The Sheriff was waiting for Stiles to get home late Saturday night. As he sat in his armchair, sipping from a bottle of beer, John's phone buzzed with a text from Melissa. A smile crept onto his lips at the name, and he quickly opened the message.

John, have you been on FaceBook the past few days at all?

Frowning, confused and a little disappointed at the content of the message, John replied,

No, why?

The response was almost instantaneous.

You should check it. Now.

Also, you owe me ten bucks, mister.

John's eyes widened. No way, he thought. Once FaceBook was open on his screen, the Sheriff went to his son's page and saw that multiple pictures of him had been recently added. Many of them were just of Stiles and the pack, goofing off and being teenagers, like they should. As he scrolled through them, though, many of the photos became just of his son and Derek Hale. They seemed innocent enough - them arguing over something stupid, Stiles messing up Derek's hair, Derek glaring at Stiles. So their usual behavior. John was beginning to question Melissa's text when he happened upon a video. As he hit play, the sound of snickering reached his ears and the camera's blurry image focused into something more clear. John saw that it was his son in the video, sleeping.

On Derek Hale's shoulder.

Stiles slowly awakened and squinted his eyes at the camera, looking confused and tired - a common expression on his son's face. Then Stiles jerked up and the camera angled downward as a voice - Jackson's? - cooed at them. John saw that Derek and Stiles had been holding hands, and they quickly tore them apart, both blushing stupendously. The Sheriff chuckled a bit at their bashfulness and heard Jackson mention something about Derek staring at Stiles and just generally milking their humiliation for all it was worth. After exiting the video, John played the one right next to it. It looked like the same thing, except this time there was no noise other than Stiles' steady breathing and the background noises of the plane. Derek obviously didn't realize he was being recorded, too busy staring down at Stiles, whose head was still on his shoulder. The leather clad kid's eyes flickered over Stiles' relaxed features, drinking him in with this look on his face...

Oh.

John looked over at the framed photograph on the coffee table. In the picture, John himself was gazing at his wife in awe, eyes soft and a slight smile adorning his face. Claudia was oblivious, head thrown back in laughter, nose scrunched up in the same way that Stiles' does whenever he laughs too hard. That was the look John had given her when he was thinking about how much he loved her.

Oh God. Derek Hale was in love with his son.

John looked through the rest of the pictures, lingering on some of the two of them in the same bed where they were sleeping on top of each other. He let out a resigned sigh and reopened his messages.

Well, looks like I do. Thanks for letting me know, Mel.

The responding text read,

No problem, just go easy on them. And John? You don't have to pay me, I'm just glad that Stiles is happy.

Huffing, he grudgingly typed back,

Nope, a bet's a bet and you won. How about I stop by tomorrow night? I can pay up and maybe we could go grab some dinner. Sound good?

John held his breath nervously, suddenly felling like a teenager, until his phone buzzed once again.

Sounds great :)

A smile broke loose, sliding over his face with ease. He sat there for a few more minutes before the sound of the lock being turned echoed throughout the living room. The door swung open, revealing Stiles and his suitcase, along with a smaller bag. Once he had closed the door, Stiles leaned back against it, closed his eyes, and grinned so widely that his face looked in danger of splitting in half. John cleared his throat and the boy startled so violently, he dropped his bag and knocked over his suitcase, almost falling over trying to catch them. The older man smirked at the familiar flailing, having missed it.

"Dad, don't do that! Dear Lord, we've talked about this!"

John outright laughed as he stood from the chair and walked over to his son, pulling him into a tight hug. "Sorry, sorry. I missed you, Son. How was the trip?"

Stiles returned the embrace with a squeeze of his own. "It was pretty awesome. We went to the Children's Museum, and Broadripple, and Monument Circle, and swing dancing, and it snowed for, like, twenty minutes. I, uh, brought home some pretty cool stuff, too," Stiles said, trying for nonchalant.

The Sheriff broke apart from the hug and looked his son in the eye, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Like what? A shirt? A mug? A boyfriend, perhaps?"

"Yeah, all three actually. The shirt says- wait, what?! Boyfriend?! Who told you that?! Shit, uh, I mean, I wasn't going to try to hide it from you, and I was going to tell you that I was gay - well, I'm not gay. Well, I mean, I'm a little gay, but not all gay. Apparently I don't dress like I'm gay, but do I dress like I'm bi? 'Cause I think I'm bi, but who knows, right? Anyway, I was totally gonna tell you, but it just happened, literally yesterday, and don't worry, 'cause I'm 18 and I can handle myself and I know how to be safe and oh God, you did not need to know that, you so did not need to know that. What father wants to hear about the crazy, suddenly existent gay sex life of their only son? Not that it's crazy! Don't get me wrong, we are not having wild sex, I can assure you of that. Just know that I'm responsible and completely prepared and it's all good, so please don't shoot him, even though he would heal, it's the thought that counts. Derek is a total gentleman, okay? And he - oh wait, did you know it was Derek? Oh God, please don't shoot him! And why are you looking at me like that? Why are you smirking? You're totally enjoying this, aren't you? You know what, I'm just gonna shut up now..."

Normally John would've interrupted Stiles right when he began his rant, but this time he decided to let him squirm a bit. By the time he was finished, his face was red and his breathing was heavy and fast and not quite even. John chuckled and reached out to pat Stiles' shoulder, saying, "Don't worry, Kid. I've had my suspicions for a long while now. And I'm sorry about saying you couldn't be gay because of how you dressed; I know it doesn't work that way. You can dress however the hell you want and love whoever the hell you want. Even if it is an ex-fugitive. This doesn't change the way I see you or that I love you, you know that, right? And as for the sex... As long as you're safe and I don't hear anything about it, or actually hear it, or have it happen under this roof, I'm not gonna try and stop you guys. I know it wouldn't work if I did, anyway... Now, moving on, what were you saying about that shirt?"

Stiles stood gaping at his father, and then threw his arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly again. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered thickly. Stiles pulled back and cleared his throat, bent down to grab his smaller bag, and pulled a t-shirt out of it. It was black with pink lettering that read, "HOOSIER DADDY?" inside an outline of the state of Indiana. Then he pulled another item out of the bag, wrapped in newspaper, and handed it to John. He took the object and unwrapped it, revealing a ceramic mug covered with images of cows being sucked into tornadoes. John chuckled and set the cup down on the coffee table. He gave Stiles a long look, taking note of the faint flush to his cheeks, his still slightly uneven breathing, and his slumped posture, dragged down with relief, no doubt.

"You had a long flight. How 'bout you go up and head to bed, unpack tomorrow."

Stiles nodded as a yawn overtook him for a moment, then clapped his hand on the Sheriff's shoulder and started for the stairs. He was halfway up when his father's voice made him pause.

"Have your boyfriend come over for lunch tomorrow. I wanna... get to know him a bit better before he goes having "wild gay sex" with my only son."

John turned back to the living room silently snickering, walking away from the staircase as Stiles sputtered and stuttered behind him. Yes, this was going to be fun.