Work Text:
A couple of weeks later, Noah still hadn't told Stiles. It wasn't because he thought Stiles would react badly.
That was the ridiculous part.
If there was anyone in the world who wouldn't care, it was Stiles.
Stiles was openly bisexual. Stiles was dating Derek Hale. Stiles had spent years dismantling assumptions, challenging labels, and generally bulldozing his way through social expectations with all the subtlety of a freight train.
And yet, Noah hadn't said anything. The words kept getting stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth. Maybe because it felt different when it was about himself. Maybe because parents got used to being the steady ones. The people with answers and who listened. Not the people sitting nervously at their kitchen table wondering how to start a conversation.
Noah stared down at the cup of coffee in front of him. Across the table, Stiles was talking or rather, rambling.
Something about Beacon Hills, a dead raccoon and Derek. Honestly, Noah had stopped following several minutes ago.
"Dad."
"Hm?"
"You're not listening."
"I am."
"You absolutely are not."
Noah sighed. Stiles narrowed his eyes immediately. "There it is."
"There what is?"
"The face."
"What face?"
"The face you make when you're thinking about something."
Noah groaned. "I hate that everyone can read me."
"To be fair," Stiles said, "you have exactly six facial expressions."
"I do not."
"You do."
"I absolutely do not."
"Dad, I've known you my entire life."
"Unfortunately."
Stiles pointed dramatically. "See? That's number four."
Noah rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."
"What's wrong?"
There it was. The opening. The perfect opportunity. And somehow Noah still found himself hesitating.
Because suddenly it felt ridiculous. They were sitting in a kitchen. Drinking coffee, having a normal afternoon. And Noah was nervous.
Stiles noticed immediately. His expression softened. "Dad."
Noah looked away.
"Dad."
"I'm thinking."
"You're stalling."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
Noah sighed heavily. "Fine."
Stiles leaned forward. Noah rubbed the back of his neck. Then immediately felt stupid. Because what exactly was he afraid of?
"I need to tell you something."
Stiles blinked. "Okay."
Noah hesitated. Then laughed quietly. "This is ridiculous."
"What is?"
"I've been trying to figure out how to say this for two weeks."
Stiles looked increasingly concerned. "Dad, are you sick?"
"No."
"Retiring?"
"No."
"Moving?"
"No."
"Secretly have another kid?"
Noah stared. Stiles shrugged. "You never know."
"I do not secretly have another kid."
"Okay, good."
Noah took a breath and finally said it. "I don't think I'm completely straight."
Silence. Stiles blinked. Once, twice and then a third ttime while Noah waited. Finally Stiles said, "...That's it?"
Noah frowned. "That's it?"
"Dad." Stiles looked genuinely confused. "No offense, but I thought you were about to tell me you had six months to live."
"What?"
"You gave this speech like someone in a medical drama."
Noah stared. Stiles stared back. Then realization slowly crossed his face. "Oh."
Noah folded his arms. "Oh?"
"You were nervous."
"A little."
Stiles looked even more confused. "Why?"
Noah laughed once. A short, humorless sound. "Seriously?"
"Yes, seriously."
Noah rubbed his forehead. "Stiles."
"Dad."
"I was scared to tell you."
The words hung in the air. And for the first time since starting the conversation, Stiles looked genuinely surprised. "Scared?"
Noah nodded. "Yeah."
Stiles looked baffled. "Why?"
Noah opened his mouth, then closed it. Because when Stiles asked it like that, it sounded ridiculous. But feelings didn't always care about logic. "I don't know."
Then Noah sighed. "Maybe because I've spent fifty years thinking one thing."
Stiles nodded slowly. "Okay."
"And then suddenly I'm questioning stuff."
"Okay."
"And people don't exactly grow up expecting to have that conversation this late in life."
Stiles considered that. "Fair."
"And maybe I wasn't sure what you'd think."
That made Stiles sit back. "Dad."
Noah looked up. "What?"
"I literally brought Derek home."
"I know."
"You helped me through my coming out."
"I know."
"You told me nothing would ever make you love me less."
"I know."
Stiles pointed. "So why would you think I'd react badly?"
Noah opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Because there wasn't really an answer. "I don't know."
Stiles' expression softened immediately. "Oh."
Noah looked away. "I know it's stupid."
"It isn't."
"It kind of is."
"No." Stiles shook his head. "No, it isn't."
Noah looked back at him. Stiles was smiling now. "You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think you're doing what literally everyone does."
"Which is?"
"Assuming the people we love will judge us harder than they actually will."
Noah huffed a laugh. "That sounds annoyingly wise."
"I learned from you."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Stiles asked, "So."
Noah immediately groaned. "There it is."
"There what is?"
"The questions."
"Oh, there are absolutely questions."
Noah dropped his head into one hand. "Fantastic."
"When did you figure it out?"
"I'm still figuring it out."
"Fair." Stiles considered. "Anyone specific?"
"No."
"No secret boyfriend?"
"No."
"No handsome deputy?"
"No."
"No firefighter?"
Noah froze. Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Oh my God."
"No."
"Dad."
"No."
"Why was firefighter your freeze reaction?"
"It wasn't."
"It absolutely was."
"It was not."
Stiles looked delighted. "You had a firefighter crush."
"I did not."
"You totally did."
Noah muttered something into his coffee.
Stiles grinned. "I knew it."
"You know, there was a time when children respected their parents."
"There was also a time people thought the Earth was flat."
"Get out."
"Nope."
Noah couldn't help laughing. The tension he'd carried for weeks was evaporating. Just disappearing. Like it had never been there in the first place. Because nothing had changed. Stiles was still Stiles.
The world was still turning. And the conversation he'd dreaded for weeks had turned into exactly what it always should have been. A conversation.
"You know," Stiles said eventually, "I'm proud of you."
Noah blinked. "For what?"
"For figuring yourself out."
Noah looked down at the table. "I'm not sure I've figured anything out."
"You figured out enough."
"Maybe."
"Besides." Stiles shrugged. "Most people spend their entire lives refusing to ask questions about themselves."
Noah smiled faintly. "Yeah."
"You asked."
"I guess."
"That's kind of brave."
Noah immediately pointed at him. "Don't get weird."
"I'm being sincere."
"Stop it."
"Never."
Noah laughed again. Then shook his head. "You really don't care?"
Stiles stared. "Dad."
"What?"
"I love you."
The answer came so quickly Noah almost missed it. No hesitation or uncertainty. Just truth.
"I don't care if you're straight, bi, pan, mostly straight, partially straight, occasionally confused, or secretly attracted to every actor over forty."
Noah rolled his eyes. "That's not what I said."
"It's what I heard."
"You're impossible."
Another comfortable silence settled between them.
Outside, a car passed. Somewhere in the house a pipe creaked. Ordinary sounds.
Eventually Stiles stood. "Well."
"Well?"
Stiles grinned. "As long as you don't date Peter, we're good."
Noah stared. "Not a chance in Hell."
Stiles visibly relaxed. "Oh thank God."
Noah shook his head. "Why is that your concern?"
"Have you met Peter?"
"Unfortunately."
"Exactly."
Noah snorted. Stiles pointed triumphantly. "See? We agree."
"On that, yes."
"Good."
Stiles headed toward the door. Halfway there he paused, turned back and smiled. "I'm glad you told me."
Noah felt something loosen in his chest. The last little knot of worry he'd been carrying. "Yeah."
Stiles nodded once, and then disappeared out the door. Noah sat alone in the quiet kitchen for a few moments afterward.
Thinking. Not about labels. Not about categories. Not about definitions. Just about the conversation.
He smiled into his coffee. Then muttered to himself, "Peter Hale."
The very idea was horrifying. The thought made him laugh harder than anything else all week.