Stiles struggled with exactly how to say goodbye to his dad. He feared that losing both his wife and his son would be too much for him.

He wrote a letter. He'd given it to Scott to give it to him after he was dead. At first, Scott had refused to take it, clinging on desperately to his optimism like a lifeline, insisting that they were going to find a cure before it was too late. After a lot of arguing, however, Stiles convinced Scott to take the letter just in case, to which Scott begrudgingly agreed.

That had been the plan. It was horrible, but it was solid enough and it allowed Stiles to avoid telling his father that he was going to die.

That was the plan, but that was before two days had passed, which had been enough for Stiles to grow noticeably paler and weaker. He hadn't even been in school that day, as he was hardly even able to get out of bed.

So, that was how he found himself at the kitchen table, trying to tune out the loud thumping of his own father's heart as he figured out exactly what to say to him.

"We should at least take you to a doctor or-" the sheriff began.

"No," Stiles interrupted, shaking his head. "There's nothing they can do for me. There's nothing anyone can do for me."

The sheriff furrowed his brows in confusion, shaking his head to indicate that he didn't understand.

"Stiles, what are you talking about?" he asked.

Stiles looked away, fighting back tears.

"A couple days ago, Scott and I️ went looking for the body in the woods," Stiles began.

Stiles' father sighed.

"Seriously, Stiles?" he asked, not that he was actually surprised. If anything, he was more so just confused as to what that had to do with anything.

"Just, just let me finish," Stiles continued. "We uh...we went looking and something...it jumped out and..."

His speech trailed off as he felt a teardrop escape, running down his cold pale cheek. He sniffed hard before wiping it away.

"It attacked me," he finished.

The sheriff leaned forward, face twisted with concern.

"And was it a...a supernatural, something?" he asked.

Stiles nodded, looking down.

"Yeah, it was. And I️ uh...I'm running out of time," Stiles explained, choking up.

The sheriff shook his head.

"Time? Time for what? What's going on?" he asked, his voice panicked, his heart rate increasing.

At that point, Stiles didn't even hold back the tears. It was the first time that he'd even truly admitted it to himself. It was the first time he'd let himself feel it instead of just trying to pretend he was okay with it. It was the first time he'd let himself begin to grieve.

He looked back up with tear filled eyes to meet his father's gaze.

"I'm dying, Dad," he finally said.

That was when everything began to move in slow motion. His father leaned backward, eyes widening in shock and horror. Stiles then truly realized why he didn't want to have this conversation. He remembered the real reason that he couldn't handle it. It was because, for the first time since his mom died, he saw his dad cry. It was a sight forever etched into his memory, and it was one that he never wanted to see again.

"No. No, there has to be some way to save you. Some spell or magic herb or I don't know but something," the sheriff said.

Stiles shook his head.

"Listen, there's no cure for this, okay? We've tried and we've looked but...it's just not out there. I'm sorry," Stiles said.

Noah leaned forward, taking his son's hands in his, locking his tear filled eyes with those of his son.

"No, you listen to me. You're not gonna die on me. We're gonna find a cure, no matter what it takes, and we're going to fix this. You're not gonna die on me. I️ can't let you die."

—

Despite the confident edge in his pep talk the other night, Noah found himself afraid to knock on his son's door the next morning. He was afraid that he was already too late, and that he wouldn't get a response.

He held his hand in a fist in front of the door before finally mustering up the courage to knock in spite of the horrifying reality of his son being Schrödinger's cat.

He knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Stiles."

Knock, knock, knock.

"Stiles."

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

"Stiles!"

He then stopped knocking and swung the door open, gasping to not see his son or even his son's body, but an empty room.

"STILES!"

— Scott entered his best friend's bedroom to see if he could get a scent of anything strange. For a while, it was just him getting his best friend's scent with nothing out of the ordinary. However, it was by the window that he finally found a clue, the scent of someone else entirely who shouldn't've been in there.

Scott looked at his friend's worried dad before growling one word: a name.

"Theo."