The End of a Life

(Three months later)

Stiles worked his way silently through the pine litter that covered the forest floor. His compound bow held steady before him as he tracked the faint trail at his feet. Without looking he knew that Scott and Paul were flanking him on either side. For the past four years they had trained together, becoming so tightly knit that a single motion would convey conversations worth of meaning.

Stiles raised his hand, palm open and up. Scott and Paul immediately sunk to the forest floor waiting for their leader's next command. At seventeen, Stiles was too young for the leader position but with the war raging, many opportunities were becoming available to the younger hunters. At least that was how Owen Chassuer phrased it. Stiles just wished he had been honest. An honest answer would be that the rest were dead.

Stiles waited for the other two teams to enter his line of sight. The trail they followed was no longer clear. Deep in his gut he was starting to suspect that something was very wrong.

To his left he could see Scott fidgeting with his crossbow as he tried to rub the arrow brand on his bicep that was now a requirement for all hunters. In the last month two compounds had been infiltrated by wolves pretending to be lone hunters. Once inside they had sabotaged the alarm systems, allowing the perimeter to be breached. With the same brutality the hunters had shown the slaughtered packs, the wolves quickly wiped out all the humans within each compound.

The brand was a perfect symbol. Any hunter wishing to enter another compound had to show proof of mark. If they were unmarked, they were to submit to the brand. Because wolves don't scar. The question of one's humanity could be cleared in minutes. Feeling his own newly branded skin give a twinge, he could not help but wonder how long it would take the packs to bypass even this form of protection. If you were branded before you turned, then the scar would remain. He hoped that they didn't think of that.

With a simple hand signal to his team, Stiles moved deeper into the woods. He kept a careful eye out for the rest of the groups. A rouge pair had been spotted in this area and three training teams lead by an experienced one had begun the hunt. Alpha-less, they could be quickly dispatched before they were able to find a new pack. In the months since the outing of the packs, simple hunts had become rare. This was Stiles' first chance for his team to prove themselves in the field.

A scream broke the forest quiet followed by the guttural howl. Without a glance toward his team, knowing they would follow, Stiles took off in the direction of the sounds of battle. Entering a small clearing caused by the felling of a large pine, Stiles fired his arrow into the back of a beta, giving another hunter a chance to regain his footing.

Five hunters lay dead on the ground and Owen Chassuer, head of his compound, was on his knees before the alpha. "Did you think because we can shift into animals we would be easy to slaughter? Did you believe that we would not be prepared? The code was the only think keeping you alive." The alpha twisted his wrist, dragging Chassuer to his feet. "I just wanted to look you in the eye and thank you. Thank you for breaking the code so that the packs can wipe you from existence." With a final snarl, he ripped the head from Chassuer's body.

With that show of brutality, the remaining hunters doubled their attack. Paul yelled as he rushed into the fray. His arrow imbedded itself into the alphas shoulder before another wolf took him from behind with a bloody slash of claws to his neck.

Finding himself hemmed in by two betas, Stiles drew his dagger. Even coated in wolfs bane, he knew that it would not hold them off for long. Scoring a hit across a green eyed wolf's side, Stiles saw Scott engage the alpha on the far side of the clearing. Then he was flying through the air, vision and thought ending as he struck a tree.

(Hunters War…..Hunter War…..Hunter War)

The forest filtered the light, dappled against his face and eyes, as he struggled to consciousness. His eyes were matted and his back was a mass of unyielding bruises. Rolling to his knees, Stiles paused as his stomach rebelled, sick and shaking he kept his head down and eyes closed until it passed.

As the dizziness slowly abated, he pulled himself to his feet. The clearing was a blood bath. His eyes found Paul almost immediately, his neck a bloody ruin, tendons and bone clearly visible from where Stiles stood. Frantic, Stiles searched for Scott. A low moan from behind the fallen trunk sent Stiles stumbling in his friend's direction.

Scott's body was covered with oozing bite marks and scratches. Gathering him to his chest, Stiles pulled the shirt from his chest to check the damage. With a sinking heart, he knew that the bites were deep enough to take if they were from the alpha.

Scott's eyes fluttered open. "Was it the alpha?" Stiles' voice cracked. An alpha bite was an instant death sentence for a hunter. Scott would be expected to end his life and Stiles, as the closest thing to family would be required to stand with honor. Stiles could not see the honor of killing your loved ones should they lack the courage to end their own life. He tightened his grip, pulling Scott closer to his chest and rocking back and forth.

A whispered "yes" had Stiles blacking out with a gnawing emptiness. All his family was dead, only Scott who had always been like a brother was left. One bite and he was adrift. Without Scott his last tie to family would be severed. His heart convulsed in his chest. No, no, no, he mentally cried.

"I don't want to die," Scott whispered, ashamed of how his voice broke.

"You won't. It's not that deep," Stiles lied. "You may not even be infected. The moon's full tomorrow. We can wait until then to make any decisions. There is no need to panic. Let's just keep this quiet until we know for sure." But Stiles knew. It was panic time. The hunters at the compound would insist on Scott's death as soon as they found the bite marks. No hunter turned. Scott was an abomination in their eyes now.

But to Stiles he was family. His only family. And furry or not, Stiles would protect his family with his last breath.

Stiles bandaged Scott, gathered weapons off the bodies of the hunters, and lead the way back to his old, beat up jeep. Plans and ideas jumbled in his brain as he drove away from town. Tensing his jaw, he glanced at Scott, promising himself that he would not lose another family member.

"Why aren't we returning to the compound?" Scott's voice wavered and his eyes were glassy. Stiles knew the bite was taking effect.

"You know they would insist of seeing your wounds. We have to stay away until we can prove you are clean."

"We both know I'm not," Scott replied. "They will hunt us down."

"I don't care. You don't want to die and I don't want you dead. So guess what! Wolf or no wolf, you are my best friend and I will do everything in my power to keep you alive. We can get through this. You need to trust me. It will all be okay."

Scott smiled weakly at his friend. "I always trust you, Stiles."

Holding up in an old barn, Stiles and Scott waited for the rise of the full moon. Stiles spent all the money he and Scott had to purchase chains and a sturdy lock. After wrapping Scott tightly, locking the chains so that he could hardly move, Stiles sat on the far side of the barn to watch. "Maybe you won't change." Scott's head dropped resting almost on the floor.

"Stiles, the wounds have healed completely. I can feel it. Lifting his head he met Stiles' gaze. "You should go. Run." His eyes went amber yellow and he arched against the chains. "Go!" he screamed.

"No," Stiles hunkered down further; making sure his head was lower than Scott's. No need to play the dominance card on his first change. "Just listen to my voice. You need to focus on who you are. Don't let the animal win."

Scott made no reply except in growls and pained panting. His ears elongated becoming furred and pointed. His teeth lengthened into fangs. Body thrashing against the chains, Scott howled into the night. Grabbing his gun out of his waistband, Stiles stood guard. Whether he was protecting himself from Scott or Scott from hunters that could be alerted by the cries, Stiles could not tell. The night dragged on. Scott twisted and fought the chains as the moon moved slowly across the sky until finally setting.

Moving slowly toward his motionless friend, Stiles spoke softly. "Easy, Scott, easy." The furred head lifted briefly letting out a soft whine and a slow lift of his chin to expose his throat. "Moons down. You should be feeling more like yourself."

"Stiles," Scott replied, his voice harsh and dry. Slowly the fur started to retreat leaving smooth skin. Ears and eyes returned to their human shape. "I'm here. I'm back." Lastly Scott's eyes shifted back to their usual dark brown.

Chains falling to his feet as Stiles worked his way through the locks; Scott could not see a way for this new situation to work. He knew now why hunters killed the bitten. Where could they go where they would not be sought after by wolves and Hunters alike? All his bridges were burned; all his roads lead to dead ends. Dead, like he should be. He could not let his death sentence become Stiles' as well. "You need to go. Got to the compound. Tell them I'm dead or bitten and you could not catch me. Don't let this ruin you."

With a rage Scott had never seen, Stiles slammed him into the wall. "Ruin me? You don't think loosing the only person left that I can call family would not ruin me? Could you walk out on me?" Seeing Scott's head shake, he continued in a softer tone. "And I could not walk out on you. We are in this together. We will figure this out. Hey, you said you trusted me."

"I do," Scott said and followed Stiles out of the barn and into their future.