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Stiles always thought that telling his dad that he was dating Derek would be a quick, simple thing. How hard could something like that be after dealing with werewolves, a killer lizard being controlled by a killer teenager, evil druids, and being possessed by an evil fox spirit? As it turns out, not very hard at all.
It’s the fourth Thursday of November and Stiles is just sitting down at the table for Thanksgiving dinner with his dad when it slips out. “Happy Thanksgiving, son,” was all his father had said when Stiles replied with, “I’m thankful for Derek.”
It gets so quiet, Stiles can hear the family two houses away—the McKinleys—yelling at their television about some touchdown that just got scored. When he looks up from his plate, no food even placed on it yet, his dad’s face doesn’t really give anything away. He’s just sitting there looking at Stiles. He doesn’t look mad, which Stiles decides right then is a win, but he definitely doesn’t look very happy about the news either.
It’s a few minutes later when the sheriff finally speaks. “You’re thankful…for Derek,” he says in a voice that could only be described as flat. “Elaborate.”
Stiles lets out a long, heavy sigh before he does anything else. He was hoping to go about this in a completely different way. He wanted to ease into it during dinner, or even dessert, when his dad was very full and very happy. “Well, you see, Derek and I have…maybekindasorta been dating.”
“And how long have you and Derek maybekindasorta been dating?” his dad asks, folding his arms on top of the table and leaning forward just a bit.
“Well,” Stiles starts, “do you happen to remember that short time where I was slightly possessed?”
“You mean three years ago?” With each word the sheriff says, his voice gets louder, and Stiles is mentally kicking himself in the ass for not waiting until dessert. He definitely should’ve waited. “Are you trying to tell me that you, my son who is just barely legal right now, started dating Derek, who was a full-blown adult when he moved back to Beacon Hills, when you were still definitely underage!?”
“Dad—”
“Stiles,” his dad interrupts, “you are already using unnecessary words. I asked you a yes or no question.”
“But—”
His dad shoots him a look that only someone in sheriff mode could muster up.
“Yes,” Stiles finally answers.
“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Stiles looks up when his dad doesn’t say anything else, and he’s just sitting there filling his plate with food. Three big scoops of mashed potatoes, one big helping of stuffing, and a lot more than a few pieces of ham. Stiles knows his dad is doing that just to spite him. They both know Stiles would never let his dad eat all of that; even on Thanksgiving. He waits until he starts carving the turkey to speak again.
“Now then, what you’re going to do,” his dad finally says, slicing the sharp knife right through the turkey in one go, “is invite Derek over here tomorrow. And we’re going to talk about this. We’re going to talk about what was going through his mind when he decided it would be a good idea to start a relationship with my son, who was…” he trails off, looking at Stiles as he slices off another two pieces from the turkey and places them on his plate.
“Underage,” Stiles answers for him, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Right!” The sheriff grabs Stiles plate and begins putting food on his plate as well. He waits until the plate is full and back in front of his son before continuing. “And then we’re going to talk about how you two will stop sneaking around, because I’m sick of hearing him climb through your window as often as he does.”
Stiles’ eyes go wide. “What!?”
There’s a big grin on his dad’s face when he takes his first bite of the turkey. “Seriously, kid,” he says when Stiles just looks at him with his mouth open, “he may be a werewolf, but when he’s trying to climb through your window, he’s more like an elephant.” He takes another bite of his turkey, shoveling a spoonful of mashed potatoes in with it. “Who tries to sneak into the sheriff’s house anyway? I am the sheriff for a reason.” He rolls his eyes in a way that could rival even Derek’s.
“I hate you,” Stiles grumbles as he begins eating his own food, a smile on his face as well, “so much.”
“I love you too, son.”