Chapter Text
It all happened too fast for Stiles to comprehend in the span of five seconds.
One moment, he was bent over the exposed engine of his Jeep, yet again half-assedly fixing the inner workings enough to get him home. The next, a hand was slapping over his right shoulder, but joining it was the unexpectedly painful sensation of dozens of tiny sharp teeth tearing through shirt and flesh. It was like a bunch of jagged needles were stabbing through skin and tissue and digging.
Obviously, his body's first reaction was to let out a loud scream of agony, back arching and feet falling back as the pain hit him without warning. Then the hand was gone and he stumbled back into a body, who used the same arm to wrap around his body and pull him against the random attacker's chest. Stiles brought his hands up to grab and pull at the limb. He found it a lot more of a struggle than he anticipated, as it felt like the arm holding him possessed unnatural strength.
If he hadn't been fighting for his life at that moment, he'd have fully clocked that it had to be supernatural.
He heard grunting -- definitely a dude -- from behind him as he and his captor struggled for the upper hand. A flash of movement caught in the brunette's peripheral. The assailant's other hand, coming into view in front of his face. And the sight that it gave Stiles was not pretty nor appealing to the stomach.
What was likely the source of his shoulder wound, a rounded mouth-like hole ingrained in the palm of the hand held a set of pointed sharp teeth, rows and rows going back into a seemingly endless abyss of saliva and darkness. Stiles felt his face grow pale at the mere sight of the monstrous thing, realizing right at that moment that he was definitely not dealing with something human. Wendigo? But he didn't remember the book saying anything about mouths inside of hands. So the only other possible thing it could be to his knowledge-
A chimera. Whatever Scott had him and Malia researching. A combination of two or more supernatural creatures in one form.
Oh, God, I am so dead.
His eyes caught a glimpse of the wrench still perched on the edge of the Jeep's engine. Whatever slim chance the human had against the thing relied in that tool, the one thing that might save him just a little extra time. His brain told him he was probably fucked considering the power difference he had with his much stronger attacker, however his gut told him to just go for it.
So he reached his hand out, holding back a cry of pain as the action jostled his bloody shoulder. His fingers grazed the metal but couldn't get a grasp on the object. He was too far.
The assailant tugged harder on him, pushing air from his lungs just slightly. Stiles decided his best chance at a last ditch effort of escape was to bring his head forward and slam it back as hard as possible. He yelled in time with the chimera when the back of his skull made hard contact with nose and chin. Waves of pain sparked through his head but instead of letting it weaken him, Stiles slipped through the temporarily weakened grasp of the arm around him and pushed forward. His hand finally wrapped around the arm of the wrench. He brought his arm around, spinning his body, and slammed the metal into his attacker's head.
He stopped for a moment as recognition hit him.
Donovan Donati.
Holy shit.
First Tracy and now Donovan, somehow an even worse candidate for the supernatural world.
He didn't let himself dwindle on the discovery. Stiles turned and ran towards the school. He still grasped the wrench as he ran despite knowing the odds of it being any more help. But considering the loud growl he heard behind him as Donovan recovered, he would gladly take his chances, thanks.
Stiles burst his way through the front doors without daring to look back. Though he did spare a brief glance down to his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt torn straight through and leaving a bloody mess. The wound was covered in too much blood to really see the extent of the damage, but that would have to wait.
He did stop again at the first corner to make sure he was actually being followed. And sure enough, he did in fact see a rushing shadow coming to the double doors. Stiles kept running just as he heard them slam open, the squeaky footsteps that followed loud in the dark and eerily empty hallway. Stiles was so used to it being crowded, full of students and teachers and chatter, that it made his situation all the more terrifying.
Stiles halted at a dead end. The only other way to go was through the library.
He's not a student, right? He doesn't have a keycard, I'll be safe!
He stumbled his way to the doors. It took him several swipes before the keypad accepted his student ID and allowed him inside. He ran inside.
It was just as he'd left it half an hour ago; the same dirty tarps and sheets littered across the floor, shelves of books on either side of the main walkway, undisturbed, and the major construction sight near the main staircases into the two upper landings. The only light came from the windows above that spread the moon's gaze across the floor and casted creepy shadows.
The footsteps outside the now-closed doors of the media center drew nearer. Heavier and louder.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
In the case his first plan failed, Stiles quickly ducked behind a nearby shelving unit. And, unfortunately, it turned out to be a necessary move. He could practically hear the way his own heart fell into the pit of his stomach at the sound of a small beep and two doors clicking open.
That's not possible, he shouldn't have clearance... His mind sped through the endless routes of confusion and panic. How the hell did he get a key card?
A buzzing noise jolted him and nearly gave away his position. He watched in dread from behind his shelves while Donovan pulled out a phone. Stiles realized too late that he'd left it at the Jeep. Fuck.
"You dropped your phone," Donovan, for the first time since attacking him, spoke. Stiles tensed but remained as still and quiet as possible. He kept his grip tight around the tool in his hand. "It's Malia. Should I text her back?" And those words sent a larger bout of fear through his chest. His mind pictured Malia unknowingly reading a text from his number, lured back to the school only to be attacked and killed by Donovan. The image of Lydia nearly dying at the position only two days ago crossed his mind. Only this time, Malia wouldn't have help.
Then the logical side of Stiles kicked in. For starters, he'd learned long ago underestimating Malia Tate was a stupid thing to do. Even having been away from human society for eight whole years, she was strong, stubborn, and definitely smarter than most people gave her credit for, including herself. There was no way in hell she'd die easily to Donovan. Secondly, the likelihood of said chimera even drawing her to the school was low. Stiles wasn't stupid, he knew Donovan was attacking him to get revenge on his father. It was a bit too on the nose, but it was the only explanation (unless Stiles had just so happened to be in the exact wrong place during Donati's dinner time, which also wasn't entirely implausible considering his track record of luck). He had no grudges against Malia and wouldn't need to hurt her.
So whatever happened in the next few minutes, it would only be between him and Donovan, unless he somehow made a bold escape -- which was absolutely against all odds.
So with a heavily palpitating heart, Stiles refused to move, watching Donovan's shadowy form move through the center of the library. He briefly saw the chimera slip Stiles' cellphone into his back pocket as he walked.
"You don't really know who I am, do you, Stiles?" Donati called out next.
It was really hard for Stiles to keep his tongue from moving.
No, shit, I do, asshole. You've clearly forgotten my advice to channel your inner Christopher Walken.
"Maybe you heard about my father. did your dad tell you about him? Did Sheriff Stilinski ever tell you about the time he was still deputy and how his partner got caught in a shootout?"
Yes, yes, and yes, he's mentioned all of those things. Stiles replied silently.
"Did he tell you a bullet shattered my father's T-9 vertebra?"
I mean, not specifically...
"Went right through his spinal cord? Know what that means?"
Stiles grimaced slightly. Paralysis.
"It means everything below his waist is useless. And not just his legs."
Stiles grimaces again, this time in disgust. He definitely didn't need to know that much.
“I bet he told you some of it. But I bet he probably left out the part where he was sitting in a car calling for backup while my dad was going in alone. Did he tell you that he was too scared, too much of a frightened little bitch to go after him? Or do scared little bitches not tell their bitch sons about their failures? About how they put their partner in a wheelchair for the rest of his life?”
Each word had Stiles' fists clenching tighter and tighter, especially the one still holding the wrench. He felt the urge to jump out with flailing hands and angry screaming. His father was a good man, and a damn good cop, at that. He remembered the man telling him how Donati Sr. had been reckless and went in without waiting for backup to arrive despite knowing they were severely outnumbered. No matter how hard Noah Stilinski had tried, his partner had refused to listen and ended up getting himself severely injured, nobody's fault but his own. Maybe that's where this kid got his superiority complex from; thinking he was beyond the control of everyone else and was right for seeking justice for something he hadn't been a part of.
The desire to spit all these words out was all too tempting. He wanted to yell them, punch Donovan in the face for the mere insinuation his father was a failure. Despite his anger, however, Stiles refrained. He knew it was an attempt to lure him out of hiding. And Stiles stood no chance against the monster Donovan had now become, a mix between two creatures, one of which Stiles was aware of as extremely violent and terrifying on its own.
He held his breath, reeled in the rage. Donovan slowly crept towards the staircases, making his way up each step with disturbing slowness. Stiles started stepping back quietly as he tried to weight his options. The anger quickly simmered down to nothing as the panic and fear returned. He was being hunted by a murderous, vengeful. supernatural creature. He had no phone. The doors were too far away to risk running for. If he did attempt the distance, he'd definitely be spotted, starting a timer for his life.
The gears kept spinning through his head. Churning, clicking, snapping.
He didn't really have a choice, he realized. His chances were better off if he risked the sprint.
His body stopped, pressed against another shelf.
He had to do it. He needed to run, hopefully get to his car, maybe even-
Whatever plan could've been made was never put into action. Before he could summon the courage to move, clawed hands suddenly shot out through one of the shelves and grabbed him. He screamed as he was pulled backwards. The shelving unit collapsed and books and pages rained all over him and Donovan. He barely managed to keep hold of the wrench in the chaotic few seconds. Adrenaline rushed back into his veins, survivor's instinct running his mind as he crawled off of the disaster and started running in a random direction. He ended up making for the scaffolding perched in the middle of the back end of the library, leading upwards past the second floor and into the ceiling. It was a metal ladder that essentially led him nowhere, but seemed his only route of escape for now.
He pinned the wrench beneath his armpit and started climbing as fast as his limbs could carry him. His shoulder wailed in pain and his head pounded, but he refused to stop now.
It didn't take long for the hybrid to catch up and start climbing up after him.
"Don't worry, Stiles, I'm not gonna kill you..." Donovan's voice distorted into something animalistic. "I'm just gonna eat your legs!"
Well, Stiles had definitely underestimated just how bad his situation was. Being eaten alive sounded like a much worse fate than possession by demon ever was. The terror inside him grew ten times stronger, to the point tears were actually starting to rise to his eyelids.
He didn't want to die. He really didn't want to die.
A grunt left him, followed by a yelp, as the pants over his ankle are grabbed. It brings his body to a jolting stop and he nearly slips. His head looks up, eyes sitting on a pin lodged into the ladder a few rungs up. If he could just reach it-
His body again jolted when he was tugged harder. Then a blinding white pain scorched up his entire right leg. Donovan had managed to get a good grasp on him and allowed the teeth in his hand to tear through denim with ease. They dug themselves deep into Stiles' ankle, just like they had when biting his shoulder. Only this time it felt even deeper than the previous wound, and the pain more raw and intense. It launched a blood-curdling scream from the back of the brunette's throat and had his grip faltering on the scaffold.
Donovan refused to relent. teeth digging deeper and deeper.
Hurts- Burns- Burns! HURTS! BURNS!
The scream turned into a wail. Then he just couldn't hold on.
Stiles lost his grip on the ladder and slipped, falling backwards and bringing the hybrid with him. The wrench slipped from his armpit mid-air, hitting the floor just before him with a loud ring that echoed through the empty library. Stiles hit the ground with a painful thump right on a thin piece of tarp pathetically covering the cement tiles under it. The lack of cushioning spawned an even greater pain throughout his entire body. Hell, he could've sworn he heard the cracking in several parts of him the second he made contact with the floor. The air was quickly knocked out from his lungs at the same time, and his head also hit the floor hard enough to bring waves of dizziness to his vision.
He definitely blacked out for a fleeting moment, losing sensation and awareness for what could have been hours, but was likely only thirty seconds to a minute.
And even with the instant pain returning as he came to again, he didn't let it stop his desperate and useless attempts at crawling backwards from the moving lump of hair and clothes in front of him. He didn't get far, a hand grabbing his already shredded ankle and pulling forward. Blood stained the sheet and exposed tiles. His blood.
Stiles wasn't quite sure what sounds he was making at that point, but they definitely weren't dignified. He could barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears. But he was definitely sure the wetness on his face was from his own tears, though the airless breaths he was desperately taking made it hard to really confirm.
Donovan was appearing back into his spinning vision, climbing on top of Stiles and straddling his waist. The moonlight dipping through the windows formed a dark shadow across the chimera's face. The creature's hands then shoved into Stiles' shoulders to pin him down. Another flare of horrific pain washed through Stiles as the mouths came back out to tear into the senior's shoulders and rip another broken, breathy scream out of him. The teeth created a new hole in his left shoulder and dug further into the already bloody right one.
And- shit- was that swallowing? Was he eating him?!
The constricting movements of the endless mouths told him that Donovan was, indeed, feeding on him with his hands.
It was like being torn apart. Shredded through. He'd never felt so much pain in his life, nothing like this, he was sure of it. Worse than temporarily dying by drowning in a tub of ice water for sixteen hours, worse than being stuck in a pool with a heavy boneless grown man for two, worse than being beaten by an old man, paralyzed by a lizard monster, held at gunpoint, possessed by a demon fox spirit, being infected by a supernatural-killing virus, or anything else he'd ever experienced. Nothing compared to the physical and emotional turmoil of being eaten alive.
He could nearly feel his body shaking, the sobs scratching out of his throat. But it was beneath teeth and tearing and clawing and biting and shredding.
And the psychopath doing it smiled. He actually smiled. Sharp teeth matching the ones in his hands poked through grinning lips and dripped saliva.
Then Donovan leaned down, hands still chewing through Stiles' shoulders, breath appearing hot and heave against Stiles' ear.
"You taste so fucking good, Stiles...bitter and sweet...I'm going to enjoy every last bite..." He ran a tongue over the lobe of Stiles' ear. If Stiles wasn't feeling drained and helpless he'd have flinched away. "When your father finds you, you'll be nothing but blood and bones..."
The tongue lapped once, twice, made a grotesque squelching noise that would've made Stiles vomit if he wasn't already nauseated and trapped. Somehow, that felt more invasive than anything else Stiles had so far been forced to endure. Then Donovan finally pulled away and released his hands from Stiles' shoulders. The pain it caused wasn't nearly as bad as what it'd started, but not at all welcome. Blood gushed from the torn flesh and stained the ripped fabric of his shirts.
He could feel himself try to speak. His own voice wasn't even recognizable.
"N-No...No...w-wa-ait-"
The creature snarled at him. Then one of his hands grabbed at Stiles' right thigh, the same leg with the ankle wound, and dug into the thicker flesh through his jeans.
Yet another strike of pain. His back arched against the ground, his voice released a groggy cry. The teeth sunk into his leg once more and again, everything was pain. Just pain, and fire, and a prolonged desire to just die.
Burning. Burning. Burning.
Then the hand leaves, tearing a small but gory chunk of flesh with it and leaving a bloody wound in its place.
Stiles watched tearfully, almost numbly, as the chimera stopped moving for a moment to just simply look down at him. He seemed to leer at Stiles with a twisted possessiveness, an animalistic need to keep for his own food. At the same time the malice remained human and cruel, like even still, a small sliver of the human boy was still in there, remnants of an experiment turned into a monster.
He was like that for several minutes. Stiles felt the pain pulse steadily in every part of him.
Then after what seemed like an eternity of allowing his prey to lay in its own blood, Donovan decided to move. A flicker of something new passed through the cannibal's eyes. It wasn't guilt or regret, but something a lot more... something. Stiles couldn't tell in his ever increasing delirious state. But for some reason he had a gut feeling it was somehow going to be worse than just eating him alive piece by piece.
"D-Don'ovan...please..."
Toothless hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders and forced his body to roll onto his front. Stiles let out a choked cry as something inside him screamed and his outer injuries protested. Donovan once again climbed on top of him before he could try to crawl away or fight back, pinning him with his weight. Predatory breath returned to his ear.
"You know what I think will make the good ol' Sheriff hurt worse?" He cackled. Again, there was a monster-like distortion in his voice that sent shivers down Stiles' spine. "Sure, the knowledge that his only son was eaten alive by the son of the man he betrayed, alone, defenseless, slowly...that will definitely pull some emotional strings."
Stiles tensed, now knowing he could still do so, when he felt two clawed hands grab his hips.
"But I think what will really sting is knowing that his kid had every inch of him claimed before he died. He'll tear himself apart knowing you were used before being torn to shreds."
The breath Stiles had slowly started to regain throughout the torture left him once more as he understood.
No. No, no, no.
Donovan nipped at his ear. Then he grabbed the waistband of Stiles' pants.
"Don't worry...I'll make sure it really hurts."