#its meant to develop into something stockholme syndromy

[sti1es]

Killing Stalking.... but make it steo. I read this manga in early 2017 and since its becoming popular again, i had the inspiration to write this. I don’t agree with a lot of the gross, disturbing stuff in the story - it’s a horror, not a romance, and i definitely don’t ship sangwoo and yoon. that’s why i changed a lot of the details in this fic, but the relationship in later chapters is going to get very, very, unhealthy. The abusive, toxic behaviours portrayed here should NEVER be considered okay in real life. SO MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR THAT!

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Stiles watches silently as Theo’s truck leaves the driveway. He emerges from his hiding place - a corner of the garden, cast in shadow by looming trees - and checks the time. Based on Theo’s usual routine, he should be gone for at least a couple hours. That gives Stiles abundant time to inspect the house. If the other boy is keeping anything secret, a thorough search should make it evident. Something about knowing Theo’s habits weirds Stiles out a little. He’s becoming quite the stalker. His intentions are good, though, and the police do it all the time, so he concludes that this is normal and not a result of incessant paranoia.

Casually, Stiles treads through neatly trimmed grass and stands in front of the door. It’s a decently sized home, the suburban dream for any nuclear family. Everything, down to the wooden planks of the porch and popcorn textured walls, is perfect - which is exactly why Stiles doesn’t trust it. Theo arrived like a miracle. A clever, charming, strong werewolf; the ideal pack mate. He’s buried his past deep underground, and Stiles is determined to uproot it.

He punches the security code into an electronic lock. 270804. At first, these were just meaningless numbers Stiles caught a glimpse of Theo entering, but after looking through medical records, researching family history, and overall obsessively indulging himself into this case, Stiles realised what it was. The date of Tara Raeken’s death.

Pushing aside whatever embarrassment would ensue if he were wrong about Theo, as well as the general fear of being caught, Stiles turns the door handle experimentally. The keypad chimes, a melodic buzz which enables Stiles to finally fucking breathe. He shoves the door open completely, a newfound rush of adrenaline and excitement clouding his mind, before entering the house.

It’s... normal. The entrance is decorated with antique furniature and various knickknacks. Picture frames line the walls, some depicting Theo and Tara, but none his whole family. The ones containing his parents look newer. Their smiles look strained, and Stiles could’ve sworn Ms. Raeken didn’t have dimples before. Him and Theo used to hang out after school a lot, and Ms. Raeken would always come pick her son up. The photos of her that adorn this interior just seem... different. Off. Before Stiles has the chance to contemplate any further, he’s distracted by a noise coming from downstairs. At the end of the hall, there’s a door - presumably leading to the basement - which has been left slightly ajar. A strange, muffled slapping sound travels through it.

Stiles’s heart beat spikes. He knew something was off about Theo, but to be presented something so obviously suspicious seems... well, suspicious. He quickly crosses the corridor and flicks on the light at the end of it. The basement is illuminated, which causes the slapping to increase. His stomach turns at the idea of something sentinent and scared being down there. Whatever shit Theo is hiding may be a lot more disturbing than he prepared for.

Swallowing nervously, Stiles decends the staircase and his worst fears are immediately confirmed. A girl lies on the cold floor, naked and tied up. Her wrists and ankles are bound, and a gag has been painfully jammed into her mouth. The source of the slapping was her legs beating against the concrete, most likely a frantic signal for a potential rescuer’s attention.

This has to be a joke. There’s no way Theo is this fucking sick. To kidnap someone is one thing, but to humilate them and leave them in this scared state was a level of cruelty Stiles finds difficult to imagine. He races downwards, and instantly recognises the terrified captive’s face. This is Tracy Stewart. Her photos have been plastered all over the news ever since she went missing a couple weeks ago. Stiles feels his gut twist in horror and disgust. There’s no goddamn way this is happening. It’s ironic, really, the fact that he was expecting to find something incriminating but can hardly believe it when he does.

Tracy’s struggles become even more desperate at this glimpse of salvation. Her eyes widen, and she starts shouting through the gag.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry... I-I’m gonna get you out of here. You’re safe,” Stiles begins to undo the ropes which restrain her hands, but the knot won’t give. Why the hell did Theo have to be so cautious? The thought of what he’s done to poor Tracy so far turns Stiles’s attempts to free her even more rapid. He picks at the rope with his nails, a fruitless attempt, really. As his frustration rises, he resorts to picking Tracy up in the state she’s in. He’d much rather get the hell out of here as fast as possible. Stiles places his hand under her knees, and goes to wrap his arm around her shoulders, when she starts to violently trash. He drops her instantly, worried that he provoked one of her potential injuries. But the thrashing continues, and she’s screaming around the cloth in her mouth. Stiles’s heart sinks as he realises her eyes aren’t focused on him.

They’re fixed behind his head.

He jerks around wildly, and sure enough, standing in the doorway is Theo Raeken. His eyes are narrowed in annoyance and his lips are quirked in a dark smirk. Fuck. Stiles feels like a caged animal, cornered by a predator that could easily overpower him.

“You’re smart, Stiles,” He chuckles, like this is all a twisted game. To Theo, it probably is. “You just aren’t smarter than me”.

Shit. Stiles’s mind is moving at a mile a minute, trying to think of any possible escape. There isn’t one. But he’s been through worse than a teenage werewolf. He can get through this. He has to.

Still, his heart is gripped by fear. He feels like there’s fingers at his neck, squeezing, constricting his oxygen until he’s gasping for breath. Breathe. Breathe. He stands no chance against Theo if he has a panic attack.

Then again, does he stand a chance in the first place?

Theo dawdles down the stairs, slowly dropping his feet in front of him, one step after another. Stiles’s lungs are on fire. His ribs are being crushed. Breathe. Breathe. You can trick him. Run past him. Just get a fucking grip.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice-” Theo’s barely ten feet away, “That you’ve been following me?” He laughs humourlessly once again. “It’s funny how I considered stalking you, but you took it upon yourself to waltz right into the lion’s den with no help.”

Stiles barely register’s Theo’s words as the human lunges forward, past his legs. Caught off guard, Theo doesn’t have time to grab him as he practically scrambles up the stairs. But of-fucking-course Stiles has to look back, and when his eyes meet Tracy’s, he freezes to the spot. He can’t just leave her here.

That gives Theo’s reflexes ample time to set in. He makes a grab for Stiles’s hoodie sleeve and shoves him backwards. The brunet would’ve been grappling at the air if he had time to. Instead, he simply falls all the way down the stairs, back to the basement floor. Instead of everything occurring in the typical slow-mo montage they show in cliche movies, the moment passed so fast Stiles couldn’t even register it. One second he was almost free, the next he was lying on hard, cold stone, his head and legs throbbing. The human supposes he broke his legs. They’re mostly numb, but twisted grotesquely. He’s never been so thankful about nerve damage in his life. The real issue is his slowly blurring vision. He wants to throw up - from fear or pain, he doesn’t know.

“You’re the sheriff’s son,” Theo drawls, stupidly calm for a situation where Stiles feels as though he’s being drowned in anxiety. “So you surely understand why I can’t have any witnesses.”

“Why are you doing this?” He blurts out. “You’re killing her, and you’re gonna kill me too? At least have some sort of motive, serial murderers who ‘do it for the thrill’ are becoming pretty old.”

If there’s one thing Stiles learnt during his years of engtanglement with supernatural enemies, it’s that distraction buys you time. No matter how scared you are, a simple quip or provoking remark works wonders for stalling. All he has to do is snark Theo until the werewolf gets bored, or agitated, or anything else that buys him a bit of time. Stiles’s heart jumps against his ribcage as he glares at Theo as heatedly as possible, trying to conceal his trembling hands.

“You think I don’t have any motives?” Theo scoffs, clearly falling for Stiles’s blow to his ego. “Her father is a pretty powerful man. A lawyer who tried to get me thrown in fucking prison. This is his payback,” The werewolf shrugs, but Stiles doesn’t miss the edge of anger in his voice. He strides forward, then curls a hand around Stiles’s chin. The teen’s head is jerked upwards, so he’s forced to stare into cold, evil blue eyes. “And you’re going to rat me out to your daddy. Simple as that. There isn’t enough space in this basement for both of you.”

“So you’re a butthurt little boy who has to take his emotions out on defenesless humans?” Stiles grits out, and Theo’s grip on his chin tightens, “- real classy.”

That’s when Theo snaps. He backhands him across the faсe.

Stiles attempts to crawl away, his cheek stinging with what’s probably a fresh bruise. He pushes up against the ground, only to find that his knees buckle when he stands. So he was right about the broken legs. Normally, falling down the stairs wouldn’t injure someone this badly, but with the forceful thrust of a werewolf’s supernatural strength? Stiles doesn’t doubt it. Though his limbs are far too damaged to hurt, the mere pressure being put onto his bones makes him feel like he’s folding in on himself.

Stiles is helpless. He might as well be restrained like Tracy, it wouldn’t make a difference. Theo sighs in a way that conveys amusement, as though he’s watching a newborn deer struggle to walk. I’m gonna die.

What will his dad think when he doesn’t return home? What will his friends think? Scott, Malia, Lydia - Stiles will never see them again. His chest aches with the thought of Theo carrying through with whatever plans he has for the pack. All he can do is hope that his disappearance makes them suspicious enough not to trust the werewolf.

Theo hovers over him, face darkened by shadows in a threatening contrast against the blaring ceiling lights above. He crouches down, pressing his knees deliberately against Stiles’s legs in a way that makes the human cry out. He catches a glimpse of Tracy: she has tears running down her face, but looks somewhat resigned... as if Stiles is already dead. Theo clutches the brunet’s wrists and pins them to either side of his head. “If you’re planning on killing me, better do it quick. You wouldn’t want to be late for school,” the image of Theo’s charming smile, forever deceiving, lingers in his mind’s eye. A wave of annoyance washes over him, and he kicks upwards with the last of his rapidly draining perseverance. Theo doesn’t even budge.

The werewolf leans down, his breath ghosting over Stiles’s ear. “Kill you? Honestly, when this is over, you’ll be wishing I did.”

Everything goes black, but before he loses consciousness, Stiles is sure he caught a glimpse of a silver metal hammer.