Chapter 1: Aw, Dad!
"Dad, can I ask you something?"
Sheriff Stilinski looked up from the file open in front of him on the kitchen table, as his son slid into the chair opposite.
"If I say, 'no', will you let me get back to the break-ins on the new commercial park?" he didn't bother waiting for an answer, "Sure. Shoot."
Stiles blinked then lowered his gaze to inspect the polished wood of the table-top. "Yeah, um, good, so, um, how easy would it be for you to use your police powers to, um, make someone move on? Y'know, quit town? Be outta here by sun-up?"
"I heard the words, Stiles. But you're gonna have to spell this one out for me, son."
Stiles looked up then and fixed his dad with what he thought was his best puppy-dog face; the one he had learnt from Scott.
"Well, see, dad, there's this guy. And I really think it would be best if he left Beacon Hills and just, well, went back to where he came from. And you being the Sheriff and all, well, you could make that happen, couldn't you? Threaten him with incarceration and police brutality. Make him realise that's it's in his best interests to leave town. You could totally put the frighteners on him."
"'Put the frighteners…' Stiles, what the hell? Have you been watching black and white movies again because you know that's not what life was like even back then, yeah?"
His father pushed back from the table a little, steepled his fingers and stretched his arms out in front of him.
"Who are we talking about here, son? Who do you want to pack up and leave Beacon Hills?"
Stiles was studying the polished wood again. "Could we just talk in hypotheticals?" he murmured sheepishly.
"You give me 'a friend of a friend' and any 'what if' scenarios and I swear I'll make you do your homework at the station with me for the next month. If you've got something to say then come straight out with it. Now, who are we talking about and why?"
"Derek Hale," Stiles bit out as if just saying the name had cost him dearly.
"Hale? The guy you got me to arrest after you falsely accused him of murder?" At a slight incline of Stiles head in confirmation his father sighed theatrically. "Stiles, what the heck is going on? You must really hate this guy. Has he, um, hurt you in any way, because, you know, if he has …"
"Dad! No! And I'm quite capable of looking after myself. No, he's done nothing wrong. At all."
"Okay, kiddo, then you better explain exactly what you've got against the guy. Because if he's done nothing wrong why would you want me to ask him to leave town? Not that I have that authority anyway. So, what's the what?"
"Um, see, well, I kind of …" Stiles voice dropped away as he tried to find the right way to explain his current predicament.
"Stiles! It's not like you to be lost for words. You sure he hasn't hurt you? Or, made you uncomfortable?"
"Yes, um, no, no. Not like that. That's the problem." Stiles threw his arms in the air in exasperation before dropping his hands on to the table, splaying them out, thumbs touching. He let his eyes trace around his fingers from pinkie to pinkie and back again.
"Stiles?" his father pushed gently.
"Okay, see, dad, I kinda, well, I kinda, um, like Derek."
"Oh-kaay. You like him, but you want me to use my police authority to roust the man. A man who, if he had a mind to, could sue the pants off Beacon Hills PD, and me in particular, for abuse of power, wrongful arrest, unprofessional conduct and god knows what else because my own son lied to me in a murder investigation. Now you say, you like him. Yet you want him gone. Care to explain?"
The sheriff sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest in a way that Stiles knew meant he wasn't going to move until he had the truth. It was also the stance he took when he'd got his in-built bullshit detector running at full power. There was nothing for it now but to 'fess up and throw himself on his father's mercy.
"Well, you remember when you caught me with Danny outside Jungle?" Stiles asked slowly.
"Jungle? That club? And you tried to kid me you were gay?"
"Yeah, well, you see, I think that I might be. Gay, that is."
"And the Martin girl? How does she fit in?" His father's face was irritatingly neutral.
"I think she was a kid's crush that became a habit. I still like her. But somewhere along the line I just wanted her friendship. Nothing else. And if I did want something more with her it still wouldn't change, um, how I feel about guys. Well, um, one guy really. Just the one."
"Derek Hale," his father stated baldly.
"Yeah, Derek," Stiles nodded sadly, balling his hands up and thrusting them into the pockets of his hoodie.
"And how does Derek feel about…?"
"Oh no, dad!" Stiles interrupted in panic, sitting bolt upright, "No, he doesn't know. He can never know. God, dad, you can't tell him. Promise me you won't say a word. Oh my god."
"I can assure you that Derek will never hear about this from me," Stiles visibly relaxed at that, "but he will know right enough. When you tell him."
"What? No!"
"Son, I can lecture you all day about high school crushes and how you're too young to know what you want just yet. Hell, for all I know this gay thing is a passing phase…"
"No, it's n…"
"Stiles! I'm not saying it is. Or that it isn't. But what I am saying is that this is none of my business. Unless of course you and Derek do anything about this before your 18th birthday – in which case it becomes my official business."
"Dad!"
"No, son, you don't get to be shocked or scandalised by me. I'm simply giving you the facts. I have to uphold the law and I expect you to not put me – or Derek – in a difficult situation," he stated evenly, fixing his son with a penetrating stare before continuing. "So, now, you want me to ask Derek to leave Beacon Hills. Why exactly?"
Stiles pulled his hands out of his pockets and dragged them over his face. He groaned.
"Dad, I really like the guy. Really like him. And I can't. I know that. He's older than me. He's a wer, … he's, um, yeah, older and I doubt he's into guys. I mean, I know he's had at least one girlfriend in the past so, you know, probably not gay. And he doesn't want an annoying kid like me hanging round all the time. He doesn't even like me – barely tolerates me. I think he only puts up with me because he sees Scott all the time and Scott and me are like a kind of package deal …"
"Derek and Scott are …" the sheriff asked, raising his eyebrows sceptically.
"Derek and Scott?" Stiles looked puzzled before pulling a face when he realised what his dad meant. "Ew, gross! No, not with Scott. Not with anyone as far as I know. Derek is, like, Mr Once Bitten Twice Shy and Scott is so into Allison it's painful. And, oh god, that was such a poor choice of words on so many levels!"
"So, Scott and Derek aren't ... ?"
"No! Derek just helps Scott with his training, um, for lacrosse. Scott wants to keep first line and Derek's helping with that. Yeah, lacrosse training. That's all."
"So I don't see your problem."
Stiles looked flabbergasted. "How can you not see the problem? I have to see Derek nearly every day and it … well, it hurts."
"Because?"
"And I thought you were a detective. I shouldn't have to spell this out to you," Stiles whined at his father, slumping back into his seat.
"Humour me," his father replied with the hint of a smile.
"You are such a bad parent. I should call Child Services and ask for a foster placement," Stiles moaned morosely.
"Explain. Or let me get back to the burglaries."
"Fine! I like Derek. I'm sure Derek hates me. I have to see him practically every day and it's killing me. Sooner or later he's gonna realise how I feel and then he'll want nothing more to do with me. And then I'll die of a broken heart. And it'll all be your fault because you wouldn't run him out of town when you had the chance!"
Stiles punctuated his outburst by forcefully crossing this arms, unwittingly mimicking his father's posture, and scowling bitterly in a way that may have looked uncannily like Derek's default grimace.
"And you haven't told Derek how you feel?"
"Were you not listening, old man? Of course I haven't told Derek. Nobody knows. Not even Scotty. Just you now. I couldn't handle seeing the … contempt in his eyes. Couldn't bear the rejection. He mustn't know. You can't tell him. Please, dad!"
"Nope, like I said, it's not my place to tell anyone. But you, son? You're gonna have to man up and tell Derek how you feel."
"No! Whose side are you on?"
"Aside from my official duty to uphold the law, I don't have a 'side'. What I have is years of experience, infallible common-sense and a well-developed instinct for right and wrong. All of which tells me, son, that nursing your crush…" he held up a hand to forestall any protest, "or whatever this is, is not going to lead anywhere healthy. Talk to Derek. Do him the courtesy of finding out how he really feels about you. About your feelings for him. Don't make assumptions because that's disrespectful to Derek and unfair to both of you."
"Dad, I can't," Stiles whined as he laid his arms on the table and sunk his head down to rest heavily on them.
"You can and you will, son," the sheriff got up and came round to stand alongside Stiles, placing a hand firmly on his son's shoulder. "Stilinski's are made of stronger stuff. You know what you need to do. And you'll do it. I guarantee you that you'll feel better for having been open with Derek than if you continue to duck the issue. Zrozumieć?" [Understand?]
"Rozumiem, rozumiem," [I understand, I understand] Stiles mumbled sullenly to the table, "but don't blame me if I get returned to you in little pieces."
He knew he was screwed the moment his dad resorted to Polish, which was only ever used as a last resort in the Stilinski household. Since his childhood it had been the language his parents used to convey the seriousness of an issue and to ensure compliance with any instruction given him. He was conditioned to obey.
Now all he had to do was tell Derek. Yep, he was so screwed.
