TW: Internalised Homophobia, underage drinking/drunkenness, mild implied panic attack. 

"You're not gay." Noah looked over his son's clothing, "Not dressed like that." His tone, his sneer, his eyes.

Stiles had tried so hard, so very hard to be a normal kid for his dad. He'd tried to fit in, he really had, but he couldn't. Nor could understand how people managed to keep up with the turning of the world, not when he had so much baggage to carry around, the weight of which held him in place.

He had tried, for his dad, because his dad had been through enough as it was, Stiles had put him through enough. But it was a facade that never lasted, that never stuck.

His dad had seemed fine with it, and Stiles could only hope that it was real. He hoped and hoped and hoped, right until he'd found out where his dad's limit was.

"You're not gay."

Stiles had spluttered at those words, spat out broken sentences, gasped, because that was all he could do. Those three words and he finally understood why his dad was so patient with him. He could handle a son that didn't fit in, he could handle a son that couldn't hold his tongue or sit still or write an essay without getting off-topic, just so long as he wasn't gay.

Just so long as he could keep his eyes on girls. Keep his sight set straight.

"You're not gay."

They were simple words, unassuming, maybe meaningless to anyone else, he knew that. Maybe his dad hadn't meant for him to take it to heart, just a throw away line to get Stiles to stop lying for once. But that was precisely the point; he didn't think what he said then would matter because there was just no way in hell that Stiles Stilinski could be gay on top of everything else. There was no way that the Sheriff's kid would like anything other than girls.

It just wasn't possible.

Maybe those words had meant nothing to Noah, but they were so much more, so much deeper: "You can't be gay", "My kid isn't gay", "He isn't, he wouldn't, he couldn't". They sounded like a promise to himself, to Claudia; their son would not turn out gay, their son would have at least one normal thing about him.

So what if he can't listen, so what if he was too loud, so what if he always seemed to be at the centre of all the chaos in town, so long as he wasn't gay on top of it all.

"You're not gay."

It wasn't a question, it wasn't open for discussion, Stiles could not be gay. It was a complete dismissal of part of him, it was a denial of his ability to love. His dad, his only parent, the man who was supposed to accept him wholeheartedly, unconditionally, had set a boundary. This single boundary. A harsh, solid wall that cut him off from loving boys, stopped him from being able to own this part of his identity; he could no longer touch it, no longer reach for it or hold it, it was off-limits.

His patient, kind, caring dad, his dad who had seen everything and more in his line of work, his dad who knew of the struggles, would've seen scenes worse than Stiles could ever imagine, outside of clubs like that one on that night. All because of the person they loved. And he had stood there, in their place, and told Stiles that it was not something he could stand for. His son would not be gay.

His son would find a wife, as Noah had, and they would not be condemned for their love, it would be whole, it would be pure, unlike the painful, tainted love he had seen outside that bar on that night. On nights prior.

"You're not gay."

Maybe that's why he had Malia, maybe he wasn't gay. Maybe his dad was right, maybe he had been lying to himself. Maybe he had been trying to break down a wall that had never been there.

Malia felt right, Noah always gave him a smile, soft and proud when Stiles brought Malia home. And that was what was important, his dad was proud, he was not denying Stiles' love for a woman, he could not deny something that was normal.

He was proud of Stiles because Stiles had finally gotten something normal. Even if she was a werecoyote.

"You're not gay."

Malia's hands on him felt wrong, her lips on his too soft, her sounds too light, even when they were low in a growl. But maybe that's how it was supposed to be, maybe this was yet another aspect of a relationship that was overplayed on T.V. and the wider media.

He played it up, too, to match their enthusiasm, to match Scott's. To fit in just enough to keep them all proud.

Yet as he talked to Scott, hands flailing wildly, his eyes lingered on Danny's own hand, on the way it gripped his boyfriend's shoulder tightly as he laughed. He tore his eyes away quickly.

It was okay for Danny, he fit in everywhere else, he didn't have to fit in here too.

"You're not gay."

Malia dumping him didn't hurt, it didn't break his heart, it didn't tear him up. Maybe Scott had dramatised that to fit in with the media, as well. Maybe it was normal to feel like Malia was taking half a brick wall with her.

Maybe he should look into it.

The internet's answers were wrong, they had to be wrong.

"You're not gay."

He wasn't, he couldn't be, not now that he had fallen for a girl and certainly not after the whole Lydia thing. He had felt that, he had. It had not been anything more or less than a crush. That, he was almost certain of. Almost.

Because Stiles was straight, he liked women. He couldn't be any more different than he always had been, he was pushing the limits as it was.

"You're not gay."

Cora was pretty. Stiles could tell, she had nice eyes, they reminded Stiles of Derek's, and a strong jawline that must run in the family. She was around his age, too. And she didn't have a potential criminal record like Derek did, at least, not that he knew of.

There was something almost condescending in her look when she caught him staring. Pitying in a way, then she stood, smirked at her uncle, and left. Stiles followed her with his eyes, then flicked them back over to Peter, caught off guard by the symmetrical smirk on his face and the deep, knowing eyes watching him.

He was straight because he thought Cora was pretty, he was not gay because he thought Peter's smirk was handsome, he was not gay because he thought Derek's eyes were like oceans he'd happily drown in.

"You're not gay."

The tests online were no use, none of them were helpful, and neither was Reddit. They, the people on Reddit, told him he must be in serious denial or/and have internalised homophobia. Some people gave him actually useful links to websites, and some just told him he was an idiot. Unhelpful, and so far from what he was looking for.

"You don't like the girl, you like her brother." Stood out to him, bright and bold on the stark black background. Punching him in the gut and jolting something loose in his mind.

Derek was an arse, he didn't like Derek. Just because he admired his strength and agility, his ability to piss Scott off with a single eyebrow raise (something Stiles had been trying to do for years) and his bright smile. It was jealousy, it was a want to be all of those things. That was it.

"Not gay."

Were those words directed at him? What had he said to his dad that night? His head was a blur, his thoughts felt soft between his fingers, his legs were tightly wound but his knees were like slowly melting butter.

His carpet felt rough under his fingers, he wondered if Derek's beard would, too. He wondered if Derek had all this internal conflict, if his frown was as deep on the inside as it was on the outside. If his head was as neatly organised as the house they had first found him in, or as lonely as Stiles' empty bed.

The bottle in his hand sloshed as he tilted it up and swallowed, the liquid hitting his stomach harder than the knowledge that he doesn't like the girl.

"Not gay."

The toilet bowl seemed so far away until it was under his fingertips, the sound of vomit hitting the water only made the world spin faster.

Drinking alone left too much room for thoughts.

"Not gay."

He had just been drunk last night, it wasn't true, he was drunk, drunk did not equal truth.

He did not like the brother.

"Not gay."

Derek stood in front of him, smiling, not the bright beaming thing he had seen three times in the last year (not that he was counting, because he wasn't), just a soft, subtle thing. Barely noticeable except to Stiles' trained eye.

He pushed away the stray thought as to why his eye was so well-tuned to Derek's face and went on with his rant about the new information he had learned for the monster of the week.

"Not."

He was not thinking about that smile again, two weeks, three days later. He was not thinking about reading, curled up on the couch in Derek's loft, waiting for Derek to bring him a coffee. Or about Derek sitting next to him and slipping the book from his hands so they could discuss what movie they would watch with The Pack next, as it was Derek's turn to pick for their monthly movie night.

Picking the movie had always stressed Derek out. He'd missed a lot of good movies while he was in New York, too wrapped up in his own life to be dealing with other people's false realities.

"Not. Not. Not."

He was not sitting on Derek's couch, coffee in hand, talking to Derek about what movie he wanted to watch with The Pack.

"Not. Not. Not."

Stiles was not surprised when Derek ducked through his open window, pulling Stiles from his chair after he brushed him off twice to continue reading the website he'd found. Derek gave him that smile again, small and precious, almost cautious. Stiles couldn't help but grip Derek's upper-arm and squeeze comfortingly, knowing what he needed. Reassuring Derek that he wasn't mad at him for being happy, he was allowed happiness, it was okay.

Derek's smile widened a little and Stiles grinned back, pleased that, for now, Derek understood that joy was okay, even if it was no longer in the presence of his family.

Derek was there to update him on the situation, but he didn't leave easily, he continued to watch Stiles research for a minute, then sat on his bed and picked up the book from Stiles' bedside table.

"Not."

Derek ran his hand through Isaac's curls, drawing a playful growl from him, then fell onto the couch next to Stiles, Stiles' head fell onto his shoulder. Not out of tiredness, but just because Derek was there.

"Not."

What was he not? The world was fuzzy again, months after the first time, he really wasn't that big of a fan of being alone with a half-empty bottle.

He stood and slumped down at his computer, opened Reddit and re-read that sentence, "You don't like the girl, you like her brother." Cora had left, off to New York for something he couldn't remember. But Derek was still there, still smiling, small and delicate when he looked at Stiles.

Others, too, Stiles was almost sure of it because he was not special.

That must have been it, "not special." the answer to his question.

He typed out half a response to the comment, despite it being so old, "I can't, dad won't like it, I'm already too much, I can't have this too," then he was rushing to the toilet again.

"Not."

He was not alone, there was a rough hand on his neck, grounding him, stealing his pain. Hazel eyes stared down at him when he looked up, watching him, a hazey, slurred mess of words hit the cotton in his ears, he shook his head and then immediately regretted it.

"I'm sorry."

He couldn't remember why he had said them, but those had been his words, his words to Derek, his words drowned in the flush of the toilet, his words he'd almost swallowed.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

That had to have been Derek. He knew that his dad had had a graveyard-shift at the office – that was why he had chosen that day. So it had been him, Derek, the only other person there.

Stiles' computer was off, he knew he had been on it the night before, written something but never made it to enter. Reddit was open, but it was only open on his feed. His comments section didn't have any new comments posted, nor were there any new posts.

"I'm sorry."

Derek watched him as he walked into the loft, immediately starting off on a new rant about the monster of the week that he had researched last night (mostly in an attempt at avoiding Derek, he was not yet ready to find out why he had been sorry).

Derek's eyes never left him, following him and his wild movements. They held something Stiles had never seen before. Something he didn't understand; he always understood Derek's face.

It made him want to find out what it meant.

"You like her brother."

His dad had been okay with werewolves, why wouldn't he be okay with that?

"You like her brother."

He was too much of everything else, too much abnormality, too much falsehood. He had liked those girls, he was not gay. He had liked Cora and Malia and Lydia, he had liked them.

It had just been a phase.

"You like her brother."

Derek swung through his window, landing heavily, making Stiles jump. Usually, he was quieter.

"I'm Bi," He announced like it was that simple, like he had no walls left, like he enjoyed driving his Camaro over the remnants of Stiles' own wall.

Stiles' tongue got caught in the wheels and he blurted, "Hi Bi, I'm Stiles."

"I'm being serious, Stiles."

"So am I, my name is Stiles after all."

The silence was too thick.

"I'm Bi."

Why couldn't Stiles say that, or, his equivalent? Why was it so hard? His dad could handle all of the other oddities in this world, he could handle this too. Was it a lie?

"Thank you for telling me, Derek."

"That doesn't make me abnormal." Derek sat on Stiles' bed, eyes not leaving Stiles'.

"There are enough wolf-related things to do that for you," Stiles smiled, leaning back in his chair, slipping down in it slightly. It was true, Derek's bisexuality hadn't changed a thing about him in Stiles' mind, well, not really. But that was different, Derek was different.

"I'm not 'already too much' to be bi." Derek said as if that was supposed to mean anything to Stiles.

But it did, Stiles glanced back to his computer then at Derek and back again. "Shit." He opened Reddit once again, slid through his posts, opened that fated post up and clicked delete. He couldn't have it up, not anymore, he should've deleted it long ago. He thought he had been safe, no one knew his Reddit username, if only he could've...

"No, Stiles. Don't do that." Stiles looked back at Derek, confused, "I'm glad I saw it."

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," this time, Stiles would be able to remember the context. "You're gay." It wasn't a question but it wasn't a statement either. Derek watched him, waiting for him to deny it or tell him his actual label. But that was it, wasn't it? What he felt looking at the women he liked before, it barely even compared to what he felt looking at Derek. Those feelings were not all that it was cracked up to be but this? This spark of joy, this constant presence, this acknowledgement: this was all right. This was what he should have been feeling.

Hearing the words from someone else's mouth, hearing them so firmly, held so far away from his dad's words, felt like a confirmation of everything he'd feared.

Stiles allowed himself a moment to feel robbed of his coming out, then another to realise that this was not the only one, and that he'd have Derek by his side if he needed him. The look in Derek's eyes confirmed as much.

"What your dad said, it was wrong. He was wrong. Your identity is sound, no matter how you come out, what you say or do, or what you look like. Do you understand me?" And as much as Stiles wished he could make a joke about Derek and sappiness or excessive talking, he couldn't.

This was wrong, after three years of this wall, Derek didn't get to just take the last few bricks away from him like that. Derek didn't get to steal his only safety net between him and his sexuality.

"But--"

"Answer me one question," his words were firm but his eyes held only a gentle, unconditional kindness, "Did you like Lydia and Malia, or did you like the freedom from guilt that they brought you?"

Stiles' heart felt too fast for this, the baggage he'd carried for so long, suddenly shared with another person, a person who was not admonishing his behaviour or calling him a coward for not owning his identity or an idiot for not understanding. A person who sat, patient and solid and firm, resolute in their belief that Stiles could be gay. He could be gay and look as he did. He could be gay as well as everything else. He could be gay and it would not make him abnormal. It was not abnormal.

Derek was a grounding presence when he sobbed, he picked him up, carried him to bed, curled around him and he muttered, "I've got you, it's okay."

----------

Lips against his, hard, firm, solid, rough fingers brushed his cheeks. Derek pulled back, then kissed gently at the tears sliding down Stiles' cheeks. Stiles pressed his face into Derek's shoulder, "Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, this will take time." Weeks. Months. Years.

It had already taken months just to reach this point, how much longer would Derek be willing to wait?

"As long as you need."

----------

He was too much, too many, too different. He was everything and he was more and it was too much. He didn't get to have all of this, he didn't get to take up this much room.

"Your sexuality is yours, Stiles. Now breathe for me, slowly."

His lungs flooded with fresh air and he was no longer drowning in those beautiful eyes, he was no longer swallowing a swimming pool, he was breathing.

----------

He had a home away from here, an apartment, if this didn't go well, he could go there and be with Derek, who was waiting in the car outside, 'wolf hearing' tuning in, keeping close watch, in case. If this went poorly, he could deal with it. He had had time, he had made time. But everyone else had handled it so well, taking it in stride. Even Malia, who hadn't been so surprised after all.

His Dad's eyes were patient, caring, calm.

Stiles' lips were dry, his tongue was heavy, his heart was thrumming, "I'm gay."