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"He's not going to leave you."
Derek turns, hand still loosely clasped on the handle of the front door.
The Sheriff is standing by the dinning room table, watching him with his hands held limply by his sides. Derek had seen him in the kitchen when he passed by, but the Sheriff had been facing away and Derek didn't think that he had been able to hear Derek walk to the front door.
"He's not going to forget you once he's at college. He'll probably be even crazier about you, being so far away." The Sheriff sighs. He looks older somehow, aged a little at the corners of his eyes. He runs a hand over his hair. And for a moment Derek sees a grown-up version of Stiles in front of him. "This isn't just anything for him. Damn kid never does anything half-hearted or without spending a thorough amount of time thinking about it before hand."
Derek wants to say I know, because he does, because on his last birthday Stiles made him six different cakes because he didn't know which flavor Derek would like and didn't want to ask him because that would have ruined the surprise.
And Derek wants to say, I know, because after Stiles kissed him that first time on the stoop of Stiles' own house he had stared at Derek wide-eyed, fingers gripping Derek's arm tight with determination and said, I'm not letting go of you. Ever.
The Sheriff sighs, and Derek breaks from his thoughts. But he still doesn't know if he should be saying any of this out loud, if he should be saying anything at all. And the Sheriff seems to understand this discomfort, is feeling some of it himself, because he gives a little laugh, tries to make it easy between them.
"I didn't expect you to use the front door twice in one night."
Derek doesn't know how to answer that. "I knew you were home. It seemed," he fishes silently for an answer, keeps his face impassive, "polite."
The Sheriff chuckles, regards Derek with a small hike of his brow.
"That's never been a concern of yours before."
And Derek's ears feel a little warm at that.
"Look, Derek," the Sheriff begins, taking a step towards forward, and something in Derek stiffens at the approach. The Sheriff stops. "Look," he says again, quieter this time. "I don't want this, I don't, and I'm not going to lie to you about that. But my son, he cares about you, a lot. And you make him happy and I think you try to protect him."
Derek tries to keep his jaw from clenching, because he had tried to protect Stiles and failed and that's why he has to touch Stiles' face gently now because of the broken mottled flesh stretched too hot and tight across his cheekbone.
"But I know you care about him," the Sheriff is saying and Derek nods, eyes out of focus and burning from not blinking for so long. "Jesus," the Sheriff whispers, "he's crazy about you. And I would really do anything to change that but-"
Derek stiffens this time, because the Sheriff has somehow stepped closer and Derek can smell the mixture of sorrow and weariness and the faint tinge of alcohol sour beneath it all.
"I know you've had a rough life, Derek. And I think it's still difficult for you. And I think that although you might not be the best for Stiles, I know that he is probably good for you."
Derek looks up at him now. His voice is firm when he sets his jaw and says, "He is."
The Sheriff nods and agrees softly, "I know. After my wife died-" he hesitates, as if the words themselves bring on too much pain. And Derek understands, not just because of his own past but because Stiles never speaks of his mother, and when he does his hands shake so hard that Derek has to clasp them tight and hold them until Stiles finally relaxes, sags against his shoulder. "I don't know how I would have made it without Stiles. And I think he does the same for you. I think he helps."
And he does, god does he help but it is so much more than that. Because Stiles held his face during the full moon, when Derek was struggling to draw upon all of his past anger to keep the wolf at bay. And Stiles had simply held his face in his hands and rested his forehead against Derek's and whispered, Let it go. I'm here, right here Derek, always here and the wolf had snapped its jaws furiously. But the anger wasn't working anymore.
"He could have waited."
Derek slowly drags his eyes back to the Sheriff.
The man's lips are pursed, a grim line in his face.
"It's only four months 'til he goes away to college. He could have just kept you two a secret and waited it out. But instead he risked telling me. All he had to do was wait four months and then he could have kept it a secret or changed his mind and gotten out if he wanted to. But he didn't, because you're important to him and he was willing to risk it all."
Derek feels something tremble inside of him, break a little and he wants to go, he wants to leave this house and the Sheriff and the sad kindness in his voice and he can still smell Stiles all around him and it's too much.
He doesn't want to hear this.
"I'm pretty sure that my son's in love with you."
And Derek opens his mouth to say I know, so that he can end this conversation and just leave but instead the words twist on his tongue and mix themselves up and come out all wrong.
He says,
"I love him too."