Chapter 2

It wasn't very long after the Alpha Pack had left, with Derek and Cora running off a little after that, that Stiles had found himself to be epically restless and bored. Sure, Deaton had talked to him about starting training for being an Emissary to the pack, whatever pack it is that Beacon Hills had anyways, and Scott was starting to spend just a tiny bit more time with him than earlier now that Isaac and Allison were suddenly buddy-buddy and so was Lydia, in all her greatness although Stiles no longer saw her as the love of his life. Which looking back on, was slightly creepy and pretty immature, but no one ever pegged Stiles for being mature in first place.

So four days, nineteen hours, and thirty-two minutes plus two Monster energy drinks later found Stiles on the floor of his room, seven different books open in front of him with his laptop sitting balanced on his lap typing up notes from the books on the Supernatural Deaton had recommended with one hand and his other hand texting Derek as fast as one finger could.

It took seven hours and eighteen minutes, not that Stiles was counting, for Derek to respond. By now it was nearly six in the morning and Stiles' hands were trembling lightly from chugging another two energy drinks to stay awake as he dragged his finger across the screen of his phone to read the message.

[Derek]: why are you texting me

[Stiles]: Wow, way to use punctuation and grammar skills there, big boy. And here I thought you would have been a grammar Nazi.

[Derek]: Stiles, it is 5:48 AM who cares about grammar now

[Derek] I didn't wake you up did I

[Stiles]: Nah, haven't slept. Gotta be up in a few minutes for school anyways.

[Derek]: That's not healthy

[Derek]: Are you ok?

[Stiles]: Woah, question mark, you are starting to wake up, it seems!

[Derek]: Stiles

[Stiles]: How is it you still sound so threatening via little words on a tiny screen? It makes no sense to me.

[Derek]: That's most likely because you recognize the fact that you are an idiot

[Stiles]: Rude. I am in all AP classes, thank you very much.

[Derek]: You know exactly what I mean.

[Stiles]: Yes, as a matter of fact, I do, wolf boy. I would like to counterpoint that argument with one of I'm going to be the new Emissary, so you better be nice to me.

[Derek]: One, no. Two, why are you becoming the Emissary? And three, I'm not in your pack, so really you've got nothing.

[Stiles]: Holy shit, it's too early in the morning to do a therapy session, try again in a few hours. Preferably in literature, so I know I'll stay awake.

[Derek]: Maybe you should have thought of that before you decided to be a moron and stay up all night.

[Stiles]: Ahahaha, very funny dude.

[Stiles]: But hey, you are coming to Beacon Hills aren't you?

[Derek]: I don't know

[Stiles]: It took nearly ten minutes to write I don't know? Seriously?

[Derek]: Well I don't. Haven't really had the best home coming experience, don't you think?

[Stiles]: Is that sarcasm I hear? It is! My lovely language, you are speaking it!

[Derek]: Shut up

[Stiles]: I'm not even saying anything. I'm typing, dumbass.

[Derek]: Go get some sleep

[Stiles]: Too late now

Derek hadn't responded after that last text, and Stiles spent the rest of the day continuously checking his phone. He did doze off a bit during English, guess the whole teaching of classics was rather dull when it wasn't a megalomaniac homicidal ex emissary turned supernatural creature of darkness lecturing. What did that say about his mentality? Probably nothing, but who knows nowadays. Psychologists analyzed everything.

"Stiles!" Stiles turned to see Lydia gracefully striding over to his spot in the hallway as he waited for Scott to show up.

"What's up, Lyds?" Eons ago he would have killed to call Lydia that, just in a more romantic setting. But, he rather enjoyed what they had developed into. Definitely helped with a lot of the less than legal activities although having his dad be the Sheriff did help a bit with that as well.

"I need you to come over to my place. Deaton isn't proving to be a reliable source when it comes to what I need to know." Lydia leaned against the wall, her strawberry blonde hair, falling over her shoulders and the mark that the Durach left as it tried to strangle her starting to fade away.

"But I don't know much about bansh—mphhhaa" Lydia's hand slapped over his mouth as she hissed.

"Keep quiet, bozo! You think I want everyone to know?" Stiles shook his head, waiting for the fiery not-actually-a-redhead to let go of his face. It involved quite a bit of rolling his eyes down and a few more threats from Lydia before his mouth was free.

"Ouch, you've got claws of a harpy, Lydia. Are you trying to claw my face off?" Stiles patted his cheeks, checking for any gorges in his flesh. Well, not like it could happen, but it could happen. Banshees could have really long and sharp nails for all he knew, and they probably sliced open their victims all the time with those things.

"Better to slice into itty bitty pieces, geez Stiles."

"Please no. I like all my epidermis over my muscles and bones and nothing missing." Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Har har, I'm wheezing of laughter." She said dryly. "Now, I've got to get to my club meeting. I'll come meet you after."

"I'm stopping at Deaton's for a bit. Got to exchange books and so forth."

"Then come stop by my house when you're done, stupid." Lydia pranced off, after rolling her eyes one last time at Stiles.

"Rude, geez." Stiles muttered as Scott ran up.

"Hey, Stiles!"

"You're late, Scott. Geez, you would think to look at a clock now and then."

"Sorry, sorry! I was just helping Isaac out, you don't mind if he comes along do you?" Fun. Having Isaac tagging along meant chatting time with Scott was pretty much over. Oh well. Its not like he had much to say anyways.

"Sure, that's fine. But only if we leave now." On cue, Isaac walked from around the corner, grinning sheepishly. Isaac was probably waiting right behind the wall and listening in for the best time to come sauntering in. And Stiles couldn't even complain about it –well he could if he wanted to and did numerous times – since he would abuse his super hearing abilities just like that.

The three of them piled into his jeep, Scott having left his bike at home this morning, and rode in silence, listening to the tunes emitting from the radio. It was s short ride to the vet's office and the two werewolves plus one human soon found themselves already stepping into the hallway of the animal care center, Scott immediately going in to check on the animals with Isaac following like a lost puppy and Stiles heading into Deaton's office-office, where a new stack of books was sitting on sheets of paper and envelopes.

"Cutting it close there, Stiles. You boys were nearly late." Deaton stepped into the office and Stiles moved to the side to give him room to walk around.

"I put all blame on Scott and Isaac; apparently they were having one of their numerous heart to hearts."

"I see." Deaton had that look, the one that screamed 'I know something that you don't and I'll never tell!' Stiles had given up on ever getting the man to spill things he had no desire to.

"Well, I have some news Stiles. Most of the materials have finally come in, so I can start your training either tomorrow or day after. Do you think you're ready?"

"You gave me those tomes to look at for 'light reading'" the words light reading had major air quotes being used, "and you expect me to back out now?"

"Not at all." Deaton grinned. "Just double checking you were firm in your decision."

"Well that seemed stupid."

"Indeed, I suppose it must be."

Deaton and Stiles fell silent for a few minutes, Stiles having grabbed one of the books from the desk to start flipping through and Deaton looking at a print out of something.

"Hey Deaton, do you have anything on banshees?" Stiles finally broke the silence, placing a ribbon as a bookmark in the book he had opened.

"As a matter of fact yes." Deaton stood, and turned to a box placed in the corner of the room onto of an old printer. "One of my contacts up in Ireland finally managed to send me his notes and the old urban legends of banshees in Ireland. It's not much, but it could help." Deaton dug through the box for a bit, pulling out all sorts of things Stiles had no desire to learn about just yet before turning around with a thin book in his hands.

"Don't loose this now, I'll have to send it back soon enough." Deaton said as he handed the book to Stiles.

"Thanks, buddy." Stiles grabbed the book, already scanning the title for a hint that this book would be helpful.

"I don't believe I am your buddy, Stiles." Despite his words, Deaton looked like he was fighting a smile on his face. Maybe. It was hard to tell with the man, but Stiles told himself that that was exactly what the vet was doing. "Don't forget, tomorrow we'll most likely start. So keep your schedule clear after school."

"Aye, aye Captain sir!" Stiles threw up a mock salute, the book tucked securely within the crook of his arm and chest.

"Right, I'll see you tomorrow." Stiles waved to Scott on his way out, his werewolf bestie putting food in the rodent cages. He drove over to Lydia's house, where she was just pulling in her driveway as he parked his car on the side of the road. They spent the next few hours nearly pulling the hairs from their head out as the owner of the book had terrible handwriting and even worse concise story telling abilities. In the end, they learned only a few new things and Stiles left the house as frustrated as Lydia.

[Stiles]: What can you tell me about banshees?

[Derek]: Can foresee a tragic death, screams really loud, and apparently is a fashion expert. Why?

[Stiles]: Anything actually substantial?

[Stiles]: It's for Lydia. And for me too I guess. How is there nearly no information on the Internet about them besides the screaming thing?

[Derek]: You should ask Peter. He wants to become the new Care of Magical Creatures Researcher and Professor in Beacon Hills.

[Stiles]: One, uh uh. Not talking to that creep ever. Ever ever if possible. Two, holy shit you made a joke. Am I finally growing on you?

[Derek]: Hardly. It's something that developed for the safety of my own sanity.

[Stiles]: That must be some fragile mentality you got there.

[Derek]: Of course.

[Derek]: I'm going to sleep now. You better be doing the same, Stiles.

[Stiles]: Hey, you aren't my mum to tell me when bedtime is!

[Derek]: It is when you don't ever go to sleep.

[Stiles]: Hey I sleep! Just on a different sleep schedule than everyone else.

[Derek]: Is it called hold off sleep as long as possible to be as unhealthy as possible?

[Stiles]: I can't even deny it.

[Derek]: Sleep.

[Stiles]: Yes mum.

[Derek]: I mean it. I will call your dad if I have to. He gave me a business card.

[Stiles]: Oi, no need to go that far, I'm going, I'm going!

[Derek]: Good.

The next few weeks passed much of the same way. Stiles would either wake up or drink an extra two cups of coffee to stay awake, go to school, go to Deaton's, research a bit with Lydia and hang out with Scott in the hallway of the school between classes. Stiles still texted Derek, and Derek started responding with less time between Stiles first text of the day and his. It certainly felt like they never actually stopped texting, apart from the few hours when they slept.

So it was quite a shock to Stiles when he walked into the bookstore on a random day to get a book that the library didn't have for his history paper and found Derek peering at a shelf, nose scrunched up as he tried to decide on a book to pick out. Stiles stared, halfway into the store with a leg still stuck outside for a good twenty seconds. Harold, the owner of the store – and on Sheriff Stilinski's Suspects For Giving Stiles Candy list – simply glanced once at Stiles as he walked in and continued reading the book in his hand.

Stiles pulled out his phone, scrolling through past messages that might have said anything, anything at all, of Derek coming back into town, even if it was just for a visit.

[Stiles]: So, sourwolf. Ever going to mention that you like nosing through books in old bookstores of your hometown?

Stiles watched as Derek reached into his pocket to fish out his phone, his expression never changing but turning his head over to the entrance of the store where Stiles waved, a tight smile on his smile.

"What are you doing here, Stiles?" Was the first thing Derek asked when Stiles walked up.

"What, no hello? No, how are you doing or any of those pleasant greetings? Or how about an explanation of why you're in town but you didn't tell me?" Stiles' voice grew more heated after every word and he ignored any hisses that Harold threw in his direction. The old store owner always did seem like the librarian type, complete with utter disgust of loud noises.

"I was only staying to get a book or two. Not longer than a few hours. So I saw no need." Derek was as stony faced as ever, someone could probably chisel his face into a statue and no one would notice a difference apart from how emotional those hazel eyes were.

"What, you didn't think that maybe I would like to see you for ten minutes after a few weeks of messaging everyday?" Maybe yelling at the werewolf who has essentially been your only contact apart from Deaton, who didn't count, Scott with passing simply conversations in the hallways of schools, and occasionally Lydia when she wasn't too busy with other people.

Derek shrugged and didn't say a word, not looking at Stiles. Maybe it was immature of him; alright it was definitely immature of him, but no one ever claimed Stiles was even close to being emotionally mature. Stiles turned around and walked out, leaving Derek standing alone by the bookshelf, giving a curt nod to Harold as he stormed out of the store and into his jeep. He didn't even know why he was so angry; it wasn't like he could expect anything less from Derek. The guy always enjoyed being all secretive and mysterious with his multiple leather jackets and broody personality. It wasn't like Derek actually liked anybody, what had Stiles been thinking? That he could possibly rely on Derek? All the text messages were probably replied to because of obligation, Stiles certainly hadn't been in his right state of mind when he first texted Derek, with the whole sleep deprivation and energy drink over consumption spiel.

Stiles gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as he squeezed as hard as he could. Lucky for him, his dad was still at the station when he pulled onto the driveway of his house, staying seated in the jeep and taking deep breaths. This never being told things wasn't anything new. Deaton was a master in it, even Scott left him hanging once or twice. So why should he feel so hurt and panic stricken because a certain sourwolf, who he really wasn't friends with, simply followed the norm of telling Stiles nothing of importance that could help save his life from time to time, thank you very much.

Stiles opened the door of the jeep, grabbing his backpack and jumping down to the pavement. Stiles had far too much to research to worry about being texting buddies with every person who had sharp teeth, claws, and far too much facial hair. For hell's sake, just trying to translate any of the Irish texts into notes he could understand and remember was a herculean task. Or Old English for that matter. Linguistics was not something that he ever wanted to do; only know Stiles has even more of a reason to avoid it like the plague. Learning about proper customs and etiquette is boring enough, but in a different language? There were some days Stiles considered going back in time to reconsider Peter's offer.

Stiles pushed all thoughts about Derek out of his mind. As he passed the kitchen, he grabbed a bag of chips and a bottle of Monster. That history project did need to get done tonight, and it wasn't like he really needed sleep anyhow. The War of Roses demanded his attention.