Is This The World We Created

Chapter 2

Peter Hale blasted is way back into the old office building they were using as their own at the moment. It used to be the old newspaper offices for Beacon Country if he recalled correctly. Six years of being hunted and familiar landscapes being reduced to dust sort of screwed with ones perception of what they remember.

He very quickly and as quietly as possible, closed it again, watching as the runes glowed, keeping them safe as the wards could manage. "How is he?" making his way back towards Derek's side, who was tending to the sick human in their little pack. In the six years they'd been on the move, Stiles hadn't gotten sick once, not even a cough or the sniffles.

"He's still burning up," Derek growled low in his throat, he'd never felt more useless in his life, well that wasn't true, but he digresses. He hated not knowing what to do to help his mate.

"This might help," Peter plonked the cold water in the metal container normally used to hold tea, coffee or hot chocolate. Certainly not water from an unclean source outside. Fortunately, Stiles wasn't going to be drinking it, there was plenty of drinking water available. The had the watercoolers still available, he guessed nobody had thought to grab them. There was also quite a few vending machines that still had food. Cora had done a little digging and found the actual source of the vending machines supplies.

Derek grabbed the thermos, feeling the coolness, he poured it over the scrap of material that used to be a t-shirt he found a year ago. Plastering the cold material over Stiles forehead, trying to refrain from touching him. He was too hot, the last thing he needed was to be warmer with wolf regulating body heat. Which went against every single instinct he had both as a man and wolf. He just wanted to curl up around Stiles until he was well again.

Peter looked around the still intact offices, all the cubicles, "Derek…have you checked all the desks?" an idea striking him, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner. Hearing the door creak, but one sniff had him relaxing his entire focus on Derek.

"What? Why?" Derek asked, frowning as he too stared around, before realization dawned, "They'd keep medication at work." He wanted to slap himself for being so utterly stupid. Maybe, just maybe something that would actually help Stiles recover or at the very least get his temperature down.

"I'll help," Isaac said, from the door way as he made sure the door closed and runes activated before he walked away. His arms filled with wood, which he plonked next to a barrel that was currently only smoking a little, Isaac added more wood, warming the room up to a bearable temperature. Not for body heat, or rather not just for body heat, werewolves needed it too, but for cooking. He noticed Peter had found some rabbits, thank the moon, it had been so long since they had something proper to eat. Nothing that would satisfy his wolf unfortunately, but what can you do?

Derek took the rabbits from Peter, "Thanks," he murmured, knowing Peter had only risked going for the rabbits and water was because it was for Stiles he wouldn't have gone for anyone else, other than another Hale. In other words as much as a pack as they may be, Peter wouldn't risk his life for say Isaac, Liam or Chris.

A proper meal was needed when he was that sick, and rabbits…like cockroaches would probably outlast the war between humanity and the supernatural. So there was still an abundance of them if you knew where to look and were quick enough to catch them, and if you could avoid hunters. Unsheathing his claws, he begun to absently skin the rabbits, so that he could get to the decent parts, the edible parts. He could do it in his sleep, it was one of the things he'd learned as a kid, how to hunt, they were his fondest memories of times before the fire.

"You're welcome," Peter said solemnly, Stiles had been saving their necks for six years now, using magic, despite the betrayals they'd all suffered…he'd remained strong and absolute. It would have probably been easier to leave them all behind and make it on his own. Especially since some druids had actually joined the hunters, even a spark…had, and Stiles had rendered him to pieces with extreme prejudice. A novice had ripped apart an experienced spark, it had been a…glorious sight, he was still convinced Stiles would have made a magnificent wolf. So, the least he could do was get him something proper to eat, during daylight, risky, especially if they were seen, but needs a must, Stiles needed to eat. He knew Stiles would do the same for him, the rest of the pack would as a matter of fact, they had grown closer in the six years since it went to hell, well, more than the hellmouth that was Beacon Hills was.

With that Peter sauntered towards the offices, starting at the opposite end of Isaac's current location. Each cubicle was inspected for any and all things they could use. There was a surprising number of Aspirin, was it normal for humans to need it so much? Each of the packages were different, from different companies, and headache cures? Ibuprofen even paracetamol and stronger pain killers – or what he assumed was painkillers – he wasn't human and had never had to worry or care about human medications.

"Here, get Stiles to swallow these, it will bring his temperature down and make him feel better," Isaac made his way over to Derek, having got what he wanted. "If he doesn't swallow them, crunch them up and make a paste, it will dissolve on his tongue and taste awful but it's better than not taking it." the long blonde haired werewolf said, his long blonde curly locks were tied in a pony tail all the time, greasy and dirty looking but what could one do? It wasn't as if they had baths they could use.

Derek automatically nodded, trusting Isaac's word, sure, he'd had humans in his pack, but they'd been adults, they'd been more than capable of taking care of themselves even when sick. He'd never had to worry about them as an adult, teens were self-absorbed and rarely worried about anything unless it involved themselves. There was no denying he'd been self-absorbed. Abandoning his work, he dunked his hands into the water Cora had just brought in causing her to scowl. Bad enough they were going out during the day without having to do it twice.

Crouching down over Stiles, he sat down, Stiles resting above his leg, raising his neck a little more, he tried to get Stiles to swallow the tiny little pills, but he wasn't having any of it. For some reason he just ended up being sick, which perplexed Derek, he hadn't even swallowed them why would they make him sick? He was of course, completely unaware of the abhorrent taste that lingered upon taking medication. In his frustration he crushed the tiny pills in his hands and used clean water to get the medication like Isaac suggested until it was sludge in his hand before ensuring it went into Stiles' mouth.

Once that was done he got Stiles comfortable on the makeshift pillow and his leather jacket over him. The door opening heralded the last of their pack joining them. Although, nine years ago it would have made them all laugh derisively, after all there was no way that Chris Argent would ever be considered pack.

Chris let everything he had fall to the ground in relief, as he waited for the runes to glow, flexing and stretching out, getting rid of all the kinks, while Liam silently padded over to Derek and laid what he had on the ground beside Stiles. "You notice it's taking longer for the runes to flash that they're working?" Chris' voice was low and sombre as he picked everything back up. He didn't need to raise his voice, everyone would hear him, and the only other human in the pack was out for the count.

Unsurprisingly it was Peter who replied, "Yes," and it wasn't in a nonconsequential manner either, it was a pensive tone, which indicated that he was just a second away from being concerned. When Peter got concerned, then there was definitely something wrong.

Chris' head snapped up, staring at Peter intently, out of them all, Peter knew the most about magic with the obvious exception being Stiles. They poured over what books they had, constantly bettering everything they did to keep themselves safe. Peter was the only one able to keep up with Stiles when he went on long Tangents and discussions about magic. They left everyone in the dust when they began having heated debates. "What do you think is happening?" he trotted over to the others, keeping an ear out for Peter who was digging through drawers at the other side of the room.

"It might just have something to do with Stiles being sick," Peter answered, and his tone booked no father conversation being open for discussion. Peter glanced out the window, but not really observing the sorry state the world was in, no, he was quite frankly worried that the last conversation he and Stiles had while the others had hunted for food was coming true, he'd wandered off before coming back his posture one of defeated wariness. He'd never managed to get it out of the boy, he'd remained as stubborn as a mule.

'If that starts happening, you take Derek and the others and you leave me, do you get it?' Stiles insisted from where they were both sat on upturned trees. 'I have no idea what will happen to me or my magic, I could end up killing all of you and I don't want that'

Peter shook his head, glancing over at the others, having collected everything usable from the drawers. Absently, picking up the two bins now filled with different medications, praying that this was just some sort of illness and Stiles would be just fine. Especially considering he didn't know what had caused the abrupt change in Stiles, he just wouldn't say. Now he wasn't capable of it.

Despite the fact Chris wasn't a werewolf, he could see just how worried Peter actually was. Isaac, Cora and Derek could sense it and couldn't help but glance at Peter in concern, as he made his way back over just as Chris spilled out the contents in the tough black bags and the burlap sack over his shoulder. The course material had left his neck red and irritated. "Here, these should fit you," with that Chris handed over a new set of clothing to Peter, then Derek, Cora and Isaac respectively. Liam already had his new clothes on. They were brand new, still in the packages, he must have gone as far as the shops to get these. He'd taken a hell of a risk, the hunters were out in droves, it was daylight. He left a set for Stiles beside his feet.

"You actually found food?" Isaac whisper/shouted gleefully, as he grinned at the sight of the tins, stews, beans, soups, spaghetti, vegetables and he even had a lot of fresh fruit and vegetables tucked away in one of those bags, a vegetable garden? Wondering idly if he'd taken it from hunters or humans who were just trying to survive without taking part in the war.

Chris smiled, giving Isaac a nod, he had been begged by Melissa and Noah to return to Beacon Hills back in the day. After leaving for France with Isaac, they'd been trying to find a new pack for him, unfortunately, being with an Argent, Isaac wasn't trusted. So, they'd been wasting their time, but it gave Chris something to do so he had continued on his mission to find somewhere for Isaac. It was something he believed Allison would have wanted of him. Then came the phone call, both Melissa and Noah worried about Scott's control and his steadfast belief that he was right, he wouldn't listen to anyone, not Stiles, not Kira, not even him in the end, although it had been calls on his end until the exposure.

Then one day he'd woken up to a televised showing of what his life was, the supernatural exposed. He'd assumed that it would be written off as a prank, but no, Scott continued to interact with the novice hunters who were setting him up, exposing the supernatural fully, despite all warnings. The werewolf population suddenly went under, so to try to do damage control, he'd gone to Beacon Hills, to deal with the hunters all too late, as the world went to hell around them.

Stupid idiotic humans who didn't realize – or maybe they did – what they were doing by exposing the supernatural world for all to see. He liked to think they didn't want this, but in hearts of hearts, Chris didn't think anyone could possibly see it going any other way other than an all out war. Humans, Chris thought, he'd just called them humans, as if he wasn't one. Inhaling sharply, he'd been spending too much time with Peter.

He and Stiles were the only humans in this little pack, even if he wanted to be a werewolf – which he didn't – he couldn't become one. None of this little pack were Alpha's, they were all Beta's and all of them had blue eyes, all had killed to survive. Isaac had been…inconsolable, after his first kill, and it had broken something in Chris when he realized to himself, that a blue eyed Beta didn't mean ruthless killer. Until that moment he'd always believed it, always. Some prejudice he supposed had been deeply ingrained.

Pressing his hand against Stiles forehead, worried about his feverish state, it felt bad, if he continued at this rate they'd need to get him to a pool of water and dunk him under it. To try and cool him down completely, he noticed the boxes of medication, hopefully it would bring his temperature down. shivering in cold, he stood up and moved over to the barrel and tried to warm himself up. What he wouldn't do for a warm shower or bath…he thought to himself silently.

Once everyone was settled down for the night, Derek grabbed Peter and got them both out of the building. Making sure the door was closed properly, and that there were no hunters in the vicinity, before both lobbed themselves over the building crouching down, and keeping an ariel eye on the world around them.

"Peter…tell me what's going on," Derek demanded his voice low, too low for any human to hear him, but a werewolf heard him loud and clear. "This is my mate I deserve to know," his face pained, he knew Peter was hiding something, he knew his uncle well. "Uncle Peter…please," he added, and could see his uncle crumbling as the worries he was harbouring grew too great for him to keep to himself.

Peter sat himself down, looking around, his eyes supernatural blue, before he settled again for the moment, "I honestly don't know, Derek," Peter replied truthfully, "Stiles…wandered away from the group while everyone was hunting in the preserve a week ago. When he returned…he looked…haunted,"

Derek's entire face contorted into a deep frown, "He was quieter that night, but at the same time…more tactile than normal." Which said a lot since Stiles shamelessly used their naturally higher body heat to keep warm.

"I tried to get out of him what was bothering him, his scent…it had curdled," which had been unpleasant to say the least. "But what he said to me…had me trying to get the information out of him with greater urgency. Regretfully, you know Stiles, stubborn as a blasted mule." And Peter didn't handle failure well, he wasn't used to failing. Unfortunately, he couldn't remain angry at Stiles…not that he had a chance.

"What did he say?" Derek croaked out, fear and worry getting the better of him. not that these feelings were new, he experienced them on a day to day basis, but he was able to find some happiness with Stiles, and the thought of losing it…he didn't think he'd survive that. He had chosen Stiles as his mate, werewolves had…potential mates, some had dozens over the course of their lives, while others didn't find a single potential one. Like Peter, he hadn't come across a single potential mate in his life, while Derek had come across quite a few, in the end he'd ended up mercy killing his first one, his second one had killed his family and well, the third wasn't real, Stiles upon turning eighteen had lit up like a beacon for Derek. It had taken longer for him to even contemplate Stiles, not because he didn't care…but because he wasn't used to things he wanted turning out right.

"He told me to take you and the others and leave him behind," Peter stated simply, "That he has no idea what would become of him and his magic."

"What do you think he meant?" Derek pressed out, "Is this sickness not just a fever? Is it something more? A magical sickness?" he hated not knowing and he was angry that Stiles had made it so. angry that he'd think for a moment he would want to leave Stiles behind. He'd rather die with him than survive with a hole in his heart.

"I don't know, Derek, I just don't know," Peter confessed bitterly. He didn't know what it meant for Stiles, for them, for their immediate future. He could only pray that Harry was just simply suffering from a cold or the flu that most humans recover from without much trouble.

With that silence enveloped the two remaining Male Hales, as they lost themselves to their thoughts. Guarding over their current hideout. They'd come back to Beacon Hills simply because they thought to outwit the hunters, nobody in their right mind would surely think they're return to Beacon Hills after all? Plus, there weren't many buildings left standing to explode, and surely they had run out of bombs, since they hadn't heard any explosions for a long, long time now. The days blurred into one another, he couldn't tell you exactly how many days had gone by since he'd last heard the thundering blasts of bombs being detonated all over.

They obsessively checked over the runes to make sure they were still working.

One week later

"Ready to go?" a voice from the door startled Harry as he worked away, the entire room was dotted with information he had gained over the past six years since the world went to hell. Ever since Scott McCall had caused the revelation of the supernatural world and exposed everyone and everything. That information was a timeline, information he had gotten from everyone that ended up here in Sanctuary. It was unfortunate that most of the information was mere rumours and speculation. There wasn't a lot of information that was definitive.

The werewolf watched Harry patiently, he was very different from the very first time he saw him three years ago. He had long braided brown hair down his back. A white vest with a pair of leather trousers plastered to his hips. Lithe, toned and with muscle accumulated over the years. If he wasn't in love with his wife – who he mated – he would have thought Harry was a perfect specimen really. Werewolves had no hang ups about sexual orientations, they liked who they liked, guided more by scent than looks. He was perfect even with the scars that adorned his arms and back from various fights throughout the years.

He was a warrior, an Alpha really despite the fact his eyes never changed. Albeit a tired one. You could see the strain in every sinew of his body. He was tired, they all were, but they trudged on, survival of the species, quite fitting words really. He was a wizard, a magical practitioner, and it was thanks to him and those like him, that he and his pack had made it to sanctuary. He was lucky, he freely acknowledged that, all those in sanctuary were lucky.

"Yeah," Harry murmured standing up, stretching out, "How is Patricia?"

Marcus winced, just remembering the sound of agonising pain she was enduring. It was Deja vu all over again really. "She's settled down, we took as much pain as we were able."

They'd found her practically dead, not yet feral, with arrows protruding out of her chest a week ago. To make matters worse? She'd been blinded by flashbang arrows in an earlier attack leaving her very vulnerable. It was like taking candy from a baby really. The arrows had been removed and wolfsbane flushed from her system. The process of correcting her eyesight however…was different and painful. The potion had to be dripped into her eyes, once a day for over a week before it would correct her sight. They knew because she wasn't the first recipient of such a process. Flashbang arrows was one of the most popular ways to deal with werewolves. It sickened him to the core, one of his own Beta's had undergone the procedure, his second, had taken the hit to protect his pregnant mate, the Alpha mate. It was thanks to him that his mate had survived to give birth to their son. He'd lost his sight in the process, for over a year until Harry had appeared out of nowhere and helped the pack make it to safety.

"Samuel is with her." His second. The one who was very familiar with the process and the one he had named his son after, although he was called Sammy by the entire pack.

"Good," Harry said, absently making sure he had his wand upon his person, grabbing the bag that had a whole slew of different things in it in case he needed it. He slung it over his shoulder, and wandered out of his bedroom/office. He had the Master suite, considering the property was actually his, there had been no complaints. "Then let's go,"

As soon as they were outside the building but not sanctuary, Marcus' eyes blazing red as he stared ahead, able to see better with his supernatural sight. They went out every fourteen days, to check on the beacons, every single one of them, to make sure they were okay. It was also where supernatural creatures would gravitate towards. Considering it had been six years since it all started, they didn't find a whole slew of people anymore. They were leaving to check on the Beacons.

The beacons were actually trees, Nemeta, a Nemeton. Contrary to popular belief, there weren't just seven in total although only seven were connected to the Telluric current. There were in total fifteen Nemeta in the United States of America. Many had been hidden by the magical world, so that no Muggle could see them, let alone approach. So the hunters wouldn't have known about them, although they no longer remembered them, Harry had ensured that.

Magic was dying, these Beacons were all that was left to keep the world's magic population going, the supernatural world going. When the Nemeta begun to die…the rest of the world would follow for without magic the muggles wouldn't survive, ironic really. Magic was vital to the planet's survival. All this global warming…the back and forth on whether it was real or not all came down to misunderstood information…they didn't see the binding element. Magic.

"Ready?" he asked, already waiting to be apparated.

Harry didn't even startle, "Yes," his voice deep and resonating, it was the voice of an alpha despite the fact he most definitely wasn't one. Made sense really, an Alpha was a leader, and he wasn't the only one with a sanctuary for the supernatural. He'd helped set up dozens all over America and Britain before beginning his own here in New Orleans.

Harry barely glanced at the manor or Marcus, as he begun trudging towards the exit of the sanctuary. Which had at one point been a massive ranch, built by Dorea and Charles Potter for their squib son. A squib son that the magical world had no idea had existed. That son – Phoenix nicknamed Nix – didn't have any children, so it reverted back to the Potter-Black estate, and thus him. It was one of the biggest properties – and land – that he had thus he had decided here would make for a good sanctuary. Truthfully, he'd been pulled in this direction five years ago, although he had no idea why. He just felt the need to be in America.

Not even he was capable of Apparating someone around the wards he'd put up. It just encouraged weaknesses in the wards when someone did that. Harry wanted no weaknesses in his wards, wouldn't dare risk it with everyone relying on him. From Druids, Centaurs, Werewolves, wizards, witches to even merfolk in the lake. Nobody was turned away, so long as they obeyed the laws set forth within sanctuary, and nobody, absolutely nobody dared to mess with the new order of things with safety nets like this in place. So they had to make their way outside of Sanctuary, talking while they did so.

"How's your son?" Harry asked, his tone shifting from resonating to adoring. Nodding as he passed sanctuary members digging into the soil for vegetables for dinner. While others dealt with grass, picking up fruit that had fallen from the trees. It was always a werewolf who went for the honey, the bees vacated the vicinity when one went near, it had been comical really, the first time it happened. There were even two of Marcus' pack building another cabin to house another pack. Everyone had some sort of chores they had to do, even the kids. It kept them busy, made everyone feel like one massive pack, gave everyone a reason to get up every day and keep going, even if it was only for the sake of others. They'd all become like one big family.

"He's fine," Marcus said immediately, his own blank façade changing into one of tender indulgence. "He's recovered fully and already annoying his mother to explore outside again." Climbing trees and falling out of them, a typical boy. He was human, but his mother had been one upon his birth, so it was always fifty-fifty as to whether he'd be a werewolf. Julia had insisted he was one with the strength in him when he was kicking her in the womb. Not the only thing she'd been wrong about, she'd always been determined to remain human, especially after their son was born, so they could be human together. Unfortunately, Julia had been attacked…he'd almost been too late, thought he had been too late. She'd hidden their son and taken their ire upon herself, to protect him, with the strength and feral intensity of any wolf. He hadn't been surprised she'd taken to the life of a werewolf so easily. With him and a stable anchor already in her life? The change had been easy. He couldn't have been more proud. With potions to correct the break, he hadn't been forced to endure his son in pain for weeks while he recovered.

Harry nodded, pleased that Sammy was going to be alright, he was such a bright inquisitive little thing. He might only be six but he was a leader himself in the making. Helped make an adventure of every little thing for the children, some of which were older than him but still no less awestruck by him. He'd been barely two years old when he saw his mother attacked – hidden as he was – and despite that he was never without a cheery wave for anyone. The world hadn't touched him like it had the adults around him, and most, as harsh and brutal as the world was now…always gave him a smile in turn. Even if it was wiped off the faces as soon as his back was turned.

Some aspects of the world had remained, the desire to protect children.

"Prepared?" Harry questioned Marcus, he'd learned never to surprise any werewolf with abrupt Apparation. He still had the claw marks from one Beta he'd been taking to Sanctuary, his control had been shot to hell with all the sensations swimming through him. They'd been so deep the gouges that not even magic had been able to repair the damage done to his arm. Thus he had five claw marks wrapped around his arm, just one of the many scars he carried as a reminder.

Marcus nodded, he had the best control over his wolf, being a born Were, and a very strong anchor. It made sense that he'd be chosen to accompany Harry in his routine. Not only was it an extra set of eyes to watch his back, he could smell everything in the vicinity, more specifically other magical creatures, and would know if someone was say…feral and a danger. Fortunately, Marcus, who had gone his entire life believing feral werewolves couldn't be rehabilitated had been proven wrong, he had five pack members who had previously been feral omegas after the war started.

Their bonds were as strong as the bonds he had with his wife and son. Stronger than some of his long time beta's and that said a lot. Yes, they were caged for months, fed by him and him alone, kept company when he had free time, spoken to about the goings-on, eventually they began to come back to themselves. Associating him with safety and food had somehow accomplished it. He had been in awe.

Their first stop was Texas, the closest to them, just one state they jumped.

"Merlin," Harry whispered, eyes widening in shock, "Tell me I'm just seeing things?" stumbling towards the tree, heart pounding erratically. Blackness was beginning to dance around the edges of the tree. It was barely discernible, but Harry could see it, and he knew it was not good.

Marcus, who was half transformed, forced his claws back in and carded his hand through his blonde shorn hair. "You're not," he informed him, his tone grim and solemn. All the while his mind whirling about what this meant for all of them. What would come of them all when the Nemeta's died off? What would happen to the Sanctuaries? Where they all destined to die despite the effort of a six year operation to save who they could? "Has it been poisoned?"

Harry closed his eyes and pressed his hand against it, pouring his magic into it, he could feel the connecting trees and his hand yanked back off it. "Damn it, ground contamination…why didn't I consider that?" snarling like a wounded beast, he paced back and forth, anxious and bloody terrified of what this could mean. Knowing what this meant and not wanting to acknowledge it.

"How many others have been affected? Do you know?" Marcus asked, anxious and worried because he could feel those things coming from Harry, who rarely felt that way.

"The three that are connected to this one…all show signs," Harry explained, rubbing his face, his mind whirling as he tried to figure out a way to prevent more contamination…but it was unfortunately, only going to delay the inevitable and not even by a long shot. Maybe a month or two…they needed a long term solution. "The others need to be made aware of this right away." They needed to come up with a solution and fast.

"Are we leaving right now?" Marcus asked, preparing himself for the Apparation back to sanctuary.

"No, we'll check the others first," Harry said, brow furrowed in obvious contemplation, "I don't want to risk it being worse on some of the others." the area surrounding the Nemeta's were flourishing, lush and green, but outside the confines of the spells, was blackened rot, the ground's grass had withered away to nothingness, leaving nothing but mud and ash behind. Fire and neglect had turned the once beautiful planet into a husk of its former self.

They apparated up to Kansas, Wyoming, and back down to Colorado then apparated three states to California to check how bad the Nemeta there was. Merlin, that one, it had endured so much, and it was the one causing a backlash to all other Nemeta, and with it being on the Telluric Currents it couldn't be dug out, its roots were in way too deep, and cutting it down just made it worse. This Nemeton had been poisoned, cut down, become twisted with a virgin sacrifice of all things, used by an evil witch with a vendetta. Played host to a damn parasite, and had so much death on it that it had begun to draw supernatural's to its death, its original purpose had been twisted with so much bad happening to it. He had felt everything that happened to it when he used his magic to diagnose it. It had horrified him.

That Nemeton was worse, the blackness had encompassed it all around its roots. In just a single fortnight…all hope was fading fast for the tree. It hadn't really stood a chance, but they had nonetheless hoped the potion they'd given it would help. The ones that were connected to it, the seven, would too receive the same death sentence just slower.

"Incoming," Marcus growled half-transformed again, the smell of aconite had him immediately going on the defensive. He even hated going around the damn side of the green-house were the wolfsbane was grown. It had saved many of their lives over the past six years, but it was an instinctive reaction. "Hunters…and werewolves…and humans that smells like pack," there never were many of those, human pack members that wasn't blood. It was always a surprise to run into them, even before the world had descended into darkness.

"Humans?" Harry echoed in surprise, oh, there had been sympathisers, they tried to parry for peace, to let them live peacefully amongst humanity. Unfortunately, most of them had paid with their lives for their belief that they weren't all evil incarnate. Ironically enough, not by the hands of anyone supernatural…but the haters, the radicalised hunters who had never cared one whit for the code and convinced others to joyfully follow. Thinking they were the top dog, that they could wipe out everything 'unnatural' due to their numbers. Just because they had taken out a few omega werewolves, they had seen nothing about werewolves pushed to the limit and with no need to hold back for fear of exposure.

As the war begun to worsen, the TV stop broadcasting, the internet and communication devices went down, with that military fell apart, trying to take down the supernatural to appease the public had backfired spectacularly. The mass hysteria and panic shooting and looting in the streets, only out for themselves, humanity had fallen, it was like living in the dark ages now. The government had then inevitably felled unable to keep up. They'd never been prepared for the likes of something like this. There had been radio transmissions for a while, always repeating the same thing, how to kill most creatures, wolfsbane and mountain ash for werewolves, iron for the fae and of course…mistletoe for most things. It had gone off eventually, now nothing comes through not even static.

Not even the magical world had prepared for this, despite the fact it was their greatest fear and had taken all measures to prevent exposure, for centuries. Oh, they had tried, very hard, but it hadn't stopped the inevitable.

Harry stood up, wand at the ready, despite the fact he didn't need it, glancing in the direction Marcus was looking in. Only for his eyes to narrow in on them, there had to be at least thirty-five to forty hunters chasing a few werewolves with a black wolf in the lead.

Gunshots were going off, arrows shooting out ahead as the Supes tried to avoid them. One werewolf had one of the humans ensconced in his arms clearly unconscious, as they ran, even from here Harry could see how malnourished they all were. Not surprising really, it wasn't easy to find food the hunters weren't just killing werewolves with their bombs they were killing off the wildlife too. He sincerely hoped they – the hunters – were as bloody miserable as the Supes.

Exhaustion rippled over all of them, as they ran, Chris more so than the rest, he was after all only human. Isaac kept a grip of Chris as they bolted, refusing to let Chris fall behind. They'd lost enough already, he wasn't going to lose the only father figure he'd ever had. He'd rather die for him than see him dead, he'd die for any member of his pack actually.

"I can't," Chris wheezed out, "Go on!" his entire body felt ready to collapse, and with so many hunters they couldn't hope to outrun them. "Get out of here," trying to shove Isaac off him, but the werewolf wasn't having any of it, he just gripped him tighter and basically carried him on his back, refusing to give up. Liam gripped Chris' other side and both helped ease the burden.

Derek looked back, his blue eyes blazing with fury, he wanted nothing more than to kill every single one of those hunters and be done with it. Fortunately, he wasn't suicidal, he knew he wouldn't stand a chance, but if it gave the pack a chance to get away, his mate to get away, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"Don't even think about it," Peter barked out, grabbing Derek's ruff and forcing his nephew to continue on, eyes flashing back at him in warning. "MOVE!" and Derek did, only because he knew if he didn't Peter would remain there with his mate ensconced in his arms until he did.

They knew these woods better than the damn hunters, they would get away from them eventually. He did not wish to consider the alternative. Peter had taken one look at the Nemeton and realized what had caused Stiles so much concern…Stiles magic was connected to those trees, all sparks and druids were connected to them. The fact it was dying off…well, Stiles illness it seemed, was a by-product of it, the Nemeton could be killing Stiles too or at best making him sick. He'd always been a spark, always had magical capabilities, and they honestly didn't know what would happen once the magic was gone…what it would do to Stiles and that concerned them. Peter tightened his hold on Stiles, refusing to contemplate the idea of leaving him behind, he'd always liked Stiles, right from the very beginning. He was smart, loyal, and by the moon, he preferred being human, wasn't jealous of the others for their new abilities – although Scott had believed otherwise – and was just amazing.

Peter froze momentarily, as a scent wafted his way, "Mate," he muttered to himself, stunned to the core. Go figure, he'd find his damn mate at the end of the world, and him being human and one of the ones hunting them. Derek whined in his animal form, unable to do or so anyway to help bring Peter back. Isaac shouldering him brought him out of his stupor and just like that he was running again. Easily outrunning Isaac and Liam who were lugged down with Chris barely coherent between them.

"AH!" Liam cried out, falling clutching his shoulder where the arrow had penetrated his body. Thus, Chris fell and Isaac grappled for both of them, trying to get them moving again. Peter bit out a curse, looking back before glancing at Derek, but before he could make a decision whether to risk helping or not, the enraged roar of an Alpha shook the very ground they walked on.

"Get them all together and away from the hunters," Harry had commanded, his magic bursting forth, creating an invisible wall between the hunters and the supernatural's. Once that was done, the arrows and bullets they'd just shot out their bows and guns bounced off the shield and ricocheted right back at them, and they definitely didn't miss as bullets and arrows embedded themselves in the hunters. It would only stop projectiles, not the Muggles themselves, which they learned as they kept running after the small group. So that was what Marcus had done.

"Follow me," Marcus lisped out through his fangs, eyes flashing red, bounding over the vulnerable humans in the group and slashing the neck of an encroaching hunter aiming for the most vulnerable member of the pack. Leaving the hunter to gasp for breath, dying out through blood loss.

As Marcus got them to safety, a huge wall of flames arching up separating the hunters and the supernatural's causing one of them to freeze in horror, unable to move, caught in a vicious flashback, that pause cost him dearly, as a shot blasted into his side bringing him to his knees. Automatically curling protectively around the figure in his arms. Keeping Stiles safe, but flashing back to keeping his human niece safe from the flames that was burning him.

"Peter! Peter! Uncle Peter! C'mon!" the now fully human said after shaking off the full shift, turning his uncle around, utterly naked and uncaring as he tended to him. His heart sinking when he saw the gaping wound, the smell of blood was blocking his nose, he hadn't realized he had been shot. Stiles remained unconscious, unaware of what was happening.

"He's a Hale," Marcus said watching him in awe, "The Hales are the only ones capable of full shift," it was a boon to have Hale bloodline in your family. There were only a few Hale's left, even before the world went to shit, "He must be Derek Hale, and that one is Peter Hale." He informed Harry.

It showed how comfortable the human was – at least one of them – when he didn't even blink or look away when Derek fully shifted. Not that he looked like he had the strength to do much of anything really.

"Move aside," Harry said, his tone demanding but soft, Derek looked lost, as if he had already lost his uncle. He could feel his magic tugging him towards the werewolf, it was the same tug that had him coming to America in the first place.

Derek snarled, crouching over his uncle, ready to defend him to the last.

"None of the bullets survived, none of them," Liam got out, as he raked around the wreckage of burnt flesh but none of the guns let alone the ammunition had survived. He was suffering from a wolfsbane arrow, he could feel it, and Peter too…terror consumed him, they were going to die.

Marcus snarled back at Derek, defending Harry, it tapered off when Harry touched his shoulder lightly. "I'm going to heal him, but you'll have to let me see him. I do not have any intentions of hurting him, you have my word." he explained to the hypervigilant werewolf who was in his Beta shift. Although, he did wonder why he had reacted the way he had at the fire wall he'd created. Whatever it was, it had to be something horrific, so perhaps he didn't want to know.

Derek indecisively remained crouched over his uncle, distrust clearly displayed for all to see. He didn't trust magic users, except for Stiles, they'd been betrayed by too many of them. Lost too many of his pack because of them.

There we go! So, what's wrong with Stiles and will Harry be able to rouse him or will he die when magic does? Will Harry and the other magic users go the same way? Who will go back in time and how far will they travel back in time? Before Deucalion's attack? before the hale fire? or just before Scott gets turned? R&R please