A/N: Hello, readers! This is my first ever Wolf Among Us fanfic. It's currently rated T for swearing and violence. There might be some sexual content in future chapters, but I haven't decided yet. If things get too extreme, or if you start feeling uncomfortable, just send me a PM and I'll change the rating accordingly. I really hope you enjoy it, and it would mean the world to me if you left a review telling me what you thing, what I could improve on, and if you want me to keep going. Thank you!

It was worse. He knew it. He'd known it ever since that fight with Mary. The taste of her blood, ripe and hot against his tongue, the feeling of her body shatter under his paws and between his teeth, it had all awoken something inside of him. A beast he had thought long dead.

The spectacle with the Crooked Man hadn't helped at all. He didn't know what he was thinking, ripping his head off. But the more he remembered, the more he realized that there was no thought behind it. There was just instinct.

Looking in the mirror, it was only too obvious. His eyes were never brown anymore. Always, they were amber, bright and gleaming with a feral rage.

The wolf was awake. It was inside him. And every second of the day, it demanded to be released.

Ever since that day, every Fable looked at him differently. They had all forgotten who the Sheriff really was. Hell, even Bigby himself pretended to be normal – or at least as normal as a Fable could be. But it couldn't be denied any longer. The Big Bad Wolf roamed the streets. Hide your kids, hide your wife, hide everyone in sight. Not that it would matter much. He could still blow your house down.

Bigby thought this resentfully as he gazed out the window of his cramped and dirty living room. In a way, it was better that no one tried to talk to him anymore. The less people he interacted with, the less people he wanted to dismember.

"How you holding up, Bigby?" said Colin, trotting awkwardly through the threshold.

Bigby sighed. And then there was Colin. In all honesty, he didn't know why the pig was still living here. He should have sent him to the Farm when he had the chance. Before all of the murders, Bigby had found his presence helpful. Colin wasn't bad company, once you got to know him. But now, he was just irritating. Every single waking minute of the day, that obnoxious pig was just around the corner, condescending and smelly as usual.

Slowly, the sheriff shifted his gaze until his golden eyes were glaring into Colin's. He noticed the pig's uneasy shift in weight. Of course, that was to be expected. Colin was all too familiar with those eyes. Those were the eyes of the beast that had turned his life inside out.

"I'm fine, Colin," Bigby said, trying to make his tone soft. It still came out as a growl. He went back to looking out the window and took a long drag from his cigarette, expecting the conversation to be done.

"No, you're not," said the pig. Bigby turned to him in surprise. Colin had barely said a word to him since the Crooked Man, except for the occasional 'how are you doing' or 'get me a smoke.' Like every other Fable around, Colin had tried to leave Bigby to his own devices, which was a real fucking chore, considering the fact that they lived together.

"What do you mean?" said the sheriff, not even trying to hide the growl in his voice.

"I mean you're not fine, Bigby. You haven't been fine since the head," Colin said pointedly.

Bigby closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The last thing he needed right then was to get angry. He took a frantic drag from the cigarette, but it did nothing to dull the reek of fear rolling off of his roommate.

That was the whole reason why he started smoking. Bigby had to dull his senses somehow. It was the only way he could stay sane, living in a city like New York. Smoking kept his smell in check, dampening all the other odors, but when the scent was strong enough, it always found its way into Bigby's nostrils.

That's how Colin was. Fear gushed from him, fear mixed with anger and concern. It clouded the room, filling up every crack and crevice it could find, crawling its way into Bigby's brain. It was enough to drive him mad.

"I don't think that's any of your concern, Colin," he snarled, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

"It is my fucking concern, seeing as I'm the one who might get eaten!" Colin shouted. Bigby didn't answer, so he continued. "You know what they say about you, right? All the other Fables? They think you're officially off the wagon, Bigby. They are convinced that the Big Bad Wolf is back, and that he's got a thirst blood. They think they're going to start dying in the streets!"

"And who the fuck cares what they think?" Bigby rounded on him, feeling his lips curl back, revealing his wicked canines. "Let's not forget that I did them a fucking favor! There were people dying in the streets, and they had nothing to do with me! The only people I killed were the ones who deserved it, and that's it."

Colin took a step closer to the sheriff. Though he must have been terrified, his anger was much stronger. "But it's not just 'it.' I know what happens when you get a taste of Fable. You get this hunger. And when you start eating, you don't stop," he furiously.

In return, Bigby also took a step closer. He felt his vision sharpen, his teeth elongate. You need to get a grip, the reasonable part of his mind said, but Bigby was done with reason. He was done with patience. He just wanted to get mad. "How can you say that?" he roared. "You don't know shit about me, pig! You don't have a fucking clue!"

He stopped, breathing heavily. Silence hung in the air for a good few seconds. Then Colin drew back.

"So it's 'pig' now, huh?" he said, his voice unusually quiet. Colin chuckled. It was an odd sort of chuckle, one that Bigby didn't like the sound of. "I know a lot about you, Bigby. I know what you're really like. That hunger inside you? It's only gonna get worse, and if you don't do something about it soon, someone's gonna get hurt. And I know this," he added, seeing Bigby's mouth open to object, "because I've seen Fables get hurt because of you. That's what happened to my brothers, remember?

"Yeah, you look shocked, don't you?" he said, noticing Bigby's expression. "Or is that fear? Guilt, possibly? I hope so. I mean, that's the whole reason why I'm still here, isn't it? Why you haven't sent me to the Farm? You let me stay in your home since you blew down my brothers'. As if that somehow makes up for what you did to them." Colin sniffed and turned away. "You tried to kill my baby brothers, Bigby. You almost did. Then after that, you sent them away to live with those brutes. That's the sort of thing a 'pig' can't forget," he said, using the word mockingly. "That kind of thing can never be water under the bridge." He started to walk away.

"Wait, Colin," Bigby called after him. Being reminded of Colin's brothers was enough to shock most of the anger out of him. Though his eyes still gleamed amber, there was a softness to them now.

"No," said the pig curtly. "I don't want to talk to you right now. Not if you can't stop looking at me like that. Like prey." The word stung Bigby like silver, and he couldn't help but flinch. "You can come apologize once you've got your shit together," Colin continued, ignoring Bigby's pleading expression. "Until then, fuck off." Having made his point, the pig trotted into the bedroom and shut the door loudly.

Bigby took a few deep breaths before lashing out with a clawed hand, sending a lamp flying across the room. It crashed into the room, and Bigby could hear the satisfying shatter of the light bulb. "Fucking hell," he snarled furiously. He started pacing the room and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fucking hell," he repeated quietly, digging into his pocket for his pack of smokes. He stuck one in his mouth and started to go for his lighter when the end of the cig was sheared off by his razor sharp teeth. "Fuck," he muttered once more.

It took almost a minute for the sheriff to calm down just enough to get his teeth to shrink down. As always, he glanced in the mirror hopefully, but once again, he was disappointed to find that his eyes were still bright and angry.

Bigby snorted in exasperation and shook his head. Almost all of Fabletown refused to look his way nowadays, and he just fucked up one of the last friendships he still had. Nice one.

He knew who he needed now. The same person he always needed. Snow.

But she wouldn't talk to him. If it wasn't the shitload of work the other Fables were berating her with, it was color of his eyes that made her hurry the other way.

Snow had always somewhat resented his wolf side. He didn't blame her, of course – it was the only natural reaction. Over the centuries, Bigby had thought maybe she'd warm up to him, and for a while she did, but then…

He remembered so clearly the blind fury that raged through his veins when the Crooked Man threw his cuffs around Bigby's neck. As he had the fucker on his knees, bent backwards over the Witching Well, the sheriff took special notice in a large, purple vein that bulged noticeably beneath the thin, pale skin of his neck, and that's what did it.

It was just a huge blur after that. Just blood and claws. Until he turned around and saw Snow's face. The terror and the disgust that was painted on her face, plain as day. On any other Fable, he might have felt satisfied. Triumphant, even. But not Snow. Never Snow.

With a growl, Bigby left the room and made his way down into the lobby. "Hey, Beauty," he said gruffly.

The young blonde at the counter gave a little jump at the mention of her name. She had gotten a job as a receptionist at the apartment building that Bigby lived in. He knew it paid better than any other shithole she could've worked at, but still, he wondered why anyone would want to be in the same building as him.

"Oh, h-hey, Bigby. H-how's it going?" she stuttered nervously.

"Could be better," he admitted. "Things good with Beast? I mean, with the rent and everything…" He trailed off awkwardly. Conversation was a lot harder since that night.

Beauty looked Bigby dead in the eyes. Next to Greenleaf, she had been the least willing to throw the Crooked Man down the Witching Well. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had been paying for her fancy apartment for so long. Whatever the reason, she definitely wasn't happy when Bigby decided to take his head off.

"Could be better," she said, her voice stony.

"Your job… You're making –"

"I'm making enough," Beauty cut him off. She looked down at her desk and smoothed a golden lock behind her ear. "You don't need to worry about us, Bigby. Beast and I can take care of ourselves. Just leave us alone," she said.

Bigby opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Besides, Beauty wouldn't be the first one to shy away from Bigby's attention.

"Whatever you say, Beauty," he grumbled, turning away from her and walking through the entrance of the building.

It was well after midnight, the only light coming from the streetlamps and glowing crescent moon. Bigby walked down the sidewalk with no real destination in mind. Visiting Snow was out of the question. He knew she wouldn't be in the mood to see him any time soon. His mind travelled to Nerissa. He was still unclear on what to do about her. Honestly, Bigby didn't know why he didn't chase after her that one day, why he didn't go up and demand answers.

Thinking back on it, he supposed it was because she deserved some peace after all that happened to her. Whether she was Nerissa or Faith, it didn't really matter. Georgie and the Crooked Man were both dead, and that girl – whoever she was – was free. Nothing could change that.

Bigby passed by an alleyway when he caught a strange scent. It was heavy and distinctive, a smell he knew all too well.

Blood.

But something was different about it. Normally, when he smelled blood, it stirred something inside of Bigby. Made him hungry, made him crave it, but this blood felt foul, poisonous even. Another good whiff of it made the sheriff's head reel. His eyes brightened out of curiosity. "Who's there?" he called out.

Of course, there was no answer, but it was worth a try.

With a heavy sigh, Bigby stepped into the shadows of the cramped alleyway. Mucky puddles were spotted along the asphalt, and crumpled papers and broken beer bottles made a cracking sound every time the sheriff took a step. By this time, the stench was overpowering. Why didn't I bring my cigarettes, Bigby groaned in his mind.

"Listen, I've had a real shitty night so far, and I don't need to deal with any other shenanigans. So get your ass out of here before I tear it to pieces," he growled. No answer. Again.

He was just about to turn back when he heard a woman's voice say in a sickly sweet tone, "Now that's no way to talk to a lady."

And just like that, Bigby's blood turned cold.

He froze in place, eyes widened, mouth slightly open in shock. The voice continued, "You know, I was just on my way out of town when I realized we didn't have a proper goodbye. I'd really miss our little tumbles, and I couldn't bare to part with them without having just one more."

Very slowly, Bigby lowered himself down into a defensive stance. His nails grew long and clawlike, and his teeth shaped themselves into fangs. "How is this possible?" he said in a low voice.

A chuckle. "Bigby, I'm disappointed in you," the voice said. It seemed to be all around him, originating from every crack in the brick walls of the alley. It seemed extremely close, yet at the same time, thrown from a great distance. "All this time, I thought you were the smart one. The big bad who stood above all the other mewling fools. I'd have expected you to figure it out by now, Sheriff."

Bigby whirled around and came face to face with a pair of blazing red eyes, a color so much like his own. "You can't kill a ghost," Bloody Mary whispered.

She slashed at him with a shard of glass, leaving a deep, stinging gash in Bigby's chest. He growled in pain and swung a clawed fist towards her face, but she wasn't there. He looked around frantically before a strong hand grasped his forearm, digging its nails into the exposed skin. He turned, and there she was, grinning like a maniac as she dug her glass dagger deep into his arm. He felt its jagged tip graze his radius.

With another painful roar, Bigby sent a fist flying at the bitch, but she was gone faster than blinking. A quick slash across his right shin made him fall to one knee. The sheriff twisted around awkwardly, but again, Bloody Mary vanished. He struggled to his feet. Where the hell is she coming from, he screamed internally. Just as the thought was finished, two more slashes opened the skin along his lower ribcage. Blood oozed out of the wounds and dripped down his shirt.

Bigby started swinging wildly, but she kept coming, appearing everywhere he wasn't looking. Down, down, the razor sharp blade carved into him, too quick to be noticed until after the blood started gushing from the new wounds.

A hand gripped his shoulder. Finally, Bigby thought as he roared. Fast as lightening, the werewolf whirled around and closed his hand around the throat of his attacker.

"Fucking shit, Bigby!" the Fable exclaimed in surprised.

It took Bigby a moment to recognize him. "…Woody?" he said. He released his grip on the other man's neck and looked around, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where is she?" he asked, stepping back with his fists raised.

"Where's who?" Woody's eyes widened when he caught sight of the blood. "Bigby, what the hell happened?"

He looked down at his clothes, torn to shreds from all the cuts and gashes. "She…she was here…" Bigby muttered uncertainly, but he suddenly noticed his claws. Dark red liquid dripped from their pointed ends. Just one sniff, and Bigby knew it was his own. Did I do this?

"Bigby, there's no one else here. I thought I heard fighting. What happened?" Woody said. Just then, the sheriff noticed the axe he held in his hand. The woodsman had been prepared for a fight.

Bigby turned his attention back to the seemingly empty alleyway, and realized that Woody was right. There was no sign of Mary anywhere.