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He's felt the anxiety, the anger, the recurrent panic. He's felt it every single day, the aching loss of the nogitsune, the feeling of missing something. The strings guiding him for those months felt like a weight being released, and he finds himself craving its control some days, desperate for that like-mindedness. He felt seen, in ways he could never admit out loud to anyone, much less himself.
Helping Malia learn the boundary between human and animal had been a good distraction. He could funnel his knowledge into a digestible format, and he was drawn to her bluntness. She only met him when he was tethered, and he wonders if she misses him too, that version of him.
After months go by of peace following the deadpool and Peter manipulating Kate, Stiles feels like he's living on a razor's edge, never sure which way he'll fall. He's sought out his own comforts and he's fallen in line with Malia's aggression. But they're still just distractions. So when Theo rolls into town amid a violent storm and a new threat that attacks Scott, Stiles feels a slight glimmer in his eyes, his heart picking up pace. Something isn't right, and he knows it. He's fucking sure of it, and he knows why Scott can't bring himself to fully trust Stiles, but it's all the more enraging.
He tells his dad, tells Scott and Lydia and Malia, tells Liam that he's fine. He's okay, he's in control, he's better. He doesn't try to tell himself. It would be a lost cause.
By the time he's fixing his jeep in the parking lot, his mind is focused solely on continuing the research. He's passing classes with flying colors and it's not enough, he needs this, needs to investigate and help how he knows he's able to. When he's bitten, his first thought is that it finally happened. He revels in the pain, outwardly reacting on impulse, but his mind lights up in glee, excited at the prospect of more hurt. He regrets letting Scott take away his pain after he hit the jeep a few days prior, but there was no way to get out of it without Scott questioning him further.
As he reaches for the wrench, Stiles realizes he may not be acting as purely on impulse anymore; after all, the last time he was hurt or taken intentionally, he didn't have a way to defend himself. He does now. Donovan was no Gerard, as disturbing as his mouth-hand is, as oddly specific his goal of eating Stiles' legs is. He was aiming to hurt Stiles for the bigger goal of hurting someone else, yes, but this had nothing in itself to do with the supernatural - that was just Donovan's justification for being able to come at Stiles so aggressively.
When he hears the crack of impact, the wrench bashing against Donovan's face, Stiles feels the flicker of a smile pull at his lips. There's not enough time to savor it, but he lets himself appreciate the moment. Free from Donovan's grip, Stiles runs to the school, his heart thudding in his ears. He knows the logical plan of action, but his first step is scratched out when Donovan taunts him about dropping his phone. That removes calling Scott or Malia from the equation. It also removes the last clear line of rational decision-making.
While his brain racks through the next options, the hand holding the wrench coming up to his mouth, he smells the blood and finds himself craving more. Maybe not blood, as he unfortunately can get squeamish, but he craves the violence and chaos, even if it's only in his mind. He finds himself missing the sound of himself, the fox spirit wearing his face, the rasp of Noshiko's possessed love, taunting him in his head.
He is just as drawn as always to protect what is his, refusing to lie down for Donovan at the expense of his father's sanity and conscience, but wants the pain. His desires are at war with his instincts, years of running with wolves kicking into gear and attempting to override the human side, the untethered vacancy. His body moves of its own accord as he contemplates options, and then he sees it, the ring pin that shines like a flare in the darkness.
He pulls, a squelching sound he knows all too well stuttering into the library, and then there's silence. Stiles looks down to see what he's done, and his eyes widen as he feels a sense of intoxication. He climbs down the scaffolding and slowly makes his way over to Donovan's body, sensing signs of life. Blood pools over the boy's form, and Stiles grabs the pole he's impaled on. As his fingers clench around the pole, his grip tightens when he looks at Donovan's eyes, human and frail, and he twists. It's just a body now, already dead, but Stiles' heart picks up in excitement over causing that extra bit of pain in the end.
Releasing what stands in front of him, Stiles blinks, feeling himself come back to reality. He starts to leave before his phone rings in Donovan's pocket, the sound startling him and feeling too familiar. He returns to the body, removing the phone and declining the call from Malia before dialing 911; a few moments later, breath shaking, he hangs up. He can't decide why, but then a voice, too familiar, speaks. He doesn't remember letting it back in, but he is all the more happy at its return.
"Well done, Stiles," it rasps out, and Stiles heaves out a pained sigh. He didn't realize how much he missed the sound of it.