Author's Note:

Post-season 4 with a few differences:

-Boyd, Erica, and Allison are all alive.
-Isaac and Jackson never left Beacon Hills.
-Stiles and Malia still dated but they broke up a few weeks after Stiles turned.
-Kira and Malia are/get together.
-For the purposes of this story Parrish is a Phoenix.

This fic was inspired by this (/post/74728826629/teen-wolf-bingo-bitten-he-answers-all-his) gif set made by the kickass hales-emissary over on tumblr, who was kind enough to let me play with their work.

The rating for this fic will more than likely go up before all is said and done since I have a weakness for writing smut. I've no idea how many chapters it'll turn out to be but I'm hoping that's okay with you guys :)

As always: If you need me to warn/tag for anything else please, please, please DO NOT hesitate to let me know.

It wasn't supposed to go down the way it did. Christ, it wasn't ever supposed to go down at all, if Stiles was being completely honest. Having an entire pack at his back who wouldn't hesitate to shred someone should they even attempt to make a move against him had lulled Stiles into a false sense of security. He got to be too comfortable, too self-assured in his own survival. Overconfidence led to cockiness, led to taking too many unnecessary risks, led to Stiles finding himself in a position he never legitimately thought he'd be in.

Stiles was only ever supposed to the boy who ran with wolves, not the boy who became one.

"This is a terrible idea." Scott sighed resignedly, knowing there was little point in arguing when Stiles got onto an idea.

"Shut up." Stiles told him, affronted. His plans were awesome, okay? No matter what Scott or Jackson or Der- No matter what anyone had to say. "This is a wonderful idea, Scott."

Stiles' plans were brilliant. They'd saved their collective ass on more than one occasion and no one, not even the Alpha, could argue that. So what if this particular plan involved too much fire power and not nearly enough preparation? Stiles was confident in his plan making skills and Scott would just have to get on board.

"So, you're just hoping we get lucky?" Lydia questioned, eyes traveling quickly over the hastily drawn up map to where Isaac and Malia had found the last traces of the Catoblepas, a massive bull-like creature whose only vulnerable spots were mostly protected by a thick, impenetrable layer of onyx colored scales and who was sporting a thick mane and a massive rack of diamond-hard horns.

"Of course not!" Stiles defended, narrowing his eyes at her. "We don't need luck. Allison is a perfect shot." He nodded in her direction, giving her a confident smile which she returned, admittedly a bit hesitantly. "If we can distract the Catoblepas long enough for Allison to land a shot somewhere soft and fleshy, it'll weaken the thing and we can use the flash bang arrows to force it here." Stiles pointed to the spot on the map where Chris Argent, Kira, and Boyd were already setting up the trap. "Once it's in that clearing I'll close the mountain ash circle and then all we have to do is trigger the explosion and get the hell outta dodge. Poof! No more angry mutant armadillo."

"Your father is going to kill all of us when he finds out about this." Parrish grimaced, shifting uncomfortably in place.

Stiles waved a dismissive hand. "What do you care? You'll come back."

"The rest of us won't." Erica tossed in, flicking her blonde curls over one shoulder, her scarlet lips turned up in that ever present smirk.

"My dad isn't going to kill anyone." Stiles sighed, rolling up the map to shove it into his messenger bag before slinging it around his torso. "This thing has killed four people already. He'll just be glad that we put it down and no one else got hurt."

"Can we go now?" Malia asked, already inching toward the front door. "I'd really like to kill something."

"Progress." Stiles sighed, looking to Scott for the final verdict.

Scott's expression was pained, eyebrows drawn together over worried eyes. "I don't like it." he frowned hard at Stiles, who might have wavered if Scott didn't always look like an angry puppy when he pulled out that particular face.

"Noted." Stiles gave one sharp dip of his chin and headed for the door. "Now let's go kick some hulked out armadillo ass."

Everything went off without a hitch.

Until it didn't.

Allison managed to land her shot in a thin strip of exposed skin between where the Catoblepas scales ended and where his (definitely a boy if basic biology was to be believed) snarled tuft of a mane began. The creature let out an angry roar that shook the ground beneath the pack's feet, echoing around them and making those of them with supernatural hearing flinch. Far off in the distance even Stiles' human ears could hear the sound of a small landslide forming, a stream of boulders and thick clay-like dirt scraping down the side of a mountain.

"Go!" Scott had bellowed through the forest as the Catoblepas charged, mowing down anything its path, up to and including an ancient redwood that was nearly as wide as a car from one bumper to the other.

Stiles bolted, dodging trees and tearing through thick underbrush with no attention to spare for the way it grabbed at his pant legs, trying to stop him in place. He could hear the sounds of his pack circling wide around him, a chorus of growls punctuating the systematic flashes of light from Allison and Chris' exploding arrows. Stiles knew his objective by heart and focused on it. He made it to the furthest edge of the rigged clearing by the time the pack herded the Catoblepas into it, its raging red eyes blazing in a boarish head. Careful not to meet the creature's eyes directly, knowing full well how that particular story ended, Stiles smirked in victory, a handful of mountain ash clutched in his fist, ready to seal the barrier.

"Now!" Chris shouted when the creature cleared the mountain ash line laying in wait.

Stiles tossed the ash, focusing everything he had into the belief that it would work, that this purplish dust held the power to hold a rampaging beast. He waited for the shield to spring up, to feel the flare of magic in his chest that always accompanied a successful ash barrier. When it didn't come, Stiles realized that the tremors caused by the Catoblepas' roar must have shaken the line apart somewhere.

"Shit." he growled, already running the line closest to him as he hollered across the clearing. "There's a break in the line! Find it."

The pack spread out along the line, searching for the weak point. Chris and Allison stayed poised at either end of the clearing, ready and waiting to fire more flash bangs should the beast try to make a break for it. As it were, the thing was thrashing in the middle of the field, attempting to reach the arrow embedded in its neck with its teeth to yank the thing free, the poison Lydia concocted apparently enough to at least disorient and distract it.

"Here!" Jackson called from behind Stiles. "I got it."

Stiles changed direction, heading back the way he came with a new handful of ash at the ready. Unfortunately, the Catoblepas chose that moment, apparently startled by Jackson's reverberating shout, to get his shit together and charge. Head down, horns pointed right where Jackson was standing, too busy watching Stiles run to notice the giant fucking death machine headed right for him, the creature roared, kicking rivets into the soft ground as it made a desperate and furious bid for escape.

"Jackson!" Stiles cried, his voice cracking as it reached a pitch Stiles hadn't even known himself capable of. He pushed his legs to their limits, silently thanking Finstock for the ridiculous amount of suicides he'd made them do, and barreled along the edge of the line.

Jackson's eyes widened in horror as he turned, finally noticing the creature making a beeline straight for him. Before he could move of his own volition, however, Stiles body checked him out of the way, sending him sprawling sideways onto the ground with a grunt.

Throwing the ash down at his feet, Stiles felt relief wash through him at the sight of the familiar purple dust falling lightly toward the ground. He had a split second to congratulate himself on a job well done before his vision was filled with a looming black shadow and a flash of bone-white horns. No sooner had he registered exactly what he was seeing than something sharp pierced his belly, just below the bottom edge of his ribcage.

Searing pain tore through him, rushing out from where the beast had impaled him on one dirt encrusted horn to ravage through his entire body. Somewhere, someone was screaming and Stiles had no idea if it was him or not. His vision was going black and fuzzy at the edges, reminding him of the snow on old television sets, the gray and black static of a channel without a signal. Time seemed to stutter and stall as the creature shook its behemoth head, shaking Stiles like a ragdoll as it tried to free its horn from the ruined vestiges of his abdomen. Blood was hot and thick on his tongue, tasting of copper and something acrid that made his throat burn.

A wet, gurgling laugh shredded his chest on its way out when he felt the ash line form the barrier. Too little too late, his mind bellowed ferociously. The damage was already done but Stiles found a sliver of comfort in knowing that his dying act had been to seal the line, to trap the Catoblepas before it could hurt anyone else, before it could hurt his pack. If sacrificing himself meant that his pack got to survive?

Stiles was okay with that.

If not for the pain Stiles might have smiled at whoever had appeared at his side, their hands reaching out for him but hesitating, unsure if you were supposed to remove the thing sticking out of your friend's chest, or leave it in. Stiles didn't think it mattered, really. He was dead either way. What was a few more seconds in the grand scheme of things?

Agony made his knees weak as devastating pain ripped him apart at the seams, every nerve in his body feeling as though someone had taken a particularly dull cheese grater to them. His body went limp, nothing left inside him capable of keeping him upright. Whoever was at his side, he thought it was probably Scott, hoped and prayed and begged the universe to let it be Scott, their hand's shot out to catch him as he fell. The horn that had been shoved through him ripped free of his belly with a nauseating squelch and the world around him faded into nothing at all.

Opening his eyes felt like trying to drag a dead body over a sea of broken glass. The light wherever he was was blinding, searing his retinas and making his head throb, pulling a groan from his aching chest.

"Easy, Mr. Stilinski." a calm voice soothed from somewhere by his feet, or at least where he was pretty sure his feet were the last time he'd seen them. Stiles wasn't at all surprised to find the voice belonged to Deaton."I wouldn't suggest moving too quickly. Scott, would you be kind enough to close the blinds?"

Stiles heard the sound of feet shuffling away quickly, jeans dragging along the concrete floor with every step. His head pulsed with pain at the sound, his stomach rolling and bile climbing its way up his esophagus. The footsteps shuffled closer once the light stopped stabbing him through his eyelids, stopping right beside his head. A warm hand curled around his forearm, a reassuring squeeze, a brotherly gesture.

"Scott?" Stiles tried to croak, his throat dry as the Sahara and feeling like he'd swallowed molten metal as he attempted to turn his head and force his eyelids apart.

"It's probably better if you don't try to talk, Stiles." Scott's voice said gently. "Give yourself a chance to finish healing before you start trying to kill me."

Stiles wanted to ask why, why would he ever want to kill his brother, the only one he'd ever had, but his throat refused to work and he figured maybe Scott was right. Talking seemed like a bad plan for the time being.

A door opened somewhere, the creaky hinges screaming out for a good oiling. A few seconds later another door opened and the air in the room shifted as Allison's voice whispered, "They heard his heartbeat change."

"He's awake." Deaton confirmed softly. "Though I wouldn't advise the rest of the pack paying a visit just yet."

"We just want to know if he's... He won't die now, right?" Allison asked, her voice trembling. "It took?"

Stiles' heart thudded sickeningly behind his ribs, nausea bubbling in his gut. His entirely intact gut. The gut where a Catoblepas had stabbed him straight through. The gut that should be in tatters and absolutely should have killed him.

Fuck.

Stiles fought his eyelids open, the familiar sight of the veterinarian's clinic doing all of zero to soothe the fire roaring to life in his chest."You turned me?" he choked out accusingly, the words scrapping and clawing at his throat as he forced them past his lips.

"Stiles, please. You need to stay calm." Deaton urged, moving away from him.

"Calm?" Stiles wheezed as he shoved himself upright, wincing when the new pink skin below his ribs tugged. "I'm a fucking werewolf and you want me to stay calm?" Each word was torture on his vocal chords but Stiles was too angry to care.

"You were dying!" Scott defended his actions, his tone pleading with Stiles to understand even as he sicced his big brown puppy dog eyes on him. "That thing tore a hole right through your body, Stiles! I didn't know what else to do."

"So you bit me?!" Stiles snarled, pain shooting through his gums. Great, he had fangs to worry about now. His breath was coming in giant heaves, reminiscent of a panic attack but fueled by nothing but rage. The tips of his fingers felt like they were splitting apart and when he looked down at the hand curled protectively below his ribs he found claws gleaming up at him. Fucking wonderful.

He could hear the sounds of the rest of the pack shuffling around outside the door, inching closer nervously. It only served to make him angrier. As if he would ever hurt Scott! Even pissed off beyond reason the worst Stiles had ever done was chain him to a God damned radiator.

The fact that the pack was nervous made Stiles attempt to reign in the fury surging through his veins, to try to smother the nearly manic anger rippling just beneath his skin and get a grip on himself. He pulled up memories of breathing techniques he'd learned as a means of fending off panic attacks, hoping that it would help calm him before he lost control. It didn't help, really, but Stiles kept at it while Scott and Deaton argued quiet but urgent behind him.

"Stiles, find an anchor." Allison commanded, having snuck up and planted herself in front of him. "Your dad, Scott, Malia... Whatever it is that keeps you human, find it and use it."

Stiles heard her even through the thick fog swirling around inside his head. He tried focusing on all three of Allison's suggestions, tried to let them anchor him to his human side while his brand new wolf snarled and snapped angrily in his chest. Though he couldn't see himself, Stiles knew his eyes would be glowing Beta Gold so he kept them screwed shut.

"No!" Scott was whisper-shouting off to his left, something about a sedative.

Stiles couldn't focus on that while he was trying to stay human. "I can't. It's not working." he whimpered, feeling the bones in his face starting to vibrate, cracking and shifting in miniscule increments.

"You can do this, Stiles." Scott's voice cut through the fog in his head. "You were the one who taught me this shit, bro. You and Derek, remember? If anyone can control the shift it's you."

"Are you kidding?" Stiles panted through fangs that were just starting to make him lisp. "My self-control sucks."

"Not when it counts." Allison coached, smiling her sweetly dimpled smile at him. "You always find a way, Stiles. Find it now."

"If you'd like, I can sedate you until you've finished healing." Deaton offered evenly, syringe in hand.

"No." Stiles growled, his lips pulling back from his teeth as his eyes snapped open and his irises burned golden. The idea of being sedated scared him, made both sides of himself snarl and retreat.

The next time he blinked, Stiles was backed defensively into the furthest corner of the room, crouched low and gnashing his teeth. He wasn't aware of moving but there he was, fangs fully dropped and claws extended, thick sideburns sprouted from his face along with wide ridges that protruded from his forehead and widened the bridge of his nose. Fear and instinct churned in his mind, one side wanting to bolt while the other was fully prepared to fight his way out. The forest outside was calling him and all Stiles wanted to do was run for it, shift and get the hell out of there.

He'd barely moved to act on his instincts, eyes fixed on the immediate threat of Deaton's needle, when Scott roared. As a human the sound had rattled Stiles all the way down to his bones, shaken him to his core. As a wolf? Stiles folded to the floor without thought, cowering low to the ground and baring his throat for his Alpha as the sound vibrated every nerve, ever fiber of his being, and the shift was forced back.

"Shit." Scott's face crumpled, his eyes apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

Panting and fighting the urge to keep his throat bared, Stiles shook his head as his bones settled back into their human shapes. "'S fine. Thanks." he slurred, tongue heavy but meeting nothing but human teeth.

"Once you find your anchor it'll be easier." Scott promised, reaching down to offer a hand to haul Stiles back to his feet.

Stiles nodded though he wasn't convinced. Scott's anchor was Allison when he first turned, and now was Allison and Isaac. Jackson's anchor was and always had been Lydia, Erica and Boyd were each other's, and Malia's was memories of her sister. Kira and Parrish didn't need anchors for some totally unfair bullshit reason, and Liam's was his mother and step-father. No one knew what Peter's anchor was but he didn't particularly count as pack anymore, regardless. With a twisting sensation behind his heart Stiles recalled that Derek's anchor had been anger once upon a time, though no one knew what it was now. The remaining Hale proved the pattern as nobody knew what Cora's anchor was either. She was still pack, even if she hadn't set foot back in Beacon Hills since she and Derek went to South America.

For the most part all of the wolves found success in using either their family or their significant others as anchors. If Stiles fell into their pack's norm his anchor should have been either Malia or his dad, or maybe even Scott. But none of those had helped him control the shift, none had helped him stay human.

"How am I supposed to find an anchor when the three most logical options didn't work?" Stiles asked the room at large. Three sets of shoulders shrugged in near perfect tandem and Stiles couldn't stop the growl from rumbling in his chest. "You guys are tons of helps. Thanks."