Author's note: based on a prompt sent to me by user orionastro
"Why did we have to be partnered together?" Stiles grumbled, pulling down the ladder to the attic.
"Because the universe obviously hates me," Isaac hissed. Stiles rolled his eyes. He was obviously getting the short end of the stick in this deal. Stiles was a great student, while Isaac was not. He didn't know if it was from lack of trying, lack of care, or lack of brains. It didn't really matter, as long as Stiles wasn't brought down because of it.
For all the aloofness that he presented to people, he worked really hard to get good grades. Luckily, he was naturally gifted, but all the craziness of the half year really made things harder. He had to do what he could to get some sort of scholarship for college, to try to ease the burden on his dad. Isaac was not going to drag his average down.
"Let's just find what we're looking for, get this done as quick as we can, then go back to ignoring each other like usual," Stiles said, climbing up into the dusty space. There was a book up there that would be perfect for their presentation, they just had to find it first. It had been years since Stiles had been in the attic, never liking the cramped room. Nevermind the fact that it was creepy and probably crawling with spiders, it was where they kept all of his mom's things. Seeing all that stuff just made him sad.
"You don't have to tell me twice," Isaac muttered, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for Stiles to make it up.
"I can barely tolerate talking to you at all, believe me when I say I'm going to avoid repeat-" of course all the talking was distracting Stiles from what he was doing and his foot missed a rung. He had a split second to mourn how dumb he was going to look falling flat on his ass in front of Isaac, but then said ass was being cushioned by two strong hands. "Whoa! Hands off the merchandise!"
"Would you rather I let you fall next time?" Isaac asked, holding him up until he regained his footing.
"Maybe!" Stiles whined, scampering up the last few rungs. Isaac joined him a moment later, with his stupid werewolf agility. "Just, start looking around for the book. It's old and brown and has a cover and-"
"And pages? I'm familiar with what a book is," Isaac scoffed.
"That's funny, I've never seen you read. Do you even know how to?" Stiles asked, smirking at Isaac's sneer.
"I don't need to know how to read in order to kill you," Isaac threatened, stepping toward him menacingly.
"Whatever. Be careful with what you touch. There is stuff in here that's sentimental and irreplaceable. I doubt you'd understand anything about that, aside from your dumb scarves," Stiles sneered, feeling a little ego boost when Isaac frowned and turned away from him. The faster they found it, the faster they'd be out of here.
They started on opposite ends of the room, searching box by box. Isaac was making good time, going through old furniture and holiday decorations. Stiles took the side with more of his mom's stuff and kept getting distracted by what he found. Every item had a memory attached and he found himself getting lost in them.
The apron his mom always wore when she was baking. Her cakes were a little dry, but her cookies were the best. The ukulele Stiles had begged her to play at one of his school events. She'd never even held one before then, but she worked for weeks to learn how to play that one song for him. The journal she'd write all her ideas in. Sometimes she would talk about writing a children's book about her little Mischief. She would doodle little pictures of Stiles in a cape, saving the day. He wished he had been able to save her.
Stiles settled down more comfortably to flip through the pages. Just seeing his mom's handwriting was making him feel closer to her. He could practically hear her voice saying the words.
"For someone who is eager to get rid of me, you certainly are taking your time," Isaac said. Stiles turned to look at him and found him looking annoyed with his hands on his hips.
"I'm looking," Stiles defended, shaking the journal above his head. "See, a book. Just making sure it's not the one we're looking for."
"That's not brown or old," Isaac pointed out.
"Your attitude is getting old though," Stiles muttered, pointing the book in Isaac's direction. He attempted to swipe at it, so Stiles pulled it back, accidentally dropping it on the floor. "Look what you did!"
"Me? Please," Isaac snorted, going back to his side. Stiles grabbed the journal, making sure it wasn't damaged. It looked mostly okay, except for one corner on the back cover. The paper was peeling on the inside and he held back the little whine that wanted to burst out.
"Ah man," Stiles whispered, flicking at the page. He was about to go downstairs to grab some tape to fix it, but another little piece of paper peeking out from underneath distracted him. That shouldn't have been there. Stiles started peeling the page back even more, revealing an envelope. An envelope with his name on it. "Oh my God."
"Did you find it?" Isaac asked, peeking over his shoulder. "What's that?" Stiles couldn't do much more than stare down at the paper in his hand. That was definitely his mom's handwriting. Was this some goodbye letter she'd written him before she died? If this was just an old birthday card, he'd lose his mind. But why would something like that be so carefully hidden away? This had to be something important.
It was a bit unsettling to uncover something from his mom so long after her death. Should he open it? He really wished Scott were here with him right now, instead of Isaac. This was something that needed best friend support, not an annoying acquaintance. But Stiles knew he wouldn't be able to wait to find out what was inside.
He flipped the envelope over, carefully pulling open the flap. Stiles could feel his heart racing in anticipation and thankfully Isaac had the unusual graciousness to move back and give him some space. He took a deep breath, pulled out the sheet of paper inside, and started to read.
Dearest Stiles,
If you're reading this, it means I'm not around anymore to help guide you on this journey. I'm so sorry to be telling you this, this way, but I needed to wait until I knew you were ready to hear it. I hope you find this at a time you can handle this news, but it will come as a shock either way.
On my eighteenth birthday, your grandpa sat me down and let me in on a long hidden family secret. Our ancestors were very special, powerful people, but not in the way you might think. We have a natural ability that most others don't. We have the power of magic.
The gift typically lies dormant until we reach adulthood, which is when we're given the choice whether or not to embrace it or suppress it. I jumped into it with reckless abandon. I found a teacher who helped me figure out this new world and those were some of the most amazing years of my life. I flourished in my newfound power and planned on taking it as far as possible. But then I met your father.
I used to think I would never love anything as much as the magic, but then I met my Noah. He was so simple and pure and good, and I couldn't imagine rocking his world with this knowledge. But I also couldn't imagine my life without him. I made the decision to step away from my magic, only doing little things here and there. It was hard at first, and not everyone understood my choice, but I was firm in my decision.
And then you came. I understood why my father and the last few generations before us had chosen to suppress their gift. There is an inherent danger to that life, but when you're young, that doesn't matter so much. But when you hold that tiny life in your hands, nothing else matters. I saw your little face and knew my time in that world was truly done.
Now, I don't want you to feel bad about that. It was my choice and I'd make it every time. The years with you and your father were the most fulfilling of my life and I'd never trade them for anything. But now is the time for you to make your own decision.
There is a hidden room in the basement of the house, with the entrance blocked by the pantry shelves. I hope you still live in that old house, since your father promised he'd never move. This is where I've left all of the things I gathered during my years of dabbling in magic and it's yours now, if you accept this gift. There is also information on how to suppress the power, if that is your choice. Just make sure you learn enough to pass down the information to your own children, if you decide to have any.
I wish I was there to see you and help you make this choice, but I know how strong you are. Even at a young age I knew. The potential and promise in you was staggering and I know you'll succeed in anything you decide to do. Please be careful. This isn't information to be shared with just anyone, but I hope you trust someone enough to have some support in whichever journey you choose.
To my precious boy. I love you so much.
Mom
Stiles stared down at the letter in his hand in open mouthed shock. Of all the things he expected to read, that definitely wasn't one of them. This had to be some sort of a joke, or weird dream. He was the normal, human guy, surrounded by weird. That was his role and he was pretty good at it. Being special was something he'd never considered.
"Stiles?" Isaac asked quietly, setting a hand on his shoulder. That jolted Stiles from his shock and he jumped up, sprinting to the door of the attic. There was one way to find out if this was real. "Stiles!"
He couldn't deal with Isaac right now. Stiles raced through his house, throwing open the door to the basement and vaulting down the stairs. Isaac was right behind him, only hesitating slightly when he saw where they were going. He went over to the pantry wall, trying to peek around the boxes and cans to see if he could see anything that looked strange. He'd come to this spot hundreds of times in his life, but never looked closer. Why would he have?
"Help me move this," Stiles demanded, moving to one end. To Isaac's credit, he didn't argue, just mirrored Stiles' actions. He ended up doing most of the work, thanks to his werewolf strength. Stiles would thank him later. As soon as there was enough room, Stiles slid into the space and inspected the wall. There had to be some sort of door.
"What's going on?" Isaac asked, but Stiles just waved him off. If he didn't need Isaac's help moving this shelf back, he would've sent him away already. Stiles ran his hands along the wall, trying to feel for any differences that shouldn't be there. The bricks were rough and lumpy, but one in particular stood out among the rest. He pushed on it, hoping for something to happen. He wasn't disappointed.
Stiles heard something unlatch, then suddenly part of the wall was opening up toward him. Isaac grabbed his arm and jerked him back, preventing him from getting smushed against the shelf behind him. He didn't care about the save though, transfixed by what laid ahead of him.
He stumbled into the room in a daze, his arms going lax at his side, staring at the proof of the information in the letter. There were shelves full of books and jars lining the walls and a giant wood table in the middle of the room. Stiles wasn't sure how, but he could feel the power thrumming around the room as soon as he crossed the threshold.
There was a lamp sitting on the table so he flicked it on, illuminating the room. How had he and his father gone so long without knowing that this was here? How had his mom been able to keep this secret? Stiles already wanted to run screaming to Scott and he'd only known about this for a few minutes. How was he supposed to deal with this alone?
Stiles only remembered he wasn't alone when he heard a little whine from behind him. Isaac was hovering in the doorway, staring at the walls as if they were going to close in on him. Of all the times to be worried about a little thing like claustrophobia.
"Just prop the door open with a can of corn and get in here if you're staying," Stiles grumbled, rolling his eyes. This was one of the most important moments in his life so far and he didn't have the bandwidth to deal with Isaac's issues. Isaac growled at him a little, but did as suggested, adding a few extra cans for good measure. Stiles walked over to the nearest shelf, running his fingers along the spines of the books. He'd started this whole thing by looking for a book, but he'd ended up finding so much more.
"What's this?" Isaac asked, holding the letter that Stiles hadn't realized he dropped.
"Hey! That's private!" Stiles snapped, stomping over and snatching the paper from his hands.
"But it's blank," Isaac said in confusion. Stiles looked down, finding the paper just as he'd found it, with his mom's sloping script.
"What are you talking about? I said you couldn't read earlier, not that you were blind," Stiles scoffed, holding up the paper in Isaac's face. Isaac batted Stiles' hand away in annoyance.
"And I'm telling you, the paper is blank. Are you losing your mind or something? What is all this?" Isaac asked with a frown.
"Can you see the stuff in this room?" Stiles questioned, pointing to the various items.
"Of course."
"And you're not saying you can't see writing on the paper just to get me to hand it to you so you can read it, right?"
"No!"
"Holy shit," Stiles whispered in awe.
"You really see writing on the paper?" Isaac asked.
"Yeah."
"What does it say?"
"It's a letter from my mom," Stiles mumbled.
"And?" Isaac prodded.
"I can't- I can't tell you, okay? It's private," Stiles stammered, folding the paper back up and shoving it into his pocket.
"Look, I'm not asking you for personal details about what your mom wrote to you. God knows if I had gotten a letter like that from my mom, you would be the last person I'd share it with. But disappearing words and a secret room? You need to tell me something," Isaac sighed. Stiles frowned, feeling the little pang from the reminder of Isaac's own parentage. He didn't know the story of his mother, but she obviously wasn't around.
"You have to promise me that you'll keep your mouth shut about this. This is my information to share or not share, okay?" Stiles ground out, trying to look as threatening as possible. It probably didn't scare Isaac at all, but he wanted to make sure the other boy knew he was serious.
"Whatever, just tell me," Isaac grunted, making a hurry up motion with his hand.
"It turns out my mom could do magic and apparently so can I," Stiles blurted out, cringing at how dumb that sounded.
"Right. And I'm a vampire," Isaac snorted, shaking his head.
"No, but you are a werewolf and a year ago I would've said that was pretty far-fetched," Stiles shot back. How could anything surprise them these days?
"I'm supposed to believe you? This is probably some big scheme to make me look stupid."
"You think I'd go to these lengths to do anything when it comes to you? And bring my mom into it?" Stiles snapped, feeling his irritation rise every passing second. Isaac looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing around the room again.
"You got me there," Isaac admitted. "Well, you know what this means, right?"
"What?"
"You're a wizard, Harry," Isaac said seriously, flashing him a cheeky grin after a few seconds.
"You're such a dick!" Stiles moaned. Why did it have to be Isaac with him? Even Derek would've been better.
"What am I supposed to say?"
"I don't know! Something supportive?"
"Um, congrats on not being the weak link of the pack anymore?" Isaac shrugged.
"Real nice, thanks," Stiles spat.
"Well, I don't know. Kind words aren't really my forte. Maybe you should talk to Deaton? That guy's always up to something weird," Isaac suggested. Stiles was about to open his mouth to argue out of pure reflex, but then he realized Isaac might've said something helpful. That was just slightly less surprising than the whole magic revelation.
"Of course I'm going to talk to Deaton," Stiles scoffed, not wanting to let Isaac know he said something smart for once. Wouldn't want to encourage him to start talking more.
"I guess this means I'll be doing the project alone," Isaac murmured, venturing further into the room to look at the different jars.
"Yeah right! I wouldn't trust you to tell me the time, let alone trust you with my grade," Stiles snorted.
"You should probably be nicer to the guy who knows your big secret," Isaac warned, cutting his eyes over at him.
"Oh please. Like you actually care about school. Do you even hand in homework?"
"Funnily enough it was kind of difficult to stay on top of things like that with one eye swollen shut and being shoved in a freezer all night. I guess we can't all be perfect like Stiles Stilinski."
"Okay, I'll concede on that one, but what's your excuse now? I'm pretty sure Derek doesn't do the same."
"Well, now you're right about the not caring. My future doesn't really skew toward academics."
"And what does it skew toward?"
"Staying alive. But history shows I fail at most things, so we'll see how long that lasts," Isaac said darkly, creeping forward to stand in front of him again. "Any other questions?"
"Not if your answers are going to be morbid," Stiles muttered.
"Not morbid, realistic. We Laheys don't have a long shelf life," Isaac laughed.
"Jeez, dark humor is one thing, but yours is pitch black. Can we ignore your past trauma for now and focus on my current crisis?" Isaac rolled his eyes, but backed away without another word, leaning against the opening of the room. Stiles wanted to look at everything in there, but he was nervous to touch anything. What if something was dangerous? He really needed to get some advice before he did anything, and Deaton seemed like the next logical step. Stiles reluctantly left the room, shooing Isaac out of the way.
"Now what?" Isaac sighed.
"Now we put everything back like we found it and pretend this never happened until I figure out what to do next."
"And then?"
"And then we work on our stupid project."