A/N: Sorry it's been a while. Things have been crazy. I'll try and post a little more often if I can.

Enjoy!

"I think it's time we start addressing some of the main concerns here, Stiles." Dr. O'Heare says about five minutes into their next session and Stiles tenses up.

Dr. O'Heare nods at the reaction and makes a small, soothing gesture with his hands. "Yes, I know, it's not going to be the most pleasant of things, but so far I've been taking it slowly and it's paid off rather nicely. You've begun talking more, you'll actually turn towards someone when they're speaking and you're progressing nicely in your physical therapy. But it's time to start in on the real problem, your memories.

"You know those coping mechanisms we've been talking about? You're going to be using them from now on during the sessions as we begin to talk about your memories. This is an important step in the healing process and I've been putting it off until I thought that your body could handle it if you went into an episode. Dr. Deaton has been by to speak with you, yes?"

Stiles glares at the man which is answer enough for him.

"Stiles, it's not going to be easy, but these things rarely are. You need to work with me to help yourself. We're not going to just dive on in, we're going to start small. We're going to start with you thinking back to those seven months, but I don't want you to think of the hard things, I want you to think of the easy things, things that don't hurt to remember. Were there moments during your time there that were easier to deal with?"

Stiles doesn't want to think about it. Those seven months of pain and anguish, of guilt and of being less than, of being nothing, of being broken and beaten and broken again.

"Stiles, don't think of the hard parts, only the easier ones. I want you to use your breathing techniques and your word association, can you do that? You don't have to use full sentences, just one word at a time or even a couple of words if you can manage it."

Stiles takes deep breaths in through his nose and exhales through his mouth, his right-hand fidgeting nervously with his motionless left-hand in his lap.

"Cold, alone, bread, chicken, water, counting, listening, darkness, sleeping, thinking, emotions, lonely…"

Stiles continues in halting non-sentences. Each word brings back a memory, then another one, but he avoids the memories that these simpler memories bring, the memories that lead to hurt and torture of having no name and of the voices that only bring pain.

"You're doing very well, Stiles. Now, I want you to string some words together into a sentence. You were cold, where? You were given bread, when? You were counting, what?"

"I was in a cold room. On the floor. I was given bread in the room after the day. I would count everything, seconds, minutes, hours, sheep, random numbers, anything to keep from hurting." Stiles flinches and goes through another round of breathing before he can continue. "I couldn't see, blindfolded, so I listened. To everything. I can hear conversations from very far away. Except in the room. It was always quiet. And dark. I was laid on my left side, hands behind my back, wrists tied to ankles. Thighs tied together. I never had any clothes. I had a gag unless…they asked…"

Stiles shudders and breathes deeply, looking at his doctor and runs his fingers along the embroidery in the floral pillow, reminding himself of where he is.

"Good Stiles, you're doing very, very well. Keep going as much as you can. If you need to stop just say so."

Stiles nods and even though he wants to stop he thinks of his father in the next room, of Derek and Scott and he needs to keep going.

"They ask things, I try not to answer. I try, but I can't. I-…" Stiles chokes on his words. He betrayed his pack, the people he loves most.

"Stiles, eyes on me." Dr. O'Heare's voice is strong and has Stiles looking back at him, his breathing getting ragged. "You're doing so good, now I'm going to ask and you don't have to answer, but I want you to try, ok?"

Stiles takes deep breaths and is thankful that Dr. O'Heare waits for him because he's feeling dangerously close to crying which is usually quickly followed by panic attacks. The doctor waits until he has his breathing under control again before continuing.

"Do they ask about you?"

Stiles nods.

"I want you to use your words, ok?"

"Ok."

"Did they ask about your family?"

"Yes, my dad and how my m-mom died."

"Good, ok. Did they ask about Beacon Hills?"

"Sometimes, they wanted to know about the Nemeton and how it draws people in, if I knew anything about it."

Dr. O'Heare nods. "Ok, did you have an answer?"

Stiles sucks in a breath, thinking of the times when he refused and of the times he lied.

"I-I…I tried, I didn't mean to…they…it hurt and I lied but they knew and the pack…I…"

Stiles feels like he's drowning in guilt and pain. He forgets to breathe and then he's stuck, completely stuck inside of himself, inside of his head, transported back to all the times he had to answer, when not answering would have cost him his life. There was always so much pain, everything hurts.

Stiles gasps and his mind is suddenly clear and he can feel his body where it's laid out on the floor and he can barely make out the fan on the ceiling through his damaged eye.

"Stiles, are you with me? Stiles, I need you to listen to me and breathe with me."

Stiles nods, his weak hand gripping someone's shirt hard enough that he feels like his bones are going to rebreak.

"Good. Stiles, do you know where you are?"

He's in his house, he's at home. His father is in the next room. So, he nods.

"Excellent, you're doing well, keep breathing. Do you know what day it is?"

"Th-Thursday." He whistles out.

"Very good. Can you tell me your full name?"

Stiles blanks.

"Stiles, I need you to say your real name."

"M…M-M…"

He can't do it.

"Yes, you can, you can do it. It is yours. It is who you are. Say your name."

And suddenly Stiles is saying, "Mieczysław Stilinski. I go by Stiles. What did you do?"

Dr. O'Heare smiles and holds up a finger. At the tip of his finger is a long, needle-like protrusion that's shooting through his skin.

"Alan Deaton called for me specifically for this case. A few others were chosen as well but he knew your father would most likely pick me. My great grandmother was friends with a Dryad. I inherited some of her magical abilities that it gave her. I injected some of my magic into your system and used it to calm you down before you hurt yourself or lost yourself in the past. I've seen it happen a few times. This is an emergency only measure and I will be speaking with your father about this in case your magic interferes with mine. I didn't give you much, but you have a strong spark inside of you so it's best to be safe and keep an eye out for any backlash."

Dr. O'Heare rights Stiles and gets him back to his chair before stepping back and smiling widely.

"Stiles, you have done a marvelous job and, despite the little hiccup there at the end, I definitely think that soon you'll be able to talk more strongly about these memories without too much pain. I predict that within the next year you'll be laughing and smiling again!"

Stiles doesn't believe him even a little bit but doesn't say anything as the doctor says his goodbyes to him and goes to discuss things with his father.

For the next week he doesn't speak. He can't. It's like he's been drawn back into the pain and anguish he'd escaped barely four months prior. The pack is obviously worried as they all come to visit him from time to time but his father is understanding and allows him the time he needs.

When Deaton had come by Stiles had nodded his agreeance but had refused to talk, so that first week was full of silent lessons and inward focusing. Breathing techniques also seem to be a thing with all of the doctors coming to see him as Deaton starts him up on those immediately at the start of every lesson.

It's soothing so he doesn't question it.

One day, after a physically taxing day with Dr. Turner, Scott surprises him by turning up looking cheery and not cautious and a little like a kicked puppy, like he usually is whenever he visits.

"Dude, I heard you've been taking lessons with Deaton on how to use your Spark. Dude, that's so awesome! Ever since that time with the mountain ash back at Jungle when Jackson was a douchy lizard I knew you were totally going to be the Harry Potter in our group."

Stiles looks at him and says, "Hermione. You're Neville."

And Scott busts out laughing and Stiles feels shocked at how easily he'd been able to say it. It was like a reflex, a knee jerk reaction to the familiar companionship with Scott. And it felt good. So good. Stiles takes a moment to really look at Scott, who's close enough to see and sees how much he's grown over the past year. His hair, which used to be floppy and unruly, was now buzzed on the sides and styled on top making him look far more mature than he used to before. There's confidence in his every movement and his smile is wide and genuine and Stiles finds his lips twitching as if he wants to smile.

Is he allowed to?

"Scott." He mumbles, happy with the way he's able to say it without fear or pain.

Scott looks at him, smiling happily. "Yeah dude?"

Stiles shakes his head and reaches up to skim his hand over his best friends arm where the dark tattoo mars his tan skin.

"Nothing, just good to see you."

"Yeah man, I know what you mean. It's good to see you too. Sorry I'm not around more often, this year has got a lot of ridiculous classes. Did you know that I'm in AP Bio? I totally did that on my own! See? I'm definitely smart enough for AP classes."

Scott's child-like laughter is soothing and Stiles finds himself relaxing into the conversation, replying where needed and even sending a few jokes back, even if he doesn't laugh at them.

Watching Scott leave later has Stiles longing to walk out that door with his best friend, to run around in the preserve like he used to and to just be with the people he loves most in the world. He's smart enough to know that he's not ready for any of that yet, but he thinks, that if he finally starts giving it some effort, he might just be able to. He's not dead yet.

"Dad." He says and it's almost a shock when his father comes around the corner, trying to look as if he hadn't been eavesdropping the entire time.

"What's up, son?"

Stiles gathers himself and says, "I want to talk about what happened."

Emotions flicker over the Sheriff's face but he looks determined and actually happy at the words so he takes a seat next to Stiles and nods.

"Anything you want to say, I'll listen. Anything you want me to understand, I'll do my best. I can't promise I'll have all the answers, but I'll try."

"Thanks dad. Just, keep me from going under, ok? It's…hard. It's always like I'm being pulled back to that time. I think…I think I just need to say it, like if I finally say it I'll be able to overcome it."

His dad nods and pulls his phone from his back pocket. "Do you mind if I record this?"

Stiles shakes his head, understanding his father's need to have evidence.

"Whenever you're ready to begin, go ahead."

Stiles takes several deep breaths, has to take a few minutes to go through some calming techniques, ignores the phone and starts talking.

"There were five of them, three men and two women. The women's names were Janice and A-Amy. Amy was in charge. The men were Bradshaw, Anthony, and C-Conner. They asked me for information regarding the pack, Beacon Hills, and my family. They wanted to know who the Alpha was, who the Betas were, and the humans in the pack. They wanted to know everything, their weaknesses, their strengths, just…everything. And I told them. I tried to lie, I tried not to say anything, but they would hurt me. They hit me so hard, they wouldn't let me sleep, they wouldn't let me eat, sometimes they wouldn't let me breathe if I didn't tell them what they wanted to know."

Stiles is choking, he doesn't know how he's still going. He starts speaking aloud as he recalls everything, not really realizing that as he's being shoved back into his memories he's relaying everything to his father.

It's like he's there. It's like they're there with him. It's like he's with them, betraying and hurting everyone he loves all because he's too weak to defend himself. His bones are snapping, the pain is excruciating. His blood is everywhere, all the time, flowing out of old and new wounds. Sometimes there's the startling shock of white as his bone is shoved through his skin. Then there's them, shoving the bone back in, binding it so that it'll heal and they can rebreak it again and again.

Six months and two weeks of pure, unadulterated agony. All the memories, feelings, experiences, every form of torture they used, every word they spoke to him, all of it is rushing in, twisting him, breaking him again and again. How is he still alive? Why is he still alive? He should have died so long ago? His disgusting and ugly form shows that he should be dead. How did he survive? Why did he survive? He is nothing. He has no name. He doesn't deserve anything.

"Stiles! Son, come on back, come back to me. It's ok, you don't have to say any more, you don't have to think about it anymore, I heard it all, you said everything you needed to, you don't have to anymore. Please, just, come back."

It's just like before with Dr. O'Heare. He wakes up on his back, staring at the ceiling with his father knelt by his side and a hand pressed against the meat of his shoulder.

"Dad?" his voice gives out completely.

"Yeah buddy, I'm right here. I had to give you the emergency dose that Dr. O'Heare gave me just in case this happened."

Oh, that's why his mind isn't lost to the past.

"Stiles, you with me bud?"

Stiles nods and allows his father to sit him upright then pull him up so he can sit him into his wheel chair. His father stays there, arms wrapped around him, pressing a long kiss into his hair, and they sit there for a long while until Stiles' body begins to droop in exhaustion.

"How about you go ahead and rest, it's been a long day. I'm going to call a couple of people but I'll be here if you need me, just call me on the phone or press the button on the walkie talkie, I'll hear it."

Stiles nods and allows his father to wheel him back to his room, his mind still a little fuzzy and his body feeling like he went through a compactor. As soon as his father is gone from his room he falls into a thankfully dark sleep.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter, I've got the next one written but I'm gonna wait a bit before posting to finish editing. If anyone catches a mistake please, please tell me. I'll fix it. Thanks!

~hearts~