So sorry this update has taken so long. I have been on vacation and then catching up with work!

Also, to manbearpig, if you hate it so much, dont read it. Dont send horrible comments instead. To all the lovely comments though, thank you so much! *kisses*

There's movement across his closed eyelids, the black of a shadow passing across light and Stiles groans, his head pounds as he does.

He flickers his eyes open, blinking quickly against the harsh lighting that swings from the ceiling. Broken flickering strip lights that would make Stiles laugh at the irony if his head didn't hurt so much. His mouth feels dry, tongue too big in his mouth as he tries to swallow around his arid throat. His shoulder hurts where he's been lying on it for god knows how long. He moves it tentatively, rolling it gently as much as he can, given his current position on the cold floor. He rolls over to his front, his stomach lurching at the movement. His shoulder throbs half-heartedly as he pushes himself up on all fours and reaches one hand to the back of his head. He winces as his fingers brush over sticky half dried blood and a cut that would probably need at least a few stiches. He manages to get himself sitting, his legs stretched out in front of him and he leans back against the damp wall, white spots blinking in his vision as his body gets used to being at least semi-vertical.

He can't remember much, talking to Derek, telling him he loved him. He groans again and drops his head into his shaking hands. They say that all the time, but the words hold a different weight now. He remembers hanging up the phone and worrying about Derek going to see Kate, how he would cope seeing the woman who destroyed his world. He remembers going out to grab some air and a breakfast run for him and his dad. Then…

Then nothing until now, until waking up in what looks like a dank basement with the back of his head bashed in. He winces again and rubs the blood from his head between his fingers till it dries and flakes off. He should be doing something other than just sitting here, he should be trying to find a way out of here. He pats his jeans, his phone is, unsurprisingly, gone.

"Worth a shot," he says out loud and his voice bounces off the walls.

The screech of feedback over a microphone makes him grimace and press his fingers to his temple. He glares up at where I noise came from and sees a small speaker attached to the corner of one of the walls.

"You're awake," the tinny voice comes through the speaker and Stiles glares again at it.

"You watching me sleep? How romantic," he snarks and the voice laughs, cold and bitter and it sends a shiver down Stiles' spine.

"Always the joker Stiles," the voice practically purrs, a hint of fondness wrapped around malice in its tone and Stiles narrows his eyes at the speaker. "I don't think you'll be laughing much longer." It's a threat and Stiles gets it loud and clear and clod chillingly obviously.

"What do you want?" He asks and the voice laughs again and Stiles can practically imagine a faceless head shaking at him like he's a little child.

"Why Stiles, I want Derek to suffer."

Derek wants to punch something. Wants to scream and hurt things, run rampage until he's got Stiles back safely where he belongs. Erica had to slap him round the face to stop him from going back in and strangling Kate. Derek had blinked at her as she stared up at him, eyes burning with anger and worry.

"It wont help," she has said.

"It would make me feel better," Derek had replied and rubbed at his cheek. Erica had pursed her lips and her eyebrows had drawn closer together.

"So will finding him…come on."

Erica had driven back to the Police Station, Derek hands had been shaking too much with fury and barely restrained panic to do anything except twist them together in from of him.

And now Isaac is looking guilty and John looks like Derek feels, like he's about to lose it all. Derek can feel his pain, Stiles is so much of a liability that everyone wants to look after him. It's like he would hurt himself if he was left alone for longer than 10 minutes and Derek knows John feels the same sometimes. Derek forces a bitter laugh back down his throat and watches the security footage from the back cameras where Stiles had stepped out to grab some nourishment for him and John.

"Come on Stiles, give me something," Derek mutters at the grainy image of Stiles strolling across the parking lot. He ducks out of view for a second and Derek picks him back up on another tape a few seconds later, looking down the road as he goes to cross it. A hooded man walks down the sidewalk towards him and Stiles, oblivious and he checks the road again, goes down like a sack of potatoes and the man jerks his arm down at the back of Stiles' head. The man spares a look in the cameras direction, almost like he's taunting and picks Stiles up. Stiles isn't bulking by any means, but even Stiles unconscious is almost too much for Derek to handle himself so the guy must be strong and he practically effortlessly hauls Stiles to his feet, pulls one of Stiles' arms over his shoulder and heads off North down the road. Stiles' head lolls forward and Derek feels his teeth grit in anger as he watches the man carry Stiles out of the frame and off to God knows where.

The guy's careful, keeps his head down as he carried Stiles like he's a friend, hand curled around Stiles' waist, fingers digging in against his ribs where Derek wants his hands to be. No one else's. Derek bites his teeth together hard enough to hurt and watches as the man carrying Stiles disappears from yet another camera. He's careful but he doesn't notice one camera, perched high on a post overlooking a car park with cracked tarmac. Derek watches as he bundles Stiles into the back seat, almost carefully. There's a pause when he looks down at Stiles like he's watching Stiles. And Derek can imagine the look on Stiles' face, almost serene as he lies still, hand probably flung up above his head, fingers curled towards his palm. The guy pulls off his hood and climbs into the front seat and Derek wants to rip him limb from limb just for daring to touch Stiles. He's pretty sure he'd burn the world to the ground to get Stiles back, and he's happily curl his hands around this guy's throat and watch the life drain from his eyes if he gets the chance. The thought scares him, even as he heart picks up pace inside his ribcage, thumping against bone as he squeezes his hands into fists, how far he'd go to protect Stiles. But then Stiles is worth so much more than Derek's revenge fuelled destruction. The car peels out of the car park, and into the traffic but Derek manages to pause the screen and zoom in on the licence plate. He grins slowly, an evil twist of his lips as he jots down the number.

"Got you."

"One question," Stiles asks once the small cup of water has been slid under the gap in the door and he's managed to stop himself from swallowing it in one gulp.

"What?" The voice comes through the door this time, not through the speaker and Stiles wants to know who he's dealing with, wants to be able to see through the door right into the guy's eyes.

"Why?" Stiles asks and there's a small chuckle from the other side of the door, the rustle of clothing and Stiles sees feet through the gap and the guy sinks to the floor, crosses his legs like he's about to tell Stiles a story and his fingers appear in the gap briefly almost like he's feeling out for Stiles. Stiles backs away slightly, taking another sip of water to wet his arid throat. His head still throbs and he wonders briefly how long he's been here, and what his dad is doing. He wonders if Derek knows he's missing yet and if he's angry or eerily calm as he tries to find Stiles. Because there is no doubt in Stiles' mind Derek will come for him. Derek will turn this world upside down to find Stiles because that's what Derek does. That's what they mean to each other and if Stiles didn't realise before how in love he is with Derek, he realises it as his throat closes over and he closes his eyes against the sting of tears that thinking of Derek brings.

"Because she wants me to make him suffer," The voice says and Stiles blinks, presses his hand to the cold metal of the door and leans forward.

"Kate?" Stiles can hear the trepidation in his own voice and he swallows against the rising panic.

"He put her away," the voice says and Stiles feels indignation replacing the panic.

"She burned his entire family," He counters and the crossed legs uncross and the guy behind the door stands. Something bangs against the door and Stiles scrambles backwards.

"She had a reason to," the voice says, angry and defensive and Stiles wonders briefly if he's just signed his own death warrant.

"Because Derek's family were werewolves?" Stiles asks, despite his better judgement, snorting out the words with incredulity.

"They were evil," The voice replies, "they deserved it."

"No one deserves that," Stiles replies and the guy bangs on the door again.

"I'm not afraid to hurt you Stiles," he says and Stiles swallows again, "I have permission to."

Stiles blinks and despite his fear he sees an opening.

"You need her permission?" He asks and the guy is silent. "You need her permission to hurt me?" Stiles asks again, pushing gently, "when you're the one that managed to get me here, you have to have permission to do anything?"

"And?" The guy asks and Stiles hears a shuffling behind the door. He takes a step towards it.

"Doesn't seem right, is all," Stiles replies, "You're the one with the power here," he says and there's a metallic clink of keys from behind the door. Stiles knows he's treading on unsteady ground here. This could work out how he wants, the guy could crumple and break under the realisation that he's being used. Or use that understanding to reassert his power and it could backfire on Stiles. Stiles swallows and takes a step back away from the door and the key enters the locks and turns with a rusted squeak. The door swings open slowly, protesting loudly on its hinges and Stiles swallows the lump of dread in his throat. The light from the hallway darkens the man's face but Stiles' minds grabs at the name he found before this, Mark Silber and as the man takes a step into the room, Marks face comes into view.

"Hi Mark," Stiles manages to say, his voice breaking slightly, quivering with fear. Mark smiles slowly, the keys dangling from his fingers. If Mark is surprised that Stiles knows who he is, he doesn't show it on his face as he steps forward.

"Say it again," Mark says and through his panic clouded mind Stiles gets what he wants. He swallows around his suddenly dry throat.

"You're the one with the power." Mark nods.

"You're so right."

"I don't care Danny…find him," Derek snaps into the phone and drops it back onto the table in a rage. His blood pumping through his veins. It's not Danny's fault that he can't find Silber. They managed to trace the licence plate, and it had come back to Silber and Danny had been trying to trace the bastard ever since. Trying to find any property that the man might have, anywhere he might be holed up with Stiles, any reason in his background to suggest he would want to hurt Stiles. Anything that might lead them to Stiles.

But the lack of Stiles, the lack of his smiling face, hell even his irritating way of getting under Derek's skin is grating on Derek. He feels cold where Stiles had been pressed the night before, his skin warm and solid next to him, grounding him and bringing him back from the near panic attack that settled over Derek. He remembers Stiles' wide eyes searching his face, Stiles' hands pressed to his thighs. He shakes his head, rubbing his palms down his thighs.

With Stiles being taken, the Team haven't had a chance to give their Profile to the Local Police like they usually do. There just seems no need when they know who's got Stiles. But John is insisting on it. "At least they know what kind of person they're dealing with if they come across him first," he had said when Derek had said the Profile was a waste of time. He'd said it in that tone of voice that broaches no argument, which makes Derek nod and mutter "yes Sir." He grits his teeth as he hears the Police behind his sanctuary of the closed door, shuffling around getting ready to hear whatever John feels they need to hear and he sighs loudly. He wants to run, to work out, to punch something until his knuckles bleed and his arms ache. He wants Stiles back under his watchful eye, or his hands.

He feels so fucking helpless and if there's one thing Derek hates feeling it's helpless.

Stiles chokes, spits up a mouthful of blood. It hits the floor with a sickening splat and Stiles groans, tenses his middle for another punch.

Mark hadn't taken Stiles' comments well, asserting his power over Stiles the best way he knew how, with violence and Stiles' eye socket felt like it might be broken. It throbs with each beat of his heart and Stiles feels something hard connect with his ribs again. He's pretty sure at least one of those is broken as well.

"She will be so proud of me," Mark says, leaning down and curling his fingers under Stiles' chin. He lifts Stiles' face to his and through the haze of pain Stiles can see the sick twist to Mark's smile. "She always said I lacked initiative…but look at me now," to emphasise his point Mark drops Stiles' face so sharply that Stiles falls back to the ground. His shoulder aches, his chest hurts, there's a bit of his own tooth on his tongue, and his closes his eyes, focuses on the feel of Derek's body against his own as Mark aims another kick to his kidneys.

"It's a waste of time, John…we could be out there trying to find him…instead…"

"Instead," John interrupts and Derek snaps his mouth closed. John's got a dangerous look in his eye, glinting anger and worry under his normal placid appearance. "We're here. Any one of these Officers could know Silber, or know where he works, or where he lives. It's worth a shot Derek."

"Of course it is but just let me go, I've got Danny searching for properties that Silber might own…John let me find him, let me find Stiles." There's pleading in his own voice, Derek can hear it and John's eyes flash with barely concealed anger as he takes a step towards Derek.

"Don't you act like I don't want to find him, he's my son."

"I didn't…Sir," Derek drops his head and he hears John sigh. He looks up to find John pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Get in there, deliver the profile, and then go find my son. You find him, you bring him back here ok?"

"Yes Sir."

"I don't really want to hurt you Stiles," Mark's fingers find their way under Stiles' chin again. He lifts his gaze to Mark's worried face. "It's Derek I want to hurt, not you."

"Well stop then," Stiles' voice cracks through his dry throat and Mark's face wrinkles in concern. He reaches off to the side and holds a glass of water up to Stiles' lip. Stiles gulps at the water messily, drops sliding down his chin. Mark runs a finger across his skin, catches a drop and brings it up to his lips. Stiles' stomach drops and twists.

"She wants Derek to hurt, Stiles, I can't stop." He sounds regretful.

"Does she want me dead?"

"Not quite," Mark turns Stiles' face in his grip, inspects the probably broken eye socket with surprisingly gentle fingers.

"You know Derek's on his way?" Stiles says and Mark nods, a grin twisting his lips as he lets Stiles go and stands, reaching into the back of his jeans and pulling out a small, military grade combat knife.

"I'm counting on it."

"Danny, for God's sake give me something," Derek demands into the phone. It had vibrated next to his thigh as John had been delivering the Profile to the slightly bored faces of the local Police. He had excused himself and found Danny's name flashing up on his screen.

"He's dad owns a property just out of town, lots of outbuildings, lots of space and on the plans it shows an extensive shelter built into the basement." Danny's voice filters through the speaker on his phone and Derek grips the phone tighter.

"And?"

"Thing is, his dad's been dead for 5 years. The property is still in his name." Danny sounds a little pleased with himself and Derek almost wishes he could give him the praise he wants but he's too busy wondering what it will feel like to choke the life out of Mark Silber for taking Stiles from him. "Address should be on your PDA right now."

He spares Danny a quick "Thanks Danny," before hanging up and knocking on the window of the conference room where John has handed over the ropes to Isaac. John glances up and obviously taking one look at Derek's face is enough to make him bolt from the room.

"There's a property in Silber's father's name on the outskirts of town, lots of space, no near neighbours," Derek says and John cant not see the spark of hope in John's eyes.

"Let's go get him."

"What are you doing with the knife Mark?" Stiles asks, crawling backwards away from him as fast as his bruised body will let him. Mark looks at him, sympathy and pain showing on his face and to the untrained eye, it almost looks genuine. But Stiles has seen the manic glint in his eye, has seen the way his mouth twists when he hits Stiles so Stiles knows it forced.

"I have to destroy things Derek loves," he says, the knife catching the light and throwing a shaft of light across the wall.

"Derek doesn't love me," Stiles tries and Mark laughs, cold and bitter and it makes Stiles shudder. Stiles' back hits the dank wall and he pushes as far back into it as he can.

"Stiles…I have watched you all for a long time. Derek loves you. And because of that…" he kneels down in front of Stiles and presses the tip of his index finger to the knife point, "I have to destroy the face he loves."

"I hate to tell you Mark, but Derek doesn't love me, especially not my face, I mean have you seen it?" Stiles gestures weakly to his swollen face and through his one good eye he sees Mark cock his head to the side. "This is a face that only a father could love and even then its hard for him." He laughs lightly, forcing the noise up through his throat and Mark shakes his head.

"He looks at you like I've never seen anyone look at anyone before. It's how I wish Kate would look at me sometimes. Like you're his whole world," Mark sounds almost wistful, faraway and Stiles almost feels sorry for him. "I have to take that away from him," Mark says suddenly, gaze snapping back to hard. "Don't you understand?"

"Not really," Stiles shakes his head, it throbs as he moves and Mark leans forward and touches his cheek.

"I'm sorry," he says and Stiles takes the opportunity to throw himself at Mark. He pushes off the wall, lands awkwardly on Mark and Mark lets out a surprised and angry huff of air as Stiles lifts his arm and slams his fist into Mark's face. It's weak, not as hard as he'd like, it's slightly wide but hits Mark's cheekbone. Pain flashes up Stiles' arm but he does it again and Mark howls in anger and pain. Stiles knows he doesn't have long here, he can feel his adrenaline flagging already and Mark is still fighting fit but Stiles has got surprise on his hands, and desperation so he wraps his hands around Mark's throat and squeezes.

Derek can feel adrenaline pumping around his veins, his leg jumping, toes tapping, as they approach the wasteland that they hope Mark Silber calls home. It's a sprawling farm, or what was a farm, outbuildings dotted around now arid land. Nothing more than a dust bowl and as Isaac pulls the car in through the gateway, Derek's out of it before its almost come to a stop. His feet land on the dust and it crunches under his feet. John's out almost as soon as he is and they both order people around, both wanting to find Stiles as soon as they can. There's a hint of worry in Derek though, of what they might find when they do find him. Will Stiles be alright?

He has to be alright.

John points at him and Derek runs off with him, towards one of the large, run down barns. It's holds nothing, Derek knows that, but he also knows that he's not about to argue with the father of a missing kid, no matter how much he wants to.

"The basement of the house," Derek says and John nods, runs off towards the beaten up house. They take each room quickly and efficiently, like the team they are and head towards the hallway outside the kitchen where Danny told them the basement access was. John inches the door open and Derek heads down the stairs, taking each one quickly but quietly.

The basement's a maze of corridors, old rooms filled with boxes full of god knows what in each one but Derek gets the feeling they're getting close.

As if on cue, they both hear the muffled noises of a fight, a howl of pain that Derek knows isn't Stiles's and he's off before John can stop him.

"Stiles!"

There's too many doors, too many possibilities and Derek howls in anger as yet another door gives beneath his weight only to have nothing behind it.

"Stiles!"

Derek shoulders the door, practically falls through it and its like the world goes in slow motion. Stiles is there, straddled over a prone figure, there's tension in his shoulders and blood on his shirt, it curls down his arm in one long line. The person he's sitting on is still except for one twitch in his leg and Stiles leans back as Derek gets to him, knees hitting the floor hard and his hands come up to cradles Stiles's face between them before he sees the gash running down Stiles's cheek. He drops his hands to Stiles's shoulders.

"Stiles," he goes for soft, totally contrary to the need flowing through his veins to pull Stiles close and shake him till his teeth rattle. "Stiles…you with me?" Stiles looks up at him then, one eye swollen shut, blood oozing slowly out of the cut on his cheek. His good eye is faraway but he blinks and it focuses on Derek. Stiles's hands curl around Derek's wrists.

"I'm with you."