Been There Done That

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.

9 Years Later

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."

The two packs stood opposite each other, their members spaced out equally on both sides of the clearing a short distance from the Hale property. Two and a half weeks of psychological hell and threats had finally culminated in this moment. Stiles kind of felt like laughing, or crying, or both- but when didn't he feel that way? He wasn't an idiot, despite what some people might say to the contrary. They weren't going to win this. They were too tired, too high strung. The others all looked like they may snap at a pin drop a mile away (which they could actually hear, God werewolves were so awesome, when they weren't trying to…you know…eat you), even Peter looked more unhinged, like the psychopath he actually was. Which was unusual, and frightening. Or more frightening. Fuck Hannibal Lecter, Peter Hale was one scary MOFO. Thank fuck he was, mostly, on their side.

Anyway.

So showdowns were actually a thing, a thing that was happening right now. Finally. Stiles was so on edge after seeing the Alpha's round town, fucking everywhere, and finding messages in terrifying places; (like his room) that he would have pulled his hair out by now, if he could actually grip it. The others weren't much better. All the wolves had been constantly releasing low level growls for so long that now that everything was silent it was actually freaking Stiles out even more. That quiet hum in the background had apparently integrated itself into his system, and now that it was gone, he was having issues. More issues.

Across from them the Alpha's were all standing perfectly still, looking flawless and dangerous and like they wanted to rip out all their throats. With their teeth. Derek must be pissed. That was his trademark look.

Stiles was fighting the urge to fidget. It was a thing. His thing. He fidgets when he's nervous, ok? He can't stay still for extended periods of time. Unfortunately he gets the feeling that if anyone makes any kind of movement then the fighting will start, and there will be blood and guts and mind wrenching pain for all involved, but especially him; and he didn't deal well with pain, ok?

Surreptitiously looking round the clearing at all the inhabitants, Stiles felt light headed. The wolves were slowly, casually even, edging further and further into crouched positions; their bodies changing from human to not. God, could Stiles get a refund on his life? He didn't want to die like this. He didn't want to die ever thanks. Though mostly because of his dad. God, his dad. How was he going to live without Stiles? This would devastate him. And he would never know, it would seem like an accident. The Alpha's would make sure of that. Some random wild animal attack, or perhaps a car crash. The classics are classic for a reason, after all.

And then there was movement, but not from anyone involved. Two people came walking into the clearing between the packs from opposite ends. The packs looked started; they hadn't realised they weren't alone. Two people snuck up on a bunch of high strung battle ready werewolves. Still, at first Stiles didn't recognise him, considering what he was wearing. Why would he? His dad was the Sheriff, he spent 90% of his time in the uniform, 5% in his pyjama's and the other 5% in jeans and a t-shirt when lazing round the house with Stiles. Now he was wearing a leather jacket and combat boots. Leathertm was a look werewolves practically owned.

"Dad?!"

His dad didn't even glance at him, just strolling across the clearing until he met the other guy in the middle, and Good God what was the other guy on? He was so tall that Stiles kind of wondered if he had legitimate giant blood in him. Tree's would weep at this guys genes.

"Dad, what the hell?!"

Still no response, they both just turned to face the Alpha pack, and suddenly Stiles realised with a growing sort of horror that his Dad was between them and the Alpha's. Jesus fucking Christ, no.

"Dad, you don't understand what's going on! Get out of here. Move! These guys are no joke, they'll kill you. They'll kill both of you!"

Just because he didn't know who the other guy was didn't mean Stiles didn't want them both out of the way. They didn't know what they were up against, they would get eviscerated. Right in front of him. They could never save them in time.

But once again his Dad didn't even look over, though this time he did say, quietly in a tone Stiles had never heard before,

"Son. Shut up."

Derek took a step forward now, only to stop as growls started up at the other end of the clearing, stepping back when it looked like the Alpha's were going to attack if he didn't. That didn't stop him from talking though, which was a surprise.

"Sheriff, you need to leave. This isn't your fight."

Finally, his Dad looked back, only to grace Derek with a look like steel.

"My son is in this fight. Of course I'm going to intervene before you get him killed."

And then he turned his attention forward once again, dismissing Derek, Stiles knew he loved his Dad for a reason. Derek kind of looked like manpain and anger were looming in the very near future.

"Who are you?"

This came from one of the Alpha's, directed at his dad and the other guy. His dad shrugged, casually resting his hand on an old gun at his hip, the other guy pulled out a knife (ignoring the way the Alpha's stiffened and rumbled warningly) and began twirling it with practiced ease.

"My name is John Stilinski, but you may know me better by another name."

…Another name? What?

His Dad paused long enough that one of the Alpha's rolled their eyes, and she absently began examining her nails whilst stating,

"I don't know about the others, but I don't really get in the habit of learning humans names."

His Dad grinned, feral and sharp and nothing like Stiles had ever seen before, the other guy chuckled and smiled easily at the Alpha's; good natured and lovable, he reminded Stiles of Scott as he said affably;

"Oh, you might know ours."

And his Dad pulled out the gun, the sound of him cocking it loud in the silence between them.

"The name's Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam."

…

…What?!

The reactions from the Alpha's would have been priceless, if Stiles hadn't been focussed on the fact his Dad had a brother, a different name, and that Derek hadn't just flinched back like he'd been shot. Again.

"Winchester?!"

The girl didn't sound bored now. In fact all the Alpha's had abruptly dropped into defensive positions, looking far more threatened then they had 30 seconds ago.

His Dad grinned again, this time easy and charming and kind of terrifying. Peter chuckled softly to Stiles' right, which made everything a million times worse.

"You're the Winchesters?! What are you doing here? Why are you defending this puny, worthless pack? You're hunters. You're the hunters. You don't-…You can't-"

"Ok, first off, we were retired. Secondly, were you not listening? That is my son! This is his pack! You think I would not kill every last one of you if you dared to touch him?!"

At that his Dad raised the gun and pointed it between the eyes of the one in the middle. There was still a good distance between the Alpha's and him, but there was no way he would miss. Of course, it was just a gun. But considering how 'in the know' his Dad was sounding, Stiles kind of desperately hoped he was packing wolfsbane bullets.

One of the Alpha's drew in a long breath, eyes closing even as the other's flinched at the words and movement. When his eyes snapped open, glowing, and his mouth stretched into a grin filled with teeth, Stiles began to worry. Then he spoke and Stile felt fear.

"I don't smell wolfsbane. Your bullets are normal, your knife is normal, you are human no matter who you are. You truly think you can take on a pack of Alpha's?!"

He spread his arms, and around him the Alpha's relaxed slightly, their expressions becoming sharp and predatory.

But his Dad's aim didn't waver and the guy, Sam, just kept on spinning that knife, like nothing was wrong at all. Like not only were they going to come out of this situation alive, they were going to come out without a scratch and laughing their asses off at the Alpha's for even thinking of trying to take them on. His Dad kind of looked the same. It was terrifying, but also so awesome. That was his Dad.

"We, will not hesitate to kill all of you. The Colt will put you down like a fucking mutt. If you do not leave. Right. Fucking. Now."

That seemed to catch the wolves attention. The woman slowly raised her hands, her eyes now flicking between the colt and knife, recognition and something like fear in her eyes.

"…the colt."

The others looked also slowly raised their hands. Stiles could see them evaluating their position, how far away his dad and brother, and the rest of the pack were. He came to the same conclusion they did. Too far.

Almost simultaneously they stepped back, arms raised and heads tipping back slightly, baring their throats.

"We apologise. We didn't realise you were here. If we had known..."

This was coming from another Alpha, one who had remained quiet and watchful up until now, but the others nodded as if he spoke for them all. Was this the Twilight Zone? Where they being Punk'd? Stiles casually glanced around for -, but nope. It was just them. What the hell. When did his Dad become such a BAMF? Not that he hadn't known his Dad was a BAMF before, but now he was a supernatural-ass-kicking one, and fuck it, he was surprised. This was a surprise of freaking Epic Proportions.

And just like that the Alpha's were leaving.

Just like that.

As if the threat of a fight with his Dad and his Dad's brother (what the actual fuck), with those particular weapons would present too much of a threat. Too many potential casualties for the benefits to outweigh the risks. How did this happen? This morning Stiles had been convinced he was going to die (not that that stopped him from coming to help, if Scott, his friend/brother was going to fight, then so was he), and now it was over with no wounds, no fear, no fucking fighting.

What. The. Fuck.

Eventually, once the Alpha's had been gone from their sight for a fair few minutes, his Dad and Sam turned around, putting away their weapons. His Dad's eyes roved over their little band (of merry men…and Erica, Allison and Lydia) before coming to a stop on Stiles. For once Stiles couldn't read what his Dad was thinking. His face was like the Divinci's Code. Completely unreadable.

And then he spoke.

"Son, I think you and me need to have a talk."

Truer words have never been said.

Their talk was long and fraught. It happened almost immediately after they got home, though Stiles promised to explain to both Scott and Derek, since he and Derek had reached something of an understanding halfway through this crisis. In this talk Stiles found out that his Dad was a hunter, that demons existed, that once to save his brother his Dad nearly ended the world, but that he then saved it. That he fought monsters and searched for God, that he died (more than once!), and that he survived. That there was more irony then Stiles had possibly realised in John Stilinski (Dean Winchester) becoming a Sheriff, and a policeman when he was still sort of a wanted fugitive.

The conversation lasted hours, on both sides. With Stiles explaining everything his Dad had apparently already figured out, to some extent. Stiles got to meet his Uncle, who he never knew he had. An Uncle that would apparently be coming to live nearby, so that he could be on hand for the mountains of shit that were apparently coming down on their heads now that his Dad had blown his cover; at least to the supernatural population.

It was the kind of conversation they'd needed to have for a long time. But the part that Stiles loved the most? The part that made everything he'd done, everything he and his father had kept from each other ok? It was when his father eventually sat down next to him, a drink of water in one hand and a reminiscent look on his face as he said,

"Stiles, you know how I said your mother was an angel?"

That was what made it all perfect in the end.

Fin.

Notes:

Ok, a few things first. So. Teen Wolf. This show is like crack. I got dragged in kicking and screaming and, as eventually always happens, I started to get ideas. Of course, this is the first one I've actually written down in almost two years. But I had no internet and a bunch of time, so I figured I may as well put pen to paper. Figuratively.

Unfortunately, there was some background in here that I wasn't able to explain, mostly because it would ruin the flow.

Castiel. Yes, he was male. But I made him female, even though I really am not fond of genderbending. In this story he was still male all the way up until some distant point in the future, when Dean and Sam decided to retire maybe, or maybe he died again and God gave him a choice. In any case, he did get a choice. He chose to become human, and what's more, he chose to become female. This was in large part because Dean was completely, 100% straight, and would never have considered Cas for the sort of love that Cas had for him when he was male. Castiel hardly cared. Angels generally have no gender, so it was no hardship becoming female. Of course, he just became a female version of Jimmy Novak. And apparently there was a history of breast cancer in Jimmy Novak's family. And why would Dean and Cas even think to check for that? After what they'd been through, cancer seemed like something other people had to worry about, until it wasn't.

Another thing was Stiles name. I kind of loved it, cause he was named after his Mom's grandfather, or something. Someone whose name was unpronounceable. In my head, that's because Castiel was actually naming him after a friend whose an angel and so it's in Enochian. Lol. Poor Stiles. Dean agreed, mostly because he was ridiculously in love and he convinced Cas that he could come up with the nickname. Cas agreed, and Stiles was stuck with a name only a mother could love. Or an angel/God. It's a good thing Gabriel was dead or else Stiles would have had issues. Or more of them anyway.