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“I knew it,” John mutters under his breath.
There’s no one to hear him or pat him on the back for getting something right years before it even happened. At least he thinks he knew it before anything happened. He’s pretty sure that even if anyone was to tell him differently, he’d still talk himself into forgetting that information just so he could keep believing that nothing happened until way after he figured out it did.
Because Stiles is twenty now, and anything Derek-related that might have taken place earlier than two years ago simply isn’t allowed to exist in John’s mind.
“Heyyyyy Daddio,” Stiles’ voice pulls him out of his thoughts.
John is still on the front porch, but he’s not alone anymore. His son is in the open front door, his face turning progressively redder by the second, and behind him is Derek, looking about as happy as he did the day John arrested him. The first time. And the next time. Only with a little more guilt written all over his face.
“Stiles.”
He knows that the intent was to keep his voice flat and emotionless, but the moment that his son’s name passes his lips, John knows he failed. He watches Stiles’ shoulders slump and his face fall from the attempt at an innocent -- ha, John thinks -- smile and nonchalance.
“I’m just…” John says as he takes a step backwards.
His cruiser is right there, barely a few feet away, where he got out of it and rushed towards the door earlier. That was before he took in his surroundings and spotted the Jeep and the Camaro at the curb. Really, it’s his own fault, he’s a Sheriff for Heaven’s sake, he should’ve seen them.
At least in general he saw this coming, he reminds himself with a little glee.
“Dad, I…” Stiles says, and there’s a shiver in his voice that makes John pause.
It’s been a long time since he heard that in his son’s voice, the hint of fear and panic, the uncertainty. Despite everything that the kid has been through since high school -- since werewolves -- he has been a lot of things, but afraid wasn’t one of them. In fact, John can recall exactly when the last time was that the same kind of shiver ran through Stiles’ voice.
“Kid, no,” he starts, his mind trying to figure out if an apology or an explanation is needed, anything to get rid of that fear.
“I’m sorry, Dad, I… we didn’t…” Stiles interrupts before John gets any words out. “Please don’t be angry,” he tacks on in a pleading tone.
And hell, that’s another thing that John hasn’t heard in a long time. He does remember once, and that memory alone sends a shiver down his spine. Because when that happened he didn’t know who Stiles was, didn’t remember his own son because of yet another monstrous thing that descended on Beacon Hills.
“I’m not,” John blurts out quickly. “I’m not angry, kid, I swear.”
He watches as the tension in Stiles’ shoulders eases a little, barely noticeable but to those who know him well.
“Just caught off guard, that’s all,” he continues. “I knew this was inevitable, but…”
When the words are out, Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise, and his jaw drops.
“You knew?”
“Kid, what is it that you thought I was angry about?” John asks, coming to understand his son’s panic.
“Well,” Stiles starts cautiously, and he glances over his shoulder at Derek, who’s still standing frozen in the same place, deer-in-headlights expression on his face.
John would laugh at the comparison that his mind just made, but he’s too busy looking at Stiles and waiting for what he has to say.
“I mean, I’ve never talked to you about… me,” Stiles says, looking like he’s trying to find the right words in what’s probably a deluge in his mind. “About who I’m into. Like, that it’s not just girls. I mean, it’s still girls too, theoretically,” he adds the last word as he glances back at Derek again, like he’s making sure that he’s not misunderstood.
Derek nods almost imperceptibly, and there’s a small but fond tug on the corner of his lips, along with warmth in his face. It both sets John’s warning signal off and eases his mind -- whatever these two are up to, whatever Derek feels for Stiles is equally worrying and comforting.
“You told me once,” John answers when Stiles doesn’t continue and the silence threatens to become awkward. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you then.”
“To be fair, I wasn’t entirely serious then,” Stiles says with an apologetic smile. “Not consciously, at least, though I think I already knew then.”
“Me too,” John tells him, and Stiles’ eyes widen again. “I wasn’t sure, but even then I didn’t mind that. Just that I knew you weren’t honest.”
“Dad,” Stiles says quietly, barely audible.
John watches Derek’s hand twitch like he wants to reach forward and touch Stiles, but he’s holding himself back. That’s when it clicks, the other thing that Stiles must be worried about.
“You didn’t think I’d be angry because it’s Derek, did you?” John asks, and the expression on Stiles’ face flickers between guilt and relief, then settles on surprise.
“You’re not?”
“Kid, I’m just surprised you two didn’t happen earlier,” John says, opting for bluntness. “You’ve been circling around each other since before it was legal.”
Derek flinches at that, but he doesn’t look guilty which eases John’s unspoken worries. Both Stiles and Derek look surprised though, like John is telling them something they didn’t know.
“Right, with that settled, I’m just gonna…” John says into the almost awkward silence, and waves his hand at the cruiser.
“Dad…”
“We’re good, son,” he says, making sure that his tone leaves no room for doubt, though he wonders if it’s enough. “I’m guessing you’re staying for dinner, Derek?”
Another pause allows John to take the last few steps to the car and open the door. Only when he gives Stiles and Derek another querying look do the two nod, and John smiles.
“I’ll see you two later, then,” he says, and slides into his seat, trying to hold back the chuckle as he watches the two boys stare at him in shock.