The moment Ronan left, the house fell into a thickness Stiles could almost taste. A kind of quiet that made every creak in the wood sharper, every breath louder. The heavy silence of decisions waiting to be made.
Noah Stilinski didn't speak at first. He just sat back on the couch, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together as if trying to warm them. Or trying to warm the part of himself that suddenly felt cold.
Stiles shifted nervously. "Dad?"
No answer.
He tried again. "Dad… we don't have to talk about it if—"
"We do," Noah said softly. He looked up at his son. "We really do."
Stiles swallowed and nodded.
The sheriff took a long breath, the kind that carried a weight Stiles had never really seen before. "I need to understand why you want this. Why now. Why… leaving home is the answer."
Stiles sat straighter. He had been preparing for this moment for months. Not because he wanted to lie — he hated lying to his dad. But because he needed to be strong, even when it hurt.
"Dad…" Stiles began quietly. "I know it sounds weird. And sudden. But it's not sudden to me. I've been thinking about it since Mom… since she…" His voice cracked, but he pushed through it. "Everything here reminds me of her. Every place, every room, every little thing. And I don't want to forget her — never — but I don't want to stay stuck, either."
Noah's throat tightened; Stiles saw it.
"I just feel like… like I can't grow here," Stiles said. "Not the way I need to. I want to get stronger. I want to help people. And maybe help myself, too."
Noah didn't speak. He was listening with the kind of full attention reserved for only the most important words.
"And Ronan…" Stiles hesitated, not wanting to push too hard. "He understands things I'm trying to learn. He teaches them in a way that makes sense. I don't know everything he's offering, but I know it's something I need."
"Stiles…" Noah exhaled, pained. "You're nine."
"I know," Stiles whispered. "And I promise I'm not trying to be an adult before I should be. But I also know I can't stay here and pretend I'm fine. And I know you're hurting too. And that maybe a little space might help both of us heal instead of hurting each other without meaning to."
Noah looked away, jaw tight. "You think I'm hurting you?"
"No," Stiles said immediately. "Not at all. You're the best dad ever. But… seeing me reminds you of Mom. And seeing you reminds me of her. And it's like we're both trying to pretend that everything is okay when we're still broken."
Noah's breath stuttered, just slightly.
Stiles scooted closer. "Dad… I don't want to run away from you. I want you to be proud of me. And I want you to know that if this is too much for you, or for me — I'll come home. I'll call you every day. I'll visit whenever you want. I'll never just disappear."
Noah swallowed hard. "Ronan says the same thing."
"Because it's true."
A long silence stretched between them. One minute. Two. Then Noah leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if searching for an answer hidden in the paint.
"You know," he began, voice low, "when your mom and I first brought you home… I promised her I'd never let anything happen to you. That I'd keep you safe from everything. Everything." His voice cracked. "Letting you go like this feels like breaking that promise."
Stiles felt tears prick his eyes. "You're not breaking it. You're keeping it. You're letting me grow into someone who can protect myself. Someone who doesn't have to be scared of the world."
"And what if the world is what I'm scared of?" Noah whispered.
Stiles didn't know how to answer that. So he did the only thing he could — he crawled across the couch and wrapped his arms around his dad. Noah tensed for a moment, then hugged him back so tightly it almost hurt.
They stayed like that for a long time — the kind of long that heals a little bit of something inside.
Finally, Noah pulled back just enough to look his son in the eye.
"Do you really want this?"
"Yes," Stiles said without hesitation.
"Do you believe Ronan will take care of you?"
Stiles nodded. "I do."
"You'll call me every day?"
"Every single day. Even twice. Or three times. I'll annoy you."
Noah let out a watery laugh. "That you will."
"And if I don't like it," Stiles said gently, "I'll come back. No running away. No disappearing. No hiding. Just… home."
"And if I want you to come home?" his father asked quietly.
Stiles hesitated — then nodded. "If you really need me… I'll come back. I promise."
Noah closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he said the word Stiles wasn't sure he would ever hear.
"Okay."
Stiles blinked. "O-okay?"
"I said yes." Noah sighed. "Yes, Stiles. You can go."
Stiles felt his chest explode with emotion — relief, excitement, fear, love — everything tangled together into something he didn't quite know how to name.
"Thank you, Dad," he whispered.
"Just… promise me you'll be careful."
"I promise."
"And no doing anything reckless or heroic."
"I promise."
"And no wandering off without Ronan."
"I promise."
"And—"
"Dad," Stiles laughed through tears. "I promise everything."
Noah reached out and brushed his hand through Stiles' hair. "Good. Now go call your… mentor."
Stiles didn't need to be told twice. He ran upstairs, grabbed his phone, and dialed the number Ronan had given him.
Ronan answered on the second ring.
"Stiles."
"He said yes."
There was a small pause — then a quiet exhale. "Good. You did well."
"What do I do now?"
"Prepare. Pack clothes, essentials, anything of sentimental value. I'll help you organize the rest tomorrow."
"Okay."
"And Stiles?"
"Yeah?"
"You made a hard choice today. I'm proud of you."
Stiles didn't know what to say to that. So he just whispered, "Thanks."
"Tomorrow morning," Ronan said. "Be ready."
The line clicked off.
Stiles stared at the phone for a long moment, heart pounding, before finally getting up and heading downstairs again.
His dad was still sitting there, eyes slightly red. Stiles hugged him again, quick and tight, then left before he could start crying again.
He had someone else to talk to.
Scott's House
The air outside smelled like pine and wet grass. Beacon Hills always felt quieter in the evenings, as if the whole town took a breath at once. Stiles walked down the familiar street toward Scott's house, hands shoved in his pockets, thoughts whirling like storm clouds.
Scott was outside on his porch, kicking a soccer ball against the wall, humming some cartoon theme song under his breath. He looked up when he heard footsteps.
"Stiles! Hey!" Scott grinned. "You wanna play?"
Stiles tried to smile. "Actually… can we talk?"
Scott blinked. "Uh… sure?"
They sat on the porch steps. For a moment, neither spoke.
Stiles looked down at his hands. "I'm leaving."
Scott froze. "Leaving? Leaving for where?"
"Like… out of town."
"For how long?"
Stiles hesitated. "A while."
Scott's face fell. "Why?"
Stiles swallowed. "I'm… going to this program. To learn some stuff. To get better at things. And just… clear my head."
Scott stared at him, confusion mixing with hurt. "But… why do you have to go? Can't you clear your head here? With me?"
"It's not your fault," Stiles said quickly. "It's not about you at all. I just… I need this. And my dad thinks it might be good for me."
Scott looked down, shoulders curling inward. "Are you coming back?"
"Of course I'm coming back," Stiles said immediately. "Scott, you're my best friend. Nothing's gonna change that."
"But you're leaving," Scott whispered. "And I'm gonna be here. Alone."
"You won't be alone," Stiles said gently. "You have your mom. And… I'll call you. Okay? Like all the time. I'll probably annoy you."
Scott gave a tiny smile. "You already annoy me."
"Good," Stiles said, nudging him with his shoulder. "That means the friendship is working."
Scott let out a soft laugh — but it didn't hide the sadness in his eyes.
"I'll miss you," he said quietly.
"I'll miss you too," Stiles said. And he meant it. Deeply.
There was so much he wanted to tell Scott. About the supernatural world. About danger. About the future that was racing toward them. But Scott was still innocent. Still untouched. Still a kid.
And Stiles wanted him to stay that way for as long as possible.
"You're coming back, right?" Scott asked again, just to be sure.
"Yeah," Stiles said, bumping their shoulders together. "Nothing's gonna keep me away forever."
They sat there together until the sun dipped behind the trees and the sky turned purple and gold. Two kids. Two friends. One future shifting quietly around them.
Tomorrow everything would change.
But tonight, Stiles stayed beside Scott, just a boy on a porch, pretending—for one last night—that the world was still simple.