Summary: What does it take to break a werewolf? Or a human, for that matter?
They offered it as casually as if they were offering him a drink.
As casually as they took him and Derek off the street and threw them into a dark van, Derek slumped into an unresponsive heap, unconscious from whatever type of wolfsbane they'd put on the dart they shot him with. It had been quick and effective, not allowing the werewolf even a second to respond to the danger.
Stiles they just trussed up like a pig headed to its slaughter before dumping him carelessly on the cold steel floor of the vehicle, not bothering with anything else as they deemed him pretty harmless. He was only human after all.
The fact that they didn't bother blindfolding him either told him the chance of walking out of this alive was pretty slim. Zero, actually. That, plus the fact they hadn't offered food or water either during the time - what, three, four days? longer? - they'd now spent in the cold basement of whatever building they were being held in.
There had been torture. Just some punching and finger breaking in his case, cracking a rib or two, maybe three. Obviously a lot more judging by what Derek looked like every time they'd return him. The last time there'd been scorch marks on his back, slowly, very slowly disappearing around sluggishly bleeding wounds.
Electricity and more wolfsbane, no doubt.
He'd done his best to comfort the werewolf, tried his best without being able to take away his very apparent pain, without being able to offer him water or any other form of sustenance. Just held him and rocked him while his body shook with tremors, spasmed violently in the aftermath of yet another interrogation while his flesh worked hard to knit itself together again.
It didn't take long to figure out they were just using him. Using him as an incentive to get Derek to answer whatever questions they were asking him. He came to that conclusion as they worked him over silently, just making him scream and scream and then scream some more, all the while keeping the door to the hallway wide open.
They made sure Derek could hear him.
Derek, who would be unconscious most of the time, drugged up to prevent him from wreaking havoc, but always awake when they came for Stiles. Always aware of his inability to keep him safe from whatever horrors they were going to commit next. Always staring with wide, crazed eyes while they dragged Stiles out of the basement, gun against his head, threatening to shoot him if Derek so much as twitched, telling him to keep his wolf under control.
All Derek could do was scream his rage.