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“Where you going?” his dad asks as Stiles is almost to the front door. Stiles jumps, actually, because he thought he was home alone. He’s been listening to music and playing video games for an hour now and not paying attention to his surroundings, which you’d think he’d be better about after two years of the supernatural, but alas.
“Dad,” Stiles squeaks, hand going to his chest as he spins around, “I, uh, thought you were working late tonight.”
“Tomorrow night,” his dad replies, eyebrow raised from where he’s sitting at the dining room, eating the spaghetti Stiles had made for him earlier and stuck in the fridge, “So where you off to?”
“Hanging with Scott,” Stile lies easily enough, not a catch or hesitation to his voice and it’s a little concerning but he really doesn’t want to dwell on that right now.
“Where?” his dad asks next, and Stiles would wonder about the twenty questions if not for the fact that his dad definitely has every reason to be suspicious of him.
So not dwelling on it.
“Scott’s house,” he continues, and his dad nods, swirling pasta around on his fork.
“So…can I go now?”
“Don’t forget your curfew,” his dad says in lieu of an agreement but Stiles takes it as just that. He opens his mouth but before he gets anything out his dad interrupts..
“Don’t start with any of that crap about how you’re eighteen now and don’t need a curfew. Graduation’s in just a few weeks and then you can have all summer to do whatever you want.”
“Mhmm,” Stiles responds with, laughing on the inside as he continues slowly with, “I was just gonna say ‘gotcha, bye’.”
His dad blinks, once, twice, before huffing a laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re a much better kid than I was your age.”
“Think you turned out just fine,” he replies, pointing to his dad’s uniform. His dad laughs, waves his hand toward the door.
“Go, go. I trust you. Drive safe.”
“Thanks. See you later!” Stiles calls out as he heads toward his car, guilt settling in his stomach as usual; the reason he always tries to arrange things for when his dad’s going to be working late. At least then he doesn’t have to do this.
*
And because Stiles is Stiles and maybe not actually as shitty a person as he acts sometimes, he’s still thinking about it an hour and a half later, sprawled out on Derek’s couch, head in his boyfriend’s lap as they watch a movie. It’s Derek’s pick tonight, so it’s some nature documentary on Netflix. And while it’s certainly not what Stiles would have picked – probably Die Hard, or a Marvel flick or The Dark Knight Rises, a classic even though Derek would have complained because that man does not like Batman (honestly, Stiles isn’t sure how they’re together) – it’s not boring. Stiles likes nature documentaries as much as the next person, but tonight –
“I think I need to tell my dad.”
“Hmm?” Derek hums, clearly caught up in what’s happening on the TV. Stiles sits up a little, repeats himself.
“I’m going to tell my dad.”
Derek actually looks over at him this time, brown drawn.
“About werewolves?” he clarifies, and that makes sense with the look because Stiles has been pretty staunchly against getting his dad entangled in any of this. No reason to have him trying to involve himself and getting hurt.
“No, I don’t need him having a heart attack,” Stiles shakes his head, just imagining how that conversation would go, “I meant about us.”
Derek chuckles.
“You don’t think we’re heart attack worthy?”
“Not as much as saying ‘hey, by the way dad, supernatural creatures are real and most of my friends are them.’” Stiles shakes his head, and sighs.
“I had to lie to him again about where I was going tonight.”
All amusement drops from Derek’s face at that. He knows, by now, how hard it is for Stiles to lie to his dad.
“Thought he was working late.”
“Misread his schedule, that’s tomorrow.”
“Well.” Derek takes a deep breath, brushes his thumb along Stiles’ hip bone in comfort. “You’ve known since the beginning telling him’s okay with me.”
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, shifting so he’s in the same position as before, “I just…know he’s not gonna be super happy about it, and then he’ll be mad ‘cause I kept it from him and lied to him, and then he’ll want to meet you and set up all kinds of rules about where we’re allowed to go and when and how long.”
“So you’ll be like every other high schooler who’s seriously dated someone,” Derek points out, and Stiles makes a face; logic has no place here, because –
“Except I’m not like every other high schooler because my best friend’s a werewolf, my boyfriend’s a werewolf, eighty percent of my friend group are supernatural creatures, and oh yeah, I was briefly possessed by a demon.”
“You’ll be fine,” Derek ignores his spiel, shaking his head and he’s smiling, again, “I’ve met parents before. I can be charming. It’ll be okay.”
“Bet you haven’t met the dad of a guy six years your junior who’s dad is also a sheriff, though.”
“Stiles.” Derek is clearly entertained by his freaking out, which is totally unfair because it’s legitimate, okay. “He’s still your father, still wants you to be happy. It’ll be okay.”
Stiles takes a moment, rubs a hand over his face but eventually nods in agreement.
“Yeah. Okay.” Deep breath. “I’ll tell him tomorrow over breakfast.”
“So you can run away immediately after with the excuse that you don’t want to be late for school?” Derek asks, and damn but he knows Stiles too well.
“Of course,” Stiles admits, and Derek leans down far enough to place a light kiss on Stiles’ forehead, shaking his head with a huff and an expression full of amusement.
*
It’s seven twenty-four, Stiles and his dad are eating a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast and orange juice. They’ve been quiet over breakfast as usual, his dad reading the paper and Stiles on his phone but he has to leave for school in exactly eight minutes to get there at first bell. He’s rapidly running out of time to do what he said he would.
“Okay,” he speaks up, now seven twenty-five, “Dad?”
His dad looks up from the paper, taking a sip of his juice, eyebrows high on his forehead and face expectant.
“I, uh. Got something to tell you.”
“Mhmm?”
Stiles pauses, looks up at the ceiling ‘cause god, yep.
“It’s a little shocking, so, uh, be prepared.”
His dad’s eyebrows, amazingly, climb higher, and – oh, that’s where he gets his facial expressions from. But as he’s taking the deep breath to go ahead and just say it, suddenly –
“If it’s the werewolf thing, Stiles, I already know.”
All of the air feels like it’s sucked out of Stiles’ lungs at that, and he slumps forward onto his elbows, mouth wide open as he stares at his dad – what?
His dad is looking way too happy about his reaction, smiling with an all-knowing look on his face, and just –
“What?” Stiles yells. Literally yells. And his dad just smiles, like this entire thing is funny or something.
“Melissa told me about…six? Months ago,” he tells Stiles, but he’s still –
“You – what?” he asks again, “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He’s still yelling, everything in his brain just pure shock at this point, and his dad has the audacity to laugh.
“I figured some of it out, because you and Scott are not subtle at all, and she explained the rest. Didn’t tell you because honestly I wanted to see this reaction.” His dad gestures to him up and down, still laughing. “And I wanted to see how long it’d take you to tell me on your own.”
“I – ” Stiles starts, then stops, because now it’s seven twenty-seven and he’s got four minutes to go until he’s cutting it close to late, and, well, “That’s not actually what I wanted to tell you, though it’s significantly less astonishing than the supernatural so I think you’ll be okay.”
“Oh?” his dad asks, eyebrows raised and intrigued again, just like that. Right. And now, knowing that his dad knows that and hadn’t freaked out about like he thought he would, this is going to be a breeze.
“Well, you know Derek Hale?”
“I do,” his dad agrees, “I know about him, too. Melissa told me everything.”
“Yeah, not that he’s a werewolf.” Stiles shakes his head, scooping up the last of his eggs onto his fork and he’s got t-minus two and a half minutes.
“More that we’re dating.”
His dad’s fork clatters onto his plate, and when Stiles get’s a look at his face – well, maybe he was wrong about his being less shocking than the werewolf thing.