Stiles is a Winchester

Chapter IX

Mmmmm

Soooo i wanted to publish this on valentines day, but u know... here

Dean had ACDC playing over the radio, but he wasn't singing, or bobbing his head, not even a finger tap on the steering wheel. Instead, he glared at the road in silence, lips tight, eyebrows frowning. Sam was next to him pretending to read, and in the back seat was Stiles.

Castiel refused to just fly Stiles away, as Dean was hoping he would, and left on one of his so called "tantrums." As if, perhaps, being in a car with his biological son for hours on end would change his mind—which it wouldn't.

They had been in the car for almost an hour now, and, although he was scared to ask, Stiles had to go. Like, go go. It's not his fault, okay! He drank a lot of water when he came back from the dead, and that was this morning. He stayed silent, though. He could see on Deans face that he was already frustrated enough.

Much to Dean's annoyance, Sam just couldn't keep quiet with his empathy. "So, Stiles," he began, "how are you feeling. Y'know being alive and all..."

"Sam—"

"I'm okay, I think," Stiles answered, cutting off Dean's plea for silence. "I mean... it's different from what I'm used to. It's nice." Less painful, he thought, but decided not to add.

The conversation could have ended there, but, "What do you remember?" asked Sam. Stiles could see Dean's eyes roll in the rear view mirror, but he nervously answered.

"I don't remember anything from when I was alive. But the demons in hell always changed their appearance to this group of specific people. I assumed that I knew them when I was alive."

"Well maybe you'll see them in California," replied Sam. Although Stiles didn't have any memory, he still... knew things. He knew that California was a state in the U.S, he knew about Hollywood, LA, and the celebrities, and the sunny weather, and the beaches, and the woods, but he couldn't for the life of him remember ever being in California. He couldn't name one celebrity, or one movie, he couldn't say where he went to school (or if he did), or who he hung out with, or what he liked. It was as if he was completely devoid of a personality.

There was silence for a while, and though he tried to help it, he couldn't stop fidgeting. The anxiety, plus the silence, plus the constant thoughts running through his head, topped all with the immense need to pee made it so he just couldn't sit still. His leg was bouncing, he was biting his nails, cracking his knuckles, picking at his cuticles, constantly changing his position in his seat—it quickly began to get on Dean's nerves.

He kept quiet, but soon the nonstop shuffling in the back seat went from a slight tickle in his brain to an itch, and eventually, he had to scratch it. It started with a few annoyed sighs, then he strengthened his grip on the steering wheel—his knuckles turned white—and then finally, he had to say something.

"Why are you moving so much?" He said it a little harsher than he was expecting it to come out, okay a lot harsher, but cut him some slack okay? He found out he has a kid, and now he has to drive him to California in order to not have to worry, or think, about him, and the kids not making it any easier. Sam gave him a look that said 'chill out, he's going through a lot,' but he just brushed it off.

Stiles on the other hand couldn't think of a good enough excuse as to why he couldn't sit still. "I- well, um..." Nothing came to mind. "I was just wondering, if- um, if we could pull over somewhere?" He could see Dean roll his eyes in the rear-view mirror, getting more and more annoyed. "We don't have to," he corrected himself, "I'm actually fine, I'm alright, I promise."

"No, no," Sam began, "I think we should find a place to stay tonight." Dean tried to refuse, wanting to forget that today never happened, but Sam wouldn't let him. "Dean, it's late, we've all had a long day, we'll rest for a little bit and leave first thing."

Dean sighed, looking back at Stiles in the rear view mirror. He agreed, deciding that he should let the kid go to the bathroom at the very least, seeing that he obviously couldn't wait much longer.

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They stopped at the nearest motel they could afford, slightly sketchy but they were used to it. The room had two queen beds, a small couch, and the usual bathroom and whatnot. The room wasn't repulsive, but it wasn't attractive either; the walls were a weird light brown, the carpet was a dark, muddy green color, and the bedding seemed like they were supposed to match the carpet but it was too light of a green to where they clashed.

Dean threw a bag of guns on the bed closest to the front door—because that was important—and Sam placed his computer on the other bed. Stiles sat quietly on the beige couch by the door until after a moment of awkward silence, shuffled quickly into the bathroom.

Sam took this chance to rattle Dean, "You need to chill." (AN i know this is out if character for Sam just go with it)

"Don't tell me to chill," he said, pacing around the small room. "After everything," he paused to take a breath and spoke quietly, "After everything, why do we need this? We've lost too much, and suddenly... Cas had to drop him on us."

Sam was silent for a moment before saying, "don't you think this is more of a blessing?" Dean wasn't having it, but Sam continued. "Think about it: after all we've lost, we found out we have family, you have a son."

In the bathroom, Stiles had finished his business, and he couldn't help but overhear (eavesdrop) the conversation in the other room. His curious nature—that he apparently had—caused him to press his head against the wooden door to listen better.

He was impatiently waiting for Dean's answer, but he was silent. Finally he heard him utter, "I don't want him." Stiles' heart dropped. The small shred of hope that he had was gone, and instead a sudden pain in his chest took its place. "I don't want him, and I don't need him, and I can't deal with him," Dean continued.

"What about never leaving family behind?" Sam interrupted.

"He's barely family," Dean grumbled. He was quiet now, and Stiles was straining to hear. "We barely know him, he won't be hard to forget."

Stiles refused to listen anymore. He took his ear off the door and flushed the toilet to signal that he was about to come out. After quickly washing his hands he left the bathroom.

In the main room, Sam was standing by his claimed bed and Dean was sitting on his. Sam was slowly breathing and trying to hide the fact that he was clearly upset about the argument. Dean was just looking at the floor, thinking, until he stood, grabbed a handgun from the bag and left the room in a hurry.

Stiles looked between the door and Sam before sitting down on the bed. He didn't have a change of clothes, but Castiel changed him out of the clothes he was wearing into some comfortable ones before they went to Kansas.

Sam took this as the cue that it was time to go to sleep. There was no use in chasing Dean, he would come back after he cooled off. Sam gave a blanket to Stiles and he took it and laid it over himself.

They laid in silence. It wasn't until Stiles had slowly drifted off to sleep, Dean's words playing in his head, that the man finally came back to the motel room. All the lights were off, but he could see from the glow of the open doorway that Stiles was asleep on the couch. He undressed from his boots and flannel layers and put his usual handgun under the pillow.

Then he waited until his mind was numb enough to sleep.

Yay, update lol. Sneak peak:  ext chapter will have noah in it 😉