount pain inflicted and his eyes look but they stop seeing. Stiles feels numb. He stopped using words after blacking out for the fourth or fifth time, instead choosing to nod or shake his head.

He's waiting. Waiting for his friends to bust down the door and literally rip Deucalion's head off because it's what he deserves. He may not be able to see, but that man is not blind when it comes to sticking the cattle rod against Stiles' body; he never misses his target as he presses it against his neck, ribs, arms and back. The blood on his face dried a long time ago.

Stiles hasn't see Ethan and Aiden since that first session. He hopes that his Pack have found them... taken revenge on Stiles' behalf because he's not currently available. A sick, twisted part of his brain hoped that they suffered, just as he is, but that thought brings nausea and guilt because he never wishes this on anyone – even if they are the cause. This is hell.

He'd once read that the dictionary definition of Torture as 'the act of inflicting excruciating pain, as punishment, revenge, or as a means of getting information or for sheer cruelty'. He'd read and comprehended that.

But only now did Stiles really understand what it meant. He hurt. It was agony; feeling the metal dig into the skin on his wrists, bruising them and making them bleed. The multitude of circular burn marks where the cattle rod had been pressed on his skin for too long. He now knew what true pain was. It wasn't falling over and breaking a bone. It wasn't stubbing your toe or being hit in the face with a ball you'd failed to catch.

True pain wasn't just pain. It was fear. The fear that every time the door opens, he knows what's coming, he knows that he's destined to be a guinea pig for whatever they've decided to do today. Fear is worse than pain for the simple reason that there is no limit to the imagination.

And Stiles' imagination always had been known to run wild.

This is exactly why he's ignoring the shouting just beyond the door. He's ignoring the growls and the snarls and the sound of fighting.

He ignores it because his brain is cruel and it feeds him hallucinations. It gives him visions of Derek and Scott, of his Mom and Dad. It shows him every single wrong choice he's made, every death he's caused. He ignores it because his mind is his biggest enemy.

His biggest fear