Been There Done That Part 1 (TW/Spn)
Title: Been There Done That Part 1
Pairings: None
Characters: Dean Winchester & Stiles Stillinski
Summary: Stiles is constantly trying to protect his father from the supernatural, even if that means keeping him in the dark. The thing is, John Stillinski has more than a few skeletons in his closet, and when something is threatening his son, well...he might just have to step in.
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John Stilinski held his wife’s hand as she slowly died in front of him.
It didn’t surprise him. This had been a long time in coming. Oh, don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t fair and he hated every goddamn second of it. But life generally wasn’t, as he’d learnt in his 40 odd years. To be completely honest though, he hadn’t expected to make it to 40 at all, especially not getting to spend 20 of those years with someone who loved him so much they’d followed him to the ends of the earth and back again. It always surprised him, to realise everything he had.
Of course, now the other shoe had dropped.
-Cancer.
Apparently it was in Cassie’s family. Who knew? He certainly hadn’t, although it’s not like it was easy to check that out. They hadn’t even thought to check it. After all they’d been through, cancer was so out of the left field that it hadn’t even occurred to them before they realised what, exactly, was going wrong.
And then it was too late. He was always too fucking late.
The hand in his tightened and John watched his wife’s eyes drift open, the blue faded and still so fucking beautiful, it literally took his breath away. Christ, why was he losing her again. Twenty years wasn’t enough, a hundred years wouldn’t be enough.
“Hey, how are you?”
Cassie smiled slowly up at him, her lips curving in that familiar faintly confused way, still the same even after all these years. Her eyes gained the clarity they hadn’t when she first woke and Cassie weakly curled her fingers between John’s.
Goddamnit. Why?
Hadn’t they given up enough?
“John.”
John chuckled weakly. That was answer enough. It was time, had been for a while. At least he would get to say goodbye this time.
“Time’s up, huh? Should I wake Stiles?”
Their son was curled up on a chair in the corner, just as he had been every night for the past week. They’d known it would be soon, the Doctors had even let them stay; knowing that when it happened it would be swift and they wouldn’t have any time.
Small mercies, but they made him grateful all the same.
“In one minute, John. We should say our goodbye’s now.”
Cassie’s voice was soft, but there was the old steel in her voice. Steel that brought to mind power and belief and faith. Redemption. Cassie was his everything, and now she was going and John wanted to fight.
But he had learnt that fighting, or at least fighting this, only ever ended in tears and heart break and consequences that would bring the world to its knees. He would see her again. And when he did it would be for eternity. John wasn’t religious, but then neither was Cassie, they didn’t need to be.
That didn’t stop him from tightening his hold, from bending his head over their joined hands and letting the tears drop to their entwined fingers, because if there was one thing he had learnt; it was that he was allowed to cry goddamit.
“Don’t go, please Cassie. Please. I’m not sure I can live without you. Not now. Not after everything. Please, Cas.”
There was silence and then another hand in his hair, just resting briefly before traveling to his chin and gently (weakly, so weakly), lifting his head. When he met Cassie’s eyes they were hard and her mouth was a disapproving frown; so familiar that briefly John was in the past, trying to embrace his destiny and Cas was there, always there, to stop him from making even more idiotic mistakes.
“John. Dean. You will stay, you will live, and you will protect our son. And one day, when you have lived a good and long life, you will join me in heaven and we shall share our greatest memories together. If you do anything less than that, if you fight this, then I will hunt you down and have very strong words with you. Are we clear?”
John nodded his head, his heart in his throat. It had been so long since he last heard his name. He had been wearing his father’s name for so long, both as a shield and a tribute; he had almost forgotten what it was like to hear his old one. The wanted one. The known one. Cassie knew what saying that name could bring down on his head; she wouldn’t say it unless it was vitally important.
And it was. He knew that. There was no other way to go but forward. He knew that. He’d always known that. That didn’t make it any easier.
But then he’d known that too.
Before he could respond verbally, voice choked in his throat as it always was whenever he tried to have a chick-flick moment, Cassie’s eyes drifted up and widened; a beatific smile gracing her features the likes of which he had seen on her face only once before.
“He’s speaking to me Dean. Father. Welcoming me home. Wake Stiles, I need to say goodbye. Now.”
Eyes widening and nodding past the words in his throat John rushed to their boy and shook his shoulder. Christ, eight years old.
Eight fucking years old. How is it fair that he lose his mother now? So young. Not as young as Dean had been, of course. But 4 extra years wasn’t enough. A lifetime wasn’t enough.
Stiles eyes blinked open blearily before he abruptly snapped up, his head whipping around to where his mother was lying pale and beautiful on the bed.
“Mom.”
His voice was hoarse and there were shadows under his young eyes. Christ he looked old, his eyes shadowed for a child’s. John and Cas had done so much to protect their boy, to make it so he could live his life in safety, and then this happened.
But then, of course it did. He should have been expecting it. Had been expecting it, really. He knew better then to assume that everything was fine and that it would stay that way. That’s not how life worked. Not for him, and not for his family.
On the bed Cassie raised a hand to her son and Stiles was across the room so fast he practically blurred, miraculously not tripping and taking him or anything important out at the same time. Considering his genes, this clumsiness and the ADHD had come as a surprise. John had a mild form of ADD, but nothing compared to their son.
Of course, right now Stiles could be any child. Clutching his mother tightly (but not too tightly, he was always so careful with her, even before she became ill, John had never wondered why), and mumbling softly to her. He knew. Of course Stiles knew. There was that feeling in the air, the inevitability pulling towards the crux. Cassie held Stiles as tightly as she could in return, murmuring reassurances and love into Stiles’ black hair. So similar to his mothers, when she had had any.
Moving closer, John enfolded his family into a hug, hearing his wife’s voice becoming quieter. Fainter. Stiles was crying between them, begging his mother not to leave, John could feel his heart break. He wanted to fight. For Cas and for Stiles, for his family. For Sam even, who couldn’t be here for fear of what kind of attention they may catch. But Cas knew, and so did Dean, that Sam was there with them in spirit, even if in body he was halfway across the country with his own family.
Christ.
John didn’t realise he had been mumbling his own love and reassurances into his sons hair, his wife’s shoulder, feeling her breaths get shorter. Hearing the beep of the machine next to the bed slowly drag out longer between each beat. His wife fighting, as she always had, for him. For them.
And then the moment was there, and just before she faded away, John whispered into her ear;
“See you later, Castiel. Give em hell for me.”
And the breathless chuckle in his ear tapered off into nothing.
Castiel died, and Dean Winchester held their son as he cried.
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9 Years Later
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Sometimes John wondered if his son honestly thought he was an idiot. The excuses he was coming up with had gradually grown from the sublime to the ridiculous. Even if John hadn’t been who he was, he was still the Sheriff, had been for years now; and that tended to come with some measure of investigative skills. Or at least common sense. A child with a magnifying glass could spot the clues Stiles left uncovered… which didn’t say good things about the people of Beacon hills.
Regardless, there his son was, going on about Scott and Lacrosse and ‘It was just an accident’ and John kind of wanted to drag his son into a hug and tell him ‘I know, Stiles, I know’.
But he had made his wife (and himself) a promise years ago, they would give their son a choice. He wouldn’t be raised like Sam and Dean had been, like their own mother had been, if he ever stumbled across the supernatural they would protect him, they would train him, but they wouldn’t influence his decision.
Of course it had been far harder than he had expected not to drag Stiles away from all this once John had realised just how deep in it he had gotten. Of course, that would have been difficult what with Scott being bitten by a motherfuckin’ werewolf. At least it was one of the born ones, too many generations removed from a born werewolf and the bitten becomes a heart eating monster three times a month. That would have made John’s life incredibly difficult, mostly because Stiles viewed Scott as his ‘brother from another mother’, and hell, John viewed the kid as an unofficial son.
Still, rogue alpha’s, kanima’s and murderous hunters. This town used to be actually safe. John picked it for a fucking reason.
“Ok Stiles, just…be more careful next time, ok?”
“Yeah Dad, of course!”
And Stiles was off, up to his room like he had the Furies on his heels. The Fates had it out for his family- he swore. Nevertheless John chuckled, dragging a hand down his face before making his way to the kitchen to pour himself a small brandy.
He wasn’t oblivious, he used to be Dean motherfucking Winchester, he knew what was here. And he knew that his son couldn’t handle it, not even with the Hale pack at his back. The group was too new, missing too many of its members, its Alpha scrambling for some kind of even ground even as it crumbled beneath him. John knew he should have helped out before now, but he had weighed his options and up till this point the consequences always outweighed the benefits. There was a reason he changed his name, dropped off the grid; there were a lot of supernatural creatures that wanted to prove their metal out there, and taking out one or both of the Winchester brothers would be one hell of a notch in their post. Word would spread, the second they knew he was here, they would muster.
But it couldn’t be helped, the Alpha pack had been here two weeks now, picking at the Hale pack (and more importantly, his son); they would move soon. Very soon.
John picked up his phone and hit speed dial, despite how long it had been.
It rang twice before a familiar voice picked up on the other side.
“Hey Sammy, I need your help.”
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Pairings: None
Characters: Dean Winchester & Stiles Stillinski
Summary: Stiles is constantly trying to protect his father from the supernatural, even if that means keeping him in the dark. The thing is, John Stillinski has more than a few skeletons in his closet, and when something is threatening his son, well...he might just have to step in.
--------------------------
John Stilinski held his wife’s hand as she slowly died in front of him.
It didn’t surprise him. This had been a long time in coming. Oh, don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t fair and he hated every goddamn second of it. But life generally wasn’t, as he’d learnt in his 40 odd years. To be completely honest though, he hadn’t expected to make it to 40 at all, especially not getting to spend 20 of those years with someone who loved him so much they’d followed him to the ends of the earth and back again. It always surprised him, to realise everything he had.
Of course, now the other shoe had dropped.
-Cancer.
Apparently it was in Cassie’s family. Who knew? He certainly hadn’t, although it’s not like it was easy to check that out. They hadn’t even thought to check it. After all they’d been through, cancer was so out of the left field that it hadn’t even occurred to them before they realised what, exactly, was going wrong.
And then it was too late. He was always too fucking late.
The hand in his tightened and John watched his wife’s eyes drift open, the blue faded and still so fucking beautiful, it literally took his breath away. Christ, why was he losing her again. Twenty years wasn’t enough, a hundred years wouldn’t be enough.
“Hey, how are you?”
Cassie smiled slowly up at him, her lips curving in that familiar faintly confused way, still the same even after all these years. Her eyes gained the clarity they hadn’t when she first woke and Cassie weakly curled her fingers between John’s.
Goddamnit. Why?
Hadn’t they given up enough?
“John.”
John chuckled weakly. That was answer enough. It was time, had been for a while. At least he would get to say goodbye this time.
“Time’s up, huh? Should I wake Stiles?”
Their son was curled up on a chair in the corner, just as he had been every night for the past week. They’d known it would be soon, the Doctors had even let them stay; knowing that when it happened it would be swift and they wouldn’t have any time.
Small mercies, but they made him grateful all the same.
“In one minute, John. We should say our goodbye’s now.”
Cassie’s voice was soft, but there was the old steel in her voice. Steel that brought to mind power and belief and faith. Redemption. Cassie was his everything, and now she was going and John wanted to fight.
But he had learnt that fighting, or at least fighting this, only ever ended in tears and heart break and consequences that would bring the world to its knees. He would see her again. And when he did it would be for eternity. John wasn’t religious, but then neither was Cassie, they didn’t need to be.
That didn’t stop him from tightening his hold, from bending his head over their joined hands and letting the tears drop to their entwined fingers, because if there was one thing he had learnt; it was that he was allowed to cry goddamit.
“Don’t go, please Cassie. Please. I’m not sure I can live without you. Not now. Not after everything. Please, Cas.”
There was silence and then another hand in his hair, just resting briefly before traveling to his chin and gently (weakly, so weakly), lifting his head. When he met Cassie’s eyes they were hard and her mouth was a disapproving frown; so familiar that briefly John was in the past, trying to embrace his destiny and Cas was there, always there, to stop him from making even more idiotic mistakes.
“John. Dean. You will stay, you will live, and you will protect our son. And one day, when you have lived a good and long life, you will join me in heaven and we shall share our greatest memories together. If you do anything less than that, if you fight this, then I will hunt you down and have very strong words with you. Are we clear?”
John nodded his head, his heart in his throat. It had been so long since he last heard his name. He had been wearing his father’s name for so long, both as a shield and a tribute; he had almost forgotten what it was like to hear his old one. The wanted one. The known one. Cassie knew what saying that name could bring down on his head; she wouldn’t say it unless it was vitally important.
And it was. He knew that. There was no other way to go but forward. He knew that. He’d always known that. That didn’t make it any easier.
But then he’d known that too.
Before he could respond verbally, voice choked in his throat as it always was whenever he tried to have a chick-flick moment, Cassie’s eyes drifted up and widened; a beatific smile gracing her features the likes of which he had seen on her face only once before.
“He’s speaking to me Dean. Father. Welcoming me home. Wake Stiles, I need to say goodbye. Now.”
Eyes widening and nodding past the words in his throat John rushed to their boy and shook his shoulder. Christ, eight years old.
Eight fucking years old. How is it fair that he lose his mother now? So young. Not as young as Dean had been, of course. But 4 extra years wasn’t enough. A lifetime wasn’t enough.
Stiles eyes blinked open blearily before he abruptly snapped up, his head whipping around to where his mother was lying pale and beautiful on the bed.
“Mom.”
His voice was hoarse and there were shadows under his young eyes. Christ he looked old, his eyes shadowed for a child’s. John and Cas had done so much to protect their boy, to make it so he could live his life in safety, and then this happened.
But then, of course it did. He should have been expecting it. Had been expecting it, really. He knew better then to assume that everything was fine and that it would stay that way. That’s not how life worked. Not for him, and not for his family.
On the bed Cassie raised a hand to her son and Stiles was across the room so fast he practically blurred, miraculously not tripping and taking him or anything important out at the same time. Considering his genes, this clumsiness and the ADHD had come as a surprise. John had a mild form of ADD, but nothing compared to their son.
Of course, right now Stiles could be any child. Clutching his mother tightly (but not too tightly, he was always so careful with her, even before she became ill, John had never wondered why), and mumbling softly to her. He knew. Of course Stiles knew. There was that feeling in the air, the inevitability pulling towards the crux. Cassie held Stiles as tightly as she could in return, murmuring reassurances and love into Stiles’ black hair. So similar to his mothers, when she had had any.
Moving closer, John enfolded his family into a hug, hearing his wife’s voice becoming quieter. Fainter. Stiles was crying between them, begging his mother not to leave, John could feel his heart break. He wanted to fight. For Cas and for Stiles, for his family. For Sam even, who couldn’t be here for fear of what kind of attention they may catch. But Cas knew, and so did Dean, that Sam was there with them in spirit, even if in body he was halfway across the country with his own family.
Christ.
John didn’t realise he had been mumbling his own love and reassurances into his sons hair, his wife’s shoulder, feeling her breaths get shorter. Hearing the beep of the machine next to the bed slowly drag out longer between each beat. His wife fighting, as she always had, for him. For them.
And then the moment was there, and just before she faded away, John whispered into her ear;
“See you later, Castiel. Give em hell for me.”
And the breathless chuckle in his ear tapered off into nothing.
Castiel died, and Dean Winchester held their son as he cried.
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9 Years Later
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Sometimes John wondered if his son honestly thought he was an idiot. The excuses he was coming up with had gradually grown from the sublime to the ridiculous. Even if John hadn’t been who he was, he was still the Sheriff, had been for years now; and that tended to come with some measure of investigative skills. Or at least common sense. A child with a magnifying glass could spot the clues Stiles left uncovered… which didn’t say good things about the people of Beacon hills.
Regardless, there his son was, going on about Scott and Lacrosse and ‘It was just an accident’ and John kind of wanted to drag his son into a hug and tell him ‘I know, Stiles, I know’.
But he had made his wife (and himself) a promise years ago, they would give their son a choice. He wouldn’t be raised like Sam and Dean had been, like their own mother had been, if he ever stumbled across the supernatural they would protect him, they would train him, but they wouldn’t influence his decision.
Of course it had been far harder than he had expected not to drag Stiles away from all this once John had realised just how deep in it he had gotten. Of course, that would have been difficult what with Scott being bitten by a motherfuckin’ werewolf. At least it was one of the born ones, too many generations removed from a born werewolf and the bitten becomes a heart eating monster three times a month. That would have made John’s life incredibly difficult, mostly because Stiles viewed Scott as his ‘brother from another mother’, and hell, John viewed the kid as an unofficial son.
Still, rogue alpha’s, kanima’s and murderous hunters. This town used to be actually safe. John picked it for a fucking reason.
“Ok Stiles, just…be more careful next time, ok?”
“Yeah Dad, of course!”
And Stiles was off, up to his room like he had the Furies on his heels. The Fates had it out for his family- he swore. Nevertheless John chuckled, dragging a hand down his face before making his way to the kitchen to pour himself a small brandy.
He wasn’t oblivious, he used to be Dean motherfucking Winchester, he knew what was here. And he knew that his son couldn’t handle it, not even with the Hale pack at his back. The group was too new, missing too many of its members, its Alpha scrambling for some kind of even ground even as it crumbled beneath him. John knew he should have helped out before now, but he had weighed his options and up till this point the consequences always outweighed the benefits. There was a reason he changed his name, dropped off the grid; there were a lot of supernatural creatures that wanted to prove their metal out there, and taking out one or both of the Winchester brothers would be one hell of a notch in their post. Word would spread, the second they knew he was here, they would muster.
But it couldn’t be helped, the Alpha pack had been here two weeks now, picking at the Hale pack (and more importantly, his son); they would move soon. Very soon.
John picked up his phone and hit speed dial, despite how long it had been.
It rang twice before a familiar voice picked up on the other side.
“Hey Sammy, I need your help.”
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