Chapter Text
One equation left. Just one more equation to figure out and then he would be free. One stubborn, little equation that simply refused to be solved. It would be simpler if the test was multiple choice but it wasn’t and he had to actually show his work.
It was the final exam for his last class and, once he was done, he could go home. Not back to his dorm room but home, back to Beacon Hills. All his stuff was already packed in his Jeep, which was waiting for him in the parking lot outside. It had actually been packed for a week. The previous night had been spent saying his goodbyes to new friends and his roommate, with promises to see them again in a few weeks for the summer semester. Now, the one thing keeping him from home and pack was this one stupid equation.
The problem wasn’t even that hard. Under normal circumstances, he’d have finished it in a minute. He was just too distracted by the prospect of going home to really focus on it. Every time he tried concentrate on the numbers on the page in front of him, his mind just drifted to thoughts of home and pack and Derek. And the incredible fact that they would all be going to the big Pack Gathering that they’d been planning for over a year now. He was finally going to meet more werewolves from other packs. It was going to be awesome!
Frankly, he was surprised he made it till the last problem before his brain decided to shut down like this.
He could have just skipped it, left it blank and handed in his test. He was fairly certain he’d aced the rest of the test so that this one problem wouldn’t bring his grade down by any noticeable margin. But that nagging little voice in the back of his head just wouldn’t let him. It would be a betrayal of all the hard work he’d put into getting into a great school like Berkeley, if he didn’t do his absolute best. He fully intended to graduate at the top of his class and no insignificant math problem was going to spoil that for him.
It wasn’t that he hated math, like how most people always complain about, he just liked math when he could do something with it. Things like figuring out the angle to use to do a trick shot on a pool table or even budgeting his money for groceries. Solving equations just for the sake of solving equations held no appeal for him and unfortunately that’s what most of this class was.
His professor had touched a tiny bit on other math related subjects, like Sacred Geometry and how ancient cultures used to believe that, when they were discovering new mathematical formulas, they were uncovering the language of the gods. That had sounded fascinating and he had written it down on a list of topics to look into at some future point. But for the most part this class had been nothing more than the standard Gen-Ed class every new college student had to take before moving on to their major.
Time seemed to stretch on forever. Each tick of the clock on the wall echoed in his ears, like a new evolution of Chinese water torture. One problem shouldn’t be this hard. It wasn’t rocket science or brain surgery. He just needed to think.
WWLMD. What Would Lydia Martin Do?
After Stiles had stopped worshiping the ground she walked on—coincidently around the same time he met Derek—the two of them had actually become pretty good friends and study buddies. Not that Lydia ever really needed any help studying, Stiles just got the impression that she liked being able to talk to someone that she didn’t have to hide her intelligence around. And—not to boast or anything—Stiles was probably the only one in the entire school who was anywhere near as smart as she was. Lydia and he had graduated as Valedictorian and Salutatorian, respectively.
So how would she attack this problem?
A few years ago, thinking about Lydia would have only have distracted him even more. It was a little amazing how much he’d changed in a few short years, because now thinking of Lydia just helped him zero in on the problem.
Okay, just breakdown the equation into its simplest parts.
Soon the numbers were just falling into place in his brain.
That’s IT!
Slamming his pencil down on the desk much harder than he’d intended, he saw a few people jump in their seats around him. Ignoring the dirty looks he got from other students who were still frustratingly making their way through the test, he gathered up his papers and nearly skipped to the professor’s desk. It wasn’t one of those cool auditorium style rooms—those were reserved for the really interesting classes and the professors who had tenure—so he was handing in his test and out the door in seconds.
Sweet freedom!
Sprinting to the parking lot, he had to use all the control he possessed to keep himself from using his werewolf strength to jump over the other cars in his way. He still made it to his Jeep at a pace that would turn an Olympic Sprinter green with envy.
Nearly ripping his pants with how hard he pulled his keys out, he unlocked the driver side door and hopped in. All his stuff was in the back and ready to go. Bunched up in the front passenger seat were the various sheets and pillowcases his dad and the pack had sent him.
When he’d first started at Berkeley, he’d had a hard time falling asleep. Being away from his pack had been hard at first, so his dad had thought up an idea of having the pack send him thing with their scent to help him sleep at night. It worked like a charm. He still missed home like crazy but at least he was able to sleep at night, cocooned in the scent of home and pack.
Then there was the shirt.
The Shirt.
Derek’s Shirt.
The one he buried his face in every night, when he went to sleep. He would have worn it while he jerked off, to have Derek’s scent all over him body as he came, but he was terrified that Derek might smell his cum on it when he brought it home. He could always wash the shirt enough times to get the smell of cum out but that would also obliterate Derek’s scent as well.
The shirt that Derek sent him along with all the sheets and pillowcases from the pack. The one that was absolutely drenched in Derek’s scent. The concentration of Derek’s scent on the shirt was so powerful, so intense; it had to be one of his workout shirts. But it also smelt a little like the forest so maybe he’d worn it when he went running. Except Derek liked to go shirtless, when he went for his run.
Stiles didn’t know which was worse, the fact that he knew something like that about Derek’s habits or that it was now impossible not to think about Derek shirtless.
And Derek had sent the shirt to him.
No one else had sent him an article of clothing, just sheets and pillow cases.
When he’d first gotten it in the mail almost a month ago, he’d spent the first week going crazy trying to figure out what Derek had meant by it. He must have started and deleted over a thousand text messages to Derek asking about it. Not to mention all the times on the phone, when he was just about to ask Derek but chickened out at the last second. Derek hadn’t brought the subject up either so Stiles had no idea how to handle the situation.
Maybe I should ask Laura. Or I could just ask Derek himself, when I see him.
Either way, he had a seven hour drive ahead of him to make up his mind. Turning the key, his baby came roaring to life and he threw her into gear. Needing a way to release some of the nervous energy coursing through him body, he cranked his radio up as loud as his ears could stand and started tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel and loudly singing along with the Taylor Swift song that came on. He blamed Laura for the fact that he knew all the words.
He was just about to turn onto the interstate, when he realized how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten much that morning, too distracted by the last of his finals and thoughts of home. Not eating enough was a strain on any teenage boy but adding the fact that he was a werewolf on top of that and it could make for a very long and miserable ride home. So he switched lanes just in time and headed towards the nearest source of food he could find.
Being a college town, Berkeley had plenty of cheap and fast places to eat for the hoards of ravenous college students, especially around Midterms and Finals, but Stiles had always been rather picky about his food. At first it had been because of his dad’s health, but later it had more to do with his new werewolf senses. His wolf liked food that was as close to its natural state as possible. All that processed, salted, and high fructose corn syrup filled garbage that littered the selves of your average Supermarket made his stomach churn in disgust. He could still eat it, if he was desperate enough, but he never enjoyed it. No more pigging out on chips and hot pockets, like he used to.
Driving past several fast food establishments, he pulled his jeep into a local grocery store. It wasn’t as big as some of the other Supermarkets in the area but they had a great Deli section that made some truly amazing subs. Their organic fruit section wasn’t bad either.
Browsing through a couple of the aisles, he made his way to the Deli section in the back. Luck was with him today because the older woman with the poorly done dye-job was manning the sandwich counter. She was always nice and knew how to make a sandwich. She never skimped on the sliced meats, unlike the pinched-faced younger guy who made sandwiches that were nearly all lettuce.
He ordered two subs, one turkey and one roast beef, with plenty of other toppings on whole wheat rolls. Once he had his sandwiches, he headed towards the produce department to see if they had any of those bottled fruit smoothies that were made from actual fruit and not just food coloring and corn syrup. Finding them fairly quick, he then had to decide which flavors to choose. He prefered to go with more odd-flavored combination of fruits than just sticking with the typical strawberry-banana. There was a kiwi-melon one that looked interesting.
Just then a familiar scent reached his nose and drew his attention to the right.
Not ten feet from him, examining some tomatoes, was his history teacher, Professor Brunner. In a tight-nit community like Berkeley, it’s inevitable that you would run into at least one of your professors around town. But it never really gets any less awkward. He’d run into his math teacher at a pizza parlor and his Film Studies teacher at a bar.
Professor Brunner was a man in his mid-fifties with plain features and more grey in his hair than not. He dressed like a stereotypical college professor with a tweed vest and brown loafers. The only thing he was missing was a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, but Professor Brunner had excellent vision as a few unfortunate students who tried to mess around in the back of his class had discovered the hard way.
All hope of being able to sneak away without being noticed promptly vanished when Professor Brunner looked up and locked eyes with him. It’s not that Stiles didn’t like Professor Brunner—he was actually Stiles’ favorite teacher so far—it was just that the older man had a tendency to ramble on and Stiles really wanted to hit the road.
“Mr. Stilinski,” Professor Brunner announced. “Done with your finals already. Or are you just refueling for the next one?”
“Just finished my last one,” Stiles answered a bit proudly. “Math. Wasn’t too hard. The last questions kinda stumped me for a little bit but I’m pretty sure I got it in the end.”
“Ah, so you’re stocking up to celebrate the end of the semester,” Professor Brunner grinned.
Stiles knew what he was implying. Most students tend to go out and drown whatever brain cells they have left right after Finals. The whole town goes a little wild. Some of the bars even look the other way when students who aren’t quite twenty-one buy a few drinks.
For some reason Stiles didn’t want Professor Brunner to think of him like that. Brunner wasn’t just a history teacher but was in fact the head of the entire Archeology Department at Berkeley. Supposedly he teaches an introductory history class every so often to try and inspire new students into his field. Stiles had been lucky enough to get into one of his classes. So far it had been the most interesting class he’d had at Berkeley. It didn’t hurt that Brunner was also one of the smartest people Stiles had ever met and not that snooty, superior kind of smart either.
“No, I mean yes, I’m stocking up—but not to celebrate” he hastily corrected, subconsciously lifting up the fruit smoothie in his defense. “That’s not to say that I won’t be celebrating the end of the semester, just that it will be at home. My home, not the dorm. I’m stocking up for the seven hour drive back to Beacon Hills.”
“Hmm, a fellow native,” Brunner said. “But I’m surprised that you’re in such a hurry to head home. Most people your age are reveling in the freedom that college offers.”
“Yeah, well, I’m atypical,” Stiles shrugged.
“Yes, I have noticed that over this past semester,” Brunner smiled. “It was truly evident in your final paper that you handed in yesterday.”
“You’ve already graded my final paper?” Stiles asked excitedly. He’d put a lot of research hours into that paper and he was pretty damn proud of it. And he desperately wanted to know what Brunner had thought of it.
“I managed to skim through it,” Brunner replied. “I like to leave the more interesting sounding papers for last, and ‘The History of Chemical Warfare in the Ancient World’ is a rather intriguing.”
“Well, yeah, I kinda wanted to go with something a little different than the stuff that’s been done a thousand times.”
“More like a million times,” Brunner agreed. “And from the little I read it was quite good. I left the part about the poisoned arrows and scorpion bombs for later, after I’ve suffered through a few dozen papers about Queen Elizabeth or the Revolutionary War. Though I admit I read the part about Greek Fire, because I’m rather familiar with that myself, and I was very impressed. You have a flare for presenting your ideas and so far you seem to be the only one of my students who knows how to properly cite your sources. And I could see you did more than a fair amount of research.”
Stiles was trying to hold back a blush at this point but he still managed to stumble his way through a response.
“Yeah, well, you know I have mad GoogleFu skills,” he boasted. “Not that I didn’t use actual books and articles too.”
“Yes, I saw,” Brunner chuckled. “I think your paper is the only one that doesn’t list Wikipedia as a source. It’s such a shame that, in this age where all this knowledge is so readily available, so few people seem interested in it. Half the people in my archeology course drop out as soon as they realize that it’s nothing like an Indiana Jones movie.”
“Tell me about it,” Stiles agreed. “My dad is always complaining about how many police recruits he loses, when they realize it’s nothing like CSI or Law and Order.”
“I take it your father is a police officer?” Brunner guessed.
“Sheriff,” Stiles corrected proudly.
“Any plans of following in his footsteps?”
“I’ve thought about it,” Stiles said. “But it doesn’t quite seem right for me.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, have you given any consideration to what you’ll do after you graduate?” Brunner asked. “I believe you are still undeclared for your major, are you not?”
Stiles bit his lip nervously. Lots of college freshman and even sophomores were still undeclared but he was the kind of person who liked having a plan or at least a goal to work towards.
“Yeah, for now I’m still kinda just going over my options. Trying to see what feels right,” he confirmed.
“Have you considered Archeology?” Brunner asked. “While I’m a bit biased, since it’s my department, I do believe it is an excellent field for a mind such as yours.”
“I have thought about it, it’s just…”
“You don’t want to spend your time in dusty old libraries or digging up rocks,” Brunner grinned.
“No, noo,” Stiles denied. “I would love that! Especially the library part. It’s just that I plan on going back home after I graduate. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to travel and stuff, but I’d really love some kind of career that I could do back home. I don’t really like living in big cities, even Berkeley is a little much for me sometimes, and there aren’t exactly any big archeological sites in Beacon Hills.”
Plus I could never stay away from my pack that long.
“I see,” Brunner nodded in understanding.
“I would really love to major in history but there really isn’t much you can do with that back home, except teach, and I don’t think I’m cut out for that,” Stiles continued. Then he realized he’d inadvertently insulted Professor Brunner and added, “No offense.”
“None taken, I assure you,” Brunner chuckled. “Couldn’t see myself teaching either, when I was your age. But, if I may make a suggestion?”
“Of course,” Stiles agreed, eagerly.
“Have you ever considered a degree in Library Sciences?” Brunner inquired thoughtfully.
Immediately, the image of old Mrs. Pierson, the Beacon Hills Librarian, popped into his head. She was an ancient little lady, who was nearly blind without her inch thick glasses but with ears like a bat. She’d thrown Stiles out of the Library more times than he could remember, back when he had ADHD. The idea of becoming like her in any way was not appealing.
“Yeah, I’m not really sure being a librarian is right for me,” Stiles grimaced.
“There’s more to a degree in Library Sciences than just becoming a librarian,” Brunner laughed heartily. “Essentially, a Library Sciences degree is a degree in researching.”
“You can get a degree in research?” Stiles asked, dumbstruck.
All his life, Stiles had been almost addicted to looking things up. Everything and anything that could pop into his head, he would find out everything about it. It was always something that he just did. It never occurred to him that he could get a job from it.
“Indeed,” Brunner went on. “There are many varied companies and professions that require researchers. Everything from newspapers and magazines to law firms to politicians and marketing firms. Not to mention writers. You would be amazed by how many writers hire researchers to look up various facts for them, especially biographers and historical fiction writers. Even some science fiction writers will hire a researcher to look into how scientifically feasible their stories are. You’d be amazed at how valuable a person who can look up vast amounts of information and condense them into a concise manner can be.”
“That would be amazing,” Stiles exclaimed.
“It’s even easier today, what with everyone digitizing their archives, it wouldn’t be too hard to buy a subscription to some of the larger online archives,” Brunner continued. “And there would be opportunities for travel. Just last month, a former student on mine landed a commission to research in Italy. He was paid to travel to Florence for three months to comb through monastery archives and the private library of a Count or Duke.”
“Wow,” Stiles said, near speechless at the possibility.
“Now, keep in mind, he has been a professional researcher for years and has built up a good reputation that allowed him to even be considered for a job like that.”
“Oh, of course,” Stiles hastily agreed. “But still…”
“Worth looking into,” Brunner said.
“Definitely,” Stiles said happily. “Thank you for suggesting it.”
“My pleasure,” Brunner smiled. “Now, I think I’ll let you get on your way, after all you did say it was a seven hour drive home. I’m sure you can use that time to think over what we’ve talked about.”
Stiles jolted, having completely forgot that he had only meant to stop in here for some food for the road.
“Whoa, I better get going,” Stiles enthused. “I’ll see you around professor. And thanks again.”
“Any time.”
Stiles quickly made his way up to the registers to pay for his food and then hopped back in his jeep. As he turned onto the interstate, he went over his their conversation again. Professor Brunner had just opened up a ton of possibilities for him and his mind still needed to process them.
Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a very long drive ahead of me.