For once in his life, Stiles Stilinski wasn't entirely sure what to say or do. This was way, way out of his realm of experience. Not the silver part or the talking with people who really didn't want him to be there (can you say "Derek Hale" three times fast?). The part where she was freaking out a little, and her buddy was clearly catching on, and Stiles didn't really know either of them? That was the over-his-head section of the day.
"Look," he said, holding his hands wide. "I have no fighting skills. I'm not a werewolf. I'm a measly little human teenager with no appreciable abilities outside being annoying about how much I know. It's my job to help with what I can do." He gestured at the book. "That's what I can do."
Pointing back at the non-silver items, he said, "Silver or not, it may be an excellent place to start for bullets that carry wolfsbane." He cleared his throat. "If... you are interested in making those." He rocked back on his heels a little before reaching forward to grab the bullet from Booker.
He turned it over in his hands, examining it as he continued to speak. "If I remember right, and I may not, silver has a relatively low melting point. Below gold, below steel, below iron. But it's still a pretty ridiculous temperature. I don't know if shavings will work or if it has to be cast. But I also know next to nothing about ammunition manufacturing, so. There you have it."