"You're not gay."

The firmness in his father's expression, the steadfastness in his voice has Stiles's vision blurring as he tries to hold back his tears. He wipes quickly at his eyes before turning on his heel and taking off at a dead run away from his father.

And he's stupid, so stupid for just blurting it out like that. But he hadn't thought it would be a big deal. Hell, he'd been confident his dad would be supportive. That's what really hurt, being so sure his dad wouldn't mind, that he would accept Stiles no matter what, and having that thrown back in his face.

Irony is a bitch.

Reality is a bitch.

God how had he been so stupid? He should have known. He should have known his kid was being serious. Hell, he should have known his kid was gay. Then again, sexuality is so not that black and white and nothing – nothing- about Stiles was simple.

But complicated or not, his baby was out god knows where, emotionally distraught and thinking his own father didn't approve of him.

Aw, hell.

He needs to leave. He needs to leave now. He has good enough deputies, they can handle this on their own. Stiles isn't answering his phone, unsurprisingly, and he needs to be home if, when, Stiles shows up.

He's walking around aimlessly, has been for nearly two hours, and he doesn't know what to do. He wants to go home, wants to collapse on his bed and cry himself to sleep. Not that he has any tears left at this point.

He wants to go home, but he isn't sure if his father will be there. Probably. Stiles did just run away from a crime scene, his dad was most likely waiting for him. Actually, he was at a crime scene so he's probably still at work. His son is missing for all intents and purposes and, yet, Stiles doesn't know that it matters. Does his dad even care anymore? Or is he so disgusted that Stiles could literally stay missing and it wouldn't matter?

With that heart wrenching thought, Stiles decided to make his way home, needing more than anything to talk to his father even if it just led to a fight.

John is sitting at the kitchen table anxiously. He's been calling Stiles every five minutes for the past three and a half hours but it just goes straight to voicemail, dead or turned off he doesn't know. He's contemplating the merits of assembling a search party – because god knows he is not waiting twenty-four hours for one – when he hears the front door open.

He's out of his seat and on Stiles the second Stiles shuts the door, embracing him in a ricb-cracking hug.

"I'm sorry, Stiles. Oh, God. I'm so sorry," he tells his son, squeezing him even closer.

"Uh, dad?"

John pulls away, hands still gripping Stiles's shoulders tightly.

"I don't care, stiles. I don't care," he says adamantly.

"You don't care..?" Stiles questions confused before – oh. "You don't care."

His dad's shaking his head, smiling at him and moving a hand to the nape of his neck.

"Of course not, kiddo. Of course not."

And Stiles is so relieved, feels like his dad's just lifted an unbearable weight from his shoulders, because of course his dad doesn't care. And he's so thankful that he lurches forward, long arms wrapping tightly around his dad's neck as he all but collapses in his father's strong hold. His dad laughs slightly when Stiles's eagerness nearly knocks the both of them to the ground, but John's able to catch him while maintaining his footing.

"I'm so sorry, son. I thought it was just another one of your bullshit ways of getting out of trouble," John admits, still holding most of Stiles's weight.

Stiles snorts at that, before quietly asking, "You're really okay with it?"

Understanding that Stiles needs the reassurance right now, John tells him emphatically, "Yes. Completely."

"Good. That's, uh, good," Stiles says awkwardly as he tries pulling away.

John holds him tighter, saying, "I just want you happy, kid," before placing a kiss to his son's temple. He feels Stiles smile into his shoulder and doesn't stop him when he pulls away this time.

"I love you, kiddo. No matter what. And I'm proud of you. Your mother would be, too."

Stiles's eyes widen and begin to water a little again, but John knows it's because they rarely discuss his deceased wife. He makes a mental note to try and change that because despite the pain, Stiles needs to hear it. Anyway, the bright smile Stiles is giving him is worth any amount of pain.

"Come on, let's go get some food," he says, reaching a hand out to ruffle Stiles's hair.

"Pizza?"

"Sure," John agrees easily, grabbing his jacket and keys. "You can tell me who the lucky boy is," he says, sauntering out the front door.

Stiles freezes momentarily in the doorway. John reaches his cruiser and yells out, "You coming, son?" his usual amount of teasing back in his voice. Stiles rolls his eyes in mock irritation, trying to suppress his grin.

Sometimes, reality isn't a bitch.