Work Text:
I can not believe you didn’t tell me about the werewolves.
I know you knew.
You know everything
That’s what you always said. Because I had to ask.
“I know everything John Stilinski! I am the great Claudini! Do not question my power!”
I don’t question it now.
Because you were damn sure right about where the keys were and how that jeep would be more trouble than it’s worth and how that bratty little Martin girl Stiles wouldn’t stop babbling about really wasn’t so bad (“Something-something hidden depths. Something-something thorny rose).
So I know.
I know you know what I’m talking about. With the Werewolves and the electro-foxes and the whole damn chess board.
You should have said something, so I’d be prepared.
We talked about the insurance, this is just that. more insurance.
Disembowelled insurance, burnt alive insurance, disappeared and he could die but I won’t even know insurance.
What were you thinking reading him those Harry Potter books when you knew.
You had to know.
You know everything.
And those books, you put all those ideas in his head, about being brave and you know what a cop tells teenagers when they think about being brave? when they’re in over their head?
Don’t be a hero.
Emphasis on the don’t.
They don’t know how.
He doesn’t know how.
You didn’t see his face when he got to the end of them. The books I mean.
You were 6 feet under 4 months and he has to go pick up the idiots guide to martyrdom.
I cannot believe you did that.
I know you knew about this.
You had to know, right?
Everyone else seems to know..
Only, I wish you’d talked about it.
I was so relieved to when I understood. When I believed. Only I turned around to tell you, about this feeling.
And
And
Seven years too late is way too late.
I can't believe you didn't tell me because if it was me? The idea that I knew something about this world that you never got to?
That would kill me.
It would make my skin itchy.
It would make you seem...limited.
...
So I'm glad you knew.
...
But I hope you know what a shitty thing you did.
Not telling me that you knew.
Know.
You know everything.
We could have talked about it. Figured out what to say to him.
Don’t be a hero.
It’s not your fault.
Mexico is an inappropriate place to go camping.
All good things to say.
Better than talking about which murders to let him handle.
Not that I get to decide that really.
He got my god damn mother fucking curiosity. He always has to ask.
But the rest is all you.
That kid knows everything.
