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

There's No Such Thing As Werewolves

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.

I'm doing the re-write because I didn't want to have impulse-posts up again, yet here I am, impulse posting.  I'll probably edit....but I AM ALIVEEEEE!!!!

Sorry this took so long.  Work has been actual, 13-hours-a-day hell.  I hope you at least kind of enjoy!

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Chapter 15 – There's No Such Thing As Werewolves

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Ding.

Ding ding ding.

Ding ding ding ding ding. Ding ding. Ding ding ding ding ding ding.

The text notifications on Charlie's phone went off with such determined rapidity, the person on the other end may have resorted to communicating their message via morse code. Each small 'ding' chipped away at her sleep, dragging her into consciousness. Such frantic correspondence could be coming from one of two people. Mrs. Martin was out. Charlie had intercepted a call from her in the early hours of the morning and explained what she could of the previous night's events. That left one other person. A person who happened to be both persistent and an idiot. Heavy-lidded eyes slowly blinked open, providing her with an image unfamiliar to her upon waking: a sideways view of the Martin's living room.

A few weak, rogue rays of light filtered through the heavy curtains, informing Charlie that day had arrived. She lifted her head from one of the over-stuffed pillows—a head she didn't remember laying to rest in the first place. The video may have only been twenty seconds long, but hours were lost watching it, memorizing each detail. The teeth, claws, unearthly snarl, and burning red eyes were etched on the inside of her eyelids, leering at her whenever they closed. Not a great recipe for peaceful dreams. Nightmarish material aside, though, somewhere between the dull grey of dawn and faint blue of 'unreasonably early in the morning' they had drooped, and a blank canvass of unconsciousness wrapped around her. But not before fear, awe, and bad judgement compelled her to forward the video to Donald's phone as well as her own.

Ding. Ding ding ding. Ding.

Grunting, Charlie hauled herself into the sitting position. It took several swipes at her eyes to brush the weariness from them. Her bleary vision finally focused on her phone and the forty or so text messages that had rolled in from Donald. The majority consisted of long strings of exclamation points and emojis, a few keyboard smashes, and expressions of manic glee. Apparently three thousand miles of distance between him and...whatever was on that tape diminished the 'terror' factor and left behind a healthy helping of 'awesome'. And then there were the last few texts.

YOU BEST NOT BE SLEEPING WHILE I'M TEXTING @ U

WAKE UP OZ!!!!

WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP.

WAKE UPPPPPP!!!!!!!

Ok, fine. Don't wake up. I'm getting reinforcements.

Charlie frowned down at her phone. After a series messages with less than two minutes separating them, a chasm of ten full minutes lay between her and the cryptic finale. Knowing Donald's impatience, such a gap should be viewed with the utmost suspicion. "What the—" she muttered under her breath. "Reinforcements?"

Her confusion wasn't allowed time to settle, her mind still muddled with sleep and the impossibility of everything she witnessed the night before. The phone in her hand blared with the jarring sound of Facetime. Fingers twitching with alarm, she fought the instinctive urge to throw it across the room. Rubbing her eyes once more, she hit the answer call function and held the phone before her. "Hello?" she croaked.