Chapter Text
Stiles isn't exactly circumspect. He's never had a talent for subtlety, and his 'casual' face is more of a 'LOOK AT ME I'M BEING REALLY CASUAL RIGHT NOW' face. John realizes he's maybe more astute than your average parent when it comes to attempted deception anyway, considering his line of work, but Stiles really makes it too easy.
Still, John doesn't just offer the information that he knows his son is after, because then he'd miss his favorite part, in which Stiles has to come up with another increasingly outlandish excuse to ask what he wants to ask. These days it's really John's primary form of entertainment.
"Sooooooo," Stiles says over dinner. John's most insistent form of advice, when Stiles leaves for college, is going to be 'Never play poker. Ever. No matter what the stakes are. You will lose.' "We started doing a swim unit in gym class today."
"Oh?" John says. He picks at his green beans resentfully and thinks that really Stiles deserves to have this dragged out.
"Yeah. It was okay. I didn't drown, obviously, so thanks for making me go to that class at the community center when I was little, I guess. Even if I did have to wear humiliating arm floats."
"No problem," John says. He's made a fine art form out of giving his son nothing in the way of conversational openings. He likes to think it keeps the kid on his toes.
"Anyway, somebody mentioned that Derek Hale used to be on the swim team. Don't you know his dad?" There it is. Even less graceful than Stiles' usual standard and 'graceful' isn't typically the sort of word that John would apply anyway.
"Somebody mentioned, did they?" John says. "Just in the course of casual conversation. 'We're going to work on the doggie paddle today and by the way Derek Hale used to be on the swim team.'"
"Yeah, okay, I get it," Stiles says. "There's a blown up team photo on the wall for every team since 2002."
"Looked good in a Speedo, did he?" John says, calmly plucking another green bean off his fork, taking care to chew and swallow while his son squirms. "Is there something you want to tell me, son?"
"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaad." Stiles is only sixteen this year but when he throws himself back in his chair like that he looks all of twelve years old again. It's kind of a welcome change, since lately he's been looking more and more like a man, broad shoulders and deepening voice and all, and John's strangely comforted to know that the completely weird kid he raised is still in there, being awkward. "We really don't need to have this discussion. I know about me and you know about me and I wish Derek Hale knew about me intimately, okay?"
John shrugs one shoulder and dips his fork into his mashed cauliflower. It's supposed to taste like mashed potatoes but mostly it tastes like mashed cauliflower. John isn't ever going to admit that he actually likes it better. "I just worry that you're not willing to say it out loud, Stiles. Is it me? Am I doing something wrong? Because you know I don't--"
"Jesus dad, no, I just don't want to talk about sex stuff with you, okay? Ever."
"An admirable but impossible goal," John says, nodding. "You know I don't care that you're gay--"
"I'm not gay!" Stiles says, and throws his hands up. "There, I said it. We're officially having the conversation, I hope you're proud of yourself. Dad, I'm not gay."
"See? That, right there. That's why we need to have this talk. This is why coming out is important, Stiles."
"I'm not coming out of the closet, dad. And you know I don't do well in enclosed spaces ever since that time at the fifth-grade talent show when my magical career was cut tragically short."
"I don't think you understand how painless this process would be if you'd just spit out an actual sentence," John says, and deliberately puts down his fork so he can pin his kid down with a look. Usually it's fun to listen to Stiles talk circles around himself, particularly when he's somehow guilty of something, but now Stiles is just twisting himself into knots. He's had an obvious infatuation with Derek Hale for a year and a half, this seems like it ought to be easier by now. "One word even. How about I throw them out there and you indicate somehow when I've hit the right one. One bark for yes, two for no."
"I hate you," Stiles says, and slumps down in his chair.
"Are you... Halesexual? Should I be worried you're going to start chasing the daughter?"
"Oh my god, okay," Stiles says, and holds up his hands like he's surrendering to the authorities. "I'm bisexual. Okay? Can we never speak of this again?"
John nods, looks back down at his plate like nothing's happened even though he feels like his heart's swelling big enough to encompass every inch of the moment.
"I know that was tough for you," he says. "You know I love you, son. And I'm damned proud of you."
"I'm proud of your well-honed interrogation technique and your morally ambiguous stance on police brutality," Stiles mutters toward his plate, like he's commiserating with his grilled chicken.
And yeah, okay, John can throw him a bone. "I do know Derek's dad, actually," he says. "Just ran into him yesterday outside Deena's. I guess Derek's at Humboldt State now. Working on a degree in zoology or something like that. Said he's doing real good."
Stiles smiles, like that's the best news he's ever heard. As far as John knows Stiles and Derek have never even spoken to one another. He might need to toss aside the sex talk for the 'nobody knows you're interested if you don't just tell them' talk. Derek hasn't even been in town since he left for college last fall; it's kind of a long time to hold on to a crush.
"He was always reading books about wolves," Stiles says. "That's awesome. They have a really good biology program, I've heard."
"Yeah," John sighs, knowing that by Stiles' senior year there are going to be some Humboldt State brochures around the house. Hell, they'll probably start multiplying by the end of the week. "Now eat your dinner."