Stiles is a Winchester

Chapter VIII

Ehhhhh
Deans POV
Castiel followed Sam and I to the kitchen, which was a down a hall from the library where "Stiles" remained. I wasted no time questioning Cas.

"Why would you bring this kid back from the dead?!" I was trying my best not to yell, knowing the kid was probably confused enough as it is. He tried to answer, but I interrupted, "You know it always has consequences! What, has he lost his soul now? Or maybe he'll have demons hunting him down?"

"He has no memory," Cas responded.

"Well that's just great." I looked away, needing to walk around, needing to do anything to calm down.

"I needed to Dean." He followed me a couple steps until I turned around. "And you needed me to." I could not believe the shit he was saying.

"There is nothing happening! It's finally slowed down! We're not dealing with Lucifer, or God, or Leviathans! So why the hell do we need him?!" I didn't bother trying to be quiet at this point.

"Because we will! Because this world, this sad doomed little world needs you, and it needs Sam, and it needs every last Winchester it can get. And I'm sorry, that you don't like my methods, and that I keep secrets but I do my best to keep you alive. To keep people alive."

There was silence. Sam hadn't said anything since Cas first arrived either. But, "Winchester? We're related?"

Cas didn't say anything, like he was at a loss for words. Another brother? Cousin?

"Son."

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3rd person POV

When Castiel, Sam, and Dean walked back into the library, Stiles was no longer sitting at the lit up table. Instead, he was now standing and looking around. He was oblivious to the three pairs of eyes watching him silently.

His thin fingers glided across the spines of books. Something in his mind was urging him to open the covers and absorb the knowledge on the pages, but then something else caught his eye. A sparkle, a glisten, a light reflecting off the top of the blade. The sword drew him in like a moth to a flame.

Whatever compelled Stiles to grip the handle of the sword won against his own worry for angering the three men. It was heavier than he expected, but as he held it in his hand, a smile grew on his face, which was... odd. He couldn't remember ever smiling. He swung around the blade, before pointing towards an invisible opponent.

That invisible opponent just so happened to be standing in front of Castiel, Dean, and Sam. Fear ran through him, traveling down his arm and through his fingers, and the sword fell to the floor.

Dean looked at the sword, finding the inanimate object much easier to focus on. Still, his eyebrows were scrunched together and his lips were glued together in a frown.

"I'm, I'm so sorry I was just, I was just looking. I didn't mean to, i mean, it's just." Stiles couldn't seem to come up with any excuse, because he was messing with their sword, and then he DROPPED it! He just met them, and Castiel is trying to save him, and he's already made a fool of himself.

"What kind of name is Stiles?" Dean retorted, not caring at all for the sword.

Meanwhile, Stiles was at a loss. "I, I don't know."

"Well... Stiles... Cas here told me about you. I'm sorry, you have to go back to California." They connected eyes and they're inner conflicts we shown to each other clear as crystal.