A/N: Please keep in mind while reading this chapter that I am not a doctor, I have no training or real experience in the medical field, I am not well versed in actual trauma situations and am simply being creative here. If something is inaccurate I apologize but please take this at face value, it's just a story and the situations I have created are simply to further the story.

Thanks, enjoy!

"…-ey! I need…-ic over here!"

…

"…-re severe injuries… -urprised he's alive…"

…

"…name? Age?..."

…

Steady beeping fills the dead air. Is he dead? No, he hurts. He'll wake up and it'll start all over again soon.

"…-ho is this kid? His fingertips are burnt off and I don't think I can get dental records until his mouth heals a bit more to get proper x-rays. His face is swollen and scarred I don't know if I'll be able to get any matches on the facial recognition software until it's gone down." A sigh, "What the hell happened to this kid? He doesn't look much older than fifteen, maybe sixteen."

"Other drivers saw him go off the road and we pulled him from a small wreck."

"From the looks of these injuries and the full body scans I've seen, some of these bone breaks are older and some are freshly healed along with some new breaks mainly in the ribs and hands. This amount of damage does not match that of a car crash though. This kid looks like he went through absolute torture. I don't know how he survived this much damage. There was internal bleeding, ruptured organs, severe contusions covering 98% of his body. It seems the least amount of damage was done to his head."

"We've been talking with some of our psychologists since we brought him in because of his age and condition and we think that maybe the lesser damage to the head was intentional. Generally, in severe trauma cases, if what's needed is information they'll leave the hostage able to talk and think properly to persuade them to talk coherently and give up the most amount of information before they kill them. But this is just a kid! What does a kid know that could possibly require this amount of damage and for this long?"

"We won't know until he wakes up. Although, so far, he hasn't shown any signs of waking up."

"I think that might actually be a good thing. His body needs time to heal."

"His mind needs time to heal. How damaged do you think this kid is going to be when he wakes up?"

"If he wakes up? Probably irreparably."

He slowly comes to, feeling like his head is stuffed with cotton and his body is completely disconnected. It feels like he's just a floating head except less floaty and more rested on a cloud. But he can't lift his head. He can't sit up. This method of torture is new and he's not sure if it's better or worse than the previous methods of all pain all the time.

The steady beeping that had filled the air suddenly picks up in rhythm and there's an influx of sound. Voices and rushed footsteps, clothes moving and people bumping into each other.

"Hey, can you hear me? If you can hear me I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that for me?"

The questions have already started. He doesn't respond. What's the point? They're just going to kill him anyways, he doesn't have to answer.

"Please, I need you to open your eyes."

The voice is gentle and he doesn't recognize it. This new approach is a little scarier than what he's used to. Harsh, biting, violent pain he can handle. Gentle, calm, soft words he doesn't know how to deal with.

He swallows, can't help the nervous movement and there's a sigh of relief. Guessing he doesn't really have anything to lose he opens his eyes and catches a glimpse of people in his peripherals before the blinding light has him squeezing his eyes shut again.

"Shut off the lights." Someone says in a hushed whisper.

The red fire behind his eyelid dims to darkness and once he's sure that nothing's going to blind him he opens his eyes again. There's only blackness in his left eye but in his foggy right eye he can now make people out of the shapes around him. They look worried, their eyebrows furrowed and mouths pinched. There's three of them, two look like male doctors, one looks like a female nurse.

"Hey, can you hear me?"

He nods.

"Can I ask you some questions?"

He shakes his head, his heart monitor going crazy as fear pours through him. He can't go through questioning, don't ask him questions, please!

"Ok, calm down, we won't ask you anything. We'll phrase everything and you can just tell us if we're right or wrong. You're safe here."

It takes a long minute for the panic to subside as he registers the words. They're not going to demand anything? They aren't going to hurt him if he doesn't answer?

Eventually he nods and the doctor starts with, "Ok, you're fifteen years old."

No.

"You are sixteen years old."

Yes.

"You can talk."

A slow nod.

"Ok. Now all we need is your name."

Hesitation.

Who is he? He doesn't have a name. Does he have a name? He used to. He used to say it all the time. He's broken, he's hurt, he's defiant… he's…

"Stiles…Stilinski." His raspy throat whispers before he closes his eyes again and drifts back off to a place without pain.

"…me see my son! I need to see him! It's been seven months since I've seen him. I need to see him, please!"

"Sir, I need you to calm down. I need to see proof of identification for both you and your son before I can let you anywhere near that kid. Please, understand that this is a very delicate situation and needs to be handled with the utmost care."

"What the hell are you talking about? That kid, in there, is my son, Mieczysław Stilinski, he goes by Stiles. He is 16 years old, 5'8", 147 pounds, and goes to Beacon Hills High School. Here's my driver's license, proof of insurance, hell, my discount card to the deli on Birch Street."

"Sir, I know you're worried and want to see your son but I need to explain the situation first. Let's take your identification to the front desk so I can confirm everything and then we can check on your son, ok? Please, just, trust me, as a doctor, you need to know what we know before you go in there. Nothing can prepare you for this."

"You're talking as if he's dead!"

"Which he is not, but it's a close thing."

There's a choking noise and Stiles can hardly believe what he's hearing. It's his father. His father's voice. A sound he never thought he'd hear again. He can hear them getting farther away and he wants to call them back but from what he'd heard of their conversation his dad really needs to brace himself for the damaged thing he's going to see instead of the son he expects to see.

It takes a good twenty minutes, he's counting the seconds and uses his fingers and toes for the minutes, before they come back within earshot, which, for Stiles now, is a relatively long way away.

"…have to understand that the son you knew is not the son that is in that room. Yes, he is by birth the same person, however, what he went through has changed him both physically and most likely mentally as well."

"I don't understand what you mean. My son is my son, no matter what."

"Yes, and you need to remember that at all times. But he is not the same person by a long shot. You know how war can change people? That's basically what Stiles has gone through, except far worse than any wounded warrior I have ever seen. What your son went through was practically seven months of pure torture. I don't have the time to go over everything that happened to him but to narrow it down, from the extensive x-rays we've done it looks as if every single bone in his body has been broken at least once. Some bones, mostly his ribs and in hands, have been broken two or three times. It took days to put all of his bones back together again. Only his spine and his skull have avoided major injuries.

"98% of his body is also covered in scars and healing contusions and lacerations. A lot of these are superficial, however, there were also deeper, more severe issues. He will never see out of his left eye and his right eye will probably never have full sight. His left hand is completely immobile and his right, although it does have some function, will never have full function. We managed to talk to him very briefly earlier today and when he tried to talk it was, for lack of a better word, damaged. We took a closer look and his vocal cords are damaged to the point it's irreparable, he will likely never be able to speak above a whisper."

"Hold on, doc, please, just…" his dad sounds so broken.

Stiles is afraid suddenly, not for himself, but for his father. What if he can't handle having such a damaged son? What if he'll never be able to look at him or even talk to him again? Will he throw him away?

His father takes a deep breath, and takes a full minute of silence.

"First, you're going to finish giving me the whole rundown on my son's condition, then you're going to tell me absolutely everything you know on what happened." His father demands, voice hard but with a wobble that Stiles can picture as tears in his eyes and a tightening of his throat as he tries not to cry.

"Yes sir, I'm afraid I don't know much about the actual investigation going on, you'll have to speak with the local police for that. However, I can give you the names of the best psychologists and physical therapists in the state."

"We're not from this state. We're two state over."

"In that case I can still refer you to some of the best people I know in these fields and I can express the urgency required for this case. I'm sure that they'll be willing to make a house visit for a case this severe."

"Thanks, now, for the rest of the damage." The last word comes out strangled and Stiles wishes he could comfort his father even though he's the cause of the pain.

"There wasn't too much internal damage, although, there were some ruptured organs, torn muscles and damage done over time to the organs. His kidneys are severely bruised and he was also severely dehydrated. He had a bruised spleen and tears to his intestines. His stomach is incredibly small, probably from severe malnutrition, and we had to remove his appendix completely. His liver had a small rupture and was quite bruised but it should heal fairly quickly.

"There's a lot of muscle atrophy, he also has permanent scarring on his left side, probably from repeatedly being laid on his side. His wrists, ankles, arms, legs, neck, and area around the mouth all have scarring from restraints.

"One thing I did notice, though, was that his immune system seems to be functioning just fine. Despite all the injuries and open wounds and obvious lack of a healthy environment or nutrition he has no signs of infection and his blood work came back negative for any viruses or bacteria meaning he hasn't been sick at all in the time he's been held captive. He seems to be exceptionally strong willed as well. During the talk with the hospital's psychologists they theorized that the most probable reason for his being kidnapped and tortured was for information. They avoided the head and spine and the vocal cords are a recent injury meaning they wanting him coherent and able to talk. This is a tough thing to ask but it needs answering, can you, as his father, think of anything important enough that your son might know that would make him worth kidnapping and holding for so long?"

There's a strangled sound from his father and a spark of pain ignites in his chest. It's not physical though, it's emotional. Guilt.

A/N: I would like to repeat once more that I know that several things are inaccurate, please just bear with me for the sake of the story. Peace out.

~hearts~