Oblivion (A Stiles Stilinski/Teen Wolf Fanfiction) [3]

Chapter 7 - Moonstone

 Stiles stood in front of the large glass window, staring up at the full moon. I've been sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair for the past hour, shaking my leg up and down, as we wait for news from Derek, Scott, and my brother about the vault. My mind kept wanting to drift to all the worse case scenarios, and I tried to keep pushing them away.

 When Stiles wasn't looking, I pulled the extra pill that I had taken from him this morning out of my jacket pocket. I slipped it into my mouth, pushing it down my throat. I was beginning to feel tired again, but I have to stay awake.

 "I can't take waiting around like this, you know?" Stiles said, chewing on his thumbnail. "It's nerve wracking. My nerves are wracked, they're severely wracked,"

 "I could beat you unconscious and wake you when it's over," said Peter lazily from his position on the couch.

 I let out a low growl and glared in his direction. He shouldn't even be here right now. We don't need him. All he's doing is creating a lot of unnecessary tension that I don't want ot deal with at the moment. If he lays a single dirty claw on Stiles, I will not hesitate to kick his weak werewolf ass into the next county.

 Stiles turned around, his eyes glancing to me. "Do you think Erica's really dead?"

 "Do you think I really care?" Peter retorted, laying with his feet up and his hands folded over his stomach.

 "Did we ask for your opinion?" I snapped.

 He lifted his head and casually raised his eyebrows. They really shouldn't have left me in the same room as him. Looking at him makes me sick. Thinking about what he's done to me and my family makes me want to stab him in the neck, repeatedly. 

 "I just don't get the bank though," said Stiles, ignoring Peter and I's exchanges. "Okay, like why wouldn't they chain them up in some underground lair or something? They're an alpha pack, right? So shouldn't they have a lair?"

 I really need to sit down and have a discussion with my boyfriend about werewolf stereotypes. I mean, look at where we are now. This is Derek's 'lair' and it's just some crappy loft he's renting in town. This is the twenty-first century, after all.

 "They're werewolves, not Bond villains," said Peter, closing his eyes and laying back down.

 "Wait a sec, wait a sec," said Stiles, bouncing with enthusiasm as he walked over to one of the openings in the wall. "Maybe they're living there, you know? Like maybe the bank vault reminds them of their little wolf dens!"

 "Wolf dens?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

 Stiles turned around to face me with his hands on his hips. I let out a chuckle and shook my head. It's not like werewolves are actual wolves who live in the forest all year round. For how smart he is, sometimes I question his logic.

 "Yeah, wolf dens," said Stiles, defending his answer. 

 "They don't have wolf dens," I said, slowly to make sure I got my point across.

 "Okay, but still there's something up with the bank," he said. He pointed his finger and began pacing again. I tapped my finger on the back of the chair as I watched him. "And why wait around until the full moon, huh? Why not just kill them whenever they want to?"

 I hadn't really thought about this until now. There's not much of a reason for them to keep them alive this long, unless they want to put on some kind of show. The power of the full moon will make them stronger and more vicious, and more fun to watch.

 "Maybe they think it's poetic," offered Peter, extending out his hands. 

 "They've already had three full moons to be poetic," said Stiles.