Black Water ↠ Stiles Stilinski [Teen Wolf, Vol. One]

Occam's Razor

Disclaimer: 'Teen Wolf' isn't mine. Shocking, right? But it's true. If there are any similarities in content or dialogue, it has probably originated with the show.

Okay, so this chapter is emotionally all over the place because all the characters are currently in the midst of some shit but i hope it all works out okay......here we go......

Chapter 18 - Occam's Razor

The word hung in the air, echoing against the faded wallpaper of the Stilinski kitchen, bouncing around inside Charlie's skull. Blood rushed in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to process the admission. Beyond the dull thudding of her heavy thoughts, Stiles's sharp breaths were all that reached her ears, reminding her she wasn't alone. When she built the resolve to open them, Stiles regarded her with eye-twitching insecurity.

Charlie had anticipated some form of satisfaction at finally forcing out the truth. Some form of catharsis or relief. She had perhaps even expected a sense of finality—the story coming to a close. She has thought...oh, hell she had no idea what she thought. That was her problem. She always focused on the short-term goal and put off thinking about what would come after. That was all well and good with tests and papers and normal, everyday responsibilities. This though....there was no short term goal. There was no conclusion. This was not the end. It was very much a beginning. A scratch on the surface. And below that surface lay teeth and fangs and blood.

Fun times.

"Werewolves," she repeated, her voice midway between a question and a statement of confirmation. Stiles's jaw tensed, and he nodded jerkily in response. "Mmph. Werewolves."

Charlie rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, driving her fingers into the loose hair and pulling slightly as they raked through to the ends. She glanced back at Stiles, squinting carefully to gage the honesty of his answer. "Werewolves?"

"Yup," Stiles replied, popping the 'p'. "Werewolves."

"Mmhmm," Charlie murmured. Her head bobbed absently and she bit down on her lower lip. "I think I need to sit down."

Stiles's eyebrows contracted into a 'v'. "You are sitting down."

"Then I need to stand up."

She remained seated, tracing the swirling grains of the wooden kitchen table with her fingertips. Her silence only seemed to agitate Stiles more—quite the feat. Each moment that dragged by, the jumpier he became. "You're, uh....you're not standing up," he pointed out.

"No, I don't seem to be." Charlie shook her head, not in disbelief but in...something. She opened and closed her mouth, lips searching for words of substance to deliver. They eluded her. Only one remained in reach. "Werewolves," she repeated in a baffled whisper.

"No, hippogriffs!" Stiles snapped in frustration. He pushed himself up from his seat and began to pace back and forth, hands gesticulating wildly. "Yes, Charlie! Werewolves! There are a bunch of freaking werewolves running around Beacon Hills and killing people! And he's probably gonna kill a lot more people, unless somebody stops him—unless we stop him!"

Stiles suddenly ceased his pacing, landing directly to her left. His lungs heaved from his outburst and he planted his hands on his hips, staring directly at the ground, actively not looking at her. There was something odd in his expression. It was torn between relief and worry—relief at having finally been given the freedom to talk about a long-bottled secret and worry at her reaction. He lifted a hand to his mouth and gnawed at his fingernails before casting a hesitant glance her way. "So...isn't this the part where you tell me I'm crazy and storm out of the house?" he asked. He settled on his index finger, biting the nail down to the quick. "I—I mean, aren't you going to say something?"