Neither boy was prepared for the scene that waited for them upon returning to Beacon Hills the next evening. Just outside of the city, they saw a number of people appearing to flee. Driving into the downtown area, the pair felt as if they were entering Bedlam. Debris lined the streets and people seemed to be running in every direction. Smoke was pervasive through the air, though a thick column could be seen from anywhere in town, rising high into the sky from somewhere in the direction of the high school. Not far into the city, a makeshift roadblock stood in their way, sectioning the street off with broken pieces of furniture, roadsigns, car parts, and other urban detritus. After a few moments of debate, the pair agreed that they needed to investigate the city further, and had no other option than to do so on foot.

Adding his beloved Jeep to the number of abandoned vehicles on the street, Stiles walked further into the city, trying to stop any of the people running around. Most seemed scared, and avoided the two strangers at all costs, deciding instead to seek shelter. Following in the direction of the column of smoke, they wandered the eerie streets, shocked at the sudden change in the Beacon Hills that they had known so well.

Rounding a corner, they saw a woman run across the street, but this time she was pursued by two men. They caught up with her, each grabbing an arm. She resisted, but they managed to put handcuffs on her wrists, bringing her under their control. Together, they lifted her off of the ground and brought her over to a truck at the end of the street. One man opened the back of the truck and the other quickly heaved her inside. Within, many more citizens of Beacon Hills were similarly shackled, kept in check by another man with a gun.

Stiles' breath caught in his throat, and tears stung at his eyes. He could feel the strong wave of fear surging from the back of the vehicle even after he closed the door again. These people were clearly confused and terrified. Questions buzzed in Stiles' mind, as they were wont to do, filling his mind with an unbearable din of voices. Who were these people? Why were they rounding up citizens of Beacon Hills? What had happened in the day that the two were gone? Where was Scott?

Both parties paralyzed by fear and confusion, Boyd and Stiles stood on the sidewalk for a few moments longer. Thankfully, a woman running by caught Boyd's attention. Stiles' mind quieted as he noticed the wolf's nostrils flaring. He snarled, and Stiles followed his line of sight to the girl across the street. He smiled despite himself, happy to see a familiar face in this situation regardless of who it was.

"Allison!" he called, waving. The figure stopped, and Boyd grabbed Stiles' shoulder tightly.

"What are you doing? She's a hunter, she's probably in on this!" he said into the boy's ear, squeezing his frail shoulder even more tightly. This thought had not occurred to Stiles. He'd been overcome by his desire to see someone he knew. It was too late, however, as the girl ran across the street to them. Stiles gripped his fists and Boyd transformed into his Beta state.

Both relaxed when she stopped in front of them, looking tired and dirty, the soot on her face streaked with tears and her shoulders heaving. "What's happening?" Stiles asked.

"Where the hell have you been?" she responded, almost screaming. "It's the hunters! They're here, they knew about you."

"All of this is because of... me?" Stiles asked, looking around now with a horrible sense of guilt.

Allison seemed to understand how he felt. "No, it's... it's really more because of me."

"But, how? What happened to the city?" Stiles asked. He noticed Boyd still hadn't released his shoulder yet.

"A few of them came into town, looking for anything supernatural to kill. They came to us first, asking about the city. They found Scott in the basement. I... I was angry at him, but I didn't want him to die! I didn't expect any of this to happen. They wanted to kill him! I... I told them that we were keeping him to get to a witch. I thought they would just go after you and be done with it. But they couldn't find you, so they called in the cavalry. Almost a hundred hunters poured into town. They started talking to people, convincing them that their beloved Sheriff's son was a witch, and that the entire town was some corrupt conspiracy. Of course, lots of people didn't believe them, but they started putting people on trial. They started... started this big fire... finally, they... they burned someone- an Omega from the next town over. They made her transform in front of a crowd, then burned her. They burned her alive! Oh god, everyone believed after that. They started a witch hunt! Anyone who disagreed was put on trial! I didn't mean for any of this to happen! Oh god, I'm so sorry," she broke off into a fit of crying. Stiles joined her, both feeling her emotions and sensing the great loss in their town.

Sniffling, Stiles wiped the tears from his face. "What about Scott?" he asked her. He felt Boyd's grip tighten.

Allison took a deep breath. "They took control of our apartment building. They're using it as a kind of command center. He's there with them. I know he's still alive, since they think he knows where you are," she said, managing to compose herself into the deadly huntress once again.

"And my dad?" Stiles asked, steeling himself for the worst.

"I don't know, they haven't put him on trial yet, but I don't know where he is. The suburbs are a bit calmer, he may have managed to hole himself up in your house, or at least leave you a note. I'd check there first," she said, seeming to be running through the hunter's tactics in her head. "But Stiles, be careful. They're all looking for you, and they have to have eyes near your house."

Stiles nodded grimly. "I'll be fine, you two go try to find Scott. See if there's any way you can get in and manage to get him out. If you can manage to convince them that you're bringing another werewolf in, they may let you get close to him, then the three of you can try to fight your way out," Stiles set his mouth in a grim line, how thinking tactically. In his absence, the town had gone to war.

Boyd appeared hesitant for a moment. "Don't you think I should go with you? You know, for protection? Maybe we should just stick together," he said.

"I think he has a point. If we can manage to get him, us, my dad, Scott, and his dad together, then we'll have a big enough group to start some kind of resistance," Allison said, surprising everyone by agreeing with Stiles. Boyd hesitated a moment more, fighting his instinctual distrust of hunters and desire to stay with the leader of his pack. Finally, he went over to Allison's side, allowing her to put handcuffs on him.

"Just remember, I can break through these," he snarled at her threateningly.

"Trust me, if I didn't want you to be able to escape, you wouldn't," she quipped back, her hand grazing the cattle prod they'd all seen her dad use before to incapacitate werewolves.

"Guys," Stiles said, drawing their attention back. "Just be safe."

They nodded and turned around, heading toward Allison's house. The smell of anise filled their noses as they walked off. Allison looked over her shoulder, but saw only empty air where the boy had been standing only moments before. Suddenly, she felt a bit more secure in his ability to handle himself.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Carefully slipping through a cracked window, Stiles managed to slip into his house undetected. While passing high over the city, Stiles could survey the horror below. He had seen people being rounded up and brought into trucks. A long line weaved for miles down one road, with armed guards standing around those in line. A few people tried to run, but were caught. This line ended in the high school parking lot. A huge ring of people were standing around a giant bonfire. A scaffolding had been erected to rise above the people; something he'd seen used in school plays. On it, people appeared to be on trial, accused in front of the huge mob. A flagpole served as the stake for those who had been found guilty. Thankfully, while passing over, he saw only a few bodies in the fire. Still, they were more than enough to fill him with both dread and sorrow.

Maintaining his connection with the wind, Stiles shook the image from his head and passed invisibly through his house, looking for his dad or a note. The lights were off in the kitchen, and the curtains drawn. Spray paint appeared to black out the windows even further. He could barely make out a shape in the darkness, but something was in the middle of the room. Moving closer, Stiles dropped the guise of air, focusing his attention instead on the heaving lump in the middle of the room. With a snap of his fingers, a small flame appeared in the air. It floated closer to the objected, drawing a horrified gasp from Stiles.

In front of him sat his father, bloody and beaten but still heaving with breath. He was duct taped to the chair, and his mouth was taped shut. Stiles gently removed the tape from his mouth, resting his other hand on the man's cheek. His eyes fluttered open, taking in his son's face. "Stiles..." he rasped.

"I'm here, Dad," he responded desperately.

"No," he mumbled. "They're here."

Stiles' brow furrowed. He felt sick when he realized what his father meant, but it was too late. A veil of darkness fell over the room as a liquid poured down on him from the ceiling, extinguishing his flame. Panic overcame his senses, and he tried uselessly to will the liquid off of his skin. He then tried to put a protection charm over himself and his father, but this also proved useless. He tried various spells to no avail until the light turned on overhead.

Looking toward the switch, Stiles saw one of the witch hunters standing in the archway to the living room. "Don't bother trying to use your magic," the man said, taking a step closer. "That's sheep's blood."

Looking down, Stiles realized that the liquid covering his body was indeed blood. Looking up, he saw a bucket with a rope and pulley system. Gritting his teeth, he lunged at the hunter, taking the man by surprise. The pair sturggled on the floor, smearing patterns of blood across the tiles. The last thing Stiles was conscious to hear was his dad's raspy voice yelling "Stiles, behind you!"