Title: Instead

Chapter: (1) Bitten

Spoiler: 01X01

Summary: What if Stiles was bitten instead?

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf

Clawing up into a sitting position, Stiles whimpered, "Fucking Scott, leaving me to do this on my own." He shifted to sit against a tree, hitting the back of his head against the rough bark. He hopped the dull ache it would cause, would keep his mind off of the agonizing pain stemming from the massive bite on his inner thigh.

Earlier that night his dad had received a phone call. The station called his dad in when half of a body was found in the woods by a couple of hikers. They dispatched the state police along with all local authorities to find the other half.

Stiles couldn't not try and find it for himself. He had called Scott, and was told that he had to pick up his mom from work so adventuring wasn't an option tonight.

Stiles whimpered again, as he heard a rustling in the background. "Stay calm, I have got to stay calm." He looked around, a flash of panic running through his system as he breathed hard. "Not every day that you get to run into a huge wolf named Cujo and get bit. Exciting really . . . Except for the fact that it's not. Nope, no excitement. All wonder of finding the dead body gone," Stiles rambled on as he began to slowly lift himself into a standing position.

"I found the dead body, and now I am rabid wolf chow, not the way I wanted to die," Stiles shrugged his shoulders, "But hey at least it's in style."

He began to walk in the direction he thought his truck sat, parked. He held a make-believe microphone up to his mouth as he limped, "So Scott, how did you feel when you left your friend to die alone in the woods."

He turned his head, "Well I am sad, you know, he was my best friend. But I mean, mauled by a giant wolf; must have been epic." Sarcasm lite his tone as he imitated Scott's nasally voice.

"God, how am I going to ever live this down?" He threw his hands up, "The first and only wolf in California for the past sixty years and Genim Stiles Stilinski will be mauled by it."

He was quiet for the rest of the slow agonizing walk back to his Jeep. When he had reached the vehicle, gotten in was when he began to break down; his panic taking hold for a brief second.

"I am alive," he said after a few minutes of harsh breathing, "I am alive." Stiles blanked out, his vision leaving his as everything became too much.

Stiles woke to a chirping. "Oh, my head," he lifted himself up off the steering wheel, "Crap what happened?"

Stiles blinked a few times, clearing his vision, as he cracked his neck. He leaned to his left, tumbling down onto the ground outside his Jeep. Looking up into his car he huffed, "I didn't leave that open," he scrunched his brows together, "I-oh, no," he looked at his thigh. What? When? How? His leg was bandaged, the blood clotted and staining the dressing, but bandaged.

He got up off the ground, leaning on the door for support, careful to not put any weight on his leg. Slowly he transferred his weight, "Ow, ow, ow, ow . . . Wait not ow. Why not ow? It doesn't hurt." Looking down at his leg, "Why doesn't it hurt?"

He grinned, and looked at his watch, "Shit . . . shit, shit, shit! Dad is going to kill me." He slammed the door closed, starting the Jeep and speeding away.

Stiles smiled as he pulled into the driveway, his dad's patrol car nowhere in sight. "Lucky—so lucky!"

Stiles jumped startled as his phone went off. Fumbling with it, he flipped it open, "If I die, the name I was given at my birth is not to be put on the head stone."

"Stiles? What in the hell are you talking about?" His father's voice sounded on the other line.

"I-well . . ."

"Were you having another nightmare? Did you watch another one of those documentary things that I told you not to?" the voice on the other side of his phone was frustrated and slightly amused.

"Um . . ."

"No—wait, I don't want to know." Stiles huffed listening, "I'm sorry I couldn't make it home last night or this morning, I will try for tonight, but no promises."

Stiles let his hand drift up to his forehead, "Yeah alright," the sheriff was going to hang up when Stiles spoke up, "Hey don't forget to eat. I love you too, bye." He hung up, getting out of the car. It was time to get ready for school.

~0~o~O~o~0~

Stiles waited on the steps outside the school waiting for Scott to show. He impatiently gripped his bag, hopping up and down, to settle his nerves. "Come on Scott."

He watched as he best friend rode into the parking lot, parking his bike at the edge of the bike rack. Stiles threw his hands up in the air, turning around with his hands on his hips, impatient.

"Stiles!" he turned to Scott's voice, "Dude what happened last night?"

Stiles grinned, "Well I found a dead body."

"Wait, what?" Scott pulled back from him slightly.

"Well actually I rolled around on top of a dead body, with not knowing it was there, and dropping my flashlight." Stiles made a face.

"Rolled arou—god Stiles gross," Scott, gagged.

"Yeah, yeah I had that reaction to . . . Until the thing that killed the dead body found me." Stiles turned away, not letting Scott get a word in edge wise, "Pretty sure it was a wolf, which shouldn't be possible since there are NO wolves in California."

"Seriously?" Scott hefted his bag up on his shoulder.

"Uh yeah—the thing bit me. I have a huge bite on my thigh," Stiles bobbed his head.

"How did you get away?" Scott jumped eyes wide, "Dude, what if you get rabies?"

"I am not going to get rabies," Stiles shifted in on himself, whispering only to where he could hear, "At least I hope not."

Scott shifted, "Can I see?"

"See what?"

"The bite."

"Uh well no," Stiles shook his head, "Cause then I would have to take off my pants. And Scott, that would mean entering the gay zone—with you, and you're my brother, so that would be incest. Though I don't have a problem with the gay zone, in the least, with well anyone else . . ." Stiles though for a moment, "Except Jackson."

Scott stood staring at him for a moment, deciding to ignore Stiles he asked, "So the body huh," they turned to walk up the steps.

"Yeah I know, this is like the best thing to happen to Beacon Hills since . . ." a strawberry blonde walked past them, her strut right off the runway, "Since the birth of Lydia Martin."

Stiles gapped for a second as Lydia turned around to him, surveying him, "Who are you?" Her voice was sickly sweet.

"I am uh-Stiles," Stiles offered, still in awe.

"Are you new here?"

"Well, no. We have been in the same class since Kindergarten. You pelted me with a yellow crown when I called you pretty." Stiles supplied.

"Hmm," her eyes narrowed. After a brief second she gave a simpering smile, "So you're new here."

Stiles forehead wrinkled.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, "I will be seeing you around hotty."

Stiles' jaw dropped as she turned around, swaying her hips.

"Did she . . . just?"

"Dude," Scott slapped Stiles on the back.

Stiles straightened, "That didn't feel as good as I thought it would," he mumbled, wiping his forehead.

They walked into the school, Scott paying more attention to Stiles, "What are you wearing?"

"You are just full of questions today," Stiles shook his head.

"But really," Scott urged.

Stiles looked down at his outfit. He was sporting a black, thermal shirt that was two sizes too small, along with his union jeans hoodie that was also two sizes too small. His jeans, as a running theme were tighter then he normally wore them. It was laundry day. "Laundry day."

"Keep it up, whatever this style is, Lydia might notice you more." Scott spoke sagely as they sat down in their seats.

"What, wearing all my clothes from like a year ago?" Stiles was incredulous.

"If it works," Scott shrugged. "When did you get all . . . muscled looking? Like a week ago you were all stick figure like." He motioned with his hands.

Stiles huffed, "Again with the questions. And I don't know man, probably this summer from all the practicing we did."

Stiles turned away to glance out the window, a knock startling him out of his reverie. He looked up and at the door.

"Class this is our newest arrival, Allison Argent," the principal supplied, closing the door as he left.

She stood awkwardly at the front of the class, pursing her lips, "There is a seat left in the back Ms. Argent, behind Mr. McCall." She nodded taking her seat. "Now class let's turn to page 143, we will be studying Kafka's Metamorphosis."

It hit Stiles like a brick to the head, a musky unappealing scent. Looking around, he tried to pinpoint where it came from. Sneering he looked around the classroom, finally narrowing down that it was Scott. Sniffing he caught a whiff of mint mojito gum . . . coming from his pocket. He could smell the new girl's rosy perfume, and the teacher's cologne, along with the fact Jacob Galey hadn't taken a shower in at least four days. "God," he whispered harshly, putting his hands on his head.

A rustling sounded next to him. Stiles peeked over at the new girl, she was frantically going through her purse, miming the word pen over and over again. Stiles took the gum out of his pocket, unwrapping it and writing – give the new girl your extra pen. He wrapped it back up, and glancing around, "Scott," Scott looked back at him, catching the gum as it was tossed to him.

Scott took his cue and turned to give Allison his extra pen.

She smiled, "Thanks," receiving only a nod from Scott.

Stiles groaned as Scott's musk intensified once more, just as Allison's own rose perfume was permeated with cinnamon, rosemary, and something else Stiles couldn't identify. He groaned. It was going to be a long day.

The day went by slowly, classes taking far to long for Stiles to bare. Interminably he would get heightened senses. When his hearing heightened he could hear everything from several classes over. His sense of touch, sent shivers up his spin when anyone did something as simple as a squeeze to the back of his neck. His sense of smell was worse, giving him raging headaches as the intense smells of teen perfume, angst, stress, and arousal.

He stood at his locker; head down as Scott stood next to him staring off at the new girl, as she was bombarded by Lydia and Jackson.

"A party?" Stiles whipped his head up to gaze at the group as Allison voice rang clear as day.

"Yeah, tomorrow night, everyone is going," Lydia offered.

"Well I can't tomorrow night is family night. My dad is a stickler." Allison nodded.

"You sure, it's after the scrimmage game," Jackson spoke.

"Like football?" Allison asked.

Jackson laughed, "Football is a joke here. The sport here is Lacrosse. We have won the championship for the past three years."

Stiles shook his head, hitting Scott across the chest, "She says she can't go to the party this Friday, but I bet if the right person asked her she would go."

"Really, you think so," Scott turned to Stiles.

Stiles nodded, grabbing the back of Scott's t-shirt and dragging him to practice.

~0~o~O~o~0~

"Are you seriously going to leave me all alone on the bench?" Stiles demanded.

"I can't sit on the sidelines again Stiles, I am making first line," Scott said firmly.

"Well good for you," Stiles looked on to the field voice sarcastic.

The coach was approaching as Stiles went to place his things on the bench, "McCall," the coach threw gear at him, "Your play goal."

Stiles watched the scene unfold before him with a cringe, until Scott began to get the groove of it. "Who knew?" Scott was catching most of the balls flying at him.

The coach came to sit down on the bench, "Bilinski," he pointed to Scott, "Did you know that he was any good?"

"Uh-no coach, must be natural talent?" He had meant it as a statement, but it came out more of a question.

"Huh," the coach scratched his head, "Bilinski!"

"Yeah coach?"

"You warm up with Danny on field two; he needs to practice in the goal."

"Right coach," Stiles huffed, getting up from the bench. "Danny," he called jogging over.

Danny looked up from his equipment, "What," he snapped.

"Coach said to practice with you on field two," Stiles shrugged.

Danny looked up and over his shoulder, seeing the coach yelling at the rest of the team. Turning he said, "Yeah alright, let's go."

The jogged over to the field just on the other side of the tree line where some of the other player stood doing drills under the second coach. Danny nodded to the coach, heading for the goal. Checking his equipment, he tossed the balls at Stiles and maneuvering himself into place. "Ready when you are."

Stiles hefted a ball into the net of his crosse and shot it at Danny not really trying.

"Come on Stiles, I actually want practice, at least try and be decent," Danny shouted.

"Yeah, yeah I got it, do better." Stiles gave him a thumbs up. He hefted another ball into the pocket and took a breath. He let everything go, opened his eyes, and let it fly.

Danny stood dumb-founded, jaw slack, as he looked back behind him to the ball. He picked it up and tossed it with his stick back to Stiles. "Again, just like that."

~0~o~O~o~0~

Stiles stumbled through the brush, Scott just behind him. "Today was too much, I could hear, see, and smell things that I shouldn't be able to. My head was splitting in half for more than half the day."

"Like what," Scott asked.

"I smelled your arousal today Scott and knowing when you're aroused is not something that I feel the need to know," Stiles voice pitched. Scott said nothing for a beat, following after Stiles.

"Why are we out here again?" Scott asked, breathing hard.

"One to find the dead body, and two, to find my flashlight," Stiles explained.

"Why is your flashlight so important?"

"My dad bought it for me when I was into the whole outdoors thing; it's like a sixty dollar flashlight." Stiles stopped dead, "Here, it should be here, I dropped my flashlight over there," he pointed over by the tree where the beast from last night bit him.

"It's not here anymore," Scott looked around, "Do you think the wolf ate it?"

Stiles turned around to look blankly at Scott, his eyes widening at the sight of the figure behind him.

Scott turned around, "What are you looking at? Oh . . ."

"What are you doing here," the figure, tall dark, and undeniably handsome, demanded.

"Uh, well we are looking for my flas-flashlight." Stiles gulped as Derek stared at them. He stepped back slightly as his senses heightened once more. Cedar, musk, and a spice he knew but couldn't name assaulted his nose. He liked this scent. This scent didn't give him a headache.

"This is private property," Derek walked toward them.

"Sorry man, we didn't know," Scott offered.

"Well leave," Derek threw the flashlight at Stiles and began to walk away.

"Yeah ok~ay," Stiles looked after Derek as he walked away, "So that was Derek Hale."

"Who?"

"Derek, don't you remember, Derek Hale, he is only like three years older than us." Stiles jumped up and down. "His family was massacred in that fire, I remember they pulled him out of class when it happened. He never came back to school."

"I still don't remember," Scott said, shaking his head as they headed back. "I have to get to work Stiles."

"Yeah, fine, let's get back to the jeep."

~0~o~O~o~0~

Stiles walked into his house, throwing the keys on the counter, and dashing to the fridge. He opened it in a flourish and yanked the milk out, popping off the lid an chugging it down.

"Stiles," his dad was standing at the entrance of the kitchen. Stiles jumped, surprised spilling some onto his chin, "Put the milk back in the fridge."

Stiles slowly pulled the carton away, wiping his chin with his sleeve, and putting the milk back into the fridge, "So the milk is back in the fridge."

His dad shifted his weight, folding his arms across his chest. "How was school today?"

"The usual . . ."

"Were you giving any of the teacher's trouble?"

"Nooo," he drew the word out deliberately looking away.

"Did you take your Adderall this morning?" Stiles nodded. "Are you going to be okay tonight, I have to go in," the sheriff hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

"What about dinner?" Stiles asked.

"I planned to grab something on my way in," the sheriff said gruffly.

"No curly fries," Stiles waved his finger at his dad.

"Good night Stiles," the sheriff said turning around and walking out the front door.

"See you later Dad," Stiles called after him as the door closed. "Like never," he added a bit bitterly. "Great, okay . . ." he bit his lip and took off for the stairs, taking two at a time.

He was half way up when he stopped abruptly, "Pepper, white pepper, that's what he smelled like, cedar, musk and white pepper." He smiled softly, making it up the rest of the stairs and into his room. He threw his backpack to the floor and himself onto his bed. Curling up into a ball he began to process all that happened.

Falling asleep, he pulled his comforter up and around himself, feeling overwhelmed.

~0~o~O~o~0~

Stiles was pulling the last of his books out of his locker when it slammed shut by a tan hand. He followed the hand to the arm and up to the face of a very serious Danny. "What can I do you for, this lovely day Danny?"

"Why aren't you more serious during practice, if you got more serious, you do realize you would make first line, right?" Stiles shrugged, "Stiles!"

"I can't right now Danny; I have got some other stuff on my plate," Stiles shrugged his backpack on.

"Whatever man, but if we need you, I am outing you." Danny said walking down the hall with him to practice.

Stiles stopped abruptly, "Outing?" Stiles squeaked.

Danny stopped turning around to him, "Is there something else that can be outed?"

"I-" Stiles looked at Danny in the eyes, unsure.

Danny shrugged, "Come on man, let's get to practice," he swung his arm over Stiles' shoulders. He smelled of amber and lilies, something that wasn't entirely unpleasant, and wasn't something that gave him a headache.

Stiles' phone went off as Danny separated himself from Stiles to get dressed. He flipped it open with a flick of his finger, seeing his dad's number. "Hey dad, oh, yeah," he hung up.

"Stiles," Scott called from the bench. "Allison agreed to go on a date with me!"

"What," Stiles spastically jumping up and down, "Awesome dude."

"And Jackson accused me of steroids," Scott said a brief smile flitting across his face.

Stiles grinned at him.

~0~o~O~o~0~

His finger clicked deftly over the keyboard. His eyes roved over the screen, printing off legend after myth that had to do with werewolves. Words flew across the screen: Silver, wolfsbane, lycanthropy, aconite. He picked up one of the books he had brought home from the library, comparing notes. Turning back to the screen, he held his hand up to his mouth at the picture of a hunter pointing a crossbow at a wolf baring his teeth.

The sun began to set . . . the moon setting up into the sky.

A knock on his door had him scrambling out of his chair. He rushed to the door opening it to a hunched over Scott.

"Come on, come on, get in here," Stiles ushered her in.

"What is this Stiles; I'm supposed to pick Allison up in, like an hour." Scott was irritated, looking at his watch.

Stiles sat in his chair, "I think there is something wrong with me."

"What do you mean?"

"Wha-what do I mean?" Stiles mimicked, "I mean there is something wrong with me. Scott I don't know what to do? My senses are going haywire; I'm getting irritated at the smallest things. Things like my dad not being around. I grew honest to god claws this morning when I woke up this morning."

"What am I supposed to do Stiles?" Scott demanded, "I don't get what I am supposed to do."

"Scott," Stiles' voice broke, "I think I am a werewolf."

"What! Stiles seriously," Scott was shouting, he shot up from his spot on the bed, he turned to the door.

"I am being serious," Stiles also shot up faster than Scott.

"I'm leaving, I have a date," Scott began his trek for the door.

"I need help, it's the full moon. I can feel it Scott."

"Bye Stiles," Scott's hand were on the doorknob when his wrist was grabbed, nails-claws pinching into his skin. "Wha-"

Stiles whipped Scott around, slamming him against the door. Scott froze staring into glowing amber-red eyes. Stiles stiffened seeing fear leak into to Scott's eyes. He let him go, backing up into the corner on the other side of his room. "Sorry . . . I . . . Sorry." He crouched down clutching his head, "Sorry."

"Stiles?" Scott stood, still frozen.

"Leave, just . . . leave," Stiles heard the door open and close.

He stumbled up into a standing position and into the bathroom. He turned the shower on ice cold and got in, clothes and all, breathing hard.

He sat there for a while before he lifted himself out of the tub and walked back to his room soaking the carpet as he dripped. He pulled off his shirt and peeled off his jeans, standing stark naked in his room. He walked over to his dresser pulling out a pair of red sweatpants and slipping them on before crawling into his bed. A growl sounded deep, in the middle of his chest, sounding like a purr. He let himself drift off.

~0~o~O~o~0~

Stiles came to as his body began to convulse, he opened his mouth to scream but stopped just in time, unsure if his dad was home. "Ungh," he moaned in pain as tremors racked his frame. He looked down at his hands, his vision blurring to red, his hands curling, claws out and sharp. He had to get out of here, he could feel it. The need to hunt, curling in his stomach, the want to tear something apart. He looked at the door as he heard a knock.

"Stiles? Stiles are you okay?" his Dad called.

"Fine, Dad," his voice was harsh, his breath coming hard. He needed an excuse for his Dad to not come into his room, a reason to stay away for the remainder of the night, maybe some avoidance in the morning. "Dad, remember when we talked about me needing privacy for Stiles' special time? This-this is that time." The grunt from pain at the end of the statement probably helped a lot with convincing his dad.

"Oh, well I will see you tomorrow then," he paused, "I will probably going in early to work."

"Okay, night Dad," a clear dismissal.

Stiles huffed, "Get out, gotta get out." He turned to his open window and let the red haze take hold, leading him to the woods.

He ran fast, faster than he had ever been capable, letting the trees claw in around him, urging him on. His feet flying silently across the brush, he had left his shoes back at home, along with most of his clothes. Like his shirt, and socks, and underwear, leaving him with a pair of flimsy pajama pants.

He reached the edge of the cliff that overlooked Beacon Hills, breathing deeply.

~0~o~O~o~0~

Derek stood idly at the edge of the party, hopping that he didn't have to drag that Stiles kid away to keep him under control. He sniffed once more, and finally caught hold of his scent. He glanced in the direction it came from, grimacing as he caught site of the kid, Scott, who always hung around Stiles, grinding up against the Argent girl.

He moved swiftly towards the pair, deftly avoiding bodies that were dancing around him.

"Where is Stiles?" Derek asked once he was close enough.

Scott froze, turning to stare at him. "He didn't come tonight, he wasn't feeling well."

Derek cocked his head and glared, "Do you know why he wasn't feeling well."

Scott looked away, shame drifting off him in wafts, "He had a theory."

"Hmm . . ." Derek turned, he had to find Stiles.

"Who was that?" he heard Allison whisper.

"Nobody to worry about," Scott offered as they began to dance again.

Derek cringed, dulling his hearing and heading in the direction of the Stilinski household. He pulled up and snarled, already aware that Stiles wasn't here. He had to find him before the hunters did.

~0~o~O~o~0~

Stiles cried out as an arrow hit his thigh while looking out at the city. He screamed, cringing as I turned into a growl, and surprised how unfazed he was besides his initial reaction. He heard the rustling back behind him, aware of the movement. He hunched over and broke the shaft, acting purely on instinct as he pulled it out. He could feel his skin knitting together. He turned to face a man that was in his mid-thirties, his eyes ice, flanked by two other men with less standing.

Stiles zoned onto the men, growling, and spittle flying from his mouth.

"Look gentlemen, we have a beta with red rimmed eyes," the cold eyed man said. Stiles flinch, unsure of why he had that reaction, "Haven't seen one of those in generations. Bring him."

The men were about to step forward as another beast flew out of the woods, disposing of them instantly. The man turned to combat the creature when it disappeared; he looked back at the other werewolf at the edge and cursed. Stiles was gone.

Stiles followed behind the wolf that had saved him, eyeing his back. They stopped once they were a few mile away from the scene.

Stiles leaned over, breathing hard. "Who were they?"

"Those were hunters," Derek answered behind him.

"Explains a lot," Stiles mumbled to himself.

"What were you doing," Derek's voice was harsh.

"Trying not to kill my dad, I separated myself from civilization." Stiles said, feeling stupid.

Derek observed him for a moment, then handing him a red hoodie—his red hoodie.

"That was on my bed," Stiles informed him.

"I had to hunt for you." Derek supplied.

Stiles took his red hoodie and slipped it on. Taking a moment to analyze how calm he really was and asked, "Were you the one that bit me?"

"No," Derek spoke voice harsh, glare prominent.

Stiles watched Derek turn and walk away.

~0~o~O~o~0~

Stiles walked along the grave sites heading away from his mother, as a car pulled up to the curve. Stiles only needed to glance at it to know it was Scott in his Mom's car.

He finally let himself relax, leaning into the vehicle as he opened the door. They drove in silence for a few minutes, Scott gradually trying to get some courage to talk to him; Stiles could smell it permeating the air.

Stiles took pity on him, "How was the date last night?"

Scott breathed a sigh, "It was amazing, Allison was amazing," his eyebrows scrunching together, "Though Derek found me last night."

Stiles turned abruptly towards him, "Why," he demanded.

"He was looking for you," Scott shrugged.

"Let me guess, did he go all grr grr demanding," Stiles offered.

"Pretty much," Scott agreed.

"I have this feeling that he has this big bad wolf complex, and either I am a pig, or little red riding hood; though I don't like the implications of the last."

"Huh," Scott scrunched his forehead together, clueless.

"Nothing, just drive," Stiles looked out the window, not wanting to talk anymore.

"We will be okay Stiles," Stiles looked over at him as he clapped him on the shoulder. Stiles shrugged his shoulder off, unsure if it was true. Just wanting to get home and get clothes.

He got to school early enough for Stiles to get to the locker room to get ready for morning practice, Scott hanging back to see Allison, and put his bike on the rack.